#i have SEEN these mouths before i KNOW it

[yieldtotemptation]

WISH ft. Giselle

giselle x male reader smut

8k words

"It's a Christmas miracle!" —is how Giselle chooses to make her grand entrance, swinging open the door to your bar, a fresh powder of snow dusting her shoulders. She shrugs it off. "My favourite person in all of Seoul."

You deadpan, "That's very concerning."

She laughs off your quip with the same ease that she does everything else. Sways her hips, saunters over to you, fire engine-red heels clacking against wood as she rushes to take her usual stool. Not like she'd have to fight anyone for it, there's no one else here.

Besides, even if there were—it's always been hers.

You're sliding over her drink before she can even open her mouth to order, because that's what you do for her. Anticipate. Your job in a nutshell, really. Knowing what she wants.

Her thanks is in the blush colouring her cheeks, flushing them a rosy pink, matching her hair in hue.

Just so immediately pretty.

She raises the drink, grinning at you through the glass. Gets a little too dramatic with her gasp.

"Exactly what I wished for! How did you know?"

"Made a list, checked it twice."

That earns you a giggle, has Giselle leaning forward, propping an elbow on the bar, chin in her palm. Her usual routine—just sitting there, all beautiful and flirty and really, really fucking out of place amongst the dim lighting and worn-out leather.

And yeah, you’ve committed it all to memory, seen it in every light and shadow; the smoky liner ringing around her eyes, the gloss that makes her lips look shiny and sweet and oh so soft. The absolutely devastating smile that never seems to leave her—only gets wider, warmer, parting when she laughs and slaps a hand on the table, or lands it on your forearm.

Accidentally, of course.

"Does that mean I get to sit on your lap later?"

It’s a touch early for her to throw out bait so blatantly. That’s more of a three-drinks-in kind of thing.

Still, your mouth answers for you before your brain can catch up, “Depends if you've been naughty or nice.”

“I think we both know the answer to that one,” she says, far too casually for you to handle, daring you to let that thought linger. Let it rattle around your head with all the other loaded thoughts involving her in various states of undress and in all sorts of compromising positions—underneath, on-top, kneeling. Thoughts that are better kept on a tight leash.

Because you know what would happen if you were to give in to them.

How you’d reach over the bar separating the two of you, pull her onto the counter. Send all the glasses, the bottles, crashing to the floor, and just kiss that smile right off her face, right here, right now. Tear off her clothes and leave her bare and exposed to the cold December air, make her yours, fuck her absolutely senseless. Render her nothing but a victim to your fingers, your lips, your cock, to all the need that’s been boiling inside you over the past months and—fuck.

She's got you good.

There's no point in pretending like it hasn't been this way since the first time she found you—at the end of an alley that's at the end of another alley, down the stairs and into the underground proper. Waltzing her way into the hovel that is your whiskey bar; all for reasons that you’re yet to fully untangle.

Months of performing this same dance—it's late, she walks in, typically perfect and bouncy, like some half-remembered fantasy or a libido-driven hallucination. Only, she must be real, because there’s no way you could ever conjure up someone like her.

It's embarrassing, you really should be far more used to it now, built up at least a partial immunity to her brand of charm. But somehow, she still finds a way under your skin. You’re only human, after all. And she’s… she’s Giselle.

Undeniably, in-your-face gorgeous, Giselle.

Dead-set and determined to throw herself at you until you break.  

"Perfect," is her evaluation when she's taken her first sip. It plays out like it’s been choreographed: she licks her lips, flashes that million-dollar smile, lets loose a sigh of pure joy. Looks at you all wide-eyed and impressed; like you're the only person in the world who's ever given her exactly what she wants. Like she doesn't already live in a reality where everyone else falls flat on their faces to ensure that the needs of Aeri Uchinaga are met. “Always perfect.”

And you have your own steps to follow. You're glued to the pulse in the curve of her neck, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the naked collarbone when she shirks off her coat to reveal tits that are much too ample for her dress to contain. All these little things that make her so fucking distracting.

She says, surreptitiously, "You know, I didn't think you'd be open today."

"And yet you came anyway."

"And yet I did."

There's the loaded insinuation stacked on top of her words like a teasing question mark:

('I came looking for you.'

'I was waiting.')

"Like I said, a Christmas miracle," Giselle repeats, softly this time. Barely audible over the Christmas tunes you’ve got on a loop, some self-inflicted torture you’re wreaking on yourself for purposes unknown. Maybe to get into the spirit of things. Maybe to keep the silence at bay. Maybe to make Giselle's efforts feel less effective.

It doesn't work.

It does, however, have you leaning in just to hear her better, and that's a mistake right there. Getting too close that you can follow the lines of the dress she's picked out for the night. A sheer black, strapless number that hugs her figure close, dipping at her chest, giving you just enough of a glimpse to send the alarm bells ringing.

Ending short of the tops of her thighs, because of course she's wearing stockings, and of course they have tiny little bows holding them up, and you're already thinking about how easy it would be to get your teeth in them and pull them apart, and the walls are starting to feel closer and closer with each passing second.

But you don't say anything. You just try to remember to breathe. You chance a look back at her face, aiming for unaffected.

Her eyes instantly undo you.

Giselle uncrosses and crosses her legs. The stockings stretch.

"Like what you see?"

Now seems like an optimal time to pour yourself a drink. Something strong to fortify the weakness in your knees, to maybe bolster the resolve that's threatening to crack like the ice frosting over the windows outside.

You grab a glass, pour a good measure of whiskey and throw it back without even bothering with the usual ritual. You need it. The burn is a good distraction.

You turn her question back on her. Shame on her for asking something so obvious. "What do you think?"

"I think," Giselle smiles, tilts her head, that curtain of bubblegum-pink cascading over her collarbone and down onto the bar, "That it appears that all the effort I put getting into this tight fucking dress was worth it."

You're unable to stop yourself from saying, "Don’t need the dress if that was the intention." It slips out of you, like an idiot, and you decide to busy yourself by pouring two more drinks, because you really don't know what the fuck else to do at this point.

“Duly noted,” she says, likely adding it to some mental file she keeps on you. Ways to get you to drop your guard. Ways to get under your skin. “But don’t you think unwrapping presents are half the fun?”

You’re rolling your eyes, it’s too much, but Giselle’s too good at this whole thing. Got the two of you sliding deep into the easy rhythm of conversation you've found yourselves in many, many times before; when it's just you and her in the waning hours of the night and you're finding excuses not to close up and she's finding excuses to stay.

And the drinks just compound on it even more. All the alcohol really seems to do is blunt her filter and dull your better instincts, bringing you both to that tipsy point where everything that comes out of your mouths can’t help but sound like shameless innuendos; all terrible ideas that you both absolutely must indulge in.

Talking and flirting and drinking until you’re finally crossing that invisible line drawn over the counter of your bar, forgetting about that ethereal wall of separation that keeps you on the straight and narrow; that would normally stop you from doing things like reaching over and brushing a strand of pink out of her face and over her ear.

You keep your hand there, your thumb padding the soft skin of her cheek. She leans into your palm.

“So,” she says, and it’s accompanied by the kind of pause that holds a whole universe of possibility. She takes a sip of her third drink of the night, her eyes fixated on you, studying the lines on your face. Trying to find the cracks.

“So.”

“Why haven’t you made a move on me?”

She might as well have gathered snow from outside your door and thrown it right at your face. You blink, the warmth of the whiskey in your cheeks fading fast. “Very confident of you to think that I would want to.”

“Don’t dodge,” she chides. “We both know you didn’t open tonight for the amazing business rush. So. Spill. Why?"

You’re about to spout off an excuse—something about a Hippocratic oath, or bartender-customer privilege, but Giselle cuts your lie short before it can even leave your throat.

“You’ve been staring at me like you want to eat me alive every night I’ve been here, and you expect me to believe you’re not interested?” Giselle leans closer, her breath warm on your hand. Her eyes piercing through, stripping away every defence you’ve ever had. “You’re barely hiding it you know? How badly you want me.”

There’s an implicit challenge underneath her words. You get the message loud and clear:

Don’t you know how badly I want you too?

"It's—" you start, before course correcting when you catch the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. You swirl the whiskey around in your own glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light and dance. "Complicated."

"Oh really?" Giselle's eyes light up at that, and you're beginning to feel like you're falling into some trap she's set up. It just hasn’t revealed itself to you yet. "I like complicated. I live off complicated."

"I'll bet," you reply, not missing the fact that she's now taken your hand into hers, threading her fingers through yours. "Probably why you're here so often."

Giselle clicks her tongue, runs it across her lips. You'd die for a taste. "I thought I asked you to stop dodging. But, if you really want to know, I come here because I like the company," she explains, before ending her thought with, "and the attention."

"Because being an idol doesn't give you enough?"

"Not in the way I want it."

"And I do?"

"Not yet," she says, with an air of finality. "But give it time."

The silence stretches between you, thick with the weight of the unspoken. The air in the bar feels charged, like the moment before a storm hits. You're reading her, acutely aware of the things running through her mind, because you can see it in her eyes, because they're the exact same thoughts that’s never left yours.

You want her.

You need her.

She’ll give herself to you.

Giselle’s the first to break the pause. “Ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

The corners of eyes crinkle ever so slightly, and that's about where you realise your fate's been sealed from the start. She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. You’re aching already. "What I really want for Christmas."

You don't need a map to know where this is headed. But you still ask anyway. "And what is that?"

"You."

You set down your glass with a clink. "Look, Giselle—"

"Let me finish," she interrupts, and now her hand's sliding up your arm, leaving a trail of static wherever she touches. "For Christmas this year, all I want is for you to do whatever you want to me."

A second attempt, "Giselle—"

"I know you want to. You know I want you to. We've danced around this for too long and I'm running out of ways to subtly tell you that if I don’t get my hands on that perfect cock that I know you're hiding, I just might burn this place to the ground. So," she says carefully, intentionally. Making sure you feel each word coursing through your every nerve ending, winding their way down to your cock, until you’re throbbing in your pants.

Giselle bats her eyelashes. Bites her lip. Leans even closer. Her tits get very close to winning the war against her dress.

"Don't you want to make my Christmas wish come true?"

You never stood a chance. "I do quite like my bar in one piece."

"I do too." Giselle's smile turns devilish. “But I like the idea of having your cum inside me more.”

"Then we better get you out of your clothes."

Only, a slight amendment.

"But keep the stockings on."

—

Giselle kisses you like a woman starved. Messy, sloppy crashes that has her nose bumping into yours and her teeth finding purchase in your lip. She seems determined to leave her mark. You’re more than happy to let her.

It’s a far cry from what you’re used to—the build-up, the slow crescendo where you both pretend that you don’t immediately want to jump to the inevitable—but Giselle clearly doesn’t give a fuck about any of that.

The moment you’ve dragged her over the bar, fulfilled your fantasy and cleared the countertop so the only thing standing between you and her body is the crumpled mess of her dress, she's on you. Moaning, whining into your mouth, desperate. Tongue hunting down yours, pressing into it, trying to wrestle it into submission.

Taking your cheeks into her hands, holding firm, the only thing keeping her steady as you match her hunger, heat against heat. Her taste is everything you've ever wanted—sweet and sharp, like the whiskey burning through your veins, warming you from the inside out.

"God, I needed this," she whispers in the breaths between your kisses, as your hands get adventurous and run down the length of her spine, pulling her closer into you.

You make good on your promise, finding the zip, peeling it down, leaving the fabric to sag off her shoulders. Her skin is cold underneath your fingertips, the curve of her back breaking out in goosebumps. Your touch makes her arch, her back bow, her breasts push up against her dress until it can't hang on any longer and the whole thing pools around her waist.

“Merry Christmas to me,” comes tumbling out of your mouth when you finally get to appreciate Giselle.

The full, round tits, naked and begging for your hands. The smooth curve of her waist, the dip of her stomach. The way her hips flare out, giving way to thighs that you know, just know, will be the perfect grip. And the stockings. Holding up the suspension of your disbelief—she’s so ridiculously out of your league and yet so, so needy for you.

“Fucking gorgeous, Giselle,” you’re telling her, making her sigh, her eyes closing shut as you reach out to fill your hand with her chest. Your touch makes her nipples pebble, stiffen underneath your thumb. She leans back, pushing her chest out even more, giving you as much of herself as she can for you to touch, to tweak, to worship.

And she’s so much smaller than you, so much softer than you’ve ever allowed yourself to believe. The reality of her in your arms is far more intense than any fantasy you’ve ever concocted in the quiet of the night after she’s long gone and left you with nothing but her memory. But she’s giving herself to you now, wanting you to do it all.

Letting you push into her, kiss the skin between her neck and her clavicle, press into her a brand that will linger long after you’ve both unwinded and unraveled each other.

“Just like that,” Giselle whispers in your ear, hands finding your neck, needing you even closer still. “Don’t stop, just keep touching me. You can do whatever you want—tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just don’t stop.”

Nothing else to do but oblige, to give in to your baser instincts, to bring every fantasy, every lurid thought to life. Giselle’s been living in your mind rent-free. Filled it with thoughts of fucking her into oblivion again and again—so you already know exactly where to go, what to do next.

You know to trace the edge of her stocking with your thumb, pressing down on the bow, watching as the skin around it flushes from your touch.

You know to drag your hand up, higher up her thighs, push the hem of her dress to her waist, slip under the elastic of her panties and hold itself there. Leave her trembling in anticipation of your touch.

“Please,” you’ve barely started and she’s already begging, breathless. Needing for you to explore her.

But first, you need to tell her how.

“I’m going to touch you,” you say, voice gruff, and she shudders, her hands tightening around your neck. “I’m going to get my fingers into your cunt, I’m going to squeeze your tits, I’m going to make you scream my name, and you will, because you’re going to be such a good girl for me. Understood?”

Her eyes flash open, meeting yours. Not an ounce of doubt. Just pure need.

“Yes,” she says. A single word that’s more a plea than a response. “Please. Do whatever you want. Make me feel good.”

She just about collapses when you yank her panties down and push your hands between her thighs.

“God—fuck—” and she’s sobbing already.

“You’re so drenched,” you’re remarking, sliding your fingers higher, feeling the wetness that’s been gathering there for who knows how long.

“For you,” she’s gasping, repeating herself, “For you.”

It’s so easy to find the heat of her, to push in and down on the top her mound. Give just the right amount of pressure on her clit that makes her jerk. Makes the muscles in her face twitch, her mouth open wide and moan. It’s a melody in your ears, and you press down harder, swirling now, and you’re beginning to think you’ve found your true calling.

Fuck making her drinks; making her fall apart is why you were put on this planet in the first place.

Her breasts jiggle with every tremble that runs through her, flickering in reach of you, taunting you with their bounce. You can’t help but lean down. Not when they’re calling to you like that.

You lick a path from the base of her neck to her collarbone, and then lower, to one of those perfect peaks that’s been begging for your attention.

Giselle inhales sharp through her teeth, her chest heaving as you start to suck on her nipple. You work your tongue around it, roll it in your mouth until her knuckles turn white against the edge of the bar, her nails digging into surface. The sounds she’s making, these choked gasps that are so raw, so needy.

Showing how good she feels with every part of her body—pushing her breasts up and into your face, her hands tangling in your hair, legs spreading wider, thighs shaking at the effort of staying upright.

You don’t let up, keep going—tongue swirling, fingers moving at double-time over her cunt, her other tit.

Listening to her turn your name into something filthy, something that sounds like a curse.

You pull back off her, cool air kissing the wetness you leave behind, making her quiver, her high, fuck-me heels knocking against wood.

“Giselle,” you say, taking in this look of bliss on her face. The teary eyes, the trembling lip, her cheeks now so very red. “Gonna make you cum now.”

You don’t wait for permission. You already have it. You step forward, lifting her legs up and trapping her atop the bar, spreading her wide open.

Two fingers at first, all at once, no hesitation. Giselle’s pupils blow wide, shocked, teeth bite down on her bottom lip, muffling a cry that you feel in the pit of your stomach. She’s so soaked that you slide right in with ease, a slow push that makes her whine, the slickness making the sounds of your fucking echo over the din of the empty bar.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Giselle stutters, all breathy and desperate. Hands flying to your shoulders, nails digging in. Holding on for dear life, writhing as your fingers curl upwards, pushing up against that magical spot inside that has her clenching.

“Such a good girl,” you say, the words slipping out of your mouth like they’ve always been there, just waiting for her to hear them.

The whimper that she makes—the noise alone should be illegal.

“So tight around me,” you tell her, pushing on, focusing entirely on pulling more of these noises from her, doing your best to ignore how hard you already are, how unbearable it is to not be inside her. “So good for me.”

It’s the praise that makes her keen, makes her whine. Pushes herself onto your fingers, trying to get more, trying to get all of you. Just so fucking hot for you.

You can see it playing out across her body, the way she’s losing herself to the pleasure, giving up control of her own functions to you.  So helpless, so beautiful. So fucking delighted to finally have you using her in ways she’s only dreamt of.

You’ve never seen anything like it. You’re addicted before you’ve even had her.

“This cunt is going to feel so good around my cock.”

Giselle's nodding, slurring together a string of yeses and thank yous in response.

Her pussy’s pulsing around your fingers, juices soaking your hand, she’s already so close. So close that you can almost taste the orgasm on her skin.

“You want it so fucking bad, don’t you, Giselle? Want me to fuck you senseless.”

Her eyes are glazed over, barely there. Just stunningly beautiful even in the midst of her desire, and you’re not even sure she’s heard you at all until she’s panting out, “I want it. Need it. So much. Oh, God, please, fuck me with your cock. Make me cum. Make me scream.”

But you get in close, lips to her cheek, a command for only her to hear. “You’re going to cum all over my hand. You’re going to show me how badly you want it. Understand?”

“Yes—yes, please—” is the most she can manage, a harsh whisper that barely gets through. You feel it more than hear it, a shiver running through her, down her spine and up yours. “Do it. Give me more, I need it.”

She’s nothing short of incredible. Writhing under your touch, losing herself to your fingers—there’s never been anything—anyone—like this. Anyone that runs this hot,  that pleads this much, that is so eager for nothing but you, as much of you as you can give.

There’s no excuse for why it's taken so long to get here, why you let every other opportunity skate by. But now’s not the time for regrets. This is all just catch-up. Getting to this moment that’s been burning a hole in your mind. Making up for all the times when you should’ve been bringing her to her knees, should've been marking her up as yours.

“Mine,” you’re claiming, taking her lips once more, feeling the tremble in her chin. “You’re going to be mine, aren’t you?”

“Yours,” her voice quavers back into your mouth.

She kisses you back like she’s drowning, like you’re the very air she needs to breathe. And it’s all you can do to finger-fuck her faster, pressing deeper into her wetness. It’s filthy, borderline disrespectful the way that you’re owning her now. But it’s all necessary, if that’s what it’s going to take to get to feel her shatter in your arms.

But just as you can feel her hips bucking up off the counter and into your wrist, as she’s about to tip over the edge, you pull back, breaking the kiss, leaving her choking for air.

“Look at me,” you tell her, forcing her glassy eyes to refocus, to snap to yours. “I’m going to make you feel so good. You’re going to cum so hard for me. You’re going to look at me when you do.”

Giselle opens her mouth answer, but all that comes out is a whiny mewl when you slide your other hand from her tits to the back of her neck, pulling her into you, hard enough that you can feel her pulse drumming against your palm.

“That’s it, such a good girl,” you say to her, adorning her with all these sweet words that absolutely wreck her. And it’s so easy to because all of them fit. Your good girl, your slut, your baby, your whore. She deserves to hear them all. “Take it, take it all for me.”

“Fuck, please, I’m almost—” She tries and fails to put the syllables together—your fingers are too good, too precise in their frenzy. Playing her body, hitting every key, every beat, rushing to that final chorus.

And then it hits her, without warning, just a sigh and then she’s—

“I'm—I'm—cumming!”

Eyes trying to stay on yours, losing focus, turning wild, until she’s barely even there anymore.

Giselle cums.

Locking her in place, rippling across her body. Every muscle tensing, cunt quivering, hips lifting off the bar as her juices paint your hand.

“Thank you, thank you, fucking thank you—"

Her voice dies out, trapped in her throat, her words becoming nonsense as your fingers have her riding waves. You’re utterly transfixed, watching the orgasm rip across her face, melting her down to a messy puddle. Barely hanging on to you, mouth lolling open, eyes screwed shut, breaths coming in sharp and fast.

She’s limbless, her body goes slack, and you debate giving her the space, or even just a second to catch her breath, to come back to reality.

But you just don’t.

You don’t stop moving, don’t stop working her, because something tells you that the last thing she’d want is for you to stop. Something tells you that she’s one of those girls—the ones who love to chase the high. Who love to be pushed, who love to be told that they’re doing so well, that they’re perfect.

And Giselle is.

“Again,” you press into her neck, and she gives you the closest approximation to a nod that she can muster. “Again and again, I’ll make you cum until you can’t walk straight. Until you forget what it was ever like to not have my cock inside you.”

The nods come faster, insistent, following a whine as your fingers slide out of her cunt, all sticky with her juices. You bring it up to her, hold it in front of her face so she can see the mess she’s made of your hand.

Her breath hitches when she opens her eyes, catching sight of your glistening digits. You don’t even need to prompt her; she takes the initiative—she’s sucking your fingers without a second thought.

Moans when she tastes herself, sucking them clean, tongue flicking across your knuckles, pulling them into her mouth, relishing her own flavour.

“So fucking needy for it, aren’t you?”

You withdraw your fingers, enjoying the cry of protest at the loss, but you’ve got better plans for her. Pressing a kiss to her temple, before backing off completely, leaving Giselle empty, her legs wobbly.

You're quick to lose your clothes, stripping yourself off without much ceremony, tossing them aside with little care for where they end up.

And yet Giselle’s eyes rake over you, following your every move—she’s seen you before, you’ve caught her staring at your arms, your biceps, making no secret of assaulting you with her gaze at any chance she can get.

But now it’s the unbuckling of your belt, the vanishing of your jeans, the reveal of your cock. Springing free, hard and heavy.

Giselle wants it. Mouth salivating, pussy leaking at the sight of it. Oh, how she wants it.

It gives her energy, has her reaching out for a touch, a stroke. But you stop her, gently taking her wrist into your hand before she can make her Christmas wish come true.

She even has the audacity to pout. “Haven’t I been good?”

“Good?” You repeat, and you’re laughing. “You’ve been downright angelic.”

The pout quirks into a smirk, and there’s that familiar mischievous spark returning. “Then don't I deserve a little reward?” Giselle’s fingers go to her folds, spreading them apart. Putting her cunt on display, proud to show off how ready she is to be filled. “Like that big, beautiful cock of yours in my perfect little pussy?”

You don’t bother with the usual finesse, there’s no need for that. This doesn’t land anywhere on the normal spectrum of casual hook-ups to making love. This is about fucking. About need, raw and unfiltered.

“So, would you please—"

You’re yanking her by the waist before she can get started, lifting her off the bar and setting her down in front of you. There’s that thrill rushing through her, at being so easily handled, so effortlessly claimed.

She’s panting, breaths fogging up the air between you, waiting for your instruction.

“Get rid of the dress.”

Her compliance is instant—she steps out of her outfit, her panties. Until she’s just standing before you; the charm, the sex appeal, the big beautiful eyes all in view, so full of hope and desperation for the special kind of bliss only you can provide her.

Just Giselle, her fucking gift of a body in a pair of tight black stockings and high stiletto heels.

“Now,” you say, tilting your hips forward, your cock jabbing into her stomach, pressing a stamp of need into her skin. Giselle preens at the contact, practically vibrating at your touch. One more thing— “Beg.”

“Fuck me,” she says. Simply, honestly. With every ounce of her soul. “Fuck me good. Take me. Please. I need it. I need to feel you inside me. I’ve been dreaming of this, of you fucking me just like this, so—please, make it real.”

“Begging’s a good look on you, Giselle,” you murmur, finishing the rest of the thought in your head. ‘You're going to be doing a lot more of it tonight.’

She yelps when you flip her over, force her to brace herself against the bar. Her lovely ass high up in the air, her pussy drooling onto the floor.

You don't bother warning her.

You stuff your cock into her.

She fucking screams.

So wet, so slippery. Sliding in and out of her, forcing her cunt to mould itself too you. So fucking tight that you have to bite back a groan, have to fight the urge to just pound into her, to fuck her into the counter.

But there's still a pace you're setting, a rhythm that’s not quite as frantic as her needy cries. You’re in no hurry, not yet. You want to savour this. The feel of her clenching around you, the way her back arches with every thrust, her palms slapping against the bar top, leaving little smudges of sweat behind.

“God, this—” Giselle tries, but finds herself lost for words, unable to properly articulate just how good it feels to have you inside her. But the noises she makes—whimpers and gasps and moans and groans—speak volumes.

You complete the thought for her— “You fucking love this, don’t you?” You’re grunting, pressing your body to hers, nipping at her ear. Slurring these dirty thoughts like they're sweet nothings, these words of pure filth into her neck. “Love being fucked like this. Been waiting for it for so long. So goddamn desperate for it that you can’t even fucking talk.”

She’s fucking amazing. Not just the feeling—hot and tight and perfect—it’s the way she moves with you. Pure pleasure ricocheting through her, the slap of her ass against your hips, the sway of her tits underneath her, her cunt desperately trying to swallow you whole.

It’s her, her body, so alive and responsive and sensitive underneath yours. Taking your cock so deliciously, her cunt fluttering around like it’s trying to hold onto it, like it’s never going to let go.

“So, so fucking hard,” she’s found her voice, clawing back some level of composure. Enough to tense her cunt, squeeze her walls around you. Needing you to know every inch of her body, every inch of her pussy, needing you to know that it’s all yours for the taking. “God, it feels so good—doesn’t it? Fucking me here. Tell me. Tell me how good I am. Tell me I’m a good girl. Tell me you’re never going to be able to spend another second here without thinking of my pussy.”

You know she’s right, she’s leaving a part of herself here, branded into the very fabric of this bar that’s been your sanctuary. It has you pushing in deeper, a violent thrust of your hips, a little punctuation to drive her point home.

She swallows as you pick up speed, chokes on a half-formed moan—so, so fucking close. But you’ve only just begun.

Grabbing her hair, winding your fist in pink, pulling her up so she's forced to listen. The details on her face are all hazy, her makeups smudged from tears, from where she’s rubbed at her face, trying to keep the pleasure at bay. But that’s not how this goes. That’s not how any of this goes.

“You want to hear how good you’re being for me?” A harsh whisper for her, and it takes so much effort for her to just nod in response. “You want me to tell you all the filthy things I’m thinking? Everything that I’ve been dying to do to you?”

“Yes,” she pleads back. “Tell me, please—I need to hear it all.”

So you do. You lay it all on her. Every unfiltered, explicit thought you’ve had—every depraved fantasy that’s on the tip of your tongue whenever she’s around. You tell her all of it, how much of a whore you’re going to turn her into; how much of a slut you want to make her.

How this isn’t the last time. No, there’s going to be hours, days, weeks of this after.  Of you fucking her here, of her coming to you just to have another taste of your cock. It’s a revelation, a promise, and it fucking ruins her.

“Every single time you've walked into here, every single time you've sat across form me, I've thought about this," you're grunting now, giving in to the urgency that’s been building up in your chest, the pressure that’s been weighing on you for what feels like an eternity. “I’ve thought about bending you over this very bar. Making you beg for it, making you scream out my name when I fuck my cum into you. Making sure every single person out there knows that this cunt is mine to take whenever I fucking want.”

It’s so fucked, the effect that hearing all this has on her. The sound of your voice, your darkest desires, the harshness of your words, it’s all too much for her, it’s everything she’s ever wanted to be told.

You’re unlocking something in her, something she’s never admitted to anyone, not her closest friends, not her bandmates, not even herself. The way you speak to her, the way you’re treating her like a perfect little fuck doll—and you’re realising that maybe, just maybe, it’s because no one’s ever fucked her well enough to find out.

There’s no room here to be gentle, there’s no way in hell she’d ever want you to be. You tighten your grip in your hair, slam into her harder, skin slapping against skin, mixing with the wet sounds of her pussy taking all of you. Each cry you fuck out of her is music, each one a little higher pitched, a little more desperate than the last.

“This is what you want isn’t it?” You’re demanding of her, even when she’s blubbering, barely able to breathe let alone respond. Just trying to hold on.

But you’re not letting her.

You’re taking her to that place that’s beyond words, that’s beyond thought. The place where all she can do is feel and react. And she’s doing that so beautifully, her body shaking, her cunt quivering around your cock. It’s building and building, the things you’re doing to her, saying to her, making her choke on her own spit, making her eyes roll back and her mouth drop open, until all she can repeat, over and over again is your name.

“Again,” she shapes another word, another plea. She’s a total disaster of need. “Please, again, make me cum again.”

“You'll cum when I say you can,” you growl, forcing her to choke on another whine. The strangled noise goes straight to your cock; makes it throb harder inside her, drive deeper into her. You let go of her hair, only to palm her tit, squeezing into the flesh hard. Giselle jolts, a squeal escaping her lips. “But since you’ve been so good, I’ll let you cum before me again. Just this once. Just because it’s Christmas.”

You’re being evil, you know it, she loves it, but it's the best part. She clearly wouldn't want it any other way.

”Yes.” Giselle’s beaming, shivering with excitement. Getting fucked into utter ruins and thanking you for the privilege. “Thank you, use my pussy, do whatever you want, just let me cum.”

That sparks an idea, “Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want,” Giselle pants, not a single idea of what she’s agreeing to. But maybe that's the whole point. “Anything.”

There’s a grin that splits your face that you can’t help, that you don’t bother suppressing. “I’m not going to ask for permission anymore, Giselle. I’m just going to fuck you the way I want. Make you addicted to my cock. Take you how I want, cum in all your holes, fill you up over and over again.”

Giselle’s eyes go wide, nearly stops breathing entirely. So close. Knowing that the next words out of your mouth are going to decimate her completely.

“Gonna make you start the New Year knocked up.”

She freezes.

“God—” Giselle’s a fucking wreck, on the verge of something explosive, something else entirely. “Oh my God.”

She just needs you to give her that push.

“You love it, don’t you? Being made nothing more than a fucking cumdump for me? That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

You’re fucking her too hard, hammering into her too roughly, it’s a wonder that she can even manage a stuttered, “I—I—”

“Fucking say it, Giselle,” you say, “Spit it out.”

It’s too difficult for her to fit the words together, to form her reply, so it means all that more when she manages to tell you. “I want it.”

“Want what?”

“Your cum in me. All of it. Until I’m, until I’m—” She’s there, lost in it, in the idea of you ruining her in such a permanent, irreversible way. Or maybe completing her, making her whole, making her perfect for you and only you.

But you’re so close too. Right fucking behind her. All she has to do is say it.

“Until you breed me. Fill me with your cum, give it to me. I need it. Make me your permanent cocksleeve and never let me go. Make me yours—completely, forever yours. Make me your fucking whore.”

“Good girl.”

And with that, she’s gone.

Hits her like a fucking meteor. Leaping right off the most intense high she’s ever climbed. Bucking and quaking against your bar, your cock still impaled inside her, mercilessly undoing her. It’s nothing short of fucking pornographic, fucking depraved the way it’s destroying her.

Seizing her entire body in pleasure, her nails digging into the wood, scraping up marks that will prove to be a sweet, everlasting reminder of the exact moment she became yours. Fracturing her, breaking her apart into a million tiny pieces and then remaking her all over again as something purely sexual—something that only exists for your satisfaction.

“So fucking good, your cock, God it’s you, just you—” Giselle’s words dissolve into a keening cry that shatters the remaining silence of the bar. “Breeding me so good—”

Nothing short of a miracle that she’s still on her feet, that she can still do anything at all. One last thing she needs to do in the dying embers of her lucidity, one final goal—choke your cock with her cunt, wring you dry, make you flood her with your cum.

“Cum, cum, fill me, breed me, give me your—”

“Take it,” you exhale, “Take it all.”

And it’s Giselle in her entirety that overcomes you, overloading your senses with the pure, distilled feeling of just her. The smell of her sex, her perfume, the feel of her curves, her softness, the perfection that is her pussy, enveloping your cock, drenching it in her wetness. These things that you’ll never, ever be able to forget.

But it's her words that make you erupt.

“Breed me, Daddy!”

You cum deep into Giselle’s pussy.

Buried inside her, rushing white hot, thick and heavy. Ropes and ropes of it, spurting inside her, painting her insides, coating her walls until it’s just sheer heat and you making her whole.

Her cunt’s clenching around you, she’s begging, slurring moans and whimpers that there’s no fucking chance you have of comprehending—just basking in the knowledge that they’re desperate, needy sounds that are all for you.

She can’t keep it all in. But she needs to.

Something knocks the architecture out of her legs, but you’re quick enough to wrap your arms around her, holding her tight, keep her on her feet. Keeping her from collapsing entirely, just letting her pulse around you, clench and quiver.

You’re kissing her into the shoulder, cooing these affirmations, keeping her with you, telling her the truth of it all, “Such a good girl, Giselle. Taking my cum so well.”

Giselle can’t say anything. She sobs. Face buried in her hands. Not from pain, not even close. You’ve never seen pleasure look so much like agony. So much like release.

It’s overwhelming.

You try to make a move, take a step back. But Giselle flexes her cunt, clutching you tighter. Reaches back with her hand for your thigh to stop you.

“Wait,” she whispers. "Not yet. Don't move. Keep your cock inside me. Don't let a single drop get out."

You give her the time, because she’s just so perfect like this. So unfathomably gorgeous, all fucked up and cum-drunk. In ways no one should ever be. Like you’ve torn the wings off an angel, brought her down to Earth and made her yours.

You revel in it.

“Take your time,” you breathe; the exhaustion, the strain, the adrenaline pumping through your veins all coming to a head at once. Keeping your cock plugging up her cunt. Leaving all your cum inside.

Neither of you are moving anywhere. Not until she says so.

Giselle laughs.

“Perfect,” she sighs, voice hoarse and shaky. “I knew it would be perfect. I knew you would ruin me like this. God, I don’t ever want to go back.”

You’re laughing too, harsh, airless chuckles that feel like they’re being torn out of your chest. You twitch your cock inside her. “You think you have a say in the matter?”

“I guess I don’t,” she giggles.

You look around at the scene of the crime, the evidence you've left on her. The marks on her skin, her shoulder, her neck. The ruins of her dress, her panties. The tearing of her stockings. Her tear-filled eyes, her smeared mascara, her drooling lips.

And her cunt, so full of you, so very yours.

It’s barely believable. She may not have burned down the bar, but there’s certainly a fire that’s been set. One that’s not likely to die down anytime soon.

It has you swelling inside her all over again.

Gisele feels it.

“Say,” she starts, wriggling her hips against you, making you groan. “You didn’t have any Christmas plans, right?”

Your hands slip down to her hips, idly massaging into the small of her back. “None at all.”

Giselle’s laughter subsides into a contented exhale, her lashes fluttering as she looks at you with a soft smile. Her hand reaches back, caressing the side of your face. “And the rest of the year?”

“Nothing that can’t be cancelled.”

“Good,” she says, her breath sweet against your cheek. “Cancel them all. Close up for the holidays. Shut all the doors. Stay inside with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And do what?”

“Get to work,” Giselle answers, pulling you into a last kiss, threatening to undo you all over again. “You did promise to knock me up by New Years.”

[moonchildstyles]

complicated

y/n meets someone, only to find out that he's going to be her stepbrother

wordcount: 17.3k+

—————

(Y/N)'s mouth pinched as she looked at the aisles of wine before her. Knowing her Uncle Mick, he wasn't even going to have a sip, not when he had whisky in the cabinet instead. But, it felt wrong meeting his new girlfriend—fianceé, actually, as of last weekend—empty handed. She wanted to make a good first impression, especially since she hadn't made any serious efforts to come by and meet her until her uncle dropped the proposal on her. 

Truthfully, it was because of her uncle; he was a hopeless romantic who had told (Y/N) on more than one occasion that he had fallen in love with someone he'd just met in the years since his wife had passed. It was hard justifying taking time off from work and booking plane tickets for a short-lived relationship.

