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surielstea · 14 days ago

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Spelling it Out

Based on a request.

Pairing: Cassian x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is a bit oblivious to Cassian’s flirtations, so Cassian has to go the extra mile to prove he truly wants her.

Warnings: Cassian probably makes some suggestive jokes somewhere in here, but it’s all fluff! :)

4.6k words.

"I brought coffee," I announce as I step into the studio's warm embrace, the door swinging shut behind me to keep the morning chill at bay. I balance the two cups in one hand, the other cradling the new set of paints Feyre had asked me to pick up this morning.

"Back here!" Feyre's voice carries from the storage room, muffled slightly by the rustling of cardboard.

I follow the sound, stepping into the small back area where she's surrounded by half-unpacked boxes. She exhales in relief as she rushes up to me, taking her coffee with eager hands.

"You're a lifesaver," she groans, lifting the steaming cup to her lips. "Thank you."

I set the paints down, glancing at the boxes. "I thought the shipments were too heavy to unload?"

Feyre hums around her coffee, eyes twinkling. "Oh, I had help—"

Before she can finish, a figure stalks through the doorway, his presence effortlessly filling the space. A box—one that Feyre and I together had struggled to move—rests in his arms like it weighs nothing.

"This should be the last one," the male says, setting it down with casual ease.

His voice is deep, rough-edged in a way that demands attention. I take in the broad cut of his shoulders, the way his wings shift behind him, arching slightly as he straightens. And then I see his face—hazel eyes rich as molten gold, a scar cutting through his dark brow, and a mouth curled into an easy, knowing smile. He's ruggedly handsome, but not in that delicate, ethereal way most High Fae are. No, he's something else entirely—something solid, real.

"Help from Cassian," Feyre finishes, amusement lacing her tone.

The name stiles me immediately, and I was a fool for not immediately putting it together the second I saw him. Cassian. Lord of Bloodshed.

He turns his gaze to me, openly assessing, and I take the opportunity to do the same. There's something about the way he looks at me, like he's mapping every detail—filing it away for later.

"I didn't know we'd have company," I say, forcing my focus back to the present. "I would've brought another coffee."

Cassian huffs a soft laugh. "Oh, no need. I've been up for hours." His voice carries the same warmth as his grin, rough yet inviting. "But that's a kind gesture."

I nod, offering a small smile in return.

"I don't believe you two have officially met," Feyre chimes in, shifting her attention between us. "Cass, this is my very talented friend. She keeps this place running."

"She gives me too much credit," I say, shaking my head.

Cassian, however, tilts his head, his expression unreadable. "I doubt that." The certainty in his tone knocks something loose in my chest.

"This is Cassian," Feyre continues, grinning. "Rhys' brother and the best guy to call for lifting heavy things."

Cassian makes a sound of protest. "Don't forget hilarious, intelligent, devastatingly handsome—I mean, the list goes on."

I huff a quiet laugh as he extends his hand.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Cassian." I smile as I take his hand.

His fingers close around mine, warm and calloused, his grip firm but not overwhelming.

"Likewise, sweetheart." His smirk deepens, and before I can pull away, his thumb brushes ever so slightly over the back of my hand—a touch so fleeting, so deliberate, that I almost convince myself I imagined it. Then he winks, a quick, knowing thing, before finally releasing me.

I swallow, ignoring the odd flutter in my stomach. I've heard the stories from Feyre, how when she originally arrived in the night court she may as well have ended up with Cassian with his relentless flirting. He's joking, I remind myself. That's just how he is.

Cassian dusts his hands off on his leathers before flashing me an easy grin. "You must be the one keeping Feyre sane around here."

I huff a quiet laugh, setting down the paints. "I do my best. But she keeps me busy."

"She does that," he muses, glancing at Feyre. "Though I didn't realize she had such a beautiful assistant."

I blink at him, caught off guard. "Oh—I'm not really her assistant. More like a glorified errand runner."

Feyre scoffs. "That is not true."

Cassian's gaze flicks back to me, assessing. "You're an artist too, then?"

I nod while shucking off my winter coat and hanging it on the back of a chair. "That's the idea."

His grin widens. "Now I'm definitely going to start hanging around more. I could use a few painting tips."

Feyre snorts. "You paint?"

"Not yet," he says, unbothered. "But I'm a fast learner. And I've always appreciated a good work of art."

Something about the way he says it, about the way his hazel eyes flick over me like he's taking his time, makes my stomach flutter.

But before I can respond, he flashes me a smirk, turning back to Feyre. "Anyway, mission accomplished. Boxes are in, and I fully expect my reward."

"Which is?" Feyre asks dryly.

Cassian smirks. "Your eternal gratitude. And maybe a good bottle of whiskey, if Rhys is feeling generous."

Feyre rolls her eyes, but I can't help my smile.

"How about next time we need your help, you'll be the first one we call?" I suggest, noticing Feyre's playful disinterest in rewarding him for being a good friend.

Cassian grins like I've just made his day. "Oh, sweetheart. You can call me anytime."

His voice drops just enough to send an odd warmth curling through my stomach. But before I can overthink it, he turns toward the door.

Cassian turns slightly, glancing at me and Feyre. "I'll be seeing you around, hopefully." He directs at me. "See you for dinner, Feyre."

And just like that, he's gone, leaving only the scent of wind and cracking embers in his wake.

I shake my head, amused, as I turn back to Feyre—only to find her already watching me over the rim of her coffee cup.

"What?"

She only smirks, taking a slow sip. "Nothing."

I frown but brush it off, reaching for the new paints.

Cassian was just being friendly. That's all.

Right?

—

From that moment on, Cassian made every excuse to come to the studio. Half the time, he didn't even bother with a valid reason—just threw out a casual "I was in town" when, in reality, he always was. Velaris wasn't nearly as big as he made it out to be.

The bell above the door rang, and I didn't need to look up to know whose footsteps were approaching behind me.

"Is that supposed to be a bird?" Cassian mused, leaning over my shoulder.

I scoffed, shoving his face away. "It's a dog, and you know it."

He chuckled, easily dodging my half-hearted push and settling right back beside me. "Mmm. If you say so." His wings rustled as he peered at my work again, this time with something softer in his expression. "It's amazing, sweetheart. You're so damn talented."

The sincerity in his voice made my stomach flutter. I tilted my head back to look up at him, caught off guard by the rare note of awe in his tone.

That awe melted into something else—something warm and teasing—as he placed both hands on my shoulders and started kneading gently.

I nearly groaned on the spot. "Gods, you're perfect at that." I exhaled, practically melting under his touch.

Cassian hummed, his thumbs working expertly over the knots in my shoulders.

I sighed blissfully, rolling my shoulders into his hands. "You should've been a healer."

He chuckled, his breath fanning against my ear. "I'd rather just take care of you, sweetheart."

I smiled, tilting my head further into his touch, completely missing the way his fingers stilled for a beat before continuing their slow, deliberate strokes.

"You really are tense," he murmured, pressing into the tight muscles just beneath my neck. "Is this what happens when you spend all day hunched over, painting little dogs that look like birds?"

I smacked his arm lightly. "If you're going to insult my work, at least pretend to be subtle about it."

"Who said anything about insulting?" His thumbs dug in a little deeper, his voice dropping just enough to make my skin heat. "I love watching you work. All focused, biting your lip, completely lost in it."

I wrinkled my nose. "That makes me sound like some kind of absent-minded hermit."

Cassian grinned. "A very cute absent-minded hermit."

I rolled my eyes. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Cassian."

"That's funny because I feel like it's getting me everywhere," he mused, his hands still kneading at my shoulders. "You're practically purring."

"I am not purring," I argued, though I made no move to stop him.

"Cassian, stop distracting my employees!" Feyre's voice rang from the back room, laced with exasperation.

Cassian smirked, straightening up from where he'd been massaging my shoulders. "Employee," he corrected with a lazy grin. "And I'm motivating her."

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth of his hands still lingered on my skin, a phantom pressure I refused to dwell on.

He chuckled, stepping back, stretching in that way that made every muscle in his absurdly broad body flex just enough to be noticed. His wings flared slightly, shifting behind him like an afterthought before he shot me another smirk. "I'll let you get back to it, sweetheart." Then, with a slow tilt of his head—"Unless you'd rather take a break and let me keep working these magic hands?"

My breath caught for half a second before I forced myself to scoff. "No," I said, ignoring the small blush creeping up my neck. "But... could I ask you a favor?"

Cassian perked up instantly, arms folding over his chest. "Anything, gorgeous."

I hesitated, suddenly second-guessing myself, but forged ahead. "I need to paint an anatomical feature I've been studying. I have a few reference images, but..." I swallowed, glancing at his wings. "I was hoping I could use you as a live model?"

His brows lifted, hazel eyes gleaming with intrigue. "My wings?"

I nodded. "Your wings are far more magnificent than the sketches in my book."

The moment the words left my mouth, I realized how they sounded—how appreciative they were—and my face went hot.

Cassian, of course, took full advantage. His wings stretched slightly as if preening under the attention. "You just trying to get me shirtless, sweetheart?"

A very unhelpful image flashed in my head—of him, shirtless, all sculpted muscle and golden skin, wings fanned out behind him in the studio's soft light.

"No!" I blurted, before catching myself. "I mean—it's just for the wings."

Cassian barked a laugh, shaking his head. "Only teasing, sweetheart. I'd love to."

I exhaled in relief. "Good. Are you free tomorrow?"

