#if I don’t have success finding one I’ll go to bed

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 1: Bruises and Bloodlines]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else's protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm's End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), Aemond stressing everybody out, Aegon hating his life even more than usual, RIP lil Luke Strong, don't touch bats in real life or you will get rabies.

Word count: 6.3k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @mrs-starkgaryen @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus

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Cannibal, a noun: one that devours its own.

~~~~~~~~~~

He’s back, you can feel it: a sensation like falling, the impact of Vhagar’s claws against the earth. You get glimpses like this, unpredictable flashes of intuition, a window into the contents of his mind or the scenery he is draped in like how branches hang from a willow tree. You set Blueberry down on the windowsill, where he skitters to the edge and swoops out into the night, chasing white specks of moths and lacewings. Then you leave your bedchamber to meet Aemond in the hallway.

One of the maids is there, trying to be patient as she paces with Maelor in her arms. He’s just like you were at that age: a demon who never sleeps. His white-blonde hair is disheveled, his eyes rheumy and pink from crying in protest. But then they brighten.

“Red Red!” Maelor swipes at you with tiny, grasping hands.

“What are you doing awake?” you coo at him, beaming. “It’s nighttime. You aren’t a bat. Are you a bat, huh? Are you hiding a pair of wings somewhere?”

He giggles as you pretend to inspect him. The maid smiles.

“If you don’t have any wings, I’m afraid you’ll have to go right to sleep. That’s the rule for humans.”

Maelor trills in his toddler lisp: “Then I want to be a bat.”

“Okay! I’ll find some bugs for you to eat.”

“No!” he squeals, dismayed. “No bugs!”

“In that case, I guess you’re a human after all. If you go to bed now, you can help me collect seashells tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Maelor agrees grudgingly, and the maid ferries him away. From the Godswood, great horned owls hoot. One of the knights of Aegon’s Kingsguard, Sir Willis Fell from the Stormlands, passes by on his patrol and gives you a quick nod, polite but a bit avoidant, awkward truths he pretends he can ignore. He doesn’t ask if you need assistance or why you’re awake at this hour. He already knows. He vanishes again, his white cloak swishing behind him like the tail of a wolf or a jackal.

You lurk at the top of the Grand Staircase shrouded in shadows and shifting firelight, feeling night wind skate over your cheek like children playing on a frozen lake, and that breeze is not here but outside where Aemond must be trudging across the courtyard towards the royal apartments in Maegor’s Holdfast. You drum your fingertips impatiently on the stone banister. When at last he appears—first only a silhouette in the darkness, then rippling into color under the torches, black leather and silver hair—Aemond is drenched with rain and ascending swiftly, two stairs at a time.

You grin as you take a step down to him, slinking, conspiratorial. He told you all his plans before he left; he tells you everything. “How was Storm’s End?”

But Aemond doesn’t answer. He blows past you and stalks towards Criston’s chambers, rainwater dripping from his hair and littering the floor with tiny, transluscent pools.

You turn to watch him leave, mystified. “Aemond?”

He says without stopping: “Go wake Aegon and Mother. Tell them to meet me in the small council chamber. I’ll get Criston and Grandsire.”

“Why?” Again, Aemond ignores you. This is unusual. You bolt after him, closing the space between you until your fingers catch his wrist. “Aemond, what—?”

He grabs you and pins you to the wall, the stones cold against your belly through the crimson velvet of your robe, Aemond’s hips braced against yours, domineering, demanding, promising what he will do for you after. You close your eyes and sigh shakily—a savoring, a surrender—and then he is tender, turning your face so he can kiss the apple of your cheek. He murmurs, warm and low: “Do as I ask.”

You nod. “Okay,” you agree in a whisper. Aemond releases you and vanishes to rouse Criston. You break for Aegon’s chambers.

There is a woman in his bed, snoring softly and with long auburn hair spilling over her bare shoulders. He has endeavored to spend less time drinking and philandering since becoming king, and yet…it is so rare for a creature to change its spots or stripes or scales. Aegon has always been this way. Without his vices, you would not recognize him.

You kneel beside the bed and rest a palm lightly on Aegon’s damp forehead. You have to be careful when you wake him; he flinches, he startles, he has too many memories of being ripped from sleep by bruises and crescent-moon indentations of fingernails. “Aegon? I’m really sorry, I know it’s late.”

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s you. “Fuck off,” he groans into his pillow.

“Aemond’s back from Storm’s End, but something’s wrong. He wants you to meet him in the council chamber.”

Aegon looks up and blinks drowsily. Moonlight spills into the room through gaps in the curtains. He smells strange, like lavender; that must be from his companion. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

You shake your head.

Now Aegon is alarmed. The dark, cloudy blue of his irises is rapidly clearing. “Alright. Give me five minutes.”

“Wash the girl’s perfume off you so Mother isn’t quite so disappointed.”

Aegon chuckles, rubbing his eyes; something about the way he does this reminds you of Maelor. They are both just boys; they are both so incendiary and yet so vulnerable. “Get out, whore.”

You tousle his hair roughly, smack a kiss onto his sweat-salted temple as he tries to shove you away, snicker as he hurls pillows at you. You are slipping through the doorway when you hear the woman in bed mumble: “Huh? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “Thank you very much for your company, your skills were more than adequate, now kindly find your way home…”

You hurry down the hall to Mother’s chambers. There are seven-pointed stars on the walls and the furniture, green tapestries everywhere. She will always be a Hightower, averse to Valyrian oddities and suspicious of that sinister, ancient magic. She does not understand it; she tries to overlook it in her children. It’s the only way she knows how to love them. You sit beside the indistinct shape beneath the blankets, sinking into the goose feather mattress, and nudge what you guess is her shoulder. “Mother?”

She stirs, and then her face fills with concern when she sees you in the dim light from her candles. “What’s happened, darling? Are you ill?” You are prone to headaches and chills and nausea, you always have been, maladies of the flesh that are either a blood inheritance or a curse from bad stars. Once when you were very young, Aemond pushed you into a cold stream during a royal progress to the Vale, and you had been laughing when Criston leapt in and dragged you from the water; but two days later, you began burning up with a fever so hot they thought you might die. Aemond had slept on the floor beside your bed, and when you shivered so violently your bones ached he climbed in beside you and held you until you could sleep again; and later when his eye was cut out on Driftmark and he was half-mad with pain, you did the same for him.

“No, Mother, I’m fine. It’s Aemond.”

She sits up and studies you. “Aemond?”

“He’s back from Storm’s End, and he wants to talk to you.”

“To me?”

“And Criston and Aegon, and Grandsire too.”

She doesn’t understand. “Now? Why? What’s wrong?”

“I have no idea.”

“What did he say?”

Everyone expects you to already know, but you don’t. “I think he wants to tell all of us at the same time. In the small council chamber.”

“Now?” she says again, puzzled, still half-asleep. “What is so important that it can’t wait until morning?”

“Mother, there are only so many ways for me to express that I don’t know. If I had any indications at all, I’d share them.”

“Alright.” She’s smiling; you have amused her. She throws off the covers and touches her bare feet to the floor. “Pass me my robe. It’s on that chair over there.” And of course, the swath of velvet you hand her to wear over her nightgown is a deep emerald green: the color of fertile fields, not blood or beasts.

By the time you and Mother arrive together, everyone else is already taking their places in the council chamber. Aegon is at the head of the table, spinning his stone—a black sphere of volcanic glass—and peering around boredly. Grandsire and Criston are greeting Mother and yawning into the backs of their hands. No one has woken Helaena, and yet she is here, settling nimbly into the chair beside Aegon. He gives her a brief, fond glance, noting that she is fidgeting with a small oak dragonfly he once made for her. Aegon carves wood, Helaena embroiders, you shatter seashells with tiny hammers and use the shards to make mosaics, miniscule yet unladylike violence. Aemond has books and swords in place of crafts. And Daeron…you assume he must have cultivated some artistic talents while away in Oldtown—he was always so imaginative as a boy—but you would not know them. You see him so rarely now. You sit across the table from Aemond. He is the only attendee not dressed in nightclothes. His black leather tunic is still layered with a sheen of rain.

Grandsire lowers himself gingerly into his seat, grinding arthritic bones that pain him. The nights have grown chilly, even here in the south. Winter is coming, the maesters warn. His gaze passes over you and Helaena—the two of you aren’t really supposed to be here, but you’ll be permitted to stay if you cause no trouble—then he smirks humorlessly at Aemond. “So you failed.”

“No,” Aemond says, and you think as you look around the table: No Orwyle, no Lannister, no Wylde, not even Larys Strong. What does Aemond not want them to know? “Lord Baratheon has agreed to marry his youngest daughter to Daeron in one year’s time. He was very enthusiastic about the match.”

“Great!” Aegon declares. “Although, personally, I am of the inexpert opinion that this could have been discussed over bacon and honeycakes at breakfast…”

Grandsire snorts, derisive; he disapproves, though perhaps he is not surprised. He says to Aemond: “You were sent to negotiate your own marriage, not Daeron’s.”

Aemond shrugs, as if it happened by coincidence. “That was Borros Baratheon’s preference.”

“It was your preference, you mean.”

Aemond is careful not to reveal any emotion. “Daeron is young, but he already has a reputation. He is known to be handsome and chivalrous and…” A wave of the hand as he searches for the right word. “Unmutilated. It is not so difficult to imagine why a father would believe him to be a more worthy son-in-law.”

“It doesn’t matter to me, one Targaryen is as good as the next,” Aegon says, and of course nobody pays much attention.

“Perhaps Borros Baratheon’s judgment has been contaminated by certain disturbing and disgraceful rumors,” Grandsire counters and glares at you. You don’t reply; there’s nothing you can say that would help. Everyone knows, but it rarely spoken of aloud, as if it is a ghost nobody wants to inadvertently conjure. All your life there has been this perpetual rebalancing of scales: someone mentions a diplomatic match for you, you stall and Aemond makes excuses, Grandsire and Mother try to convince him, Aemond is immoveable and they aren’t willing to invoke his wrath. Vhagar is the subtext of every dispute. They need her, they are terrified of her.

Criston attempts to deescalate. “Aemond’s task was to ensure the Baratheons’ loyalty to the crown, and he has accomplished that. Perhaps it would be wise to move on.”

“Fine, what else?” Grandsire snaps. “You assembled us here for some reason, I presume. It must be urgent to merit a meeting now. It better be urgent, or I’ll be paying people to shake you awake during the hour of the wolf for the next month.”

“It is urgent,” Aemond says softly, then pauses, gazing down at the ball in front of him, white quartz dappled with blue. Everyone watches him. You share a glance with Aegon; he is curious, but you have nothing to offer him. You turn back to Aemond with bewilderment in your face, furrows in your brow.

“Aemond?” Mother prompts.

He looks at you, only for a second, but you’re thunderstruck by what you see in his remaining eye. You have never known Aemond to be afraid, but he is right now. What happened? you think, horror making the blood in your veins cold and slow and heavy. What did he do?

Aemond begins: “Luke Strong was at Storm’s End too.”

“What?” Grandsire says, more baffled than worried. “That runt? Why?”

“He’s a weasel,” Aegon mutters, spinning his ball again.

“Rhaenyra’s son?” Mother asks. “She sent him there all alone? How peculiar. The way she was always hovering over him while they were here, I’m amazed she let him out of her sight for that long. How old is he now? With that plain, ever-anxious, pug-nosed face, he looks like a little boy—”

Aemond says: “He was sent to remind Borros of his old pledge to uphold Rhaenyra’s claim. But Luke had no incentives to offer.”

“And so Lord Baratheon rejected him,” Grandsire surmises.

Aemond nods, though perhaps halfheartedly.

“Well, good,” Grandsire says, surveying the table for agreement. “That’s good, right? With every house that refuses to aid her, Rhaenyra will be more likely to accept our terms, and we can resolve this question of succession without any bloodshed.”

“Meleys and the Dragonpit,” Aegon reminds him.

“Without further bloodshed,” Grandsire amends.

Mother and Criston concur, but you’re watching Aemond. He hasn’t responded yet. Mother’s gaze flits between the two of you. She is somewhat sympathetic to the affinity you share, but she doesn’t understand it. More than anything, you get the sense she believes it is something you must be saved from. The Hightowers could stomach Aegon and Helaena’s match—Viserys was still healthy enough to insist upon it, and the couple so seemingly platonic it was easy to forget they were married at all—but they have no appetite for a desire that defies political expediency, that burns scorching and wild.

“Aemond, did you quarrel with Luke?” Mother says, her tone patient in an I-won’t-be-mad-if-you-just-tell-me-the-truth sort of way. “I know…your eye…” She touches her own face, wincing at the memory of how he suffered. “Did you seek restitution of some sort from him? Did you make accusations?”

“We…exchanged some words,” Aemond admits. “And then…when Luke left on Arrax…” There is a lull, and everyone stares at him. “Vhagar and I followed.”

“What?!” Grandsire exclaims. “You threatened Rhaenyra’s son?!”

“I…” Aemond closes his eye, then after a moment opens it again and continues. “It was my intention to frighten him, that was all.”

“Idiot,” Grandsire hisses. “You know better. You’re too well-educated to act like you don’t. Now, that one…” He jabs an accusatory finger at Aegon, who is caught off-guard, what the fuck do I have to do with this?

Criston says, more gently: “That was very dangerous, Aemond.” Mother covers her mouth with one hand and shakes her head. Her long coppery hair hangs in uncombed waves, still tangled from sleep.

“So what happened?” Aegon asks. “Where’d you chase him to? All the way back to Dragonstone? You must have scared him to death.”

Aemond chooses his words with great care and agonizing slowness. “Everything was under control. Then Arrax…he unleashed his flames on Vhagar, and she…she attacked.”

Everyone is silent. After a moment, Grandsire says: “What do you mean she attacked?”

“She…” Aemond gestures vaguely with open hands, hands that have held you, caged you, dragged you, pleased you until you were forged to him like a blade to a hilt. Again, he looks at you, and what is he asking for? Help, empathy, compassion, forgiveness? “She bit Arrax.”

“She wounded him?” Aegon says.

“She devoured him.”

Criston blinks. “So…Arrax is dead, and where is Luke now?”

Aemond laces his fingers together on the table like he’s praying. “He’s…he’s gone.”

“Gone?” Mother echoes.

“Did you look for him?” Grandsire demands. “I mean, did you even bother to search for Luke, or did you just leave him in the Stormlands somewhere? Did he fall into the sea, could he be wandering around in a forest? If Luke is injured, we should send out people to find him. We could hold him as a hostage.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Aemond’s voice is frayed. And now for the first time tonight, you finally know what he’s going to say. Your eyes snag on Aegon’s, and he reads the terror there, and then it hits him too. “There is nothing to search for.”

Mother is gaping at him, the unwanted knowledge seeping in like rain through earth. “Nothing?”

“There is no body. Pieces, perhaps.”

Unspeakable, suffocating dread fills the room, and then Grandsire leaps to his feet and slams his fists down on the table. “Useless!” he roars at Aemond. “Worse than useless, a saboteur, a curse, a plague, you have ruined everything your Mother and I worked for, Rhaenyra was considering our terms and now you’ve condemned us all!”

“You killed Lucerys Velaryon?” Mother says, stunned. Her large dark eyes glisten with unpardonable betrayal. She’ll never look at him the same way again. “You murdered Rhaenyra’s son? A prince, the heir to Driftmark?”

“It wasn’t murder,” Aemond pleads. “It was…it was combat, it was a battle—”

“A battle with that child?!” Grandsire thunders. Helaena begins to cry, and Aegon places a hand on her wrist as his wide eyes dart around the table. “Everyone’s seen him, it’s no secret, and not a single person in the realm would be delusional enough to believe a clash between Vhagar and Arrax was anything but a slaughter!”

“Aemond,” Criston says quietly, appalled, astonished.

Aemond can’t meet his eyes. He peers down at the table, and despite everything—what will happen to us, what will happen to me?—there is an ache in your chest like cracked ribs trying to heal, a profound lightless distress, a ricochet of the pain he’s feeling. “It wasn’t my intention to harm Luke.”

Grandsire shouts: “Did you give Vhagar the order or not?!”

It feels like a long time before Aemond answers. “No.”

“Oh gods,” Criston says as he sinks down in his chair, turning to Alicent. She has hidden her face with both hands and seems to be weeping.

“So you can’t control Vhagar,” Grandsire seethes. “You ride the largest and most dangerous dragon in the world and you can’t stop her from eating people.”

“I never would have purposefully—”

“But you created the situation! You pursued Luke, you tormented him, and surely somewhere in your sick brain you considered that you were endangering his life! And now… now…now Rhaenyra will be merciless, she will never submit, she will endeavor to destroy us all!”

“It will bring more allies to her side,” Criston says. “They will believe she was wronged, and she will wield that weapon to great advantage. She is cunning.”

“What about your family, Aemond?!” Mother sobs, her face a hectic, bloody pink. “You and your brothers will have to go to war, you might be maimed or butchered, and your sisters and I…we could be taken as prisoners, we could be executed for treason!”

“That will never happen,” he swears; but his pale blue eye is misty, and he bites his lips together so they won’t tremble.

Mother is desperate, tears streaming down her cheeks “What can we do, Father? How can we salvage this?”

Grandsire points to you. “She must be wed immediately. We’ve already waited too long.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Aegon says, but no one is listening.

“Mother,” you beg. “Please don’t let them—”

“She will be married to whoever can help us in this,” Grandsire says. “The Lannisters or the Redwynes or the Swanns, perhaps the Butterwells or the Mootons if that will coax them to our side—”

“Then the realm will burn,” Aemond replies darkly, leaning over the table. “But I’ll come knocking on your door first, Grandsire.”

Grandsire looks at him, startled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Shall we find out?”

“Otto, please,” Criston says, holding up a palm. Then he considers how to dissuade him. “All things considered—the military strength that Aemond has brought to our side, the devotion that he has shown this family, present circumstances notwithstanding—he has never asked for much.”

“He asks for the one thing we cannot give him,” Grandsire replies, then turns to you. “What do you think about what Aemond has done? This recklessness, this monstrous error?”

He rarely asks for your opinion about anything. This is not a question but a summons: you are supposed to disavow Aemond. You are the one who can hurt him best. Instead you say, though it’s not what you truly feel: “Luke was an enemy. He perished in combat.”

Grandsire, Mother, and Criston all begin yelling at once. Helaena shrinks into herself, her dragonfly made of oak wood clutched to her chest. Aegon whispers something to her—you can leave, you believe he says—but she shakes her head no. You are stoic as the adults berate and implore you, and perhaps it’s strange that you still think of them that way since you’re an adult now too, and yet…their gravity seems so much heavier than yours, their tethers to the earth overgrown with weeds and moss.

“I’ll gut you myself!” Grandsire screams at Aemond, empty threats woven from helpless terror. “I’ll lock you in the Black Cells, I’ll have you banished to Dorne—!”

“I’ll throw a feast!” Aegon says suddenly, and the others go quiet.

“You’ll what?” Grandsire snarls.

“Little Luke Strong is dead and that’s a victory for our side. There’s no other way to look at it.”

“You intend to celebrate this calamity?”

“What else should we do?” Aegon asks. “Apologize? Go crawling on our bellies to Rhaenyra for forgiveness? No, she’d burn us alive. If it’s done, we must embrace it and use it to bolster our cause as much as possible. It was a battle and a victory. Aemond is a war hero. Onto the next objective.”

“What a disaster,” Criston mutters, rubbing his forehead. “Yes, that might be the only option we have.”

Mother clasps the small seven-pointed star that hangs from the gold chain at her throat. “I must go to the sept. I must pray for our survival.”

Grandsire glowers at Aegon. “You are a humiliation.”

“I am the king. I want a feast.”

Grandsire sighs deeply, pushing his chair away from the table. “I suppose I have letters to write.” And then, to Aemond: “When your sisters are captured and enslaved and married off to whichever Black loyalists will pay Rhaenyra and Daemon the most for them, I trust you’ll remember who’s responsible.”

Aemond gets up and storms out of the small council chamber. Mother mops the tears off her face with the sleeves of her green robe. Criston takes one of her hands and is murmuring promises, assurances, perhaps lies. You, Aegon, and Helaena say nothing. None of you can defend what Aemond has done, but you won’t denounce him either.

Then Grandsire grins at you, a cruel bestial flash of his teeth, an old grizzled animal tough from too many winters, icy wind shrieking through the chambers of its heart. “Oh, are you pretending that you’re not about to run after him?”

You don’t reply. But you rise from the table and flee as Mother watches you, her vast eyes swimming with misery.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a game with five pieces: the green snake, the yellow butterfly, the blue wolf, the red bat, and the purple shadowcat. They chase each other around the board, and if one of the other pieces lands on the same spot as yours then you have to go all the way back to the start.

Daeron is the youngest, but he almost always seems to win; some people are like that, luck flows like a river in their veins. Helaena enjoys playing even if she finished last. Aegon feigns disinterest but never declines an invitation, sliding his snake across the spaces with his index finger between slurps of wine. And sometimes Aemond is ruthless, taking every single opportunity to land on your spot and send your bat hurtling back to the beginning, sawing your legs out from under you, shattering your hopes like glass again and again until you are so frustrated you can feel embers glowing dry and searing in your throat.

But other times, Aemond pretends to misread the dots on the dice so he lands either too close or too far away and you are spared, and if you win he lies and says you deserve it.

~~~~~~~~~~

He is waiting at your bedroom door; when you are close enough to breathe him in, you taste rain and soot. Perhaps—if it isn’t your imagination—you can even detect the coppery tinge of blood, splatters of little Luke Strong soaked into the black leather of his tunic or his coat. You remember that boy you barely knew, more a phantom than flesh, a wraith who stole Aemond’s eye and then was spirited away to Dragonstone to escape retribution, a tiny god who Viserys worshipped from afar the same way he never stopped loving Rhaenyra. All you knew of your father was absence, and this was a sadness but a relief as well, because you could not escape the sense that if he was there you would only disappoint him.

“What is wrong with you?!” you whisper savagely. Aemond smiles and reaches for your face, but you swat his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me. You’re insane, you’re going to get us all killed—”

He drags you into your bedchamber, kicking the door shut behind him. He’s lean but wiry, all muscle, and when you fight him—although you both know you want him to win—it is in vain. He tugs your hair out of its braid and hauls you across the room, pushes you down on the bed, rips off his coat and tunic and then follows you onto the mattress. You clamber away until you hit the headboard, your spine flat against the wood. As he closes in on you, your palm cracks across the blind side of Aemond’s face, and he grins. You have often thought that it should have been reversed, you wed to Aegon and Aemond to Helaena. You would not be so scandalized by Aegon’s vices; Aemond would be chivalrous with a meek, compliant wife. But alas, Helaena was born first, and the arrangement was set in stone long before any of your natures became apparent.

Aemond unfastens your robe and reaches under your nightgown of white cotton. “Open your legs.”

“No.” It is always this way with him; it always has been. You fight and he vanquishes, and both of you enjoy it.

He forces your thighs apart and you moan, the resistance bleeding out of you, you muscles going soft and yielding, Aemond radiant with this clandestine conquest on a night when nothing else is under his control. He can only love you when you’re tamed and tractable. Sometimes you think he likes that you don’t have a dragon, that your egg never hatched, that all of the unclaimed beasts denied you. You will always be vulnerable, powerless, at his mercy.

You cling to Aemond, your arms around his neck. He knows exactly what you need because you’ve already done this, more times than either of you could count: everything besides what could get you pregnant, and not just because Aemond would rather slit his own throat than have bastards like Rhaenyra’s. It’s something you’re both saving until at last you are married, and no one except The Stranger can separate you.

You gasp and Aemond growls through your hair: “Shh. Hurry up.”

“I missed you.”

“I know.” He doesn’t have to say it back; if he hadn’t missed you, he wouldn’t be here right now, two fingers buried to the knuckles and the heel of his hand grinding against you, almost, almost, almost…

The bedchamber door bangs opens, and Aegon saunters in with a goblet of wine, emeralds gleaming on the rim.

“Stop,” you tell Aemond, but he knows you don’t mean it, not really; beneath your nightgown his hand works faster, more roughly. You sigh and kiss him, deep and messy, surrendering, very close.

Aegon takes a swig of wine, licks the stray drops from his lips, and frowns down at you both, slightly intrigued but mostly nauseated. He cannot fathom a hunger for his own.

Aemond looks to him and says casually: “Do you want something?”

“I do, actually,” Aegon replies. “Were you planning to thank me?”

“Thank you for what?”

“For what I did for you in the council chamber, obviously. For the feast.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Thank you, Aegon,” you say, and you are sincere.

Aegon raises his goblet in a mock toast. “That’s very kind, Red, but I wasn’t asking you.”

You whimper against Aemond’s throat, embarrassed but in ecstasy, not able to hold off much longer. “Aemond, just thank him.”

“Well I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment.”

“That’s okay,” Aegon says. “I can wait.” He sits at the end of the bed, then bounces up and down a few times. “Oh, this is a great mattress! Very soft, like sleeping on a cloud! Why isn’t mine this nice?”

“Probably because you’ve ejaculated all over it five thousand times,” Aemond says.

“Oh, right,” Aegon jests. “Not quite that frequently, I think.”

“Aemond,” you plead breathlessly. “Just say thank you. Get rid of him.”

Aemond sighs and, with his hand still beneath your nightgown, turns to Aegon. “Thank you.”

Aegon smirks, mischievous. “And how will you repay me?”

“By overcompensating for your shortcomings in order to ensure the enduring success of our family, as I have done since birth.”

“Of course,” Aegon says, though a bit distantly.

Aemond glances down at you and then asks his brother: “Were you hoping to join us?” It’s not a serious question; if Aegon ever tried to touch you with genuine desire, Aemond would break both his arms. Fortunately, Aegon is the closest thing you’ll ever have to a real brother, and thus his limbs are safe.

Aegon chuckles and stands. “No, this is a bit unsavory, even for my taste.” He gulps the last of his wine and says as he leaves: “Enjoy, freaks.”

“Bye, Aegon,” you call, laughing. He waves and then closes the door behind him.

Seconds later—twenty, thirty, time evaporates like mist burned away at dawn—Aemond is making you come, and then you are yanking off his trousers and taking him in your mouth, and when you do this he always has to be touching you, smoothing back your hair, telling you how well you’re doing, and even though he warns you so you can pull away if you choose to, tonight you swallow every last drop of him and think of the sea that Lucerys Velaryon’s scraps tumbled into, the mineral bite of salt and metal and blood.

But when he finishes, Aemond doesn’t collapse like a dead man as he usually does. He throws you onto your back, licks and nuzzles his way down your breasts and belly, parts your legs and murmurs against the inside of your thigh before he begins again: “I want you, I want you, I want you, I can’t wait much longer.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s one of your earliest memories. You are in the garden, and it’s a blazing hot day, and a million varieties of blooms cut through the greenery: goldenrods, orchids, lilies, irises, daisies, bellflowers, red roses, blue forget-me-nots. Butterflies whirl in the air and land on Helaena’s outstretched fingertips. Grandsire is slapping Aegon and calling him an imbecile for trying to pet a bumblebee, and Aegon is wailing: But it’s fuzzy! Why can’t I hold it?!

You must not be very steady on your feet yet, because Aemond is pulling you up by both of your hands and asking: If I ran, do you think you could catch me?

Yes, you had said, and then you’d staggered after him as he darted into the foliage. Under the shade of blossoms and shrubs that towered so much taller than you, you tripped and fell and scraped your palms, one of them bleeding from striking a pebble. You cried out, but no one was there to pick you up: no Mother, no Criston, no Helaena or Aegon. You wept pitifully, thinking—as children do—that you would be lost forever, that you would never see your family again.

But Aemond came back for you, and he studied your bloodied palm, carefully plucking out every grain of brown soil; and then he kissed it, held it against his cheek, painted himself with the scarlet ink of your arteries and veins.