But, that obviously wasn't the case this time. He'd been raving about this woman—Anne—for the last six months. Enough so that he purchased a ring and wanted to marry her as soon as they could thread something together. And her Uncle Mick wanted her to be a part of the whole process—she was the daughter he never had, he'd said. 

So, even if he wasn't going to take a single sip of whatever rosé she picked out, she was going to do it anyway. She needed to get to know this woman and let her know that she was going to be welcomed with open arms into this small, but loving family. 

Perusing down the aisle, (Y/N)'s eye caught a bottle with a golden foiling around the cork. The label was especially pretty, printed in French with a year on it that would take at least a couple of minutes for (Y/N) to do the math on. It was pretty, and undoubtedly more worth more money than she planned on spending tonight. But, that was the point, she thought. 

She'd make more money, but her uncle wasn't going to get married again. (She hoped, anyway).

The only problem? It was on the very top shelf and nowhere near the edge. She wasn't going to be able to reach it unless she called for help from one of the employees wandering around here. They didn't particularly seem to be in the mood, though. She didn't blame them, what with this being how they spent their Friday evening, watching every patron come in looking for some liquor to kick the night off. 

Looking around, she wondered if there was anything around here, one of those pokers that many retail spaces used to get high up t-shirts off the top racks. She knew the idea was stupid before she even finished the thought, but she couldn't completely ignore the hope that fizzled in her chest. 

Okay, maybe if she stood on the tips of her toes and reached really hard, then jumped she could reach it. Yeah, she could try that. Hopefully, she would only be able to reach the bottle she wanted and not knock over the plenty of other ones lining the shelves. 

With her hand blindly reaching the top of the shelf, fingertips grazing the empty surface, (Y/N) readied herself to jump as high and controlled as she could. 

"Do y'need help?"

The stranger's voice knocked her out of her plan. At the end of the aisle was a man with curling brown hair looking at her with a pinch between his brows. He had a white button up covering his torso, a light blue cardigan slouching over his form. He didn't wait for his answer before he started towards her.

"Um," she started, dropping to stand flat on her feet, "Yeah, actually. Thanks." 

"Of course," he smiled, relief unstitching his brows. "'M happy I caught y'before y'jumped. I don't think that would have worked out like y'hoped." 

"Me neither," she laughed, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder, "But thank you. I was trying to reach the gold one on top." 

His smile was kind as he effortlessly reached for the bottle. (Y/N) couldn't help the way her eyes dropped over him, appraising every inch. Rings glittered on his hands, some with gaudy gems, others nothing more than brassy bands. The cardigan she had seen across the aisle was actually a knitted depiction of a cloudy sky, fluffs of clouds stitched into the material. His trousers were a warm brown, matching the belt cinched around his waist and shin of his shoes. As he reached, his hand had a cross inked between his thumb and forefinger. 

He was really cute. Really, really cute. In a real way, she considered if he was a model. Why a model like him, with a perfect nose and shattered green eyes, would be in the wine aisle of the liquor store of her home, she had no idea, but she was grateful for whatever circumstances put him here. 

Blinking away from him in hopes of concealing just how intently she had been staring at him, (Y/N) graciously took the offered bottle in his outstretched hand. 

"Thanks," she smiled, "Thinking now, I don't think my plan would have worked." 

The man in front of her settled in, hands in pockets as he gazed down at her. "Yeah? Rethinking the jump?" 

"Oh yeah," she laughed, "I think my bag alone would have knocked down an entire shelf." 

A short, breathy laugh fell from his lips. "Definitely. Would've ruined your night before 's even started." He gave a pointed look to the bottle in her hand. 

"Oh no, I'm just going to my uncle's house for dinner. He probably wouldn't have even noticed if I was soaked in wine with glass stuck in my jacket as long as he had food in front of him." 

The man hummed, giving a slow drag of his eyes over her form. "I don't know. You're hard to ignore." 

Her skin was decidedly warmer under his gaze. She couldn't bite back the grin that sparked over her features. 

"In a good way?" she chirped, blinking up at him as if he were the sun and she a flower. 

He had dimples. Her breath clung to her throat. 

"Only the best," he flirted, shifting on his feet as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He hesitated before reaching for the device. A beat passed as she let him read the notification, his lips thinning before glancing up at her. "I have to get going, but... I hope this isn't weird to ask, but could I have your number? Or whatever y'would want to share?" 

The man had come off so confident, approaching her without prompting. Lazily dragging his eyes over her with his hand shrugged in his pockets, entirely sure of what he could offer her should she take him up on it. But, now, asking for any way to contact her, he had struggled to find his words. She watched as he attempted to form the best way to ask for her number, a thin smile on his lips. 

She only nodded her head. "I can give you my number." 

The man before her brightened, dimples and bunny teeth on display. "Cool," he muttered, offering his phone up the same way he had offered the wine. 

Typing in her information, she glanced at him through her lashes. "My name's (Y/N), by the way." 

"Oh, yeah," he rushed out, breathing out a huff of laughter, "That's right—names. 'M Harry." 

"Nice to meet you, Harry," she smiled, passing his phone back, "Thanks, again." 

"Yeah, yeah," he grinned, looking down at the new contact on his phone. "Of course. I'll—um—I'll text you soon. Have a nice night at your uncle's." 

"Have a nice night," (Y/N) said, biting back her own grin.

Harry hesitated in his spot for a moment, looking at her with pretty green eyes and fluttering lashes before forcing himself to take off.

He only glanced back at her twice. 

—————

Sitting in her rental car, the drive to Uncle Mick's house mapped on her phone, (Y/N) took a moment in the silence. 

What kind of romantic comedy had she just found herself in? Giving out her number to random, pretty boys she met in the liquor store of all places. If she found out this had been a bad choice later, she would blame the cloud cardigan and the shades of green in his eyes. Anyone would melt when faced with those. 

Pushing the car into drive, (Y/N) allowed herself to wonder for a moment just how long she would have to wait for him to message her. She hoped she wouldn't have to wait very long at all before she had a chance to see him again. 

—————

(Y/N) felt out of breath as she approached the front door of her Uncle Mick's house, as if she had ran here instead of driven. 

The traffic on the way here had been humbling to say the least. And to think she called his place her hometown when she had turned into the wrong subdivision twice and was shocked every time another stoplight blocked what she remembered to be a straight path home. She could do another other than watch her arrival time drift further and further than the eight o'clock they had agreed upon. 

Clutching the neck of the wine bottle, (Y/N) figured thirty minutes late was better than not showing up at all. Despite having texted her uncle when she pulled up, she still pressed the doorbell. On the other side, she heard the clattering of overgrown feet with barking following shortly after. Flipper was awake, then. 

She was stuck outside for only a minute before the knob clicked and turned. Uncle Mick pulled the door open, smiling lips and crinkled eyes the first things she saw. 

"Hi, honey," he greeted, pulling her into a hug while Flipper went crazy behind him, "You made it." 

"Hi, Uncle Mick," she smiled, feeling suddenly emotional now that she was hugging him. It had been way too long since she saw him—the man that had raised her from the age of eleven. She hugged him especially tight at the thought. "I've missed you." 

"I've missed you, too. But you're here now, and we've got dinner warming in the oven for you." His kind smile only widened when he saw her gift in hand. "And you brought wine! Did I tell you this one was my favorite?" 

(Y/N) blinked. "Since when did you have a favorite wine?" she asked, passing off the wine as she locked the door behind herself. 

Her uncle shrugged, tipping his chin up in faux-superiority. "Can't a man change, (Y/N)? Or must I always drink acetone?" 

She let out a bubbling laugh as she followed after him, petting Flipper on his shaggy head. Trailing through the living room, she could see the lighting in the dining room, the chandelier that had gone unused for most of her childhood now lit at full power. A scented candle now dotted the coffee table, along with fluffy throw pillows and a knitted blanket on the sofa. 

The entire house seemed... softened. Eased into another phase of life that included delicate edges and soft-scented air. This woman must really be something to get Uncle Mick to take down his fish of the month calendar. 

Approaching the threshold, (Y/N) braced herself to follow after her uncle. She was going to have to start the night with an apology. 

Mick started the introduction, stepping aside when he said her name as if presenting her to a ballroom instead of his fianceé. 

"Sorry, I'm late. I—" 

Her words became stuck in her throat. 

Sitting in one of the four chairs at the small table was Harry. Cloud cardigan and all. 

What the fuck was he doing here?

"You alright, kiddo?" 

Blinking back to earth, (Y/N) nodded her head. "Yeah sorry," she muttered, forcing out a laugh, "I forgot what I was saying, as I was saying it." 

A round of laughter filled the room. Including Harry's. 

Making a point to avoid the end of the table that his chair sat, (Y/N) pointed her smile at the pretty, dark haired woman sitting right next to where her uncle had set himself up. 

"Sorry," she started, again, walking around the table to meet the woman halfway. "I wish I could have come around to meet you sooner. You must be Anne." 

(Y/N) had her hand outstretched to shake, only to be pulled into a warm hug. The embrace was soft and comforting, just like the effect she seemed to have on her uncle. 

"Don't worry," the woman, Anne, smiled, "Mick has told me all about your job, so I understand. Thank you for taking the time to come down and see us. It's wonderful to finally meet you." 

She had kind eyes, hazel with shatters of a familiar green. Just the reminder had a flush plucking at her cheeks, knowing who was sitting just behind her. 

"It's really nice to meet you too, Anne," (Y/N) smiled, hoping the natural turn of the conversation wasn't the one that this would take. 

Her hopes were shot down when Anne gestured behind her, her grin only widening. 

"(Y/N), this is my son, Harry. He's down visiting from work too." 

Harry. Harry was her uncle's—who was really like her father for all intents and purposes—fianceé's son. The man that would be as close to a bother as she could get as soon as this wedding happened, was the same one she had thought about going on a date with all during the drive here. 

He seemed to have the same shock running through his system as she stood from his chair. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Nice to meet you, (Y/N)."

Boundaries were maintained as they shook hands. Even if she was, unfortunately, taken aback by how large his palm was compared to hers. Warm and encompassing around her fingers. 

Matching his gaze, she could see the matching panic she was sure was also written on her face. They both felt that flirty energy in the wine aisle. They had only been cut off because they had somewhere to be—which happened to be the same place. 

Her name was in his phone with a pink heart emoji. 

And now they were just a wedding short of being step-siblings. 

"Nice to meet you, Harry." 

Forcing herself to pull her hand back, (Y/N) made the self-serving choice of looking towards her uncle. Whatever had conspired between her and Harry had gone unnoticed if the beaming grin on Mick's face was anything to go by. 

"I can help with dinner," (Y/N) offered, hoping for a reprieve in the form of the quiet kitchen, "You said it was in the oven, right?" 

"Oh yes, dinner," Uncle Mick laughed, "The lasagna is in the oven. Thank you, (Y/N)." 

That was all the permission she needed before scurrying off to the kitchen. She moved on robotic limbs to the appliance, but stopped short of pulling open the door.

Instead, she leaned over the stove, hands braced on the ledge. 

What kind of tragic comedy had she found herself in?

—————

"Goodnight, kiddo. Thanks for coming tonight." 

(Y/N) hugged her uncle that much tighter. She could hear the sincerity in his voice; this was about more than a dinner she had managed to make it down for. 

"Goodnight, Uncle Mick." 

Their embrace lasted a beat longer before she unraveled herself from his hold. Over his shoulder, she could see Harry having a moment with his mother. Seeing them side by side like that, the resemblance was so clear. Even down to the set of their teeth and the cheekbones. 

Especially when they smiled at each other like that. 

"Still on for breakfast in the morning?" Mick asked, fatherly affection painting his features. 

"If you can pick me up, yes," she conditioned, batting her lashes and beaming up at him. 

"As long as you're up and ready to go, I can make that happen." 

She pulled him into another hug to show her thanks. "I'll see you in the morning. Love you." 

"Love you too, kiddo. Get to bed so you don't keep me waiting." 

Heading towards the door, (Y/N) threw a glance over her shoulder, intending to wave to her uncle one more time, only to catch Harry following in her footsteps. Her lips thinned. She knew he was on his way out too, but she had hoped she was moving faster than him. Now It would be weird to rush out ahead of him and let the door slam in his face. Especially if this was now her soon-to-be stepbrother. 

Harry's pleading eyes met hers. Begging her to wait just a second for him. She supposed, even if she wanted to avoid it, they needed to talk about this at some point. 

Now, they both were waving goodbye to their respective parents. Final declarations of how nice it was to meet one another were shared, following them out onto the chilly stoop. Silence fell over them as the door sealed behind them. 

Just the two of them now. (Y/N) and her almost-stepbrother. (Y/N) and the guy she had just short of fantasized going on a date with only hours earlier. 

His steps slowed to match hers. 

"So," he started. 

She didn't offer any words. Was now when they acknowledged the obvious flirting they shared in the liquor store? Or were they going to save that for the wedding? 

"Kind of fucked up, huh?" 

At that, (Y/N) couldn't help but to laugh. The sound was surprisingly loud, breaking into the quiet neighborhood. 

"That's exactly what I was thinking," she murmured, coming to a stop next to her car. Daring to look up at him, she caught him already looking down at her. His eyes were just as pretty now as when she saw him for the first time that night. Before she knew her adoptive dad was marrying his mom. "Did you... You didn't know before, right?" 

A pinch appeared between his brows. "No. Had no idea. The last time I was down here was two years ago, when I helped my mum move."

"That's crazy. The last time I was here was two years ago, too." 

A rueful smile touching his lips. They were both having the same thought. 

If only...

"They seem really happy together, though," (Y/N) posited, knowing they were going to have to accept the terms of their newfound relationship. 

"Really happy," Harry agreed, glancing back at her childhood home, "'S been a long time since I've seen my mum that happy." 

"Same for my uncle." (Y/N) nodded her head, her smile thin when Harry turned back towards her. Whatever she had started knitting for him this evening, now needed to be severed. "It was really nice to meet you, Harry. Thanks for everything tonight." 

Faint dimpled dented his cheeks. "It was nice to meet you, (Y/N). Get back to your hotel safe." 

"You, too," she reciprocated, pulling open her car door. Harry took a step back, his hands in his pockets as his eyes followed her. "Oh," she gasped, "You should probably change my name in your phone, by the way. I think the emoji might throw some people off." 

At that, she was granted Harry's bursting laughter as she climbed into her car. She probably felt a little bit too much pride over that. 

Pulling out of her uncle's driveway and out into the street, she couldn't help but peek into her rearview. Though a part of her wanted to think Harry had his eyes following her, the other part of her was quick to send a reminder that that wasn't something she should want. Not anymore. 

While there wasn't anything serious that had conjured between them, the potential having been torn from their hands was enough to feel a little bit of loss. They hadn't even had time to mess it all up themselves. 

Now they'd never know. 

 —————

Tucked away in her cubicle, (Y/N) smiled at her phone. 

The group chat labeled Wedding Party complete with every floral emoji the keyboard had to offer was going crazy. But, she still went to the single message from Harry first. 

     I love my sister so much but I think I'm going to have to block her if she sends one more Pinterest board to my mum. This whole thing was supposed to be small and now we're looking at a gelato bar for the reception.

     There wasn't even supposed to be a reception.

She covered her mouth as if that would make the grin growing over it obsolete. She knew well what he was going through. For the first two months of this engagement, all talks of the wedding had been flippant, that the ceremony would happen when it happened. In a matter of weeks, everything had changed. There was now a joint bachelor and bachelorette party to plan. 

Harry had been her lifeline through this roller coaster. They didn't talk about the night in the wine aisle, never breaching the previous terms of their acquaintance. Instead, they had grown to be friends. Good friends. The kind of friends that had separate conversations outside of group chats. The kind that would send anything that reminded them of one another. They had inside jokes now. 

They were friends. Soon to be step siblings. 

(Though, even if it wasn't something she acknowledged, (Y/N) knew good and well there was a phantom following her any time she interacted with Harry. That phantom never let her forget that she was still attracted to him. Even if no action could be taken, she wasn't going to be able to forget him as the man in the cloud cardigan with the pretty eyes and freckled nose).

     I'm supposed to be figuring out a bachelor party and I think I would rather die than think about what my Uncle Mick would want to do on his last night as a "single man"

     I might just change my number actually and hope no one notices 

     Hahahahahaha

     And now we both get to be there for that last "single" night. Thrilling stuff! 

     You'd still let me have your number though, right?

She didn't want to admit how her cheeks warmed reading his texts. Maybe because it was something she wanted to see—though she'd never admit to as much out loud—, but she swore there was still that flirty undertone to the way he spoke to her. Like he wasn't quite over things like they were supposed to be. 

     Of course

     I'm scared you'll go crazy without it and I still need you for the actual wedding 

It was a small indulgence, telling him she needed him. While she wouldn't act like there was something astronomical that had been built between them, it was hard to ignore the fact that the more she spoke with him, it didn't exactly tamp down her feelings for him. 

     I know you do.

(Y/N) blinked at her phone screen. She could hear the words in his voice, that drawling accented voice. The way his eyes would have connected with hers had they been speaking in person. How there would have been a quirk in his lips, a reminder that this was very much a silly, lighthearted joke even if a part of her short-circuited. 

Ignoring everything else, (Y/N) typed out a lame, noncommittal response ("You wish lol") before locking her phone and placing it face down on her desk. The email in her inbox suddenly sounded a lot more appealing than they had only a few minutes prior. Even making the copies she had been putting off for the whole morning had suddenly been pushed up the to-do list. 

Anything to keep herself busy—too busy to think about Harry. 

She would be seeing him again soon because of the bachelor/rette parties that were coming up within the next month, and she needed to have her head on straight. It was embarrassing to be so distracted, caught up in someone she'd only met in person once. A total of maybe six hours had been spent together that entire weekend she had visited home, counting both the initial dinner and the brunch before the both of them were to jet back to their respective homes. Each of those hours had even been buffered by the attendance of their parents. 

And yet, here she was. 

Forcing herself out of her seat, (Y/N) made her way to the copy room. Everything was going to be okay, she reminded herself, fiddling with the blunt edge of her master copies in her hands. She was going to see Harry, be so clearly and readily reminded that she was going to be his stepsister for all intents and purposes, and every affection she held for him was going to dry up. All she needed was to meet him once more, and wipe away the liquor store meeting from her head. 

Everything was going to be fine. Perfectly fine. 

As long as she somehow figured out how to mash the idea of a fancy dinner for Anne's bachelorette party with a fishing trip for Uncle Mick's bachelor counterpart. 

—————

(Y/N) scrolled to yet another page of search results. 

If she saw any more party bus and strip club ideas for a joint bachelor/bachelorette party, she was going to scream. There was no way she was going to down shots and dance on a pole around her uncle and her soon to be stepfamily. 

There wasn't a single chance that she was the first to ever plan something like this for an older couple. Someone—one of the billions in the world—would have undoubtedly come up with an idea far before her. And yet, she was on the third page of google results, and she knew if she drifted to the fourth, she was done for. 

There had to be at least something nearby that could check the boxes for both sides of the honored couple. 

She was this close to booking reservations at a restaurant that had a claw machine for diners to pick out their "lobster" (looking at photos, it appeared to just be a handful of plastic lobster figurines based off of a cartoon). If Gemma hadn't already taken on so much with her mother, including planning out many elements of the wedding itself, (Y/N) would have just short of begged her to come up with something. But, that wasn't fair. She wanted to be a good soon-to-be sister and take something off of Gemma's plate, especially since she had apparently recently welcomed her first baby. 

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) rubbed her temples. She needed to focus and make a decision. The reserved weekend was only a handful of weeks away, and she needed to get these plans finalized before it was too late. 

At her side, her phone buzzed, the vibration scaring (Y/N) out of her skin for a brief second. 

Blindly reaching, she brought her phone up, effectively blocking her laptop screen. A text message had come through. From Harry. 

     Are you busy?

She sighed, lips thinning as she debated answering. While she was busy, the idea of being distracted sounded much more fun than looking at another aquarium dining space—complete with a tab that would take her months to work off. 

    Not really why??

With that, a call came through. Also from Harry. 

(YN) clutched her phone. She'd only talked to him on the phone once, and it was brief. He'd hadn't been able to reach his mother and needed quick directions to the brunch spot he met them that first weekend. She had barely talked to him, passing along the phone to his mother in the same breath as her greeting. 

Tapping her thumb on the green circle, (Y/N) accepted the call before she could think better of herself. It was just Harry, she drilled into her head. Just Harry—a friend and nothing more. 

"Hello?" 

"Hey, you," was his greeting, his accented voice flowing through the speakers in a way that almost felt offensive. How dare he answer he as if he was just as happy to hear her voice as she was for him? 

"What's going on?" she forced out, hoping it sounded a lot more casual than she felt. 

Harry let out a sigh, the sound of rustling fabric audible in the background. "Nothing jus' trying to figure out m'plans for the stag weekend. Figured I'd call you since y'have all the answers." 

His tone had been teasing, lilting through a smile. He knew she had been struggling to figure out what to plan for everyone, but she hadn't revealed just how much of a problem she was having. The last time they had even really discussed the topic was a week ago, when she felt as if she had all the time in the world to thread something together. 

Today, after looking at the calendar and the countdown to the agreed upon dates, his poking didn't feel so funny. 

"Um, yeah," she muttered, running a stressed hand down her face, "I'm figuring out everything right now, and finalizing stuff. I'll let you know for sure when I can." 

A brief pause settled between them. 

"(Y/N)," Harry started, his voice decidedly gentle compared to the teasing a moment before. "Y'alright?" 

"Hm? Oh, yeah, sorry," she murmured, stumbling over her thoughts. "It's just been a little bit of a long week, so I'm really tired." 

She meant to finish on a breathy laugh, lighthearted even if she didn't really feel that way.  Instead, it came off as just a little bit sad. 

"Bad week? Or jus' a lot?"

"A lot," (Y/N) sighed, "But it's alright. I think once I get everything figured out for the party, I'll be fine." 

"If y'want, I can take over some things. I can make calls or set up reservations. Whatever y'need." 

A small quirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "That would  be really nice, Harry," she started, resigning herself to telling the truth, "but, I actually haven't picked out anywhere or decided anything yet. It's a lot harder to plan something that has the vibe of a fishing trip, but served high-class food. The closest I've found is this place with a 'lobster' claw machine." 

(Y/N) didn't have to see him to know he blanched at the idea, his scoff evidence enough that he was on the same page as her. 

 "Yeah , that might not be what mum's looking for," Harry laughed. (Y/N) wished she could see his dimples. "I can take a look around too, though. It might help to have some more eyes."

Her lips thinned at the idea. She was supposed to be taking this on by herself; Gemma and Harry had enough on their plate, it didn't feel fair to pawn any more tasks off. 

"I don't know," she mumbled, "You and your sister are already don't so much, I don't want to—" 

"(Y/N), 's alright. 'S just a couple of google searches, 's not a big deal," Harry interrupted her, his voice gentle, "'M getting a little worried about you." 

He ended with a breath of laughter, though (Y/N) found it hard to buy that he wasn't sharing a little bit of honesty with her. 

With her bottom lip between her teeth, (Y/N) blinked at her laptop screen once more. If she had to figure out how to reword "fancy fishing restaurant" one more time, she might explode. If anything, it would be nice to take a small break from attempting to make these decisions. 

"That would be nice, Harry. Thank you."

She could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke again, "See? I told you, y'needed me." 

(Y/N) didn't even attempt to argue.

—————

Through bleary eyes, (Y/N) caught the time on her phone. One in the morning. The phone call with Harry had just hit over the four hour mark. 

"But, yeah," Harry laughed, cutting himself off with a small yawn, "I don't plan on going to any of my school reunions. I don't think it'd go over very well." 

(Y/N) let out a peal of laughter, the noise quiet and tired. "I think you should; it would be very funny, at the least." 

"Maybe," he hummed, "If I don't get arrested." 

"For something that happened ten years ago? I don't know," she countered, singing the syllables, "We'll only know for sure if you go." 

"Then y'have to come with me. If I get in any trouble, 'm making it your problem." 

It could be the late hour making her delirious, or the fact that she wasn't able to convincingly lie to herself at the moment, but it felt like something to have Harry casually make those future plans with her. 

"I'll be there," she cemented through a sleepy smile. 

A pause settled between them, the sound of rustling sheets audible through the phone.

"I should let y'go, (Y/N). 'S later than I thought," he drawled, "I didn't mean to keep you up." 

"No, it's okay," she insisted, "This was nice. Thank you for helping me—and hanging out with me tonight." 

I missed you is what she wanted to say. Just barely was she able to choke the thought back. 

"You've got me, you know that," he promised, "But, all of the confirmations and everything should go to you. If you need anything though, you can send them to me, I don't mind." 

"Thanks, H," she hummed, letting her eyes fall to a close. "I'll talk to you soon?" 

"Of course—I'll probably start bothering you first thing in the morning." He spoke as if his first text message wasn't going to be the highlight of her day. 

"That'll be nice," she let slip, incredibly warm with the tufts of her bedding fluffed around her, "And I'll actually see you in a few weeks." 

"That'll be really nice," Harry said, something running under his tone she was too tired to examine, "'M excited, (Y/N)." 

"Me too," she yawned. 

"Goodnight, (Y/N)," Harry drawled, tongue lingering over her name, "Sleep well" 

"Goodnight, Harry," she smiled.

There was a brief moment. A pause where neither of them hung up.

(Y/N)'s breath caught, suddenly so awake compared to just a moment ago. 

Then the call cut. 

Four hours on the phone with him, leaving with sore, smiling cheeks and drooping, sleepy eyes. 

In three weeks, she would see him again for the first time in months. Everything was going to be fine—and normal. 

—————

"To mum and Mick. Congratulations." 

Flutes of champagne were raised over a white-tableclothed table, sparkling and golden. Smiling faces were shared over the setting, blushing cheeks on Anne's face with an eye-crinkling smile on Uncle Mick's. The clinking of the glasses sounded in the quiet, reserved space before being brought to smiling lips. 

A wonderful way to end dinner. 

(Y/N) couldn't help but to meet Harry's eyes across the flute. He was already looking at her, bouncing his brows when he caught her attention.

She looked away first, cheeks warming. 

"Thank you, Gem," Anne smiled, voice sing-songing over the syllables. "I love you so much, you know." 

Gemma only smiled at her mother. That was definitely the third glass of champagne beginning to talk. "I love you too, mum. Just as much." 

Anne's eyes watered, glossing the already glazed look over her irises. "Both of you," she said, looking to her children, "The best, you are. I couldn't be luckier." 

Gemma shared a sly smile with her husband at her side as Harry opened his mouth to take on his mother's emotional reaction. Only for Anne to cut him off, turning her attention to (Y/N).

"And, you," she started, folding her hands over her heart, "I couldn't be more excited to have you in my family. Thank you for everything you've done for Mick." 

Though (Y/N) thought it was a little bit funny, the slur to Anne's words and the overly affectionate way she spoke to her, but she couldn't help but to match a bit of that emotion. It was nice to hear something so loving, and know that she would be there for her Uncle Mick when (Y/N) wasn't able to. 

"Of course," she smiled, hoping no one noticed the slight sniffle of her nose, "I can't wait to be a part of your family either. I know my Uncle Mick is very lucky to have you." 

It was then that Anne broke, letting out a stream of sobs. (Y/N) watched as her Uncle had his own soft smile on his face, amused at his bride's antics though there was a matching sheen to his eyes. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, looking at the guests in attendance. 

"Tonight was very special, you guys. Thank you," he smiled, complete joy in his eyes, "I think it's time we head home." 

Gemma was quick to agree, a gentle hand on her mother's arm. "Us too," she smiled, glancing at her husband, "It's time we get back and let the sitter go home." 

When neither Harry nor (Y/N) disagreed, no one hesitated to start getting up and readying for the journey home. Jackets were donned, and eyes were wiped. While Anne was busy with her children,  her hushed voice emotional, Uncle Mick came right to (Y/N).

"Thanks, kiddo. Really," he muttered, "This was perfect—and I doubt it was easy." He cast his gaze through the bow windows encompassing this private room.

Outside, the shining lake rippled under the moonlight, dock rocking in the waves. The elegance Anne had requested came in the crown molding and clean decor, while Mick's requests came through in the dock outside and the fresh seafood from the kitchen. How (Y/N) had overlooked this place through her searches, she wasn't sure, but she wasn't sure she would have been able to do this without Harry. 

"Harry helped a lot," (Y/N) specified, beaming up at Mick, "But I'm happy you liked it. I'm happy you're happy."

Seeing the way he looked over his shoulder at his bride-to-be, (Y/N)'s heart almost burst. How truly lucky were they. The perfect movie they made. 

"Love you, kiddo," Uncle Mick murmured, wrapping her in a hug, "You going back to the hotel?" 

"Probably," she nodded, "We're still looking for your suit tomorrow, right?" 

"Yeah," her uncle sighed, not entirely excited at the idea of the outfit, but willing to do what it took to make his soon-to-be wife happy. "I'll pick you up, okay?" 

"Thank you," she smiled, giving him one more hug. "Goodnight." 

"Goodnight," he smiled, dropping a kiss to the top of her head before departing. 

Anne was passed from her daughter to her almost-husband, happily falling into his arms with loose limbs. She gave a noncommittal wave to the group following after her.

Gemma was the next to depart, hugging (Y/N) and sharing her thanks for planning this part of the evening. Harry didn't attempt to take any of the credit, only watching quietly until it was his turn to bid goodnight to his sister and brother-in-law. 

Out in the parking lot, the pavement bathed in moonlight, (Y/N) rubbed at her thinly covered arms. 

Just she and Harry were left. 

"Tonight turned out really well," Harry commented, a dimpled smile on his face, "Good job, (Y/N)." 

She shook her head. "I just confirmed everything, and you know that. Thank you for getting this all taken care of." 

Harry shrugged, shoulders lifting though he kept his eyes trained on her. It had been like this for most of the night; his undivided attention had clung to her like a second skin. He came back to her every time. The end of every conversation was punctuated by his look to her face, gauging her reaction. It was thrilling, though the thrill was tempered from the fact that she knew she wasn't supposed to keen under his attention like that.

Looking out towards the water that had set the scene for the evening, (Y/N) could feel his eyes on her. She felt a bit crazy, her skin prickling under his attention. There was a large part of her that dreaded the fact that she had to head back to her hotel alone now. They'd barely had time to speak to one another as a group, let alone on their own. She doubted they would have a chance like this again for the rest of the weekend. 

Harry was her family now. Maybe some extra time with him was all she needed to officially understand that. Overwrite those previous flirty memories of him with something much more appropriate. 

That was why she wanted to keep the night going. That was why she opened her mouth, question on the tip of her tongue. 

"Did you..." (Y/N) started, carefully picking her words as she kept her gaze out on the lake, "Are you tired?" 

She could cringe at the sound of her voice tripping over her question.  

"Not really," he drawled, smile audible in his voice, "Are you?" 

"Not really," she repeated, daring to match his gaze. Her skin warmed when she caught him with his eyes already engaged on her. With the moon above draining the world of color around them, his eyes somehow still acted as a beacon, the green rippling like the lake. "Do you want to get a drink, or something?" 

His dimples were cast in shadow, denting his cheeks as his grin grew. "I think I saw a bar not too far from here when I booked this, if y'don't mind walking." 

While her dress didn't exactly agree with the weather, the chilly breeze kicking up the hem and casting goosebumps over her skin, there wasn't a single part of her that could find a reason to decline. 

"Lead the way." 

—————

"After you." 

Harry opened the door with a flourish, bending at the waist as he gestured (Y/N) through the doorway. It was entirely too dramatic, especially for the kind of bar he had taken her to. A peal of laughter left her lips.

The inside of the bar was much warmer than the chilly air outside, enough so that even with the thin jacket on her arms, (Y/N) started to sweat. After Harry entered behind her, the door closed, sealing behind them. 

The nautical bar was a drastic change to the restaurant they had just left. 

Fishing nets were strewn over the ceiling, filled with weather torn life-preservers, various starfish, oysters and clam shells. Sparkling pearls were dotted throughout. The walls were decorated with different portraits depicting sea-faring legends and the glorious ships they sailed. Creaky floorboards sounded under their feet, the lumber matching that that boarded up the walls and made the majority of the round tables of the bar. The bartop itself was a candy apple-red, sleek and only a little scuffed. The mirrored back wall of the bar was lined with liquor, reflected int the low light of the establishment, only a single bartender fixing drinks for people (Y/N) had no doubt were a mix of regulars, and people like she and Harry who were just looking for a drink after touring through the area. 

When a gentle hand landed on her back, ushering her forward, (Y/N) stiffened. Blinking behind her, she knew the touch came from Harry, though it still had her throat running dry just to see that it was, in fact, him looking out for her.

He cast his eyes around them as they slowly approached the bar, the whining floorboards louder than his voice, "'S a little different than the pictures online." 

"Yeah?" she smiled, following his eyes to the portrait of a fishing captain with a sopping beard and hardened eyes. Truthfully, (Y/N) worried that if she looked away and then glanced back at the painting, a skeleton or ghoul would be in his place. "I can't believe that." 

Harry let out a breathy laugh at her joke. Stepping to the bar, he didn't build upon their teasing, instead, pulling one of the vinyl stools out for (Y/N) to sit. Taking the proffered seat, she pretended to study the liquor bottles behind the bar instead of just how close Harry was now that he took the spot at her side. Especially when he settled in with his legs spreading, his knee touching hers. 

 "You kno—" 

"What can I get you two?" 

The gruff voice of the bartender cut Harry off unceremoniously, his tired eyes flicking between the two of them impatiently. 

"(Y/N)?" Harry murmured, letting her go first as if she was going to be able to concentrate when she heard the syllables of her name wrapped in his voice. 

"Um," she stumbled, looking at the bottles behind the barkeep as if it were a menu, "A—uh—a cosmo? Or just a vodka cranberry? Something like that." 

The bartender bounced his brows as he grunted. He must not have liked (Y/N)'s answer as much as she didn't. Harry's order went much smoother, even if he did have to wipe the sly smile off of his lips as he asked for a whiskey, neat. 

As soon as the man who could have easily been the subject of one of the paintings left them be as he started their drinks, (Y/N) hung her head in her hands. "Oh my god," she quietly groaned. 

Harry nudged her with his shoulder, ducking his head to conspire with her though she didn't really feel like he was on her side given the way he had to bite back his amusement. "It wasn't that bad." 

"Yes it was," she laughed, "I thought he was going to ID me and think it was a fake." 

He shrugged. "We've got time." 

(Y/N) let out a laugh, feeling a little less embarrassed as she turned to look at him, cheek cushioned by her hand. It was quite the feeling, to know that they really did have time. At least for tonight (after their parents joint bachelor/rette parties, of course). Then, she would come to her senses, and live the rest of her life with Harry as her legal sibling. 

"Right. We've got time." 

—————

"Harryyy."

"Yes?" 

"Harryyy."

"Yes, (Y/N)?"

"Harryyy—" 

Putting his hand out, Harry stopped her from spinning on her stool. (Y/N)'s singsong voice stopped right in its tracks when she saw him, warmth creeping up her neck, though she doubted it was from the alcohol. Even if there was a lot of that in her system. 

"What, (Y/N)?" he laughed, craning his neck as he crowded around her. 

"Do you think they'd let me do karaoke, even if there isn't a stage?" 

Another bright laugh left Harry's lips at her words. "I think there might be a little more missing than jus' the stage, but 'm sure we can work something out. You've got to ask first, though." 

Giving a slight incline of his head, (Y/N) followed to see him gesturing to the bartender. The one person in the whole room she was sure would immediately shoot down her idea. As if it wasn't a fun one. 

"H, you know he's going to say no." 

"I don't know," Harry crooned, "Y'should probably ask. He might like karaoke, too." 

A light could have pinged over her head. He really could like karaoke, he's just shy about it. It would only take a little bit of convincing, maybe even a song or two, and he'd be so on board. Should she start with a ballad or a—

(Y/N) felt someone crowd around her, static running down her back. Harry looked over her head, lips thinning. 

"Hey stranger." 

Blanching at the greeting, (Y/N) whipped her head around. Behind her was a vaguely familiar face. She couldn't place the name, but she knew this man. Even if he was a bit harder to recognize out of uniform.