He tilted his head, grinning. "I'm here whenever you want me."

Something about the way he said it made my stomach flip.

I bit my lower lip slightly, nodding. "Thank you."

"I wouldn't thank me so fast," he mused, gaze flicking to me with unmistakable mischief. "You owe me after this."

I narrowed my eyes. "Owe you what?"

Cassian made a show of looking away, tapping his chin as though deep in thought. "Haven't decided yet," he hummed, lips twitching. "But don't worry, sweetheart. I'll think of something."

I huffed, waving him off. "Go bother someone else, Cassian."

He gave a dramatic bow, smirk firmly in place. "As you wish."

And with that, he sauntered off, wings twitching ever so slightly as he disappeared into the back of the studio—leaving Feyre standing there, watching me, amusement dancing in her eyes.

I turned back to my canvas, heat still prickling my skin.

—

I wasn't nervous.

There was no reason to be nervous.

It was just a painting. Just a model session. Nothing different from the dozens I'd done before.

Except, of course, this time the model was Cassian. And he was currently standing in the doorway of the studio, a lazy, devastatingly handsome grin on his face as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Told you I'd be here whenever you wanted me."

I cleared my throat, turning away quickly to gather my supplies. "Yes, well, I'd rather not have students knocking over easels trying to get a look at you, so we're setting up in the back."

He let out a low chuckle as he followed me. "What, afraid they'll get distracted?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, but I know you will."

"Fair point."

Once we stepped into the back room—where there were no prying eyes or interruptions—I pointed to the stool in the center of the space. "Sit there, facing away from me."

Cassian obeyed, but not before flashing me a smirk. "Getting bossy already?"

I ignored him, busying myself with setting up my canvas. "You can take off your shirt now."

"Damn, sweetheart—at least buy me dinner first."

I froze mid-motion, whipping my head around. "That's not—I didn't—"

Cassian just laughed, reaching over his shoulder to grab the back of his collar. In one smooth motion, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto a nearby table.

I regretted looking.

Because Mother above.

Cassian was made of solid muscle—thick, powerful shoulders, his back broad and sculpted as if the Cauldron had taken extra care in crafting every ridge, every dip, every inch of him. His wings, folded neatly against his back, only added to the sheer size of him.

I swallowed hard, thankful beyond belief that he was facing away.

"You good back there?" Cassian teased.

"I'm fine," I said, maybe a little too quickly.

I turned my attention to his wings. The pose needed to be just right—relaxed but natural, something that would emphasize their power without looking stiff or unnatural. I stepped forward, lifting my hands, then hesitated.

"Can I touch?" I asked softly, if there was one thing I learned from studying Illyrian anatomy it's that their wings were sensitive, sacred.

Cassian went still.

For a moment, there was silence. Then—so quiet I almost missed it—his breath hitched.

When he spoke again, his voice was different. Lower. "Yeah, sweetheart. Go ahead.

I exhaled slowly before pressing my fingertips to the strong, leathery membrane of his wing. Warmth radiated from him, the muscle beneath my touch twitching slightly as I carefully adjusted his positioning.

It was... exhilarating, in a way. To be granted access to something so personal.

I stepped back to assess the placement. "Are they too heavy to hold like that?"

Cassian laughed. "That's adorable."

I frowned. "What?"

"Sweetheart, these wings have carried me through battle, through storms, through the Illyrian mountains at full speed. I think I can manage to hold them still for a few hours."

I huffed. "Fine. But will you be able to sit still?"

That earned me another chuckle, this one softer. "Guess we'll find out, won't we?"

I shook my head and finally picked up my pencil, settling in front of my canvas.

"Alright," I murmured to myself, letting my nerves melt away as I focused on the work ahead. "Let's begin."

The soft scratch of pencil against canvas filled the room, steady, rhythmic—an anchor keeping me grounded as I worked.

I started with the shape of his wings, mapping out their vast expanse, the way they framed his body like an extension of his very presence. The leather stretched taut over powerful muscle, lined with delicate veins and faint, nearly imperceptible scars.

I shouldn't have been staring so intently.

I shouldn't have been so utterly captivated by every detail of him.

And yet, as I let my pencil glide over the page, shaping the curve of his shoulder blades, the slope of his spine, the corded muscles of his back... I couldn't stop.

He's just a model. Just another subject.

Then why did my fingers tremble slightly when I shaded the deep ridges of his scars? Why did my chest tighten at the thought of what he must have endured to earn them?

Cassian shifted slightly, flexing his shoulders, his wings twitching.

I snapped out of my daze, scowling. "Sit still."

He huffed a laugh. "I don't think I've ever sat this still in my entire life."

I hummed in response, refocusing. Carefully, I traced the lines of his back, the contours of muscle that spoke of centuries of battle, of training, of dedication. My gaze flicked up to his wings again, and a quiet sigh escaped me.

"What's that sound for?" he asked, the amusement clear in his voice.

I hesitated, then admitted, "They really are beautiful, you know."

Cassian stilled for a fraction of a second before letting out a soft chuckle. "Careful, sweetheart. Keep saying things like that and I might start thinking you actually like having me here."

I rolled my eyes. "You act like I don't."

Silence.

A pause, just long enough to make my stomach flutter with uncertainty.

Then, "Good. I like being here."

I pressed my lips together, pretending that warmth hadn't bloomed in my chest at his words. Pretending that I wasn't getting lost in the strong, elegant lines of his body.

I dipped my brush into the paint, moving on from the sketch to the first careful strokes of color.

Cassian's voice broke through the quiet. "You know, if you wanted a full anatomy study, you could've just asked."

I blinked, pulling back slightly. "...What?"

He turned his head just enough to smirk at me over his shoulder. "You're painting my back, too, aren't you?"

My cheeks heated. "Well—yes, but—"

"Seems unfair to only get half the view."

I huffed. "I don't need the full view, Cassian."

His smirk deepened. "That's a shame. I'd be a very cooperative model."

I nearly choked on air. "Just—shut up and sit still."

He laughed, the sound warm and rich, settling in my bones.

I shouldn't have been enjoying this so much.

I shouldn't have been admiring the golden-brown glow of his skin, the way the light cast soft shadows over the planes of his back. I shouldn't have let my eyes linger on the scars that marred him—proof of all he had endured, of everything he had survived.

And I certainly shouldn't have wished that all his teasing, all his flirtation, was anything more than just casual banter.

Cassian was like this with everyone.

Wasn't he?

I was not going to let Cassian distract me.

Even if he was currently sprawled in front of me, shirtless, his wings stretched just so, his body the most stunning thing I'd ever painted.

Even if his words curled around me like smoke, warm and teasing, making my thoughts race in ways they shouldn't.

I swallowed hard and turned my attention back to the canvas, forcing myself to focus.

I just had to finish the painting.

And ignore the way my heart had begun to beat just a little too fast.

The rhythmic strokes of my brush filled the quiet space, punctuated only by the occasional scrape of bristles against canvas and the steady sound of Cassian's breathing.

Nearly an hour has passed, and to his credit, he'd been holding still remarkably well. Mostly.

"You're awfully quiet back there, sweetheart," Cassian mused, his voice carrying just the hint of a smirk. "Not getting bored, are you?"

I huffed, dipping my brush into a deeper shade of pigment. "I'm working, Cassian."

"I am your work right now."

I rolled my eyes. "And you're a very high-maintenance subject."

Cassian chuckled. "I prefer engaging. You should be thanking me, really. Keeps things from getting dull."

I let out a soft laugh despite myself. "You're half-naked in front of me, Cassian. Things aren't exactly dull."

Silence.

A beat too long.

I froze as I realized what I'd just said.

Cassian's wings twitched. Then, "Well, well."

I groaned. "Forget I said that."

"Oh, absolutely not." He turned his head slightly, just enough for me to catch the smug curve of his lips. "You just admitted to being entertained by me. I'm savoring this moment."

"I said forget it."

"Nope. It's mine now."

I sighed, glaring at the canvas like it had personally wronged me.

Cassian chuckled again but thankfully let it drop, settling back into his position.

A few minutes passed in something almost resembling peace. I worked on layering in the first washes of color, the warm tones of his skin against the deeper hues of his wings.

Then—"So, do I get a say in how I'm portrayed?"

I lifted a brow. "Are you worried about artistic liberties?"

"A little."

I fought back a smile. "I could make you look very dramatic, if that's what you're asking. Add some storm clouds in the background. Maybe a tragic tear rolling down your face."

Cassian snorted. "As tempting as that sounds, I'd rather not be mistaken for some brooding, tortured soul."

I hummed. "That is Azriel's aesthetic."

"Exactly. We can't both have it."

"I don't know," I mused. "I think it could work. Maybe a single candle for dramatic lighting—"

"Absolutely not."

I grinned, but before I could make another remark, Cassian stretched, his wings flexing slightly before tucking back into place. The movement was so fluid, so casual—so utterly him.

I quickly went in with another light sketch, wanting to capture the way his muscles moved, the effortless strength in his frame.

"You still with me back there?" he teased, amusement lacing his voice.

"Yes, Cassian. Some of us are capable of focusing."

"Some of us just don't need to focus that hard to admire what's in front of us."

I frowned slightly, not quite catching his meaning. "What?"

He chuckled. "Nothing, sweetheart."

I shook my head, deciding not to press it.

"Alright," I finally said, leaning back to study my work. "I have the basics down. You can put your shirt back on now."