See? he had said, smiling so you knew everything would be okay. Now we’re both red.

~~~~~~~~~~

“How are the babies?” Aemond asks when he arrives, dressed for the feast in a green tunic embroidered with shimmering gold threads in the shapes of dragons, flying, shrieking, breathing fire. Helaena made it for him, of course. Each of you have wardrobes full of garments she’s sewn, a collection of Aegon’s woodcarvings scattered around your rooms, seashell mosaics hanging from walls: insects for Helaena, Sunfyre for Aegon, heroes from myths for Aemond.

You grin over your shoulder. “Come see them.”

It’s dusk now, so they are leaving the roost you keep in one corner of your bedchamber, covered with dark velvet to blot out light and sound as they slumber. Aemond kneels beside you and holds out his hand so River can scurry from your palm into his, clawing with his hooklike appendages. All of your bats are named after blue things—Blueberry, Sailfish, Clear Sky, Bluejay, Misty, Dragonfly, Lagoon, Lightning, Kingfisher—just as Aemond’s hawks and war horses are given names like Fox and Rusty and Cherry and Pomegranate. He is the only one who defends your pets when Mother threatens to banish them back to the Godswood or the seaside cliffs. You have no dragon; you must find solace with some other creature that inspires dread and revulsion. But you think they’re beautiful, and strange, and fearless, and wrongly unloved.

“Let’s move things along,” Aegon says as he appears in the doorway, wearing all green except for the Conqueror’s crown. “No one can dig into the roast boar until the guest of honor enters the Great Hall. So I need Aemond to show up immediately.”

“Almost ready,” Aemond replies without looking away from River, who is now scrambling up his forearm. Lighting takes flight and attempts to land on Aegon’s shoulder; Aegon yelps and flings him away.

“No, you can’t!” you say, rushing across the room to scoop up Lightning and cradle him in your arms. Fortunately, he is unharmed. “I told you, Aegon. They have tiny bones, you have to be gentle or you’ll hurt them.”

Aegon shudders. “They’re fucking disgusting. Rats with wings.”

Aemond sets River on the windowsill, goes to his brother, shoves him hard; Aegon’s back hits the wall. His crown is knocked from his head and clatters against the floor.

“I’m not apologizing,” Aegon insists. “I’m a victim of grave injustice. I was attacked. That thing could have bitten me.”

You say to Aemond in High Valyrian: “Should we do this for a while to annoy him?”

Aemond smiles. “Yes. We should talk a lot. A great amount, we should talk. Very much talking.”

“Hey, hey, stop that,” Aegon says.

“Aemond, what else will they serve besides boar?”

“I heard something about pies.”

“What kinds of pies?”

“Who knows. Maybe apple, or cherry, or plum…”

“Oh, I adore apple pies. Perfect for autumn. I could eat them all day.”

“I could eat you all day.”

“Don’t tease me, or we’ll never make it to the feast.”

Aegon is distressed. “I mean it! Stop!”

“They aren’t saying anything important,” Helaena assures him as she swishes into your bedchamber wearing a butter yellow gown. In her hair are gold pins shaped like ladybugs.

“Okay, but what are they talking about?”

Helaena says matter-of-factly: “Sex and pastries.”

Aegon groans and rolls his eyes. “Why did I ask. Okay, time to go.”

You walk together to the Great Hall, where Helaena and Jaehaera and Grandsire will dance in the center of the floor, and you and Aemond will whisper in shadowy corners, and Mother will peer around worriedly with her large watery eyes as Criston yearns to console her, and Aegon will smile patiently and never scold Jaehaerys when he gets underfoot or spills his pomegranate juice.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s another game, or maybe it’s a ritual; you are a little girl again, and every once in a while, without any warning, Aemond will shove you into a closet or a heavy wooden trunk and lock you inside. You will scream and pound on the door, but no one will hear, and you will spend what feels like hours alone in the darkness, wondering if this will be the time when you are not discovered until you have died of thirst and hunger, until there is nothing left but bones.

Then you hear approaching footsteps and Aemond lets you out, and when you strike and scratch at him he embraces you fiercely, like he’s a soldier who’s been away for a year or more; and he holds you until you stop fighting it and your heartbeat goes quiet in your chest.

[dnbrainrot]

It’s the middle of the night but I saw ONE lawlight cosplay video and now I have to go look for fanfics. Sigh.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility, murder of unnamed characters, mentions of potentially killing reader

fem reader

Just thinking about the apocalypse, the two army men who’ve long survived it in their shelter with barely any trouble, and then you, a poor girl trying hard to outrun your last captives only to run into them.  

You didn’t realize back then that it was like trading piranhas for sharks, too caught up in begging for their aid to think better of it. You should have just kept running, but your ankle was sprained badly, maybe even broken, and you were wearing so little you would most likely have died from the cold during the night if they hadn’t taken you in.

It seems unfair of them to have kept the giant bunker all to themselves, only the two of them, but you don’t judge. You would likely have kept it all to yourself as well.

This new world has bred new humans, and they’re all monsters. It’s honestly quite surprising they’d even let you in, given this is what they’re protecting, this sanctuary from the past, a comfort most people would kill their closest friend in exchange for.

Trust is all but dead, and so is honor or any other morality—you would know, you’ve lived out there for it all, only having survived by spreading your legs at the right moments. It’s a shameful tactic, and many times, you’ve wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to spare yourself and just die. What was the purpose?

This—you think. This must be it. They have showers and working hot water.

You don’t know how it’s possible—the original owners of the shelter must have been some type of millionaire. You haven’t had a warm shower since the world went to shit—years ago. It’s been a choice of waiting for rain or finding a lake, hoping it wasn’t rancid. Meanwhile, they have soap—scented soap, the lush kind you’d forgotten existed. It feels so nice you have to cry—rejoice—sobbing while lathering yourself, watching all the filth go down the drain, leaving you smooth-skinned once again for the first time in forever. You can’t remember having ever been so clean before, feeling reborn.

They have fresh clothes for you too—new socks and underwear, all clean fabrics, so much more than what you wore—pants, a shirt, and a sweater to keep warm. You didn’t know there still existed people who lived like the old days—you’d thought it was long gone, a bittersweet dream you sometimes have the pleasure of at night instead of the usual nightmares. Never had you thought you’d experience anything even remotely similar, but here you are—looking yourself in the mirror after so long, surprised to see a human looking back at you.

And they feed you. Not scraps, not leftovers, not rot, or days-old flesh from the last successful hunt—but freshly baked bread, vegetables, fruit—for fuck’s sake, they even have juice. You cry again while eating, and then you find yourself begging them again, “Please, let me stay—please, I’ll do anything. I can cook, clean, work—anything at all, I can do it, just please let me stay…”

You’re on your knees, forehead pressed to the heated metal floors—toasty and comforting, you think you could sleep better than ever right there.

“We’ll think about it,” one of them mutters as he gathers the plates. His voice was so harsh he might as well have said, not a chance. It’s clear by his frown that he’d rather send you right out again, leave you to the monsters.

“We’ll at least let you stay until your ankle heals, so don’t worry.” The other is more sympathetic, helping you up. “For now, let’s get you to bed. You must be exhausted.”

It hadn’t crossed your mind that they’d have beds—actual real soft downy mattresses and duvets and pillows. The two of you help make it together. It feels so foreign that you wonder if you might have died earlier. Some years back, you wouldn’t have thought heaven would resemble a prison cell, but now it only made sense—safe metal walls and a bed. What more could one possibly want in the world?

“I’ll wrap your leg for you if you sit.” He holds out a bandage roll, gesturing to your ankle.

Blinking, you can’t even register what he’d just offered until he’s getting down on his knees before you.

You panic, then. Bandages are hard to come by—it hardly seems worth it. “There’s no blood, you shouldn’t waste it—”

“It’ll heal better and faster this way,” he adds reassuringly. His voice is so soft and compelling that you find yourself sitting down without further quarrel, even when it makes you feel spoiled.

He’s gentle with you—holding you steady while wrapping it just tightly enough to be supportive. There hasn’t been a man who’s touched you like it.

“Does that feel okay?”

You can barely tell he’s talking to you. It’s all so lost on you that you can only wordlessly nod your head.

He fastens it just as carefully before standing. “Is there anything else you might need?”

You shake your head just as wordlessly. You can’t believe how nice he’s being. It makes no sense at all. Not in this world. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to lock the door,” he apologizes with a sheepish look once standing on the threshold.

You’d been stuck thinking about how warm the room was, trying to remember a single time you hadn’t been freezing during the night. “That’s okay, I understand,” you say. After all, what’s a locked door in comparison?

“Good,” he smiles—it’s likely the kindest smile you’ve ever seen. “Alright then, good night.”

Once again, you’re left stunned. The last time you’d heard those words spoken must have been from a loved one long since dead. It makes your lip wobble again as you say it back, “Good night.”

It's strange—they could have left you for dead but didn’t. They don’t seem gullible—they can’t be if they’ve managed to protect this place for so long—but you suppose there still exist men who have a soft spot in their hearts for helpless damsels in distress.

As you sink into the comfort, draping your duvet atop your battered body, you don’t even care about the camera in the ceiling—blinking red while watching you.

“Did you have to bandage her up?” he grumbles as the other walks into the bedroom after having said his goodnights to you. 

He’s already in bed, observing through the cameras on a tablet—you were currently curling into the duvet, wrapping it around you close for comfort. You’d likely not slept on anything so soft in a while—it wouldn’t surprise him if you preferred the floor. But no, you drift asleep quite quickly.

“You know how badly things can heal without proper support,” the other answers, regarding it as no big deal. “And besides, it’s not like we often need it—we have plenty to spare.”

He removes his clothes and crawls onto the bed as well, lifting the covers to slot himself right next to the other man, who still has a scowl on his face.

“Oh, come on…” he drawls. “She’s exactly what we’ve been talking about, isn’t she?”

The grump doesn’t answer, still with keen eyes watching you, even as you’ve fallen asleep—as if waiting for you to do something befitting a wild animal in a cage. The other’s eyes fall to the screen as well, but he only awes in delight.

“Look at her, already fast asleep,” he purrs while zooming in on your face. “I mean, did you see how she was begging earlier, what she said? I’d do anything,” he continues, almost whining. “So cute, I could have fucked her right then and there.”

The other man sets the tablet aside with a disagreeing sigh. “We’ll wait at least a week for her system to detoxify from the wasteland,” he says strictly. “I’m not touching her before then, and neither are you unless you want to sleep alone.”

The other groans then, flopping down on his back. “Yeah, yeah, you and your safety protocols,” he dismisses before a smirk creeps up his face, glee twinkling in his eyes as he looks up at his grouchy counterpart. “But then we keep her, right?”

“Tch—we don’t even know if she’s fertile. The wasteland could have made her barren as long as she’s been out there,” the other shuffles down into the sheets as well, turning to look at his partner and the awfully keen look on his face.

“So we test her. Give her a medical check,” he says, again as if it’s not a problem, even when it very well could turn out to be.

They’ve already broken quarantine rules by letting you in here—and who knows what your real objectives truly are.

“I don’t trust her,” he states.

The other pouts. “I don’t see what one little lady can do—she’s hardly a threat. And we already purged the group that was following her. I doubt any of them made it out alive.”

True, he had gone out and sent several gas grenades into the settlement. Surely, none of them managed to escape, but then again—

“Pest control only works when you kill them all, and we’ve just let one inside our own house,” he grumbles.

The other one sighs. “Okay, so if it turns out she isn’t as cute as she looks, we’ll deal with her like the rest. But if I’m right, and she really is just a harmless little thing, we keep her, and I get to have the first go.”

Suppose there isn’t anything better to do aside from killing you straight away, which would only have been a waste of food, water, clothes, and bandages. 

“Fine.”

The other grins at the agreeance, humming, “I guess until then, we’ll just have to make do with each other—I've been hard since we watched her shower.” He leans forward for contact but is shut down as his bedmate rolls around with his back turned to him.

“Tch—take care of it yourself.” Tonight has been too stressful to tug each other’s dicks. 

He can hear him whine behind him, but he settles down soon enough.

Suppose it would be nice fucking a woman again. It’s been so many years he figured he wouldn’t need it anymore. They’ve made do with each other so far. But even he can’t deny, once you’d washed all the blood and muck off, once he saw the dewy hue of your soft skin and the silk of your hair, all those plush curves, and not to mention that awfully sweet look on your face—he felt the tug in his pants too.

He'll do a medical check on you tomorrow. He hopes you’re fertile. But even if you’re not, he might give in to the other’s wishes and keep you anyway. After all, they might have many luxuries, but the comfort of pussy is one they haven’t had in a long, long, long time.

♡ BNHA – KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta, ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka, ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[5sospenguinqueen]

Forgetful Flirtation - Toto Wolff x Wife! Reader

Summary: A heavy celebration leads to a husband forgetting his wife. And a team who won't let him forget it.

Warnings: Fluff. Swearing. Slight age gap.

Requested: Yes by anon.

F1 Masterlist

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

mercedesamgf1 just posted

liked by kimi.antonelli, valterribottas and others

mercedesamgf1 LEWIS HAMILTON WINS THE BRITISH GRAND PRIX 🇬🇧

13,331 comments

totowolff you did us proud. you deserved this, lewis. enjoy 

landonorris congrats mate

yn_wolff oh, lewis, what an amazing drive. well deserved. i’m so happy for you 

→ mercedesamgf1 we can confirm that she cried 

→ lewishamilton 🫶🏾

pierregasly congrats champ! 

roscoelovescoco well’s done’s dad’s 

→ yn_wolff it was the luck of roscoe in the garage. maybe we should have him every weekend

→ mercedesamgf1 we agree

georgerussell63 you deserve it, mate 🍾 i’ll buy you a round later

→ user1 are they going out together later?

→ user2 wouldn’t surprise me if the whole team celebrated this win

yn_wolff just posted

liked by iamrebeccad, carmenmmundt and others

yn_wolff team dinner to celebrate hubby’s, and especially lewis’, success 

3,644 comments 

totowolff meine schöne frau

→ yn_wolff i love you

francisca.cgomes oh okay so we’re dressing hot tonight?

→ yn_wolff i know you’re complimenting me but don’t make it sound like we didn’t compare outfits for tonight. you even know what kind of underwear i’m wearing! 

→ francisca.cgomes i enjoyed those pictures 

→ pierregasly pardon?

→ user3 yn is such a girl’s girl 

user4 that hand placement though 🤤

→ user5 she’s really not good for toto’s reputation

→ user6 she’s making it look like he’s groping her

→ user7 can you blame him? look at her. she’s hot liked by yn_wolff

user8 um, anyone else find it really unprofessional that she’s publicly admitting to sending images of her underwear to people?

→ francisca.cgomes one person, and i’m her friend?

→ user8 it just reflects badly on her husband who has an image to maintain 

→ totowolff no, it doesn’t. she is her own person

user9 unlike you crying bitches, i love that toto is married to someone slightly younger so that we get this content 

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

Weaving through the throng of bodies, you scowled as you dodged another couple gyrating against each other near the entrance to the VIP section. Your glass was empty and your shoes kept sticking to the floor, tacky from a cocktail of spilled drinks. Scanning the crowd, you scowled as you made your way over to the bar. How was it possible to lose a 6’5 billionaire in a crowd of shorter drivers?

Gesturing wildly to a crowd of people, the man of the day caught your eye and you hurried over to him. 

“Lewis, have you seen Toto anywhere? I can’t find him.” You nibbled anxiously at your bottom lip. 

“Last I saw, he was with Bono asking the DJ to play 80s music,” laughed Lewis, recalling the image of his team principal and engineer swaying together, a feather boa draped across the pair of them. 

You thanked him before turning and continuing on your crusade. All around you, familiar faces were wrapped around their partner’s (or women they had just met), dancing to the music or whispering in their ears. Alcohol had been flowing freely for the past three hours and the majority of the people in the club were more than inebriated. The hours had passed and you were ready for a warm shower and for your husband to tuck you into bed. Yet, he had decided to elude you.

Toto’s dress shirt hung loosely off your frame, having been draped around you earlier whilst you stood outside for some fresh air. You had simply rubbed a hand down your arm, trying to dispel the goosebumps that appeared, and there he was, bundling you up. That had been an hour ago and you hadn’t seen him since. Inhaling deeply, his scent surrounded you. The only comfort you had as you began to wonder whether he’d left you here in his drunken state.

Lando was up on the platform flapping his arms in a dramatic manner and messing around with the decks, directing you to where you thought you’d spotted a tall figure shrouded in the shadows. 

“Yn!” Bono greeted, beaming at you through the pink feathers enveloping his face. 

“Having a good night, Bono?” You asked, smiling at the sight of him. “Toto, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” 

“Well, hello there,” your husband drawled, peering down at you with a heated gaze. “Come here often?” 

“What?” You laughed, leaning closer to hear him over the music. Surely you had misheard. 

“I would’ve remembered seeing a woman as beautiful as you before.” 

Beside you, Bono was shaking with silent laughter, gesturing wildly at someone in the distance. Probably summoning more people to bear witness to the peculiarity happening before you. Sidling up to him, you wrapped a hand around his bicep under the guise of stabilising yourself. You felt the muscle under your hand flex.

“Careful, Mr Wolff. If you keep being nice to me, I might have to take you home.”

His arms wrapped around your lower back, pulling you close against him. A heart stopping smile filled his face. “I don’t think I’d object to that. I would, however, like your name first.” 

“Is he being serious?” Somebody whispered behind you, earning a wave of raucous laughter from the Mercedes team that had gathered. 

“You smell nice.” Toto continued, nose nuzzling into the ticklish spot under your ear. You arched against his touch. He may not remember your marriage certificate but he clearly knew where best to tease you. 

Running your fingers down his arm, you grabbed his left hand, tracing circles across the back of it. His wedding ring - part of a matching set - glistened in the strobe lighting. Fiddling with his fingers, you raised your hand up to your face, pulling it into his periphery. You twisted the band around his finger, letting it catch the light and his eye. 

“I’m sorry but I don’t date married men.”

You dropped your husband’s hand, sliding out from his hold. Turning away from him, you snaked through the crowd and away from him. Dazed, Toto looked at his left hand in bewilderment. He slid the band off his finger, looking at the date engraved inside. Opposite him, his team continued to cackle at his misfortune. He was in so much trouble tomorrow. 

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

yn_wolff added to her story

liked by mercedesamgf1, francisca.cgomes and others

georgerussell63 replied to slide 2 at least he remembers you there → yn_wolff you keep teasing him about that and you might seriously find yourself without a seat next season → georgerussell63 don’t say that. i know you’d protect me  → yn_wolff don’t push your luck → i’ll see you for dinner on thursday though? → georgerussell63 wouldn’t miss it

francisca.cgomes replied to slide 3 how are you awake enough to do all that? → i feel like i’ve died. pierre keeps bringing me cups of tea but i can’t even lift my head to drink them  → yn_wolff tbf, kiks, you drank far more than i did 😂 → plus toto has been doing everything for me despite looking like death himself → i think he feels bad for forgetting i was his wife → francisca.cgomes at least you know even drunk you’re the only woman he wants? 

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mercedesamgf1 just posted

liked by georgerussell63, landonorris and others

mercedesamgf1 the silver arrows know how to party

4,463 comments

georgerussell63 yeah and our team principal knows how to forget his wife 

→ totowolff george, would you like to stay with mercedes next season?

→ yn_wolff don’t threaten your drivers online, dear

→ georgerussell63 i’m only speaking the truth

→ user10 george, you don’t look like you were in any state to remember things either

yn_wolff can somebody blow that photo up and print it off for me. i think i need it in my bedroom

→ user11 you get to go home with the real thing, leave the photo for us 

→ yn_wolff i almost didn’t

→ totowolff not you as well, liebling

→ user12 what does this mean? 

lewishamilton hell of a party 

pierregasly maybe don’t let your team principal join next time

alex_albon happy wife happy life probably isn’t working for toto right now 

maxverstappen1 i think we should get toto drunk before race weekends, maybe he’ll forget his strategies 

→ user13 what does this mean? let us innnnn

totowolff i’ll be speaking to all your team principals tomorrow about your behaviour 

→ charles_leclerc yes, dad 

→ landonorris oh, no. now we’ve done it 

→ georgerussell63 who do you talk to about mine?

yn_wolff you forgot your wife, mein herz, i don’t think your scary boss act is going to work today 

→ user14 he did what?!

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

Requests open for smau's

Tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

“You did what?” HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN questions in amused disbelief, picking himself up off the bed a centimeter when his abdomen flexed from his powerful scoff.

Nestled into his side, a thick arm wound around you, you’re playfully incredulous when you animate inquiring gestures at him, frowning over his obvious skepticism. “Why would I lie about that?”

“No, baby, it’s not that you would lie, I just-“ He squeezes you tighter, and jostles you gently. Once he glances at your pout, he softens his delivery, “I’m saying, it’s hard to wrap my head around. I never thought that a fan could… you know,” he trails off, gesticulating vaguely to finish his sentence by drawing attention to your naked and tangled bodies underneath the covers.

You squeak a noise of offense, sitting up and out of his embrace clutching the sheets to your bare chest. He doesn’t deserve to see them right now. “Oh, my god.” you exclaim, and when you swing your legs out to land your feet on the cold floor, you draw the sheet with you.

“Now wait, c’mon, I didn’t mean that. Come back, you’re taking the warm with you.” he scrambles to find an excuse to keep you close, but you’re already walking away as he’s reaching for you.

“I’m going to find the picture. I know I have it somewhere.” you insist, more to yourself than him as he settles back into bed. The way your hips sway catch the thin material between your ass, and he rolls his tongue between his lips as he watches. You bend down over a box next to your bedroom desk, sifting through its contents hastily until you move onto the next one. Hayden adjusts in his seat, picking at his halfie that’s perking up at the memory of what you look like under that sheet, underneath him. “Ugh, it was right here!”

“If you don’t have it, sweetheart, don’t worry, I believe you. Come back to bed,” he coaxes, eyes hooded as he keeps them glued to you. You reach behind you, wagging a shaming finger at him to which he chuckles at.

“No, no. I’ll find it.” you scold him for his attempts to derail you from your quest, striding to the other side to check a drawer. “Ah-ha!” you interject victoriously, smug in your success as you flick the photo out of its place.

“Is that it?” he asks, craning his neck to see past you, but he sounds nonchalant, as if he’s still skeptical of your claim.

“You are gonna eat those fuckin’ words, baby,” you muse as you march right back to him, the paper flipping in air from your rush. “Take a look at this.”

You shove the photo into his view, and gingerly he takes it, his thumb at the very edge of the white line so as to not soil the quality with his fingerprints. Quietly, he observes it through the bottoms of his eyes, tipping his head back, demonstrating his aging sight as he takes a gander at it much like an old man might. Uneasily, you glance between them. “Oh.” he finally says with knowing. “You changed your hair.” he notes, tilting his head at the picture of you and him. Years ago, you’d gone to a con with the sole purpose of meeting Hayden to take a photo with him. The day you bought that photo op ticket was one of your happiest, replaced as soon as you first laid eyes on him in that booth.

“See? You believe me now.” you tell him cockily, popping your hip out.

“I remember you.” he muses in a tune, scratching at the scruff off his cheek with a pensive parted smile. “You had the cutest little ass—“

Promptly, you go to pluck the picture from his grasp. “Okay, that’s enough.” but he’s much too quick for you, jerking it away to continue ogling it.

Keeping it from you, his voice raises in volume and glee as you continue to fail to retrieve it from him. “No, no, it’s coming back to me. You tripped on the way in. Sweet little thing. Couldn’t even say anything to me, you were so nervous. Held eye contact like a champ though,”

You reach fully over him, stretching out over his lap as you struggle to grab it from him. “Hayden! Give it back!”

“Your little hand was shaking when you offered it to me. Asking for that pose. Still the same naughty girl.”

[fastandcarlos]

Welcome Home : ̗̀➛ Oscar Piastri

summary: after success in hungary, oscar finally arrives back home to you, only to find you not quite as awake as you promised him that you would be

A small smile appeared on Oscar’s face as he walked through into your apartment, finding you curled up on the sofa. He couldn’t help but admire you from afar, noticing your phone resting on your stomach, the television playing absentmindedly in the back ground. 

As he got closer, Oscar’s smile shrunk slightly as he noticed the uncomfortable position that you were laying in. Your arm was hanging off the sofa, hand probably numb, he could see how hard you were working, even in your sleep, to stop yourself from rolling off the end of the sofa and onto the floor. As he knelt down beside you, Oscar faintly whispered your name, brushing his hand over the top of your head.  

It took a moment for you to respond to what was happening around you, unsure if you were just dreaming the sound of Oscar’s voice. However, you soon knew you weren’t dreaming as you stretched your uncomfortable body out and felt many of your muscles scream out in pain.  

“Sorry,” you whispered, running your hand over the front of your face as you noticed that Oscar was there beside you. “I meant to stay awake so that I could celebrate properly with you, it’s not quite the welcome home I imagined giving you.” 

Oscar’s head shook as you muttered another apology, left unsurprised that you had fallen asleep. He had messaged quite late on that he was getting a late flight out of Budapest to return home to you, and after his win, you promised that you’d be there to greet him when he walked back through the front door.  

“I knew there was no chance that you’d stay awake anyway.” 

“I know, but I promised you Osc.” 

Oscar offered you a sympathetic smile as you spoke, moving your hair out of your face for you once again. “It doesn’t matter to me that you weren’t awake when I got home, I’m just glad to be home again and be back with you,” he tried his best to assure you. 

“I can’t believe you’re a race winner,” you hummed, turning your body so that you were facing Oscar. “All those times we’ve talked about it happening one day, and now that moment has come true.” 

“It feels pretty cool,” Oscar proudly laughed, reaching behind him. Your eyes were glued on what his hand wrapped around, your smile turning up as you got your first glimpse of the trophy that you watched Oscar lift at the top of the podium hours before.  

“I’m so proud of you,” you sleepily told him, trying your best to find a bit of energy, but your body let you down. All you could do was reach out and cup the side of Oscar’s face, brushing the pad of your thumb gently against Oscar’s cheek. 

Despite your best attempts to convince Oscar that you were awake and ready to spend some time with him, he knew you much better. He could see the battle you were having with yourself to try and stay awake but after a long day of nerves and excitement from watching Oscar race, you were well and truly done for the day. 

As soon as you met Oscar’s eyes you knew exactly what he was trying to tell you too. Words weren’t needed between the two of you, you knew Oscar like the back of your hand and knew exactly what he was thinking too. “You want me to go to bed, don’t you?” 

“I know that you’re tired and that if you even try and tell me anything else that it’s a massive lie,” Oscar smugly told you, placing his hand over yours. “We can catch up properly tomorrow and I’ll tell you all about how amazing today has been.” 

Your head nodded in agreement with Oscar, “I want to hear absolutely everything about today, I feel like I’ve missed out on so much not being able to be there for the first race that you win.” 

You were meant to be there, you were meant to be there to cheer for Oscar in the paddock and give him that hug as soon as he climbed out of the car. And then work decided to call. You were stranded, left with no choice but to stay behind in Monaco and just hope that you didn’t miss out on too much. 

And it was just your luck that you ended up missing out on more than you ever could have imagined. You knew Oscar was in for a good week, but you never imagined that illusive first win would be the one that you’d miss.  

“Come on, I’ll treat you tonight,” Oscar smiled as he slowly stood himself up, placing his trophy on the coffee table in the centre of your living room before turning back to face you again. 

Soon enough, one of Oscar’s hands had slid underneath your back, the other was draped across your shoulders, scooping you up and off of the sofa as if it was the easiest job in the world, pulling you in tightly to his chest to keep you secure in his arms.  

“I got you,” he murmured as your head settled against his shoulder, allowing Oscar to carry you across the apartment, laying you down gently on your bed as soon as he was there, tucking the duvet over the top of your frame.  

You turned inwards once you were settled, watching as Oscar stripped himself down to join you. He had a wide smile on his face as you pulled the duvet back to invite him in, nuzzling against his side as Oscar was there with you.  

“Thank you love,” Oscar grinned as it was your turn to tuck him in, moving his arm to wrap around your body and keep you as close to him as he possibly could. “I’m so glad to be back home with you.” 

You hummed as Oscar spoke, allowing your eyes to close. “I’m still sorry that I wasn’t awake for you. Do you know how many hours I dreamt about leaping into your arms as soon as you crossed that finish line this afternoon?” 

“It would’ve been nice, but this is nice too,” Oscar sweetly argued, determined to not let you feel bad about falling asleep before he returned. “Just knowing that your proud of me is more than enough for me, there’s nothing else that I need love.” 