And acting way more familiar than a waiter should. 

"Hi," (Y/N) answered with an owlish blink. 

The man paused, as if waiting for something more to come out of her mouth. Nothing did. 

He let out an awkward laugh, thrown off by her lack of response. "Wedding things over for the night?" 

Behind her, she could hear Harry shifting over his seat. Just that much closer to her, his knee brushing against hers. 

"For tonight, yeah," he answered for her, "Jus' getting a couple of drinks before going back home." 

The man hummed, nodding his head. He didn't pay much attention to Harry, only looking at him for as long as it took him to finish his words before he was stitching his eyes back to (Y/N). 

"You should've told me you were looking to go out tonight. I could have shown you the good spots." 

It was a bit childish the way she pouted at him. "This place is good," she countered. 

She wasn't going to let him speak bad about this place. Harry picked it and she was having fun. 

"Well yeah, but," he started, "There's a couple of other places that look a little more your speed."

"I'm having fun here," she insisted, reaching blindly back towards Harry, "He picked it. I like it." 

It was odd the way he looked at her. The way he followed her hand as she found his leg. He looked through her, searching for something more. 

"Aren't you..." he started voice trailing off before Harry stepped in. 

"I think we're alright for now, man," Harry said, "I think we're gonna head home soon, anyway." 

Whatever this man had been looking for before had been pushed to the wayside. Something a little too fast flash through his eyes for her to decipher, though the brown of his irises lacked some of the flirty warmth from before.

He decidedly ignored Harry, looking towards (Y/N) as if Harry hadn't spoken at all. 

"Let me buy you a drink at least," he charmed, dipping his head until he was level with her. "I can't lie, I was hoping that dinner wasn't the only time I'd see you." 

(Y/N) blinked. She opened her mouth to say something disjointed and a little too drunk back, only for Harry to pipe up.

"I think we're alright; the tip we left earlier should have been enough. Thanks." 

His hand landed gently upon her own where it sat on the cuff of his knee, warming her skin.

That searching look was back on the man's face, gaze locked on their hands. 

"I thought... Isn't she your sister?" the man blanched, scoffing. 

"Actually," (Y/N) hiccuped, "I'm his stepsister. But, not even that, if you want to get specific. His mom is marrying my uncle, so it's, like, legally even less than that." 

(Y/N)'s bubbling didn't make much sense, but it didn't appear that this man was listening anyway. He only looked towards Harry, as if he was the one that was attempting to argue these details. A frown tipped her lips.  

"We're alright, mate." 

The man paused for a moment. Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, "Weird," before stalking away. 

Her brows knitted together as she watched him leave to haunt a different corner of the bar, a group of people she hadn't noticed before welcoming him in with conspiratorial glances and whispered voices. 

"Sorry," Harry muttered behind her, causing her to whirl on the stool to face him, "I should have asked if you..." 

She canted her head at him. She was too drunk for things to not be spelled out. "What?" 

He let out a short laugh, dropping his gaze from hers as he knuckled at his nose. "I... Did y'want to talk to him? I didn't mean to get involved if y'were..." 

"No," (Y/N) shook her head, "He was being annoying. Was he from the restaurant?" 

There was a line holding Harry's shoulders that seemingly was cut loose then, dropping the lines of his body into something much more relaxed. "He was, yeah. Can't remember his name, though." 

"Me neither!" she blurted, reaching towards him with her hands landing on his shoulders, "I thought I was just really drunk, so that's nice to—"

As if on command, she suddenly stumbled from her stool, falling into him with a gasp. Harry didn't hesitate before his hands landed on her waist, steadying her with a tight grip. Her heart bounced around her chest as she came down from. Looking up at him through the fan of her lashes, she saw him already watching her, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

"Y'alright?" he asked, a pinch between his brows. 

"Yeah, sorry," she answered, simply, melting into him despite being more than capable of settling into her own spot once more. He was too comfortable, too warm, too everything she had been thinking about for months now to move on. And she was too tipsy to know better. "Thanks for catching me." 

With her cheek pressed against his chest, Harry's hold on her shifted until he had his arm around her middle. The other waved down the bartender. 

"I think 's time we get y'home, love." 

"No," she whined, "We just got here." 

The laugh he let out rumbled underneath her cheek, warming her further from the sound alone. "Maybe a few hours ago. You've got a big day tomorrow anyway, y'need to sleep." 

"Maybe," she sighed, eyes fluttering to a close as Harry handled their tab. "Are you coming tomorrow? For the suits?" 

"No," he murmured distractedly, "'M going home tomorrow, remember?"

"But you just got here," she argued, suddenly offended at the idea of airports and planes and flight times. What was the point of any of that if that meant Harry would be miles and miles away from her again? 

"I know," he smiled, standing from his spot with a guiding hand on her back, "But we'll see each other again soon, okay? I'll make sure of it." 

She didn't doubt his promise. If Harry wanted to see her, he would make it happen. 

(Y/N) could only stare at him with stars in her eyes, warmth simmering under her skin. 

They had time, she reminded herself. Even if just tonight. 

—————

"C'mon, (Y/N). Gotta help me, love." 

"Okay." 

"Love, you've gotta stand up on your own for a second, 'kay? Jus' until I get the door open, then I can help y'again." 

"Okay." 

"(Y/N)." 

"Hm?" 

Harry sighed, the curve of his lips audible. Looping his arm tightly around her waist, he continued attempting to get the keycard to her hotel room to work, all while she clung to him, almost sliding down his body now that he wasn't devoting all of his attention to steadying her. 

She was too tired. How could he expect her to stand up on her own when she was so tired she almost fell asleep on the way here? It was unrealistic. Especially when he was offering his body as her crutch; he was warm like a blanket, firm yet forgiving at the same time. The perfect kind of pillow. 

A faint technological beep came from behind her. Harry fiddled around for a moment before he was clutching her again. 

"C'mon," he murmured through an amused smile, guiding her inside though she didn't bother to turn around and face forward with her steps. Instead, she let Harry do the heavy lifting, getting her through the threshold and letting the lumbering door click to a close behind them. 

Her hotel room was small and rudimentally furnished, stiff carpet under their feet. When she had checked in, she hadn't thought much of the space. Now, through bleary eyes with Harry holding her so carefully, it was the prettiest, coziest, most comforting place she'd ever come to spend the night in. 

Her clothing was still strewn out of her opened suitcase, the lamp on the side of her bed turned on with the television streaming the default channel for the hotel. A normal, sober part of herself would have felt a bit embarrassed at the sight of her panties hanging out of her luggage, knowing Harry would no doubt spot it. But, she wasn't normal or sober. She was drunk and clinging to Harry like a lifeline. 

"There we go," Harry mumbled, depositing her on the edge of her bed. He stood before her, running a hand through his hair. "Y'gonna be alright?" 

"Mhm," she hummed, looking up at him with what she was sure were hearts in her eyes, "Are you?" 

Harry laughed. His smile, dimples and all, was more intoxicating than any mixed drink could hope to be. "I think I'll be alright, (Y/N)." 

She canted her head as she looked up at him, taking in the rumpled collar of his white shirt, now sporting a smudge of her pink lipstick. "Do you really have to leave tomorrow?" 

His lips thinned as he gazed down at her. "Yeah. I do." 

Her lips puffed into a pout, wandering hands reaching for the hem of his shirt. "When am I going to see you again, then?"

"I don't know," he answered, lips into a lopsided smile, "Before the wedding, hopefully?" 

"Just hopefully?" she whined, using her grip on his shirt to tug him down until he was forced to flop onto the mattress at her side. "I thought we'd see each other more when we found out... everything." 

Harry only let out a heavy sigh. His eyes glanced around her face, searching through the planes of her features. "I know." 

(Y/N) laid back on her bed, suddenly hit with a weight that she had avoided thinking about for the last few hours. She could feel Harry's eyes following her.

"I don't want to be mean," she said, speaking quietly in the empty of the hotel room, "But it kind of sucks, right?" 

A beat passed. 

"What do y'mean?" His voice was strained. She didn't need to look at him to know that he knew what she meant. 

"Like," she started, matching his gaze, "You know. Everything. I'm happy for them, but... We get along so well, you know? At least I think we do." 

A small quirk tugged at his lips. A sad curl. "We do, don't we?" 

"I think we would have had a lot of fun," she smiled, biting back a yawn. 

"Aren't we already?" he asked, falling back to lay beside her. 

This close, (Y/N) was able to see the details that had made her heart race all those months ago. The shatters of green in his irises. The sprinkle of freckles along his nose. The scar on his chin. The uneven stubble shadowing his cheeks. 

"Yeah," she exhaled, tone dreamy. She reached for him, her fingers grazing over the warmth of his cheek. "I just—I thought, when we met...I thought it would be different for us." 

Harry didn't say anything. His eyes fluttered closed as she touched his face, fingertips grazing over the lines of his features. Touching his cupid's bow had her heart hammering in her chest.

"Didn't you?" 

When Harry blinked his eyes open, he matched her gaze unabashedly. "I did." 

Reaching up to grab her hand, he laced their fingers together and pulled the bundled limbs to his chest. "But, we're alright like this, don't y'think?" he murmured, that sad smile back on his face, "At least we never had a chance to mess anything up." 

She knew he was attempting to spin her thoughts into something hopeful. That they would be happy and partners in crime together like this for the rest of their lives. And it would be okay. There would never be a need or even a thought for anything more. 

But, all that stood out to her was that they never had a chance. 

(Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth, a well of emotion crashing behind her ribs. "We never had a chance." 

"Oh, (Y/N)," he crooned, collecting her in his arms until her cheek was cushioned in his neck and his arms were a comforting cage around her waist. 

She melted into him, reveling in the warmth of his hold and the blocks of muscle making up his body. There was so much softness to him, with the way he touched her, the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her. So much she could have gotten to know, she thought. There were always going to be parts of him that she wouldn't know.

"I miss you already," she whispered. 

"You know I've got you, love. 'M always here." 

"Not in the way I want." 

It was bravery in the form of alcohol and the lack of eyes on her face that made it so easy for the words to slip out. Though it didn't feel so right when his hands on her back paused. 

It felt even worse when he started disentangling himself from her hold, the phantom of his arms lingering around him. He slowed when he caught her eye, his own a bit sad to match the own on his lips. 

"I know," he whispered, "Me too, (Y/N). But, we're going to be alright. Like this, we're going to be okay." 

She didn't stop him when he left her hotel room, the door clicking behind him. He will be on a flight tomorrow, leaving her once more.

Hopefully, he had said, that they would see one another before the wedding. Though, in the silence of the suite, (Y/N) didn't have to be sober to know she had been a mistake, speaking so blatantly. The hope he had shared that they would see each other again before the wedding was no doubt diminished. 

Blinking up at the texture of the ceiling, she sighed. 

What the fuck had she done?

—————

"My uncle said he can pick me up from the airport, so that should be fine." 

"Good, good," Gemma mumbled, "And you're staying with me and my mum or did you want your own space for the week?" 

"I mean," (Y/N) mused, "I was going to leave it up to you guys. I can get a room somewhere if you want family time, or whatever you want." 

"Well, you are family now, (Y/N). You're more than welcome to stay with us. I know my mum would enjoy getting to spend time with you." 

(Y/N) wanted so badly to glow at the thought of being welcomed into a family like the Styles'. She had wished for years that she would somehow find out she had a long-lost sister or any sibling at all to spend her days with. 

Instead, she was grateful this was only a phone call, so Gemma didn't catch the way her lips tightened at the idea of being considered family to someone she had attempted to kiss the night of her uncle's bachelor dinner. 

And been promptly rejected by, of course. 

But, she was over all of that, she reminded herself. Just like Harry was. 

"I think that would be a lot of fun, Gemma. Thank you," she accepted in a way she hoped was gracious. 

"Mum's going to be so excited to hear that," Gemma bubbled, "That works out perfect, too, since I think Harry and Michel are going to stay with your uncle for the week. Keep up the whole tradition thing, everyone all separate." 

(Y/N)'s lips pinched that much more at the mention of his name. She could still feel the way the emptiness of her hotel room settled over her when he had left. Nothing was more sobering than that, she found.

"Yeah," (Y/N) chirped, "It's cute."

Gemma let out a bubbly laugh, "Exactly. Okay, so I'll get with mum and figure out all of the little things we still need to do before the wedding, and I'll let you know as soon as I know!"

"So exciting! I can't wait." There was a part that really was very excited and was looking forward to seeing her Uncle Mick get married, eager for him to be happy again after experiencing so much grief the years prior. There was another large part of her that could wait a little longer; wait a few more months, or even a year before she saw Harry again. At least long enough for her to have forgotten that night at the bar, and have a new boyfriend. 

Gemma chattered a bit more, thinking out loud as she ticked things off her list. (Y/N) was fine being her sounding board, nodding and humming where needed before sharing a quick goodbye. 

Locking her phone, (Y/N) was left in the quiet of her apartment. It was a little too close to the silence at the hotel room, the experience at the forefront of her mind. 

Pursing her lips, she gripped the edge of her countertop. She was going to see Harry again, in just a couple of weeks. 

Should she text him? Attempt to clear the air before even seeing him? 

No, it was bad enough that she had scared him off, she couldn't be the one to reach out first. Months after, even. If he wanted to talk to her, he would have by now—even if only to clear the air. 

It was times like this that she wished she had siblings. If she had a brother or a sister, she wouldn't be walking into this whole thing by herself. Despite her Uncle being there, his wedding wasn't exactly the setting to let him know that she'd attempted to go out with his new wife's son—the one that would be her stepbrother for all intents and purposes.

Legally, though, she corrected herself. Stepcousins.

(Y/N) sighed. That still didn't sound very good, especially not when she usually just considered her uncle her dad, no matter what she called him. 

Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. (Y/N) flinched back at the noise before reaching for the device. 

On the screen she had a single notification. A text message from a friend. 

Mitchell Row-Lund

     How was the phone call? Do you have to room with that guy? 

Staring at the message thread, an idea came to mind. It wasn't a good one. (Y/N) could even field an argument about how it is actually a stupid idea. But it was an idea, nonetheless.

Gemma did say she still had a plus one available. And, it wasn't like Mitch had anything going on, she knew that for a fact.

Plus, he knew some of what was going on with Harry, sans many details, but enough to understand why it was a very big deal that she couldn't go into this alone. Uncle Mick would enjoy seeing him too. 

Ignoring the text, (Y/N) called Mitch's contact instead. It only took a couple of rings before he picked up. 

"Hello?" 

"Mitch, are you busy in, like, three weeks?" 

"(Y/N)..." 

—————

"Are you sure you girls don't need help with anything?" 

Gemma whipped around from the stove where she was spreading the different layers to the lasagna. She gave her mother a glare. 

"Mum," she reprimanded, "We're fine. You're supposed to be relaxing." 

"I know, I know," she sighed, "But, I don't mind helping. I can—" 

"No," Gemma cut her off, abandoning her post at the stove to escort her mother back to the glass of chardonnay waiting for her in the living room. "Your only job is to answer the door when the boys get here, and watch your show." 

Anne hmphed, casting a playful roll of her eyes only where (Y/N) could see. A huff of laughter left her lips as she watched the mother-daughter duo argue before Anne relented to actually being taken care of for the night. It was sweet, the kind of banter and familiarity they had between one another. It reminded (Y/N) of the relationship she had with her aunt. It was nice to know that her Uncle was marrying into a family like this. 

"When will she learn?" Gemma joked when she reentered the kitchen, casting a very familiar roll of her eyes towards (Y/N). "It's like pulling teeth to get her to relax." 

"She's too sweet for her own good," (Y/N) said, continuing the chopping of the vegetables for the side salad. 

"Her biggest flaw," Gemma sighed, shaking her head. 

"I can hear you!" 

Anne's shout from the living room drew laughter from both of them. 

"Then what did I say?" Gemma shot back, giving (Y/N) a look like watch this.

A pause. 

"I don't know, but I know you're whispering!" 

Gemma lifted her brows like see. It was enough to pull another peal of laughter from her. It was already shaping up to be quite the night. The last one before the wedding, before Mitch would be in town and the first time she would be forced to speak in a confined room with Harry since arriving. 

She had been lucky enough to avoid being alone with him, the activities and rooms having been too busy to catch more than a single glance of him before rushing through. It was the nice part about Anne and Uncle Mick wanting to uphold a bit of tradition, the bridal party and groomsmen being separated as much as possible during this last week. 

(As far as (Y/N) remembered, she thought it was only the night before the ceremony where this distance mattered. She wasn't going to correct anyone, though).

But, tonight had come and her sanctuary was on a timer.

In Anne's cozy dining room, there was nowhere to hide from Harry. Especially not when this evening was considered a family dinner. 

(Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth as she kept her eyes on her hands, attempting to focus on the strokes of the knife and not anything else. Especially not the time. 

That did seem to work against her, though, when the knock on the door took her by surprise. She hadn't had time to brace herself, school herself into someone who didn't care about whatever happened tonight. 

Her throat bobbed when she heard the sound of Anne's front door opening, a familiar set of voices sounding from the stoop. 

Gemma practically beamed as she slid the pan of lasagna into the oven before rushing out to meet her husband, who also had her daughter on his hip. (Y/N) lingered back, listening to the sounds of the stitched together family. 

This time tomorrow, her uncle would be married and she would have two new siblings. One of them being the man she could hear right now cooing to his niece. 

Wiping down the knife and placing it off to the side, (YN) ran a stressed hand through her hair. Seeing her uncle would make her feel better, she thought. She'd start there. 

"Hey kid," her uncle murmured when he caught sight of her. His creased eyes lit up as she stepped into his hug. "How are you?" 

"I'm good," she smiled, making sure her eyes stayed stitched on his face with not even a peek over his shoulder, "How are you, though? Tomorrow's the day." 

(Y/N) could see light practically dancing through his eyes when he cast his own gaze behind himself, where the cooing of a baby and her fawning audience could be heard. "Excited. Really excited." 

"Good, good," (Y/N) smiled, suddenly feeling a bit choked up. She wondered if this was how he was going to feel when she had her own wedding (fingers crossed, anyway. She needed to find a partner first before considering a wedding.)

"The lasagna has a few more minutes in the oven, but (Y/N)'s salad is almost done. Harry, you can set the table." 

Perking up at the sound of her name, (Y/N) regretted it as soon as she heard Harry's only a moment later. Gemma was playing the role of gracious hostess, though it didn't appear she could turn down the opportunity of bossing her little brother around. 

Though, it didn't seem like he minded much at all. Harry only gave a beaming grin to his niece before poking at her stomach and making his way towards the dining room.

For the first time since walking through the door, their eyes met. 

(Y/N) felt her throat run dry. The last time she saw those shatters of green, the intensity of his gaze turned in her direction, he had been telling her that there wasn't any room for what she wanted with him. That they were going to be okay—whatever that was supposed to mean. 

All after she had so clumsily fallen all over him, even attempting to kiss him.

Harry only cracked a small, polite smile. Not a single dimple or crease on his freckled nose appeared. 

"You made a salad tonight?" Uncle Mick asked her, ripping her back to reality, "And you still have all your fingers?"

Turning to face him, (Y/N) plastered a smile on her face, playing into his small joke. "Barely. Gemma had to sew my pinky back on, but I think it should be better by tomorrow." 

Her uncle let out a boisterous laugh at her jest, none the wiser to whatever had passed between her and Harry only a breath before. 

This was going to be a long dinner.

—————

"Dinner was wonderful, ladies. Thank you." 

Uncle Mick handed out praises to the women at the table, though Anne was quick to shrug it off. 

"It was all the two girls," she insisted, "I was quarantined to wine-and-couch duties." 

(Y/N) didn't have to peek under the table to know that her uncle had squeezed his bride's hand. All she needed to see was the affection that painted his gaze as he looked at her. "Well deserved," he muttered to her before looking to where (Y/N) and Gemma were sitting side-by-side, "Thank you two, then. Everything has been amazing." 

Gemma gave a similar reaction to her mother, shrugging it off with a shy smile on her face. "Of course. It's the least we could do for the happy couple, right?" 

She gave a look to (Y/N) the shadow of dimples in her cheeks. Too much like Harry, (Y/N) thought. She still made sure to nod and smile along. 

"I'm happy everyone liked it," (Y/N) interjected, hoping she sounded more present than she really felt. Especially when she could feel eyes on her—eyes she had been pointedly avoiding all throughout the meal. 

Anne stood up, beginning to collect dishes from the mats around the table. "I can start cleaning up, and—" 

"Mum, no. I thought Gemma told you that you're not supposed to be doing any hard work tonight." 

Harry's clear voice had (Y/N) blinking, her spine stiffening as she kept her eyes on her soon-to-be aunt. 

She scoffed at his words. "Doing the dishes in my own home is far from hard work, Harry. You kids—" 

"Anne," Uncle Mick piped up, a gentle hand landing on her arm, "Let them take care of this. There's still some time before I think we call it a night, and there's wine still in the bottle." 

(Y/N) watched as Anne's eyes softened, features flourishing into a gentle smile. 

"Oh alright," she relented, "Just for tonight. And, maybe tomorrow." 

That was (Y/N)'s cue to begin collecting the dishes herself. Gemma had done the hard work by putting together the main part of the meal, and deserved a moment with her child and husband. Besides, the quiet of the kitchen and task of taking care of the dishes was what she needed after being on edge during dinner. 

"I've got it, then," she offered, beaming a smile to her Uncle, "You guys go relax for a little while." 

Arms laden with china and silverware, (Y/N) took to the kitchen while the rest of the family moved onto the other room. A heavy breath left her lips. 

She fixed her eyes to the faucet as the sink filled with warm water, soap bubbles forming on the surface. 

Truthfully, she knew there wasn't any reason to be so nervous, so stiff, all night. It wasn't like Harry was going to speak about that night out in the open—if he wanted his family to know, he'd had months to expose the facts before now. But, he hadn't. 

It was a bit pathetic to admit given the fact they had never even so much as kissed, but seeing him felt a lot like running into an ex. Embarrassing, seeing as he had seen her more vulnerable than she felt comfortable showing. Nerve-wracking, as she wasn't sure what kind of reaction she was going to get from him. And a bit heartbreaking; it was hard to see him knowing there was such a definitive line in the sand. 

As if there wasn't always one there, (Y/N) reminded herself. The second they made it to her uncle's house that night, there was always goin to be a barrier between them. 

Flicking off the faucet, she got to work cleaning off the dishes. From the living room, she could hear quiet coos from a sleepy baby, and slight laughter amongst a family sharing memories. 

That was enough to have the line holding her shoulders taut to give. A family. Everything her uncle deserved. 

"Want help?" 

(Y/N) practically jumped out of her skin at the sound of the deep, accented voice suddenly joining her in the space.

 Whipping her head around, she saw Harry lingering in the threshold of the entrance to the kitchen. He had a short smile on his lips, the ghost of dimples in his cheeks. 

Not a real smile. Something polite to be offered to someone he didn't really care to be talking to. 

"No, I'm alright,"(Y/N) answered, just as tight. "Thanks, though." 

"Are y'sure?" he pressed, taking a cautious step inside the barrier of the tiles, "I could dry while y'wash. It'll cut the time in half, or something like that." 

She let out a huff of laughter at his attempt to lighten the mood. She was sure she wasn't the only one feeling a touch of the tension that had gathered. 

She figured she couldn't really continue to avoid him forever. 

"If you really want to," she relented, letting a genuine, though small, smile curl her lips. 

Harry took her words as the invitation needed, crossing the room to join her at the sink. The damp dishes had begun to accumulate on the towel she had laid out at her side. He moved with familiarity through his childhood home, finding another dish towel before pushing up the sleeves of his warm brown sweater. 

Just like the first time she had met him, (Y/N) couldn't help but trace her eyes over the cross tattooed on his hand. Seeing the sleeves of his shirt pushed up, she got a view of what she remembered wondering hid between that cloud-cardigan those months ago. 

A bare-chested mermaid. A nightmarish beetle. A collection of tiny sketches around an anchor at his wrist. 

"So," he started, wiping off the first dish in the pile, "I've barely gotten a chance to talk to y'since we've got here. How have y'been?"

She nodded absently, swiftly turning her gaze to the soapy basin. "I've been alright. Just busy getting the final details figured out with your mom and sister. How about you?" 

"Same," he murmured, "'S all gone by so fast. I can't believe 's already tomorrow. I feel like we were jus' meeting for the first time." 

He meant for the comment to be something lighthearted. They could bond over the passage of time, right? It was easy to nod her head and laugh, tell him that yes, everything had gone by so fast. But she was excited, nonetheless. That his mother was a wonderful person and she couldn't wait to welcome her into their small family. 

Instead, (Y/N) was only able to manage a small smile. 

"Yeah. Crazy." 

Crazy that it really had only been months since she met Harry while perusing wine for her uncle, thinking he was just a handsome stranger. Someone she could see herself going on a date with. 

Now, he was going to be as good as her stepbrother. The revelation left a sour taste in her mouth. 

A beat passed. 

"(Y/N)," Harry started, one of his rings clinking against the plate in his hand, "If y'want to talk about—"

She shook her head. She didn't need to revisit that night. Especially not right now, while washing his mother's dishes in her sink. 

"I don't," she insisted, "Sorry if I'm being weird. I just... I was worried I had scared you off or something, since we haven't talked. But, I'm fine, really." 

"You didn't. Scare me off, I mean," Harry answered, the words coming out in a rush as if a reflex. The pile of damp dishes were forgotten for the moment as he turned his attention to her. "I jus' wanted sure if y'wanted to talk to me after... everything."

"Don't worry about it," she answered, sidestepping just how much she wanted to hear anything from him in the time that had passed since the night at the bar. That she wanted to know if he still even tolerated her. "Everything got a little complicated, so it's probably best we didn't—don't. You know?" 

Harry's expression seemed to solidify at her words. Unmoving, unchanging, though something seemed to leave from his eyes. 

"Yeah," he agreed, a single nod of his head. He waved the cloth in her direction, nonchalant. "We've got a while to figure everything out as long as tomorrow goes well, right?" 

"Right," (Y/N) laughed, a little less rigid. While it wasn't the outcome she may have wanted (that was one where he came in on a flying steed, hearts in his eyes, and unwavering conviction in his feelings for her. Or at least trying it out with her), it was the best outcome she could have predicted. 

They finished the dishes in silence.

—————

(Y/N) clapped, tears in her eyes as she watched her uncle plant a kiss on his blushing bride. The white of her gauzy dress made Anne's skin glow that much brighter, sweet pink and a warm bronze. 

They were now man and wife as the officiant announced, allowing them on their way. 

Falling back into her role as dutiful bridesmaid, she followed after Gemma as the procession to the reception began. Glancing at Mitch, she caught him biting back a smile. She knew he would have something to say about her sobbing two seconds into the ceremony. 

Getting out of the chilly garden and into the reception venue was a needed transition. (Y/N) hadn't even realized her fingers were turning to icicles until the heat from the hall wrapped around her. 

It was quiet in the space. Only a select few of the venue staff milling about as they made the finishing touches on the reception space, and a newly knitted family were present. Much like herself, Gemma had tiny tears in her eyes as she reached for her daughter from her husband's hip. Harry had his mother wrapped up in a long hug.

It was her uncle that brought her attention away from the embrace. He murmured something to her, the words a bit garbled through his thick throat before he had her in his arms. 

(Y/N) didn't hesitate before she was reciprocating the hold. She tucked herself against his chest, feeling just as safe as the day he had told her that she was going to be taken care of now that he was there. The memory only made her snuggle that much closer to him. 

"Congratulations, dad," she whispered, choking up hearing the title she only rarely used. She knew it had the same effect on him when he clutched her tighter, a shuddering breath wracking his chest. 

"Thanks for being here, kiddo. Love you." 

"Love you, too." 

All too soon, her uncle was whisked away to take photos with his bride, the photographer eager to capture the moments with that blissful glow on their faces. Family shots had been taken prior to the ceremony, when everyone's makeup and hair were in perfect condition, leaving (Y/N) a moment alone for the first time that day. 

It wasn't until she was putting on her false lashes that she had heard Harry had brought a date. She knew that there was no reason to have any kind of reaction to that revelation, especially since she had also invited Mitch. And yet, there was still that sour, churning feeling in her stomach.

While it wasn't a thought she nurtured or had the guts to admit, there had been a lingering hope in her that maybe, with everything twisted up and complicated, that there could be something worked out. That Harry was so unhappy with the distance as she was. 

But, he had brought a date. Someone serious enough to invite to a family wedding, though not serious enough to mention to her when they were washing the dishes the night before. 

That was fine. He could do whatever he wanted, just as (Y/N) was doing. 

And neither of them were going to be heartbroken. Least of all (Y/N).

—————

"Are you sure that's his date?" 

(Y/N) only grumbled through her spoonful of gelato. That counted as the third time Mitch had questioned Harry's choice of plus one. And the third time (Y/N) thought she made it abundantly clear that she wasn't interested in speaking on the details of the coupling. It was bad enough explaining to everyone that Mitch was just a friend instead of a boyfriend, he didn't also have to rub it in that Harry had brought a real date. 

"(Y/N), don't get mad at me," Mitch warned, casting his eyes over her head towards the dance floor, "I'm just asking. Because he's barely talked to her all night." 

"Well, that's rude of him, then," (Y/N) cemented, taking another bite of her birthday cake gelato. This dessert had been Gemma's idea—about the same cost as a cake, but many more people could eat from the bar and there wouldn't be a handful of leftover slices that the family would be forced to take home. 

"Will you still think that if I tell you it's been because he's too busy looking at you?" 

She glared at Mitch through furrowed brows. "Right." 

"I'm serious," he hedged, bouncing his brows before tipping his head towards her, urging her to look at her back. "If you turn around right now, you'll see." 

"Just because he's looking at me, doesn't mean anything. He's my brother now, Mitch." 

Reaching for his drink, Mitch didn't look very believing in the story she was spinning. "I would be a little nervous if I had a brother look at me the way he is right now."

 "What does that mean?" 

He knew he had her then, a crooked smile on his lips. "Look for yourself." 

Giving in, (Y/N) pretending to stretch in her spot. She pasted an easy smile on her face as she nonchalantly turned to look over her shoulder. 

There, on the dance floor, with his niece on his hip, Harry's cheeks flushed. He quickly looked away, having been caught by (Y/N) as he gazed at her. His date was fluttering around, speaking to Gemma and her husband with an easy smile on her face. She was familiar with the family—more familiar than (Y/N) would think a new girlfriend would be. 

But, that wasn't any of her business. 

Turning back to Mitch, she attempted to look as if nothing she saw had even sparked a train of thought in her mind. 

"That doesn't mean anything." 

"Right," he drawled, sly smile on his face. "And, he's not coming over here, right now." 

"What?" (Y/N) bubbled, suddenly at attention. Her cup of gelato created in her tightened grip. Whipping her head around, she stopped in her tracks, expression dropping. No one was walking over to their table—let alone Harry. 

A burst of laughter came from her date. 

"That wasn't nice," she said, fighting back her own laughter. Truthfully, while it was pathetic how easy it was to get her to react, she knew if the tables were turned, she wouldn't be able to contain her giggles at Mitch's desperation. 

He shrugged. "It was funny, though." He took a long sip of his drink, ice clinking together. "If you're so jumpy, I don't know why you haven't gone to talk to him at all." 

"Mitch," (Y/N) started, finally abandoning the remnants of her gelato, "It's just not the right time. You already know everything, so." 

"So what? He obviously wants to at least talk to you. Just put him out of his misery." 

(Y/N) shook her head. "Even if things weren't complicated, he brought a date, Mitch. I don't think he's really dying for my company." 

"So?" he repeated, raising his brows, "You brought a date, too. And it's me." 

She could only roll her lips between her teeth. She wasn't going to examine the point he was making. 

"I'm going to get a drink." 

—————

(Y/N) felt entirely too accomplished when Gemma's daughter burst into another round of laughter at the shapes she was throwing on the dance floor. It was easy to make her laugh now that she knew what made the little girl giggle, but it still felt like an all star achievement every time a bubbling peal left her heart-shaped lips. 

"Auntie (Y/N) is just so silly, isn't she?" Gemma babbled to her daughter, equally delighted to hear her having so much fun. The later the night went, the more and more of a miracle it was that she hadn't grown fussy and in need of a bedtime. 

Just as she was about to make another uncoordinated movement, a gentle hand landed on (Y/N)'s shoulder. She saw the gleaming diamond ring adorning the fourth finger first, already knowing who it belonged to. 

"Could I cut in, girls? Sorry to ruin the fun," Anne asked, her beaded gown trailing behind her as she beamed at her granddaughter, "It's my turn to dance with Aunt (Y/N)." She paused, glancing over. "If that's alright, anyway." 

"Yes, of course, of course," (Y/N) bubbled off, "We'll just finish our dance battle later." 

"I'd watch out if I were you," Gemma teased, "After a snack, this one is going to run you out of town, I'm afraid." 

"I'd like to see her try," (Y/N) played along, narrowing her eyes despite the smile attempting to take over her mouth. 

Gemma walked away with a laugh, taking her daughter back to her husband. A happy little family, they were. 

"I can't believe you're still at it," Anne laughed, swaying along to the music with (Y/N), "I can barely handle standing in these shoes, and you've been dancing like nothing." 

(Y/N) lifted the hem of her dress, showing off her socked feet. "I took my heels off hours ago. I got through one dance before I had to make a choice." 

Anne let out a boisterous laugh. The champagne bubbles from the number of toasts recited throughout the night had seemingly had their intended effect. From the corner of her eye, (Y/N) could see both her Uncle Mick and Harry looking in their direction, affectionate smiles on their faces. 

"I'm just happy you're having a good time," Anne crooned, blissful smile stuck to her features, "I was getting worried." 

A furrow pinched (Y/N)'s brows. "You were? Why?" 

A heavy sigh left her lips. "I told Mick I wouldn't say anything," she started, casting her eyes to her new husband, "But, I've just been worried about you and H." 

(Y/N)'s movements lagged in time to the music. "Me and Harry?" 

"Don't tell him I told you," she rushed out, "But, he said there was something? I can't remember exactly what he said, but he just seemed really upset when I told him you were bringing a date, and when I asked what was wrong he just said it was complicated, or something like that. I could tell something was going on last night, but I didn't want to push." 

In so many words, Anne was laying out her mother's intuition. Despite neither she nor Harry divulging any secrets, Anne had been able to pick up on the words between the lines. 

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, her grip on the skirt of her dress tightening. 

Anne chewed on her bottom lip before speaking again. "I know it's not any of my business, you kids are adults and can do whatever you want—or don't want. But, I think you should talk to him. If it's complicated in the way I think, I want you to know that... It's okay. Complicated things happen all the time, but that doesn't mean it has to be impossible." 

Champagne was a hell of a drug. 

"Right," (Y/N) answered, a tight smile on her face. "Thank you, Anne. I think I need some air, I'll be right back." 

Before much else could be said, Anne's brother popped in to steal her away for a dance. The heavy subject she had just dropped on (Y/N) was forgotten, instead excited to chat with someone new for the time being. 

That left (Y/N) to swiftly creep out of the venue and into the garden that had previously been fashioned into an elegant aisle for the ceremony.

The chilly air she had been eager to get out of earlier now felt like a balm on her skin. In so many words, Anne had basically given permission for (Y/N) to do whatever she wanted when it came to Harry. Despite the marriage that had just connected them as family. 

It was both freeing and heavy as she stood in the garden. 

Freeing to know that even from someone both removed but so close to the situation, she didn't think (Y/N) was catastrophically insane or unnervingly gross for even considering Harry as someone. 

Heavy to know that they hadn't been quite as undercover as she hoped. Not everyone would agree with Anne's ruling, and (Y/N) dreaded the idea of finding out just who could be on the opposing side. Including Harry and the date he brought tonight.

The music from inside seeped through the open windows. As if reading the mood from even out here, the DJ had switched to a slow song. The singing violins and melodic voice of the singer floated around (Y/N), making it that much easier to be a bit melodramatic as she trailed her finger of a wilting cornflower, the hue matching the color of her dress. 

"There you are." 

(Y/N) didn't have to turn to know who had joined her in the garden. The voice alone was enough to have her spine straightening, goosebumps sparking over her skin. 