Cassian made a low, exaggerated noise of disappointment. "Damn. And here I was hoping you'd need me to pose for a few more hours."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't sound too heartbroken. I will be making you sit for another session later."

His grin was wicked. "You just can't get enough of me, can you?"

"Shut up and put your shirt on, Cassian."

He laughed, grabbing his discarded shirt—but the knowing look in his eyes told me that he'd be holding onto this moment for a long time.

And for some reason, I didn't mind one bit.

—

Cassian came in for many sessions after that.

I probably could've finished the painting on my own after the first few sittings, but he insisted I get all the colors right, all the details perfect. And, well... I wasn't exactly going to complain about having him shirtless in front of me for hours on end.

So, day after day, he showed up, sauntering into the studio with that insufferable smirk, stretching his wings like he owned the place. And I let him, indulged him—indulged myself—until the painting was finally finished, until there was no reason for him to sit for me anymore.

The thought left a strange hollowness in my chest, but I ignored it, focusing instead on adding the final highlights to his wings.

Cassian shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders.

I glanced up. "Getting restless?"

He grinned. "You gonna keep me trapped here all day, sweetheart?"

I smirked. "You're free to go anytime." I glanced at the painting. "But you'd be leaving unfinished art behind, and that would just be tragic."

Even though all I had left to add was a small, near-invisible highlight, I liked the idea of keeping him there just a little longer.

Cassian chuckled, shaking his head. "Fine, fine. I'll sit still for you a little longer."

Something in the way he said it—for you—sent a ripple of warmth through me, but I shoved it aside. I exhaled, finally setting my brush down.

"Alright," I said, stretching my arms. "You're officially free."

Cassian groaned dramatically, standing and rolling his neck. "Finally." He grabbed his shirt, but instead of putting it on, he slung it over his shoulder, turning toward me with that insufferable smirk. "Is it done?"

I turned the easel slightly toward him.

It was hard to admire my own work. After staring at it for so long in every unfinished form, I wasn't sure if I loved it or if I just loved the image I had painted. But I could say I was proud of it. That was enough.

Cassian stepped closer, blinking at the still-wet canvas. His brows lifted, his mouth parted slightly. He didn't speak, didn't crack a joke, didn't smirk like he usually did.

I shifted under his gaze. "Well?"

He inhaled, slow. "Sweetheart..." He sounded almost reverent. "It's... it's beautiful."

A laugh bubbled from my lips. "You're only saying that because it's you I painted."

"No—I mean, I am beautiful, but this is... magnificent." His voice was softer than usual, quieter.

Something flickered in his eyes as he turned toward me, something warm and fond. It was enough to make my stomach flip.

I swallowed. "Thanks, Cass."

His grin returned. "Proud of yourself?"

I nodded, offering a small smile. "Yeah. I am."

His wings twitched. "Good. You should be."

A comfortable silence settled between us for a moment, the weight of his words pressing into me in a way I wasn't sure how to handle.

Then Cassian cleared his throat, stretching his arms over his head. "Now that it's finished..."

Something about the way he said it sent a prickle of anticipation down my spine.

He grinned. "...About my favor?"

I groaned. "You actually kept track of that?"

Cassian scoffed. "Sweetheart, I'd never forget a promise like that." He crossed his arms over his broad chest, eyeing me like he was scheming. "And I know exactly what I want."

A slow, lazy smirk curled his lips.

And for some reason, my stomach flipped all over again.

I raised a brow, waiting.

Cassian took a step forward. Then another.

My stomach flipped. "Okay?"

"I want you to go out with me."

I blinked. "What?"

His smirk deepened. "That's my favor. You and me. A date."

I stared at him, sure I'd misheard. "You're joking."

"Nope."

My heart did something strange, something uneven, and I let out a short, breathy laugh. "Cassian, you flirt with everyone."

"Not like this." His voice was quieter now. Steady.

I swallowed. "But—you're just messing with me. You've been messing with me this whole time."

Cassian sighed, running a hand down his face. "Gods, you're impossible." Before I could react, he stepped closer, hands coming up to cup my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks.

My breath hitched.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, tilting my chin up slightly. "Listen to me. I have not spent weeks finding every excuse under the sun to come here, sitting shirtless for hours just so you'd look at me, calling in a whole-ass favor just to take you out—just to mess with you."

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Cassian's thumbs brushed against my skin again, his hazel eyes locked on mine. "I like you. I want you. And I swear to the Gods, if I have to spell it out anymore, I'm going to start carving it into the damn walls."

I let out a breathless laugh, my face burning. "You're serious."

His lips curled. "Took you long enough."

I exhaled, shaking my head slightly. "I—"

"Just say yes, sweetheart," he murmured, voice teasing, but there was something else in his gaze—something warm, something steady. Something real.

I swallowed hard. Yes."

Cassian grinned. "Good choice."

His hands lingered on my face for just a second longer before he pulled back, grabbing his shirt off his shoulder and throwing it on. He shot me one last smirk as he backed toward the door.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow after your class."

And with that, he was gone, leaving me standing there—heart racing, mind spinning, trying to process the fact that Cassian had actually just asked me out.

That all this time, he hadn't been messing with me at all.

Feyre was going to laugh at me for not catching on sooner when I tell her.

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milo-is-rambling · 2 years ago

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Apparently you have to eat more than half a serving of Mac and cheese, two shots of daytime cold medicine, and half a can of monster when you’re recovering from a cold or else you feel worse

#eating some Mac and cheese left overs from this morning and took some bites of the pizza my brother made and only ate two pieces of and then #didn’t want any more like >:(#HE CHOSE WHEN IM SICK TO MAKE THE PIZZA I LIKE #I grabbed two pieces on a plate and they will probably stay on that plate until tomorrow #maybe I’ll pick at them idk #I took four bites of pizza and a couple bites of Mac and cheese and now all I want to do is nap #I am exhausted I hate being sick I hate being sick and on my period I hate being sick on my period and trying to go to work anyways #I am embarrassed !!! I was literally talking to a customer and then was like hey jasmine im gonna go take five in the break room I just got #really dizzy and she said you can take 15 that’s fine and I apologized to the customer and then was miserable until my body relaxed and I #went back up front and went hey how badly do you need me tonight and she was like let me get two things done and then you can head out #I love my new job #📤#my old job was so understaffed that I was the only person in the building like if I felt sick I went in anyways it was miserable #I feel bad for calling out and leaving early two out of three days I work this week like gahhhh I hate myself for it but obviously I need it #my body is literally like bitch if you will not rest I will force you to fucking rest #I have just been knocked on my ass this week I am so exhausted but my brain is awake but it’s not all here like it won’t shut up but nothing #makes any since I think that’s the caffeine I think I made everything worse thinking I could just power through it #but I was so close to falling asleep before work #you see looking back there were many signs I simply ignored bc I didn’t want to call out again

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chanelsweetx · 3 months ago

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tension

rafe cameron

summary.) the tension between you and Rafe becomes unbearable

warnings.) dry humping/cum in pants

The sound of waves crashing against the shore echoed in the distance, but it barely registered. You were focused on the space between you and Rafe Cameron. It was late, much too late for a conversation, or for anything that was supposed to be normal, but here you were, standing in the dim light of the Chateau, The clamber of the Pogues and some of Rafe's friends seeping from inside.

Rafe was leaning against the counter, a beer in hand, his posture relaxed in a way that belied the intensity in his eyes. He wasn’t saying much, he was just watching you and studying you like you were the only thing worth looking at in the room.

You had no idea how things had gotten this way, how the tension between you had turned from simple annoyance to something much more complicated. His presence in the room was electrifying, one look from him and your heart would start to race, your breath hitching for reasons you couldn’t explain.

"You're quiet tonight," you finally said, breaking the silence but only half-meaning it. It wasn’t like Rafe to be quiet. Usually, he had something to say, whether you wanted to hear it or not.

He smirked, and that smirk made your pulse spike in a way that unsettled you. "Maybe I’m just letting you catch up."

The challenge in his voice made something inside you tighten. You met his eyes, the space between you two feeling suddenly smaller, the air thick with something unspoken. It was the kind of tension that built without either of you acknowledging it—two people standing so close, but neither willing to make the first move. Not yet.

“I don’t need to catch up,” you replied, your voice steady, but you could feel the edge in it. You weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

Rafe stepped closer, just enough to close the gap between you two, but not enough to make the contact feel like anything more than a promise. His presence was overwhelming, his height and the way he loomed over you making it impossible to ignore him. “You sure about that?” he asked, his voice low, barely a whisper, but it held so much weight, so much meaning.

Your breath hitched in your throat. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. You couldn’t look away from his gaze, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that felt like it was pulling you under.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you, Rafe,” you said, though the words felt flimsy, like you were saying them out of habit rather than belief. You didn’t know why, but every time you were near him, every time he looked at you like that, you lost track of your own thoughts. You wanted to fight it, to pull away, but there was something about him you couldn’t ignore.

Rafe didn’t say anything. He just took another step closer, his gaze never wavering, his jaw tight, the slight tension in his body obvious. You could feel the heat of him now, the warmth of his skin just a breath away.

“Maybe you don’t want to explain,” he murmured, his voice rough, like it had been waiting for this moment. “Maybe you just want to feel it.”