“I’m always proud of you,” you very quickly noted, “but I am quite looking forward to going into work and bragging about the fact that I’m actually dating a grand prix winner now, they’re all going to be so jealous.” 

Oscar couldn’t help but chuckle as he listened, “are you happy for me or happy for the new status you’re going to have in the office tomorrow morning?” 

“Of course you...but bragging rights is a nice bonus to have as well.” 

Oscar’s eyes rolled as he rested his head on top of yours, “you know my mum said the exact same thing about going back to Pilates now too. 

You couldn’t help but laugh too, “I saw some of her social media posts before I fell asleep, it’s so easy to see where you get your sense of humour from sometimes.” 

“Don’t tell her that, it’ll only make her even more embarrassing,” Oscar warned. 

You both were in fits of giggles as sleep loomed over you both. Oscar’s adrenaline had finally left him, and for you, sleep had greeted you a long time ago, trying your best to fight it with the last remains of energy that you had. 

It might’ve been the worst race that you could’ve possibly missed, but that didn’t matter to Oscar. These were the moments that he enjoyed the most, that post race cuddle when he could remind himself just how lucky he was to have you cheering him on. 

“Sleep now,” Oscar instructed as he felt your body relax in his hold, “the sun will be rising soon.” 

You hummed in acknowledgement, “I think I might be a little too excited now to have you home to fall asleep.” 

“I can always sing to you,” Oscar offered, feeling your hand hit down against his chest.  

You screwed your eyes as tightly shut as you could, “if there’s one thing that I don’t need to help me fall asleep, it’s definitely that.” 

“I thought you’d say that,” he whispered, “goodnight sweetheart, I love you.” 

“I love you too Osc, congratulations again.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: don’t even ask what this is because i have no explanation 🙈 i’m just out here obsessing over mat and squeaks always. and in a happy coincidence it’s barzy days (13) to the season opener!

word count: 2.3k

tw: pregnancy, mutual masturbation, dirty talk

summary: in your second trimester, you’re constantly worked up and desperate for mat, in any shape or form

Lately, by the time Mat gets home from a game you’re fast asleep, buried under a thick down comforter with pillows wedged all around your body so you won’t roll over onto your back.

It’s an extra precaution, since your doctor informed you that you don’t have to worry about staying off of your back while you sleep until later in your pregnancy. You’re only fifteen weeks, with a tiny little bump to your lower stomach, so you could comfortably sleep on your back with no problem, but you’d decided to try and get used to sleeping on your side as early as possible. As a stomach sleeper, this is the hardest part of pregnancy so far.

It’s easier when Mat’s in bed with you, curled up against his side and using him as a human body pillow.

He always tries to slip into bed quietly after his shower and most of the time, he’s successful.

But tonight you’re not as deeply asleep as usual, overly warm and twitchy under the covers. You’re in and out of sleep, face buried in Mat’s pillow, until you hear him creep into the bedroom and go straight for the shower. He’s already showered at the rink post-game, you know, but something about the soap they keep stocked there makes you nauseous, even into your second trimester. So, second shower with the good smelling home soap for Mat it is.

The bathroom door is only partially closed and you can hear the water turn on, his shuffling around and getting undressed. You shift, thighs pressing together, warm from the inside out.

All you can think about is Mat in the shower, naked and wet, and you feel about as horny as a sixteen-year-old boy.

As if Mat hadn’t licked you to an extremely satisfying orgasm just this morning.

Your hand slides down your stomach, dipping under the hem of your sweats, finding the sensitive bud of your clit. Huffing an impatient breath, you draw a quick, tight circle around it, wet and achy. Everything south of your belly button is heightened with extra blood flow, your cunt throbbing and slick.

“Ugh,” you grunt into the pillow, arousal dripping around your fingers and thighs like a faucet. You don’t want to get out of bed, don’t want to move any more than you have to, but all you can think about is Mat in the shower and your body moves on autopilot. The covers get flung back and you swing your legs out of bed, wiping your wet fingers on the outside of your thigh.

Mat jumps when you sneak into the bathroom, one hand smacking against the tiled wall. “Fuck,” he yelps, blinking water from his eyes. “Scared the shit out of me, I thought you were asleep.”

You shake your head and shrug, “I was, sort of. Like in and out of it, you know.”

You lean against the countertop and watch Mat through the steamed glass. He rubs a soapy hand over his chest and you blink slowly, feeling yourself drip even more. Soap slides down his chest, onto his stomach, further down and you watch its path hungrily.

Mat’s laugh echoes around the bathroom and you startle, shaking yourself slightly and crossing your arms over your chest to try and ground yourself.

“Huh?” You ask stupidly, realizing that he was talking the entire time that you were ogling him.

“I was saying,” he wipes a hand over the glass to clean it, giving you a better look at the shit eating grin on his face and the way his hair is slicked back with shampoo off his forehead, “you’re looking at me like I’m a fucking steak.”

“I can’t help it,” you whine, too horny to be embarrassed. “All my hormones are crazy.”

“Don’t blame the hormones,” Mat shakes his head, pushing the shower door open slightly. “Hop in and I’ll take care of my girl.”

Your entire body flushes, desperate for Mat’s touch, but you wrinkle your nose and shake your head. “I’m all warm and dry,” you counter, exhausted but wired. “I don’t wanna take off my sweats.”

Mat laughs at you again and you pout. “Squeaks, baby, how am I going to help you if you keep your pants on?” He ducks his head under the spray and rinses shampoo from his hair.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, dipping your hand back under the waistband of your sweats. Your fingers brush against the elastic of your panties and you exhale harshly. “I want you to make me come while I’m warm and cozy and not in the shower.”

You know you sound insane and based on the absolute flood between your legs, you need to get in the shower anyway so you don’t wake up all sticky and uncomfortable. The warring desires of comfy and horny are fighting it out in your body and you’re not sure who’ll win.

Mat grunts and you know he has to be tired, it’s late and he’d played his heart out in a grinding overtime win. You should just get in the shower with him and let him fuck you hard and fast the way you need, but you’re feeling bratty and playful, despite the late hour. You lean harder against the marble counter and watch through the steam and glass as Mat’s hand grips his cock. It hadn’t been hard before, but you can see it thickening in his grip.

“This is what we’re gonna do,” he says, drawing your attention back to his face. His hand works lazily over his cock. “Since you worked me up too, you’re going to push your pants down to your knees - stop, I know you’re comfortable,” he interjects over your faint protest, “and I’m going to tell you exactly how you’re going to get yourself off while I take care of business in here.”

He pauses, grins wickedly at you, and continues, “unless you want to hop in with me.”

“I’m keeping my sweatshirt on,” you reply tartly, using your other hand to push the waistband of your sweats to your knees. Your panties follow and your bare cunt is exposed to the steamy bathroom air. You shiver, even though it’s not cold, and press your fingers against the wet skin of your inner thighs.

Mat wipes at the glass again, letting his gaze flicker down to where your fingers are tracing around your folds. He hasn’t told you what to do yet, so you’re behaving. For now.

“Shame,” he grins. “I like looking at your tits when I jack off. And the cute little curve of your belly that proves that you’re mine.”

His hand works over his cock, from base to tip where he runs his palm over the head, squeezing harshly before going back down over his shaft and balls. It’s been a while since you watched Mat jerk himself off, usually ready to lend a helping hand, so to speak, pretty quickly after he starts. Your breath hitches in your chest, watching his hand move and his cock harden. Pride bubbles up too, knowing that you’re the reason he’s getting hard and worked up.

“Mmm,” you hum, “use your imagination.”

Mat closes his eyes and you laugh, breath stuttering in your chest when he lets out an exaggerated, dramatic moan. “Got the best tits I’ve ever seen,” he replies cheekily. “I’d lick your nipples, bite them even though they’re all sensitive now, if you got in here with me.”

Your nipples tighten against your shirt, painful and sore, and you’d definitely like to get Mat’s mouth on them. “Finish your shower and come join me in bed,” you offer, thighs shaking the closer your fingers get to your clit. “We can be cozy, you can fuck me silly, like I want.”

“You came in here to tease me,” Mat counters. “I’m not letting you off that easy. Go ahead, baby, touch yourself. Let me see you drip down your thighs.”

“Oh thank god,” you mutter, delving your fingers between your legs and playing with your clit. You’re unbearably achy, sensitive to even the faintest touch, and the press of your fingers against your clit is like an electric shock. You exhale and slump against the counter, letting it hold your weight.

You can hear Mat’s hand roughly jerking his cock, grunting and groaning over the sound of the water. “Can hear you over here,” he rasps, “you’re so wet. Fucking love how wet and horny you are.”

“Nothing works like your cock, Mat,” you whine, two fingers sliding easily into your soaked entrance with a squelch. “Just want you to fill me all the time. I need you.”

“Every day,” he promises, his free hand splayed over the glass, forearm holding his weight. “I’ll give you as many fucking orgasms as you want, every damn day. Just, add another finger. G’head, fuck yourself for me.”

You add the third finger and curl them, trying to hit your g-spot while your thumb circles your clit. It’s only barely enough and you cry, whining for Mat.

“There you go,” he praises you in a strangled voice and you angle your neck to watch him stroke his cock. The head disappears into his fist and reappears, touching the shower door when Mat leans forward and leaving a smudge behind. “Almost there, I can tell. Play with your nipples, baby, pinch them for me.”

You instinctively try to spread your legs wider, but get stuck with the fabric around your knees and grumble, leaning over the counter to try and get your fingers even deeper.

“As soon as you come, baby,” Mat’s voice sounds like he’s grinning, “I’m gonna come and then I’ll take you to bed, fill your cunt with my cock and fuck you to sleep.”

“Yes, please, Mat,” you sigh, dragging your free hand up your stomach until you can twist your nipple, an electric spark coiling in your belly. It doesn’t take much more after that, your fingers pumping in and out of your cunt sloppily, Mat letting the dirty talk fly fast and loose, sending you over the edge of an orgasm, shouting his name and squirting all over your hand and the floor.

“Fuuuck,” Mat draws out the curse, “made such a mess, my girl. Look so goddamn gorgeous pregnant with my baby, gonna lick you clean, want a taste of you.” He trails off, muttering to himself, until he comes a few moments later, a guttural groan drawn from his chest. He makes his own mess, ropes of come all over the shower door and his stomach. You watch, eyes heavy and chest heaving, while Mat finishes, your gaze drawn to his twitching cock and the tendons flexing in his forearm.

He drops his head to rest against the glass, panting, and it’s enough to get you wet again. You start giggling, surprised at your body’s audacity to still be so hot for Mat even while you’re growing a baby. You’ve Googled, wondering if it’s normal to be this damn horny during pregnancy, and it’s honestly a relief to find that a higher sex drive is normal in the second trimester. You’d been halfway convinced that you were a nymphomaniac after your morning sickness had disappeared and you’d needed multiple orgasms a week from Mat, sometimes multiple a day.

“What’s funny?” He lifts his head and grabs the bar of soap to wash off again. His movements are languid now, slower and less deliberate.

You kick your legs out of your sweats and grab a washcloth out from under the sink, cleaning yourself up while you reply, “the fact that I literally am still so fucking horny right now. Morning sickness went away and I turn into a teenage boy.”

The shower turns off and Mat steps out, wrapping a towel around his waist. Your gaze tracks the droplets of water trailing down his chest and he laughs, watching you. “I don’t have a problem with it,” he reaches for your wrist, tugging you close so he can kiss you properly.

You’re still pantsless and the kissing isn’t helping anything. “Stop that,” you mutter, nudging at his chest with your knuckles. “If you keep that up, I’ll never let you sleep.”

“Maybe I don’t want to sleep,” he kisses you again, his thumb rubbing over your wrist bone.

“But I do,” you grumble, melting into him. Your body buzzes with energy, reacting to Mat’s touch. He smooths his free hand over your hip, fingertips tapping at your ass cheek. “I need sleep, Mat.”

Without even realizing it, Mat’s maneuvered you back into the bedroom. Your hands land on the towel knotted at his waist and you tug on the fabric. It’s tented slightly in the front and you could so easily have him slip inside of you. “One more,” you say, completely contradictory. You blame it on the hormones, your excuse for everything lately.

But then you yawn, jaw cracking loudly, and Mat smiles at you softly. “Bed,” he orders, wandering away to get you a fresh pair of underwear and pants. “No practice tomorrow, so if you’re still in the mood, we’ll make a lazy morning of it.”

You let Mat manhandle you into bed, pillows tucked behind your back and knees, suddenly exhausted. You settle easily back into the nest of blankets that you’d left behind, watching Mat drop his towel into the hamper and get dressed. “Ass out like that, makes it really hard for me to not want to bite you,” you comment around another yawn.

“Bite me tomorrow,” Mat chuckles and climbs into bed with you, submitting to being your human pillow. You drape your leg over his thigh and sigh happily when he wraps an arm around your shoulder and nestles you against his side.

You relax against him and Mat draws circles on your arm with his fingers, lulling you to sleep. You’re almost passed out until a thought occurs and you say, into the dark room, “can you go out for bagels tomorrow? I would kill for a bacon, egg, and cheese.”

“Anything you want, Squeaks,” Mat replies, amusement lacing his tone. “Now go to sleep.”

[gojossocks]

Pathetic

Pairing: AU!Sukuna x reader Genre: angst Content: the title says it all, pathetic ‘kuna core. Sukuna cockblocked himself because he's afraid of commitment :DD a bit of gojo x reader at the end bc y/n deserves love. Wc: 1.2k

“Stop being so pathetic.” He had declared, his words cutting through the air like shards of ice.

But you, ever resolute, had refused to let his harshness deter you. Sukuna knows how much his sentence has hurt you. Your hands were trembling as you reached his, desperately seeking connection. Tears glistened in your eyes, your voice was quivering but you smiled at him through your blurred vision.

“We could work it out right, ‘Kuna?” you implored, your voice soft yet it held so much weight. “Please talk to me. I don’t need anything else! I just need you. We don’t have to get married or anything. I am content just being with you. I love you.”

Sukuna’s gaze remains distant, his eyes fixed on the table behind you. He isn’t looking at you anymore. His response was dispassionate and void of the warmth he used to give you. “It’s not that. I just don’t love you anymore, Y/N.”

He watched you break and he watched you swallow your sobs as you clutched his hand tighter. “That’s okay,” you whispered, your voice desperate, barely more than a breath. “You loved me once, I could make you do it again. Tell me what to change and I’ll change for you, love.”

“I don’t care. I’m leaving.” He pulled his hand away, leaving you alone in your once shared bedroom. He still remembered the sounds of your sobs down the hallway as he walked out of your life.

Sukuna was always sure of himself that day he left you. He had said it so indifferently, so carelessly, as if he didn’t spend years being loved by you. He thought he moved on quite easily— bouncing from one woman to another, getting drunk on his own success, and wasting the rest of his twenties on meaningless connections. The hollowness of it all continued to haunt him.

It’s been half a decade trying to ignore the ache that has been gnawing at his heart. And it wasn’t until he saw you again did the gravity of his actions finally catched up to him.

It was supposed to be your anniversary and Sukuna finds himself pathetically walking into the places you once walked with him. He claimed he forgot about you but his feet always drag him to the remnants of you every year, without fail. He convinced himself it was just a mere coincidence that he walked to the same park where he first hugged you, how you fit right into his arms like you were made exactly for him. He finds himself dining in the restaurant you love so much, and he wonders if you still go there to order your favorite food.

He didn’t want to lay on his bed because he would think about how you used to run your hands through his hair when he’s upset or stressed. He would think about the warmth and comfort radiating out of you when he pulls you closer to him.

He told himself he had forgotten about you when he still hadn't thrown away the polaroid of the two of you, smiling softly as you kissed his cheeks. It was still in his wallet and he never bothered to change the photo. He remembers the way you clung to his arm, excitedly pointing out the changing leaves as autumn envelops the weather. He called you an idiot but you scrunch your nose at him and pulled him to a kiss. He remembers you dragging him into a movie theater to watch a cheesy romantic comedy. He got bored midway but he stayed anyway because he didn’t like seeing the pout on your face.

And he couldn’t rid what you had left him despite not taking any of your belongings when he left. He finds you in his morning coffee, how he drinks it with creamer and sugar because you told him it tasted better. He still gets your favorite laundry detergent every time he shops and he still folds his shirts the way you taught him to.

He thinks of you every sunrise, you once told him it’s a privilege to see the sun come alive right before your eyes and he stays up until morning just so he could pretend he’s seeing it with you.

Why is he mourning over a person who is very much alive?

He lets himself wonder if you think about him too, if you’ve forgiven him. His hands itch to call you to apologize or to ask to see you. He stops himself every time.

In the first year of your break up, he scrolled through your social media accounts to catch a glimpse of your life. You blocked him on everything the following year.

He drowned himself in his vices once more to numb that void you left. And once the party’s over, he would return to his empty mansion, clutching the only relic he has of you— the sweater you left at his place. It didn’t have any traces of your favorite perfume anymore yet he still hung on to it. In those moments, he allowed himself to regret his decision.

What would his life turn out if he told you what was on his mind?

It finally dawned on him when he saw you that day. You were still as radiant and you were smiling just as bright. You still looked like the same woman he walked away from years ago. The same woman he still loves. Only, you looked happier, your joy evident in every step you took. Sukuna watched you emerge from your favorite cafe, holding your coffee in one hand, a ring on your finger. The sight sent a shiver down his spine.

In your arms, cradled tenderly, was a child. Sukuna knew without a doubt that he was yours, the same eyes that had once held his heart were now reflected in your son’s eyes. White strands adorned your son’s hair, and Sukuna suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He had never entertained the thought that he would ever see you with someone who wasn’t him. But now, as he stood there, he couldn’t deny the fact that he had no place in your life anymore.

You had settled down and gotten married to none other than Gojo Satoru.

He watched as your husband approached you, whispering something in your ear that made you giggle and smile harder. He watched as Gojo brushes your hair out of your face, taking your son from your arms so he could hold your hand.

Sukuna watched as Gojo Satoru gave you everything he couldn’t.

It felt like the gods were mocking him. And oh how Sukuna knew he messed up when he saw how you looked at Gojo the way you used to look at him.

It was supposed to be him.

He turned and walked away again before you could see him, paying his last respect to your own peace and happiness. Every step he took felt like daggers into his heart.

It’s pathetic, isn’t it?

wanna read more?

[holly-the-trash-writer]

Guilt

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Y/n lies unconscious in a hospital bed while Spencer drowns in guilt. You had felt that Spencer was cheating on you with Maeve and were going to stay with someone else before you got shot. Finding this out causes Spencer to snap and lash out at one of his closest friends.

Part 2

Word Count: 2,866

A/N: This has been a WIP for years! It was apart of a series with my own OC but I decided to change it to a Reader fic. The amount of WIPs I have is ridiculous!!!!!

Spencer sat at Y/n's hospital bed in silence. Tears were continuously streaming down his face, his breaths were shaky and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your unmoving face. 

There was a tube coming out of your mouth to help your breathing. So many different wires were coming out of your body and attached to multiple beeping machines. 

He was holding your right hand in both of his, your skin wasn’t freezing cold but it was colder than he prefers it to be. 

You had only came out of surgery half an hour ago but they won’t know if it was successful until you wake up. Which could be between the next few seconds and never.  

Never was something Spencer was trying his hardest not to think about. 

There was so much he needed to tell you. So many things he had to say. 

The last time you were together you had fought. You told him that he’s been speaking to Maeve too much and that he's been ignoring you. Spending more time with this woman. 

Spencer had told you that you were being ridiculous and then you had to go on a case and Spencer never got the chance to talk anymore about it. 

You had been furious at him and now Spencer was angry at himself as well. 

He had called you ridiculous for coming to him about your feelings. This resulted in you refusing to be his partner in the field. Which led to you going with Morgan. Which ended in you getting shot. 

This is when Spencer’s brain began connecting things that didn’t match up. 

If he had listened to you he could’ve gotten you out of harm’s way. 

Not speaking to Maeve meant you wouldn’t have fought and you never would’ve been shot. 

He was supposed to protect you. 

It should be him lying there. Not his sweet girl. 

There was a knock on the door and Spencer barely reacted as Garcia and Emily came in. 

“Hey, how is she doin’?” Emily asked softly. 

Spencer turned his head a little towards them, “She... uh.” His voice cracked and he cleared it before trying again, “They said everything went well but we won’t know the damage until she wakes up.” 

Garcia's eyes watered as she stared at your body. “When will she wake up?” 

Spencer's eyes filled with tears, a sad smile forming as he squeezed your hand, “When she’s ready.” 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out to see that it was Maeve. 

Again.  

Along with the twenty missed calls from Maeve.  

He rubbed his eyes before pressing answer, “Spencer Reid.” 

“Oh my God. Spencer, I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Are you alright?” 

This statement didn’t sit well in his stomach.  

If you miss an appointment with your doctor, they don’t leave twenty missed calls on your phone.  

They wait for you to reschedule. 

He glanced at the other two women who were trying their best not to listen in. Although Garcia was looking particularly peeved about something.  

Then he glanced down at you and any words he was going to say to Maeve turned to ash in his mouth. He felt sick.  

Now he understood what you meant. 

“Now, isn’t a good time. I’ll call you next week.” He didn’t wait for a response before he ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket. 

Garcia shifted uncomfortably, “Was... was that her?” 

“Who?” Spencer’s brain wasn’t even functioning at 20%. He couldn’t think things through clearly. 

“Doctor Maeve.” Garcia mocked. 

Spencer frowned, “Yes. Why?” 

Emily gave Penelope a pointed look. 

A look that did not go unnoticed by Spencer, “What? What is it?” 

Emily put her hands up in a calming gesture, as if trying to approach a cornered animal. “Spencer. You must understand, we don’t mean to pry but Y/n spoke to Morgan and he didn’t know what to do so he told Garcia, who told me.” 

Spencer rubbed his eyes for the fourth time in ten minutes, he did not have the energy for this, “Told you what? What are you talking about?” Spencer was getting agitated now. Why can’t they just tell him? He hated not getting to the point. 

“Well, Y/n came to Morgan two weeks ago and was quite upset.” 

Spencer frowned as he looked at you again. Two weeks ago? You didn’t seem upset two weeks ago. 

“She had some concerns about this doctor that you’ve been speaking to.” Emily explained. 

Garcia huffed, “She told Derek that she had suspicions that you were cheating on her.” She spoke with daggers in her eyes. 

Spencer froze.  

What?!  

He stiffened in his seat as he stared at his unconscious fiancé in shock.  

You thought he was cheating on you?  

You might never wake up again and your last thoughts of him would be the fight and thoughts of his, supposed, adultery.  

How?! How could you think that he could even look at anyone that wasn’t you? 

“I. Would. Never.” He punctuated every damn word so they got his point, trying to blink away the fresh batch of tears that filled his eyes. 

“She planned to stay with Morgan and Savannah for a couple of days-" Garcia told him. 

Spencer tore his eyes away from the bed to gawk at Garcia, “She what?” 

Emily placed her hand on Garcia’s arm and spoke next, “Yesterday, Derek had... overheard one of your conversations with the doctor and he spoke to Y/n about it. So, she decided she would go and stay with him for a few days to sort out her head before coming to you about it.” 

Spencer was furious. Not only did you think he was cheating on you, half of the team now suspected him of it too and no one even had the decency to ask him. And what was this phone call that was so damning that Derek had to run and tell his fiancé? Why didn’t Derek just ask him instead of almost ruining his relationship without him even knowing about it! 

Spencer was shaking with rage. He stood abruptly from his chair and turned to the girls, pointing to Y/n’s bed he ordered out, “Stay with her.” before he stormed outside to head to the waiting room. 

He saw red. He couldn’t think of anything except for the anger he felt. 

Quickly turning the corner he saw the rest of the team sitting and talking as if nothing was wrong. 

J.J noticed him first and stood up, Hotch, Rossi and Morgan following suit. 

“Spence, any news?” she asked gently. 

Spencer didn’t even hear her; never slowed his pace either. As soon as Morgan was within arm’s reach he clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white and swung as hard as he could.  

His fist made connection with Morgan’s cheek and from the shock of Spencer’s actions it knocked Morgan off kilter. Morgan stumbled and placed his hand to his cheek. 

The punch clearly did more harm to Spencer than Morgan, but he didn’t care. The pain in his hand was welcomed. It cut through the hurt that was clutched around his heart. 

The others cried out in shock as they tried to digest what just happened. 

“What the hell, kid?!” Morgan yelled at him. 

“’What the hell’ is right!” Spencer growled back as he stepped up to the other man and pushed his shoulders, “Sneaking behind my back? Telling my fiancé that I had some secret affair because of some phone call you didn’t hear the entirety of!” 

Spencer was seething, the rest of the team gaping at him never having seen him so furious before, “You could’ve just asked! But no, the whole team had to get involved. And now I hear she was planning on living with you for a few days?!” Spencer clenched his possibly broken fist again. “She’s in a coma and may never wake up again and her last thoughts of me will be the thought that I was getting with someone else.” 

Spencer inhaled sharply as his rage at Morgan turned to rage at himself. 

“Spencer!” J.J shouted, “Stop!” 

His sharp inhales quickly turned to hyperventilation, his brain was in overdrive, a million thoughts and memories were spinning around his head and he just wanted it to stop. 

So he stopped it the only way he knew how.  

Instead of hitting Morgan, Spencer turned at the last second and hit the wall. 

He fell to his knees and cried as he hit the wall again and again and again and again. 

Blood smeared across the white wall as he broke the skin on the knuckles. The physical pain overrode his senses and he chased the feeling. 

That was until Hotch grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him away from the wall causing Spencer to lose his balance and fall back into Hotch's arms which quickly locked around him. 

“Stop! Get off of me! Hotch, let go!” Spencer squirmed as he tried to fight against his boss. His back was pressed tightly against Hotch’s chest, his legs bent in front of him and he kept slapping at Hotch’s arms to let go. 

Hotch just shushed him and held him tighter. Completely understanding his anger. He’s been there and the best thing for Spencer is to calm down enough so he can go back and sit with Y/n instead of giving in to his anger and doing something else that he will regret. 

Once Spencer figured out that he wasn’t going anywhere the fight drained out of him and he stopped slapping at the arms circled around him.  

While Spencer was hunched over Hotch gave the rest of the team a nod to clear the area and give the two some space. 

Hotch pulled one Spencer’s shoulders to shift his position so that Spencer curled into his chest. 

Once Hotch placed a comforting hand over Spencer’s head a sob broke past his lips and the entire dam broke. Spencer cried his heart out.  

He could barely breathe, inhaling only made him choke on his sobs and made him feel worse. 

“What if I never get to speak to her again?” he whispered between sobs. “Never get to tell her that she’s the only one for me.” 

“Spencer you need to breathe.” Hotch told him gently, “You need to calm down. Breathe with me.” 

Spencer felt Hotch’s chest rising and falling against him. He closed his eyes and tried to follow his boss’ actions. 

After a moment, Spencer was finally able to take a deep breath. The oxygen flooded his brain and the fog cleared. His entire body shivered before he came to his senses. 

Blinking hard he realised he was curled into Hotch’s chest, cocooned in his arms.  

He shouldn’t be here.  

He was sitting on the hospital floor instead of in with Y/n. He slowly sat up and Hotch let his arms fall from around him. 

“You alright?” 

Spencer wiped his left hand over his face, “Fine. Fine. Yeah. I need to uh, I need to go to Y/n.” 

He put his right hand behind him to support his weight, but an agonising pain shot through his hand and he fell onto his elbow with a grunt. 

“Here, let me see.” Hotch knelt over him and held out his hand. 

Spencer shook his head and used his other hand to support his weight as he got off the floor, dusting himself off as best he could, “I’m fine.” He held his right arm close to him as he stood up straight.  

He looked around and noticed that J.J, Rossi and Morgan are nowhere to be seen… which is probably for the best. 

The shame of what he’s done washed over him like a bucket of ice water. He just punched his best friend in front of his team then proceeded to have a break down in his boss’ arms. 

“Spencer.” Hotch called out. “You’re not fine, let me see your hand.” 

Spencer shook his head and walked out of the waiting room without saying anything. 

Stopping just outside Y/n’s room he looked in the window, you hadn’t moved a muscle.  

Emily was sat by your bedside holding your hand. 

The pain of the possibility of losing her was too much for him. His only relief was the slow rise and fall of your chest.  

His eyes were already puffy and sore, and he felt dehydrated. He sighed as he raised his left hand to wipe the tears away, cursing himself for his behaviour. 