She offered a quiet smile to Harry as she dropped her hand from the flower. "Here I am," she said, "Is everything okay?" 

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets. A wilting periwinkle flower went lopsided in his breast pocket. 

"Yeah, jus' saw y'with mum and then y'disappeared. I wanted to make sure y'were alright." 

"I'm fine," she offered, "It got a little stuffy in there, that's all." 

"Well," he started, moving towards her until his toes were just on the edge between the patio and the garden, "Y'missed our dates sneaking off together." 

(Y/N) blanched at the information. "Are you joking? I'm so sorry, oh my god. I'll find Mitch right now, I can't be—" 

"No, no," Harry laughed, "'S fine. Sarah's been asking me about him since he got here anyway. I know it was only a matter of time." 

"Oh," she sounded, settling at the information Harry was sharing, "So Sarah's not...?" 

Harry shook his head. "She's a friend I've had for years. Mum loves her, so she was coming whether or not she came as m'plus one. This way she got to pick where she sat." 

(Y/N) laughed. Half from the practicality of this woman's choices, as well as a wave of relief that ran over her. So he hadn't brought a date tonight. Only a friend that was seemingly much more interested in (Y/N)'s date. 

"Mitch is just a friend, too," (Y/N) clarified, pretending as if she didn't hear Anne's voice in the back of her head as she offered the information. 

"I was hoping you'd say that. Otherwise, I was going to have to follow them and beat him up or something." 

"No need," (Y/N) sighed, "He'd be sad if you did that, anyway. He thinks you're cool." 

Harry's eyes brightened. "Really?" 

"Don't get too ahead of yourself," (Y/N) warned, biting back a smile, "He only said that when I told him you put together the music list for the DJ. He thinks you have good taste." 

"Well, he's not wr—" 

"I had to break it to him that you think frosé is better than actual rosé. I think he's still coming to terms with it." 

Mock offense took over Harry's features. "How dare you? I told y'that in confidence." 

(Y/N) shrugged, a playful smile painted on her lips. "I had to save him the trouble of finding out on his own. He never would have recovered." 

Harry shook his head. "'S not even that bad, I don't get it." 

"Coming from someone who thinks frosé is the best wine offering, that makes sense." 

He playfully nudged his shoulder against hers, shaking his head. A beat passed between them, the muffled voices from inside spilling out into the courtyard. 

"I saw y'talking to mum," Harry started, switching off the subject with the tease falling out of his voice, "Looked a little intense." 

She hoped he didn't catch the way her spine stiffened. "It wasn't anything serious," she lied, "Just got a little emotional with everything." 

When Harry didn't immediately answer, (Y/N) chanced a look in his direction. He already had his eyes trained on her, shatters of green examining her features with raspberry lips rolled between his teeth.

"What?" 

"She didn't—" Harry started, cutting himself off before reorienting himself, "It wasn't about anything complicated?" 

(Y/N) blinked. Had their conversation really been that loud?

"Harry, I didn't tell her anything," (Y/N) insisted, "She said she just had a feeling, but I didn't—I don't know how she knew—"

"I told her," Harry piped up, dropping his eyes to the grass at their feet, "Kind of. She could tell something's been going on, and she asked once. She thought I didn't like y'or something. I jus' told her it was complicated, but that must have been enough." 

He let out a huff of laughter though she was sure neither of them were feeling particularly humorous at the moment. 

"'M sorry if she made y'feel uncomfortable or anything. She jus' wants me to be happy, and—"

"She told me it was okay." 

Harry went silent at her admission. Raspberry lips rolled between his teeth. 

(Y/N) waited, a breeze playing with her dress. 

"She said it was okay? That... whatever she thought was happening between me and you, was okay?" 

(Y/N) nodded. 

She watched as the very corners of his lips turned upwards. 

"Your uncle said the same thing." 

A furrow had (Y/N)'s brows pinching above her pointed gaze. "When?" 

Harry's lips stretched into a full smile. "Jus' now." 

It took a moment to process the fact that Harry was telling her this information with a grin on his face. Nothing polite and short. A real, dimple-baring, nose scrunching smile. 

He was happy. He was happy to hear this news. 

That whatever had started those months ago was okay. Whatever that meant for them. 

"This is good," (Y/N) whispered, voice melding with the music from inside the venue, "Right?" 

There was a part of her that wanted to close the distance between them. Crush the grass under her socked feet and cup his jaw between her palms. To slot her lips between his and kiss him. To do the one thing she had been holding back from since that first dinner at her uncle's house. 

But, she needed to wait. She wasn't going to have another moment like that in the hotel room. If Harry wanted her, he was going to have to say it, otherwise she was staying rig—

Taking the leap for her, Harry closed the distance in one long stride. He gently took the line of her jaw in his hands, tipping her head up until the tips of their noses were touching. The length of his lashes were only a breath away from tangling with hers. 

"Really good," he breathed, waiting for her.

That was all she needed to hear before she was stretching to the tips of her toes, pressing her lips to his. 

Harry steadied her with his hands on either side of her face, guiding her into this first kiss. He took her bottom lip between his two, his kiss lingering and sweet. The only urgency came from the fact that they both knew just how long they had waited for this moment, though there was no reason to rush through it. 

She could taste the pistachio gelato he had earlier in the night, alongside the sweet wine served by the bar. With each tip and tilt of her head, she felt the tip of his nose grazing hers, the scruff of his chin against her own, the soft give of his mouth. Reaching up, she bundled her fingers into the lapels of his jacket, keeping the lines of their bodies close together. 

(Y/N) no longer felt the chill in the air, consumed by the feeling of Harry's kiss. This was worth waiting for. Worth the complications, and the uncertainty. Worth bringing Mitch to a family wedding just for him to disappear with someone else's date. (Something she was going to expect a thank you over, if he and Sarah worked out past a hookup). 

Harry drew away first, though only far enough to rest his forehead against hers. Blinking her eyes open, she found him already looking at her, half-lidded with blown pupils.

"'M sorry," he murmured, the fullest points of his lips grazing her own, "About the last time. I should have—I didn't want to leave, I jus'—" 

"It's okay," (Y/N) whispered, puckering her lips to give him a delicate kiss, "I get it. It hurt at the time, but I understand. Everything was just too much then." 

A slight quirk angled his lips. "Complicated, right?" 

(Y/N) couldn't contain the small huff of laughter that fanned from her lungs. "Exactly." 

Tipping his chin, Harry sealed his lips to hers in a lingering kiss. His hands on her jaw slid down, following the line of her arms until he reached her hands. 

"We should go back inside." 

Lacing her fingers between his, (Y/N) made no move to head back inside the venue. 

"Do we?" 

A light danced through his eyes. Casting a glance at the party going on behind them, Harry tightened his hold on her hands. 

"I think we could wait a little longer. Don't you?" 

All (Y/N) could do was attempt to kiss him through her smile. 

—————

thank u sm for reading! sorry for any mistakes and if you have any fun ideas or requests of your own pleaseee send them in!

[prael]

Day 4: A Two-step Problem

Nmixx Sullyoon & Kiss of Life Belle x male reader smut

words: 9,667 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

"She's coming here? This weekend? To this house?" The concoction of shock and confusion, topped with a little bit of annoyance, is in both Sullyoon's tone and expression. "This house!? This same exact house that I am sitting in!?"

Her outburst quickly settles into a sulk as she slouches in her dining chair. Her father turns to your mother for help that she doesn't offer. He's on his own with this one.

"Look," he starts gently. "She's my daughter too and I want to get to know her. I haven't seen her in years."

"You barely talk about her." Sullyoon counters, arms folded defensively across her chest. Her tone is laced with accusation. "I don't know anything about her."

Your mother shoots Sullyoon a glare, one that causes Sullyoon to step well over the line.

"Why are you okay with this? Another daughter that's not even yours coming into our home?"

You stare at your food, praying for the ordeal to be over.

"Stop being silly," your mother reprimands. "You are my daughter, and I'll treat Belle as my own too."

Sullyoon gives you a side-eye, and while she doesn't say anything else, you can see how desperate she is for you to take issue with it too. While you may not be as opposed as Sullyoon, you do have a reservation. "Where will she sleep?" You finally speak up, looking at your mother.

"Sullyoon, can she stay in your room?" she asks.

"No!" Sullyoon snaps. It's clear that she's still processing her frustration.

"It's fine." You turn to your mother. "She can take my room, I'll take the couch."

Sullyoon goes quiet for a moment, her mouth falling open in shock. She looks almost offended that you're not fighting by her side. Then she asks, "What's wrong with you?" and rolls her eyes when your answer comes in the form of an innocent shrug.

"Thank you," your stepfather says, shooting you an appreciative smile. Sullyoon's chair scrapes the floor as she stands up abruptly.

"I'm done." After a curt announcement of departure, she's already headed to her room.

Her father sighs. "Let her go," your mother advises. "She'll come around."

-

A few hours have passed since the revelation and you're in your room. Soft pillows beneath your lower back and slouched against the wall. The soft tones of music from the speaker across the room fill the air.

"Can you believe that shit?" Sullyoon curses the whole idea. "Belle, my long-lost sister, is coming to live here. What are we, some kind of 90s sitcom?"

"Can we not do this right now?" You respond, struggling to focus on both her and her words at one time.

"I thought you were on my side." She pauses for a moment and lets out a soft sigh. "You didn't even argue it."

"It's not that deep, Sullyoon," you grunt out the words, as her hot breath hits your face.

"Yeah well..." She falters. "...It is to me." You feel her fingers thread through your hair before finding a handful of the short strands at the base of your skull. You hiss, feeling her pull on them lightly, but you don't fight back. "Do you think she'll be annoying? And say loads of weird American things?"

"I don't care," you dismiss, putting your hand on her thigh and holding the flesh tight.

"Oh." She clears her throat and adjusts her position. "Well, I do care."

"You might get along." Your tone lacks commitment. It's almost impossible to focus with the smell of her perfume filling your nostrils. You bury your face into the crook of her neck. "You smell so good."

"I bet she thinks she's better than us."

"Sullyoon!" you snap. "For fuck sake!" You put your hand on her waist and lift her off your lap, letting her naked form fall lazily onto the bed beside you. "Conversation or sex, choose one."

"Hey!" She exclaims, annoyed about being pulled free from your cock.

Your irritation quickly fades away as you turn your head to look at her. Her dark hair spills out beneath her, messy, wavy and soft. Her smile is mischievous while her dark eyes sparkle with humour and intrigue. A million thoughts cross your mind but none of them can beat out the singular reminder that she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen. Her features are uniquely hers and yet, they seem perfectly matched to your taste.

"Okay, I'll stop talking about her then."

There is a shift in the energy of the room. She turns away from you, positioning herself on her knees and resting her cheek against the pillow below. There she lies in wait, ass on display for only you. You bite down on your bottom lip as you clamber behind her.

You reach out and wrap your hands around her hips, squeezing her flesh in between your fingertips. "Sullyoon." The syllables roll off your tongue. "Sometimes, things are hard." You press your cock, still coated in her slick juices, against her waiting cunt. "But you have to just take it."

You push into her pussy from behind. You watch the way the hole expands and stretches around you. The soft, pink walls give in to your intrusion. You hear the little gasp and moan that Sullyoon releases upon feeling you enter her again. You keep going until her round little ass is flush against your hips and the full length of your cock is buried inside her pussy.

From this angle, Sullyoon can do little more than submit. And so she does, allowing you to hold her by the hips, dragging her body back and forth until it moves in line with your rhythm.

"See?" you tease. "Feels better this way, doesn't it?"

"Fuck..." Sullyoon whines. "I hate when you do that."

"What?" You chuckle and spank her across the ass before grabbing a handful of her flesh once again. "When I talk down to you like that or when I make you feel like a little slut?"

"Yes." She squeezes her eyes shut. You listen to every pant and every moan. You feel her thighs shake and tremble against your skin. You know she loves this; there's no other reason why else she would allow you to take over her body and treat her this way. The two of you may bicker and argue and fight, but none of that matters when you're alone together in your bedroom, exploring one another. For all your arguments, you know there isn't another person in the world that feels as perfect wrapped in your arms.

As taboo as it may be.

She looks at you over her shoulder through misty brown eyes with pouted lips, looking all too delicious to touch. "Please," she begs in a small voice that sends a chill up your spine. "Harder. Faster."

"Good girl." The words flow seamlessly from your lips. You hold tighter onto her ass, for fear of the pleasure making her collapse against the bed. You start pounding into her from behind. Each slap of your hips connecting against her ass rings out against the silence of the room.

Sullyoon's hand grips the pillow beneath her head, squeezing it tight as her outlet for her building pleasure. It becomes too much, and she lets out a long moan. You're quick to lean in, take hold of her head and bury her face against the pillow.

"Quiet," you scold. You slide your fingers into her mouth and let them rest against her tongue. She welcomes you in, letting her lips seal around your digits. Her tongue runs laps across the tips of your fingers and the sensation causes an involuntary twitch of your hips.

"There we go," you coo. You can tell by the way she squeezes down on your length that she likes it when you praise her. She might try to play tough and cold, but you've learnt exactly what buttons to push to get her melting at your touch.

You can feel yourself edging closer, and so you reach down further. Sullyoon's clit is sensitive when you press your finger against it, judging by the way she bites down on your fingers. It takes only a few gentle rubs to bring her to the same point as you.

She whimpers softly against your fingers. You can almost feel the muffled cries vibrating against your skin as the knot of pleasure in her tummy begins to unravel. "That's it," you whisper. "Be a good sister and cum with me."

Sullyoon bucks and thrashes in pleasure. She reaches her orgasm at the same time as you and the two of you ride out the waves together. With each throb, you fill her up until she's practically overflowing. Finally, she collapses against the bed and you follow her shortly after. Her chest heaves against the bedsheets, tired and worn, and finally satisfied.

"You can't call me that," she complains, voice strained. "It's not cute, it's gross."

"And yet every time I do, you seem to cum harder," you respond simply. She rolls her eyes and scoffs, before shuffling into your embrace and resting her head against your chest. You both lay in silence, spent bodies wrapped up in each other's warmth. You absent-mindedly draw circles along her bare arm while she draws in deep breaths against your chest.

"I'm serious about this Belle thing." She breaks the quietude, her voice soft. You sigh heavily. "I don't want her here."

-

And yet, Saturday comes around just like clockwork.

The five of you sit awkwardly in the living room. A tray of drinks rests on the coffee table, untouched, and Sullyoon keeps shooting you pointed glares. The situation could be cut with a knife.

"It's such a long journey," Belle explains, talking fast and with a certain chirp in her voice. "We had to leave at five AM for the airport. It was still dark!"

"Oh my!" Your mother gushes. "So you must be tired." Sullyoon rolls her eyes hard.

"A little," Belle admits. "But I slept most of the flight so it's okay."

"Don't worry," you add politely. "It's a quiet area, you'll be able to sleep in tomorrow." She has only been here an hours but it's impossible to deny how charming Belle is. She's got a wide smile and sweet expressions—just a natural aura about her that makes her easy to speak to. It doesn't hurt that she's pretty, with large, dewy brown eyes, and soft hair resting on her shoulders. She wears a pair of jeans that hug her legs tightly and a top that's tied above her belly button.

She gives you this wide smile, that she's already given countless times, and thanks you, adding, "That sounds like heaven." Sullyoon's scoff catches everyone's attention. Four pairs of eyes fall on her and she squirms, hating the spotlight.

"Something wrong, dear?" your mom asks. Sullyoon shakes her head and reaches forward to grab her glass of lemonade. You can't help but let out a tiny laugh. Your mother shoots you both a suspicious glare but doesn't say anything.

You hadn't even noticed that Belle had been looking at you, but when you turn to meet her gaze you feel your stomach flip upside down. It could just be your overactive imagination but something in the look she's giving you has you flustered. Then she laughs too, albeit nervously. Your cheeks warm up and suddenly you have to look away.

"It's almost lunch, how about you help us in the kitchen, Sullyoon." Then your mother looks at you, "and you can show Belle where she'll be sleeping."

"Uh, sure," you reply, your words being met by Sullyoon shooting daggers with her eyes. Once your parents and your stepsister are out of sight, you gesture to Belle and she stands.

"The house is huge," she remarks, following you out of the room. "My old place was basically a box compared to this."

"Well, we live in the suburbs." You shrug. "I can show you around town later if you want." The two of you head up the staircase to where the bedrooms reside.

"You'd do that for me? Really?"

"Of course," you chuckle. Her giggles send goosebumps across your flesh. You pause for a moment and point down the hallway, "Mine is this way."

"This is so cool," Belle whispers. Really? A house is cool? "I always lived in this little studio apartment. My bed was right next to my kitchen."

Her casual remarks about her life, however mundane they are, are captivating. It's nice to meet someone so different from your usual friend group. "What was it like in the city?"

"Different from here," Belle responds. "It's loud all the time and the streets are busy, no matter the time or day." You push open the door to your bedroom and she follows in while she continues, "It was exciting but also way too much, you know? The parties were crazy—like movie-level crazy."

You gently nod as her thoughts trail off and she starts looking around the room. You watch as she takes it all in. Having made at least half an effort to clear some space for her, it looked kind of bare, compared to usual anyway. "Here," you offer, leading her over to your wardrobe. You slide open a couple of doors and explain, "This section is empty and you can hang your clothes up here."

"You didn't have to. I've lived out of my suitcase before when I travelled."

"No bother. You're a guest, make yourself comfortable." You gesture around the room. "I cleared the desk in case you need it and the sheets are fresh." (Which is good, after what you and Sullyoon had been doing the night before.)

"Thank you. This is already better than I could have ever hoped." When Belle smiles again, you feel a little flutter in your tummy. "Sorry about earlier," she adds. "Was your sister mad because of me?"

"She'll come around." You give a half-hearted assurance. Sullyoon's feelings aren't yours to share, but Belle does deserve some peace of mind. "Don't worry about her."

"I always wanted a sister, I hope she likes me." Belle nods gently, a faint expression of disappointment flashing across her face before fading back to neutral. She pauses and purses her lips together for a second. "And...you? Are you happy I'm here?"

"I've had to put up with one annoying step-sister for a long time, a second can't be much worse," you joke. A laugh leaves her lips and the tension dissolves instantly. The two of you stay silent for a few moments before you notice Belle starting to squint. "What's wrong?"

"It's really hot in here." She places her hand on her forehead as if checking her temperature. The thick beams of sunlight that are streaming in through the open curtains highlight her point. Sweat has started to gather on her neck and brow.

"Lemme fix that." You push open a window and draw a blind down. Belle waits patiently behind you as the bright morning sun vanishes into a muted grey. "There we go," you announce, turning around—and coming face-to-face with her. You freeze as if trapped by her intense gaze.

Her cheeks are flushed and her skin is hot. Beads of sweat shimmer in the sunlight. She stares at you, silently saying something that you can't quite decode. She smells sweet, like vanilla.

"Thanks." Her voice is soft, almost as delicate as the moment itself.

"You're welcome..." You say back, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

"Uh, how about the rest of the house?"

"What about it?"

"Aren't you supposed to be showing me around?" She laughs and her soft tone breaks the tension. You shake the daze out of your mind and clear your throat.

"Of course. Let's go."

You point out the rest of the rooms, and then show her the bathroom, explaining, "My parents have their own so this is basically ours." As you head downstairs, you let her know, "Just try not to take the world's longest showers like Sullyoon." Belle laughs, which gives you the chance to admire how cute she looks when she's smiling.

-

It's been a low-key couple of days. Belle spent the whole time fawning over how cool it was to live out in the suburbs and subtly cursing how she had grown tired of the city—though half it felt like a sly brag. You had taken her into town the day before last, and while you're sure she would have been fine going back alone, she's asking you to take her.

Much to the annoyance of a certain someone.

"But Sunday is movie night," Sullyoon complains, lying on her bed. You're standing in the doorway, arms folded, telling her about your plan to accompany Belle.

"I'll be back in time and we can watch whatever movie you pick this week," you dismiss, already knowing she isn't going to listen to any attempt of yours to compromise. "Also, you could come with us."

"If I did come, then I would be hanging out with her, and I don't want to hang out with her." Sullyoon states blankly.

A quick glance to your side and you see Belle, standing in the hallway, hearing everything that Sullyoon is saying. There's a small pout that forms on her lips. A glimmer of sadness in her eyes. You feel a pang of sympathy. While Belle tries to smile as if it's nothing, you see right through the facade.

"Don't worry," she says. "I can go on my own." And with that, she heads off downstairs. You turn to your stepsister and shoot her a harsh glare.

"C'mon! Don't give me that look." Sullyoon pouts dramatically. "She's a big girl, she's used to being independent."

"Would it kill you to at least get to know her?"

"You're busy doing that for the both of us." She shoots an accusatory look. "Is one step-sister not enough?" Her words drip with insinuation, and you feel your face flush at what she's implying. You roll your eyes and curse at her, which makes her stand and walk towards you. Before she speaks, she pulls you by the arms and closes her door. "Oh come on! Admit it," she presses. "You think she's cute, huh?"

"So what?" You shrug and avert your gaze, cheeks red.

Sullyoon pauses, processing your answer. "Do you wanna fuck her?"

"Sullyoon!" You snap, feeling the blood rush to your head.

Her grin is devious, "You want her to replace me? Huh?" She teases. "Get a brand new stepsister who sucks your dick extra well?"

"You're sick."

"Oh, please. I've seen the way you two look at each other. Don't be surprised if she offers to top and tail with you tonight." Sullyoon smirks, "The couch must be so uncomfortable." Her voice is laced with sarcasm.

-

She said it was just going to be for essentials. A few shops to pick up items that didn't fit in her bags for the plane trip over. Yet, somehow, you find yourself browsing designer dresses for sale.

"It's my first weekend in a new country," she explains, pulling a silk purple dress free and pressing it up against her body. "Don't I deserve to treat myself?"

"I guess, but dresses like this? When are you planning on wearing them?"

"To dinners. To a club. On a date?" She cocks an eyebrow. "Who knows?"

"Wouldn't it be better to make the plans and then buy the dress?" You suggest with a laugh. Though you hate to admit it, the sleek material would look great on her.

"You hungry?" she asks. "How about dinner?"

"We should wait until we're home. Mum is expecting us both."

"Do you always do what you're told?" Belle pries.

"No...I—" You hesitate. She tilts her head to the side and flashes you a mischievous grin.

"Great. I'll get changed into this, we can dump the bags in the car and find a nice restaurant." She declares decisively. After rummaging around her bag for her wallet, she turns to face you. "Wish me luck, it's probably expensive."

"Wait—"

She's walking away before you can protest. You watch as she goes up to the woman running the place and pays for the dress. After that, Belle disappears behind a dressing screen. All the while, you're standing there, holding bags and looking confused.

There are a few silent moments. Ones where you try to formulate an excuse to turn her down; but just as quickly as they appear, the arguments vanish. In reality, the idea of a nice meal with Belle isn't exactly unappealing.

The curtain is drawn back, and she appears.

Wow.

It takes less than a second for your eyes to land on her waist. How the deep purple fabric hugs her figure so nicely, wrapping tight around her curves and squeezing her form. It's strapless and plunges into a v-neck that shows off so much skin. The hem stops mid-thigh and swishes with the movement of her hips.

"So? How do I look?"

You swallow, clearing a lump in your throat. "Incredible."

"That means you're paying for dinner then."

"Hey!" You start to protest. But it's no use, she's already laughing, slipping on a pair of white heels that pull the outfit together perfectly.

The restaurant she chose is tucked away from the main street. The soft yellow light glows through a window pane, casting a warm haze onto the sidewalk below. She holds your arm as she walks, using you for balance. The smell of her perfume hits you just as hard as her outfit does, sweet like vanilla.

"This place looks pretty fancy, right?" she asks with a cheeky smile. "You won't mind treating me, will you? After all, I have moved halfway around the world."

You roll your eyes and follow her in. A waiter welcomes you both, and seats you at a small booth in the corner of the dining room. A candle flickers in the centre, between glasses and cutlery. Belle scans the menu and occasionally takes sneaky glances across the table.

"So, how often do you take girls on dates?" she pries. "Not counting me."

"It's not that often, really."

"Then I must be special," she remarks playfully. "But don't worry, you're pretty cute too."

"Oh yeah?" You decide to play along. "Enough for a second date?"

"Hmm... maybe." The conversation is light and easy and just seems to flow naturally without needing any prompts or effort from either end.

Once you've ordered, Belle sips on a glass of wine, staring at you intently, her gaze unwavering, "I wish Sullyoon liked me as much as you do." Her statement catches you off-guard.

"I'm sorry for the way she's acting," you apologise. "She's probably fearing being replaced. She has always been a bit of a daddy's girl."

"I guess I can understand where she's coming from," Belle concedes, swirling the drink in her glass, watching as the crimson liquid swirls around gracefully. "I would be hesitant too. Change can suck sometimes, especially when it's unexpected." She takes a sip and then continues, "I was talking to my dad for a while, about coming over. And you know what he would talk to me about, every time?"

"Sullyoon."

Belle chuckles lightly and puts down her drink. "Yeah. He couldn't help himself. Always talking about the things she was doing. The friends she had. All those clubs she took part in. Made me so excited to meet her."

"Oh..." Now you understand.

"When I got here and realised that I wasn't gonna get a warm reception, it kinda hurt."

"Yeah. I know she can be...stubborn. Sometimes." You sigh. "Don't give up though, I know you'll get to know each other eventually."

She looks at you with hopeful eyes. "You really think so?"

"She warmed up to me eventually." You shrug and take a bite from your food.

"And how long did that take?" Belle asks, her tone playful once more.

"A couple of years."

She laughs again. "Ah, shit." She sits back in her seat, and then looks at you, intrigued. "What changed?"

"Maybe we realised we have stuff in common, or that we were more similar than we thought."

Belle tilts her head to the side, seemingly mulling over what you said. She purses her lips and squints her eyes like she's trying to connect invisible dots. She stabs at her pasta and silently returns to her food.

"What was that?" you ask.

"Nothing," she dismisses. "So, I heard you mentioning a movie night."

"Yeah," you reply. "It's kind of a tradition. We pick a shitty movie, order some pizza, and make fun of it."

"Guess I'm ruining that now?" she suggests.

"It's just one time, we've missed it before and I'm sure we'll miss it again."

"Maybe next week I can join you?"

You think about how movie nights usually end. Sullyoon, spread across a bed, with your head between her legs. You remember the feeling of her soft skin and warmth, the sound of her moans filling the air. And now that memory includes Belle sitting beside you both.

You choke on your drink slightly.

"Oh God." Belle gasps. "What did I say?"

"Nothing, drink just went to the wrong place is all." You cough. "Yeah, sure, you can join us."

Time passes so easily. The conversation is nice, and she's such an interesting woman. She talks about her life, the places she has been and the people she has known. And you reciprocate. By the time the check arrives, you feel like you've known each other for much longer than four days.

"You know, my dad talked about helping me find my own place. I can't keep your room forever," she admits as she's finishing up her last drink.

"That's fine, I can survive on the sofa."

Belle chuckles at that. "I feel bad for putting you out like this." Her fingers reach out to brush yours, lingering there momentarily before retracting. The contact sends a shiver up your spine. "How about we share the bed?"

"Excuse me?" you say in shock. She laughs again.

"Not in that way. I mean, we can put pillows between us or something. It wouldn't be weird, just two siblings sleeping in the same room." She pauses and chuckles. "Unless you snore."

"I don't!"

"Well, I guess we'll find out."

-

When you finally return home, the house is eerily quiet. Both your parents' cars are missing and Sullyoon has retired to her room. Belle carries her purchases while you follow close behind.

As you step onto the landing, Sullyoon's bedroom door opens. She's dressed in one of your shirts. The light that floods out highlights how long her legs are, with her toned thighs in full view. She stands and watches Belle walk into your shared bedroom, before turning her attention to you. "So?" She asks, arms folding.

"So, what?" you counter.

"You going to apologise for ruining my weekend?" she huffs, arms crossing defensively. Her pouty expression almost tempts you to bite back.

"You were invited."

Sullyoon scoffs. "Oh yeah. So that I could third-wheel. No thanks."

You pause and chew your bottom lip. "Did you get to watch the movie at least?"

"Yes, alone." Her frown intensifies. You try not to laugh at how adorable she looks. "Goodnight."

She stomps back into her room and closes the door behind herself. You bite back an amused smirk. Sullyoon has the tendency to be petty, but you never seem to realise how far she'll go until she does it. Still, you decide not to dwell on it, knowing that Sullyoon would rather ignore the problem than confront it directly. She'll forgive you when she decides to.

You round the corner into your room, bags in hand, and that's when you see her, pulling down the zipper that runs along her spine. The fabric falls in ripples and reveals her back. From the arch between her shoulders down to the dimples in her lower back, the milky skin is exposed. Your throat dries up instantly.

"How am I supposed to feel about you ogling me like that?" Belle jokes, glancing at you over her shoulder. Her eyes shimmer with intrigue.

"Sorry." You quickly spit and then turn around. She doesn't say anything but you hear her light steps over the carpet as she rounds you and closes the bedroom door.

"I was joking," she says while facing you. Her hair falls over her shoulders and ends right above the cup of her bra. She looks like a model straight out of the pages of some lingerie catalogue. You struggle to stay composed.

"So was I," you reply, pretending to be cool while you turn away again to set the bags down in the corner of the room. Belle laughs under her breath.

"I've gotten used to living alone. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can put something on, but I'm used to sleeping in nothing but the covers." she offers. "But I don't mind, honestly."

The silence settles between you two and becomes deafening. You let out a nervous sigh. "It's okay," you finally state, grabbing shorts and a shirt and heading to the bathroom to change. "Just give me a moment." Once inside, you strip yourself of your clothes and run the water from the tap. You cup your hands together and fill them before splashing the cold water onto your face. You stare at yourself in the mirror.

This isn't a big deal. It doesn't have to be. You're going to be cool about the whole thing. You can handle having another gorgeous stepsister lying beside you in bed. It won't be hard at all.

You put your clothes on and march out of the bathroom. Belle has made herself comfortable in your bed, laying back against the pillow with her phone in hand. Her eyelids are half-open as she scrolls through social media apps lazily. The bedsheets cover her up to her shoulders.

"I've always slept on the left," she states absently, eyes still glued to her phone screen. You gulp. She pats the empty space beside her, invitingly. "That means you're on the right."

She turns off her phone as you enter the bed. As you slide under the covers, she turns and slides away to give you room. Your legs brush against hers by accident. Her smooth calves rub against yours and you freeze up. Then you feel her hand reaching out, touching your arm gently before drawing away again.

"Are you shy?" she asks with a tiny giggle.

"No," you lie, hoping that your cheeks aren't too flushed from embarrassment. The room goes pitch black when she flicks off the lamp. Only the distant glow of a street light shines through the curtains. Your eyes adjust and you make out her silhouette against the bedsheets.

"Just relax." Her voice echoes softly in the dark. She places her hand atop yours and squeezes firmly. She brushes her fingertips up along your forearm, stopping briefly near your elbow before trailing them back down again. Each stroke sends little shivers shooting up and down your spine. The effect of her touch is hypnotising; a powerful yet delicate combination of warmth and tenderness.

The movements continue for a while, in silence, as your eyes grow heavy.

"Sweet dreams," she whispers.

"Night Belle," you manage to mutter. Before you know it, you drift off to sleep.

-

At first, you don't even register the sensation, as if you are in a dream. First, it's the tickling of her hair in your face, followed by the feeling of her soft skin in your hand. Then it's the warmth, all along the front of your body. Belle is pressed against you tightly and your arm is around her. Holding her as the little spoon.

Your eyes flicker open.

You lay there in shock, unsure what to do, but also unwilling to move. The warmth radiates off of her, soothing every inch of you that she touches. Her breathing rises and falls slowly, as though she hasn't stirred yet. Her fragrance surrounds you, intoxicatingly sweet, leaving you lightheaded.

You try to adjust the arm that's trapped under her but she threatens to stir awake, mumbling unintelligibly against the pillow, as she shuffles around to get comfortable against you again. She moves her body against yours and presses harder.

Suddenly, you become very aware of exactly which parts of your bodies are making contact. Her ass grinds up against your crotch and the sensation causes a wave of heat to course throughout your entire core. Panic kicks in as you will your morning wood to retreat as quickly as possible. Yet no amount of willpower can stop the natural reaction to her plush butt cheeks.

You focus your attention elsewhere, trying to distract yourself by thinking of mundane tasks to pass the time—anything to prevent yourself from acknowledging your growing arousal. You count the speckles on the ceiling and list off ingredients of your favourite foods.

It doesn't work.

You have to get out. You start by pulling away your body, minimising the contact and creating separation. But then there's your arm, still stuck under her. Gently, ever so gently, you lift yourself away, trying to drag your limb free.

"Leaving already?" comes Belle's question. Her tone drips with mock offence.

"What? Uhhh.." you stutter. Shit. Not good.

Belle flips around to face you. In the morning glow, she's positively radiant. A beautiful angel bathed in warm sunlight. Her silky hair flows delicately as she turns. She flashes a devilish smile and says, "Look at that, our first night sharing a bed and you're already cuddling with me."

You're speechless. Blood rushes to your cheeks and you feel your heart beat faster in your chest.

"It was nice," she smiles. "Even if you were poking me in the ass."

Your jaw drops. Shame bubbles in the pit of your stomach and causes your skin to prickle. She laughs and pushes the sheets down to your waists. She's fucking topless. Your eyes widen as you catch sight of her breasts, perfect teardrops that hang deliciously against her chest, crowned by erect pink nipples. The sight sends you reeling into total disarray.

"You can't help it, I know." Her voice cuts through your dazed thoughts like a blade slicing through butter. "All guys wake up horny." She shuffles a little closer. "I can help it, though." Her hand snakes down beneath the sheet, into your shorts, and suddenly there's the unmistakable sensation of her fingers wrapped around your cock.

"Belle—" Her name leaves your throat weak and cracked. Heat envelops you and your brain goes into overdrive. No way is this real.

"Shhh," she whispers, leaning in until her lips are hovering close to yours. "I want to help," she says with a mischievous smirk.

She starts slowly stroking your dick. At first, it feels strange and foreign, but gradually melts into pleasure as the friction increases. Belle continues to stare, watching as the corners of your mouth twitch and twist, as if studying her own effect on you. Every time your breath hitches she seems to gain more confidence. She grips tighter and works her wrist faster, building up a steady rhythm.

"See, we can share this room." She keeps moving her hand up and down in perfect strokes, varying the pace every few seconds. Sometimes fast and firm, then slow and gentle. It's enough to drive anyone mad. "Isn't it great?"

"This is so messed up," you manage to groan out as your hips lift involuntarily.

"Is it?" She kisses the corner of your mouth. "Doesn't seem that bad to me."

She's right. It feels incredible. Despite everything, you don't want her to stop. You lean into her, desperate for her to kiss you, but instead, she pulls away, giggling softly. That only serves to frustrate you further, which seems to encourage her even more. She quickens her pace and leans closer to you again, stopping inches away from kissing distance once more.

Your eyes grow heavy again, but this time it's not sleep that overtakes you. Instead, it's bliss.

"Belle, what the fuck..." you whisper. Pleasure is burning hot in the base of your gut. Her wrist rolls as she jerks you off harder. "Why..."

She lets you go, hand slipping out of your shorts as quickly as it entered. "Here." She cups your hand in her own and pulls it towards her chest. "Feel free to touch." You know what happens when you allow temptation to guide your actions. Sullyoon is a case and point.

Despite that, you're unable to resist.

Her breast fits perfectly in your palm. So soft. Your fingers graze over the sensitive nipple. The moans that follow sound heavenly, even more so when accompanied by her coy smile. Without warning, her lips press against yours, sealing off any sort of protest. Her tongue dances across your bottom lip and into your mouth. Soft. Wet. Hot.

Heat pools between your legs. Her hand returns to its former place around your cock. She's so slow now, achingly deliberate. Your mind spins endlessly; overwhelmed by desire.

When you pull back, she gives a sly wink, "Tell me what you think, hm?"

"It feels so fucking good," you sigh. She responds with another kiss. The room fades to silence beyond your muffled moaning and wet kissing sounds. Time itself seems to grind to a halt.