The way he said it, so certain, so knowing, made your heart race. It was like he was reading your mind like he knew exactly what was going through your head, even though you weren’t sure yourself.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. But your body didn’t listen. Every part of you was aware of him now—the slight edge of his breath, the smell of him, the sharpness of his gaze. You could almost feel the pull between you, the space between your bodies becoming charged with something raw and electric.

“I don’t…” You started, but the words caught in your throat. You wanted to say something, push him away, but your body betrayed you.

Rafe was too close now. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the power in the way he stood. There was a force to him that you couldn’t deny, couldn’t ignore. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something else—but before he could, you found yourself leaning forward, your lips crashing against his without thinking, without planning it.

The kiss was immediate, urgent, as though you both had been waiting for this moment to come. His hand gripped the back of your neck, pulling you deeper into it, the other resting on your waist, pressing you closer to him. You felt wetness pool in your underwear. It was messy at first—hungry, desperate—but it was everything you had been holding back.

You were both breathing heavily now, the taste of him on your lips, the heat of his body pressing against yours. You could feel his pulse, feel the way he was responding to you, like you were both trying to figure out if this was something that was happening—or something that was about to happen.

Rafe pulled back, just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes still locked on yours, searching. “This what you wanted?” he asked, his voice low, like he was both questioning and daring you at the same time.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you couldn’t think clearly, but you knew one thing for sure: you didn’t want him to pull away. Not yet. You nodded.

Rafe's lips found yours again, this time filled with even more hunger. The kiss was sloppy, you could feel Rafe’s hardness pressing against your stomach.

He grabs your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, never breaking the kiss, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He sits down on one of the raggedy wooden chairs near you guys, placing you on his lap. His hard cock now pressed right where you needed him most. He starts to slowly move your hips against his.

“Rafe!” you gasp, pulling away from the kiss. “What if they come out here?” you examine Rafe, his eyes glassy and lips swollen and red. “Let them.”

You gasp into his lips as he continues to move you against him. The added layers of clothing between you only add to the friction to your clit. “Feels good?” He mutters against your lips. You hum against him. He groans. “Always knew you were a slut.” His words make you moan into his mouth. “Fuck Rafe.” You whimper. You pull away from his lips fully. Tucking your head into the crook of his neck. Rafe starts kissing down your neck. He starts slowly thrusting his hips into yours adding to the pleasure pulsing through you.

“Fuck baby,” He groans “‘Gonna cum.” He mutters, quickening the pace of his thrusts. “Me too!” you moan. Rafe grabs my hair to use as leverage for his thrusts. You felt the knot snap in your stomach, releasing your orgasm into your panties. Rafe did the same. Our movements both slow as we ride out our orgasms. After we both catch our breaths Rafe places a soft kiss on my cheek “Fuck baby now I 'gotta change my pants” He chuckles tracing his hands along your waist.

#drew starkey x you #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smut #drew starkey #rafe cameron x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #obx smut #drew starkey x female reader

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connorsui · 4 months ago

Text

Baby Blues || Imagine ||

Zayne x Wife! Reader

Note: I apologize for how this fic turned out, but my mind really made me want sum body worship with zayne

It was the middle of the night, and the house was still cloaked in the kind of silence that only settled after everyone else was asleep. You stood alone in the dim light of the bedroom, having just returned from the nursery after putting the baby back down. The weight of exhaustion hung heavy on your shoulders, but it was something else that had drawn you to the mirror—something you couldn’t ignore any longer.

The woman staring back at you was... unrecognizable. The dark circles under your eyes, the weary curve of your shoulders—this wasn’t the same woman who had met Zayne with a carefree smile all those years ago. Nor was it the same woman who had carried the fierce determination of early pregnancy, filled with hope, strength, and the thrill of creating life. No. The reflection that stared back seemed distant, foreign. As if each moment, each day, had taken something from you without giving it back.

Your fingers trembled slightly as they traveled over your skin, pressing at the softness of your waist, the roundness of your thighs, the tender flesh beneath your arms. Every inch felt heavier than it once had, like a reminder of how much had changed. The more you touched, the deeper your frown became. Slowly, almost as if you couldn’t help it, your hands lifted the hem of your shirt, revealing the silvered stretch marks and the small, stubborn bump that still lingered on your stomach—a testament to the life you had brought into the world.

But now, it felt like a stranger’s body. The once-familiar curves that Zayne used to trace so adoringly with his hands now seemed like distant memories. You turned to the side, trying to find something in the reflection that felt like you, something beautiful. You forced yourself to look longer, harder, as if searching for the woman you used to be. But the more you stared, the more all you could see was the evidence of change—change you weren’t sure how to embrace.

Unbeknownst to you, Zayne had arrived home. The door clicked softly as he entered, his footsteps slowly echoing up the stairs as he called your name, but no reply came. Quietly, he made his way toward the bedroom, his heart tightening as he caught sight of you.

The door was left ajar, and there you were, bare except for your underwear, staring at your reflection with sadness and resignation. His voice, soft but edged with concern, broke the silence.

“Love, what are you doing?”

Startled, you glanced at the mirror, catching his reflection before turning around. “Zayne! I... I didn’t hear you come in. When did you get back?”

Your voice faltered. Zayne’s gaze softened as he took in the weight of your expression, the unspoken self-doubt written on your face. He didn’t need an explanation—he already knew.

He stepped forward, his eyes never leaving yours, his voice gentle. " —You don’t have to hide from me, you know." His hand reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "I’ve seen you at your best, at your worst... but this?" He paused, looking you over with a mixture of concern and love. "This isn’t something I want you feeling alone about."

Your breath caught in your throat as his words hit deeper than you expected. “I wasn’t... hiding,” you managed to whisper, though you knew he saw through it.

Zayne tilted his head, a small, sad smile forming on his lips. "No? Then why are you looking at yourself like this right now? Like you’re seeing a stranger instead of the woman I fell in love with?"

You glanced away, unable to meet his gaze, your fingers still clutching the hem of your shirt you have removed. "Because… I don’t look like the woman you fell in love with anymore, Zayne. I don’t look like… myself."

His brow furrowed, and without another word, he closed the space between you, his hands gently settling on your waist. "What does that even mean?" His voice was soft, but there was a quiet intensity in it. "You think because your body has changed, I’d love you any less?"

You swallowed hard, fighting back the tears threatening to spill. “It’s not that I think you’d love me less... it’s just... I don’t feel like the same person anymore. I don’t look the same. I don’t feel ..beautiful.”

He sighed softly, leaning his forehead against yours. "If only you could see what I see."

Slowly, his hands moved to the places you had been examining with self-doubt, his touch gentle but deliberate. "This," he began, fingers grazing your waist, "is where you carried our child. Where you nurtured and gave life. How could that be anything but beautiful?"

Your heart clenched at his words, your voice barely audible. "Zayne..."

His hands slid down to your thighs, his voice lowering. "And these? You’ve always been strong, but now?" He gave a soft, appreciative squeeze. "Now you’re stronger than ever."

“Zayne…”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, trailing his lips up to your neck, each touch slow and full of affection. “And these arms,” he whispered, tracing the soft curve of your biceps, “have held me through everything. There’s nothing about you that I could ever see as anything less than extraordinary.”

Tears welled in your eyes, his words wrapping around you like a protective embrace. You closed your eyes, gripping his arms tightly as the weight of your emotions broke free. "Please, Zayne... You don’t mean all of that..."

Then his voice dropped to a low murmur, full of the quiet intensity that always made your heart race. "Then let me prove it to you," he whispered, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Let me show you just how much I mean every word I say."

His hand found yours, gently guiding you toward the bed as his lips continued to press soft kisses along your neck. And as you followed, his touch, his presence, his love enveloped you, reminding you that in his eyes, you were—and always would be—perfect.

#suiwrites🍒#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #love and deepspace zayne #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne x mc #lads zayne x reader #lads zayne x you #lnds zayne x reader #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne x reader #l&ds zayne #sylus x reader

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jupiterpilgrim · 2 months ago

Text

The Elf Who Couldn't Help

Christmas Special 🎄

Miyeon x Male Reader

word count: 5K

You're wandering through the crowded mall, Christmas music blasting from every direction as you try to check off the last few items on your shopping list. The usual holiday chaos surrounds you - parents dragging screaming kids, teenagers hogging the benches, old people walking too damn slow. Just another December afternoon.

That's when you spot the Santa's workshop setup near the food court. There's a long-ass line of hyper children waiting to sit on Santa's lap, but what catches your eye is his helper elf. She's this tiny Asian girl in a green costume that looks about two sizes too big, desperately trying to wrangle the kids into some kind of order.

"Please stay in line! One at a time!" Her voice is high and stressed as a group of boys completely ignores her, ducking under the rope barriers.

You can't help but chuckle at how overwhelmed she looks. The elf costume is ridiculous - striped tights, pointy shoes with bells, and a hat that keeps sliding down over her eyes. But there's something endearing about how hard she's trying, even as chaos erupts around her.

And she's undeniably adorable too.

"Fucking hell," you mutter under your breath as another kid breaks free from the line, causing even more chaos. The girl's shoulders slump in defeat as she tries to restore order. This will definitely be a long day for the poor thing.

You continue with your shopping, but find yourself passing by the Santa setup a few more times. Each time, the poor elf looks more and more frazzled. Her dark hair is escaping from under the hat, her cheeks are flushed, and she's practically jogging to keep up with all the line-cutting kids.

"Please, one at a time!" the elf girl pleads, her voice cracking slightly. You notice dark circles under her eyes as you walk past.