“Spencer.” Hotch stood at his side, “You need to get your hand looked at, and I’m sure the nurse wouldn’t mind doing it by Y/n’s bedside.” He knew Spencer probably doesn’t want his hand looked at for at least three reasons; he doesn’t want to leave Y/n’s side for much longer, he feels embarrassed or shameful or he feels the need to punish himself. 

He agreed as long as he can stay beside Y/n, “Okay.” He opened the door and the bleeps of the machine’s filled his ears.  

That was your heartbeat.  

He lowered himself into the chair at your right side and raised his left hand to hold hers. His right hand was tucked into his chest. The throbbing was excruciating but he welcomed it. 

He pointedly avoided Emily’s worried expression before she smiled at him and left the room without word. 

A nurse came bustling into the room a few moments later with a tray of equipment, clearly fetched by Hotch. She stood next to him and Spencer raised his hand to let her do what she needed to do. Hissing as she cleaned the cuts on his knuckles. 

The nurse didn’t mind his silence and talked calmly to him as she worked, “You did quite the number on your hand.” She wiped away the blood and inspected his fingers, “You’ve definitely broken a few knuckles, I’m going to wrap your fingers in a splint and then bandage you up, okay?” 

Spencer nodded, “Okay.” He said quietly. 

She taped his middle and ring finger together and then bandaged his entire hand down to his wrist. “Now, keep this on for the next two weeks and then come back in so we can give you an x-ray and review the damage.” 

Spencer nodded, “Thank you.” 

The nurse left and Spencer was alone with Y/n once more. He stared at his right hand that was now resting on the bed.  

How could he do this? Throw a tantrum while the love of his life lies in bed fighting for her life. 

He leaned forward to rest his arms on the bed. 

“Hi.” His voice shook, and he cleared his throat. He hasn’t been this nervous to talk to you since you first met. “You always told me that I needed to talk more, but I- I have no words for what I’ve done. I’ve done something terrible. Actually, I’ve done a few terrible things.” The tears formed once more, and his head pounded from the pressure. “I may never get the chance to say this to you but I am so, so, sorry. I made you feel that you weren’t special to me anymore, that I don’t love you which is the furthest thing from the truth.” 

Spencer played with a strand of your hair that was laying on your shoulder. 

“How could I ever be with someone else? No one could ever, ever take your place in my heart.” 

He gently lifted your hand in both of his, his head felt heavy, so he bent over and placed his forehead on the back of her hand. “I love you more than anything in this world. When you wake up I’m going to spend every second of the rest of my life making it up to you. And I know you wouldn’t want to miss that. So, please wake up. Please.” 

He had been talking when it happened so he never heard it. 

You weren’t breathing in the same rhythm as before. 

When he finally noticed, he frowned as he looked you over. He slowly got to his feet as he scanned the machines. Right before his eyes some of the numbers began to climb as others started to fall. 

Spencer scrambled past the chair and ripped open the door to your room, “Doctor! I need a doctor here now!” He yelled out before running back to your side, “Y/n, sweetheart if you can hear me; don’t give up. Please.” 

Two doctors and a nurse sprinted into the room. 

“Sir, sir!” The nurse grabbed Spencer’s shoulder, “We need you to leave.” 

Spencer shook his head frantically, trying to keep up with everything that the doctors were saying to each other, “I can’t.” he whispered to himself. 

“Sir! Please!” The nurse pushed at Spencer’s shoulders until he was outside the room and the door was shut in his face. 

The rest of the team had heard the commotion and had run to the room as well. 

Rossi placed his hand on Spencer’s shoulder as the entire team watched the doctors place paddles on your chest and shock you. 

Again. 

And again. 

And again. 

[azullumi]

“wine pon you” ; genshin men

summary — you play a little prank on him.

includes — various characters (w/gender-neutral reader) ; used ‘pretty’ to describe the reader once

tags — fluff, established relationship, not proof-read, all word vomit, a little bit suggestive ; scenarios

words — 1311

note — i am losing my mind school starts next week already

“stop,” you tell him, avoiding him as your lover dives in for a kiss, however, he doesn’t listen but rather, he goes in for another one. perhaps he thought he was going to be successful this time but confusion contorts his expression into one when you swerve and evade his approach. 

“i have a boyfriend, remember?” you say to him whilst holding yourself back from laughing, before he realizes the act you were putting up. “so you can’t do that.” you added, grinning at him as your eyes sparkled in mischief.

he answered, smiling, “i’ll fight your boyfriend.” despite the nature of his words, there was no hint of malice in it, just playfulness lacing it.

“he’ll beat your ass.” you retort, a smug smile on your face and god, how much he loves you that he’s willing to play along with your antics. he adores seeing that amused expression on your face, the grin that you show him when you get the reaction you want, everything about you, there’s no inch of you that he doesn’t adore.

“oh, really?” he notes, voice low as his eyes gleamed with a dangerous light in it as he was getting more and more closer to you while you have nowhere to go.

“…don’t look at me like that.”

he hums, “like what? hm?” he didn’t even let you utter out a word of response before he�� pressed his mouth against yours without any form of interruption. satisfaction and affection oozing on his lips as he finally achieved what he had been wanting and his kiss was hungry as if he had been waiting for too long to taste you.

he tangles his hand in your hair, pulling you much closer to him and the moment where he picked you up in his arms was too quick for you to even realize it, not until he gently placed you down the bed. needless to say, you weren’t going to play such stunts on him anymore, not when he’ll tease you so much in return.

childe, kaeya, itto, dottore, kaveh, wanderer/scaramouche

“what?” he asks, confusion exudes from his words as he with his eyebrows knitted. he wasn’t sure if he was hearing you correctly or if his ears were playing tricks on him but it seems to be the former when you answered.

“i have a boyfriend,” you repeated, in a serious tone, emphasizing each one of your words as you spoke as if your boyfriend wasn't literally hovering over you on the bed with his arms placed on each side of your head and trying to get a kiss from you. “so you can’t kiss me.”

silence ensues and the gears in his head start turning as he realizes, eyes rolling for a moment. he finds it ridiculous but it’s not like he hates it, only choosing to indulge in your happiness, “he’s probably not that good.” was his response, his hand brushing a strand of hair away from your face to the side. the action itself was gentle and you would have just given in and kissed him but you can’t, you weren’t satisfied yet.

you counter, trying to keep the same tone of seriousness as you tried to put on a stern look, “he is. he’s the best i could ever ask for, he makes me happy.”

it was the truth, really. he’ll probably never know of warmth that spreads across your chest whenever you’re with him, or maybe he does.

“oh yeah?” he looked amused, happy even after hearing your response but he still continued, “he probably stinks.” he jeered which earned a chuckle from you, breaking the facade that you were trying to put up.

“he really does.” you say without faltering, almost like you were sincere. he exclaimed, rather loudly and disbelief, “excuse me?” and you couldn’t hold in the laughter that you were trying to contain in your throat, seeing nothing but only bliss and contentment in each moment that you spent with him.

kaveh, childe, kaeya, venti, wanderer/scaramouche

“i’m your boyfriend.” he answered, mimicking your serious tone as he spoke while he kept a stoic look on his face. he was stating the obvious, telling the truth, but right now, you were planning on messing around with him for a bit. why? you just wanted to see how he would react.

you immediately turn down his answer, “no, you’re not.” and hearing this only caused him to be confused and probably question himself, or maybe your behavior. doubt obviously seeps into his expression as he stares at your pretty face.

“i am. are you perhaps drunk?” concern drips from his words when he asked you the question, his demeanor shifting from an addled one to worry. but how could you be drunk? he doesn’t smell any alcohol from you and he hasn't seen you drink anything that resembles it.

“you’re not and i am not drunk,” you grin at him, by now, it should be clicking in his mind, in just a second now— “is this one of your so-called pranks once again?” 

you took a second to answer, debating if you should tell him the truth or try to mess around with him more. “…maybe?” a hint of uncertainty was in your voice but also teasing in your tone as you dragged out the last syllable. he could only gaze at you with eyes full of warmth, “you’re so childish.”

“you love me though, right?” 

“so much so,” affection dribbled from his voice while he was caressing your cheek gently. god, he will seek you among the stars and whisper ‘i love you’ to the infinity of your soul, he’ll hold you forever that not even death could bring you two apart, that’s just how much he adores you.

and you would have kissed him at that moment if not for the words he uttered next, “but i’m not your boyfriend,” he chaff, which earned a groan from you.

zhongli, xiao, alhaitham, cyno, dainsleif, albedo, tighnari

“oh really? does he kiss you like this?” he doesn’t take a second or two to answer, already knowing the intentions behind your words. he just knows you so much.

in line with his response, he pressed a sweet kiss on your lips, a short one but enough to convey his message. he holds both of your hands that were pressing against his chest with his own, tangling his fingers in yours. 

he parts for a moment and muttered, “does he?” and even before you are given a chance to answer, he kisses you once again, this time much longer. the words you were about to say got lost in his tongue as he swipes it across your bottom lip in such a sensual manner.

it’s nice that he is willing to play along with you but archons, why does he have to be like this? getting back at you in such a cruel way—not like you hate it but god, you do. you hate how you love it.

he parts from your lips, breathing heavily and whispering, “does he get to see you like this?” 

in opposition to your hate, he loves seeing you like this: sweet and lovely on the tips of his fingertips, and he knows he has you right where he wants you to be whenever he sees you in such a state. “hm? why are you not saying anything anymore?”

“…you’re so unfair.” you could only muster yourself to say, a pout seen on your lips after you spoke and he laughed softly at your response. he was weak, weak for you and you could say that he was putty at your hands—even if it’s not so obvious. you could ask him for anything and everything and he’ll give it to you.

“it’s your fault, love.” 

diluc, ayato, kazuha, baizhu, pantalone, venti

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[s7-evermore]

To Love You Once More [Time Travel! AU]

Vil Schoenheit x Fem! Artist!Yuu (/reader)

This is just a concept I got in mind. Not sure if I’ll keep continuing it. This was just the result of some daydreams caused by Bruno Mars’ and Lady Gaga’s new song lol

“Um…Vil, we’re ready now.”

The young man slowly lifts his head upon hearing the sound of his name. Weary eyes shifts to the figure past the bed in front of him where the new head of STYX, Idia Shroud, stands.

“It’s time to push through with the mission. We’ll take care of her from here.”

Vil Schoenheit gazes longingly at the woman on the bed. A year passed when she went missing, and another since she’d been asleep. He misses the way those eyes perceived the world, how they looked at him with so much love and care.

His thumb brushes against the back of her hand as he held her. He remembers how these hands of hers would hold a brush and paint to her heart’s desire. How she would squeeze his hand to reassure him that she was there.

He lifts his free hand and places them on her abdomen. He feels her breathing, and the loss of the life they had been anticipating together.

Noticing the gesture, Idia clears his throat to speak.

“…We uh, we couldn’t find anything on the baby,” he said slowly, “we checked all the human test subjects they’ve preserved. None of them were newborns. We— we don’t know where they…they dispose of them either— uh, yet, at least.”

“And Grim?” Vil asked.

“Nothing on him either.”

“…I see,” Vil’s voice was no more than a whisper. 

Vil stands from his seat and leaves her with three kisses. One on her wedding ring, a second on the back of her hand, and another on her forehead. 

Vil feels his heart breaking with every second she remained asleep. They said she wasn’t dead, but she didn’t look alive either. She was breathing, but he could barely hear it unless he held his own.

With heavy reluctance, he lets go of her hand and leaves the room with Idia.

“Since we used a bit of her power to run the Trackback machine, it can only work on one person and once,” Idia explains as they walk down the hallway. “Once you’re back there, you can’t return here. Our present now will change depending on how much you change the past.”

Idia halts in front of a door and faces Vil, “This whole mission is dependent on your success. She’s already weak, so we can’t use any more of her power.”

“I understand,” Vil’s expression hardens.

Idia nods in acknowledgement as he pulls out a keycard and scans it on the side of the door. The door opens as an artificial voice acknowledges his position.

The laboratory they enter is completely busy. Technicians were checking the diagnostics of the machine while other scientists were setting the systems up. Ortho, who had been assisting someone, notices them.

“Brother! We’ve done the final system tests on the Trackback machine, everything’s ready for the operation,” Ortho says as he approached.

“Good, keep it running. It’s time.”

Idia walks over to his station as he instructs some of the staff members.

“Vil Schoenheit, are you ready?” Ortho’s voice was softer this time.

“Yes. Is there anything I have to do before I enter the machine?” He asks as he looks over at the Trackback. It was a pod-like machine that was fit for only one person.

“Aside from the previous trials we’ve done, there’s nothing else. Have you said goodbye to Yuu yet?”

Vil’s face softens slightly at the sound of her name, “Yes… I have. Please take care of her for me.”

“Don’t worry, you can count on us!” Ortho exclaims.

Vil nods solemnly before letting the humanoid boy lead him towards the Trackback.

“We’ll be monitoring your vitals, so make sure to stay calm. You have to be in good condition for this to work since we can’t risk you getting hurt,” Ortho explains.

Although the interior was comfortable, Vil feels like he is being laid into a cold coffin.

“Don’t worry, Vil…“

Ortho’s face was the only thing Vil could see through the pod’s window.

“You’ll see her again soon. It won’t be the same, but… I’m sure it will be better next time.”

Vil knew better than to hope for good things. To him, it was better to work towards it rather than relying on luck to get there. However…

Ortho returns to his brother’s side.

“All systems are operational. Time displacement parameters set for 9 years into the past. September of 20XX.“

…this time, he really wished all his hard work would pay off.

The Trackback hums to life. Vil feels the soft vibrations reverberating through his body.

“Coordinates locked to Night Raven College, the morning of the Xth Entrance Ceremony.”

“Thanks Ortho. Give me a full system diagnostic before activation.”

“Initiation system diagnostic… Energy levels stable. Temporal field generators at full capacity. Quantum tether is synchronized with present time. All safety protocols are active.”

“And the displacement window? We need that at 100%.”

Vil knows full well that she wasn’t going to wake up any time soon. All he could do now is to continue to forge ahead. He has to be strong enough to fulfill this mission, to achieve a better future…

“Displacement window integrity is at 98.7%. An acceptable margin for human travel. Estimated arrival time: 15 seconds after activation.”

“15 seconds? We calculated 10 seconds in the earlier trials.”

“This discrepancy is due to the minor fluctuations in the temporal field density. No risk of deviation outside acceptable limits.”

Idia sighs, “Alright, this is as good as it gets. Everyone get ready. Ortho, initiate the countdown.”

…For him. For her. For their child… And for all the people who had been affected by the catastrophe…

“Affirmative. Beginning countdown: 10….9….8….”

The air in the room starts to ripple, and the lights dim as the machine hums louder.

Vil thinks back to the woman on the bed. He feels his wedding ring with his thumb. He had her initials carved into them, and his on her ring.

Something beeps in the background. A technician’s muffled voice reaches Vil’s ears.

“We’re getting some interference on the energy output.”

“Ortho, can you stabilize it?” Idia asks.

“Interference detected, compensating… field stabilized.”

He wants to see her paint again, he wants to tell her how much he loves her…

“7…6…5…” 

He wants to hold her in his arms...

“4…3…”

Even if he has to go through everything again, Vil was sure of one thing…

“…2…1…”

He wants to be with her. Forever.

“Time travel initiation. Displacement commencing.”

They will never be apart ever again.

[mattluvr]

⋆·˚ ༘ * a pure smut matt sturniolo oneshot !

( soft!dom!matt, oral — f!receiving, overstimulation, praise, pet names, suggested blowjob at end )

matt loves to overstimulate you.

it’s one of his favourite sights; you, fucked out with a heaving chest as he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you. usually it’s on his dick, the way your walls contract consistently around him making him dizzy with lust, but today he’s decided to go for something different.

overstimulate you on his tongue alone.

which is why you find yourself basked in the dim light of your boyfriend’s bedroom, covers strewn around you. you’ve already reached your high with matt’s head nestled between your thighs twice, and right now, three seems a little ambitious. hence his firm grip on your hips, pinning you to the bed.

“ma-att.” you moan, attempting to wriggle away from him without much success as his tongue prods your bundle of nerves again. “i’m too sensitive. i caaaaan’t.”

“stop whining.” he mumbles, fingers digging into your flesh, pulling you closer.

his tongue moves away from your clit then, running down your folds, probing your entrance, raw by this point, open, and you mewl into the thick air hanging over you. he’s opening you up at the seams, unraveling you bit by bit. and whilst you are sensitive, and have a tendency to complain about the smallest thing, you’re enjoying every minute of this treatment.

“shit, right there.”

spurred on your praise, matt pushes his tongue deeper, bumping his nose upwards to hit that spot that craves touch the most and you gasp, hand flying down to grip his hair. this contact makes him groan against your heat, and you buck your hips up, all sensitivity gone, impatience now settling in.

you need that third orgasm like it’s fucking water.

“would you keep still, kid?” matt mutters, his rings biting you as body begins to grow restless, each limb pulsing with carnal desire. “you’re not gonna get this fucking orgasm if you’re constantly trying to wriggle away from me.”

“sorry.” you say, weakly, dissolving into a string of moans. god, matt is talented with his tongue. you make a mental note to let him do oral more often.

“that’s it. my girl.”

oh fuck. with that simple sentence, you’re on the brink, climax looming over you, and you cry out into the air. matt does not slow down his ministrations, instead moving away from your entrance, back up to your clit, where he attaches his lips and practically tries to suction it off.

and then you’re cumming. all over the lower half of matt’s face, his mouth slick with your juices. his eyes dart up at the feeling of you contracting around him, a smirk lining his face, and before you can see the third orgasm all the way through, matt is back on your clit, like your cunt is his favourite meal and he can’t get enough.

“holy fu-uck, matt!” your hips stutter upwards, tears pricking your waterline as you begin to feel the pressure once again, everything becoming almost too much. “i don’t think i can, shit. ‘s too much, baby.”

“cmon, sweetheart. one more, for me?” matt pleads, his tongue now lazily flicking your sensitive bud, sending jolts of pleasure flying up your spine.

his eyes then meet yours again, yours wide with pleasure, his dark with lust, a smirk coiling onto his upper lip. “you know the safe word. say it and i’ll stop.”

you nod; raspberry, your favourite fruit, but the way matt’s tongue feels against you is hazing your mind, making you want to do anything but shout the word aloud. maybe just one more wouldn’t do any harm.

so, you shuffle your hips around, receiving matt’s death grip in response, a welcoming feeling now, and as he sucks back onto your swollen bundle of nerves, you no longer resist the shaking of your thighs, the beating of your heart in your throat.

“i’m cumming.” you whisper, the peak of your fourth orgasm hitting you hard and fast, and you moan as your walls pulsate.

matt knows then that you’ve had enough, and pulls away from your aching cunt, moving to sit up beside you. your head instantly gravitates to his lap, where you have a few seconds peace before you feel him stiffening beneath you.

you sit up, smirking, hand beginning to palm matt over his sweats, the instant subtle whimpers like music to your ears.

“my turn.” you hum, fingers dipping under the waistband of his pants. because you also love to overstimulate matt.

[neowinestainedress]

‘CAUSE IT’S YOU | L.DH

TITLE: ‘cause it’s you PAIRING: lee haechan x fem!reader GENRE: hits different bonus, slice of life, fluff, smut, established relationship, relationship development, christmas, meeting the parents SUMMARY:  it’s been 3 years since you met, two since you started dating, but haechan still hits different. or; you and haechan spend your first real christmas together WARNINGS: smut, unprotected s*x (mc is on the pill), vibrat*r, getting caught, exhibitionism, edging, f!nger!ng, overstimulation, squ!rt!ng, dirty talk, praises, female joi, masturbati*n (f&m), voyeurism, n!pple play, the usual switchy dynamics, cheesy-romantic-love making, lots of kisses, l-bombs, aftercare, mentions of minor character death (before i get called a dumb bitch in the asks for not putting this), dealing with a loss and trauma, bi!haechanxbi!reader WC: 22.563k A/N: our favorite emotional support boyfriend is back! This was supposed to be a gift for the 4k followers this summer, but I didn’t finish writing it and I decided to give you tooth-rotting Christmas fluff and smut instead of another summer (on the coaAaAast). I’m excited and scared for this because when I was writing HD I wanted to show more after they got together (but it was too long), and then the story was such a hit (and felt complete anyway) that I wasn’t sure I wanted to write another part (or it was needed). I’m happy I didn’t finish it this summer because when I sat down for that, I feared I was right; it felt plotless, and I felt I was adding nothing to the story. Until I thought of this. I’m proud of how this came out because I feel this still has a valid plot and showcases the changes in their dynamics well. But since this is not supposed to top the original (it can’t) and I see it more as a bonus that’s optional to read, please take this as my 5k followers and Christmas gift for you! If you hated the mc in HD, this one is for you! I hope you can enjoy this, please let me know with reblogs (they help reach more people), comments and asks what you think about it! happy holidays ♡

“Where the hell are my panties?” You mutter under your breath as you look through the messy blankets with no success. 

“Babe, please,” Haechan mumbles, trying to push the sheets on his body and don’t freeze with each one of your tugs. 

“You know, you’re the reason I can never find my clothes, but you still never help me,” you groan, stopping to stare at him with your arms crossed. 

He raises a brow, and then his usual smirk curls his lips. “Three years and I still fuck you that good, you should be grateful.” 

You groan loudly before grabbing your pillow and hitting his face, eliciting a loud grunt. “You’re so annoying!” 

“Damn, laugh a bit,” he jokes, wrapping his hands around your body and pulling you flat on top of him. You’re face to face, his sleepy golden-brown eyes staring into yours and his lips pouting to leave wet kisses on your face. 

“Hyuck,” you complain, trying to pull away, but he flips you over, trapping you against the mattress, and going on with his sweet torture. 

“What? You’re not in a rush anymore,” he whispers as his kisses get less messy and move down on your body. “Can’t be lazy with me some more?” He lifts his hand up and you see he’s holding your panties. 

You gasp offended and he bursts out laughing. “You traitor! I went insane for five minutes trying to look for them!” 

“It’s funny seeing you do that every time.” 

You pout. “I hate you.” 

But Haechan smiles and leans in to leave a peck on your lips. “I love you, too.” 

“Give me them!” You scream, grabbing his hand and stealing your panties. “I wanted to make you breakfast, but no, you had to waste my time.” You push him off of you, and he just rolls to the side without complaining, still smiling as he follows you with his gaze. “Now you’ll have to wait.” 

He chuckles, moving to get comfy in the warmth of the bed. “Fine by me, I’ll wait.” 

You can’t hide the smile on your face, but you try to don’t show it by looking down, letting your hair cover your face, and pretending to be busy with your clothes. 

Haechan gets you now. He knows why you were always in a rush and that you don’t need to be anymore. He knows that now, behind your rush, there’s not the need to be as far away from him as possible but to prepare your favorite breakfast and slump in bed together to eat it. It’s just a habit you two picked. He learned you need habits; small things that keep you grounded, small moments you can always count on, and he doesn’t mind it. Actually, he likes it too, you are the calmness he needs in his rough sea. 

“Want me to help?” He asks once you’re done, ready to go in the kitchen. 

“No, I want to surprise you today. Stay here, I’ll be back soon,” you reply, smiling and sending him a kiss that he grabs swiftly before bringing it to his lips, making you chuckle. 

I’ll be back soon. 

It sounds wild in his ears if he thinks that just two years ago, every time you walked out of that door, he feared you weren’t going to come back. It’s even more insane when he stops and thinks you two are making it work. Looking back at your failed relationships, it’s safe to say that you both don’t strike as types to make a story last. 

Yet, here you are. On the bed, eating breakfast while you discuss your plans for the day. And then you’re in the bathroom, brushing your teeth side by side, playfully fighting to have access first in front of the small sink, and then you’re in the shower, no funny business, just a quick wash before going out. Lastly, in your bedroom, you’re getting dressed to go out, picking each other’s fits, and finishing the last touches. 

Everything in your house. The one you two now share. 

Moving in felt like a sudden move, and when the moment came, Haechan had been the one who tried to stick to his old habits, too afraid that such a big change was going to scare you away. But Mark and Minjeong got more serious, and Haechan was always at your place anyway (to avoid suffocating so Mark wouldn’t hear every time you fucked). Also, as much as you loved the company of the couple, you two needed time alone, so he moved in five months ago. 

But all his worries got flushed away pretty soon. You needed stability and your habits, the small things that made you feel grounded. And since you had come to terms with his feelings for him, moving in only solidified your relationship because you could have all that. There was nothing left of the insecurity of your friends with benefits phase, there was something that was planting its roots to grow strong.  

Your place is still a temporary solution before looking for something nicer (not bigger, for now, the only family expansion plans are plants, a cat, and a dog). 

But it’s yours. The same house you built so hard, the one you kept secret like an oath, the one he couldn’t even step foot inside, is now his too. There’s his guitar in a corner of the living room, his computer next to yours, and the game console under the TV. His clothes beside yours in the closet, his shoes in the hall right next to yours, and his jacket at the entrance. The lamps you bought together, the plants you picked together, and even a big photo of you two framed above the television; Johnny took it without you noticing, and it quickly became your favorite, so it’s there, to let everyone know who lives there. 

And most importantly, there’s Haechan. There’s his laugh, filling your nights and days that used to be empty. There are his failed attempts at cooking. The books he tries to read every night, with no success, while you read yours. Just for him to end up with his head on your lap as your fingers run through his hair and you read yours out loud. There’s him hyping you up as you run on your treadmill, dancing and singing around you because that’s training too. Finally, there’s a beating heart to listen to as you fall asleep between two arms that hold you. 

“I can’t believe you don’t have Christmas decorations.” This is the tenth time Haechan makes that comment as you walk around the store with the cart almost full of Christmas stuff, and you can only roll your eyes at it. “I’m sorry, babe, but… why?” 

“I had nothing to celebrate,” you reply, stopping to look at the garlands, inspecting which one is better. 

“Not even last year?” 

“We were at your place, and usually Johnny drags me with his family, he knows I will fall into a vertigo of depression if I’m not distracted during this time,” you reply. It’s not painful to talk about it, but Haechan can hear the subtle shift in your voice and the way your eyes avoid his. He learned how to study your smallest reaction, it was the only way he could get deep into you, even after you started being serious, it wasn’t so easy for you to open up. 

“If you don’t want to, we can don’t celebrate,” he says, trying to meet your eyes, and when he does, they’re wide open. 

“Why? I’ve got you now,” you say, lifting in front of his face the two garlands you picked, putting the right one in the cart once he points at it. “Fuck my family, I’m not alone anymore. And I don’t want to be sad, I want to celebrate, and make my little traditions, have our Christmas.” 

A small chuckle leaves his lips at your words, but then he gets serious again. “Are you sure? I always fear you push your limits for me, and I don’t want you to break —” 

You stop him with a wave of hand. “Hyuck,” you say, smiling at him. “I’m fine. I’m better than I’ve ever been. I want this to be special. I’m not making your family come over to an empty house for the holidays.” 

His eyes widen. “Wait, you’re sure about that too? My mom tends to get carried away and she just —” 

“Oh, oh, Lee Donghyuck, are you perhaps the scared one?” You ask with a teasing smirk on your face and burst into a laugh when he blushes and turns his head low. “Oh my God, you are scared of this. You’re shitting yourself, just like when I proposed to move in with me.” You nudge him, but he slaps your arm away playfully, and then you start walking again. “Confess, you liked me better when I was the one that ran away.” 

“God no, any version of you, but never the one that slips from my fingers with no warning. It was traumatic,” he confesses, there’s a smile on his face, but in his eyes, you see that thinking about it still hurts him a bit, and you’re so deeply sorry. 

“Promise, never again,” you say, kissing his cheek. “So, tell me, what’s so scary about your family?” 

He sighs, rubbing his temples before you both look on the shelves to pick the decorations to put on the garlands. “They’re loud and loud… and loud.” 

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I like that. What do they do? Talk a lot? Sing a lot?” 

“Sing a lot? You don’t want to know what we used to do. One year my sister even had a wardrobe of costumes to perform in front of us, I feared Mariah Carey was going to lose her yearly check.” 

You laugh at the image. And then caress his face. “Me, my brother, and Johnny used to do that too. Not with the costumes, I confess we weren’t at those levels, but nobody, I swear nobody, not even the pissy neighbor, could take away our performance. It was unfair because they would always make me play the elf, I was too short between those two giants,” you scoff, rolling your eyes before your laugh gets loud again when you remember something. “One year my brother almost got grounded because he had painted my face green using our mom’s make-up, it was so funny. She was so mad, but he couldn’t stop laughing because of me and Johnny.” 