"I knew you'd enjoy it," she murmurs into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe before continuing, "Now...how about you return the favour?" Her words trail off as she lifts one of your fingers into her mouth. Her tongue twirls around it for a moment and then releases it with a wet pop.

"Sure," you mutter, too distracted to care about anything else. You slip your hand beneath the duvet and then push at her hip, turning her onto her back. You admire her upper body. From her chest to the curve of her hips, to the dip of her waist, she looks divine. Belle lies back and spreads her legs. And when your hand snakes between her thighs, she raises her arms above her head and grips the pillow tight.

"Fuck," she gasps as your fingertips run along her slit gently, enjoying how she bucks upwards to meet your digits.

"You're soaked," you marvel.

Belle grins wickedly and exhales slowly. "Mhm," she agrees. "And who's fault is that?"

"Me," you respond quickly.

You brush up and down her pussy with agonising slowness, revelling in how her slick fluids cling to your fingers, and coat them in their essence. After a few seconds of exploration, you circle her clit slowly with two fingertips. Her eyes snap shut instantly and she whimpers softly under her breath. It's mesmerising. She squirms wildly, biting down hard on her bottom lip to stifle her squeals of ecstasy.

Then she lets out this long drawn-out moan while she squeezes the pillow tight against the back of her head. "Fuck," she curses.

Your finger sinks inside of her effortlessly.

"T-that feels..." she whimpers between staggered breaths. You pump in and out of her, curling upwards against her walls every single time. Her hips sway to meet your thrusts, matching them perfectly. The sight drives you insane.

You withdraw your finger from her depths and circle it across her folds. Her legs tremble in anticipation.

"Please," she begs. Your cock throbs painfully.

She tilts her head backwards, baring the pale skin of her neck to you. An offering. One you take happily.

You press your lips against her soft flesh, savouring her taste. Her scent overwhelms you. You can feel her pulse thrumming frantically just beneath the surface of her skin. There's something intensely primal about being able to feel someone else's heartbeat racing against your own.

Your teeth clamp down on the area between her jaw and collarbone, holding her securely as you explore every inch of her sex with newfound fervour.

It isn't long until she writhes beneath you, panting heavily while clinging desperately to the bedsheets around her. Your movements grow faster, more frantic. Hungry even.

She threatens to get loud, and you know how bad that could be. There's a reason Sullyoon always comes into your room, it's the furthest from your parents, and even then you find yourself putting a palm over her mouth. Now it's just one thin wall. One thin wall separates Belle's moans from Sullyoon's ears.

So you shut her up the best way you know how.

She seems surprised when your mouth crashes against hers, silencing her squeals with your tongue, but the feeling is fleeting. Her arms wrap around the back of your neck, pulling her closer towards you. She tastes like strawberries and smells faintly of vanilla.

You absorb her moans into your mouth as she cums on your hand.

Her thighs tighten around you, locking your fingers deep within her core. She shudders violently as waves of pleasure wrack through her frame. Slowly but surely she relaxes again, letting out contented sighs mixed with tiny giggles of delight. When she opens her eyes again, her pupils are dilated and wide, shining brightly. She stares up at you dreamily. Her cheeks flushed red. Lips plump from kisses.

"Holy shit." Belle exhales hard before speaking again. Her voice still shakes with euphoria. "Good morning indeed."

"Yeah," you chuckle, rolling back to give her space.

"No," she stops you by placing a hand on your stomach. "We haven't finished."

"We haven't?"

"You haven't." She runs a hand down your body until it's back to how all this started. This time, she pushes your shorts clear of your hips and lets your erection spring free. She's climbing up and over you as she speaks, "Let me return the favour. We're family now."

Then she takes you into her mouth. Your thoughts blur together into a haze of lust and arousal, blinding your vision temporarily. Everything else fades away except for this girl who sucks your dick like she needs it to survive. Her tongue swirls around the crown of your tip teasingly while she bobs back and forth steadily. She hums around you, sending vibrations reverberating throughout your entire length, sending tingles shooting up and down your spine.

As her effort rises, so does she. Onto all fours and swinging a leg over yours. She's giving you this look—this hungry stare. You're hers now. Totally at her mercy. She keeps eye contact as she sucks you deeper than before. Then, without warning, her head lifts away from your cock completely, leaving behind a slick trail of spittle dripping down her chin. She wipes it away with her knuckles nonchalantly. Still wearing that predatory expression. Something about the action, the confidence of it, it makes you shiver.

She starts to stroke you, right before she dips her pretty face down to place her lips on your balls. Then it's her tongue, warm and wet against the sensitive skin. She alternates between tender kisses and loving licks all while staring up past your cock to meet your gaze. It's unbelievably hot.

"Don't cum yet," she whispers sweetly before returning her mouth around your length again.

"Can't promise anything," you groan back.

"Cute," she murmurs around your shaft.

Belle works you for a while. Those smokey eyes watch your every involuntary reaction while she worships your cock. Every twitch gets a quiet giggle. Every choked moan is met with a little lick across the tip.

It doesn't take long until the fire in your belly begins to spread.

"Belle," you strain, barely keeping a hold of your composure. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum."

"Not yet," she says with a smirk. "Here."

She shifts ever so slightly again, pushing her chest towards her pumping hand. She presses your tip against the hard nipple and jerks you off, alternating between the stiff buds. All you can do is watch, totally transfixed by what's happening before you. Her movements grow quicker and more frantic. Until it becomes almost too much.

You let it out, right onto her pretty little tits. Thick ropes across her flawless skin, painting her while she smiles. Even after you've been spent, she keeps working your shaft until it becomes painful. Oversensitivity has never felt sweeter.

"Oh god." Belle looks down at the mess you've made on her chest. Her grin is devious. She slips off the bed, taking a spare towel from underneath it and wiping at her chest and your crotch. Once you're both clean, she tucks you back in and crawls onto your torso. With a small bounce, she nestles down and lays on top of you. Her chest presses against yours.

"So," she coos, resting her chin on your sternum. "That happened."

You laugh and she quickly joins you. There's a feeling of shared exhilaration hanging between you both. A giddiness that comes from knowing you have just crossed an invisible boundary together.

"That was so fucking hot." Belle brings her palm up to cradle the side of your head affectionately. Her thumb brushes small circles against your temple, tracing patterns along the outline of your cheekbones. After a few seconds, her smile starts to fade. "Do you hate me?"

"Why would I?" You ask sincerely.

"I don't know. You're my step-brother. And I just..."

Her tone makes your heart ache ever so slightly, causing you to reach out for her face and cup her cheek in your palm. "If you hadn't made a move, I would have anyway," you confess.

"You're as messed up as me, then."

She has no idea.

-

Towel and a change of clothes in hand, you start to open the bathroom door when you hear your name. Sullyoon's distinct voice. You hesitate, halfway through the threshold, and turn back to see her walking down the corridor. "So, what, you don't like me anymore?"

"What are you talking about?" You retort defensively.

She puts on this mocking voice. "'Yes Belle, I'll take you to town.' 'Yes Belle, I'll take you to dinner and stand up the sister I actually know.' You've known her for two minutes! Two!"

You feel shame rising inside your chest. It's a weird feeling that just trying to be a good brother (or a bad one) has driven some divide between you and Sullyoon. You try to explain, "She's flown to a whole new country. It's difficult. We have to welcome her. If I didn't have to do it alone then we could see each other more." You sigh, "She really wants to hang out with you, you know."

Sullyoon crosses her arms, looking smug, "Oh, I bet."

"She does," you insist, trying your best not to appear too frustrated with her. "She was excited about movie night and she wants to join us next week." To this, Sullyoon simply scoffs.

"Yeah, right."

There's a pause where neither of you knows what to say. Eventually, it is broken by your stepsister's words.

"Doesn't change the fact that you left me alone on our night." She pouts dramatically, her bottom lip sticking out adorably. You roll your eyes at her antics. Sometimes, her stubbornness can border upon childishness.

"Sullyoon," you say flatly. "Come on. That's not fair."

She shrugs dismissively, clearly unconvinced. "What's not fair is that we haven't done it in almost a week."

You drop your towel and clothes on the bathroom floor and step out quickly towards her. You quickly hold your palm against her plump lips to silence her. "Not so loud."

She grabs your wrist, pulling her mouth free. "Our parents are out, calm down." But then she uses the leverage to yank you forward, right into her arms. "Maybe you should make it up to me."

"Sullyoon." You chastise. Boundaries exist for a reason, and doing this out here in the hallway is not what you agreed. You pry her away and walk back into the bathroom.

She follows each step, and as soon as you turn back to close the door, she's already slipping through and closing it herself. Before you have a chance to protest, Sullyoon's hands grab your face and bring you into a fierce kiss. She wastes no time sliding her tongue between your lips, demanding entry. You resist for only half a second before giving in fully, allowing yourself to become consumed by her passionate embrace. Her fingers grasp tufts of your hair tightly, tugging at the strands gently enough that it sends pleasant shivers running down your spine instead of hurting.

"The hell are you doing?" You eventually ask when she breaks away from your mouth, albeit reluctantly.

"Making up for lost time," she whispers as she slips down to her knees, grabbing the sides of your shorts.

You panic. "Hey, hey—" you exclaim as you stop her. She looks at you confused as to why you aren't happy with getting blown. She furrows her brows and then forcefully tugs them down. Your soft cock springs free, hanging mere inches from her waiting lips. Sullyoon licks them in anticipation while keeping her eyes trained solely upon yours.

But that's when she notices something.

There's a brief moment where the two of you lock gazes; where there should be nothing but lust swimming amidst those hazel irises, there is concern. She inhales sharply, catching a scent which throws her into alert mode. You can practically see the gears turning within her brain.

She stands up immediately, stares you dead in the eyes and says, "What the fuck is that?"

"What?"

"Don't play dumb with me, dumbass. You smell like sex and there's lipstick on your cock."

Shit.

"Belle!" Sullyoon calls as she marches back down the hall, bursting into your bedroom. You almost stumble over your shorts and rush to pull them back up to your waist. You dash behind her, terrified at what will happen next.

You round the corner into your room and Sullyoon is standing at the foot of your bed. Belle has her phone in hand, still lying in bed, with the covers up to her chest.

"Slut!" Sullyoon snaps.

"Excuse me?" Belle sits up straight, clutching the duvet to cover herself up properly, glaring back at your sister angrily.

"You heard me. Stay the fuck away from him. He's mine. My brother."

You wince in the silence. Belle just stares at the furious Sullyoon while the gears turn in her mind. Glancing back and forth between the two of you, she's clearly piecing it together. She smirks and then chuckles. "Oh my god! You're fucking him!"

"That's none of your business." Sullyoon retorts sharply.

"Now it all makes sense," she says while pointing her finger and waggling it between you and Sullyoon. "Do I threaten you?"

"No." Sullyoon lies, rather poorly.

"That's cute," Belle laughs. "So, what, you're in love with your brother?"

"No!" Sullyoon snaps, more assured of herself that time. "That's gross."

Belle gives you a look. "So it's just about the sex? What's the big deal?" She asks bluntly. "Clearly he has a type." She gestures to you and smirks again. "There's enough of him to share."

Sullyoon scoffs at her proposal. "Share?" she repeats incredulously. She glances back at you and you offer nothing but a shrug in reply. "Absolutely not," Sullyoon responds firmly.

"Why?" Belle questions innocently.

"I don't wanna."

"Come on," Belle whines, letting her frustration show for once. She throws up her hands dramatically as she argues passionately, "Look, I understand wanting to keep him all to yourself, believe me! He's adorable." As she speaks, her eyes rake up and down your body appreciatively, making heat rise to your face rapidly. "I'm not trying to steal him or anything. Actually, we might just have more in common than you think."

Sullyoon rolls her eyes. "Unbelievable," she sighs.

"Just picture it," Belle insists. "The three of us, here, together."

"What are you suggesting, exactly?" Sullyoon crosses her arms. She isn't going anywhere.

"A threesome."

"Belle..." you caution, but it goes unheard.

"You can even go first," Belle offers casually.

This is ridiculous. Completely absurd. You watch the scene unfold in disbelief. Sullyoon appears to mull the proposition over, her foot tapping impatiently against the carpet as she thinks. There's no way she will agree. Not in a million years would she even consider such a thing... Right?

Sullyoon closes her eyes briefly and inhales deeply through her nose before exhaling slowly. She looks between both of you several times until she finally meets your gaze again and nods decisively. "Fine. Let's do this. Right here, right now." Her tone has turned resolute, decisive, confident, and bordering on cocky.

Your mouth falls agape. Is this really happening?

"Wait. Really?" Belle seems equally shocked by this sudden change. Apparently neither one of you expected her acquiescence quite this quickly or easily.

You look between the two girls. Back and forth. They're doing the same. It's this strange triangle of hesitancy and confusion.

"So how do we...?" Sullyoon trails off, obviously unsure as to how things work from this point forward. She's used to your shared normal, your routine; just the two of you having sex. Spontaneity demands creativity.

"I don't know. It's kinda..." You chime in but don't know how to explain it.

Belle rolls her eyes at the two of you. "Oh my god. Come on." She scoots closer toward the edge of the bed, pulling the duvet away. It slides off her shoulders revealing the perfect curve of her bare breasts. It's not like you've forgotten the sight of them not long ago (nothing about Belle is forgettable) but it sure does hit differently under the context of the situation. She gestures to the bed behind her. "If you two want to fuck, just fuck."

Sullyoon shoots daggers at Belle but still decides to approach regardless. When she reaches you, she grabs your hand roughly and drags you onto the mattress with her. It's all so easy, so natural, falling into a tangle of limbs with her. Even if Belle is watching, even if she's sitting right there. None of that matters anymore because once your mouths collide, everything else fades into insignificance.

You taste the sweetness of her saliva. Feel the warmth radiating off her skin. Smell her familiar perfume, lavender and honey. She's all around you, encasing you completely and enveloping you entirely until all that remains is her. The kiss grows more intense, tongues wrestling as she straddles your lap and grinds her crotch down onto yours eagerly. Desperately seeking relief from the throbbing between her legs.

Then her fingers snake beneath your shirt and lift it over your head, breaking contact. She flings the clothing across the room carelessly before returning the attention to your lips once more. As she leans in for another embrace, you remember exactly where you are, who's there with you, and why they're here.

"Belle—" you start, breaking away mid-kiss. You gesture to her awkwardly as Sullyoon starts mouthing at your neck.

"Mmm?" She answers as she crawls towards your outstretched hand.

"Are you okay with this?"

She takes it upon herself to grab hold of your wrist and guide your palm right onto her naked breast, guiding it around with her own grip. She holds you there until you get the memo, massaging it gently between your digits whilst rubbing her fingertip atop your finger delicately, coaxing you to tweak her erect nipple. "Very," she finally replies.

"This is so weird," Sullyoon remarks, lifting away from your shoulder as Belle moves to her side and perches on her knees.

"It was already weird before I got involved," Belle jokes back, giving you a mischievous grin. She brings her free hand up to cup Sullyoon's cheek.

Sullyoon shies away, "I won't kiss you."

"I wouldn't expect it."

They look at each other for a moment, as if silently coming to some kind of understanding that transcends verbal language altogether. After a few more seconds pass by without further incident, you see them exchange conspiratorial smirks, as though they were sharing some hilarious joke at your expense.

Sullyoon pulls her top over her head, while Belle makes a move at your shorts. For the second time this morning, she's pulling your cock free from them, only this time, she's presenting it to Sullyoon. Her hand wraps around the shaft and starts to jerk it up and down, eliciting a low moan out of you which catches their collective attention. Belle smiles slyly.

In her delicate lace bra, Sullyoon lowers her head, opens her mouth and presents her tongue. Belle presses your tip onto her tongue and Sullyoon is quick to lap at it hungrily. She slides her hands up along your thighs, gripping firmly as she takes you deeper.

"That's hot," Belle murmurs softly, still pumping you.

All you can do is bite your lip and watch as your stepsisters service your length together, competing for its pleasure and attention. They swap turns, passing you back and forth while occasionally meeting in the middle, sucking along either side. It's a little awkward, the way they get in each other's way, but somehow that makes it hotter. Seeing their cheeks squish together, heads bump and lips brush accidentally while fighting for dominance over your dick.

At one point, when Sullyoon has sucked you all the way to the hilt, you notice Belle burying her fingers into Sullyoon's hair. Then the hand slides further, until it cups the back of your sister's head. Then she pushes, holding her in place while she swallows your entire length. Sullyoon panics at first, spluttering slightly against your shaft before she relaxes, settling into the gag, taking it for a bit longer before Belle releases her.

"Fuck!" Sullyoon gasps once she has the freedom to breathe. Strings of spittle connecting her open mouth to the tip of your cock. "Why?"

"Because it's hot," Belle shrugs.

"She's right," you manage to groan out. "Very hot."

"See?" Belle states triumphantly. She places her hand behind your sister's head again, "So do it again."

Sullyoon doesn't put up any resistance. Belle pushes her down, holding her down again as you enter deep into the wet confines of her throat. Sullyoon grips tightly at the flesh of your thighs and tries to relax her body. Despite the initial discomfort, there's no denying that having someone else dictate the terms of her oral servitude adds another layer of eroticism to the whole affair. Belle lets her resurface with a deep gasp for air, spit smeared across her chin, a thin strand dangling precariously between the underside of your erection and the tip of her tongue.

"Look at how pretty you are like that," Belle coos condescendingly while stroking Sullyoon's hair affectionately, almost lovingly even. In spite of everything else, the humiliation of being reduced to such an object, you catch Sullyoon blushing at the praise. Even more shocking, Sullyoon seems to lean into her caresses willingly.

"You've made her blush, Belle." You joke lightly, breaking some tension. It earns a glare from Sullyoon. The humour is short-lived.

After another couple of rounds, during which you have to fight every instinct within yourself not to cum in either of their mouths, Belle asks, "Can I see you ride him?"

One thing is becoming clear: Belle loves to watch.

Sullyoon sits up and wipes the excess saliva from her jawline with the back of her wrist, still panting slightly from being choked so thoroughly. After regaining some composure, she merely nods her consent. There's an underlying tension, however subtle, woven throughout their interaction now but a hint of mutual respect borne from seeing the other's ability to please you so well.

As Sullyoon stands, Belle seems to ponder. On her knees, staring at her sister's body, as if admiring every aspect of her figure; slender legs, tight waist, and cute ass. You get it. You've been there. Gawking at Sullyoon from afar, stealing glances while nobody notices, fantasising about those very curves. And yet it's surreal seeing somebody else experiencing it in front of you.

When Belle speaks up, she points to Sullyoon's shorts. "May I?"

"Go ahead," Sullyoon mutters nonchalantly, almost absentmindedly. Her full focus seems to revolve around climbing onto your lap. Meanwhile, Belle carefully peels away the fabric that clings to Sullyoon's lower body, easing her out of them until her legs come free. In a series of graceful motions, Belle has exposed Sullyoon down to nothing—helped because Sullyoon never wears underwear in the house.

As Sullyoon settles over your hips, resting on her knees, Belle crawls up next to you, positioning herself comfortably alongside your body. She props herself upright, leaning sideways against your torso for support. With a finger, she traces shapes across your chest, drawing abstract patterns into your skin idly while keeping her eyes locked exclusively forward, entranced by Sullyoon above you.

She takes hold of your dick at its base. Taking her time to drag both it and herself against each other, exchanging spit and slick fluids that coat them. There's a little sway and rotation to her hips, teasing incessantly until the anticipation threatens to drive you mad. The soft skin of her tummy looks so tasty from here, rising and falling slowly as she breathes and moving as she rolls her body.

There comes a point where enough is enough.

Just as you reach to grab yourself and guide it inside of her, Belle stretches her hand down between Sullyoon's legs and takes hold of your cock instead. She slaps your tip against your sister's swollen clit. Up and down, hitting the sensitive button repeatedly. All it takes is one errant flick downwards, however accidental (or not), and now your cockhead is nestled snugly into Sullyoon's entrance.

Belle draws her palm back up over your body. "Sorry, my bad," she giggles. Except you know better, seeing the smug twinkle that sparkles behind her irises. Before you can say anything more, Sullyoon succumbs to gravity and the pleasure it brings. Her hips sink down. Accepting inch after inch of you inside of her welcoming pussy until every last bit fits snuggly within her walls. She groans quietly.

It's all so familiar—the sensation of being enveloped by her velvety folds—but still wonderful nonetheless.

The shift of pressure when she begins to grind on top of you reminds you of those many times in the evening darkness, those instances when all that mattered was staying silent. Now you have an audience. Somebody watching intently from your side.

Belle watches the action unfold, a gasp here and giggle there. Sullyoon's body arches back subtly whilst she rocks her pelvis back and forth rhythmically atop yours. Her eyelids droop heavily as ecstasy surges through her veins, causing goosebumps to prickle over her smooth flesh as she rides.

"You like riding your brother's dick?"

"Y-Yes," Sullyoon stutters out, too preoccupied to register fully what she said. This sets off the deviant in Belle. You sense her growing bolder, more confident with her lecherous remarks knowing they'll be met with little to no resistance.

"You gonna cum on it?"

"Yes!" Sullyoon cries. Every downward motion presses her clit against your pubic bone, sending waves rippling through her petite frame. You grip her waist firmly, helping her. Her ass collides loudly against your thighs when she bottoms out each time. There's hardly any need for you to buck your hips and meet her.

"Yeah, you love fucking your stepbrother, don't you?"

Sullyoon only whimpers. Whatever argument or shame she might muster has fallen prey to her own desires. Now that she's been given permission—to indulge these fantasies openly with others—it appears as though she'll never go back. How can anyone turn away from such bliss?

And to your own amazement, neither of you seems fazed by the fact Belle bears witness to everything transpiring before her eyes.

"So dirty. Such a bad girl." Belle's tone is sultry sweet like honey dripping off a spoon. She leans closer and plants her lips against yours softly. It takes a second, a single heartbeat passing in silence where your tongue darts forward to greet hers. Suddenly the kiss has become something fierce and passionate—an exchange filled entirely with unbridled hunger that knows nothing besides passion itself. Nothing exists beyond its carnal needs right now except for maybe one thing...

An explosion erupts deep within Sullyoon; an eruption so violent that it causes her entire form to shake uncontrollably atop you. Her moans fill your bedroom, and her whole body draws tense before collapsing limply upon you like a marionette whose strings had just been cut loose by some unseen force. She quivers and writhes atop your throbbing shaft.

"Must be one hell of a ride," Belle comments through laboured breaths.

"Find out for yourself," you respond, matching her energy.

"Mmmm," she purrs thoughtfully whilst absentmindedly tracing circles across Sullyoon's exposed backside. "Let's switch, 'kay?"

You're quick to respond. Grabbing onto Sullyoon's ass cheeks, digging your fingertips firmly into each supple mound as you hoist her upwards. Your cock slips effortlessly free, causing a shudder to run through you both simultaneously before pulling apart completely. A mixture of sexual fluids oozes messily down her thighs when you set her aside on the mattress.

Now it's Belle's turn.

The atmosphere shifts drastically as she straddles you. Where previously things had taken on this languid dreamlike state—with Sullyoon's gentle undulations atop your cock, punctuated by moans echoing throughout the room—now the urgency returns anew.

Once Belle has mounted you correctly, sinking down until she reaches hilt-deep within herself, then she starts gyrating wildly. Hips rolling furiously fast and grinding her sex hard against yours, driving you deeper than ever before.

Her tits bounce deliciously from the impacts and her lips purse prettily with exertion. From nothing to everything in the blink of an eye. She's leaning over you, pressing her forehead against yours and staring right into your soul as she rides your cock mercilessly. And those eyes—those beautifully smokey eyes—are burning with lustful fervour.

Belle's hot breath mingles sweetly together amidst the haze surrounding you two. Then her lips crash against yours in a searing kiss that steals away whatever remaining oxygen you have left within your lungs. Tongues dance between teeth, entwining passionately against one another until you're forced apart by necessity.

"How is he?" Sullyoon speaks up. She sounds remarkably coherent despite appearing like a spent mess lying sprawled out beside you two.

"Fucking huge," Belle gasps in response without breaking stride. Her pace doesn't slow at all, if anything she speeds up even more in defiance to accommodate your size better. Her voice wavers slightly when she speaks again. "He feels so good," she murmurs softly against your earlobe.

"Give me his face," Sullyoon demands, crawling closer to you, propping her body upright next to your head. Once her hands cup your cheeks and tilt your face up, she swings a leg over your head and positions her snatch directly above your mouth. Then she descends downwards gently, pressing herself flush against your lips.

As soon as contact occurs between tongue and slit, Sullyoon jolts upright suddenly as bolts shoot straight towards her core. Eagerly lapping away at her glistening cunt causes a ripple effect throughout her whole physique, making her hips gyrate involuntarily against your open mouth.

Belle continues slamming herself down hard atop you, rocking your entire foundation relentlessly. She throws her head backwards as the momentum builds steadily higher and higher. Unrestrained groans spill freely from her throat unchecked as pleasure overwhelms every other rational thought inside her brain. Meanwhile, you feast on the nectar that flows forth copiously from your step-sister's pussy, savouring the ambrosia coating thickly around your tongue as you slurp it greedily down.

Time loses meaning while submerged beneath the sea of sensations cascading over you ceaselessly—nothing existing beyond the confines of flesh pounding against flesh nor the taste saturating every inch of your being.

You claw for some sort of respite, finding your fingers digging into Sullyoon's ass as a makeshift warning of the feeling in your body. You're close but they won't stop, in fact, Belle works harder.

Everything escalates tenfold. Everything gets faster; harder; wilder.

It drives you absolutely insane.

Your cock spasms violently inside of Belle's convulsing sex. Simultaneously, she's screaming something incomprehensible—not quite words necessarily but definitely conveying something meaningful nonetheless. The surge of euphoria crashes through you like waves crashing upon the shore during a stormy night—ferociously crashing through every fibre of your being with unrestrained vigour. Cum floods her depths in hot thick spurts and her body tenses rigidly, shaking fiercely whilst gripping tightly onto you for stability. Sullyoon trembles too, twitching sporadically and squealing loudly through clenched teeth before eventually slumping forward once again, collapsing heavily upon your face while riding out her orgasmic peak alongside yours.

Seconds feel like minutes, minutes seem like hours.

Eventually, the intensity fades, replaced instead by gentle numbness which fills the void afterwards. You lay there, breathing raggedly—heart hammering heavily within ribcage and sweat trickling down skin dampened thoroughly, amongst bodily fluids staining sheets soaked in evidence of prior debauchery. Eventually, your sisters roll off of you.

Silence prevails for several long moments afterwards. No sound penetrates beyond shallow breaths. Nobody says anything; no words need be uttered aloud to express emotions present right now anyway.

***

Three days later, you wake up in bed, sandwiched between your sisters. Legs intertwined, warm skin brushing against one another and soft chests pillowing against your sides. Asleep.

This isn't unusual—not anymore. How quickly it has all become routine to sleep squished between them.

It's also not weird or uncomfortable. At least, you try to convince yourself of that. Because otherwise...well...

You decide not to finish the thought. Instead, you opt to focus solely on enjoying the sensation of having both beautiful girls wrapped snugly around you. Revel in their warmth and breathe deeply their scent. Cherish this dirty, taboo arrangement for all it's worth. There will surely come a day when everything falls apart; when reality inevitably comes knocking at the door. But until then, why not indulge? 

[filthyrafe]

mmhmmm now this what i’m talking about!!! this is literally a masterpiece i cannoott even explain it???? hello???

“You know what I mean,” she whines; shifting around in his lap some more.    

“M’afraid I don’t. If there’s somethin’ you want, you gonna have to tell me,” the edge of his mouth curls annoyingly when he decides to toy with her, always finding so much entertainment from her struggle.     

THAT WAS ✋✋✋. FERAL. i have nb to explain this to!!!!

“Wha’s up with you today, hm? So fuckin’ needy, actin’ like you haven’t been fucked in a month when you were literally cryin’ on m’cock last night?” he murmurs while thumbing at her pouty bottom lip. —

"Can't do anythin' without dad's help, can you? Go on, let's see if you can take me out by yourself, yeah?" he rasps out, tone challenging.

"No, need your help, daddy, I can't-"

"Shit, you're fuckin' pathetic," he murmurs, somehow managing to turn something so patronizing into something affectionate as he swats away her helpless hands and yanks the belt open himself.

"See? Not that fuckin' hard, was it?" he mutters out as his thumb slips out of her mouth before he's pulling himself out. And even if he's not even fully hard yet, and she's seen it more times than she can count, she's still mesmerized by the sight- eyes rounding out while she simply stares as if she's under some spell.

MMMMMHHM spectacular give me 14 of them rn. can we pls take a moment and read thiiisss… mhm..ugh.. pls. never delete this!

older!rafe and sensitive!reader spending the holidays together

18+ mdni! 

c/w: fluff, her ovulating and being horny, smut: p-in-v, slight breeding kink, use of dad

wc: 1.5k

ugh i’ve missed this man

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

“Why is he doin’ that shit?”  

“Rafe, it’s a rom-com,” she reasons, practically glued to him on their couch with the way she keeps shifting closer and closer, almost unconsciously at this point.   

“Yeah, a shitty one. Why was it necessary to do a whole fuckin’ speech at the mall? He couldn’t jus’ I dunno, tell her how he felt?” he scoffs, clearly fed up with the entire film already. 

She can’t stop the bubbly laughter from escaping her when she looks over to his scowling face. “I mean, this is actually getting kinda weird…why’s everyone watching them?” 

“Yeah, ‘n why are they still on that fuckin’ stage?” he grumbles while the couple is now fully making out on the TV screen. 

“Please don’t ever do anything like that to me.”

“Yeah, was actually gonna ask, you, uh, you wanna go shoppin’ tomorrow?” 

“No!” she giggles before taking a sip of the hot chocolate she’d made for herself (because Rafe deliberately told her he didn’t want any) but the minute she’d sat down with the mug in hand, he’d wanted to try it, which ended up with him drinking nearly half of it.  

“Oh shit, forgot to give you this earlier, look what I got you today,” he suddenly murmurs. 

“Hm?” her eyes flit over to his face; momentarily distracted by his pretty features as he searches for something from the back pocket of his pants. Then, he’s pulling a golden necklace from a velvety box.    

“That looks really expensive,” she nervously mumbles, pausing the TV in order to concentrate on the heart-shaped locket he’s holding out to her.   

“You deserve the fuckin’ world, it was nothin’ alright? Can think of it as an early Christmas present if it makes you feel better,” he rolls his eyes, almost exasperated that she still can’t seem to comprehend the fact that he enjoys spending his money on her.    

“It’s so beautiful,” she croons as she inspects the piece of jewelry with careful fingertips, heart swelling in her chest at the sentiment— recalling how she’d mentioned something about thinking pendants like these were adorable maybe once.    

“Yeah? You like it?”    

“I love it. Wait, you had your initials carved into it too? That’s so cute, Ray, what the hell?” she feels her eyes grow watery because her boyfriend really is her favorite person in the whole wide world for a reason.    

“Yeah, know you’re into sappy shit like that, ‘n you can put m’picture inside too ‘n you’ll always have me with you or whatever the fuck.”    

“Shut up, you’re so sweet! I love you,” she exclaims before she’s wrapping her arms around his neck— climbing into his lap in the process while he murmurs into her hair how he apparently ‘loves her more’, which she thinks is not possible.    

“Let me put it on you?” he says before he’s swiping away some strands in order to clasp the locket around her neck. “Look so pretty with m’name on you.”

“Wait, you should have my name on you too,” she jokingly utters out next.  

“Been thinkin’ about gettin’ it tattooed actually,” he admits, completely serious, which makes her face scrunch up.  

“You’re not getting my name tattooed on you— you’re crazy,” she softly hits his chest. However, he can barely even feel it because she really doesn’t have a single violent bone in her body.   

“Yeah, crazy ‘bout you,” he grins, eliciting an airy giggle from her.    

Knowing she’s about to complain about him being weird again, he shuts her up with a press of his mouth against hers— a surprised noise leaving her when she’s momentarily taken aback by the sudden cushion of his lips. 

And it’s sloppy, the way they slot together like puzzle pieces when she opens up for him, but both of them prefer it that way. 

His kiss was meant to be something sweet but soon enough she’s rutting against him— whimpering into his mouth as if it’s been years since the last time they did this. And all too soon for her liking, he’s pulling away.

“Somethin’ you want?”  

“…no,” she lies through her teeth.    

“No? Jus’ uh, humpin’ me like a bitch in heat for no reason then, hm?” he raises his brows; eyes fixed on her frustrated features.    

“Ray...” she huffs out; a frown already forming on her spit-slicked lips.    

“Yeah?” he asks, giving her a soft peck as encouragement.    

“Want you…” she pants against his mouth.    

“But m’right here?” the furrow of his brows displays faux confusion.  

“You know what I mean,” she whines; shifting around in his lap some more.    

“M’afraid I don’t. If there’s somethin’ you want, you gonna have to tell me,” the edge of his mouth curls annoyingly when he decides to toy with her, always finding so much entertainment from her struggle.     

However, she merely grants him another whine.   

“Wha’s up with you today, hm? So fuckin’ needy, actin’ like you haven’t been fucked in a month when you were literally cryin’ on m’cock last night?” he murmurs while thumbing at her pouty bottom lip.   

“I don’t know…jus’ need you so bad,” her eyes begin to gloss over when he’s still not giving her what she so desperately craves.    

“Baby, there’s no need to cry, yeah?” he sticks his thumb past her lips; an attempt to placate her, even if he thinks she never looks prettier than with her eyes all wet and forlorn.   

“You’re ovulatin’ right now, aren’t ya?” his brain finally fits together the very telltale signs as he plucks his phone from the coffee table— opening the app that tracks her period cycle.  

“Think so, yeah,” she mumbles, mindlessly sucking on the digit resting on her tongue as she sniffles.  

It’s no surprise to either of them when his assumption proves to be right.    

“Think you need me to fuck a baby in you, s’that it? Wanna make me a real daddy?” he croons.    

“Mhm…want you,” her words are muffled around his thumb.    

“I know, sweetheart. Don’t want anyone but you carryin’ m’kids— think about knockin’ you up so fuckin’ often, you know?”    

“You do?”    

“Yeah, know you’d be such a good mom.”    

“You think? I think you’d be the best dad, sometimes wish you were my dad,” she rambles mindlessly, the conversation suddenly teetering on the edge of something else entirely.    

“Shit, such an angel face ‘n then there’s this rotten mind inside, huh?” he tuts in disapproval, appearing disgusted as if he doesn’t get even harder in response to her words— something raw, primitive stirring in the pit of his stomach whenever she says things like that.    

“M’sorry dad,” she offers him an impish smile.  

“Someone’s in a mood today?” he chuckles, narrowing his eyes in a playful manner.    

“Can you take off your pants?” she complains while attempting to loosen his belt but with her mind buzzing like a honeybee it’s proving to be a rather demanding.   

“Can’t do anythin’ without dad’s help, can you? Go on, let’s see if you can take me out by yourself, yeah?” he rasps out, tone challenging.    

“No, need your help, daddy, I can’t—”  

“Shit, you’re fuckin’ pathetic,” he murmurs, somehow managing to turn something so patronizing into something affectionate as he swats away her helpless hands and yanks the belt open himself.    

“See? Not that fuckin’ hard, was it?” he mutters out as his thumb slips out of her mouth before he’s pulling himself out. And even if he’s not even fully hard yet, and she’s seen it more times than she can count, she’s still mesmerized by the sight— eyes rounding out while she simply stares as if she’s under some spell.    

“You’re so pretty,” she blinks at him, eyes moony.    

“Still not tired of seein’ it, huh?”   

She shakes her head.   

And since she’s not wearing any pants (as usual), he only has to tug the fabric of her underwear to the side in order to reveal her messy cunt.    

“Ray…” she whines when he merely smears the drippy head over her folds; thudding it against her clit to get her to whimper some more.  

“Hm? Want it inside? Wha’s the magic word?” he looks at her with something amused twinkling in his eyes.   

“Please. Dad, it hurts,” she sniffles, desperately trying to rub against him in an attempt to alleviate the ache.    