After finishing up your shopping, you head to your car feeling accomplished. That's when your phone buzzes - a text from your mother saying your cousin - yes, that cousin - decided last-minute to join Christmas dinner.

Fuck.

Now you need another gift.

With a sigh, you trudge back into the mall. The Santa setup is gone now, packed away for the night. You quickly grab a generic gift card (he's not worth much effort anyway) and head back to the parking lot.

That's when you hear it - soft sniffling coming from between two cars. You pause, keys in hand. The sound continues, clearly someone crying. Following the noise, you find a small figure curled up against a tire, wearing that ridiculous elf costume.

"Hey... are you okay?" You ask gently.

She jerks up with a gasp, hastily wiping her eyes. It's the same elf from earlier, but her makeup is smeared and her eyes are red and puffy.

"I'm fine!" She squeaks, trying to force a smile. "Just... just taking a break!"

You raise an eyebrow. "In the parking lot? At night?"

She deflates slightly. "Okay, maybe not just taking a break..."

"I saw you earlier, helping Santa. Rough day with the kids?"

A bitter laugh escapes her. "That obvious, huh?" She sniffs and wipes her nose with her sleeve. "Everything went wrong. The kids were crazy, I couldn't control them, I dropped hot chocolate all over myself... and now they're firing me. Said I'm not 'elf material.'"

"That's harsh. Those kids were like wild animals though, not sure anyone could have controlled them."

She shrugs, looking down at her ridiculous pointed shoes. "I really needed this job though. Even just through Christmas..."

"I'm sorry. I'm sure you'll find something else soon." You hesitate for a second, then you say your name.

"Miyeon," she replies softly.

"Nice to meet you, Miyeon. Look, this might sound weird but... would you want to grab something to eat? You look like you could use a friend right now."

Her eyes widen. "Oh! That's very kind but... I don't know you. And I probably look terrible..." She gestures at her tear-stained face.

You grin. "Come on, who doesn't want to have dinner with a Christmas elf? I promise I'm not a serial killer. We can go somewhere public with lots of witnesses."

That gets a small laugh out of her. "I really shouldn't..."

Right on cue, her stomach lets out a loud growl. Her face turns bright red.

"When's the last time you ate?" You ask.

"Um... breakfast? Maybe?" She admits sheepishly. "I was too nervous to eat lunch..."

"That settles it then. Come on, my treat. Consider it my good deed for the holiday season."

She bites her lip, clearly conflicted. "You really don't have to..."

"I want to. Plus, how often do I get to take an elf to dinner? It'll make a great story."

Finally, a real smile breaks through. "Okay... but only if you promise to drive me home after?"

"Scout's honor," you reply, helping her up.

—

You lead her to your car, noticing how small and vulnerable she looks in the ridiculous elf costume. During the short drive, you learn that Miyeon is a college student who needed extra money for textbooks next semester.

"The mall job seemed perfect," she explains. "Decent pay for just two weeks of work. But I guess I'm not cut out for dealing with kids."

"Those weren't kids, they were tiny terrorists," you reply, making her giggle.

At the diner, you slide into a booth and watch in amusement as Miyeon demolishes a huge plate of pancakes. She pauses between bites, suddenly self-conscious.

"Am I being rude? I must look like such a pig..."

"Not at all. Eat up - you've earned it after this sitty day."

Other diners keep glancing at your table, probably wondering why there's an elf having breakfast for dinner. Miyeon shrinks under their stares.

"Don't you need to return the costume?" you ask.

She shakes her head. "Had to buy it myself. Waste of money now..."

"Seriously? They made you pay for it? That's fucked up."

"Yeah... I spent most of my savings on it too." Her voice wavers slightly.

You study her as she eats - she really is cute, even in the silly costume. There's something genuine and sweet about her that draws you in.

"So what are you studying?" you ask.

"Art history. Everyone says it's useless but... I love it. There's something magical about understanding how art has shaped human culture throughout time."

Her eyes light up as she talks about her studies, hands gesturing animatedly. You find yourself smiling at her enthusiasm.

"That's actually really cool. Most people just chase whatever degree will make them the most money."

"That's what my parents wanted me to do," she sighs. "They think I'm wasting my time. The mall job was supposed to prove I could be responsible and support myself but..." she trails off, looking down at her empty plate.

"Hey, no matter what they think. Do what makes you happy."

She gives you a grateful smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

After dinner, you drive her home as promised. She lives in a small apartment complex near campus.

"Thank you so much for everything," Miyeon says sincerely. "I don't know how to repay you."

You pretend to think hard for a moment.

"Hmm, how about drinks tomorrow night?" you suggest. "No elf costume required."

Her eyes widen. "Are you... are you asking me out?"

"Unless that would be weird?"

"No! I mean... no, it wouldn't be weird. I'd like that." Her cheeks flush pink.

"Great. I'll text you?"

She nods, typing her number into your phone. As she gets out of the car, she turns back one more time.

"You know... maybe getting fired wasn't the worst thing after all."

—

The next evening, you meet Miyeon at a cozy bar downtown. She looks completely different out of the elf costume - wearing a simple sweater and jeans that highlight her petite but curvy figure. Her dark hair falls in soft waves around her face.

"Wow, you clean up nice," you tease. "Almost didn't recognize you without the pointy ears."

She rolls her eyes but smiles. "Never mention that costume again. I'm trying to repress those memories."

Over drinks, conversation flows easily. You learn that Miyeon moved here from Korea as a child, that she has a passion for Renaissance art, and that she secretly loves terrible reality TV shows. She's funny and smart, with a dry sense of humor that catches you off guard.

"So what do you do?" she asks, sipping her cocktail.

You tell her about your job, making her laugh with stories about your weird coworkers. As the night goes on, you find yourself moving closer together, knees touching under the table.

"Want to know a secret?" Miyeon says, slightly tipsy. "I actually hate Christmas music now. Hours of Jingle Bells on repeat will do that to you."

"I don't blame you. That shit's torture."

She giggles, leaning into you slightly. "You know what else? Some of those kids were evil. Like, actually evil. One bit me!"

"No fucking way!"

"Yes! Right here!" She rolls up her sleeve to show you a small bruise on her forearm. Without thinking, you gently run your fingers over the mark. Her skin is incredibly soft.

Miyeon shivers slightly at your touch, looking up at you with those big dark eyes. The air between you feels charged suddenly.

"Do you want to take a walk in the park?" you ask softly.

Shd nods, biting her lower lip.

—

The winter air nips at your faces as you and Miyeon stroll through the park. Christmas lights twinkle in the trees, creating a magical atmosphere despite the late hour. Snow crunches beneath your feet as you walk close together, shoulders brushing.

"Thanks for tonight," Miyeon says softly. "I really needed this after... you know." She gestures vaguely, probably referring to the elf fiasco.

"Hey, I should be thanking you. Not every day I get to rescue a damsel in distress from a parking lot," you tease.

She playfully shoves your shoulder. "I wasn't in distress! I was just... strategically regrouping."

"Is that what we're calling crying behind a car now?"

"Shut up," she laughs, but moves closer to you as a cold breeze whips past.

You find a bench overlooking a small pond, its surface reflecting the colorful lights. Sitting close together for warmth, you can smell her light floral perfume mixing with the crisp winter air.

"You know what's funny?" Miyeon says, watching her breath form little clouds. "If I hadn't been such a terrible elf, we never would have met."

"You weren't terrible. Those kids were demons."

"True. But still..." She turns to look at you, snowflakes catching in her dark hair. Her cheeks are pink from the cold and maybe the drinks. "I'm kind of glad it happened."

The moment feels perfect - the lights, the snow, her eyes shining as she looks up at you. You lean in slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants to.

Instead, she meets you halfway.

Her lips are soft and slightly cold from the winter air. The kiss is gentle, tentative at first, then deepening as she sighs against your mouth. Your hand comes up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing away a snowflake.

When you finally part, Miyeon's eyes stay closed for a moment longer, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Wow," she breathes.

"Yeah," you agree eloquently, making her giggle.

—

The next few days pass in a pleasant blur. You text constantly, sharing memes and stories about your days. She sends you pictures of terrible Christmas sweaters at thrift stores, you counter with photos of your coworker's increasingly elaborate desk decorations.

You meet up again for coffee between her job hunting attempts. This time she's wearing an oversized sweater that makes her look even tinier, hands wrapped around a steaming peppermint latte.

"I had another interview today," she sighs. "At a bookstore this time."

"How'd it go?"

"Well, I didn't cry or spill anything, so better than the mall job already." She takes a sip of her drink, leaving a foam mustache that you resist the urge to kiss away. "But they said they're looking for someone with more retail experience."

"That's bullshit. How are you supposed to get experience if no one will hire you?"

"Exactly!" She throws up her hands in frustration. "It's like they expect me to emerge fully formed from the womb with five years of customer service experience."

You think for a moment. "You know... my friend works at that art supply store downtown. I could put in a word?"

Miyeon's eyes light up. "Really? You'd do that?"

"Of course. Plus, it's related to your major kind of. You'd be surrounded by art stuff all day."

She practically bounces in her seat. "That would be amazing! Thank you-thank you-thank you!"

Her enthusiasm is infectious. You can't help but lean across the table to kiss her, tasting peppermint on her lips.

The art store interview goes well - Your friend's recommendation carries weight, and Miyeon's genuine passion for art shines through. They hire her for a temporary position through the holiday season, with potential to stay on part-time after.