Haechan laughs too, looking at you with softness in his eyes. You’re happy. You’re talking about your brother with a smile on your face, there’s no sign of a small twitch of your lips or the nervous playing with your fingers, just a genuine smile on your face. And you talk about him a lot, all the stupid things you used to do together, all the times he had your back, or when a song, movie, or book reminds you of him. A few months ago, you even showed him a photo book you kept stored under your bed and you talked for hours, some tears fell on your cheeks, but they were different from all the ones before. And Haechan is so happy to see you like this, to feel like your brother is still here with you, now that you don’t act like his death never happened, or his entire existence never happened. 

“The three of you were a menace. How did your families survive?” 

“I don’t know,” you giggle, looking at him, and smiling fondly. “I mean, without us, their lives would’ve been so boring. We always put a smile on their faces,” you say, and then sadness flashes in your eyes for a bit, but you wipe it away quickly. “You know, I wish that didn’t break my family apart. I wish my parents would’ve, I’m not saying I wanted them to fear losing me too, but at least cared about me more. Put the pride aside and welcome me back in, instead of pushing out their only child. I wish I could have them with me, laughing about the past… I mean, it’s not easy, and you know that I wasn’t like this until a year ago, but… don’t they feel like they’re grieving me too? I think I could still make them smile, I have so many stories about my brother that I haven’t told them yet. He could still live through us.” 

“I think they need more time,” Haechan says, reaching your hand that’s standing on the bar of the cart, rubbing your palm with his thumb like he always does when you need support. “But they will search for you again, more than the five texts you share in a year.” 

When he tells you that, you’re reminded of something you forgot to tell him a few days ago. “My mom sent me a recipe the other day, I thought she wanted to send it to one of her friends, but she wanted to send it to me.” 

“See? It’s a step forward unless she was foreshadowing that she’s going to kill you and cook you in the oven,” he jokes, making you laugh as you playfully push him away. 

“You’re always so stupid. Help me pick the last things, come on,” you say, changing the subject.

Yes, you can talk about this more freely, but you still need to chew on it, taking small bites, or else you’ll choke. 

You walk out of the kitchen with two hot mugs in your hands, just to find Haechan blankly staring at all the boxes on the floor with a confused expression, and you roll your eyes. “What now?” 

He lifts his head, walking toward you to grab his mug and leave a peck on your lips as a ‘thank you’ before he replies. “Don’t you think we went just a bit overboard? It’s too much.” 

“It’s not. And look, the tree is already up because you’re the best man ever and you were so quick at putting it together,” you say, batting your lashes, making him glare at you. “What? Can’t even praise you right, now?” 

“If you want my soul, I’m sad to inform you, you already have it,” Haechan says, pulling you in a hug before he kisses you again, this time it’s longer and more passionate. You chuckle when you pull away. 

“It looks like it’s a lot, but it’s not,” you try to reason. “Most of these are decorations that we need to put on the tree or on the garlands that you proposed we would make, together, as a lovely, madly in love couple.” 

“It wasn’t that cheesy when I proposed it,” he replies, grunting and scratching the back of his head.  

“Come on, I made you hot chocolate, and the biscuits are getting ready in the oven, we’ll put on some music, and we’ll have some fun,” you say, placing the cup on the coffee table to turn on the TV. “Are you sure you’re not having double thoughts about us?” You ask, stopping midway and looking as his eyes widen. 

“What? Why?” His voice comes out as a high-pitched squeal as he feels panic run through his body. 

“I don’t know, I thought Christmas was your favorite holiday and I wanted it to be special. But I feel like you’re not as excited as you are for other things and maybe you feel like we’re running or something…” you sigh. “Are you afraid I will disappoint your family? Maybe I’m not enough — I…”

“No, God, no,” he replies, shaking his head. “It’s just a lot, and I was wondering if we could get it all done this weekend, but it has nothing to do with us,” he says, walking to you, cupping your face in his hands.

“Hey, I love you, and I love this. Every little thing we’ve built and we’re building together. I admit I’m afraid for my family. Not a single ex-boyfriend or ex-girlfriend of mine ever met my parents so, yeah, this is a pretty big and scary step, but it’s with you. And truth be told, I’m not afraid because I don’t think this is serious, or because I think they won’t like you, confession time, my mom loves you already,” he says with a smile on his face. “I’m more scared you won’t like them, and well, that they will scare you away. I know you made some big steps forward, but… you still have your fears, and we both know sometimes they take over and sometimes you fall back into old habits. And it’s fine with me, I know how to deal with them and take care of you, but in this case, it’s not in my power, I can’t control them, and what if they say something wrong? What if they ask the wrong questions? I —”

You shut him with a kiss, pulling him close by the long hair covering his neck. “You sound just like me,” you joke, pulling away. “I know you don’t have control over them, I don’t need you to have it. I hope they can become my family too, and I’m ready to let them in, step by step. I’m so happy you worry so much about me, but I have it under control,” you laugh lightheartedly. “I don’t snap anymore when my brother is brought up, I don’t lie anymore, and I don’t run away. You taught me to always face my fears, right? And that’s what I’m doing. Maybe not all at once. Surely, I will need you to back me up at some point of the night, but I’ve got it, and I’ve got you, and… I’m ready.” 

The look in his eyes feels like home and so does the warm smile on his face. “I love you so much. I’m so proud of you, I can’t even explain it in words,” he says, kissing you again. 

“I know you are,” you reply, caressing his face. “I mean, the fact you’ve been keeping up with me for three years says it all.” 

“Two,” he replies. 

“Nah–ah, you’ve been keeping up with my mood swings and fucked up coping mechanisms since you fucked me in your car, or maybe even since we talked that night. I mean, that was my first lie to you, so…” 

He chuckles, nodding in agreement. “Mhh, maybe I should take you out tonight and make a stop there, our parking spot. Wouldn’t it be romantic?” 

“Mhh, yes, and then we can even smoke weed,” you add, laughing with him. “But I doubt we’ll be free from the Christmas tasks, so maybe next time?” 

“Yes, Miss. If my agenda is not booked, I’ll find a spot to slip you in,” he jokes before leaving a peck on your forehead and stepping back, going back to the boxes on the floor. 

You can’t control the smile on your face as you stare at him. This is your first holiday together and even if it has been a hell of a month for you in these past few years, you feel your heart explode with happiness right now. After everything he has done for you, you feel like you can finally pay him back, and do something that makes him happy. Haechan always told you how much he loves Christmas. Since he was a child, he felt that, after a year of sacrifices, his family could be together with fewer worries. It didn’t matter if there weren’t many gifts under the tree or no gifts at all, he was happy because his parents didn’t have to work, and they could pretend life wasn’t so hard for at least a few days. He also told you he loved how the cities would light up, and everything seemed better. 

“Will you help with the lights, or do I have to do it by myself?” 

You shake your head out of your thoughts and look up at him, shrugging. “No intention of doing so.” 

“Oh, come on, I will end up tangled in this mess,” he whines, pouting and looking at you with those big eyes you can’t resist. 

“Fine, but just because I really like you,” you say, walking to him, grabbing the other end of the lights. 

“Only like me?” He pouts as you both start walking around the tree, parting the branches to fit the lights in between them. 

“Mhh, sometimes I feel like I can barely stand you, so yeah, maybe liking you is too much, sorry about that,” you joke, making him scoff. 

Setting up the place with decorations was the plan, but with Haechan you learned nothing goes as planned. You’ve gotten used to it, it doesn’t trigger you anymore, not that much, especially when you find yourself in this situation. Laying on the floor with him on top of you, kissing along your jaw as his hand creeps under your sweatpants to reach your panties. That’s another thing you’ve gotten used to, the way, after years, you two still can’t keep your hands off each other. It’s surely different from what it was before, there’s no more fear, anger, and destructive passion when you two have sex, but the chemistry is still the same, just healthier. 

“Hyuck,” you moan when his finger teases your clit and slit, forcing your head to roll back on the cold hard ground. You could’ve easily moved this to the couch, but it was just easier to be there where you two ended up, the red decorations resting to the side, waiting to be finished. In your defence, you are almost halfway done; the tree is almost done, the small Santa clauses, reindeer, and trees are placed here and there on the shelves, and the strings of lights are running from corner to corner of the living room. 

“You’re so wet,” Haechan teases, trails of wet kisses painting your face before reaching your pouting lips, “I wonder why,” he jokes, his typical smirk sitting on his face as he looks at your face. 

Another thing you learned by dating Haechan, is that you will never get bored. He’s always thinking about something, coming up with ideas, planning things. He’s not much different from you after all, he simply doesn’t look over a plan more than twice (sometimes he doesn’t even get to the second time). This time it’s not any different. He was looking at you like a puppy that can’t wait to bite a bone, jumping on his seat on the floor as you two decorated with Christmas music filling the background. You know his eyes; when he looks at you without saying a word and just waits for you to catch up as if you can read his mind. You don’t get why he does it since he’s so impatient and surely not shy, but he finds it entertaining for some reason and you play along. 

“What?” You had asked, struggling to hide the amused grin on your face when his lips curved in a smile. 

“Want to try something new?” 

Those five words, followed by a bet to see how long you would last with a small bullet vibrator inside of you before begging for him to give you more, are the reason you’re so wet. You thought it would be funny and he would go gentle on you, but you were so wrong. And it took you less than fifteen minutes to beg for him to make it stop. 

“Don’t be so mad, I’m giving you what you want,” he pouts, kissing your puckered lips over and over. 

“You’re not. You’re teasing, like always,” you groan. 

“Am I?” he grins, pushing your hair back as he stares into your deadly glare. “Fine,” he groans, rolling his eyes back before bringing them back to you. “What do you want?” 

Another loud grunt slips past your lips, but you quickly force words to come out. “Your fingers, please,” the last word is filled with sarcasm, and he gives you a stern glare at which you only shrug. 

“You’re such a brat,” Haechan mocks, quickly flicking his fingers on your clit, watching with amusement as your eyes roll back and your teeth trap your lips to stop the loud moan to come out. “Is this enough?” 

“No,” you whine. “Take the toy out and fuck me,” you order, but you only get a mocking laugh in reply. 

“So bossy today. I let you decide so much already, I think you can leave this to me, uhm,” he teases as his fingers keep moving on your clit without giving you more. 

You sigh defeated and relax, your shoulders drop back as you decide to just enjoy the sensation of his stimulation, the filling of the toy, and the light vibrations. 

Just as he’s about to give you what you’ve been asking for, the loud sound of the doorbell stops you two in your tracks.

“Did you order something?” Haechan asks, hand still buried in your pants but still. 

You shake your head, shrugging, thinking it’s nothing and ready to beg him to keep going, but the bell rings again and you huff loudly. 

“The neighbor?” Haechan tries to guess again.

“She’s out, she told me a few days ago, it can’t — oh, goddamn,” you huff when it rings again. 

But your doubts are soon answered when the front door swings open and your heart jumps in your throat. 

“Is it possible that you two never hear the bell ring?” 

“Johnny!” You scream, pushing Haechan’s hand away and him off your body roughly, trying to fix yourself the best you can and get on your feet. 

“Oh, sorry,” your best friend looks at your dishevelled look with a grin on his face. “Interrupted something?” 

You groan and simply throw a pillow at him in response, but it does him no harm as he quickly catches it even if he only has one hand free. 

“No, we were decorating.” Haechan tries to save the situation, but you know it’s useless as you roll your head back and sigh again. Johnny’s not dumb, unfortunately.  

“Oh, is it a new slang? I didn’t know we call it like that nowadays, interesting,” he teases, walking toward the couch. “I always learn new things from you two.” He kisses your forehead, and you don’t even push him away, but rub your eyes when he passes over you to greet your boyfriend. 

“You can’t just burst in with no warning,” you sigh, turning around, watching as he studies the mess in the living room as if it’s his place. 

“I rang three times, not my fault your boyfie didn’t think of pulling his hand out of your pants,” he shrugs before lifting his head and smiling at you. 

“I’ll change the code, I swear,” you threaten, rubbing your temples. 

“And I will still know it in case of an emergency. Just because you got yourself the love of your life it doesn’t mean you downgrade me, hey!” 

Another loud annoyed sound comes out of your mouth, and you swiftly catch Haechan going red in the face after Johnny’s words, but you shake it off. “You wait for us to answer.” 

“You could’ve said ‘I’m coming’ or ‘wait a second’, you know? That’s what normal people do,” he reminds you, placing the bags he’s carrying on the floor to take off his coat, and placing it on the couch. 

“She swears it’s people that want to sell you something, so she looks out of the peephole and then pretends she’s not home,” Haechan explains. 

“Bullshits, she wanted to leave her best friend to freeze to death in the corridor,” he dramatizes, lifting a hand on his forehead and faking passing out on the couch. 

“You’re so dramatic,” you groan. “What do you even want?” 

“It’s been two weeks since we’ve seen each other, and this is how you greet me?” He gasps offended. 

“Don’t laugh,” you say to Haechan, who immediately stops laughing and apologizes with a shrug. “I’m sorry. How can we help, my dearest friend?” 

“Fake,” Johnny gags. “But I brought you two something,” he says, patting the space on the couch for you to sit and then lifting two bags. 

“Christmas is two weeks away,” you say. You already have your gifts, of course you do, but you still need to wrap them up like you want to. So, you hope these are not your presents because you wouldn’t be ready to give him yours. 

“I know, it’s not a Christmas gift, it’s just a gift.” 

Haechan raises a brow. “For us?” 

“Yes,” he replies. “The first one is from my mom, it’s a cake.” 

“You should’ve said that right away,” you say, grabbing the box from his hands. “It’s so pretty, and it’s going to taste so good. Thank her!” 

“About that, you can do that if you come to my place tonight. I told her you won’t be with us this Christmas, she had a mental breakdown, so please, can you two don’t fuck tonight and come to my place?” 

“We’re not perverts, you know,” Haechan scoffs. 

“Not sure about that,” Johnny mumbles, and your boyfriend slaps his arm. “What? You two were never able to keep your hands off each other.” 

“Look at him, rewriting history. You didn’t notice we were fucking until she told you!” 

“Tell him, Hyuck,” you back him up from the kitchen where you’re placing the cake so it can be safe from the mess of the other room. 

“Fine, but I still know you two couldn’t keep your hands off each other. Anyway, can we focus? The sooner I’ll leave, the faster you’ll go back to what you were doing.” 

“Yeah, that’s — oh,” you stop, eyes widening when you hear the vibrations pick up again. “We’ll come.” 

“I’m sure we will,” Haechan mutters under his breath and you glare at him, silently telling him to don’t even think about it, but he only smiles smugly and shrugs. 

You clear your throat, trying to walk back to the couch as if nothing is going on, and urge Johnny to finish this soon. 

“And this is a bag full of things my mom wanted you to have,” he says, handing you the other. “I don’t think it’s necessary anymore, you two got yourself a lot of things, but yeah…” 

You grab it with shaky hands and look inside. 

“Will she cry?” Haechan asks, and at the same time, you feel the vibration stop, which makes you chuckle under your breath with your head low. It’s sweet that he thinks adding fighting an orgasm to a breakdown is not a good idea. 

Johnny thinks about it, leaning to the side to look at you, and then hums. “Probably.” 

“I’ll take a look at this after, so I can break down crying with him alone,” you say, getting up, and stretching your arms out to hug Johnny. It’s your nice way to tell him you’re grateful, but also, he needs to leave. And it would work smoothly if only Haechan didn’t have other plans. 

“We baked cookies, why don’t you stay for a while? What about a cup of coffee too?” 

You glare at Haechan again when the vibrations start high, leaving you breathless, but quickly force yourself to smile at your friend. 

“Yes, I love cookies and coffee!” Johnny cheers, wrapping an arm around Haechan as he guides him to the kitchen.

“Of course you do…” you whisper under your breath, rubbing your temples and following them in the kitchen. 

You sit on a chair, hoping to bring yourself as little attention as possible, and that if you keep your thighs pressed enough you won’t come in your pants in front of your best friend. But Haechan is not exactly helping you, shifting the speed and waves so that you can’t ever get used to the sensation. 

“The cookies are amazing,” Johnny moans after a bite and you try to give him a gentle smile. 

“Thanks,” you dare to speak out, surprising yourself when you do with no sign of desperation. 

“The place is coming together nicely, by the way,” he comments, walking to sit in front of you. 

“We didn’t put up a lot, just the smallest things on the furniture,” Haechan comments, “and the tree, but well, we didn’t put on the balls so it’s empty.” 

“Shit,” you cry out when he rises the speed, but you quickly play it cool by holding the back of your leg, “a cramp.” 

Johnny’s eyebrows are raised in suspicion, not by your poor acting, but because Haechan isn’t on his knees in front of you in two seconds to make sure you’re alright, but he shrugs it away when your boyfriend asks if you need help. 

“I’m fine,” you mutter, stretching your leg to keep playing the part and massaging the ‘sore’ muscle.  

“So, what time should we be there tonight?” Haechan asks, and you hear he’s trying hard not to laugh. 

“Seven, so my mom can annoy you with questions before dinner and then we can start and eat in peace,” Johnny says, thanking Haechan when he brings the coffee cup to the table. 

“Your mom’s nice,” Haechan says, “and she’s an amazing cook. She will cook tonight, right?” 

“Hey! I’m good too. But yes, she insisted, so the kitchen is all hers,” Johnny huffs, “even if I will hear her complain because my things are not where she would keep them.” 

You try to laugh but quickly turn it into a silent giggle when you feel you can’t hold the sounds in easily anymore. Haechan’s hand is not in the pocket of his pants, busy preparing the last two cups of coffee, but the vibrations are stuck at the highest speed, and you’re squirming on the chair, nervously twitching your legs. 

“I saw Mark and Minjeong yesterday,” Johnny changes the subject as he suddenly remembers. “We should organize something all together before the holidays. It’s been what? One month now, since we’ve all been out together?” 

“We actually hung out with them last week,” Haechan says. “They finished remaking our old place and wanted us over.” 

“Y’all are cutting me out of your lives, I don’t like this,” Johnny complains. 

You roll your eyes. “We’re not,” you spit out, as fast as you can, so no shakiness slips from your lips. And then mutter a “Thanks,” to Haechan when he hands you the cup and then sits next to you. 

“It’s just because it was my place before, they wanted me to see the changes,” Haechan explains. “But I think they’re planning something with all of us soon. They’re just… busy.” 

Johnny quirks a brow. “Busy like you two bunnies or busy, busy?” 

“Shut up!” You scream, glaring at him. But can you blame him? Right now, you two are proving his point. He just doesn’t know it. 

“I’m kidding,” Johnny says, lifting his hands in the air before grabbing another cookie. “I know they are, Minjeong just changed her job, and Mark is Mark. But we should find a free weekend or something, we could even go to my beach house for New Year’s.” 

“Yeah, why not,” you force out, one hand slipping under the table to squeeze Haechan’s thighs, telling him to lower the speed, but it’s useless, he acts as if you’re not even there. 

“Can I change roommate this time? This one right here is a bit too clingy,” Haechan jokes, pointing at you with his head, making Johnny laugh. 

You force out a small laugh, rubbing your sweaty palm against your neck to fill your silence with something. 

“Man, I really need to find somebody,” Johnny sighs heavily, letting his head fall against the table theatrically. “You sweet couples make me feel so lonely.” 

“Weren’t you going out with,” you stop, pretending to think of her name but, in reality, you’re trying to collect yourself and don’t focus on the pulsing of your pussy. “Hana?” 

Johnny lifts his head and pouts. “We fucked.” He rolls his eyes. “I mean, it’s great, don’t get me wrong. But I’m too old for that, I want to settle down.” His hand points at your living room. “That shit out there? The cheesy lovemaking while setting up the place for Christmas? The way y’all live together? I can’t believe your cold-ass heart got it before me. I was Mr. Romantic, and look at me.” 

You chuckle tenderly, caressing his hand, trying not to make it shake. “And… will it just be sex?” 

“It’s not even exclusive. But it doesn’t matter ‘cause I broke it off,” he pouts. 

“You’ll find someone,” Haechan chimes in. “You are husband material, it’s impossible you’ll stay single much longer.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” he scoffs before his gaze falls on the clock. “Shit, I’m late, I have to go,” he says, jumping off the chair and walking to the living room. Haechan is quicker than you at following outside, but you feel like your knees could give up in two seconds, and you keep your hands tight in a fist, leaning against the door, watching him get dressed. “Thanks for the biscuits and the coffee, I had fun. See you tonight.”

“Bye! See you later,” you two greet, waving with your hands after he quickly hugs and kisses you both.  

When Johnny is out of the door, you jump on Haechan, and he laughs. “You’re a monster. This is not funny!” 

“A monster? You had fun, brat,” he teases, kissing you as he lifts you, walking into the living room, this time laying you on the couch. “And I won’t tease you anymore, I’ll give you what you want. But then we really have to wrap something up here and then get ready for dinner.” 

This time he’s true to his word, quickly pulling your pants and panties down before leaning down between your legs, leaving pecks on your thighs before he kisses your clit, making your hips jolt. 

A shaky sigh comes out of your lips when he pulls the toy out of you, leaving you empty before his fingers take its place without teasing. Your head rolls behind, this time meeting the softness of the couch, and your hands reach his arms, wrapping around them to hold onto something. 

“You’re even wetter now,” he teases, looking down between your legs. Your cum dripping down, making a mess on your ass and his fingers. “You’re such a tease, you know? You can’t even deny how much having people watching or listening turns you on.” 

You groan, hiding your face against the couch because all the teasing before already made it impossible for you to properly talk back. 

“Look at me,” Haechan orders, but you shake your head. He scoffs, cupping your chin to turn your face around. “You’re such a brat today.” 

You scoff, “me?” 

“Yes, you,” he whispers close to your face, lips brushing against yours as a tease but leaving you without the kiss you crave so much. “Think I didn’t see you before? Sitting on your heels, desperately trying to get off without me noticing,” he mocks with a chuckle. “I have to say, you were smart, talking to me and distracting me, thinking I’m stupid. But I saw that, angel.” 

Your body burns up in shame, and you once again try to hide, but his hold is firm, and you soon give up. 

“Is this what you want? Are my fingers fucking you well?” He murmurs, biting your earlobe, making you moan louder. 

“Ye-yes,” you cry out, planting your feet against the couch to have a solid hold as you grind your hips against him. 

“Look at you,” he mocks, pulling back from your face, letting go of it to wrap a hand around your waist and push it down, eliciting another whiny complaint from you. “I guess they’re not enough if you’re grinding on them like that.” 

You shake your head. “They are, I swear,” your voice breaks when his thumb presses against your clit, and your thighs fly shut. 

“Oh no, baby,” he scolds, forcibly pushing your legs apart with his hand. “Keep those pretty legs open for me, you’re not going anywhere.” 

“Please,” you cry out. “You edged me all afternoon.” 

He laughs, throwing his head back. “All afternoon? Damn, sex really gets to your brain. If it’s been an hour, it’s a lot.” 

You frown, trying to glare at him, but the furrow on your face only makes him smile. 

“Fine, fine. It looks like you really want to come, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” you reply weakly, but he doesn’t do anything. 

“Just a bit more. You’re just so pretty like this. And your pussy squeezes so nicely around my fingers, these beautiful sounds,” he hums, pressing against your sweet spot, forcing more cum out of you in dirty squelches. And the lust in his voice just pushes you even closer to the edge. 

“Haechan,” you cry out, eyes closing as your chest heavies more. 

“Use your words, babe. You can do it.” 

And you would do it easily if only his fingers didn’t pick up a faster rhythm, leaving you gasping for air as your eyes stare into his, the fake innocence and smugness behind them driving you insane. 

“Hyuck, please, fuck, please let me come.” 

“Mhh, you sound so pretty,” he coos happily. “Come on, I teased you enough. Come for me.” 

And you do, finally letting go of all the pleasure you’ve been holding in for so long; it doesn’t matter if it’s the entire afternoon or just an hour. Your body trembles against his, your thighs would clench if only it wasn’t for his hand keeping you spread open, and your head rolls back as loud moans slip out. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Haechan moans, slowing down the pace of his fingers inside of you once he makes sure you’re done and then slowly takes them out. 

“Kiss me!” You order, pulling him closer. 

“You’re so bossy today,” he laughs when he moves away from the kiss, and you pout. 

“I need you.” 

“Yeah, I know.” He kisses you again. “Let me get out of my clothes, alright?” You hum, watching him get up to get out of his pants and underwear before trapping your body again. His lips meet yours, and your fingers run in his long hair, pulling hard enough to make him moan and rut his hips against you, but not enough to hurt him. 

“Shit, turn around,” he orders, moving back enough to give you space to move as he helps you get in the position he wants. 

When your face presses against the couch and your hips swing side by side, you hear him inhale deeply and mumble a curse under his breath. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Haechan comments, hands cupping your ass before he leans in, kissing your neck. 

“Please, fuck me,” you beg, ordering in a whiny voice. 

“So fucking desperate,” he mocks, slapping your ass before placing a hand at the side of your face to keep his body up. The other grabs the base of his dick, the leaking tip pushing against your awaiting slit.

You moan shamelessly, driving your hips back, thinking he’s finally going to sink in, but he doesn’t. He rubs the head on your clit, making you shiver, tremble and whine. 

“Please, don’t,” you cry, but he only laughs mockingly at you. 

“Look at you,” Haechan taunts. “How long has it been? One week?” 

“Two,” you mutter angrily. “Two weeks.” It’s not about the sex, per se, but you two have been so busy with work lately that you’ve barely had time to be together. Last week, he did go down on you, but it was quick since he had a phone call, and you didn’t even get the after-cuddles you love so much.  

He snickers, throwing his head back as he keeps teasing, this time pushing the tip in and out, watching your hole stretch and then clench around nothing. “Sorry, sorry. You don’t want my mouth or fingers, you want my dick. Still,” he lowers, hot breath hitting your ear, “don’t you think it’s a bit pathetic after two weeks to be so desperate for me?” 

You shake your head, biting your lips, moving your hips to grind against him and force him inside you somehow, but all with no success. 

“Can you humiliate yourself even more, love?” He jokes. 

“Hyuck,” you whine, searching for his hand. “Yes, I’m pathetic for you, are you happy now? Can you please fuck me? Or do I have to — fuck!” Your complaint gets shut down when he pushes into you, you’re so wet and relaxed he does it with no struggle, filling you deeply and leaving you breathless. 

“Happy now?” 

You nod quickly, smiling widely but letting out no words. 

“Good, so something does satisfy you,” he groans, head falling back as he holds onto your hips. 

You whine, wanting to scream that anything he does satisfies you and that you’re not that greedy, but you let it slip. 

And then it comes, his face hides in the crook of your neck and one of his arms sneaks around you, keeping you close. And you love this, it drives you crazy to know you can have the roughest sex and most mind-blowing orgasms of your life while still being loved and cherished so much. You love it so much that you don’t push him away anymore, but let him sink deeper. All over you. Deep into you. 

“Hyuck,” you call out his name, hand moving behind to search for his skin, and finding an arm. 

“I know, babe, I know.” His lips leave kisses over your jawline, biting softly every now and then, and his eyes roll back when you clench around him. “Am I fucking you good?” He hums, moving your hair away so he can see your face. “Deep and nice, just like you love it?” 

You nod in quick motions. Body squirming under his before it stills when you feel the toy press against your clit again and buzz against you. You let out a high-pitched cry, face pressing against the couch as your fingers fist the soft fabric.  

“Hush, babe,” Haechan whispers against your ear. “We both know you love this.” 

“Yes, but —” the words die in your throat.

“But, what?” He teases. “What’s wrong, honey?” He coos in a patronizing tone, and you groan. 

He knows how easily you come when you use any type of vibrator. He has seen you come undone with them so many times you’ve lost the count. And he knows it’s even worse when he’s deep inside of you, hitting all your right spots while the vibrating toy keeps stimulating your sensitive clit. 

“You — you know what,” you whine, trying to look back to pity him. 

His movements stop completely, and the warmth of his body leaves you except the hand on your waist. “Mh, no, I don’t think I do.” 

You whine louder, hips jerking up to urge him to pick up his thrusts again, and he does, snapping in and out of you like before. 

“So, you won’t help me? I’ll have to find out the problem on my own?” He teases. “But… you want this faster?” 

“No!” You yelp when he puts the toy at the highest setting, making you try to close your legs but with no success. “Hyuck, please,” your voice breaks, tears menacing to run down your face as you feel another orgasm build up in your stomach, fist closing incredibly tight around the pillow of the couch. 

“Oh… my bad. Does it make you come too easily?” Haechan says, faking a tone of surprise as he leans closer to you, finally giving you the warmth of his body again. It’s funny how you avoided contact before, and how much you need it now. 

 You nod swiftly, biting your lips to muffle the messy moans. 