“Hurts? Think you bein’ a little dramatic, no?” he lets out a breathy chuckle, making her huff out in frustration.   

“M’not, Ray, please, need you so bad,” wet droplets stain her cheeks while she tries to uselessly blink them away.    

“Shh, s’okay. Dad’s bein’ mean again, isn’t he? M’sorry, baby, I’ll give you what you want, yeah?” his voice is a deep rumble before he’s finally tucking the tip into her weepy cunt, causing both of them to moan in tandem when she practically sucks him in— his fingerprints denting the skin of her thighs when he aids her movements to his liking.   

“Yeah? That what you wanted? Always such a tight fuckin’ fit, huh?” he grunts against her mouth; hips meeting hers halfway as he stuffs himself deeper.  

“Mm, I love you,” she whimpers— practically feeling him in her guts as his cock pokes at the spongy spot inside her while his big hands help situate her on top of him, and she thinks this might just be heaven on earth.

[sun-kissy]

hi, my darling!! i love, love, your writing, and just wanted to say that i am obsessed! may i please request scarf (i can't find the emoji) 😭 with our dearest remus? the prompt would be — “is there anything i can say to make this less awkward?”

thank you so much darling! <3 and here’s a scarf for you🧣(found the emoji for you haha 😉)

mistletoe | r.l.

— “Is there anything I can say to make this less awkward?”

remus lupin x reader —★— word count 1.7k

summary: you attend your neighbour, sirius’ christmas party, where remus saves you from a bully before kissing you under the mistletoe :)

cw: fluff, mean bully cormac mclaggen, protective remus <333, reader gets panicky, sirius is a protective + matchmaker friend haha

Your eyes dart around the living room nervously, drink sloshing around the cup in your hand. The music from the speakers is booming, blaring disco lights making it hard to see much. You can’t seem to spot any familiar faces.

Sirius, your next-door neighbour and friend, was throwing a huge Christmas party. All his old friends were there too. You were familiar with them, having seen them quite a bit whenever they went over. And they seemed nice for the most part, if a bit raucous. You think you’d probably feel better around them than stranded in this buzzing, foreign crowd.

You continue taking cautious steps forward, eyes trained on the ground as you push your way through bodies of people dancing and snogging and puking and – fuck.

You don’t even realise that you’ve spilled your drink all over someone until he, not very nicely, alerts you to it.

“Hey!”

It doesn’t occur that he’s calling out to you. Your hearing is all but closed off to the noise of the party.

“Hey – you!” All of a sudden there’s a hand wrapped around your wrist, and you freeze, quickly whipping around to find the source. It feels like your flight or fight mode has been activated, and you’re squirming away before you can even spot his face in the sea of people.

Breaths are loud, deafening in your ears. They might be yours, or maybe they’re those of the crowd starting to gather round. You’re not quite sure.

Your eyes land on him. The buff blonde in front of you, grip tightening around your wrist as he pulls you closer. There’s words coming out of his mouth. Spit landing on your nose. But you can’t seem to make out a thing he’s saying, phrases like stupid girl and bitch slipping through your consciousness and adding fuel to the fire of panic in your throat.

You open your mouth to apologise, though you’re not quite sure what you’ve done. Nothing comes out but a pathetic croak.

The scary man’s voice gets louder and louder. You’ve never quite seen rage in human form, but here he was. Here he was. And he was going to be the death of you, you’re sure of it.

“Hey, man.”

Another voice, getting closer. It’s softer. Gentler. You feel an arm around your waist, and the touch is kind enough to not make you want to pull away.

“Let go of her, please. It was an honest mistake.”

“But this bitch –”

“I said,” you can hear the hint of hardness in the nice man’s voice, “Let go.” Somehow, you know it’s not directed at you. His grip on your waist tightens the slightest bit, but careful not to hurt.

There’s a beat of silence before the harsh hand leaves your wrist. The relief is immediate, the familiar feeling of a come down after a painful high. Your skin doesn’t feel so foreign to you anymore.

“Thank you,” the kind man says from beside you, though he doesn’t sound very grateful. “I’m sure Sirius could spare you one of his shirts, if you’d like.” Once again, there’s no actual apology in his tone.

Without waiting for a reply, you feel yourself being gently steered away. You look around as you walk, spotting expressions of shock and humour and all sorts of funny feelings.

You twist your head to take a look at your saviour, feeling like your heart might stop beating all over again.

Remus Lupin. You liked him more than you knew him.

You’ve seen him a few times at Sirius’ place, spoken to him even fewer. Yet nothing but sweetness came to mind at the thought of him; all softness and pretty scars and kind smiles. You think maybe the word gentleman was made for him. Even Sirius seemed to be lovelier in Remus’ presence, which was saying a lot, because you thought your neighbour really was quite lovely already.

You’d never seen Remus so riled up before. Honestly, you didn’t think he was capable of it. There was a silly little feeling in your tummy, to know that he had gotten so worked up to protect you.

“Sweetheart,” his voice brings you back to the present. And he’s back to normal, back to the soft, calm man you so adored.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiles bemusedly, though his brows are bent with concern. You realise he’s brought you to the kitchen, where there’s fewer people and more air to breathe. The feeling of his thumbs gently rubbing your wrists is almost too much to bear. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m –” you try not to shudder as the thought of the angry man comes back to you, “fine. I’m fine.”

Remus gives your hands a squeeze. “Okay. You’re okay now, yeah? I’m sorry about Cormac. He was a dick in high school too,” he sighs. “Once a dick, always a dick.”

You let out a giggle. “Really?”

He grins, a proper one. “Yeah, really. One time, James — you know James, right? The bespectacled one with the curly hair —” he continues when you nod, “— yeah, so James walked right up to Cormac and —“

“Hey,” Remus is interrupted by Sirius, breathless as he shoves past people, into the kitchen. His brows are pinched together as he pulls you into a half hug. “Hey, babe. Are you good? I heard what happened just now with McLaggen, the asshole.”

“I’m okay, really,” you squeak out as Sirius pulls you even closer. “Sirius —“

You feel your cheeks heating up when you hear Remus chuckling. Sirius lets you go from the hug now, but his grip on your shoulders is vice-like as he looks you over like a concerned mother hen. “Are you sure you’re okay? He didn’t touch you, did he?”

“Well, he did, but —“

“He touched you?” Sirius sounds close to appalled. Remus is snickering now, and you feel like digging yourself a hole and crawling into it. “The bastard! I’m gonna —“

“Sirius!” you hiss, cutting him off. “I’m all good, I swear. Remus got me out of it.”

Sirius flicks his gaze over to Remus. In a split second, you know what’s coming when you see the twinkle in his eyes.

“Sirius. Don’t you dare.”

He flashes you a quick grin before turning to his friend, wiggling his eyebrows. “So, loverboy here saved you, huh?”

Remus quirks an eyebrow at you questioningly. You turn to Sirius with a pleading look; you knew he knew all about your little crush. But of course, he wouldn’t stop there.

“Did he swoop you into his arms? Catch you as you fell?”

“No…“ you mumble shyly, shoulders up to your ears.

“Well,” Sirius smirks, “He can now!”

The only warning you get is a wink, before Sirius’ hand is on your shoulder and he gives you a push.

You let out a yelp as you tumble backwards, straight into Remus.

Embarrassment washes over you as his strong arms immediately come around your waist, swiftly pressing onto your stomach as he steadies you. “Woah, woah, easy there. Are you okay?”

You blink. “I… um… I…”

The feeling of his hands on you is distracting, too much to take. It’s like your legs have turned to jelly, tongue to rubber. Words turn to dust on the tip of it.

Maybe this is how you perish, you think. You’d die of shyness in Remus’ arms; perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.

A loud gasp startles you out of your reverie. Both you and Remus turn to find Sirius staring at you with his hands on his cheeks, eyes dramatically wide and mouth agape.

“Oh. My. God,” he gushes, stepping towards you. “What do we have here?”

You shoot him a glare, hoping it conveys both your desperation and annoyance. Sirius seems, or rather pretends, to understand nothing.

“Would you look at that?” he continues with a grin, chucking his head upwards. You look up to feel your heart drop.

There’s a quiet snort from Remus at the sight. Green leaves, red ribbon adorning it. Mistletoe.

“Mistletoe!” Sirius exclaims, as if it weren’t painfully obvious.

You cringe, immediately hanging your head to stare at your hands. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and hope the red on your cheeks isn’t as obvious as you think it is.

Sirius is annoyingly loud as he continues to yap, but your heartbeat is louder.

Remus clears his throat. You blink, whipping your head upwards to find him looking at you with an apologetic smile. He rubs the nape of his neck bashfully. “Is there anything I can say to make this less awkward?”

A soft huff of laughter escapes you despite yourself. “No, I… I don’t think so.”

He grins. You feel your resolve melting into a puddle. “Kiss me.”

Remus blinks, eyes widening for a split second before his lips quirk upwards. “What?”

“Kiss me,” you breathe, hoping you don’t sound as anxious as you feel. “I mean, not because I want you to or anything —“ you laugh nervously, “— but because it’s mistletoe, and — oh.”

Remus’ lips are on yours in a moment. The squeak you let out dissolves into his mouth, hand gently cupping the back of your head.

You feel his soft hands on your waist and his sweet lips on yours and you feel like you’re falling all over again.

This is what that muggle singer Sirius loved — Elvis Presley — must’ve been feeling, you think, when he wrote Can’t Help Falling in Love. He must’ve been kissing the epitome of love itself, because you seemed to be falling into Remus, melting into his touch. If you were a fool for rushing in, then so be it. You’d be anything to taste his lips again.

Remus lets go all too soon, though you’d probably feel the same way if he let go after a lifetime. He gives you that sweet, sweet smile again, and you can’t help but smile back.

“You know, we don’t always have to be under the mistletoe to kiss.”

“We don’t?”

“No,” Remus grins, “like right now.”

He tugs on your waist, stumbling until your back hits the wall. He kisses you again, and you’re suddenly very grateful for Sirius. You’d have to thank him for three things this Christmas — introducing you to Remus, inviting you to this party, and most importantly — for that song reference.

san’s christmas sleepover

[fangel]

always, attic angel — jake [ 심재윤 ]

synopsis : jake’s hidden secret isn’t so secret anymore, but he’ll go to great lengths to keep it. he reaches his breaking point when faced with betrayal. he relinquishes any remaining sense of sanctity, surrendering to everything he's spent his life trying to suppress. ⇀ read part 1 here ⸝⸝ updated playlist

pairing : jake sim x fem. reader featuring : heeseung genre : psychological thriller, smut, yandere word count : 7.7k content advisory : dark content ⚠︎ sexually explicit content, obsessive!jake, possessive!jake, jake in general, corrupt!reader, choking, dubcon, somnophilia, spanking, unprotected sex, stockholm syndrome, religious themes and concepts, violence, blood, mentions of homicide/death, open ending - mostly proofread

“can you keep a secret?”

jake wasn’t only asking heeseung the literal question, but he was questioning himself. how long could he realistically hide you away? were you, his sacred secret, something that he could actually keep? he’s thought about it a lot. often losing hours in a day just going over the agonizing idea of not.

heeseung at a loss for words, just watches jake’s body language. jake is like nothing he’s ever seen before. jay and sunghoon have brought up jake’s odd behavior with concern, but he always brushed it off. now heeseung is here to witness it himself, stunned with his brows furrowed and a mouth opening and closing, looking for words he can’t find. he looks back up to the top of staircase, the room that he knows is occupied with someone. hundreds of questions flood his mind but he doesn’t know where to begin. 

“jake,” he says quietly, eyes darting from the door up the stairs and to the boys huddled in the living room. “what did you do? who is here?” even if jake did have a girlfriend, or just someone he’s been seeing, why would he need to act this way? with the way the air feels around them, heeseung is sure that there’s much more going on. and whatever it could be, was far from good. 

jake still can’t look at heeseung. he just stares to the floor with a death grip on heeseung. his breathing picks up in slow, deep heaves. he holds onto his hyung like a lifeline. heeseung feels genuine dread. the chill he feels run through his body makes every hair stand up. he wants to pull away from jake, to go investigate before the others get nosy or cause a scene. but he can’t. his instincts are telling him that if he moves too quickly that jake will break.  

“jake… if i go up there—” he begins to say slowly, quietly. and that’s when jake looks up at heeseung. his eyes look wild, almost like they’re threatening him. heeseung swallows hard, sensing that maybe he is silently threatening him. 

heeseung tries to step back but jake only digs his nails into the flesh of heeseung’s arm. he hisses at the sting and attempts to tug his arm away from the hold. jake’s strength is something heeseung never knew he had; he thinks that jake might just fucking break his arm at the elbow right here and now. 

through clenched teeth, jake seethes under his breath, “i’ll explain, but get them all out of my house first. and i swear to god if you tell another soul you’ll be buried out back too.” 

what the fuck, is all heeseung can think. his eyes wide from the venomous threat. he complies with jake out of fear. these were treacherous waters and he wasn’t going to test it out by diving in. especially with the tension growing too thick and too fast for heeseung to waste any time. 

jake follows heeseung to the living, standing behind him, watching and listening. he doesn’t say a word as his older friend handles the situation. he just shifts on his feet while staring into the back of heeseung’s head.

heeseung stumbles over his words, nervously attempting a lie to get the rest of the boys to leave. the words catching in his throat that he masks with a cough whenever one of them makes a questioning expression. 

although disoriented and perturbed, they all listen to heeseung. heeseung being obviously troubled with something serious made them gather their things with haste. they were rushing out to the car in minutes with no questions asked. there were many to be had, but they assumed they would find out eventually. 

jake and heeseung watch as they drive away, from the front door. neither of them say a word even when the vehicle is out of sight. the taillights fading into the snowscape treeline of gravel road is all to be heard and seen. 

there’s a pregnant pause before jake closes the door and locks it, all 5 different locks. heeseung raises a brow, stepping back slowly. his eyes watching as jake stuffs the ring of keys into his front hoodie pocket. he makes note of it. 

jake, still yet to utter a word, just walks into the living room area to clean up the leftover mess. heeseung, unsure of what to do, just helps in stillness. the tv remains a static screen displaying no signal: (1) check the cable connections and settings of your source device. the kitchen oven light flickers every so often. and the darkness of the night bleeds into the house. it’s eerily quiet between them. 

after some time, there’s a slow creak of a door to be heard. both of the boys heads shoot upward and down the hallway. layla trots away from them and sits at the end of staircase. her head tilted, ears raised, and mouth open in what would be interpreted as a smile. 

slow footsteps make their way down. the space between each creaking step of the wooden floorboards shows how apprehensive and timorous you are. once halfway down, there’s a pause. you’re standing there, waiting for a noise or response from jake. you saw the group of his friends leave, but there was still another car parked outside. and after waiting for so long, listening to silence, you had to see why jake hadn’t come up to see you, to tell you it’s safe to come out. 

jake stands from his crouched position, dropping the wet wipe he was just using to clean the low coffee table. he throws off his jacket to the edge of the couch. there’s a clink of the cluttered keys, but only heeseung hears it. jake’s already in tunnel vision. he gives heeseung a daring glare before walking away to meet you halfway. heeseung sits down on the couch, his hands folded over his lap while his leg picks up an anxious bounce. he looks at the pocket of the abandoned material. a glimmer of metals peak through the opening. 

jake walks up the stairs that you stand in the middle of, layla hot on his trail. he gives you a small smile as he places his hands on your shoulders to turn your body back around. “i didn’t tell you when to come out, did i?” he whispers with small anger, trying to keep his tone light but what’s deeper surfaces regardless. 

you very rarely made jake angry. a feeling of disappointment envelops you like instinct. as if you had to feel bad for going against him. 

“i’m sorry i made a noise,” you mumble, “i got excited when i heard them mention me.” it’s an honest admission. you turn your head back to jake and your guilt drops to something empty. the color fades from your face when you see him. he looks disgusted. “i-i’m sorry, i-” your mouth open and mind trying to find the right thing so say. 

he grabs the back of your neck and begins to walk forward, forcing your body back up to the bedroom. you stumble over your feet, nearly falling. his footsteps stomp against the wooden stairs. his hold on you is squeezing with fingers pressing into the sides of your throat. you want to cough away the feeling but decide on struggling to remain quiet instead. someone is still here. i promised to behave. 

when back in the room, he shoves you forward with the release of his grip. the door slams behind him. you lose balance but catch your own feet, your ankle shooting in a great affliction that you’ve become accustomed to ignore. your hands reach for your throat to massage the ache. you whimper at the touch. 

“it was a perilous decision, making you my attic angel.” his heavy footsteps march forward. he picks you up from under your arms and tosses you onto the bed. you bounce slightly before gathering yourself. you push yourself back into the corner of the bed, hugging your knees to tuck into your body, like you’re protecting yourself. you watch as he places his knee onto the bed, his hands too, leaning towards you. “i am trying so hard, so why isn’t it enough?” his head shakes in disbelief. “i’m just not enough for you? you want everyone to see you, to know you. why? as if they would need or love you as much as i do.” the last sentence is a scoff, spat with hate. he just stares at you with a tilt to his head. you feel that he’s mocking you in some way with his ridiculous words. 

tears brim your eyes, your hands forming small fists that tremble in a rage you’ve always felt within you. “i never asked you to.” your words are firm, a tight lip frown wears your face. you want to argue that this isn’t love and he’s just a sick man, but you don’t want to spill more tears over him. you’ve been drained enough.

jake’s face flashes with an array of emotions. his fingers curl into the blankets so tight his knuckles turn white. he looks irated and dejected, but mostly broken.

“you didn’t have to.” his face is a scowl, glaring at you for the first time. how could his attitude change so quickly? “you wanted me, and now you have me. let it be enough.” he pushes himself off the bed and picks up the metal cuff chain from the floor with one hand. you instantly try to scramble up off the bed but he’s faster; he takes your bruised, weakened ankle in his free hand to drag you into him. you yelp with agony, trying to kick your leg around in a struggle that would hopefully prevent the entrapment. but he secures it onto you with a low growl, warning you that your actions have been enough. 

with a burning gaze, he pushes you back down onto the bed before making strides to the door. he’s never been so blatantly mean towards you. it hurts far more than you could’ve ever expected. you slide yourself off the bed with urgency, tripping up behind him. you want to cry so badly, but you also want to show you’re stronger than he allows you to be. your hands reach for him to grab at the back of his shirt, a try of pulling him back from the door. “take it off! take it off now!” you stomp your metal clad foot, the chain rattles against the floor. 

layla begins to bark loudly from the other side of the door. her paws scratch at the closed white wood. 

jake spins around with your raised voice and slaps his hand over your mouth, “shut the fuck up!” he whispers with heated aggression. his other hand grabbing the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair and craning your neck back to look at him. crazed eyes stare into yours like they want to rip you apart. you can no longer help it now, tears escape and wash down to meet his hand. your entire body is now shaking in fear. “angel, i thought i taught you better than this… haven’t you made yourself known enough tonight?” he softens in tone, but his expression and hands don’t match. they’re strong, keeping you still. 

you shake your head frantically under his hold. his large hand taking up half your face, making it hard to breathe. your mouth and nose only taking in larger breaths of air that just isn’t sufficient. fat tears run down your face as you continue to shout muffled pleas into his palm. 

“take it off!” 

“let me go!” 

“stop, stop!” 

“help me!” it’s a deadened attempt of a shrill scream.

it’s all lost against his skin. you try to slap his hand and arms off of you but it’s to no avail. you’re simply too feeble to put up the fight you want to. you’ll always be overpowered by man. 

his hold doesn’t let up. he just watches you struggle in blazing silence. your lungs losing oxygen make you see bright white stars scatter your vision. the burning tears only make it all the more hazy. your body feels weak, like it’s about to collapse in on itself. is this what it’s like to lose consciousness? weird, it feels kind of good. you use all your strength to keep your eyes open, but they blink slowly to a close. 

“please.” is the final beg to be said against his palm.

“i love you.” is the final words he promises before it all goes black. 

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 　when jake finally comes downstairs, he looks like he’s seen a ghost. 

heeseung—who was in the kitchen—heard jake’s descent with the settling creaks of the house’s floors, returns to the couch. he nervously watches jake, who was yet to look over at him, as he stuffs something back into the hoodie that jake left behind before going up to that room. 

jake just stands at the bottom of the staircase with a dead stare, eyes unblinking and unfocused. he looks pale, stuck in a state that heeseung is not ready to approach or question. heeseung heard nearly everything from upstairs. it was jarring, and enough evidence to understand that the house is dangerous for everyone in it. 

to think that he’s been here before without a clue of what was happening behind closed doors makes his skin crawl. he never could have imagined that his own friend, or himself, would get wrapped up in a scenario like this. was it all merely a matter of time? 

heeseung slowly stands up. due to the silence, even the slight sound of movement has jake’s heard turn in a split second to his friend's direction. 

unknowing of what to do, heeseung just stays still like a deer in headlights. frightful in nature as if he was the one to be caught in the wrong place. he’s frozen under the cold, black eyes that bore into him. 

jake stalks over to heeseung slowly. the unbreaking eye contact and lack of words sends chills through the older male. the kitchen oven light hums in the background, and it’s all to be heard. jake places himself on the other couch in the living room. the light flickers off and on again when heeseung follows jake’s actions, sitting once more. 

“i’ve never hurt her before,” his tone hostile, as if to defend himself from whatever he was imagining that heeseung was thinking, “not physically at least, i don’t think.” 

heeseung feels a cold sweat take over. his palms sweaty, squeezing his own thighs for a sense of stability. this can’t be real. he couldn’t process any of this. how could this be what jake is? he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and gnaws with anxiety. eyes trained on the intense presence before him. 

jake speaks up again, his voice breaking like he’s about to cry, “she looked at me so.. she looked terrified of me, seung. and i made her cry again.” jake has his elbows resting on his knees, his head hung low with hands fisted in his hair. he pulls on his dark locks in distress. 

heeseung glances from jake to the front door. then back to jake. and then the staircase. and then the front door again before going back to jake. he feels like his lungs are going to burst, his breathing something he now has to force himself to manually maintain. 

“but fuck, man!” jake hits himself in the head once, twice, three times. his smack echoing through the room, sending shivers of panic through heeseung each time. “i-i can’t think! what the hell am i supposed to do!?” there’s a pause. “i want to be good for her. she’s supposed to help me but i’m getting worse everyday.” his hands drag down over his face, covering it. 

“jake, i don’t know—”, heeseung’s voice didn’t reach. 

“i went to church. i prayed. i couldn’t confess though. i was too cowardly to say what ill thoughts consumed me.” jake looks up to heeseung with tears in his eyes, “too cowardly to admit to what i’ve done. i want to be clean, man. but i am full of greed, lust, and wrath. i can wash my hands over and over, but i still remember the feeling. a damned confession wouldn’t take the weight of that away.” he laughs lowly, shaking his head. a hand lazily wiping his tears from his face. “and i see it every night. the stains that painted me, that should’ve made me feel dirty. it didn’t.” 

heeseung needs to get the fuck of here now. he can’t keep up with jake’s insane behavior or confession. this has gone far beyond his expectations; his flight or fight instincts are screaming that this is unsafe territory. 

“but when i have her, it’s not so bad. i can’t--i can’t have you getting in the way, or anything, anyone else, for that matter.” jake is hanging on by a thread, it’s clear. he was going to snap soon. “do you understand that?”

heeseung nods his head but can’t bring himself to say a word. 

“well say it, damn it! say ‘jake, i won’t get in the way.’” his voice loud, demanding. 

“jake,” he stands on shaking legs, “i won’t get in your way. i w-won’t say a thing. this has nothing to do with me, man.” his hands up in a defending position as he makes brave steps that lead to the front of the house. “you can trust me…” 

“i hope so, or you’ll end up like her parents… somewhere in the back of those woods to feed the maggots.” 

heeseung nods again then darts for the door and out to his car. he wastes no time in getting far away from that nightmare. as he starts the car, he looks up to the window at the highest point of the house. the light is off and there is no face peaking through with hope. heeseung exhales deeply. he recalls the smile jake wore with his leaving statement. closing his eyes, he knows that he is no hero, and certainly won’t be made a victim. 

but, he also isn’t someone to do nothing. so, he’ll leave for now. 

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 　jake’s mind is in a whirlwind. he needs to release the weight of everything that’s suffocating him from the inside. he feels as if all his organs have corroded and are crawling up his esophagus, like hundreds of little centipede feet, only to get stuck in his throat. 

he doesn’t even recognize how he got back to the bedroom since heeseung’s escape; unable to realize that some has passed. 

he stands in the middle of room, blinking his eyes back to a state of awareness. he was watching you sleep in the bed he placed you in. or perhaps he was just looking through you. he made you pass out in and from his own hands. he despised himself for it, and how it gave him a sense of god-like power. 

jake moves towards the bed and creeps in next to you. his hands find a place on your hips to pull you on top of him. the subtle movement of your chest and small breaths assure him of your liveness. he hugs you close like that for a minute.

his fingers trail up and down your body, squeezing and caressing his favorite parts of you. they stop at your ass, full in his hands he begins to move your body back and forth. his growing cock pressing up into your pussy, grinding with the maneuver. the back of his throat releases a soft, guttural sound. 

his large hands slip up your night dress and pull your underwear to the side. he runs a finger along your folds, feeling every detail of your womanhood. the callosed tips rub over your core until a layer of wetness leaks through.   

you shift on top of him, not awake, but subconsciously sensing an uncomfortable intrusion. a small noise leaves your lips, something of a whine. 

“i know you’re not all there. you’re too compliant with all i’ve done. you listen too well.” he’s whispering against the side of your face. his free hand working to take off his pants and boxer briefs. “you’re like me.” he licks a strip up your face, wet saliva leaving a trail. you stir again, face scrunching before rubbing onto jake’s shirt. 

he grins at you, thinking you’re cute all out of it and on top of him. his eyes find the teeth marks on your shoulder. the thin spaghetti strap of your dress falling from it, revealing full sight to the scarring mark of his possession. “i can sink my teeth into you and you will do nothing but watch me lick it clean. and you would still let me hold you. kiss you. and,” he’s rubbing his leaking cock against your pussy, humping up into you so the head dips in and out. “fuckkk.” he moans, feeling himself being teased with the enveloping of your creamy, warm hole. 

you make another tired, bothered sound with eyes squeezed shut. 

“possibly i have let you think of me as tender, but i will prove to you i am everything but.” he thrusts his hips upwards, his cock pushing into your tight core. he moans at the feeling of you wrapped around him, hugging him with wet heat. “i’ve always had these tainted thoughts with me. i could never admit to anyone, or myself, what i longed for.” his arms are wrapped around you, holding you close. his legs propped up, knees bent and feet pressed down to the bed, as he begins a brutal pace to pound himself in and out of you. 

your eyes open along with your mouth, a sound in between a moan and gasp leaves your lips. you look up to the man who is fucking you, confused and disoriented. you feel a deep pain between your legs and in the bottom of your stomach. you try to pull yourself back, to sit up, but jake grounds you to his chest. 

“i prayed for all the disturbed thinking to come to an end. my mind became more grotesque, morbid.” he looks at you and all you see is misery. his eyes are so empty yet he forces a smile. “i am haunted like a sick man.” i know, you think. your head rests tucked by his chin and neck. you just watch him, letting your body make little moans and chases to his touch like it’s trained to. “i always wanted more. i didn’t want to just think it, i wanted to do it all.” 

“mhmm.” your eyes blink slowly, watching the faces of pleasure he makes through your eyelashes. maybe this is all a dream, you imagine wishfully. 

“i stopped praying a long time ago, yet kept stepping into god’s house. i knew something, someone, would come for me.” he grunts, squeezing the skin on your back to bruises. his trusts become messy as squelching sounds of your pussy. skin slaps and fragmented noises come from the both of you. “in the bible; tell me, angel, who did god send to fulfill all his obligations?” he nibbles on your ear. sometimes licking and leaving his spit coating it. 

him pistoning his cock at his assaulting speed and force, elicits a loud mewl from you. you wish he would fuck you even harder. violent enough that it rattles your brain and body senseless. you don’t want to think at all, just want to see those stars again. 

jake is pissed when you ignore his question. one of his hands slides up your back while the other moves down to slap your ass. you whine at the sting. he grabs the back of your neck like he did earlier and you can’t help but grin a little. he yanks your head back and your body sits up on top of him. he feels so deep inside of you. you hum at the feeling, not even realizing your hand drops down to rub over your lower stomach. 

you still wear the faint grin on your lips as you look down at him. “hm?” 

“who carried out his judgements, served punishments, and set examples?” he fucks into you slower, focusing on your body. noticing how your hips move in small swivels and bounces on his cock. how your nipples peek through in needy points of the thin material. 

he gives your ass another slap and your head tips back with a moan, “ngh, the angels.” 

he squeezes your neck from behind at your response. your eyes rolls back as you continue to fuck yourself down onto him in severity. a slutty sound leaving you with every kiss of his dick to your cervix. 

“yes,” he pulls you back down to his face. his hand is still tight around your neck, borderline suffocating in pressure. “and he sent one to me too.” he feels your pussy pulse around him, signaling you’re close to cumming. “he sent you to me. but instead of learning a lesson i became obsessed just as my thoughts.” jake always had a dangerous personality, hiding inside of him. his obsessions becoming an illness was nothing he should be shocked by. or maybe it’s the other way around and he was always sick so he became it. “i so badly wanted you to be my savior… to tell me lies of purity and goodness.” he feels his cock throb, aching to release. he chases the feeling of pure want, pounding relentlessly into you. 

“open your mouth,” he demands with a low growl. you listen without a second thought and he spits into it. his saliva meeting your tongue only to be swallowed down. 

he pressed a kiss to your lips while you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure as you cum. your body collapses on top of his like an act of defeat. your breathing so ragged and lungs suffering; jake releases his hold on your neck only to use both hands on your hips to bounce your body on him. 

while your body makes small quivers in overstimulation, jake groans loudly as he cums inside of you. as you feel the deep warmth coat your insides, a sense of drowsiness takes over you. 

“i feel like a besotted rot has taken over me, and it’s been growing evermore since i met you.” he whispers, relaxing his body flat against the bed. with you still on top of him and his cock still buried in you with his seed, he hugs you. “it’s killing me from the inside out. you’re going to kill me. i can feel it.” 

the quiet and gentle honesty of his fearful ending confession lulls you to sleep. 

he continues to fuck you until he’s too tired to not. 

　 　　　⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝　　 　　⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝　　 　　⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

 　when you wake up the next morning, you feel your entire body is in pain. there’s a throbbing pain in your head, a dull strain in your neck, and a heavy ache in between your legs. 

you sigh as you sit your body up, hands place slightly behind you at your sides. you make slow circles of your head to stretch your neck muscles. there’s a pang of sharp pain for a split second but you relax once reversing the movements around. 

with lazy eyes, you scan the surroundings of the bedroom. the sun shines bright through the thin lace, white curtains. the clock reads that it is half past 10 in the morning. on the white, wooden night stand beside the bed is a note, a cup of water, and a plate of cut up fruit that has probably been out longer than intended. the door is slightly cracked open and the cold, heavy weight is missing from around your ankle. 

you stretch your arms and back before leaning over to chug down the glass of water. you think of eating the fruit presented for you, but decide on not. it's hard to have an appetite these days. 

you move yourself to sit at the end of the bed, legs and feet dangling off the mattress. you realize how quiet the house is. normally, jake is always with you when he’s home. if he’s working from home then he is next to you, or at least at the desk with his work laptop. but it’s saturday, so why would he be working? 

“jake!” you call out his name, but there is no response. your voice doesn’t sound like normal, it’s rough. you call for him again and still there is nothing. only layla comes up the stairs to push past the door. she too looks confused. 

you look outside the large window next to the bed and realize that his car isn’t there either. 

you look back to the nightstand, remembering there was a note left for you. you pick it up and read: had to run out. i will be back soon. rest and eat well, angel. 

with the note in your hand, you squeeze your hand into a fist, crushing and crinkling the paper in your palm. you stare at the destroyed paper, enclasped in your hand, before releasing your fist and letting it fall to the floor. 

the sound of a car driving makes you turn around. you don’t know if it’s annoyance or ease that washes over you. but once your eyes see the car, you know that it’s neither. because it’s not jake’s car that you see outside. you can recognize it’s one from the other night though. 

you’re quick to stand up and make your way over to the side of the clear glass. you peek over the side of the window, suddenly not comfortable to be seen. is it because you know jake isn’t here? your heart rate picks up rather quick, along with a feeling of anxiety. who is here? why? 

a tall man with dark, brownish.. no reddish hair, steps out of the now parked vehicle. he glances around before jogging over to the side of the house. you furrow your brows in confusion, wondering what he could be doing. you bite at your lip, trying to look around the house as much as the window allows.

then you walk over to the bedroom door and close it quietly, leaving you and layla inside. you lean your back to the door and slide down to the floor. your ear presses against the wood, listening to anything that you can. there isn’t much to be heard for a minute or so. and then there is. there’s a landing thud from somewhere downstairs. a clashing of objects hit the floor with it. something like a glass bowl or cup, if you had to assume. you can tell it’s coming from the kitchen based on the direction alone. 

your heart beats harder now and you don’t even realize how your hands hold a small tremble. you’re frozen in place; you don’t know what to do. jake always tells you what to do. he tells how to handle situations, how to react, how to respond. 

the footsteps of the intruder are rushed. quick feet move through the house and up to the stairs, only to stop right outside the door that you’re in front of. you feel a dangerous panic coarse through you, and unknown to you, you’re holding your breath as if it could give you away. 

seconds feel like minutes followed by a knock at the door. it’s slow and just as scared as you are. 

you place your hands over your mouth, silencing yourself from uttering a sound or a word. meanwhile layla lets out a guarded growl. you shake your head as you look at her, as if she could understand the notion. 

“i know you’re in there. i’m here… i’m here to help you.” the voice is sweet, familiar. it’s a friend of jake that’s been here before. he must have been the one who stayed longer than he should’ve last night. 

for some reason, you still remain silent. why would he come back? 

“i don’t know what exactly is going on between you two, but i know when something isn’t right. and jake isn’t…” his voice goes soft. he’s worried and nervous. 

“he isn’t what?” heeseung hears your melodic voice, weak yet defensive. 

“can you open the door? i don’t know how much time we have.” the door knob turns but doesn’t push open. it’s not locked. you both know it, but neither of you bring yourself to break the barrier. 

you stand from the door, your legs uneasy as if a baby fawn learning to walk. you grab the door handle with a timid hand. you turn it slowly and pull back the door just a crack. you look up with wide eyes. you’re face to face with someone other than jake for the first time in what feels like forever. someone is finally seeing you, talking to you, acknowledging your existence. why isn’t it as exciting as you anticipated? 

heeseung gapes at your disheveled appearance. his eyes quick to find the many bruises that litter your body, from your neck to your arms and legs. then to the scarred bite mark that’s discolored and horrid along your shoulder. and lastly over your face: dry, bitten lips and dark circles around your sad eyes. “i’m sorry.” is all heeseung can say. you think his voice sounds disappointed. 

“why? it’s not like you did anything.” you pull the door open a little more, unintentionally though. it furthered the exposure of the room when your hand pulled back to wrap around yourself. your eyes scan over his face, taking in the up close new appearance. you think he’s very cute for a second before a dread of guilt becomes you. you wrap your arms tighter around your midriff, as if to conceal what you’ve begged to be seen. you avert your eyes from his, suddenly embarrassed. 

heeseung steps into the room, and you step back. your eyes watch his feet. it feels like you weren’t given the permission to look at him; like you’ve already overstepped jake’s boundaries and broken his rules by seeing and speaking what you already have. yet your heart races with adrenaline. 

“that’s the problem. i didn’t do anything the minute i knew something was wrong.” 

it’s nice to hear something rational for once.  

“i tried to come up with some sort of plan as soon as i could. he left and i found his keys,” you immediately look up at heeseung when he mentions the object you fantasize about. keys. unlocked cage. freedom. “i figured the kitchen window would be the less susceptible.” he attempts a laugh but it’s clearly full of nerves. his eyes dart from you to the outside window. it reminds you of yourself. that feeling of waiting for jake, always mixed with too many emotions to really decipher. 