"I start Monday!" she tells you excitedly over the phone. "And the employee discount is amazing. I'm going to buy so many fancy pencils."

You celebrate with takeout at her tiny apartment near campus. It's cramped but cozy, walls covered in art prints and fairy lights. You sit on her futon eating Chinese food straight from the containers while she tells you about all her plans.

"The manager said they do workshops sometimes too. Like, teaching basic techniques and stuff. Maybe eventually I could lead one!" She's practically vibrating with excitement.

"Look at you, moving up in the world. From disgraced elf to art guru."

She throws a fortune cookie at your head. "Never mention the elf thing again! I'm trying to maintain some dignity here."

You catch the cookie and crack it open. "'A surprise encounter will lead to lasting happiness.’ Huh, guess these things are right sometimes."

Miyeon blushes, ducking her head. You set aside the takeout containers and pull her close, kissing her slowly. She melts against you, fingers curling into your shirt.

The makeout sessions are becoming a regular thing, but neither of you pushes for more. It's nice, this slow build of intimacy. Learning the little things about each other - how she scrunches her nose when she laughs, the way she absently hums while reading, her habit of stealing sips of your drinks and more.

—

You help her prepare for her first day, picking out an outfit that's professional but still her style.

She texts you updates throughout the day:

"OMG there are so many types of pencils. How are there this many pencils??"

"Just had to explain to someone why they can't return used paint. Why are people like this?"

"A kid just asked me what colors taste the best. I told him blue. Hope I don't get sued."

After her shift, you meet her for dinner. She's tired but happy, chattering about everything she learned.

"And did you know there are pencils that cost like $50 EACH? For one pencil! But they're so smooth, feel this!" She pulls a sample pencil from her bag, making you test it on a napkin.

"Very smooth," you agree, charmed by her enthusiasm. "Worth $50?"

"Maybe not $50, but with my discount..." She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

The days leading up to Christmas pass quickly. You help Miyeon learn the store's inventory system, quizzing her on different types of paper and brush sizes. She introduces you to her favorite cheap noodle places near campus.

One evening, you're walking her home when it starts snowing heavily. She tilts her head back, sticking out her tongue to catch snowflakes.

"You know what?" she says thoughtfully. "I actually kind of miss the elf costume. Just a tiny bit."

You raise an eyebrow. "Stockholm syndrome kicking in?"

"No, it's just... if I hadn't taken that stupid job, if I hadn't been so bad at it... we wouldn't be here now." She stops walking, turning to face you. "Sometimes the worst things lead to the best things, you know?"

You brush snow from her hair. "Very philosophical. Must be all that art history education."

"Shut up," she laughs, standing on tiptoes to kiss you. Her lips are cold but her mouth is warm, tasting like the hot chocolate you shared earlier.

When she pulls back, her eyes are serious. "Thank you. For everything. The job, the support... just being there."

"Hey, I got something out of it too. How many people can say they're dating a former mall elf?"

She groans. "I take it back. You're the worst."

But she's smiling as she says it, snowflakes catching on her eyelashes, and you think maybe those fortune cookies know what they're talking about after all.

—

The art supply store keeps her busy through the holiday rush. You bring her coffee during her breaks, watching her explain different types of paints to customers with growing confidence. She's in her element here, surrounded by creative supplies and fellow art enthusiasts.

"A lady asked me to recommend brushes for oil painting today," she tells you proudly. "And I actually knew what to suggest! I'm becoming one of those knowledgeable retail people."

"Better than being one of those retail people who hides in the stockroom to cry," you point out.

"That was ONE TIME," she protests, but she's laughing.

—

Finally, about two days before Christmas, you invite her over to your place for dinner. You've cooked before, but tonight feels different. There's an electricity in the air, an unspoken anticipation.

Miyeon shows up wearing a simple red dress that hugs every curve. Her dark hair falls in soft waves past her shoulders, and you catch a hint of floral perfume when she hugs you hello.

"Something smells amazing," she says, following you to the kitchen.

"Don't sound so surprised," you tease. "I can cook sometimes."

"Sometimes being the key word." She peers into the pot on the stove. "Remember the Great Pasta Disaster of last week?"

"Hey, how was I supposed to know the sauce would explode like that?"

She laughs, stealing a piece of garlic bread. "My ceiling is still stained red. My landlord thinks I murdered someone up there."

Dinner is comfortable, filled with your usual banter. But there's an undercurrent of tension, a charge building between you. Every accidental brush of hands sends sparks down your spine. You catch her staring at your lips more than once.

After the dishes are done, you move to the couch with glasses of wine. Miyeon curls up against your side, fitting perfectly under your arm. You can feel her heart racing.

"This is nice," she murmurs, tracing patterns on your thigh.

"Yeah?" Your voice comes out rougher than intended. "Just nice?"

She tilts her head up to look at you, eyes dark and intense. "Maybe more than nice..."

You cup her face with one hand, thumb brushing her cheek. She leans into the touch, breath hitching slightly.

"Miyeon..."

"Yes?"

"Do you like me?"

Instead of answering, she surges up to press her lips against yours. It starts soft, tentative, but quickly deepens into something more urgent. Her tongue slides against yours as she shifts to straddle your lap, dress riding up her thighs.

You run your hands up her sides, feeling her shiver. She grinds down against you, drawing a groan from your throat. When you break for air, her pupils are blown wide with desire.

"Bedroom?" You manage to ask.

She nods frantically. "Please."

You stand, lifting her with you. Her legs wrap around your waist as you carry her down the hall, still kissing. You nearly trip twice, making her giggle against your mouth.

Finally reaching the bedroom, you put her back on the floor, your fingers gently touch her cheek, she looks up at you with such trust and want that it makes your chest ache.

"You're sure about this?" You have to ask.

"I've never been more sure of anything," she replies.

That’s all you needed to hear.

Your hands roam over Miyeon's body, mapping every delicious curve through her thin dress. She arches into your touch, soft moans escaping her perfect lips. When you kiss down her neck, she threads her fingers through your hair, pulling you closer.

"I've wanted this for so long," she whispers, her voice trembling with need. "Ever since we first met..."

You gently bite her neck, making her gasp. "Me too, princess. You drive me fucking crazy." Your hands slide down to squeeze her ass through the dress. She feels so perfect, so soft yet firm.

Miyeon grinds against you, her breath coming faster. "Please... touch me more..." She guides your hand to her breast, letting you feel her hardened nipple through the fabric.

You waste no time sliding the dress straps off her shoulders, revealing more of her flawless porcelain skin. Her medium breasts spill free, pink nipples begging for attention. "Fuck, you're gorgeous," you growl, taking one peak into your mouth.

"Ohh! Yes, suck them..." She holds your head to her chest as you lavish her breasts with your tongue, alternating between gentle licks and firm sucking. Her moans get louder when you graze your teeth over the sensitive buds.

Your hands push her dress down further until it pools at her feet. Miyeon stands before you in just her lacy panties, her face flushed with arousal and slight embarrassment. You drink in the sight of her nearly naked body.

"You're staring too much," she says shyly.

You gently grab her wrists. "It's because you're fucking perfect." You pull her close for a deep kiss, your tongue exploring her mouth as your hands roam her exposed skin.

She melts into the kiss, pressing her breasts against your chest. You can feel her nipples hard against you through your shirt. Her hands tug at the fabric. "Take this off... I want to feel your skin..."

You break the kiss just long enough to pull your shirt over your head. When your bare chest meets hers, you both moan at the contact. Her skin is so incredibly soft against yours.

"Bed. Now." You guide her backwards until her knees hit the mattress. She lies back, dark hair fanning out on the pillow as she looks up at you with those innocent yet lustful eyes.

You crawl over her, leaving a trail of hot kisses from her tummy up to her neck. Her hands explore your back, nails lightly scratching. When you grind your clothed erection against her core, she gasps.

"Can you feel how hard you make me?" You thrust against her again, making her whimper.

"Y-yes... I want to see it..." Her hands move to your belt, fumbling with the buckle.

You help her undo your pants, kicking them off along with your boxers. Your cock springs free, already rock hard and leaking precum. Miyeon's eyes widen as she takes in your size.

"Like what you see, princess?" You smirk as her hand wraps around your shaft, stroking experimentally.

"It's so big..." she whispers, thumb brushing over your sensitive tip. "Will it... fit?"

"We'll go nice and slow, baby. But first..." You hook your fingers in her panties, sliding them down her legs. You spread her creamy thighs wide apart, admiring how her pink pussy glistens with arousal. Her outer lips are puffy and swollen, inner folds glistening with her juices. The musky scent of her cunt makes your mouth water as you lean in closer. “Fuck, you're already so wet for me.”

"Please..." she whimpers, squirming under your intense gaze. "Stop teasing and lick me already!"

You give her a wicked grin before diving in, dragging your hot tongue through her dripping slit from bottom to top. The taste of her pussy explodes across your tongue - tangy and sweet like ripe fruit. She cries out and bucks her hips up into your face.

"Fuck! Your tongue feels so good!" Her fingers tangle in your hair as you focus on her clit, circling the swollen nub with firm strokes. You can feel it getting harder and more pronounced under your tongue.

Holding her thighs open wider, you bury your face deeper between her legs, eating her pussy like it's your last meal. Your tongue alternates between fucking into her tight hole and flicking rapidly over her clit. Wet sucking sounds fill the room as you devour her cunt.