“And my baby doesn’t want that?” He pouts, caressing your hair out of your forehead. “You were so mad I edged you for so long and now you don’t — fuck — want to come over and over again?” 

You don’t answer, not with coherent words at least, and groan again. 

“You can take it, I know you can,” he groans, inhaling deeply as he lifts his body and throws his head back. He teases you a lot but he’s just as sensitive and desperate. Two weeks too long since he had you, and your body is so responsive, clenching and dripping around him, making him go insane too. 

“Let’s come together, ugh?” He moans. “Then I’ll fuck my cum deep inside of you and you’ll come just one last time.” 

A guttural moan slips from your mouth at his words, the idea of him fucking his cum into you over and over until he’ll fill you up with another load driving you insane. 

“Close,” you mutter. 

“Yeah, me too,” he groans, “come.”

Your body lets go, orgasm setting free like a trigger, sending shivers down your spine. Your lips are free from the hold of your teeth, not caring if you’re too loud and someone might hear. It feels too good to hold back. Not only for the pleasure itself, but for the way your boyfriend’s hands run on your hot skin, how his moans and whimpers fill your ears, and especially the sensation of his cum filling you up. When his hips still against you, and his whole body presses you down, you’re still shaking from the aftermath. 

Your eyes flutter shut when he starts moving again, barely giving you the time to come down from your high. 

“You feel so good, I could stay buried in this sweet pussy for days,” Haechan moans, hiding in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply and leaving kisses on your skin. 

You moan, letting your body relax to the feeling of him being all over you. One arm wrapped around your waist while his other hand roams around your body, caressing your stomach, your boobs, your thighs, everything he can find. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he comments when he lifts his head, not enough to unstuck his chest from your back but enough to look at your wrecked face. “Most beautiful thing in the world.” 

You melt at his comments, feeling warmth in your stomach, this time not given by pleasure but love. You are loved, wholeheartedly, completely, and endlessly. Every part of you, every flaw, every masterpiece. Haechan doesn’t leave anything behind. He loves you. Deeply. Constantly. Inhumanly. Because you still can’t believe it’s possible for someone to love so much, especially when it comes to you. But he proves it to you every single day, from the sweet words to these passionate moments. 

“Ki-kiss me,” you mumble, pouting until his lips are on yours. The position is a bit uncomfortable but you two make it work anyway. Kissing each other over again, going from deep kisses to pecks. 

“Fuck, pretty,” he groans. “You’re taking me so well. My dick stretching you out, my cum filling you up, so much of it we’re making a mess. You love being my messy princess, don’t you?” 

You nod. “Yes — yes, love it.” 

“I know, princess, I know. Dripping all the way down my balls, drooling on the couch, staining it with your pretty tears.” Now that you’ve opened up to him and cried more than just once in front of him, he loves these tears even more because they are good tears, caused by him not because he’s hurting you but because he’s making you feel good. And he’s obsessed with it, with the way your eyes look. Long lashes clumped together, looking even thicker and longer. 

You’re about to beg him to go faster, but he obeys without you opening your mouth. Hips snapping fast against you, body pushing you even further against the soft couch. 

A small giggle escapes your lips when his hand searches and then finds your hand, intertwining your fingers while the other cups your ass cheek before leaving a small slap. 

“Shit, ever told you I fucking love your ass?” 

You hum, nodding. You’d use some words, but the bliss is too strong to let you do anything other than whimpering and moaning. Your clit is swollen, throbbing hard, extra sensitive with all the vibrations of the toy before, and each slap of Haechan’s balls against it leaves you gasping for air. 

Your hips squirm away, there’s not much room to go since your head is already pressed between the seat and the armrest, but you still slip a bit forward and Haechan chuckles darkly close to your ear. 

“Running away, sweetheart?” The condescending, saccharin-sweet tone makes more shivers run down your spine, toes curling up and stomach twisting. 

Your head moves in incoherent movement, and your hand holds his tighter for support. You feel like your head is spinning, and if it seemed like a good idea to keep the sweater on, now it feels like hell is on your skin. 

“You can take it, can’t you?” He asks, voice genuinely sweet this time, but his body is not more clement with you. The harsh sounds of his pounding are still filling the room, drowning out the Christmas music that’s still playing on the TV — thank god the playlist moved to an instrumental one, or some classics would be ruined forever with these filthy moments in your mind. 

You nod, but he’s not happy with a non-verbal question. Unless you’re fucked out, completely fucked out, he wants to hear your voice when he asks if you can take more. 

“Words. I need words,” Haechan reminds you a bit more sternly, and you whine. “Come on, talk now, ‘cause soon that pretty mouth of yours will be stuffed full.” 

With the risk of choking on your own saliva, you let out a barely audible “yes.” 

“Good girl, that’s my good girl,” he praises with a long hum, caressing your burning hot cheek before ordering you around again. “Open those pretty lips for me, will you?” 

You obey with no hesitation, ready to take anything he gives you. And when two fingers press down your tongue your mouth immediately closes to suck on them, eyes fluttering shut, pussy clenching around him and ass arching up. 

“Fuck, knew you would’ve loved this,” he groans. 

Over the years, you realized Haechan loves doing this. To you, it’s funny because he rarely lets you go down on him, always whining because he has to eat you out, so 80% of the time, when it’s time for oral, you’re always on the receiving end. You don’t complain, you honestly think it’s a blessing he’s so obsessed with eating you out, but you don’t understand why he’s obsessed with watching you suck his fingers and not as obsessed with watching you suck his cock.

His moans get louder and whinier and you feel your stomach turn upside down and your core get even wetter. You almost bite him when his other hand moves from your hips to your clit, rubbing it, making you arch your ass up at the overstimulation. 

Your wet eyes look up at him, begging him for release, but there’s not much to beg since you’re squeezing him, and he’s overstimulated too. 

When his fingers leave your mouth, you gasp, taking in all the air, and start slurring his name. “Hyuck, Hyuck, please, wanna — wanna come, please.” 

He leans down, kissing you. It’s a messy, wet kiss, with lips and teeth clashing, and your hand desperately reach for his body. “Come with me, princess. You deserve it.” 

The orgasm breaks through you, a tingling sensation of pleasure running through your bones making you squirm against his body pressing you down. With one last strong thrust inside of you, you can’t control the jet of liquid squirting out of you. 

A string of curses comes out of you, but Haechan is quick at shutting it up with more messy kisses and quick movements to ride the pleasure out. “It’s alright, you’re alright, you’re alright, babe. Shh, calm down, it’s fine. You did great.” 

Your body slumps against the fabric and you let the warmth of his skin warm you up as you come down from the high. Haechan never stops whispering sweet words in your ear, kissing and caressing you, as he slowly — and reluctantly — pulls out of you. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs when cum starts spilling out of you. “We made a mess.” 

You chuckle, shrugging. “We’ll clean it up,” you say. “Later.” 

He laughs, but turns you around, after laying against the backrest, pulling you close to him. “Want some well-deserved cuddles?” 

“Yes please.”

“Will you see what’s in the bag?” Haechan asks when he comes out of your bedroom, all cleaned up after the shower you quickly took together, and sees you stare down at the brown bag Johnny brought. 

You shrug. You don’t know what’s inside, you could barely get a glimpse when you peeked before, but something makes you fear there will be too many memories, and you’re not sure you’re ready for them all. 

Your head turns around when you feel the couch bend with Haechan’s weight, and it immediately finds his shoulder to rest. His arm wraps around you, sneaking under your sweater to rub your skin, and you sigh. 

“You don’t have to, not right now,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head.  

“But I do, I have to see her tonight, and I want to thank her.” 

“Okay but if anything triggers you, promise me you’ll stop?” 

“Promise,” you reply and then you flip it over on the floor. You can feel Haechan’s persistent gaze on you and you feel some sadness wash over you, but you feel fine for now. And then a smile appears on your face. 

“I didn’t know she had our socks,” you say, grabbing the red stockings with reindeer and elves, and studying them. The fabric it’s a bit ruined over time, but they still look the same, and you can still picture them hanging, either on Johnny’s fireplace or on the furniture your family put them on. Your fingers graze over your brother’s name and you smile fondly. “Can we hang them? So I… so I can pretend there will be something for him too?” You ask, turning to Haechan that’s already apprehensively staring at you. 

“Of course, we can even fill his with something, if you want to,” he proposes, but you shake your head. The idea of the gifts being left there would just make you sad, but this is a good compromise. 

“Our scarves!” You bend over to grab them. “We knitted them, and I think you can see it,” you chuckle, fingers running over the bumps in the wool and other imprecision. 

“Better than me if I would try now. My mom is excellent at it, she made me try once and I made way worse than this,” Haechan says, grabbing the other scarf and noticing that it’s not perfect but not even terrible. 

“I’ll keep in mind to ask your mom for this one,” you say, cuddling up to him. 

“Nope, you won’t,” he jokes, shaking his head with vigor, slightly blushing. 

There are other things in there, but mostly decorations, there’s even a Christmas decoration that you loved when you were a kid, and you’re so grateful she gifted it to you. But then Haechan is attracted by something else. “What is this?” he asks, lifting a gingerbread plush, and your heart sinks in your chest. 

Not a word comes out of your mouth for almost a minute, as you try to get some saliva in your mouth. “It’s — it’s me…” 

Haechan studies your expression and immediately puts it away, but you stop him. 

“I’m fine,” you mumble. “I just… I need time…” 

“I don’t need to know, it’s fine, really,” he reassures you, touching your hand, but you shake your head. 

“No, I want to,” you say. You wet your lips and fidget with your fingers before taking the plush in your hesitant hands.  

“It’s not a Christmas gift, but it’s the last gift I got from him… a few days before his death. He called me gingerbread because I was obsessed with gingerbread men as a kid. Honestly, I was terrorized by them, they were men, I thought I was committing cannibalism, but then I tried one and I loved being a cannibal,” you chuckle, voice shaking as you fight back tears. “And when I grew older, I wanted to make them myself, I wanted them to be our family thing, but they never became one. My parents worked until the 24th and didn’t have time to wake up early and make them with me, so it was only me and my brother. He would always wake up early with me and help me make them.” 

“You didn’t make gingerbread men today,” Haechan points out. 

“No, those are for the Eve and Christmas,” you say resolutely. “Don’t worry, I will make them for you,” you giggle, and he smiles. 

“Go on, I’m sorry.” 

“No, it’s fine. I would be worried sick too to be left without my cookies,” you joke before turning serious. “A week before his death he walked in a street market and saw this,” you shake the plush in your hands and smile, “and he gifted it to me. He told me that it wasn’t Christmas, so that was a sign that he had to buy it for me and that it was scandalous that in fifteen years he never gifted me anything related to gingerbread men. And I remember that… I laughed so much when I saw it because it’s cute but also weird. The eyes are slightly not on the same level, the smile is funny, and the white lines are all different, this one doesn’t even reach the seam. And he told me that that made it even more special and that I’ve never been normal, so it was even more me.” 

“It looks like you now that I look better at it,” Haechan says, there’s a hint of irony but also sweetness in his voice.

You chuckle, wiping away a tear. “He used to often remind me he would always protect me, but when he gave me that, there was something different. And even if that was me, it was almost his way of telling me that he was always going to be with me, that’s why he had bought two. But his one was normal, and he kept it in the car.” 

“You can stop,” Haechan says as soon as he guesses when this is going, but you shake your head. 

“I held onto this toy for days at the hospital and it was the last thing he held before he… well… you know.” Your voice is broken by tears, the same ones that are rolling down your cheeks, but you’re fine. “I hated this, I hated that his got lost, destroyed, I don’t know, I… never dared to watch the conditions of the car after. I hated it because it was supposed to be me and this gingerbread man, not him. I hated it because it had lost his other half but didn’t feel half the pain I felt. So I threw it away.” 

“But…” 

“Is still here… yes. Because it’s me, and I survived,” you say, chuckling. “No, I’m kidding, no paranormal shits, it’s simply Johnny, I guess. He always knew what was better, and he must’ve kept it to the side, waiting for the right moment to bring it back to me.” 

Haechan hums, his thumb still caressing your palm. “Are you mad?” 

You raise your head, wiping away the tears. “No, I’m glad he always knows what to do with me. If you think you met me at my worst, you have no idea what Johnny had to go through when it all happened. He had to see the joyful, reckless, funny little girl he always knew turn into a cryptic, scheming, and cold woman from day to night and still decided to stick with me. He saw me at my worst, literally…” you breathe out. Another reason why you don’t like to think about back then is because you hate who you were. 

“You deserved him, you deserved to have someone that didn’t judge you or blame you.” 

You shrug. “I don’t know… I gave him a good dose of shit to deal with, as if he wasn’t mourning my brother too.” 

“You know, from all these conversations we had over the past months, and after I could see what you have with Johnny from a closer point of view, I think you’re missing something.” 

“Me?” 

Haechan nods. 

Your lips twitch in a wince, it’s been a while since Haechan taught you a life lesson, but usually you can see where he’s going, right now, you have no idea. “And what is it?” 

“You always say that Johnny is like your brother, but Johnny is your brother. The three of you were raised together, his mom loves you as if you’re her daughter, and we all know that your brother trusted him with you so much that Johnny promised him to always keep you safe. Johnny didn’t choose to stay because he’s a good friend, but because you’re his sister, and because after losing his brother, he wasn’t going to lose you too. Maybe you hurt him, I truly don’t know what you two have been through, but he loves you so unconditionally that I’m sure he doesn’t regret it. And he would stick by your side over and over again.” 

You smile fondly and hum. “You’re right, but I guess I’ll never get free of my guilt, will I? I mean, I still feel so bad for everything I put you through, no amount of good things happening between us makes me feel at peace with myself.” 

“Not to take your therapist’s place but remember what she told you? Why you love to punish yourself for every little thing?” 

You pout, nodding silently. Your awareness of you not being the cause of your brother’s death didn’t make the deepest parts of you aware in the same way. Something unconscious was still screaming at you, urging you to punish yourself even when there was forgiveness from the other side. 

“Can you hug me? I don’t know what else to say,” you confess, and he smiles at you, pulling you into a hug. It lasts for minutes. Minutes of silence, heartbeats, and nothing more. Comfort. Peace. Healing. And when it breaks apart, you smile, feeling another brick of your walls falling down. 

“Do you want to put this in a nice place or are you using it to take over your anger?” 

You smile, grabbing the plush. “I want to put it somewhere nice.”

You never felt so much anxiety run through your bones as you do right now; pacing back and forth in the living room, staring obsessively at the clock, waiting to hear the ring of the bell that will mean such a big change for you. 

You might’ve underestimated what meeting your boyfriend’s parents (and family) truly meant. All the hype you had until two weeks ago, disappeared when you remembered you had never met any of your partner’s parents before. 

“Okay, enough.” Haechan jumps off the couch and stops you midway, blocking your arms. “I usually let you do your weird things, but you will consume the floor if you keep doing this and you will drive me insane.” 

“But I’m nervous,” you whine, starting to torture your lips.

“Oh my god, stop that too,” he says, pulling your lower lip out of your teeth with his thumb. “Move and you’ll see,” he warns when he sees you lift your hand, knowing it will end up in your mouth to pull at your hangnails. 

You sigh defeated and slump on the couch. “I’m nervous.” 

“I got it,” he says, sitting next to you. “They’re chill, I promise.” 

“But I was fine before. Maybe this is a gut feeling, you know? Something is telling me this will go wrong…” 

“Yeah, and that something is your paranoid ass. Babe, come on. You’re perfect.” 

You’re far from perfect, and sometimes you wish you could see yourself from his eyes to see what he sees of you because you struggle to see the amazing things he notices about you. And you fear his family will be extremely disappointed when the fantasies his son tells them through the phone won’t meet the reality. 

Haechan is about to open his mouth again when the intercom rings, and you freeze. 

“Come with me,” he smiles, reaching out a hand, tapping his feet when it takes you too long to take it. “Babe, come on.” 

“I’m gonna pass out,” you mumble as your hand reaches him and you get up from the couch. Haechan sighs deeply as he basically drags you to the intercom to open the door on the floor. 

“You’ll be fine,” he says, trying to shrug off what he’s feeling. Now that you’re so anxious, he can’t help but feel it too. Maybe this was too soon, maybe you’re not ready, maybe this will be the breaking point and he will lose you again. 

But then the doorbell rings, and you’re the first to reach out your hand and open the door. 

“Hi, mom,” Haechan greets when he sees you’re struggling to find the words and throws himself in her arms to give you time to take it all in. 

“Hyuck,” she says, her calm tone filled with love, “look at you.” Her hands cup his cheek and squeeze them roughly, making him groan, and you chuckle. “And look at you,” she adds, bringing her attention to you. 

“Hello, Mrs. Lee,” you greet, bowing at 90°, but she laughs, and you freeze. 

“Oh, honey, please, just come here and let me give you a warm welcome to the family,” she encourages you, opening her arms. 

You quickly glance at Haechan, silently asking if this is a test, but he reassures you with a smile and nods in her direction. So, you step forward and hug her. 

“You smell so good, honey,” she compliments, squeezing you before letting you go, and resting her hand on your shoulder. “And wow. Haechan kept talking about you and I guessed you were pretty but not like this, you’re beautiful.” 

“You’re too kind, Mrs. Lee,” you say, lowering your head to hide how shy you feel right now. “You look beautiful too, now I know why Haechan is so handsome.” 

She chuckles and then pats your arm. “Thanks, sweetheart. And just call me by my name, please.”��

“I will.” 

“So, where are the others?” Haechan asks, looking behind his mom and seeing the empty corridor. 

“We brought something, your dad is taking everything from the car, and your siblings are helping him,” she explains, lifting her bags as you let her come in. “I wanted to dim her trauma of meeting the whole family at once, so I came here as soon as we parked.” 

Haechan rolls his eyes, grabbing the bag. “Food?” 

“It wasn’t necessary, we prepared everything,” you say. 

“I’ll never show up at your house with empty hands, darling,” she replies. “Also, I wanted you to try some of my specialties, I couldn’t wait anymore.” 

A warm smile spreads on your face as you feel you can finally breathe again. Maybe this won’t be a disaster. “I can’t wait to taste them.” 

Haechan was right. His family is loud. But it’s a kind of loudness you missed for so long, you can’t complain. His family is nice, and you can easily slide into conversations with them. The afternoon was mostly calm, you talked to get to know each other and ease the tension, you showed them the house —there wasn’t much to show, but they appreciated it anyway— and you even talked about future plans. 

But now you’re alone in the kitchen, placing the plates you used for the appetizers in the sink, and when you smell smoke, you know it’s time for everything that went well until now to turn into a mess. 

“Oh God, fuck no,” you curse under your breath, blocking your nose with your hand as you wave away the smoke from the oven and try to open it. “Not tonight, it can’t be fucking possible.” 

“Hey, what’s going on — oh,” Haechan says, entering the kitchen after he hears the clattering and your murmuring. 

“It burned. I burned the fucking lasagna. I have to make a good impression on your family and I burn it, I just burn it,” you almost cry, panicking over the burned pasta in the oven dish that now sits on the countertop. “Everything was supposed to be perfect, I had it all planned, and now, oh my god, the meat, check the meat,” you rant, turning around to check the oven again. 

Haechan sighs, head peeking out of the kitchen door. “Sorry, just wait a sec, we’ll be there with the first,” he warns his family before locking the door behind him, not waiting for their answer. It’s not like they care much, busy eating bread, drinking delicious wine, and still admiring the beautiful job you and him did with the decorations. 

“Hey, look at me,” he says, blocking you in place. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. It was supposed to be the first big serving of our dinner,” you whine, furrowing. “Our first Christmas dinner together and I fuck it up.” 

“You didn’t,” he says, looking behind you, trying to hide his face because yes, it is burned, but he’s sure you can find a solution. You two always do. “We’ll fix it.”

“I won’t serve your family a burned lasagna, I refuse,” you cry, hiding in the crook of his neck. “What will your mom think of me?” 

He chuckles. “Really? My mom is in love with you, she didn’t stop complimenting you for one second. The way you look, how smart you are, how pretty this place is and how well you keep it, the delicious food you’ve prepared. I’m sure she’ll have a story for a burned something too, come on.” 

“No, let’s take the first layer off,” you say, pushing him away. “It’s ugly.” 

“First,” he says, coughing, “we’ll open the window, alright? I don’t want to poison ourselves.” You watch him as he does and then go back to the mess in front of you. “And now, let’s fix this.” 

You two take the first layer off, but you don’t feel better, that’s not supposed to be the last layer. You put so much love into it, finishing it with mozzarella and cheese, and now it’s burnt. 

“It looks terrible, they will think I don’t know how to cook,” you huff. 

“I know how to fix it, any parmesan cheese left?” Haechan asks, and you nod, opening the fridge to hand him the box with it in it. You watch him as he puts it on, hiding the tomato sauce, and making it look a bit better, and you think that he’s always the one fixing your mistakes. “See? It’s perfect now.” 

You groan because it’s not what you planned. But it’s still better than before. “Let’s not make them wait longer.” 

“Everything alright? Something happened in there?” His father asks when you two come out of the kitchen, closing the door behind, so the air in there can change, but you won’t freeze in the living room. 

“Yeah, just a minor problem,” Haechan explains sitting the dish down, and you know he wants to pretend nothing happened, but you can’t keep it in. 

“I burned it,” you confess. “I’m sorry, but I got distracted here talking and I forgot about it, and I burned it. And we took the burned part out, but this is not my lasagna. I’m a master at it, and I’m sorry this mess is your first encounter with it.” 

“Oh, sweetie,” his mom says, “all the things I burned all the time. Try to manage four little demons and it will be surprising when you don’t make mistakes in the kitchen.” 

“Hey! We’re angels,” his youngest brother, Dongwook, complains. “Also, can I have the burned part? I love it when it’s crispy.” 

“It’s burnt, not crispy, it’s bad for you,” you say, but his big eyes pleading you, make you look at his parents for approval. 

“Can you bring it here, please? We’ll see how bad it is,” his father says. 

“Dad, Dongwook, you don’t need to see it,” Haechan intervenes, and you know he’s doing it to protect you but you reassure him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Sit, it’s fine. I’ll go take it.” 

You take a deep breath and enter the kitchen again before coming out with the plate with what you and Haechan took off. “Here’s the mess.” 

“This is not burnt,” Dongwook jumps in his seat, grabbing the plate and smiling happily. “You took out the best part!” 

You look at his mother with concern because that is burned, maybe not a lot —you took out the completely black parts and only kept what could be somehow saved, less than half of the top layer— but it’s not crispy either. 

Mrs. Lee just shrugs and tells you not to worry with a wave of the hand and you relax a bit. 

“If it’s not good you don’t have to eat it, we have the meat, it’s still cooking, but it’s good,” you say as Haechan puts a slice in each plate. “I’ll get up in a few minutes to make sure that won’t burn.”

“Why are you so stern with yourself?” His sister, Dasom, asks and you freeze. 

“Dasom,” Haechan scolds. 

“What?” She scoffs. “She’s cool, if I was her, I would be annoying in the opposite way.” 

You chuckle and lower your head because they’re so nice to you. 

“You can’t ask people you’re not close with these questions,” he retorts, clearly not caring that her comment was supposed to be a positive one. 

“It’s fine, Hyuck,” you say, reaching for his hand now that he’s sitting back at its place next to you. “I’m just a bit nervous and I want this dinner to go well. I wanted everything to be as perfect as I planned and…” when things don’t go as planned, I go insane, your son and brother was a victim firsthand, “…when they don’t, it just throws me off a bit. But it’s fine.” 

“Shit!” Daehyun, the middle child, screams. 

“Ya!” Mrs. Lee slaps his arm, glaring in an admonition to not say swear words. 

“This is good!” he says, ignoring his mother. “Perfect. Girl, if this is not your best lasagna your best one is Star Michelin worth it!” 

“Oh, no, that’s too much,” you say, starting to breathe again because for a moment you feared he had found a bone or nerve or something else in it. But you can’t hide the smile on your face when the entire family praises you, the little one even telling you to always burn it because he loves the crispy layer. You’re sure they’re exagerating a bit to cheer you up, but you still think it’s kind enough that they care to put a smile on your face. 

Haechan nudges you subtly. “Told you,” he whispers, and you smile. 

“I’m glad you like it,” you say, shyly meeting their gazes and feeling full as you stare at their happy faces. 

And you remind yourself that it’s fine if things don’t always go as planned, sometimes mistakes and unforeseen can bring nice things. If it wasn’t for the unexpected, you wouldn’t have Haechan by your side and you wouldn’t be having a happy Christmas dinner with your new family. 

You’re happy, and you feel at home. 

“Mom,” Haechan whines, hiding his face against your shoulder before lifting it again, letting out another heavy sigh, “you didn’t have to bring the photo album here.” 

“Oh, she did,” you chuckle, sitting better on the couch to be turned toward his mom who’s sitting next to you with the book resting on her legs. 

You feel Haechan’s head rest against you again, this time completely given up and ready to face the humiliation. 

“Are there embarrassing pics of us too?” His sister asks, sitting on the arm of the couch, leaning on her mom. 

“Probably,” Mrs. Lee giggles before opening the book. 

As the photos pass by, you can’t help but wonder why he’s so embarrassed. “You haven’t changed a bit,” you say, turning to him, moving your arm so you can wrap it around his shoulder, and his head presses against your chest. 

“Thanks, exactly what I needed to hear,” he scoffs, his voice filled with sarcasm. 

“You still have the same smile,” you point out, “and the mischievous grin.” 

“Oh, that has always been him. Every time he did something he wasn’t supposed to do, or ruined something, that little smirk was there. I couldn’t even get mad at him,” his mom explains, and you smile at the image forming in your mind. 

“Don’t pout,” you pinch his cheek, making him yelp, “it’s cute.” 

“As long as you don’t have any from my teenage years, we’re fine,” he says, making his siblings laugh. “It’s not funny. You had the same phase as me,” he points at the two oldest, “and you are in it right now.” 

“I’m not. I’m cool, unlike you.”

Haechan rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” 

“Look at this!” You scream, pointing a finger at a picture of him at the pool, he’s wearing a life vest and has a pool float around him, and his smile is so big as he waves at the camera with both hands. 

“We went to the pool that day, he didn’t know how to swim, he even ate with the lifesaver on,” his dad says, eliciting another groan from him. 

“Stubborn even as a child,” you joke, intertwining your hands. 

“Let’s not get there,” his sister rolls her eyes, and Haechan pokes his tongue out in reply. 

“You have curly hair?” You ask after seeing other pictures of him. 

“Wavy, I would say,” he replies, shrugging. 

“You look even softer like this. How did you not want to bite him every two seconds?” You ask his mom, and she laughs. 

“The cuteness of his face really saved him from a lot of troubles,” she says. “Remember when you stole Mrs. Park’s apples?” 

“I didn’t steal them, I had no idea about capitalism and economy. She gave them to me once, and I thought I could just take them,” he explains. “Turns out the real world is not that easy.” 

“Uhm, a young thief, I didn’t know you were such trouble,” you tease, and he glares at you but then breaks in a laugh. “But seriously, you should wear your natural hair more often, I always thought you would perm them somehow or steal my products to curl them, I had no idea they were natural.” 

“I always told him he looked better like that, never listened,” Dasom chimes in. “But I’m sure he will listen to the love of his life,” she mocks in a high-pitched voice and Haechan throws her a pillow. 

You’d laugh at their exchange if only being called ‘the love of his life’ didn’t make your brain short-cut for a few seconds and send the beats of your heart to an insane rhythm. 

“The love of your life, ugh?” You whisper. 

“You know you are,” he says, smiling at you. “Or does this scare you away?” 

“Not even your emo phase scared me away, so nope, I don’t think this will.” 

“Hey! You didn’t see that yet.” 

“But we’re getting close, the middle school years are around the corner,” his mom says.

The middle school years don’t scare you away, if it’s possible it all makes you love him even more. But the pictures you loved the most were the ones of the family. The ones where he’s holding his sibling after their births, the ones with them on their bikes, on a swing, while playing football or going down a slide. The ones of their summers, mostly at the few parks they had near because it was hard to go somewhere else, but it didn’t matter. You find yourself in them, glimpses of your family and the struggles you went through, always ending in little things that were enough to make everyone happy because being together was all that mattered. And you find yourself in them even now, as they talk, telling you stories, bickering over details that are insignificant but at the same time mean everything, teasing each other in ways only siblings can do. And you miss that, you feel a deep hole in your chest as you watch Haechan laugh with his sister. The way he talks to her, teases her, but at the same time has her back, reminds you of your brother and you. You feel the same void when you look at his parents, how they smile at their kids, the gentle touches of his mom, and the awkward way of demonstrating love of his dad. It all brings you home, and you wonder for a second what it would’ve been like… if only your parents were there too, if only the holiday weren’t such a slap in the face. 