“but for real, you need to get a jacket and shoes on. we have to leave right now.” heeseung deadpans. his eyes watching yours that refuse to look back. you just stand still in the room, shaking like a leaf in the wind. your focus trained to the floor, spacing out from the scenario. 

“is this real?” your voice is quiet, unsure. “did jake put you up to this to test me? i don’t want to cause more trouble with him. i don’t like when he’s…”

heeseung begins to frantically search the room. he goes to the closet and shifts through the hanging clothes for the thickest jacket he can find. he grabs a big one with faux fur lining and heavy material, “put this on. where are your socks?” he hands it to you but you just hold it low in your hands, letting it hit the floor. he opens drawers of the dresser nearby, finding a pair of socks. 

still spacing out, feeling dreamlike, you sit down at the edge of the bed. the large winter coat still hands in your fingers, half over your lap and exposed legs. 

heeseung crouches down in front of you with socks in hand and a pair of boots by his side. he looks up at you with despairing eyes, but you just watch the floor below him. i should sweep the floors. there’s dog hair and dust everywhere. 

trepidatious, large and unknown hands pick up your foot. the cold fingers brush over your abused ankle. a sick feeling of flutters fills your stomach, you jerk your leg back from his touch. this isn’t right. something like a stray cat who doesn’t let strangers touch. 

“what happened to this?” he lightly taps the bone, “you need to see a doctor.” he tries again but faster this time. gentle hands pulling the sock over your foot and then the other. next he reaches for the boots to put your feet into. “come on, get the jacket on.” he says as he stands, a hand reaching out to you. you stand from the bed and ignore the offered gesture. 

you take a few steps forward and stop. heeseung takes notice of the slight limp in your walk. his eyes follow the floor from your feet and that's when he sees it. the long silver chain that’s attached to the bedpost, mounted to the floorboards. 

“jesus fucking christ…” he exhales, taking the coat from your hands to put it on you himself. 

“i used to try and break that whenever i had the chance, but i ended up hurting myself in the process.” you laugh a little. he sees your blank stare and lost smile. “he would ice my ankle for me though. and he wrapped it up, changing the bandages everyday when it was worse.” 

“i’m gonna get you somewhere safe.” heeseung promises, taking your hand in his own to lead you to the door. “you won’t have to live like this anymore, okay? do you have more family somewhere, someone we could call?” heeseung is doing his best to remain calm, but inside he senses immense uneasiness. you can feel how his palms are sweaty and holding too tight of you. you don’t like it. 

“my parents…” it’s a whisper. he helps you down the stairs and to the kitchen. your heart feels like it's a ticking time bomb set to explode. each beat a warning that screams louder and louder.

“well, how about anyone else.” there’s consternation. 

you stop in your tracks, heeseung tries to pull you forward. his eyes begging to leave through the window he left open for you two. “why anyone else?” you question. you feel heavy again, a boil builds in your body, your heart racing faster than you know it was capable. your breathing becomes quick and panicked. heaves and wheezes now leaving your body. “what? w-what do you m-mean?!” 

“they… jake, he…” heeseung stammers, his head moving side to side in a slow display of sorrow. he reaches out to you, to pull you into a hug of comfort. 

but you just stand there, unbelieving of what the man is trying to imply to you. “no, no… he wouldn’t—” your bottom lip quivers and eyes sting. 

from the corner of your eyes, you see a dark shadow approaching heeseung from behind. a large object hangs high in the air with the shadow. you let out a blood curdling scream, eyes looking past heeseung. the tall man turns his head around before the held object comes crashing down into the back of his head. heeseung drops to the floor in an instant, his hand slipping out of yours. 

it all happened so fast. 

you’re in a fit of panicked sobs now. your eyes can’t look away from the man who tried to help you; the man you didn’t try to believe in. there’s an open gash in his head, bleeding and matting into the hair. you feel sick. 

your attention is removed from the man when a familiar hard grip pulls on your hair. “where the hell did you think you were going!?” jake’s voice is terribly sad, loud and croaking. he’s dragging you back down the hall and up the stairs to your room. 

“i wasn’t going anywhere!” you squirm around trying to look back at him, “i was never going to leave! i swear!” 

jake sits you down at the chair by the desk, his hands place on your shoulders. he looks down at you with disquiet heartache, “you promise?” he’s fixing to cry. you hate when jake cries. 

you nod your head quickly, still having a panic attack, still frightful and overwhelmed. 

jake swallows hard, staring into your eyes. he’s trying to trust your word, and ultimately he just does. he places a long kiss to your forehead. you feel a drop of wetness land against your skin. and you just sit there, watching him leave the room with hands of shaking fists. 

you hear a lot happening downstairs while you’re glued to the chair. there’s loud commotion and aggressive words being passed between the two. heeseung is still alive. they’re fighting. 

unknowing of what to do, you squeeze your eyes shut. you curl your body inwards and cover your ears, gently rocking yourself back and forth to ease your mind of the chaos. this isn’t real. it’s all a bad dream. it’s another bad story you conjured up. 

and then someone yells. a painful, agonizing noise that you can’t disassociate from. it sends shivers through you. you can’t open your eyes, you can’t leave the room. if you don’t see it then it’s not happening, right? 

the clashing of aggression comes to a halt. and the usual eerily silence of the house stands still. 

a few minutes go by. 

you lift your head and open your eyes when you sense the door being weakly pushed open. 

you gasp and stand up, quickly moving over to jake to help him stand up straight instead of leaning on the door. 

“j-jake…” you’re crying, “hey, wha-what happened?” you’re trying to support his weight but it’s too much. you both somehow manage to make it to the bed. did he do it? did he kill heeseung? 

jake is covered in blood and he’s crying too. he simply shakes his head and presses wet kisses your cheek, pulling you down to lay next to him. he can’t say anything. 

confused and scared, you ask him again, but he doesn’t speak yet. he just holds onto you as tight as his body allows. the blood begins to stain your clothes, the bed sheets and blankets.

he breathes a ragged sigh, looking at you with wet, thick lashes, “i thought god hated me. ya know, for making me the way i am and expecting me to follow him.” he coughs, turning his head away from you, hiding. “but why would he hate me and still give you to me?” he laughs with a small cough, he feels his mouth tinge with metallic iron. 

you watch from the side of his face, crying quietly. then you feel it. the warm, seeping of thick liquid spilling onto you. your eyes track down your body and his, landing on the gash of his shirt. an open wound punctured in his side. a wrecked sound slips past your lips with your cries. 

“even if it was a punishment, you’ll always just be an angel to me.” his head turns back to face you, his mouth painted red with slips of blood passing the corners of his smile. 

you push yourself from his hug, crazed to find some material to wrap around jake and stop the bleeding. but he pulls you back to him, his eyes closing. “h-hey, hey. stop, it’s okay. just hold me close a little longer.” and you do. through all your whimpers, hiccups, and tears. you wrap your entire body into him, legs entangled and arms wrapped never this tight around him before. 

eve was made from adam’s rib. so is it really your fault for wanting to crawl inside the man you’re closest to? 

jake’s breathing is starting to become dangerously slow, along with the pulse of his heartbeat. 

heeseung, who managed to crawl his way up the stairs, waits outside the door. blood is dripping down his face and neck from his head. he coughs, grabbing your attention. 

you sit up just enough to not let go of jake, swollen eyes watching heeseung sit at the edge of the stairs. his body is struggling to stay upward, he wobbles and sways. his eyes not able to stay open. he asks you if you could drive them to the hospital, in hopes that there is still time to save them. 

you don’t take the risk of losing the only family you have left, so you do what he asks.  

 　time passes by in a blur. you end up back at house a day later to take care of layla. jake and heeseung are still in the hospital. you don’t know who will recover or die first.

when you return to the house, you do all the things that jake would normally do. you take layla outside for a walk around the house. you make sure she has food and water. you make yourself a meal that will be left untouched. 

and then you trudge up to your room and you crawl into the blood stained bed. you attach the metal cuff to your ankle, and lay there in silence. you think of praying but end up crying yourself to sleep instead. 

the first man you knew to really sin, not just true nor venially but mortally sin, you can’t help but want to wait for the return of. to be damned with him may be his punishment and your fate, but whatever happens is in gods hands now. maybe it doesn’t really matter anyways because you’ll be his attic angel, always.

© fangel ┊ do not copy, repost, modify or translate my content ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ — feedback and reblogs are appreciated 🗝️ !

꒰ tags & those who asked for part 2 ⸝⸝ if you want removed lmk ꔛ @nshmrarki @enhalxvr @jaengwon @taeminsboogers @beomsdoll @immelissaaa @pshfan0812 @supershy3 @hauntsoul @jenniferecand @randomanothercreature @numnomn @en-heedeungie @hwasangel @thatonedaragirltho @hooneverse @maliakealoha @kon-ss @laybensu @whateveridontcaresheesh @strawberrynull ꒱

[bows4tyun]

ENLIGHTEN ME - ! ⸝⸝ 강태현

୨ৎ: ""I'm a virgin, not a virgin loser, there's a difference, dumbass." taehyun spat out harshly and scoffed, "I can't believe you thought so low of me, but it's cute of you to think I was a virgin loser like you." he faked a smile, angering you a bit. of course he had to be the smart ass one. "

𓍼 paring! - knowledgeable virgin!taehyun x virgin!reader (f)

𓍼 warnings! - roomates to ?, mean dom!taehyun (he's extra mean!), sub!reader, they kinda hate each other, taehyun basically teaches reader how to fuck, ass smacking, groping, nipple play, oral (m. receiving), cum consumption, unprotected sex, slut shaming, taehyun calls reader a slut (and bitch but only once)

𓍼 lexi adds! - as the winner of the poll, here is knowledgeable virgin tyun!!! this came out a lot longer than i thought and I couldn't help but make tyun an extra mean dom!

if someone had told you that your roommate, taehyun was a virgin, you wouldn't have believed them.

he was the last person on earth that you'd think of as a virgin, but apparently you thought wrong. it wasn't until his best friend, beomgyu had told you the truth that you were in for a treat.

taehyun had invited beomgyu over without telling you, meaning you had come back from work and had a mini heart attack when you saw beomgyu's sleeping form sprawled on the small living room couch.

"taehyun!" you yelled, your voice echoing through the hall of your shared apartment.

you thought he wasn't home until you saw the upper half of his body pop out from his room, "hm?" his tone innocent as his cold yet cute boba eyes stared at your angered form.

"what is he doing here?" you questioned, your voice loud as you turn your gaze to beomgyu, not caring of waking him up from his beauty sleep.

"would you quiet it down? you'll wake him up." he spoke back sternly. you look back at taehyun, and when you do you notice something, he's shirtless.

you feel the blood rush to your cheeks as they warm up and you cover your eyes with your hands, "put some clothes on!" you say, trying to hide the very evident blush on your face.

"what's the big deal? never seen a man shirtless before? grow up." his words come out as almost teasing yet harsh and you scoff.

"I have seen a man shirtless, I just don't want to see you shirtless." the blush on your face was practically gone with the way you were talking back to him.

"what are you trying to imply, huh?" taehyun spoke as he approached you, still shirtless, a shirt in hand.

before taehyun could get too close to you, your life is saved by beomgyu, "hey taehyun, get this motor mouth out of here, im trying to sleep." beomgyu's voice sounded as tired and sleepy as he looked, his hair disheveled from all the tossing and turning.

"you heard him, get." and with that, taehyun points a finger toward the door of your room, insinuating for you to basically get lost.

"I hate you..." you mumbled under your breath as you clenched the strap of your bag tightly and stormed off to your room as told.

"the feeling's mutual, sweetie." beomgyu laughs at taehyun's response, giving him a small "good one" before adjusting his position and getting ready to fall back asleep.

you're caught off guard by the pet name he had called you and you stop in your tracks, turning your head only to an angle where you can see he back of his head, "don't ever call me that again." you threaten. and with that, the door of your bedroom is slammed shut behind you.

⸝⸝

the following day is your day off, meaning you could relax from all the hard work you had put in throughout the week.

starting off your morning slowly, sleeping a few more hours than usual until you're finally completely awake that you get a text from beomgyu:

"your yelling yesterday made me sleep really good,thanks for not kicking me out :)"

with a scoff you reply:

"don't ever scare me like that ever again, give me a heads up next time!"

to your surprise, he's quick to respond:

"okok... wanna know something funny about taehyun? you won't believe it!"

you want to respond with a "no" but curiosity gets the best of you:

"what?" "he's a virgin!" "seriously?" "yeah! can you believe it?" "not really... " "oh c'mon! it's not that unbelievable!"

with that, you don't text him back. was taehyun really a virgin? maybe beomgyu was playing a prank on you. it kind of was a bit hard to believe considering the way he acts around you, all cold and hard headed. maybe you'd ask him about it.

you were enjoying your morning bowl of cereal before taehyun walks in, his hair a mess from not brushing it out as he scratches the back of his neck lazily in his plain white tee and loose fitting pajama pants.

"is that seriously what you're having for breakfast?" he asks with attitude, sitting down with his elbows resting on the kitchen counter.

you nod, chewing your food calmly "yeah, want some?"

despite your somewhat kind offer, his response is full of disgust. "no , there's absolutely no protein in that whatsoever."

you reply back with a scoff, "does it really matter that much? you're so difficult..." you take another bite and taehyun stares at you for a few seconds, his lip twitching as if he were going to smile but stopped himself.

"oh! taehyun, I have something to ask you." you say after swallowing the last bite of your breakfast and your eyes meet with his.

he nods his head nonchalantly, "what's up?"

you're a bit nervous to ask but you anyways, "are you a virgin?"

silence.

his eyes widen and his lips part, shock evident on his face. he's speechless. after a few more silent seconds, he speaks up, "who told you that?"

"beomgyu"

"what an asshole." he said in anger "who does he think he is to tell everyone my secrets? "

you laugh nervously "secrets? so you mean it's true? you're a virgin? a loser?"

"I'm a virgin, not a virgin loser, there's a difference, dumbass." taehyun spat out harshly and scoffed, "I can't believe you thought so low of me, but it's cute of you to think I was a virgin loser like you." he faked a smile, angering you a bit. of course he had to be the smart ass one. "you act as if you're not a virgin too, except, you are a virgin loser." he argued back like his life depended on it.

and you're just as shocked as he was, if not more. "who the hell told you that?" you questioned him angrily, wanting to know the truth.

taehyun lets out a villainous chuckled to your reaction, "no one. I just had a lucky guess. but now I know that my lucky guess was right, you are a virgin loser."

There's a faint pink hue of blush is spreads across your face from both anger and embarrassment "what's the difference?" your tone of voice was loud as you shouted but taehyun didn't even flinch.

"the difference is that I know about sex, you on the other hand have probably never seen a dick before, am I right?" he was right, very right infact.

"stop talking about it!" you spoke, frustrated at how you couldn't get back at taehyun.

"calm down, sweetie" he cooed, tilting his head and smirking at the stressed look on your face, his dimple evident. "wanna help each other out?"

⸝⸝

that's how you ended up here, straddling taehyun, his hands on each of your hips as he stared into your eyes coldly.

being in such and intimate position like this with him made you nervous as you spoke, "d-do you have a condom...?"

he shrugged, "what do you think? would a virgin have condoms?"

you look down, noticing the bulge that at had grown in his pants. heat rises to your face again and you shake your head.

"exactly." he speaks with such bluntness it scares you a bit. "now stop asking dumb questions and get your clothes off."

you obey not wanting to anger him more than he already seemed. he always seemed to be in a bad mood. slowly one by one, you took a piece of your clothes off. it wasn't until you were only in your undergarments that taehyun ripped them off your body, causing you to yelp. "could you be any slower? you're making me not want to take your virginity, this is my first time too, y'know. "

you felt so weird, naked in front of him. he looked at your body as if it were nothing. he definitely didn't act like the virgin he claimed to be.

without saying anything, his pulled his white tee off his body, letting you get a better view of his shirtless form.

you couldn't deny that taehyun was attractive, but seeing him like this made him even more attractive.

"quit staring, will you? don't make this weird." soon, he pulled down his pants enough for his cock to spring out, hitting his lower stomach with a small slap. you back up a bit, his big and thick dick enough to scare you away. how on earth were you supposed to fit that monster inside of you? "why do you look so scared, hm? it's just a dick." he said nonchalantly. just a dick? was he serious?

You take a deep breath, he was right. it wasn't something to be afraid of, this was an experience almost every person on earth had, nothing new. "okay, how do I do this?"

taehyun doesn't talk, instead he guides you hips closer to his, lifting you with ease just enough for you to hover over his dick, your hands on his shoulders as you feel the ghostly touch of his thick tip lining against your tight hole.

"ready? I'll be waiting to decide if I want to be rough or gentle." he says and you nod.

you feel the burn of his thick dick stretching you out, drawing a high pitched moan out of you as your eyes screw themselves shut and your brow furrow.

taehyun lets out a soft yet low groan at the warm feeling of your gummy walls enveloping him oh so tightly. he felt like he could cum right on the spot.

you felt like you were in heaven, his dick felt so snug inside of you, his veins rubbing against your insides, and his tip brushing against your cervix lightly.

"you okay?" he spoke, his tone softer than usual and what you expected.

you mumble a small "yeah" and his lifts your hips up, half of his cock pulled out of your hole before slamming your hips down against his roughly, emmiting a loud yelp from you, "taehyun!"

taehyun only smacks your ass with a lot of force, leaving the stinging sensation to linger on your ass cheek before he does it a for a second time. "shut up, when did I ever say you could speak? greedy sluts stay quiet." his voice sounds the complete opposite of what it sounded like a few seconds ago, his demeanour changing completely.

again and again he continues to lift and slam your hips down on his cock, not giving you the right time to adjust. he gropes your ass roughly as he guides your body down up and down his shaft in a rhythmic pace.

you felt like you were going to explode from pleasure. how can anyone's first time be this good?

you were already fucked so dumb on his cock and he had barely even started. he threw his head back, his bobbing adam's apple visible from the new angle.

suddenly, you felt the strong urge to release, your first ever orgasm. you gripped taehyun's shoulders tightly, your hole doing the same with his dick, clenching around him as if it were your last day on earth. "taehyun -! I'm going to cum! ah-!"

he groaned at the feeling, smacking your ass even harder than last time, causing you to launch forward, your head resting on your shoulder as he continued his relentless and merciless thrusts.

"I said to fucking shut up! I don't want to say it again, bitch." he spat out his words like fire and you felt his hand leave your ass and start griping your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh and tweaking your sensitive nipples, leaving you to fuck yourself on his cock.

pathetic whimpers escaped past your lips, trying to keep quiet as you were told, yet it was so hard to do when his cock was hitting the right bundle of nerves over and over again.

with a smack on your ass and a loud moan of his name, you came undone on his cock, squirming at the feeling as you pant heavily.

taehyun pulls out, drawing a whine from you and he smacks your ass. he begins to stroke himself throwing his head back.

he looks at you with lustful eyes and grabs a handful of your hair, "suck." he commands, bringing your head down to the level of his cock. it's glistening with your juices and you take it into your mouth, barely able to fit it between your lips because of his girth.

you begin to suck and it doesn't take long for you to feel his warm and sticky cum shoot to the back of your throat. Your eyes widen and you look up at him with your mouth full of his cum, he's all sweaty, his bangs sticking to his forehead as he pants to catch his breath.

"swallow." he says inbetween pants and your mouth leaves his dick with a pop. when you swallow, you wipe your chin with the back of your hand, collecting the excess juices that had dripped down.

you sit up on your knees, both of you guys staring at each other from across the bed.

taehyun is the one who decides to beeak the silence

"this may or may not mean we're dating."

𓍼 taglist! - @hyunj00 (please lmk if you want to be added to my taglist!!)

reblogs are appreciated!

[whore4mattsturniolo]

𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝑺𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 ♡︎ 𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒌

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: you get bored and mess with chris while he's on stream

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: SMUTTTTTT, blowjobs, praising, degrading, slapping, semi public sex(?), almost getting caught, reader is obsessed with chris' hands

𝒂/𝒏: my first time ever writing and posting smut !! not all the way proofread cuz i get shy😣 this might not be the best but i definitely had fun writing it so i hope yall enjoy

Chris had been streaming for God knows how long, the only thing illuminating his dark bedroom was the bright screen of his monitor. It was at least 2 in the morning, and you were starting to get bored. Very bored.

There was something about how aggressive Chris got when he gamed. The way his jaw clenched whenever something he got frustrated, the way he cursed and swore, the way he muttered under his breath. It was one of the most attractive parts of him, especially because of how rarely it happened.

As the game continued, you felt a familiar feeling in your stomach, paired with a pooling in between your thighs. You were desperate for any attention, and Chris refused to give it to you.

"What the fuck you doing?" Chris shouted at a random player, his fingers rapidly pressing the buttons of his controller. "Fucking stupid," he cussed under his breath.

Your imagination began to run wild, thinking of what his long, slender fingers could be doing instead as you squeezed your legs together. You were obsessed with him, your body begging for the smallest bit of his attention.

He kept playing the game, kept ignoring you, and your desperation continued to grow. No matter how much you squirmed around, or scrolled aimlessly through your phone, the growing wet spot in your panties was becoming too much. The feeling wouldn't go away.

"Baby," you whined from your spot on the bed, scooting to the edge. But Chris kept ignoring you, his eyes not leaving his monitor, his attention not leaving the stupid video game.

You bite your lip, trying to find a way to get his attention, before a lightbulb goes off in your head.

You get off the bed, crawling on the floor towards Chris' desk, careful not to be seen by the thousands of watchful eyes of the Twitch stream. The cold, wooden floor cools your body down, as you look up at Chris.

He was beautiful. His blue eyes glued to the screen in front of him, his brown hair messy and disheveled under his headphones. His black shirt fit him perfectly, the short sleeves barely covering his biceps. Your eyes trailed down his body, focusing on his gray sweatpants, staring at the visible print of his cock.

You tap his leg, finally breaking his attention from the game. His eyes meet yours, seeing you on your knees by his chair.

"What are you doin' down there, kid?" He asks, looking back up at his monitor.

"I need you so bad baby," you whine. "It's been hours. M'goin' crazy over here."

"Be right back chat," Chris says as him, Matt, and Nick wait in the Fortnite lobby. He mutes his mic, ripping off his headset.

"Y'serious right now? I'm on stream and you're doin' this shit." He grunts.

"Please?" You pout, looking down at his print once again. "I'll be good. Just wanna taste you. You won't have to do anything."

Chris scoffs in disbelief. "Such a fuckin' slut. Beggin' me to suck my cock while I'm on stream. You're beggin' to get caught aren't ya?"

His words only turn you on further, as you nod, looking up with wide eyes.

He sighs, "Get under the desk. Don't make a fuckin' sound. Got it?"

You smile, biting your lip in excitement as you shift under the desk. Clearly Chris was excited about this too, his dick becoming more visible under his sweats. Even through pants, he was still huge, and you felt your mouth watering at the sight.

"Fuckin' Christ," he mutters, putting his headphones back on. "Chat, I'm back. Are we ready?" he continues the game, ignoring the sight of you pulling his sweats down.

Here he is, fully exposed, cock standing upright. His tip is red and angry with beads of precum leaking down his shaft. You look up at him again, spitting your hand before as you began to pump him slowly.

The intoxicating sight was enough to draw a moan from Chris' lips, barely covering the sound with a cough.

"Chris, you alright?" Nick asks through the headset, laughing along with Matt at the violent sound.

"M'good, man," Chris attempts to compose himself. "Water went down the wrong fuckin' pipe."

His breath hitches as he feels your hand on his dick, growing flushed as he continues to play. He knew the next noise he made would be a groan, so he kept quiet.

A shiver runs down Chris' spine as you continue to tease him, taking advantage of the fact that he had to stay quiet.

Taking your hand off his dick, you gathered spit from your mouth, continuing to pump his length with quickness. The sight garnered another groan from Chris.

You smirked, rubbing your thumb over his sensitive, throbbing tip, dripping with precum and saliva, his body involuntarily shivering. Getting too cocky, you were met with a light slap to the cheek, Chris looking down at you warningly.

You knew what he wanted, and you were eager to give it to him. You take him into your mouth, feeling each vein as his cock made its way down your throat. Hollowing your cheeks, you move your head up and down at a medium pace, swirling your tongue around his shaft

"Fuck!" Chris grunted, fumbling to turn the music up in an attempt to drown out his moans.

His gameplay was worsening, his hands shaking as he gripped the controller tightly. His knuckles were turning white while he ignored the sinful view under him.

You bob your head up and down quickly, saliva dripping down your chin as tears pricked your eyes. Chris suddenly bucked his hips up into your mouth, making you gag.

"Chris, what the fuck is that sound?" Nick's voice rang in Chris' ears through his headset.

"Uh, I dunno. I didn't hear anything," Chris lies, looking down into his lap into your wide, tear-filled eyes.

"I'll be back, chat," He turns his camera off. "Drank a shit ton of water today."

Going on mute once again, he slaps your cheek, harder this time. "Fuckin' slut," he spits, gripping your hair into a makeshift ponytail. "Didn't I tell you—fuck—not to make a fuckin' sound?" He sets his own pace, pushing your head down on his achingly hard cock. "Tryna get us fuckin' caught," he says through breathless moans, bucking his hips into your mouth.

"Look at you," he smiles, admiring your red cheeks and puffy eyes, wiping the tear stains on your cheek. "Takin' me so well. Such a good fuckin' girl f'me," he pushes your head down further, your nose grazing his stomach. "That's it—shiit...Just like that...All the way down. Thaaat's a good girl." he finally pulls your head back as you gasp for air. "Shh, s'alright," he pushes you back down. "You can take it...takin' me like a champ."

The obscene sounds of slurping and gagging fills the room behind the loud music and gameplay. Chris has long forgotten about the livestream, his vision going blurry as he throws his head back in his chair, his hands not letting go of their tight grip in your hair while he fucks your face.

"Fuckin' God," Groans leave his parted lips as he continues to thrust his cock down your throat. "Gonna fill up this pretty mouth. You gonna let me do that?" He coos, holding your head up to look at him. "You gonna let me cum down your throat mama?"

You nod frantically, as Chris pushes your head back onto his cock. Your hands make their way around his shaft, stroking him up and down in rotating motions as his cock starts to twitch in your mouth.

"Fuck baby...shiit—" his hips thrust upwards, ropes of warm, sticky cum shooting down your throat. "Swallow it. Swallow that shit—fuck—that's it. Just like that.

Chris comes down from his high, his breath slowing down as his hands let go of your hair. "Open up, let me see."

You stick your tongue out, showing the white, sticky fluid splattered all over your throat and tongue, before swallowing.

"Good shit," he slaps your cheek again playfully. "Good job, princess," you smile at his words, moving from under his desk to back on the bed, as he throws his headset back on, tucking his dick back in his pants.

"I'm back, chat," he smirks, his brothers, and the chat, blissfully unaware of the sinful events that happened just moments prior.

send requests for other fics/drabbles <3 !!

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔: @yourmother29 the love of my life 💕

[stoopidpigeonxx]

Can you please do nsfw hc’s with the Tuplar crew dealing with a bratty reader

i can, I can! :-)

Curly

-a gentle man through and through. -Wouldn't use force against his beloved brat, so spankings or whips are out of the question! -Strict, but soft. -"Baby, stop pouting." -"Stop being like this, we both know how it ends up." -"What, does my girl want attention, is that it?" -Favorite form of 'punishment' is orgasm denial. -He's not cruel, but he is a tease. -Likes pulling out of you right when you reach your peak and watching you squirm and beg. -He'll make you apologize for your behavior before he finally lets you come. -After that, its sweet cuddles and kisses and pampering through on out.

Jimmy -Complete opposite of Curly. -HATES when you act like a brat. (loves it.) -The instant you start talking back or misbehaving, he's grabbing your hair and tugging hard.

-"Oh, so that's how we're gonna play, doll?" -"If you're so keen on usin' that smart mouth, I have a couple ideas." -Will fuck your throat until you choke and tear up. -He's not nice about it. -Smacking your ass til it's red, orgasm denial, he's just mean. -But it doesn't mean he doesn't love you, he still adores his sweet girl. -Sometimes you just need a proper warning. :-)

Swansea

-do what you fucking want. He doesn't care. -..unless you're actively getting on his nerves. -"Alright, you fuckin' brat. You want somethin'? I'll fuckin' give it to ya." -Will bend you over his knee and spank you til you start crying from the pain/pleasure. :3 -then he'll ruffle your hair and make you food or something! -sighs... old men... -But yeah, he doesn't really care unless you actively piss him off.

Daisuke

-is the brat. -im sorry but this guy is the brattiest man i've ever seen. -Whining, pouting, puppy eyes. All that. -"Babbyyyyyy..." -"Make me/what are ya gonna do about it?" -Fuck the shit out of him!! -seriously, he loves it.

Anya

-Poor girl is just tired. -"please, honey... not now.." -doesn't do punishments. Just lets you be a brat. -she just doesn't care. -She literally might cry if you do too much. :-(

[little-mrs-morales]

Trash TV

Dieter Bravo x Personal Assistant Reader

The hotel room buzzed with an awkward quiet, broken only by the faint sounds of the city beyond the thick glass windows. Dieter Bravo sat slouched on the edge of the bed, his hoodie bunched around his hunched shoulders, the fabric stretched tight between his restless fingers. His usual dramatic bravado was gone, replaced by a kind of nervous vulnerability you hadn’t seen before. Maybe it was because he’d never stayed sober this long. Or maybe it was because he’d never been in a relationship that wasn’t driven by his money.

You sat across from him, legs tucked beneath you on the armchair, a hotel robe loosely draped over your frame. This was your first Christmas as not just his personal assistant but also *kind of* his girlfriend. You hadn’t put a label on your relationship, but he’d stayed sober for you and become surprisingly faithful. You never thought you’d see Dieter Bravo clueless about someone flirting with him—yet when the receptionist tried, he brushed her off, saying he couldn’t wait to see the gifts his lady got him. That’s what you were to him: his keeper, his lady, the one who sorted out his messes but also the one he knew he couldn’t survive without. He wanted you in every aspect of his life, even if it meant staying sober.  

It had been an easy night until now—room service, bad movies, and his running commentary punctuating every ridiculous scene with remarks about how he’d do better. But something had shifted—a shadow crossing his face during a rare quiet moment. And now you were here, trying to figure out what he’d never say aloud unless it forced its way out.

“I’m not lovable,” Dieter said suddenly, his voice heavy with self-hate. The words fell like stones into the quiet, echoing through you.

You blinked, caught off guard by the rawness in his voice. “What?”

He didn’t look at you. Instead, he focused on the frayed edge of his hoodie, tugging at a loose thread. “I’m fun for a little while,” he said, the corner of his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. “But there’s too much under the surface. It’s more than anyone should have to deal with.” He let out a laugh that sounded painful. “I’m like trash TV—and that’s ironic because I’m a good actor—you watch it for a while, and it makes you feel better about how normal you are, but it gets annoying if it’s all you watch.”

You stared at him, his words hanging in the air like a unspoken truth. He wasn’t joking, not this time. The usual quips and distractions he threw up to keep everyone at arm’s length were gone, leaving only the jagged edges of his insecurities. He sat there, bracing himself for rejection, like he expected you to agree.

“You really believe that?” you asked, your voice softer than you meant it to be.

“I know it,” he shot back quickly, defensively. His hands stilled, and he finally looked up at you. His dark eyes were wide, vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache.

“I’ve been through this enough to know how it ends.”

“How does it end?” you pressed, leaning forward.

“With me fucking it up,” he said, his voice breaking just enough to betray him. “With you realizing I’m...” He exhaled sharply, dragging his hands through his unruly hair. “I don’t know. Too much? Too broken? Take your pick. It always happens eventually. And I’m gonna end up shattered, restless, and totally done with myself.”

The weight of his confession was suffocating, but not for the reasons he feared. It wasn’t disappointment or regret that sat heavy in your chest—it was the sheer force of wanting to prove him wrong. You stood, padding over to the bed and sitting down next to him. He tensed at first, but he didn’t pull away.

“Dieter,” you said, your voice steady. He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at you from the corner of his eye. “You’re not trash TV. You’re far from it.”

He scoffed, but you cut him off before he could deflect. “I’m serious. You’re messy, complicated, and frustrating as hell sometimes. But you’re also funny, smart, and... God, so kind when you let yourself be. You care more than you think you're allowed to, and it scares you.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt. You took it as permission to keep going.

“You’re not some temporary distraction or someone to put up with. You’re just... you. And yeah, maybe you’re a lot, but I’d rather have all of you than none. You don’t have to be perfect to be worth loving.”

His breath hitched, and you swore you saw the faintest sheen of tears in his eyes. He dropped his gaze, his hands wringing together in his lap. “You don’t get it,” he muttered. “You don’t know everything yet. You know more than most, but there are still things…” He knocked on his head. “…things that would scare you away.”  

“Then let me see,” you said. “Stop deciding for me what I can handle. Give me the chance to decide for myself. And I’ll show you I can handle all of you.”  

He looked at you then, really looked at you, like he was searching for the catch, the lie, the flaw in your words. When he didn’t find it, his shoulders sagged, some of the tension bleeding out of him.

“You make it sound easy,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s not,” you admitted. “But nothing worth it ever is.”

Dieter let out a shaky laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re either insane or... I don’t know. Insane seems more likely.”  

“Probably,” you teased gently. “But that’s why we fit. We’re both insane. A good match, I’d call it.” You nudged his shoulder with yours. “You’re insane for putting up with me. For bringing me my pretty pickles when I’m on my period, or buying my crazy stationery when I’m in a creative mood.” 

He huffed a small laugh, the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.  

You stayed close, giving him space to process in his own time. He didn’t say anything more, but the way he leaned into you spoke volumes. There was still a long way to go, but at least he wasn’t alone in it anymore.

He was quiet for a while, his breathing calming, his hand finally still in his lap. Then he shifted slightly, turning toward you. When his eyes met yours again, there was something different—a hint of determination under the vulnerability.

“You really think I’m worth it?” he asked, his voice low, almost fragile.

“I don’t think it,” you said softly. “I know it.”

His gaze flicked to your lips for a brief second before returning to your eyes, as if asking for permission. You didn’t hesitate, leaning forward to close the space between you. The kiss started gently, his lips soft and unsure against yours, but soon deepened, filled with a raw desperation and quiet gratitude. His hands cupped your face, trembling but steady, as if afraid to let go. You had shared countless kisses before, but this one felt different—more real, more alive.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the space between you. Dieter’s eyes were glossy, his expression unreadable for a beat before he whispered, “I think I love you.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and unpolished, but it was everything.

You smiled, your hands resting on his wrists. “Good,” you murmured. “Because I love you too.”

A shaky laugh escaped him, and he pulled you into a tight embrace, his face buried in the crook of your neck. For the first time, it felt like he wasn’t holding anything back. And for the first time, you knew he believed he didn’t have to.

Writing Prompt #2916

"I'm not lovable. Not in the long term. I know that."

"What?"

"I'm fun for a little bit, but there's too much when you dig down. It's more than anyone else should have to handle. I'm like trash TV—you put it on for a little bit and it makes you feel better about how normal you seem but grating if it's all you watch."

[s-4pphics]

WHERES ALL THE ANGST!!!!!

i needed something injected into my veins rq yayyy i wrote this in like 5 mins so it’s ass no context I GOT THE LAST LINE FFROM A PROMPT LIST BUT I LOST IT I NEED TO FIND IT BUT I NEEDED TO CRRYYY SOMEONE MAKE ME CRY PLEASEPELASS

vi being a piece of shit and projecting onto her sneaky link bc she misses yet resents cait I MISS EMO VI SO BAD …. OHHH MY SHAYYLAAAA

—

“C-Can you kiss me slower?”

“… What?”

“I asked if you could kiss me slower.”

“I heard what you said. Why’d you say it.”

Your eyes remain shut for your own protection. You fucked up the second you opened your mouth for anything other than the acceptance of her tongue. Your fists ache from how hard they clench on her back. Vi sighs before dropping her hands from your cheeks and rising completely from the bed. Only when you hear her rummaging through her liquor boxes do you open your eyes.