Her pussy is absolutely drenched now, cream coating your chin as you feast on her. You slide two fingers into her clutching channel while continuing to assault her clit with your tongue. The walls of her cunt squeeze your digits hungrily.

"Holy shit, don't stop! Right there!" She grinds her pussy against your face, chasing her pleasure. "I'm getting so close already..."

You curl your fingers to massage her g-spot while sucking her clit between your lips. The combination has her writhing and moaning uncontrollably. Her thighs start to tremble as her orgasm builds.

You increase the pressure and speed, determined to make her cum hard on your tongue. Your fingers pump in and out of her sopping pussy while you flick her clit mercilessly. She's so wet that obscene squelching noises accompany each thrust of your fingers.

"Fuck fuck fuck! I'm gonna cum!" Her back arches off the bed as her climax hits. Her pussy clamps down on your fingers as waves of pleasure course through her. You keep licking and sucking, drawing out her orgasm until she pushes your head away.

But you're not done with her yet. Not so soon. As she lies there panting, you reposition yourself between her legs. Her pussy is still twitching with aftershocks when you dive back in, this time focusing solely on her sensitive clit.

"Wait! I just came—ahhhh!" Her protest turns into a moan as you suck her swollen clit between your lips. You can feel her trying to close her legs but you hold them open, continuing your relentless assault on her pussy.

The oversensitivity quickly transforms back into pleasure as you work her towards another orgasm. Your tongue swirls around her clit in tight circles while three fingers pump into her dripping hole. Her cream coats your hand as you finger-fuck her roughly.

"Oh god, I can't... it's too much!" But her hips are rocking against your face again, chasing the building pleasure. You can feel her pussy getting even wetter, if that's possible.

You alternate between broad strokes with your flattened tongue and quick flicks directly on her clit. Meanwhile your fingers curl to hit her g-spot with each thrust. The combination of stimulation has her climbing rapidly towards another peak.

Her moans get higher and more desperate as you drive her wild with your mouth and fingers. You can tell she's fighting the pleasure, still sensitive from her first orgasm. But you're determined to make her cum again.

"Please... I can't take it... gonna cum again!" Her thighs start shaking as her second orgasm approaches. You double down, sucking her clit firmly while hammering your fingers against her g-spot.

She screams as she cums, her pussy clamping down so hard on your fingers that you can barely move them. You keep your lips locked around her clit, sucking gently to draw out the intense pleasure.

When her orgasm finally subsides, you slowly withdraw your fingers from her quivering pussy. They're absolutely coated in her cream. You make eye contact as you lick them clean, savoring her tangy flavor.

"Holy shit..." Miyeon pants, still trembling. "That was incredible. I've never cum that hard before."

You smirk and dive right back in, making her yelp in surprise. Her clit is swollen and ultra-sensitive now, perfect for what you have planned. You flatten your tongue and lap at her pussy with long, slow strokes.

"No more, baby, I can't..." But her protests are weak and her hips are already moving against your mouth again. You can feel her getting wetter as you continue eating her out.

This time you take it slow, building her up gradually. Your tongue explores every fold and crease of her pussy, occasionally dipping into her hole to taste her essence. When you finally return attention to her clit, she's practically begging for it.

"Please... need to cum again..." Miyeon rocks desperately against your face, seeking more pressure. But you keep your touches light and teasing, driving her crazy with want.

You trace letters on her clit with the tip of your tongue, spelling out filthy words as she writhes beneath you. When you finally slide your fingers back into her clutching pussy, she moans in relief.

"Yes! Fuck me with your fingers while you eat my pussy!" Her dirty talk spurs you on as you pump three fingers into her dripping hole. Your tongue works her clit with firm, steady pressure.

Her pussy is absolutely gushing now, cream running down your wrist as you finger-fuck her roughly. The wet sounds of your fingers plunging into her cunt fill the room along with her desperate moans.

You curl your fingers to massage her g-spot while sucking her clit between your lips. The dual stimulation has her climbing rapidly towards another orgasm. Her thighs start trembling as she gets close.

"Gonna cum again! Don't stop, please don't stop!" She grinds her pussy against your face, chasing her pleasure. You increase the pressure and speed, determined to give her the most intense orgasm yet.

Her back lifts clear off the bed, her body trembling violently as the orgasm tears through her. Miyeon's cries of your name echo in the room, her voice breaking into a series of desperate whimpers. Her pussy clamps down on your fingers, pulsating in rhythm with the waves of pleasure crashing through her. Her hands clutch at the sheets, knuckles white, as her thighs twitch uncontrollably. You don’t let up, your fingers continuing to work her through every shuddering moment of ecstasy, curling and teasing until she lets out a sharp gasp and pushes your head back, her hips jerking away.

"Stop, stop! Too much," she pants, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her body glistening with sweat.

You lean back, watching her recover, her hair splayed out like a halo against the pillow. Her cheeks are flushed deep red, lips parted as she struggles to catch her breath. She drapes an arm over her face, giggling weakly. "Wow... that was—like—insane. I didn’t know you were this good with your hands."

“Take your time,” you say, your tone soft but teasing as your gaze roams her utterly wrecked form.

She peeks at you from beneath her arm, her eyes still hazy and unfocused. Her thighs quiver as she stretches her legs out, one hand brushing against her stomach as if grounding herself. “Okay, just give me a second,” she murmurs, her voice shaky, a tired smile playing at her lips.

While she lies there, basking in the aftershocks, you reach over to the nightstand. Your fingers brush against the foil packet, and you tear it open deliberately, watching her out of the corner of your eye. Her gaze snaps to you as you roll the condom onto your throbbing cock, her pupils dilating slightly.

"Already?" she whispers, a flicker of excitement chasing away the exhaustion in her expression. You smirk, positioning yourself above her, letting her feel the heat of your body pressing against hers.

"Yes. Ready for me, princess?" You position yourself at her entrance, rubbing your tip through her folds.

She nods, pulling you down for a passionate kiss. You can feel her trembling with anticipation.

"Tell me if it's too much," you murmur against her lips as you start pushing in. The head pops past her tight entrance, making you both moan.

"Oh fuck... you're so big..." She bites her lip, adjusting to the stretch as you slowly feed more of your length into her.

You go inch by inch, letting her pussy accommodate your size. Her walls grip you like a vice, so hot and tight it takes all your control not to just slam in.

"That's it, baby, taking my cock so well..." You bottom out, fully sheathed in her warmth.

You stay still for a moment, letting her adjust while peppering kisses across her face and neck. When her hips start moving against you, you take it as your cue to move.

You start with a few slow, shallow thrusts, just to get her warmed up. Miyeon's moans are soft at first, but they grow louder with each push, urging you on. You can feel her nails digging into your back, her legs wrapping around your waist, pulling you deeper into her. The angle changes, and you hit something inside her that makes her cry out.

"Fuck, right there," she gasps. "Don't stop."

You don't plan to. You pick up the pace, your hips moving faster, your cock sliding in and out of her slick pussy. She's meeting your thrusts, her body arching up to take you deeper.

"Faster," she begs, her voice ragged. "Please fuck me faster."

You grip her hips, your fingers digging into her soft flesh. You start really giving it to her, your balls slapping against her ass with each stroke. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard banging against the wall as you pound her tight pussy.

"You like that, huh?" you growl in her ear. "Like getting fucked hard by my big cock?"

"Yes!" she screams. "Oh god, yes! Your cock feels so fucking good inside me."

Her words dissolve into incoherent moans, her body writhing beneath you. You can feel her getting wetter, her cream coating your shaft and dripping down her ass, making a fucking mess of the sheets. You can see it glistening on your cock every time you pull out, can feel it easing the way as you slam back in.

You lean down, your teeth finding her neck, biting down as you fuck her even harder. She cries out, her body convulsing around you. You can feel her pussy clenching, her walls squeezing your cock.

"Fuck, you're close," you groan. "I can feel it."

"Yes," she pants. "I'm gonna cum again. I'm gonna cum all over your cock."

You can feel your own orgasm building, your balls drawing up tight. But you hold back, determined to make her cum first. You want to feel her lose control, want to feel her pussy milking your cock.

You reach between them, your fingers finding her clit. You rub it in tight circles, your cock still pounding into her. She screams, her body bucking, her pussy clamping down on you like a vice.

"Cum for me, baby," you growl. "Let me feel you cum all over my cock."

And she does. She cums hard, her body convulsing, her pussy pulsing around you. You can feel her cream coating your cock, can feel it dripping down your balls. You keep fucking her, drawing out her orgasm, making her cry out with each thrust. Gradually you slow down the pace, each time your cock goes deep inside her, it pulls out slowly, you stay at this teasing pace until she catches her breath, then when you finally pull your cock out of her, without warning, you lift her shapely leg, exposing her dripping pussy and those delicate feet with festive red toenails.

"What are you doing?" she asks, watching as you grip her ankle.

"I'm gonna worship every inch of you," you growl, bringing her foot closer to your face. "Your pretty little toes look too tasty to resist."

Miyeon giggles nervously. "Nobody's ever... Oh fuck!" she gasps as you take her big toe into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it. The polish is smooth against your tongue as you suck gently, watching her face for reactions.

"Does that feel good, baby?" You ask between licks. Her toes taste clean with just a hint of salt from sweat.

"Mmmhh... it's weird but... kinda nice," she admits, wiggling her toes against your tongue. You take two toes in your mouth now, sucking harder as your hand slides up her thigh.