But after the cold shower, you feel a warm embrace. When his mom’s touch reaches you with soft pats on your knees or shoulder. When his sister talks to you to side against him. When his dad tells you he will show you how to carve wood. When his brothers eat your gingerbread men and keep praising you. 

What could’ve been doesn’t matter because there is something now. This is good. You see a light at the end of the tunnel. You feel that your ‘what ifs’ might turn into reality one day, that maybe not next year, but in three, your family will be here too, and you will tell your stories just the same. Because you have a lot of them, and you’re sure your parents would get along with Haechan’s so well. This is warm. There’s not the cold of your lonely apartment or the awkward, abrupt silence as Johnny’s mom went back to her words, terrified of ruining your day. The void that opened in your heart is easily filled by them, and even if you can’t follow everything perfectly, and sometimes it gets overwhelming, you have Haechan’s hand on yours. He never leaves it, it’s there, right on top of yours, caressing your skin, keeping you grounded. 

But then the question everyone has avoided comes. It’s like a drop falling on a vase full to its brim, and it freezes you and Haechan right on the spot. 

“Can I ask where are your parents?” 

“Mom,” Haechan is the first to talk, the stern gaze he gives his mom makes you feel worse than the question she asked. 

“Sorry, I… I didn’t know, I thought she wanted maybe a break to call them or —” 

“Mom!” 

“It’s fine,” you stop him, looking into his eyes to calm him. “I’m fine.” 

“You don’t have to tell them. They were doing fine without knowing anything,” he replies, looking at you. You can feel the anger in his voice and his eyes. 

“I can tell bits,” you say. “Small steps, remember? You taught me that.” 

You can feel the confused gazes in the room, and the attention annoys you more than having to explain yourself. 

 When you turn around, you see his mom, who is about to apologize again, but you stop her by lifting your hand. “My parents are not here,” you say. “I mean it’s obvious, and I guess you want to know why. I’m…” you chuckle nervously. “I’m pretty sure we… we go along well, and we’re family now… right?” You ask hesitantly. 

“Yeah, of course, you were family the moment I saw Haechan’s eyes shine bright when he spoke about you,” his mom says, and you smile. 

“Good. And families should be open with each other, but there are some things I… I still want to keep to myself.” 

When Haechan hears your voice shake, he places his hand on your back, and you relax at the touch. “Me and my parents basically don’t talk anymore. We text for the birthdays, and the important holidays but that’s it. There’s a reason behind it and I think no one is to blame, something happened and the three of us reacted badly, so I don’t want you to think they’re bad.” 

“We’re sorry,” they say at the same time, and you chuckle. 

“We would never think that anyway, not without knowing people’s stories,” his mom says. “I’m sorry I asked. I didn’t think that since you didn’t bring it up, you didn’t want to talk about it.” 

“No, it’s fine. I’m glad you did, so you at least know this of me,” you reassure her. “And I’m sorry I’ve been quiet about myself. I prefer present-me to past-me, especially if I can’t talk about… if I can’t tell the full story.” 

“It’s like Haechan’s middle school pictures,” his sister says, clearly to take some pressure off your shoulders, and you laugh. “Imagine seeing the photos and not telling that he did that to get a girl’s attention.” 

“Dasom, it was a serious moment!” Haechan says. 

“What? She laughed! She’s prettier when she laughs, and she was sulking. You shouldn’t want to see your girlfriend sad,” she justifies, sipping on her drink, and you high-five her. 

“I don’t like you two being so close,” he jokes, pulling you back next to him. But with the corner of your eyes, you notice that his face is much more relaxed now. 

“But seriously, I… I thought I could talk about it, I do with him,” you say, pointing at Haechan. “But your stories were so happy and I miss that kind of thing, you know, a family like yours, so I prefer to listen to you. It made me happy, and I don’t want to make me and all of you sad.” 

You can see the pity behind their eyes. They don’t know what happened, but they can guess, and anything it’s not a happy guess, so they’ll want to tell you something but you stop that from happening. 

“And since it’s almost midnight, and we need to open the gifts soon, why don’t we lighten the mood with some music?” You say, standing up. “Dasom, what about your karaoke?” 

She gasps, staring at Haechan behind you. “You told her?” 

“Of course, I needed her to be ready.” 

“I wouldn’t have done that here, with her, on our first meeting,” she says. 

“But I want you to, I used to do it with my brother, so it would mean the world to me.” You see that when you talk about your brother it’s like she realizes it, something makes her understand what happened, but she doesn’t say anything. She smiles, gets up, and grabs your hand. You jokingly find yourself thinking that if anything will ever go wrong with Haechan, you might try to date her. 

“I’ll go get something else to drink,” Haechan says, getting up, “you two monsters come with me.” 

The rest of the night goes smoothly. You sang for a while before sitting on the floor around the coffee table to eat the dessert you and Haechan’s mom prepared. Popped the champagne when the clock hit midnight, exchanged gifts (his mother gave you two homemade matching sweaters, they were so beautiful you struggled to have a normal reaction), and then played board games.

“I really wish you could stay but this place is so small, I wouldn’t know where to make you sleep,” you say when you’re exchanging goodbyes. 

“You worry too much, honey,” Mrs. Lee says, hugging you. “Everything was perfect, from this afternoon to the dinner, and then the photos, the singing. I never had so much fun. And you know what, I was truly sorry for your lasagna, but it was so nice to not be the one that has to worry about that for once,” she jokes, eliciting a quiet laugh from you. 

“I’m glad you had fun. I never planned a Christmas dinner before, and I feared making you come here from the afternoon would’ve bored you or something, but I think it was a great idea.” 

“It was. And for being your first time, you were amazing. You have nothing to worry about, also the mistakes and the funny things end up in the stories we tell in the years to come, right?” 

“Right.” 

“Get dressed,” she orders the youngest before glaring at Daehyun, “you’re twenty, you should do your things without me telling you.” 

You laugh when they resume bickering while putting their coats on. You catch her rolling her eyes before bringing her attention to you. 

“You know, Donghyuck didn’t bring many people at home before. Most of the time, I had to guess he had some flings or something, but even the ones he felt were worth meeting us, weren’t like you. And I’ve seen him in love, I’ve seen him do crazy stuff, but I’ve never seen him like this,” she smiles fondly. “A mother notices a lot of things, and I’ve noticed his touches on your hand, how he plays with your hair or caresses your back, I’ve seen him rage when one of us overstepped. But most importantly, I see the love. I already had the feeling through the phone calls, but seeing his eyes light up, watching him get lost in you with every breath… wow, I fear you put a spell on him,” she chuckles. Her gentle eyes move between you and her son as a soft smile curls her lips, creating some wrinkles on her cheeks. 

“He loves me like nobody ever loved me before, and…” you pause, turning your attention on him, watching him laugh with his dad, smiling in reflection before your eyes are on his mother another time. “I know it might sound exaggerated from the outside, but his love saved me more than I knew I needed to be saved.” 

She smiles, caressing your arm. “Yeah, I noticed that too. I don’t know what happened, I don’t know if that made you bond more, but if you ever fear he’s not into this, I want you to know that he’s serious. When he told me he moved out of his apartment to live with his girlfriend, I was speechless. I thought he was never going to settle down, especially not so soon. But he did that, and even if he was afraid, he was happy about it.” 

You want to tell her he was afraid for you, but you can’t or else she might think you don’t love him just as much, so you smile and nod. “This was a big step.” It’s not a lie, it was a big step for him too. His life was completely different before you two met and everything changed. 

“Oh, but an amazing one. Look at how cute your place is, it feels like home. Even if it’s not big, even if it doesn’t have design pieces, even if it’s not in the center of town, you’ve got each other. And that’s something you can’t ever take for granted,” she says, and you see her smile sadden a bit as she looks over at her husband, who’s now busy talking with Haechan and Dasom. “But I don’t want to talk about what I had to go through with my husband, what matters is that we made it, and we raised four wonderful kids. And I don’t know if you want them or not, it doesn’t matter, there’s time to grow and change, but you’re young now, and have all your life to live, just the two of you. I just want you to remember to always have each other’s back. Even if you both decide you want to make another big step, you have to have each other to give love and water another flower.” 

You wipe away a tear, lowering your head, and she coos, caressing your cheek. “No, darling, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” 

“It’s fine,” you reassure her. Her words made you sad for other reasons, stinging right at the missing piece left by the absence of your parent’s love. “I’m very lucky to have him. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

“Mom,” Haechan’s voice rings behind you, and you notice his worried look when he sees you wipe away some other tears. 

“We were just talking, I’m about to cry too, it’s normal,” she explains, smiling at you and you smile back. 

“Sure?” He asks you and you nod. “Yeah, also, I’m just a bit tired.”

“We’ll go now, seriously. We stayed way too long,” she says, calling the sibling at her side with a snap of the fingers.

“Tomorrow at lunch you’ll be here, right?” Haechan asks. His arm wraps around your waist, and he pulls you closer, thumb caressing your side in gentle motions. 

“I do not plan on eating at that hotel, so you can bet I’m going to be seated here, eating the amazing food she cooks,” his dad replies, and you chuckle. 

“Even if I burn it?” you joke. 

“Yes, even if you poison it, honestly.” 

“He ate something at the buffet when we arrived and wanted to change the hotel,” Haechan’s sister adds, rolling her eyes, and making you all laugh. 

“That’s where you get the overdramatic-ness,” you whisper only for Haechan to hear, and he mocks you with a stupid face. 

“Well, time to go, we annoyed them enough,” Dasom says, pushing the younger out of the door. “Merry Christmas, and thank you for everything!” 

“Merry Christmas to you too!” You and Haechan greet again, watching as they all make their way out of the apartment. “See you tomorrow.” 

“Cover up, it’s cold outside,” you say. “And drive safely, please.” 

“We will, it’s not far from here,” his dad reassures you. 

“Goodnight!”

When you make sure they enter the elevator, you close the door behind, and you sigh. 

“Yeah, I now realize I should’ve made you meet them sooner for a shorter amount of time,” Haechan says right away with a hint of irony in his voice. 

“You’re kidding, they’re amazing. I love them.” 

“So you’re not overwhelmed?”

“Maybe a bit, but they’re so much fun. Your mother is lovely. And I love your sister, I need her number so we can become friends.” 

“Nope, not happening. You two together will be the death of me,” he laughs, shaking his head.  

You stick your tongue out before opening your arms to him, begging for a hug. He doesn’t hesitate to pull you in, breathing deeply your sweet scent as he caresses your back. “You did so well today, I’m so proud of you.” 

You don’t reply, just smile in the crook of his neck as your arms hold him tighter and feel all the pent-up stress leave your shoulders. You let his perfume lull you, and the warmth of his body calm you. You two stay there for a while, he leaves small kisses on the top of your head, and you chuckle when it tinkles, and just hug him tighter. And you think that, even if you’re always all over each other, hugging is not something you do a lot, and you need to change that. But you’re both starting to feel the tiredness of the day, and you’re the first to pull away.

“Come on, let’s go get changed, I want to slump in our ugly pajamas together.” 

In less than twenty minutes, you both have showered and changed into your matching pajamas, the lights in the living room are off, and you’re ready to go to bed.

When you enter the bedroom, you see Haechan at the window, looking outside, and you quickly reach him, hugging him from behind and starting to leave kisses on his neck, making him giggle.

“What?” He hums when he looks behind and finds you staring at him with big doe eyes. 

“You were so cute as a kid,” you whisper. 

“Yeah, I noted that you would’ve had a crush on me if we met during kindergarten,” he chuckles, and you do the same. 

“No, dummy,” you scoff. “I mean, yes, probably. You were a charmer with your pretty curls and that smile. Would’ve swept little me right off my feet.” 

He turns around, hugging you. “Should we go back in time and see?” 

“Nah, I like our romantic start with the fuck in the car, more appropriate for adult-us,” you joke, and he laughs. “But little you got me a baby fever.” 

“Oh,” Haechan says, furrowing. “You run fast when you want to.” 

You shake your head, snickering. “I’m not that serious, I don’t want it right now, but... it sparked in my mind just for a moment.”

“Yes, we would make pretty kids, that’s what you’re saying.” 

“You ruin all the fun with all this mind-reading,” you pout, crossing your arms on your chest, and he laughs, kissing your pout. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I can’t give you a kid right now, but we can practice, so we know what to do when we want one.”  

You stare at him. “Tell me this was not supposed dirty talking because it’s the worst line that ever came out of your mouth.” 

“Hey! I was trying to be sexy.” 

“You’d be sexier if you just straight up told me you wanted to fuck. Because it’s also what I’ve been subtly trying to tell you.” 

“Nah-ah, you said you wanted my kids,” he teases, kissing your lips. 

You roll your eyes. “Not what I wanted to say.” 

“I don’t reckon a breeding kink, though. Missed something from your bdsm test results?” 

“Shut up, that’s weird. I was being sweet before, not horny. And breeding kink is only funny when it doesn’t turn into actual pregnancy.” 

He stares at you with a confused face, and you scoff, waving him off with your hand. 

“Can I give you the special Christmas gift?” You say, changing subject, batting your lashes seductively at him.

“Sure.” 

“Sit on the bed,” you order and then watch as he does what you say before you take a few steps back so there’s some distance between you. 

“You will not striptease with that ugly nightwear on?” 

You roll your eyes and sigh heavily. “Why do you have to ruin all the fun? This is the best part of it all, the ugly nightwear. Now, will you let me do what I have to do, or do I have to go to somebody else? You know, we don’t have Mark next door anymore, but the neighborhood down the corridor is always so nice to me, and he used to flirt before you moved here, so I’m sure he would appreciate it.” 

“Oh, shut up! He’s lowkey a creep, and he always stares at you as if he’s never seen a woman his entire life. He probably wouldn’t even make you come, but he’ll nut in his pants as soon as you’ll touch him.” 

You chuckle at his accurate description. “So, you don’t want all this to go to waste, right?” you ask, pointing at your body from head to toe. “You better shut up and let me do what I have to do.” 

“Go on,” he says, nodding, and then sits more comfortably on the bed. 

Your dance as you strip is not exactly the sexiest thing on earth with the fluffy, baggy pants and no music playing in the background, but Haechan is having a lot of fun anyway watching your hips move, your hands run on your body, and your teasing faces. 

But it quickly turns serious when you lift your top off your head, revealing a red lace bra. 

“Fuck,” Haechan mutters, sucking his breath in and squeezing his thighs for a second. He has your body imprinted in the back of his mind by now, yet, every time, you leave him breathless. 

You keep going, letting the pants fall on the floor and gracefully picking them up to lay them on the chair, hips swinging as your hands run on your exposed body. You turn around, giving him a perfect view of your ass, and he bites back a moan. You chuckle delightedly, feeling shivers form on your skin when you hear him shuffle with his pants, probably pulling them down to ease the boner. 

You bend over, looking at him upside down, winking when he meets your gaze, before giggling when your eyes fall on his fist wrapped around his dick. 

“Hard already?” You ask teasingly, standing up and facing him. 

“What does it look like?” 

You pout, tilting your head. “I guess we have to do something about it. It’s too easy to turn you on.” 

“It’s not my fault you know all the right bottoms to push,” he replies. 

You huff. “Please, I just danced a bit, like this,” you stop, swinging your hips again and touching your body, cupping your boobs in the see-through red bra before reaching your neck and moving down again. “And bent over.” 

He sighs again, but you notice the gulp when he follows your body. “Dance for me?” 

You smile. “You don’t want me to take care of you?” 

“Not yet,” he breathes out. “Just dance for me, I’ll put some music on.” 

You smile and start moving, this time with slow music filling the silence. The Christmas lights hanging in the bedroom make the room look like a club, and you quickly get into the vibe. 

Seeing Haechan stroking his hand on his hard dick lazily while his eyes are stuck on you, is turning you on much quicker than expected. It goes on for a while, your body moving to the rhythm while his hand gradually picks up the pace, especially when you get in more provocative positions or get close to him, only to leave him with nothing.  

“Touch yourself,” he orders after long minutes of silence. “Bring the armchair in front of me and touch yourself with me.” 

A small gasp leaves your lips, but you’re quick to follow the instructions. You slowly sit, trying to maintain the sexy vibe. 

“Don’t undress.” His voice stops you right when your hands are about to pull the panties down. “You look too good in that set to throw it on the floor already.” 

You smirk, and then your hands move on your body. You throw your head back on the chair as you enjoy the sensation of your hands running on your skin, teasing your nipples, and slowly —too slowly, from Haechan’s annoyed groan— you start parting your legs. It’s clear it’s not enough when he says a stern call of your name. 

“Something wrong? Do you need something?” You tease, tilting your head to the side while your hands never stop touching your body, everywhere but where he wants you to. 

His eyebrow raises, and he scoffs. “You shouldn’t be naughty on Christmas, you know that?” 

You snicker, rolling your head back for a second before locking your gaze again. “Pfft, I already had my gifts, I can be as naughty as I want to.” 

“But do you? Do you want to?” He teases you, leaning a bit over. “I can see the dark spot from here, are you sure you want to punish yourself any longer?” 

You gulp at the intensity of his eyes. One second, you two are in a teasing-switchy-mode, and then one second later, he has this hold on you with just one look, pinning you down, leaving you no choice but to obey. 

“Good girl,” Haechan praises as soon as your legs spread open, one dangling down the seat, the other dangling on the armrest, and your fingers start moving your clit. 

A gasp of relief comes out of your lips, and your eyes flutter shut.

“Nah-ah, look at me. I want you to keep your eyes on me.” 

You lock eyes with him, feeling warmer. You love the way he looks at you, you’re sure you’ll never get tired of it. His eyes are full of lust and love, making you feel desperately wanted and loved. You feel so comfortable in that, knowing you can let him do whatever you both want and never feel used. It is a recurring thought every time you’re exposed to him because it’s something that you didn’t experience in the past. 

“Can — can you tell me what to do?” You shily ask. 

His lips curl in a smirk. “You want me to give you instructions? Not in the mood to have control tonight?” 

You shake your head. You don’t feel like it, even if you love teasing and being bratty, tonight you want to leave the reins in his hands and let him guide you. 

“Good.” Haechan clears his throat and sits better on the bed, his hand still slowly touching himself while the other lays flat on the mattress to keep his body up. “Tease your nipples with your other hand, I know you love to play with your boobs.” 

Your hand moves up swiftly, not wasting a second, and a shaky breath comes out of your lips as your fingers rub the hard, sensitive bud. They’re already hard from the chilly temperature of the room, the heat warming it up just enough to be warm if dressed up, but soon get even harder from the stimulation. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He asks with a teasing edge in his voice, and you nod. “Move the panties to the side, let me see how wet you are.” 

As soon as you move the crotch to the side, his eyes intensely stare between your legs as he licks his lips, watching your cum drip down, and you have to bite back a moan.

He snickers and you raise a brow. “And to think all you did was dance for me.” 

Your throat goes dry at the mockery but you find the words anyway. “But you — you are touching yourself.” 

Haechan chuckles again, throwing his head back to push back his hair before lifting it. “Yes? It turns you on so much to see my hand wrapped around my dick? Want to have your hand wrapped around it?” 

You nod as you bring your thumb to your lips, biting a hangnail. And he laughs. “You’re serious about me guiding you, torturing your pretty nails to contain yourself and don’t let a finger slip inside of you.” 

At the call out, you move away your thumb but he only laughs louder. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Slip a finger in and tell me what’s running in your mind.” 

Your finger slips in with ease, bringing relief, but words struggle to come out of your mouth as you feel smaller and smaller under his gaze. “I want to — I want to suck it.” 

Haechan smirks, tilting his head to the side. “Really? Want to be on your knees, between my legs?” 

You nod with much more enthusiasm needed, but you don’t care. It’s too tempting now that he has his legs vulgarly spread, his thick thighs begging to be touched as you take his dick in your mouth, and his eyes slightly glossy with pleasure. It’s not a common sight, but you love it. Looking up and seeing his face wrecked, his eyes teary, but what you love the most are his moans and whimpers, so high and needy, as he unconsciously starts fucking your mouth to reach his high. 

“Maybe I’ll let you do it after, but first take care of yourself…” 

You huff but don’t complain further and start to move your finger faster. 

“Good girl. Push another finger in, come on, fuck yourself faster,” he encourages, clearly understanding you’re growing impatient and want more. “You’re so filthy,” he snickers. “So fucking wet, listen to the pretty sounds you make.” 

A muffled moan is your reply to his comment, but your body speaks more than words. Your head rolls back and your eyes close before you remember he told you he wants you to keep eye contact, and your pussy gets even wetter with each pump of your fingers. 

“Please, another one,” you beg. Typically two fingers are perfect, but with each sound of his hand sliding up and down on his dick, and the sight of his length throbbing as droplets of cum roll down his cock and hand, you can’t help but want to fool your body that he’s inside of you. 

He smirks, but it’s not as teasing as before, he’s starting to falter too. “Go on, add another one. Stuff yourself full, pretend all you want that’s my dick inside of you.” It’s not much the dirty talk, but the way he knows you so well that makes you shiver and close your legs for a split second. There’s nowhere to hide with him. 

You bite your lips to push down your throat a pathetic, high moan when he stops his movements to take his top off, leaving it on the other side of the bed. He’s completely naked now, one hand running in his long brown locks before it goes back to his side to keep his body up, and the other wraps around his cock. 

“You’re so hot,” you whine, huffing. And he chuckles, cheeks blushing a bit. You rarely compliment him during sex, too fucked out to vocally tell him what he does to you, and it’s always your body speaking to him. So when it happens, he’s not used to it. 

“Am I? Or are you only turned on by this?” He jokes, head pointing between his legs. 

You shake your head. “It’s you, fuck. Your hair, your lips, the moles on your skin.” 

He chuckles, stopping your praises. “My moles?” 

“Yeah, your moles, I love them,” you confess. He should’ve got this a while ago, considering you always let your fingers brush them and connect them with invisible strings. “I love your stomach, your waist, your thighs. And your hands, fuck, they’re so beautiful.” 

This time it’s a genuine smile that spreads on his face before he lowers it to hide the effect your words had on him, and you smile too. 

“Want to come?” He asks, still overwhelmed by the praises, and you giggle. He’s always so confident, you can’t believe he’s acting shy now. 

“Yes, please. Together?” 

“Together.”

You pull the third finger out, prioritizing swiftness and deepness over thickness — you’ll have time for that. And start to quickly move your two fingers in and out while your thumb rubs your clit. Your other hand plays with your boobs with more eagerness, pinching the nipples and cupping the soft flesh as you please. And soon enough you’re both coming. Haechan’s fast strokes and loud moans are the last thing you need to come, unexpectedly squirting and hitting him too. 

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he groans, biting his lips, hips squirming as more cums keeps coming out of him, messily hitting his stomach, chest, and legs. 

Your head rolls back as the pleasure starts slowing down, your fingers are still lazily riding out the orgasm, and your eyes fall shut as your lungs take deep breaths. 

“Fuck, come here, this is torture,” Haechan groans, getting up to pull you on the bed on top of him, not waiting to be steady on his knees. 

You chuckle at his eagerness, honestly, you’re surprised he lasted that long without touching you. 

“Next time we’re doing this,” he hums, kissing you, “you’ll sit between my legs. I need to feel you close.” 

“Yeah, I noticed,” you giggle, pushing him flat down the mattress, and straddling his lap. Your hips grind on him, smearing the cum that splashed on his stomach on you, but you don’t care. You’re focused on kissing him, letting your fingers run in his long hair while enjoying the sensation of his running on your skin. 

“Mhh, are you going to be offended if I ride you instead of sucking your dick?” You ask, smiling awkwardly. 

He bursts into a loud laugh and then shakes his head. “Do you think I’d say no to that?” 

“I don’t know, I was kinda drooling over that, maybe the idea turned you on.” 

Haechan shrugs, pulling you into another kiss as his hands cup your ass. “It did turn me on, but I can’t stand another second not pressed against you. Why don’t we flip position, mhh? You wanted to be pampered tonight.” 

You smile, nodding. “Yeah, I’d prefer it. I don’t think I would last long on top.” 

He rolls you on your back, his lips never leaving yours and you chuckle in the kiss, trying to get rid of your panties, but he stops you again. “Keep them on, please.” You do as told, choking on a silent moan when his fingers brush your clit as he helps you keep them to the side. 

“You love this set, don’t you?” 

He nods, giving two tugs on his dick as he starts pressing it against your soaked slit. “Looks good on you.” 

A breathy, shaky moan slips from both of you as he sinks in, slowly as he always does, enjoying the feeling of every inch filling you up until he bottoms down. 

“You alright?” Haechan asks, and you nod with a small smile on your face. 

“Please fuck me?” You ask, trying to don’t show how eager you are. 

He chuckles but doesn’t tease you, instead, he places a hand on your hip and the other at the side of your head on the bed as his hips start moving. Each thrust is deep and long, knocking the air out of your lungs. And you get lost in the smooth movements of his body, rolling so easily to please you —God bless all those years of dancing. Your head rolls back when he snuggles in the crook of your neck to leave kisses on your skin, and your arms fly to wrap around him and bring him closer. 

You barely notice how one of his hands sneaks under your arched back to free you from the bra, and only sigh at the feeling of freedom that quickly gets overwhelmed with pleasure when his lips wrap around your hard nipples. 

“Fuck, Hyuck,” you whimper with your fingers clenched hard around his hair. You’re tempted to look at him, staring at his concentrated face as he sucks on your nipple, sending more shivers down your spine, but you’re too lost in pleasure and can’t bring yourself to look up. 

You bite your lips when he moves to the other side and the chill air of the room lingers over the warmth left by his mouth. The constant stimulation of your sensitive buds sends new shivers down your spine and makes the knot in your stomach tighten. 

“Fuck, babe, your boobs are so soft,” Haechan moans against your skin. His other hand creeps up and wraps around the neglected one, squeezing tight. 

A breathy moan rolls from your hips as your hand tangles in his hair and your hips jerk up against him.

“What? Why are you pulling away?” You ask in a whine when Haechan moves away from you and pulls out. 

“I don’t think you want me to rip them, right?” Haechan snickers as his fingers pull your panties down. 

“Oh, I thought — never mind,” you mumble, feeling heat creep on your face.  

He smiles, his gaze is gentle as ever as he lifts your face. “You thought I was leaving you?” 

You nod shyly, biting your lips. 

“I would never. See? I’m right here,” he reassures you. His lips meet yours, one hand cups your face and the other helps him slide into you again. 

You moan in the kiss while your hands reach his hair to pull him against you. “Want you,” you slur, watery eyes looking into his. 

“I’m here, I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers. “I just needed to get them out of the way.” 

Your lips meet again, and never truly part again. His rhythm picks up again, but this time he pushes your legs against your chest, reaching deeper, making you feel every inch more. 

“Hyuck,” you whine, throwing your head back as you gasp for more air. 

“Feels good? Do you like it when I fuck you like this?” 

You nod frenetically. “Feels — feels good.” 

Haechan smirks, thumb brushing on your burning cheek before running over your quivering lips. “You’re so beautiful when you’re vulnerable like this,” he whispers, and you’re not sure you were supposed to hear it because it feels as if he’s talking about something else. It’s about you showing yourself fully to him, with no armor, and no mask, and not only during sex. 

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Taking me so well, so warm and wet,” he mutters under his breath, messily kissing you again, and reaching for your hand to intertwine it with his. With each drag of his dick inside of you, you feel closer to the edge, and automatically your legs wrap around his waist, pushing him deeper. 

“Fuck,” he groans, not expecting you to do that, and you feel his hips falter for a second, but he swiftly picks up the steady rhythm. 

“I’m close,” you whisper, and he hums. 

“Wait for me, can you, princess? I’m close too, just — fuck — just a bit more.” 

You nod and then feel the urge to do something. You’ve got more comfortable with time, but eye contact can still be pretty hard and vulnerable for you, yet you don’t think much when you cup his face and force him to look straight into your eyes. This time your stomach flutters from love, and you melt in his golden brown eyes looking into yours with nothing but love. And you can’t hold it anymore. “I love you,” you whisper, the sincerity and vulnerability in your voice watered down by lust but clearly there. 

Haechan doesn’t expect it; you see it in his eyes widening and you feel it in his hips slowing down for a few seconds. This is the first time it comes out of your lips while you’re having sex, he’s always the one getting a bit more caught up, confessing his love even in these intimate moments, while you save it for other times. He gulps, not knowing what do to, but then a shy smile creeps on his face as he lowers it again; just the time to regain his usual confidence before staring back at you. “I love you, too.” 