The arrangement she set up for the both of you had very simple instructions. You walk her home from the rink whenever she’s too fucked up to function on her own, and she eats you out in repayment, but you don’t speak about anything. No goals, no aspirations, no past hook-ups, no trauma, no nothing. You just guide her home, get your brains fucked out, then leave while she cries into her pillow. You never have the courage to ask what breaks her every night. When you first met, you attempted to keep the conversation light and goofy with every intention of cheering up a seemingly struggling individual. You would’ve never approached her if you knew this would be the outcome.

Vi’s especially cruel when she’s intoxicated.

You don’t know much about her, but on a good day, she’s caring and protective. You’ve only ever seen blips of that gentle side whenever somebody at the bar or rink tries drunkenly touching you in places they shouldn’t, but your heart never forgot even though she has.

“I hate when you do shit like that.”

She speaks with such calm conviction. Your face burns in embarrassment while your heart pounds in anxiety. You hate when she calls you out on your sensitivity. You’re not sure what’s happened over the past month. Maybe distance really does make the heart go fonder. To say you missed Vi was, secretly, an understatement. Her warmth comforted you in a way your blanket never could.

“Sorry.” You say meekly, already reaching for your pants off the floor.

“Are you actually? It’s your second time doin’ it.” Liquid sloshes and you know she’s drinking from the source.

“I said I’m sorry. The fuck do you want from me?”

She scoffs with a bandaged fist clenched around her bottle’s neck, “I made it clear the second I met you, didn’t I?”

A distraction. A temporary fix. A midnight companion until she got her shit together. You know you’ve fucking heard all of it.

“I hear you, okay? My fucking bad—“

“What the fuck did you think was gonna come from this? I’m actually curious!”

You scramble to redress with a lump in your throat, trying your hardest to dismiss the beration she throws at you.

“You know what’s crazy about people like you? After everything we go through down here, you’re still so fucking trusting. Couldn’t sense danger if it was starin’ you right in the face, huh?”

Where the fuck did you put your bag? “Do you have to be such a fucking asshol—“ Your sob chokes when you drop to your knees and snatch your satchel from underneath her bed. Despite how small her space is, the door feels miles away.

“Don't you get it? I’m not a fucking fanasty, I’m not gonna save you, we’re not gonna be together—“

“FUCK YOU!”

“Yeah, fuck you, too. Maybe you shouldn’t have put your trust in someone else so much—“

You slam the door before she can spill anything else.

[parkerluvsu]

day 25: outside the bedroom (in the shower) <3

you're home late, later than you want to be. art had to make dinner for only himself (when usually he thrives at making dinner for the both of you) and you had to grab a quick meal at the taco place on the way home. you're tired when you walk in the door, dropping your keys on the cabinet next to the door, and placing your coat on the rack. you're surprised when art doesn't come and greet you, he always comes to say hi immediately when you walk through the door after being home alone practically all day. you walk through the house, looking in the kitchen and the living room before moving to the bedroom, starting to get worried when you don't see him.

your worries are stopped however, when you hear the running shower in the bathroom, relief washing over your body. you sigh, sitting on the edge of your bed. you feel bad, you've been home late almost every night this week, and although art says it's okay, you know it's hard on him to not see you for long periods of time. you make a decision, pulling off your clothes and folding them on your bed before walking to the bathroom and pulling open the door.

"it's me!" you yell out to art, trying to make sure he doesn't get scared. art peeks his head out of the shower curtain, preparing to ask why you're home late again but pausing when he sees that you're naked. "oh- h-hi.. d'you wanna come in?" art gets the sentence out, blushing like this is the first time he's ever seen you without clothes on. you giggle and nod, stepping into the shower with him. you're glad the two of you invested in a house with a big shower able to fit the both of you when you stand beside art, letting the water rush over you. art looks down at you, his hair dripping water all over your face. "art..." you groan, wiping water out of your eyes. "s-sorry!" art apologizes softly, turning up the temperature of the water so that you're more comfortable, knowing that as a (retired) athlete he usually takes colder showers than you would choose to.

"im sorry im late again art.. our shitty printer broke again and i had to print out these documents for my boss.." you ramble. art smiles, "it's okay really.. you know ive just been missing you recently.. the only time we spend together nowadays is before bed.." art almost pouts at you, the water rushing over his head making him seem even sadder than he is. arts lanky arms wrap around you, his soft skin a welcome texture against yours. you don't fail to notice his dick poking against your thigh, unable to tell if he's drooling precum against you or the water is just running down your legs (it's both).

before you have a chance to draw attention to it, his lips are on yours. kissing you eagerly as if it's been a million years. arts hands grow braver, sliding down the small of your back to grope at your ass, kneading the flesh between his fingers. you gasp into his mouth, art swallowing your quiet moans. his lips trail down the column of your neck, humming against you, "'m sorry.. just missed you s'much" you smile, "it's okay artie, i missed you too" he sighs, happy to know that he isn't smothering you. sliding your hand down his toned stomach, you wrap your hand around his dick, gripping him tightly. art groans, his hips bucking into your hand, fucking your fist with the tip of his dick while rubbing the rest of it on your thigh that's conveniently placed between his legs.

you see art getting more worked up, his breaths becoming shorter and closer to pants with every thrust of his hips. "d'you wanna get out of here?" you gesture to the shower with your hand that isn't currently occupied. to your surprise, art shakes his head, "n-no.. can we stay in here? you're just so.. warm 'n wet 'n soft.. can we try in here?" your mouth drops open even though you try to stop it, usually art isn't this open to trying new things. "h-how would that work?" you're open to the idea, but you don't want either of you to get hurt. "ill lift you.." your eyes widen, "n-no i promise i can do it.. it's just in the shower, it can't be that different from outside of it" art explains, almost begging you. you sigh, looking at his face and immediately caving. "alright.. alright okay.. but if you drop me..." "i won't" you sigh. "if you drop me.. you'll owe me big time" art nods, just eager to fuck you.

you wrap your arms around his neck, holding tight when he lifts you up from the back of your thighs, helping you to wrap your legs around his waist. art has to lean you up against the wall, causing you to shiver when your back hits the marble wall. "sorry... sorry" art mumbles against you as he pushes inside of you, his head falling forward onto your shoulder. you have no retort when he snaps his hips and enters you fully, almost knocking the wind out of you. you moan, half overwhelmed with pleasure and half scared to death that art will drop you, but that sort of makes it hotter for you. art groans, pretty much using you as a fleshlight as he moves you up and down on his dick using your thighs as leverage. from this position, his dick hits a spot inside of you that makes you squeeze tightly around him.

art notices this, starting to jackrabbit his hips into you so all you can hear are his heavy breaths and whines in your ear, and the wet slapping of his balls against you. both of your moans echo around the shower, getting louder as you both get closer. art uses the last of his strength to push deeply into you, almost looking to make his cum take inside of you. the feeling of everything around and inside of you gets too overwhelming as you cum around him, riding out your orgasm until you realize how tired you really are. you tap art on the shoulder to let him know he can let you down, happy that you can stand up and not slip after the whole ordeal. you smile, leaning your head up to kiss art, who has the cutest blush on the apples of his cheeks. you look towards the bottle of shampoo on the edge of the shower, and back at art. "will you do my hair and ill do yours?" <3

[gpcwsl]

Warnings: Not read through properly, kissing, cheesy.

Leah Williamson x Walsh!Reader: Crossed Lines.

MasterList

Keira Walsh and Leah Williamson had been inseparable since childhood. From kicking a ball around their local park to dominating on the pitch for club and country, they shared a bond that was unbreakable. Leah cherished Keira as a best friend, but there was one secret she kept locked away—her feelings for Keira younger sister, Y/n Walsh.

Y/n had always been in and out of their lives, busy with her own career and ambitions. Though she wasn’t in the football world like Keira and Leah, her visits home were always filled with warmth and laughter. Leah had fallen for Y/n years ago—the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, her sharp wit, and her unwavering support for Keira and Leah’s football dreams. But Leah had never dared to admit it, not to Keira, and certainly not to Y/n.

One evening, after a hard training session, Keira invited Leah over for a casual family dinner. Leah hesitated but agreed. It had been a while since she’d seen Y/n, and the thought of her made Leah’s heart race in a way she couldn’t quite control.

The Walsh household was lively, as always. Y/n greeted Leah with a warm hug, her familiar scent making Leah’s head spin. Throughout the meal, Leah found herself stealing glances at Y/n, who seemed to catch her eye more than once. Keira, oblivious, was busy recounting training antics, while Y/n quietly observed Leah, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

Later that evening, as Y/n disappeared upstairs to grab some old photographs, Leah found herself alone with Y/n in the cozy living room. The air was charged with a quiet tension.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Y/n said, her voice soft as she sat next to Leah on the couch. “Not like you.”

Leah hesitated, her pulse quickening. “Just tired, I guess.”

Y/n tilted her head, studying Leah intently. “You sure that’s all?”

Leah opened her mouth to reply but stopped when she saw the way Y/n was looking at her—curious, almost knowing. The vulnerability Leah had kept hidden threatened to spill over.

“I…” Leah started, then shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

Y/n placed a hand on Leah’s, the touch warm and grounding. “Leah, you’re one of the strongest people I know, but you don’t have to keep everything bottled up. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Leah looked into Y/n’s eyes, searching for any sign that this could go wrong. But all she saw was kindness and a flicker of something she couldn’t quite name.

“It’s you,” Leah whispered, barely audible. “It’s always been you.”

Y/n’s breath hitched, her eyes widening slightly before softening. “Leah…”

Before she could say more, the sound of Keira’s footsteps echoed down the hall. Leah pulled her hand away, her heart pounding as Keira entered the room with a stack of photos.

“What did I miss?” Keira asked cheerfully, oblivious to the charged moment she had interrupted.

“Nothing,” Leah and Y/n said in unison, though their shared glance told a different story.

As the night wore on, Leah couldn’t help but wonder if the spark she saw in Y/n eyes was real. Maybe, just maybe, her secret wasn’t so one-sided after all.

A week had passed since that fateful dinner, but Leah couldn’t stop replaying the moment in her head—Y/n’s hand on hers, the way her name sounded on Y/n’s lips, and that fleeting look in her eyes. It was enough to make her hope, but the doubt was just as loud.

One evening, Keira invited Leah over again, this time for a movie night. Leah hesitated, worried about facing Y/n again, but Keira’s persistence was hard to resist.

When Leah arrived, the house was quieter than usual. Keira greeted her with a grin, but before Leah could ask where everyone else was, Keira waved her off.

“Mum’s out with friends, and Y/n’s upstairs. She might join us later,” Keira said, already plopping onto the couch with a bowl of popcorn.

Leah nodded, sitting beside her, but she couldn’t focus on the movie. She was hyperaware of Y/n’s presence just a floor above them. About an hour in, Keira’s phone buzzed, and she groaned.

“It’s Lucy. She’s got some crisis about her boots again,” Keira muttered, standing up. “I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t go anywhere!”

Leah chuckled as Keira disappeared, but the quiet that followed was suffocating. Before she could sink further into her thoughts, she heard footsteps behind her.

Turning, she found Y/n standing in the doorway, her hair loose and a soft cardigan draped over her shoulders.

“Hey,” Y/n said, her voice gentle. “Mind if I join?”

Leah’s heart skipped a beat. “Of course not.”

Y/n sat down beside her, closer than Leah expected, and for a moment, they sat in silence, the movie playing in the background. But Leah wasn’t paying attention. All she could think about was how close Y/n was, the warmth radiating from her body.

“Leah,” Y/n said softly, breaking the silence. “About the other night…”

Leah froze, her stomach flipping. She turned to Y/n, who was already looking at her, her eyes unreadable but intense.

“You caught me off guard,” Y/n continued, her voice steady but laced with something deeper. “But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Leah’s breath hitched. “I—Y/n, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” Y/n interrupted, her hand finding Leah’s again. “Don’t apologize.”

Leah’s eyes searched Y/n’s face, and what she saw made her chest ache—hope, curiosity, and a vulnerability that mirrored her own.

“Say it again,” Y/n whispered, her voice barely audible.

Leah swallowed hard. “It’s you, Y/n. It’s always been you.”

Y/n’s lips parted, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. Then, as if pulled by an invisible force, Y/n leaned in, her breath warm against Leah’s skin. Leah closed the distance, their lips meeting in a kiss that was soft and tentative at first, but quickly deepened as the weight of years of unspoken feelings spilled over.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other, both breathing heavily.

“Y/n,” Leah whispered, her voice trembling.

Y/n smiled, her eyes shining with something Leah had only dreamed of. “I think I’ve been waiting for this just as long as you have.”

Before Leah could respond, Keira’s voice echoed from the hallway. “I’m back! What did I miss?”

They quickly pulled apart, sharing a conspiratorial smile before turning back to the movie. But the spark between them was undeniable, and Leah knew that this was only the beginning.

[uns4lted]

ɪ'ᴍ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ

pairings: karasu tabito x gn!reader, otoyo eita x gn!reader, kenyu yukimiya x gn! reader tags/warnings: reader and karasu are already together, pre-relationship stage in otoya's and kenyu's! genre: fluff synopsis: the first time the boys realized that they're in love with you. boys being so giddy lol.

── .✦ karasu tabito

It was just a stupid crush, really.

At least, that’s what Karasu told himself in the beginning. Liking you had been easy. You made things fun, kept him entertained with your quick wit and little quirks. Being with you felt like a game he couldn’t lose, but he didn’t think too much about what it all meant. Love? That was too heavy for something that felt so light.

But then there was that moment.

It wasn’t anything big. Just an ordinary evening in his place. You were on the couch, reading a novel, while some random show played in the background. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch with his own phone in hand, pretending to care about whatever it was on the screen.

You sighed, soft and quiet, but enough to pull his attention away. When he glanced up, you weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was distant, you were caught in a thought you weren’t planning to share.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice casual, not expecting much of an answer.

“Nothing,” you said after a pause, your lips curving into a faint smile. “I just feel lucky, that’s all.”

You didn’t explain, didn’t even look at him for long. Instead, your hand found its way to his dark blue hair, brushing through it in a way that was both careless and comforting. It wasn’t the first time you’d done it, but something about the way you did it this time made his chest feel tight. You were so at ease that being with him was the most natural thing in the world.

He stayed quiet, watching as you went back to your book like you hadn’t just shifted his entire perspective. It wasn’t just what you said—it was how you said it, it wasn’t something you had to think about. Like being grateful for him was as simple as breathing.

He didn’t know what to do with himself. Usually, he’d have some smart remark ready, some way to brush off whatever you were making him feel. But now? He just sat there, staring at you, wondering how he hadn’t seen it before.

He couldn’t pinpoint when the shift had happened. Maybe it was gradual, something that had been building all along. But in that moment, he knew with absolute certainty: this wasn’t just some crush or infatuation. It was deeper than that. You’d become something he didn’t think he needed, something he couldn’t imagine letting go.

Karasu leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes for a moment. The warmth of your words lingered, settling into places he didn’t even realize had been empty.

Love wasn’t supposed to sneak up on him like this. Somehow, you’d done it anyway.

── .✦ otoya eita

This goofy womanizer doesn’t do love or some shit.

Otoya wasn’t the type to lose sleep over anyone. Flirting came easy, and leaving things just the way they were made it even easier. He knew how to have a good time, how to make someone laugh or blush, but feelings? Commitment? Nah, that wasn’t his thing. Relationships were messy, and Otoya didn’t stick around long enough to get caught in all that.

Or so he thought.

It was late, the kind of night where the city outside his window had shifted to a low hum. You were over, laid across his bed and flipping through a magazine you’d brought with you. He leaned against the headboard, half-listening to you ramble about something you’d found amusing in the pages.

“Look at this,” you said, your voice bright as you held up the magazine. The glossy picture was of some ridiculous piece of clothing—a neon-green sweater with feathers along the sleeves. “Can you imagine someone actually wearing this?”

Otoya smirked, the corner of his mouth tugging up lazily. “You’d pull it off.”

“Oh, please.” You laughed, the sound light and effortless, but your eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “You’re just saying that so I won’t roast your fashion choices next.”

“Hey, my style’s flawless, thank you very much,” he shot back, nudging your leg with his foot.

The banter was easy, the kind he thrived on. But he's bothered with the look you gave him, your smile plastered on your lips, the sparkle in your eyes that paused just a moment longer than it should have. That did something to him.

“You’re so full of yourself, Otoya,” you said, shaking your head, but your smile didn’t waver.

“And you love it though,” he retorted, his grin widening.

But as the words hung in the air, he realized how much he wished they were true.

You rolled your eyes and went back to your magazine, oblivious to the way his heart was suddenly pounding harder than it had any right to. He tried to shake it off, but it was no use. His gaze kept drifting back to you—how comfortable you looked.

He didn’t know what was worse: the way you didn’t seem to notice how much of a mess you were making of him, or the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

When you stretched out your arm, holding the magazine over to him, your fingers brushed his for just a second. It wasn’t anything special, just an ordinary moment. But for Otoya, it felt like everything else faded for a heartbeat.

“You okay?” you asked, tilting your head when he didn’t respond right away.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, his voice too casual. “Just tired.”

That night, after you’d left, Otoya lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The silence felt too loud, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw you. Heard your laugh. Felt the warmth of your smile.

“Damn it,” he muttered, rolling onto his side.

He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn’t supposed to want someone so badly it hurts. But no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, he couldn’t ignore the truth anymore.

You weren’t just another thrill. You’d become something that had him turning and tossing in bed, wondering how the hell he’d let himself fall this hard.

── .✦ kenyu yukimiya

Kenyu had always been focused. Soccer demanded it, and so did modeling. Juggling both wasn’t easy, but he never complained. He’d chosen this path after all. What he hadn’t chosen or even planned for was you.

At first, he thought your support was just a pure act of kindness. You’d always been there, cheering him on, listening when he talked about the challenges of balancing his passions. But over time, it became clear that you weren’t just being polite. You genuinely cared—about his dreams, his struggles, even the small things he sometimes overlooked himself.

The realization didn’t hit him all at once. It came slowly, building with every little thing you did. Like today.

The two of you were at the mall, your idea after he mentioned needing new clothes for an upcoming shoot. Kenyu wasn’t bad at picking out outfits but you insisted he deserved a second opinion.

“Try this,” you said, holding up a sleek black jacket. “It’s simple but classy. Totally your vibe.”

He took it with a small smile, letting your enthusiasm guide him. You had an eye for these things, and he trusted your judgment more than he cared to admit.

As he stepped out of the fitting room, you were waiting, your expression lighting up when you saw him.

“See? I told you it’d look good,” you said, giving him an approving nod. “The fit’s perfect, and it goes with almost everything.”

He turned to the mirror, studying the way the jacket fit across his shoulders. It was nice, sure, but what stuck with him more was the way you looked at him. You weren’t just proud of the outfit but of him too.

"Didn't know you had such good taste." he said, half-teasing. “Maybe you should be my stylist.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’d love to, but I think your team would have a thing or two to say about that.”

The two of you wandered through the store for a while longer, you occasionally holding up shirts or accessories, and him silently appreciating the way you paid attention to the smallest details. You truly cared about how he felt in them, about making sure he was confident and comfortable.

At some point, as you stood next to him, you were holding up a scarf and debating its practicality, then it hit him.

This wasn’t just about being a fashion guru or supporting his career. It was about you—your thoughtfulness, your sincerity, and the way you noticed and valued even the smallest things about him.

His chest tightened for a moment that he forgot how to speak.

“Kenyu?” you asked, tilting your head at him. “Is everything alright?”

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Just… thanks for helping me with this.”

“Of course,” you said, brushing it off like it was nothing. But to him, it wasn’t nothing.

After everything had settled, the two of you decided to leave the mall. His thoughts kept circling back to the moment. He couldn’t remember when it had begun, but he knew now that this was more than just appreciation for your support.

He is in love with you.

The realization was unexpected, but it left him feeling lighter, as if he’d discovered something he didn’t know he’d been searching for.

likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! masterlist

[revelboo]

how many souls have you taken Revel bc ive seen multiple ppl promising their life to you and with your delicious writing im about to be yet another life in your debt 😭😭

So, so many souls. Maybe I’m an Eldritch horror bartering in the shadows. Maybe I’m just a collection of exceptionally clever crows in a trench coat with a stolen cell phone. You’ll never know…

Finally ran out of space on the shelf… 18+ content mass displaced mechs 🌶️

Everything Is Alright Pt 97

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Watching Starscream and Soundwave murmuring to you, worrying over you, makes Megatron feel uncomfortably off balance. It’s the tender way Soundwave cups your face, tucking your hair behind your ear and the way Starscream runs his servos over you to make sure you’re unharmed. He’s jealous, he realizes. And he hates it. Not only that, not only jealous, but lonely and that’s so much worse. Surrounded by his followers all the time, but unable to really trust many of them, he’s isolated himself. Alone. Growling softly, optics narrowing, a part of him despises Starscream’s happiness. After all the Seeker’s done, he doesn’t deserve for things to break his way. To be happy and it twists angrily about his spark. “If you’re not going to play with your little pet, maybe I should,” he snarls just to needle Starscream and it works, the mech glaring, wings flicking up and quivering.

• “Cut it out,” you snap at Megatron, and Starscream stiffens, wings flaring slightly. Tensed to protect you when Megatron lashes out at your impudence, because there’s no way you’ll go unscathed for that. For defying him. Watches Megatron’s optics narrow, and Starscream’s servos tighten on you. Ready to grab you and bolt. He’s a much smaller target this size, can fly off and hide with you until Megatron calms down. Soundwave can fend for himself. And then to his utter shock, Megatron laughs. “Stop being a jerk, you already got a free show.”

• Voice wavering as you glare at Megatron and your heart races, you’re encouraged that he thinks your anger is funny and that he’s not getting pissed off. Because he’d been trying to provoke Star and you’re sure all of them know it. So you’d panicked and drawn his attention to you instead. Soundwave’s hands flex against you as if wanting to tell you to stop. And Starscream reaches around you to cover your mouth, growling when you twist your head away. Know they’re worried you’ll push too hard and direct Megatron’s anger at you. “Don’t, little one,” Soundwave growls, voice low as he and Star exchange a look.

• “Let our little pet speak,” Megatron laughs, waving a hand. “Primus knows, no one else here is willing to contradict me.” Uncertain, Soundwave vents against you. Almost tempted to hook a thought in Megatron’s processor, because amusement wasn’t what he was expecting. And he desperately wants to know what their leader is thinking right then. What he thinks of you, because there’s a hunger on the warlord’s face he’s seen before. It’s the look he’d worn in the gladiator pits, defiant and starving to be seen, recognized. “You have a problem fragging in front of me? You didn’t before.”

• “To be fair, I didn’t know you were there until you said something. I was a bit busy,” you counter, chin lifting as your face reddens. And Starscream knows you well enough to know the attitude is all bluster. You’re frightened, he can feel you trembling against him, one of your hand reaching back to grip his arm, the other grabbing Soundwave like you need them to anchor you. Your fear doing things to him. “Go find your own human if you want a show.”

• “Why would I do that, when I already have my own?” Doesn’t mean to say that, to make that claim. Only to antagonize you because your irritation with him is delicious. Ignoring the two other mechs, he stares at you, daring you to contradict him. Watching those eyes narrow, before they slide over him from helm to ped in a slow perusal that makes him freeze. That to his utter shock makes his spike stir behind his plating. Because it’s one thing to taunt and tease. Giving in to that same deviancy Starscream and Soundwave are lost in the grips of? It’s tempting. So tempting. “And if I order them to frag you so I can watch?” If he frags you?

• Can feel the tension in both of your mechs, their hands almost bruising on you. “If you want to watch, just say it,” you mutter, turning in their arms to face Star. Seeing the fury there as you go up on tiptoe to brush your mouth against his. Know this whole thing is meant to demean him, to make him angry. To prove he’s powerless. That he can’t protect you, but you can protect him. If he’s a ticking time bomb about to go and cause as much collateral damage as possible, and you know he is, you have to distract him. “This isn’t his. It’s yours,” you whisper against his mouth, arching into him. “I’m yours.”

• Servos tangling in your hair as your mouth slides against his, his optics shutter. Blocking out Soundwave and Megatron, focusing on you. The warmth of you against him, those soft hands sliding down his chassis to brush against his plating. Asking. They’re watching, Soundwave is almost pressed against your back, his knuckles brushing the other mech as he strokes over you, but he slowly relaxes into you anyway. Pretending this is okay. Because no matter what happens, you are his. His sparkmate, bound to him. Let Megatron watch and see what he can’t have. Freeing his spike, he vents against your throat as Soundwave’s hands grip your hips and lift you for him. Knows the communications officer is trying to shield you from Megatron’s view as much as possible and he appreciates it even as it annoys him that he needs the help.

• That breathy noise you make, head falling back against Soundwave when Starscream enters you goes straight through Megatron. Shifting on his throne, resisting the urge to move closer to see. With Soundwave’s back to him, his body is shielding you from view. But he can hear the wet sound of Starscream thrusting inside you, the Seeker’s low growls and hitching vents. Soundwave murmuring to you, too low to pick out the words. Optics half shuttered, he tries to focus on just you. Hating Starscream in that moment more than he’s ever hated him before. For having this, for being happy when he doesn’t deserve it. He’s not the one who’s lost everything. Who’s sacrificed everything for his goals. For what he believes in. And what he gained? Ash and death. Nothing good, and he wants something warm and soft in that moment. Someone who can’t plot against him or use him. Will defy him and challenge him. He wants you.

Previous

[m0nnypie]

02. [IZUKU MIDORIYA]

✿ warnings. To all the boys I've loved before!Au, quirkless!reader, teacher!reader, aged up characters, all the boys are pro-hero (including Deku).

✿ synopsis. Your childhood letters, the ones in which you declare your love for every crush you had, ended up being sent without your permission. What could come of that?

✿ words account. 2.5k

"Argh! Shit..." You thought it was extremely unfair that on your day off, everything went wrong. Starting with the fact that you were supposed to meet up with some friends, but ALL of them canceled. Even though you knew them well enough to know that they just didn't want to go out with you, since going out with everyone but you is normal.

You even thought you could enjoy the night out on your own, but then they spilled drinks on you, your heels broke (you had to break the other one to keep wearing them) and of course you saw your "friends"

But just as you left the club to finally get home and forget everything that had happened today. It started to rain. And obviously you didn't bring an umbrella. How cliché. But honestly, it couldn't get any worse.

You were hurrying to find shelter so you wouldn't get so wet. Although when you arrived, you were drenched. As soon as you picked up your cell phone to check the time, it had died. You took a deep breath to stop yourself from freaking out.

Not in a million years would you have called a cab on your own, with a dead cell phone, in the middle of the night. You could be anything, but crazy and stupid you weren't.

"Do you need help?"

A hoarse, warm voice spoke from beside you. You were ready to scream, but as soon as you turned to look at the owner of the voice, you shut up. Your eyes widened, it was Midoriya. He was smiling sweetly at you, and it made you want to eat. You quickly pulled yourself together.

"No. I don't need it." You turned to walk away through the rain, anything was better than staying there. But you felt him grab you by the wrist. As soon as you turned to him, he had that cynical look on his face, as if he really cared.

"Please (name)- sorry, (L/N)..." You wish you could hit him in the face right now, but you know you'd come off as crazy. "I don't want to leave you alone here, it's late and dangerous..."

"And why do you care?!" You said harshly, if you were a snake right now you could probably be spewing venom out of your mouth.

"Because I care about you!" He said with conviction, and that irritated you. You started to laugh, and you could see out of the corner of your eye that he was a little embarrassed by your reaction, what an idiot.

"Really? You? You care? With me?" You kept laughing, as if it was all just a good joke. It was, but the joke was actually on you. "Are you serious, Midoriya? The last time I remember, you didn't even want to look me in the face."

He looked away from you, swallowing hard and clearly uncomfortable. Not that you minded, he didn't deserve any sympathy from you.

Flashback on -

You remember it all to this day, for many it was just another stupid day at school. But not for you, it was the day you were finally going to propose to Midoriya. A little 9 year old declaring herself, cute isn't it?

You met when you were only 4 years old, which led you to meet Bakugou. But you didn't give a damn about him, not then. You only cared about the boy with the wide green eyes.

Nothing else mattered, even though Bakugou always pestered you, even though your parents fought often, even though sometimes you just wanted to cry, whenever you looked into those eyes, all you felt was peace. Until that ended.

The first person you met (unfortunately) was Bakugou, he was fighting with his friends for some reason you didn't really give a damn about.

"Have you seen Izuku?" You unfortunately had the idea of asking the stupid blond. As soon as he heard your question, he gave you his usual scowl, but the mention of the greenish guy's name seemed to make it worse.

"Why would I know about that stupid nerd? And what the fuck do you want with him?" He shouted, as usual. You just rolled your eyes and walked away, ignoring all the shouting coming from him.

You ended up not seeing Izuku for the rest of the class, for some reason he just disappeared from your sight, you couldn't even find him at break! He even seemed to be avoiding you.

You were about to give up and put it off until you finally spotted a green-haired boy. The smile that appeared on your face was capable of infecting anyone who passed by with how happy you looked.

"IZUKU!!!" You shouted, catching the boy's eye. When you finally reached him, you saw that something was strange. He seemed nervous, and wouldn't even look at you. "Are you okay? You look bad..." you said with real concern.

"I don't want to be your friend anymore" he said quickly and quietly, which confused you because you hadn't understood anything.

"What? Speak up izu! You don't have to be shy around me! You know that!" You tried to give him confidence.

"I DON'T WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND ANYMORE!" Suddenly, all eyes fell on you, and you stared at him in shock.

"W-what?" Hardly anything came out of your mouth, you were so shocked that you couldn't even speak properly. "What do you want to say?" You said it so quietly that if it hadn't been for Izuku being near you, he wouldn't have heard you.

"I-I don't want to be your friend! I'm tired of you!" As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes filled with tears. Why? What had you done to him? What had you done to him? You always supported him, you were always on his side when Bakugou bullied him. "You're so annoying! I don't know why you're still around me, I just want you to stay away!"

A bubbling anger began to fill you, how dare he talk to you like that? What could be wrong with him? You started to feel an urge when you looked at his face again.

"AS IF I WANTED TO BE YOUR FRIEND! I ONLY TALKED TO YOU OUT OF PITY!" You shouted so loudly that the teachers came out of the school to see what was going on.

"YOU'RE JUST ANOTHER LOSER WITH NO QUIRK!"

You didn't even pay attention when you heard Bakugou laughing in the background, or the teachers trying to calm you down, or even the tears welling up in Midoriya's eyes. You pushed him so hard that he fell to the ground.

"IDIOT! DON'T EVER APPEAR IN FRONT OF ME AGAIN! I HATE YOU!"

You ran off before anyone could take in what had just happened. The first thing you did when you got home was run to your room, completely ignoring your fighting parents.

And for the first time in years, your parents stopped fighting. They knew almost nothing about you, but one thing they always remembered, you were always happy, despite their fights, and despite everything. But not today. That day, and the week that followed, there was complete silence inside your house.

After that day, you never looked Midoriya in the face again. You started hanging around Bakugou, always clinging to him. And whenever Bakugou teased the green-haired boy, you pretended not to see.

And as for the letter, you just couldn't throw it away, so you hid it in a box under your bed, and then everything changed.

Flashback off -

"I-I know... I fucked up... but please... it's late and I don't trust leaving you alone at this hour..." You stared into the immensity of those green eyes, and wanted to vomit. "Please (name)... just let me take you home, just one ride! And I'll never bother you again!"

He looked at you with those lost-dog eyes, the ones that whenever he showed you, you did whatever he wanted. But... now it was different. You looked at the rain, it certainly wasn't going to stop now, it was only going to get worse.

"Okay. Just one ride, and no more." He smiled at you, a smile that although you wouldn't admit it, you missed. He walked you to his car, you practically standing under the umbrella so you wouldn't get wet.

As soon as you reached the car, you were surprised. It was one of those expensive cars that you would never be able to afford, I mean, not that you know that much about cars, but you know what you can and can't afford.

He opened the door for you and waved you in. He waited until you were inside and dry, before closing the door and going to the driver's side. As soon as he got in, he realized that his left side was completely soaked, which shouldn't have happened...

"So... where do you live?..." He said almost hopefully, as if you were going to run away from him and get out of his car screaming.

"Oh... I live near the station..." you said quietly, trying your best not to make eye contact with Midoriya. "You don't have to drive me to my house..."

He gave you a big, warm smile. "No problem! I like to help... and it wouldn't be right to leave you alone late at night either..." he shifted his gaze back to the front.

"Right... thanks then..." you looked away to the window. Midoriya finally got out of his seat and started driving. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see that he looked conflicted, as if he was arguing with himself about whether he should say something to you there.

"Um...so...how's your life as a pro-hero? Are you...um, enjoying it?" You tried to lighten the mood, but soon regretted it.

"Ah! Yes! I love it! It's great to always be able to save people when they need it...although sometimes the work gets really tiring..." And before you could even say anything again, Midoriya was already chattering away.

You thought it was cute that, even after years, he was still the same. The same chatty boy who always perked up when he talked about something he liked.

He must have noticed you staring, because he suddenly stopped talking. And he was looking at you out of the corner of his eye. You looked away, your cheeks heating up.

"And you? You became a teacher, didn't you?" He said, trying to distract from the recent event.

"Um... yes, I did" There was an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, and you hoped that you would get home soon. "And Bakugou? I mean..."

"Good! I mean... he's still a bit irritable as usual... but... well" he laughed, and you followed him. It made him smile more. A few minutes later, you finally arrived at his house. "Here we are..."

"Thanks for the ride, I really didn't need it," you said too sweetly, which surprised you, since you did everything you could not to show how you felt beyond your students.

"You're welcome..." he smiled at you. And then everything got weird again, he just started staring at you without saying anything. As if he was hypnotized.

"Um...Midoriya?" He didn't answer. You snapped your fingers in front of him. And then he seemed to come back to life. Instantly, his cheeks turned red, and he looked away.

"I'M SORRY!"

You laughed. "It's okay..." you then smiled at him, and started to get ready to leave.

"Wait!" He quickly got out of the car, running to your side of the door, stumbling halfway. All this to open the door for you. "There!"

He opened the umbrella so you could get out, and you accepted without blinking. You didn't want to get any wetter than you already were. He took you to the door of the building. Then he finally said goodbye.

"Well... thanks again for the ride..." You gave him a small kiss on the cheek as a thank you, it wouldn't be a problem, after all, this would be the last time you'd see each other.

"You're welcome..." he grinned like a fool. You then went inside, leaving him standing there alone. Smiling like a fool who has seen the love of his life for the first time.

Izuku finally got home, and of all the days, today was the worst. Starting with the villains giving him more trouble again, he hadn't had a day off in over three weeks.

But there was one good thing in all this: you. When he met you again for the first time after so long, he didn't even know how to react. Of course, even more so after Kacchan basically shouted at you.

He wished he could have walked you to school, to make sure you got there safely, but you just ignored him, which hurt him a little. But he couldn't blame you, he made a mistake with you when you were younger. He had lost all hope, until he received a letter. A letter from you.

At first, he thought it was a lie, a joke from Denki or Mina, something like that. But as soon as he read the letter, he knew it was from you, the way you spoke matched the letter exactly. And although the letter was apparently a bit old, it still smelled of her peach perfume.

That day, all their hopes came crashing back like a truck. He didn't know how to react. His first instinct was to call Ochako. What he should have known was that it was a bad idea, considering it was midnight and she hated being woken up. At least he got some good advice... which was that he should stop being an idiot and go talk to you. A big help.

But then, one day when he decided to take a walk to cool off, he found you. You were soaking wet, under a store tent. That's when he decided to act. Obviously his first instinct was to offer you a lift. At first, he saw how much you avoided even looking at him.

But in the end, one of his worst days, he got a kiss on the cheek. It sounds silly thinking about it now, but in all honesty he didn't give a damn. Everything that came from you was wonderful, no matter how small. He felt like a teenager at that very moment.

He threw himself down on the sofa, picking up the letter to read again. No matter how many times he read the letter, he would never tire of reading it again. He smiled to himself like an idiot. No matter how long it took, he would make it up to you and he would win you back.

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