You smile, feeling warmth spread across your chest, and pull him in a kiss. 

And after that, you two are just skin and bones burning in synch in the passion of your love. One of your hands is in his hair, tugging a bit, while the other is wrapped around his shoulder, your nails scraping his delicate skin, and your legs are still wrapped around his waist. While Haechan’s hand is resting on your hip, and the other is holding his body up now that he’s lying closer to you and has more risk of losing balance. 

The orgasm washes over you at the same time as he keeps fucking into you and you kiss each other, moaning in the messy meeting of your lips. His fingers dig in your skin and your nails dig in his scalp, but none of you feel pain, just more pleasure as you both ride out your orgasm. 

Haechan doesn’t pull out right away. His head falls in the crook of your neck where he leaves more kisses, praising you in whispers, and you lay there with a dumb smile on your face. 

“Can I stay here inside of you forever?” He jokes, looking at you with a playful smirk on his face. 

You chuckle, shrugging. “I would lie if I said I’d be bothered, but unfortunately it would be impractical.”

“Fine, then just a bit more.” 

You both enjoy the intimacy of this closeness, occasionally kissing and caressing each other and when he pulls out of you, you groan, feeling suddenly cold. 

“I’ll be back, just let me get something to clean you up,” he says, leaving a peck on your lips before leaving. 

Haechan comes back with a wet towel in hand, sits next to you, and gently wipes you clean. Your legs close at the stimulation but his hand on your thighs helps you don’t focus on the fabric passing over your sensitive core. It’s quickly done, and he can come back next to you after a few minutes. 

You rest your head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, and smile when his hand wraps around you and starts caressing your back after pulling the covers on top of you. 

“Thank you,” Haechan whispers, eyes fixed on the ceiling. 

“For?” 

“For trying,” he replies, looking down at you to meet your eyes. “This time of the year is always so hard for you, and even last year you hated it, even if we were already together. I know you used to love it, but I thought it was going to take more time to live it with a light heart, well, as light as it can be,” he chuckles, but it’s an awkward laugh. There’s some pain in his voice, and you know that if it was possible he would take your pain and put it on his shoulders, but he can’t. 

You flip on your stomach, to look at him better, but that doesn’t stop his fingers from dancing on your back. 

“You underestimate me,” you joke. You’re not sure you want to talk about this now. The holidays are long, you’ve planned the entire week with his family, except for two days, you might still have some lows. But Haechan seems to always appreciate every small step you take, and you feel good in that pride. 

“No, I know how hard some things are for you. And even if I want you to get better, I would never force you into anything. And it’s… it just means so much to me that you did all of this for me. I mean, for you too, but you started planning months before, you proposed to invite my family over for me. And trust me, I know that our house is still a sacred safe place for you, and you still don’t easily let people in, but you let them. And letting them in is probably scarier than when you let me in back then. But you did it, because you know how much I love my family and how much I love this month and this celebration, and what you did means everything to me.” 

You chuckle, pushing back some tears because you don’t want to cry. “You gave me the strength to do it. I couldn’t stay anchored to the past any longer, it was now or never. If I started hating the holidays even with you by my side, it would’ve been the end of it all. I… once I start relating negative experiences with something I never stop doing that. As much I loved the way the Suhs invited me over in the past years, I knew I couldn’t take another pity-Christmas-dinner. We should have one with them too one day, maybe, but no more pity, I can’t take it anymore.” 

Haechan smiles, caressing your face. “You were different when we ate at Johnny’s last time, I think his parents saw that too. And they weren’t walking on eggshells anymore. Let’s be honest, with you it’s not eggshells, it’s bombs, so I can’t blame them.” 

A soft laugh rolls off your tongue as your head falls against his chest, but the lighthearted moment comes to an end when a veil of sadness falls on your face. 

“Something wrong?” 

You shake your head. “No, I just realized some things.” 

“About you?” 

“About you,” you say. “I feel I will never be able to make you understand how much you changed my life for the better. And I know that in your eyes I sound so dramatic at times, but…” you sigh, eyes falling on the white sheets before meeting his curious gaze again. “But you mean so much to me, and you taught me everything I had forgotten with time. I used to go on with my days, but I didn’t fully live them. I was constantly afraid: of failing, of hurting someone, even killing someone, so I didn’t love, I didn’t feel. All my emotions in the past years were felt by a 30%, just to fool myself that if I didn’t give, if I didn’t put myself out there, I was safe, and… looking back at it now, it sucked.” You stop again, trying to give an order to your thoughts, and Haechan gets it. He doesn’t talk, he waits and listens. Haechan listens. To your words. To your cries. But most importantly to your silence. Because with you, at times, it says much more than words. 

“Somehow, I had died with him that day. Not physically, but I was quick to kill myself to punish myself for what happened. And then you brought me back to life. I was so scared with you because now I… I can die again. Now I have something to lose, I have so much to lose, and it should be scary, but I weirdly feel at peace. I know it doesn’t look like it, but I notice it because I scheme for the little things now, and just let life wash over me. I don’t want control of the bigger picture, I can direct the behind-the-scenes, I guess,” you joke, and he laughs too. His face is relaxed, and it feels good to be an open book, to have no fear of opening up and fearing that the other will leave. “Your mom told me something that made me think of this. As long as we’ll have each other’s back, it won’t be as scary. And this would be scary too if I felt that one of us wasn’t 100% sure of this relationship but, I don’t know, I have the impression that we might want to be in this for a long time.” 

Haechan chuckles, and then nods, pretending to think about it. “Yeah, I like ‘for a long time’. It’s stable but not forever. Let’s be honest, would I want to date you even in the afterlife? Nah, come on, give me a break at least there.” 

You laugh and then wrap an arm around his torso. “Just two dates with other ghosts, and then you’re coming back to me.” 

“Yeah, fine,” he huffs, but his voice is filled with irony, and then his lips are on yours again. 

“Be honest, was the lasagna that good, or did they fake it?” You ask with a furrow on your forehead, still tangled in the hug. 

Haechan laughs. “Oh my god, I gave you a mind-blowing orgasm and you’re still thinking about that? But yeah, it was good, if it was bad, you would’ve seen it in their faces. They loved it, and they love you.” 

The conversation doesn’t die there, but shifts from funny moments you had yesterday and the plans you have for the days to come. Then you realize you haven’t texted Johnny and his family a Merry Christmas yet; you could’ve done it in the morning, but you were used to waiting at midnight together and even if it’s almost 3 am, you still want to do it to somehow keep your tradition alive. 

You grab your phone, and write him a text, finishing it with the promise you’ll also be calling him tomorrow. You have so many things to tell him, you know it’s going to be a long call in the morning as you prepare everything for lunch. And right before you’re about to lock the screen again, Haechan stops you. 

“Wait, wait, wait, what? Who’s that?” He says, pointing at the name of a contact and you laugh. “Why are you laughing? What’s funny? My pathetic loser?”

“With a heart at the end,” you add, showing him the phone. “It’s you by the way.” 

Haechan gasps offended, but you see it’s all an act and he’s just curious to know why you have him saved like that. “Really? I’m a loser? A pathetic loser?” 

“No, you’re my pathetic loser,” you correct him.  

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Oh, wow, that makes me feel better,” he jokes. 

“Well, it’s how I saved you when I got your number three years ago.” 

His eyes widen even more, and you’re not sure he’s completely faking it. “And couldn’t change it to something more romantic over the years?” 

“This is the romantic version. At first, you weren’t mine, just the cheesy, annoying, simpy, guy Johnny tried to make me hook up with, but now, you are the cheesy, annoying, simpy, love of my life.” 

He groans, ripping the pillow from under his head to hide his face and scream in it and you laugh at his reaction. “And then I’m the cheesy, romantic one!” He points out and you only shrug. 

“I can change it if you don’t like it,” you say, snuggling closer to him, pulling the pillow away to kiss his jawline and caress his hair back, soft and long, framing his face perfectly. 

“Are you kidding? I love it,” he says, pulling you on top of him, and kissing you. 

“Good, I’m glad you like it, my pathetic loser.” 

It’s late, but you can’t stop talking, tangled up in the sheets, after slipping back into your comfy pajamas, peeing, and leaving the shower for the morning. You tell him the stories you didn’t say today, and he tells you some others his family doesn’t know, and just when the clock hits 4, sleep starts to take over. The soft caresses on your back and his warm body close to yours lull you into a comfortable sleep.

It’s Christmas, you’re in Haechan’s arms, wearing matching pajamas, and your hearts are beating as one. Today will be another long day, but you’re confident it will be amazing, and what’s left of your fears won’t eat you up. They don’t matter, the past doesn’t matter, there’s only one thing that matters now. 

There are only three rules left: be alive, love, and be loved. 

general taglist: @froggyforyoongi , @wingsss45 ; @tddyhyck ; @technologyculturedneo ; @yellowgirllsblog

hits different taglist: @adorejaehyn​ ; @matchahyuck​ ; @jjhmk ; @ourbeautifulaffair​ ; @what-the-jams :​ @oleoleniall ;​ @kundann ; @bbagu​ ; @ismileeprnc-responder​ ; @produmads​ ; @zkdlllin ;​ @yesohhsehun​ ; @aliceinwhateverland ;​ @strangevante​ 

taglist with some people that interacted under HD (i hope this doesn’t bother you, just thought you might’ve liked being tagged since you showed love to the first one): @rjtulips ; @lmnhead ; @girlwholoveslpreppyattire ; @lovingvoidgoatee ; @brownsugarbaybee ; @canknot ; @adollsblog ; @ch1llkill ; @bacons-thighs ; @emptynote ; @addyanm ; @marklovexs ; @softieehcficrecs ; @brightestmark ; @jyanigoth ; @haechskies ; @rum-gone-why ; @melloworm ; @cheolctrl ; @taegr0wls ; @onlyseokmins ; @xtrataerrestrial ; @222brainrot ; @johnny-sassville ; @ujisworld ; @cup1dton ; @21497s ; @slushhie ; @sakamoto-hey ; @uyukyeom

taglist with people that interacted with the post: @harrypinks ; cont in comments

© neowinestaindress; all rights reserved. do NOT repost, modify, or translate any work from this blog on any other platform and claim it as yours. you can find my works on ao3 (neowinestaindress) and wattpad (winestaintedress_; currently inactive).

[jjunieworld]

epilogue. notes between the fabrics ⸝ ˚⋆

↳ some of the notes you found amongst the hoodies and sweaters that soobin gave you.

[dated ➛ date at the diner]

to my beautiful beautiful y/n,

i love you more than there are stars in the sky. your smile shines brighter than all of them combined. with you, i’ve never felt more alive. i’m just glad that i get to call you mine.

�� binnie, your love

p.s. sorry if this is cheesy… i can't wait to let you know how much you mean to me.

[dated ➛ while baking sweets after your birthday disaster]

to my super sweet y/n,

i fucked up really really bad, and i think i might’ve lost you forever. its been keeping me awake at night, fueling my nightmares. i know you need your space, i know you don’t want to see me, but i cant let us end like this. so fucking stupid… now i’m here in the middle of the night baking so i have something to give you tomorrow. you’ll never know how truly sorry i am. i hope you’ll like the sweets.

— soobin, the fucking dumbass

[dated ➛ after the talk in the cornflower field]

to my beating heart, y/n,

i’ll wait however long it takes, even if it’s forever. and in the meantime, i’ll keep your heart safe. i’ll mend the cracks and i’ll soothe it until it learns to trust me again. until it beats for me again. i’ll wait until the end of the world and then after that if it means i’ll get to be with you. even if you don’t believe me, i genuinely do love you more than anything.

— your hopeful beating heart, binnie

[dated ➛ when you put on his hoodie instead]

to my burning flame, y/n,

you’re my light through the dark, my burning flame, you always will be. even if i come too close to your fire and get burnt, i don’t care. i enjoy the warmth. the thought of you leads me out of the tunnel and into the light that is you. that’s all i need, and my body flushes at the fact that it’s all you need too.

— binnie, the wanderer guided by your light

[dated ➛ the afternoon before your do-over first date]

to my breathtaking girlfriend, y/n,

tomorrow is our do-over first date and i just left your dorm. the date is going to be a success, i can feel it, and i hope you do too. soon, we’ll write over all the bad memories with new and happy ones. i’ll make sure that you’re always happy so that you’ll never think about all the bad things that happened to you because of me ever again. i know you said you forgave me and that it’s okay, but i’m really really sorry. i am. to my beautiful beautiful, super sweet, beating heart, burning flame, and breathtaking girlfriend, i love you more than i can ever express. i’ll see you at 6pm tomorrow.

— binnie, your love, the fucking dumbass, your hopeful beating heart, the wanderer guided by your light, and your head-over-heels boyfriend

you never really told soobin about finding his little notes here and there, and he never mentioned accidentally leaving them places. you assumed that it was a way for him to express his feelings in a different type of way that still felt personal and you didn’t want to take that from him. you also didn’t want the notes to stop either.

admittedly, they always brightened your day significantly whenever you found them. even if they weren’t explicitly about you and soobin, they were always addressed to you. rather it would be about his love for you or a hard day he had, you liked that you got to see a glimpse into his head in a different way. it made you feel even more closer to him.

one day, you had went out and had gotten a little fancy box to keep all the notes you’ve found in. you kept the box hidden safely in one of the storing containers under your bed, and you only brought it out to add more notes when you were alone.

it’s not that you didn’t want your friends to know about the notes, it’s that they didn’t need to know about them. they were personal, and just something between you and soobin.

maybe one day in the future you’ll make a subtle hint to soobin about all the notes he addresses to you, but in the meantime, they’ll be kept safe in your pretty little box under your bed. and each time you find one, you’ll give soobin a kiss of gratitude for him letting you inside his heart—your heart.

masterlist.

summary: choi soobin has always been the popular kid surrounded by his popular friends. y/n… not so much. one night, soobin and his friends make bet that soobin can’t get y/n to date him in a month. unfortunately for y/n, they’re a hopeless romantic.

A/N: this is the official end!! *sobs* *cries* *slides down wall and clutches hand to chest* i hope you all had a fun time reading and i hope i didn’t hurt your heart too much with the angst lmaooo 😭 thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed!! feel free to send asks in about this story at any time! just because the smau has come to an end, doesn’t mean the conversation has to!!! ♡

taglist: @jjunberry @gothgyuu @spooksh0wbabe @beargyuuzz @carengene @binluvsu @seunnimg @vixensss @kittyhyuka @beomsite @hueningm1ckey @n034sy @littlestxli @starsforbeomgyu @soobiary @bunnisoobin @heiiolifeee @cryingforgyu @dani-is-tired @damn-u-min-yoongi @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @icouldntcareless22 @sleepdeprivedline @jhuuni @thepoopdokyeomtouched @rikizm @curiousgworge @nakaopolo @mwahvvis @cupidsmoons @soobhns @ryunjin0 @punkhazardlaw @phtogravi @choibeomkai @soobiverse @rapmonie2047 @riaawr (if your name is bold it wouldn’t let me tag you!)

— kipo <3

[beybaldes]

of the goodness, love, I still carry for you

masterlist

Sejanus Plinth x gn!reader

summary: He sounded ridiculous; you’d want him for forever and then even longer then that.

OR

the one where home is wherever Sejanus plinth is

warnings: okay gurl pls l'm making it up as I go along pls ignore how un-cannon-like this can be at times l've decided anything is possible lol oops, probably 0OC but it's okay because Sejanus is baby boy, final part to my three part part Sejanus mini series, fix it fic I promise my boy deserves to be happy :((

an: thank you so much for all the love on my other two Seianus fics!!! <33 more to come soon <33

The games are over within a few days, Lucy Gray its victor and Coriolanus Snow the winner of the Plinth prize. And you’ve been spending every moment since pulling Sejanus out of the arena at his side; you’ve even taken to sleeping in his bed with him, not that Sejanus minded, too terrified to even risk letting him out of your sights. That’s why you have no idea how it’s gotten past you that he wanted to become a peacekeeper.

It must have been a conversation held during a meeting with his father, such events you and Ma Plinth were banned from even being near, let alone participating in. Strabo had made it clear he thought that two of you were too emotionally invested in his Son’s doings, and didn’t care enough about the continuation of his wealth and prestige. So, you’d figured his dad must have forced him to do it as some kind of punishment for his out-lash against the capital, as some kind of reminder that rebels - even the rich ones - would get punished.

“I asked him to go.” Sejanus reached for your shaking hand, running his thumb over your knuckles as his other thumb ran across your cheek, wiping away the tears that ran down your face. “It was my idea, please don’t cry.”

You couldn’t understand. Well, you could. Sejanus wanted to fix the problem and he thought that this was the best way to do it, he’d talked himself in and you knew he wouldn’t back down from it now. 20 years is so long, you wouldn’t stop him, but letting him go would break your heart. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know.” Sejanus continued to wipe away your tears. It felt like sorry was something he was saying a lot lately. As you tried to calm your crying, he slipped off the edge of the mattress and onto one knee, his hand now reaching into his pockets and pulling out a simple ring, what you would later find to be a silver band with an ‘S’ carved into it.

“Sejanus…”

“It’s not what you think.” He quickly interrupted, holding the ring out to you with slightly shaky hands. The two of you were young, maybe too young for marriage, but that didn’t mean he didn’t already know that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. “Well, not entirely, but it is a promise. That in 20 years I’ll come back for you, and we can be together. That I’ll spend the next 20 years thinking of you and waiting to come back and be here, and marry you if you’ll still want for me then.”

He sounded ridiculous; you’d want him for forever and then even longer then that.

“Marry me now.” You pleaded, leaning forward and cradling his face between your hands. Fervently, you pressed your lips to his in a quick succession of kisses, Sejanus barely getting the opportunity to lean into the soft touch of your lips with each one. “Marry me now, I’ll come with you, we’ll figure something out.”

Sejanus leaned back, just out of reach of your kisses so he could speak to you clearly, the ring still clasped tightly in the palm of his hand. If this was your way of saying yes, it was surely a strange one. “Peacekeepers can’t get married in their service, you know that.” His hand came up to cover one of your own against his cheek, his thumb running across your knuckles soothingly. “It’s not that I wouldn’t marry you tomorrow if I could, but I can’t.“

“Your service doesn’t start for three more days, Sejanus. For three more days you are solely mine.” You pleaded, begging him to stay, begging him to make it work so that you’d never have to leave his side again. He found himself falling more and more for your words with each one that came out of your mouth. “I’ll come with you, we’ll find a way, we’ll make it work.”

Sejanus’s brown pinched and tears began to form in his own eyes. “Y/n, I could never ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking me, Sej, I’m telling you. I’d travel the lengths of Panem for you. That Is all I’m doing, keeping my promise.” Sejanus swore he fell more and more in love with you every second the two of you spent together, he didn’t know what he had done to deserve someone like you, and he didn’t think he ever would.

It wasn’t safe though - Trying to sneak you into the districts with him. There was so, so much that could go wrong and he was worried it wasn’t enough to let him entertain the idea any longer. “You can’t, okay? We won’t have money, we won’t have a home, I’ll be in the barracks and I can’t say where you’d go. It won’t be safe, I won’t be able-“ Sejanus paused. As much as he wanted you to come with him and he by his side, he couldn’t let you, not when things were so uncertain. “Would you really relish being married to a poor peacekeeper?”

Sejanus’s words had thrown you off guard, as far as you were concerned nothing mattered except him. It didn’t matter where you were or what you went through as long as he was at your side. Pulling his lips to yours, you placed a long, slow kiss against them, parting and barely moving away, whispering your answer against his lips. “I relish being married to you. I don’t care where you are or by what means. I just want you.”

“An Angel amongst the people of the capital.” He mused, looking into your glossy eyes. One of his hands moved beneath your chin, pressing two fingers under it to guide you into another kiss. “Who would’ve thought I’d have found you?”

The two of you didn’t dare waste anymore time, pulling on your Sunday best and running from Sejanus’s bedroom to the Plinths living room hand in hand, asking Ma if she would be willing to come and bear witness to your union. In the car ride over to the courthouse, Sejanus had apologised, taking your hand in his and bringing it tenderly to his lips, pressing the sweetest of kisses against your ring finger.

“I know it’s not much. And it’ll never be enough.” He’d whispered, eyes unmoving from your face even though Ma was excitedly ranting about how she had known that this day would come since Sejanus came home talking about you after his first day at the academy all those years ago. “But I cannot wait to marry you.”

He didn’t have to wait long. Within the hour, the two of you were stood before a minister, hand in loving hand and swapping promises, sealing them with a final ‘I do,’ and one long kiss.

Neither of you had stopped smiling since. Even hours and hours later, way into the darkness of the night when the two of you were laying together silently in bed, you couldn’t stop smiling. One of Sejanus’s arms was bent back and resting under his head, the other curled around your waist and keeping you pressed against him. Both your hands cradled his face, allowing you to pull him into kisses when you weren’t busy admiring every freckle and wrinkle that adorned his face. You wondered what he’d look like when he was older.

“I’m going to miss your curls.” It was no secret that the peacekeepers were meant to be uniform in every way possible and that meant shaved heads amongst other things. You’d miss the simplicity of it; threading your fingers through the dark curls as you lay together or as you kissed him. So you did both one last time for good measure, knowing that tomorrow they’d be gone.

“It’s hair.” Sejanus cooed, pressing a kiss to your temple, his curls brushing against your skin as he moved. “We have the rest of our lives for it to grow back.”

For the remaining two days that you had left together, you didn’t spend more then a single second apart. Every time you tried to suggest you find a way to come with him, Sejanus shut it down, and you’d been forced to somewhat come to terms with it. Sejanus would be fine and you would be too, though you’d rather spend the next 20 years by his side, at least you knew that after his service was over, you’d be able to spend the rest of your life together. 20 years apart started an hour earlier then you would’ve liked, Sejanus wanting your final goodbye to be in a happy place, one where he’d seen your face so many times. He didn’t want your last goodbye to be in that train station.

“You worry too much, Sej.” Your arms looped around his shoulders, scratching at what little hair remained at the nape of his neck now. What you knew he needed to hear wasn’t what you felt, but you’d make it work just to be here with him. “It’s going to be fine, we’re going to be fine.”

“Okay, okay.” He took one last look at you, hands quickly moving to cradle your face and pull you in for a long, passion filled kiss. “I love you, be safe for me.”

“You look good in blue.” Soothing down the material of his peacekeeper coveralls, you lay your palms flat against his chest as you stole one final kiss. “I love you, be safe for me.”

Sejanus gave you one last smile, cradling your face in his large hand and looking you over, making sure he’d remember every single smile line and wrinkle, then ran for the car that was taking him to the station. He held your gaze until he’d driven so far out of sight he was just a blue speck behind a window.

~*~

20 years, and 20 million tears, to the day have passed since the Sejanus left you. Sure, you’d exchanged letters through out his service and from what he’d told you he was making real change in the districts; he’d moved about over the years but he’d always found time to write to you and promise his return home one day. A part of you was always worried he’d grow too fond on the districts and not want to return home, but a bigger part of you knew that wasn’t true: Sejanus would go anywhere if he believed that you were there too.

When the hour comes you’re already at the train station, surrounded by a few other families who are waiting for their fathers, sons, brothers and husbands to return home. It wasn’t often men from the capital would do the service, but the small crowd on the platform made you feel less alone as you waited for your Sejanus to make his final journey home.

As he paces the length of the train carriage, Sejanus wishes he was back in the barracks - not because he wants to be there instead, but because he’s sick to his stomach thinking this isn’t about to go how he hopes it will. For 20 years he’s dreamt of this moment, and anything could happen, he realises as the train begins to pull into the station. He’s older now, he knows that, and he isn’t the same person he was when he left. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but would you even still love him now, after 20 years apart?What if something had happened to you since you last wrote? What if it hadn’t been you the whole time, but someone pretending to be you? What if you’d lost your love for him over the years and were only writing because you pitied him? What if you’d-

“Sejanus!”

Somehow you’d spotted him through the crowd, running right through it and throwing yourself straight into his arms and slotting your lips against his in an instant. Like an Angel, you’d appeared before him, a glowing smile and the touch he’d craved so much, his once more. God, what had ever possessed him to leave you behind for 20 years?

Every time he tried to pull away from the soft kiss of your lips against his you chased after him, capturing him in a kiss again, and again, and again. It had been the longest 20 years of your life, and now that he was back in your arms, you were never going to let him go again.

“Hey, hey, let me get a look at you.” Sejanus finally managed to get you to stop kissing him, not that he necessarily wanted you to stop, but he wanted more to get a good look over you and make sure you were okay. And you were - in fact, you’d never been better now that Sejanus was back by your side.“You’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” You confirmed, the smile on your face red from kisses galore and your cheeks burning hot to the touch. “Now let me get a look at you, Mr Peacekeeper. See what damage the barracks have done to my sweet Sejanus Plinth.” He looked older and even thought it was all you’d thought about it actually hit that you’d not seen him in 20 years, of course he looked older. But God, even with hair that was beginning to grey a little and more wrinkles on his face then he’d had when he left, he still looked exactly like you remembered him; like your Sejanus Plinth. The bags under his eyes were deeper than any you’d ever seen, and he had a scrape along his jaw where the strap of his helmet had began to rub against his skin. When you reached up to run your finger along it, he pulled your palm flat against his cheek, closing his eyes and leaning into your touch. It didn’t take a genius to realise that for the first time since leaving here, Sejanus felt at peace. “Lets get you home, shall we?”

“Home.” Sejanus mused, getting a feeling for how the word tasted in his mouth. When was the last time he had called somewhere ‘home’? He looped a finger into your waistband, pulling you flush against him. His other hand caressed your cheek, bringing your lips to his in a slow and sensual kiss. Though 20 years had passed, he felt as though nothing had changed at all, and with some change made and an ease in his soul, Sejanus was ready to live out the rest of his life at your side. “Yeah, let’s go home.”

 an: that is the end of my Sejanus mini series!! Thank you for reading <33 more Sejanus fics to come but definitely more domestic fluffy kind of ones 🙏🏼 love you guys!! Let me know what you think of this <3

tag list: @celestialstar111

[devilishdescent]

GIRL IN THE MIRROR - A fist is driven into your gut and sticks there, aching. Primal chemistry has hijacked the muscles in your abdomen and now runs them ragged trying to squeeze blood from a stone - or rather, from a uterus that does not exist. Go ahead: lie there in bed, scroll on your phone, distract yourself if you can. The pain will be waiting. It’ll find the gaps in your attention and it’ll make itself heard. These are the worst period cramps you’ve ever had.

HERSTORY [Easy: Success] - Lilith’s kiss, baby. Don’t you feel validated? You’re a part of the 51% now, so get used to it.

VAGUS NERVE [Medium: Failure] - You need to take a shit.

1. Lie there and take it. You earned this.

2. This sucks. Let’s do something about it.

3. Don’t you have shit to do besides deal with this? Homework? Work-work? They’ll probably go away on their own.

4. Go take a shit.

GIRL IN THE MIRROR - Let’s! What are our options? Sound off, girls.

FINGERTIPS [Medium: Failure] - Just rub on it. Stick your hands between your belly and your little pubic fat pad and massage that shit. Get vicious if you have to.

HARMLESS BOYFRIEND [Easy: Success] - We still have that old sock full of rice that Juliana used to use for just this thing. It’s in the underwear drawer. Put it in the microwave for a minute thirty and find someone to kiss you on the forehead.

TRANSBIANITY - Seconded.

SLAVERING [Trivial: Success] - Oh PLEASE let me take care of this one, anesthesia is my whole bag! We got choices, too: weed, wine, that old bottle of oxy from when we tore a muscle in your neck, there’s vodka in the freezer, that girl with the scarred hand left some Claws -

TRANSBIANITY - You could just say there’s some Claws in the fridge. …Sorry, am I being weird?

COLD SHOWER [Challenging: Success] - Don’t we have any normal painkillers? Aspirin? Ibuprofen?

ONANISTA [Heroic: Success] - You heard once that I could help. But you aren’t sure if that’s true, and… Well, I’ve been so tired lately…

1. Let’s try rubbing on your guts.

2. Get the old rice sock out.

3. Let’s get INFLUENCED even though it’s 9:28am and you’re trying not to do that kind of thing anymore!

4. [Rationing: Formidable] Go find some normal painkillers.

5. [Onanista: Impossible] Jerk off.

6. Maybe I’ll just lie here instead. [Conclude.]

GIRL IN THE MIRROR - Up. Out of bed. Cold. Drawer, sock. Kitchen. Microwave. So cold. You have to stop it and turn it halfway through because the turning thing is broken. When the sock is done, it smells like, well, warm rice.

TRANSBIANITY [Easy: Success] - And sick girlfriend.

VAGUS NERVE [Medium: Failure] - You still need to take a shit.