"Your feet are fucking perfect," you tell her, kissing down to her arch. "Just like the rest of you." Your fingers find her pussy lips, already swollen and slick from earlier. You gather some of her wetness and start rubbing slow circles around her clit.

"Ohhh..." Miyeon moans, her leg trembling in your grip. You alternate between sucking her toes and licking long stripes up her sole while your fingers work her pussy. Her cream coats your digits as you slide two inside her tight channel.

"So wet for me," you growl. "I love how your pussy gets all creamy when you're turned on." You curl your fingers, finding that special spot that makes her whole body jerk.

"Fuck! Right there!" she cries out, grinding against your hand. You keep the pressure steady, pumping your fingers as you lavish attention on her feet. Her pussy clenches rhythmically around you.

"You gonna cum again for me?" you ask, increasing the pace of your fingers. "Gonna soak my hand with that sweet pussy?"

"Yes! Please don't stop!" Miyeon pants, her head thrashing on the pillow. You can feel her getting close, her inner walls fluttering. Just before she peaks, you withdraw your fingers, making her whine in protest.

"Not yet baby," you tease, releasing her foot. "I want to fuck you while I suck these pretty toes." You position yourself behind her, keeping her leg lifted. Your cock slides easily through her folds, gathering her wetness.

"Please," she begs. "I need you inside me..."

You press just the tip against her entrance, making her squirm.

"Tell me how bad you want it."

"Please, baby, I need to feel your big cock deep in my pussy! Please fuck me... I'm so empty..."

Unable to resist her pleading, you thrust forward, burying your full length in her tight heat. "Fuuuck," you groan. "Your pussy feels amazing." You start a steady rhythm, not too fast yet, wanting to build her up slowly.

Miyeon moans with each thrust, her pussy gripping you perfectly. You capture her toes in your mouth again, sucking hard as you fuck her. The dual stimulation has her writhing.

"Oh god... that's so... unngh!" She can barely form words as pleasure overwhelms her. You increase your pace gradually, driving deeper. Her cream coats your shaft, making obscene wet sounds with each stroke.

"You like having your toes sucked while I fuck this tight pussy?" you ask, releasing her foot momentarily. "Such a good girl, taking my cock so well."

"Yes! Love it... love your cock..." she gasps. You've never heard her talk so dirty before. It spurs you on, making you thrust harder.

Her pussy starts clenching erratically around you as you pound into her. You can tell she's getting close again. This time you don't let up, determined to make her cum hard.

"Something's happening..." Miyeon pants suddenly. "Feels different... like I need to pee..."

"That's it baby," you encourage her. "Don't fight it. Let go for me." You redouble your efforts, angling your hips to hit her g-spot with each thrust while sucking her toes enthusiastically.

"But... unngh... I can't..." she protests weakly, even as her body tenses up.

"Yes, you can! Cum for me Miyeon. Fucking squirt all over my cock!" You slam into her faster, feeling her pussy spasm around you.

"Oh god, oh god, OH FUCK!" Miyeon screams as the dam finally breaks. Clear fluid gushes from around your cock, soaking the sheets beneath you. Her whole body convulses as she experiences her first squirting orgasm.

You keep thrusting through her release, prolonging it as much as possible. More fluid spurts out with each stroke as she trembles uncontrollably.

"That's it baby, let it all out," you growl around her toes. "So fucking hot watching you squirt."

Miyeon can only moan incoherently as waves of pleasure crash over her. Her pussy clamps down so hard it nearly pushes you out, but you maintain your rhythm until her orgasm finally starts to subside.

You gently release her foot and slow your thrusts, giving her time to catch her breath. She looks absolutely wrecked in the best way possible.

"Holy shit," she pants when she can speak again. "What... what was that?"

You chuckle, still buried deep inside her quivering pussy. "That was you squirting, baby. Felt good, didn't it?"

She nods weakly. "Amazing... I didn't know I could do that..."

"Oh we're just getting started," you promise with a wicked grin. "Now that I know how to make you squirt, I'm gonna make you do it again and again..."

Miyeon whimpers at your words, her pussy clenching around you. You can feel she's still sensitive, but also still aroused.

Perfect.

"Ready?" you ask, starting to move inside her again. She moans in response as you lift her foot back to your mouth...

Your cock slides easily through her creamy folds as you build up a steady rhythm once more. Miyeon's moans get louder with each thrust, her oversensitive pussy gripping you like a vice.

"Such a good girl," you praise her between licks to her foot. "Taking my cock so well after that huge orgasm."

"Feels so good," she gasps. "Everything's so sensitive..."

You angle your hips to hit her g-spot again, making her whole body jerk. "Think you can squirt for me again?" You ask, increasing your pace slightly.

"I... unngh... maybe?" Miyeon pants. "Still feels like I might pee..."

"That's normal, baby. Just let it happen." You suck her big toe into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it as you fuck her deeper. Her cream coats your shaft, dripping down onto the already soaked sheets.

"Oh fuck... oh fuck..." she chants as the pleasure builds. You can feel her starting to tense up again, her inner walls fluttering around your cock.

"That's it," you encourage her. "Let go for me. Show me what a good little squirter you are."

Your words push her over the edge. With a sharp cry, Miyeon's pussy contracts hard and another gush of clear fluid sprays out around your cock.

"Fuck yes!" You growl, maintaining your rhythm as she squirts. "So fucking hot watching you lose control like this."

Wave after wave of pleasure rocks through her body as you continue fucking her through the intense orgasm. Her toes curl against your tongue as more fluid spurts out with each thrust.

When her release finally subsides, Miyeon lies there trembling and gasping for air. You slow your pace but don't stop completely, knowing you can wring at least one more orgasm from her oversensitive body.

"Please..." she whimpers, her body trembling beneath you. "It's too much... I can't..."

"Shh, baby," you murmur, your voice steady and firm. "You can take it. You can take everything I give you." You slow your thrusts a little more, letting her catch her breath, but not enough to let her come down from the peak. "You've got one more in you. I know you do."

She shakes her head, her hair sticking to her sweat-slicked face. "No, I can't... I can't..."

"You can," you insist, your cock still moving inside her, stirring up her pleasure again. "You're a fucking goddess, Miyeon. You can take every inch of my cock. You can cum all over it again."

You increase your speed, your hips moving faster, your cock hitting that spot inside her that makes her scream. You can feel her pussy clenching around you, trying to keep you in, trying to milk you.

"Oh god," she moans, her voice rising in pitch. "Oh god, oh god, oh god..."

"That's it, baby," you growl. "Feel that? Feel my cock hitting your g-spot? You're gonna cum for me again. You're gonna squirt all over my cock."

"I'm so close... I'm so clo—OH GOD!" she cries out, her body tensing, her pussy gripping you like a vice.

You can feel her right on the edge, her body coiled tight, ready to snap. You lean down, your teeth finding her earlobe, biting down just hard enough to send a shockwave through her.

"Cum for me, Miyeon," you command, your voice low and rough. "Fucking let go. Let me feel that pussy explode. Let me see that squirt. Do it, baby. Fucking do it now."

She screams, her body convulsing, her eyes rolling back in her head. "I'm cumm—AAAAH!"

You can feel it, hot and wet, gushing out of her, coating your cock, dripping down your balls. You keep fucking her, drawing out her orgasm, making her scream with each thrust.

"That's it, baby," you groan. "Fuck, that's so good. You're squirting all over my cock. You're such a good girl, Miyeon. Such a fucking good girl."

Her body is shaking, her pussy still pulsing around you. You slow your thrusts, letting her ride out her orgasm, letting her come down slowly. You're about to cum, right on the edge, but you hold back again. This is about her.

This is about Miyeon.

You gently pull out of her, your cock still hard and glistening with her cum. You move down her body, your tongue tracing a path down her stomach, down to her pussy, your hands stroking her thighs, your touch gentle and soothing.

The bed beneath her is a fucking mess—sheets soaked through, the scent of sex heavy in the air. You can see the wet spot spreading, a testament to her pleasure.

"Fuck, baby," you murmur, your voice soft but filled with awe. "Look at this mess you made. You're so fucking sexy."

Miyeon's breath hitches as she looks down at the wet sheets, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and satisfaction. "I... I didn't know I could do that," she admits, her voice shaky. "It felt... god, it felt so fucking good."

You smile, your fingers tracing patterns on her inner thighs, feeling the slickness of her cum. "You squirted, baby. You fucking squirted all over my cock. It was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

She shivers, her body still sensitive from the intense orgasm. "I've never... I've never felt anything like that before. It was like... like my whole body just let go."

You lean in, your tongue lapping at her pussy, tasting her, cleaning her up. She jolts, her hips bucking slightly, but you hold her steady, your hands gripping her thighs.

"Shh, baby," you soothe. "Let me take care of you. Let me clean you up."

She relaxes, her body melting into the bed as you take your time, your tongue exploring every inch of her pussy. You can feel her shivering, her body responding to your touch. The taste of her is intoxicating, a mix of sweet and salty, pure fucking heaven.

"You taste so fucking good, Miyeon," you murmur, your voice low and husky. "I could do this all fucking night."

She moans softly, her fingers tangling in your hair. "It feels so good... I can't believe I did that. I can't believe I squirted."

You look up at her, your eyes meeting hers. She's watching you, her eyes soft and hazy with pleasure. You smile, your tongue giving her one last lick.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Miyeon," you whisper. "God, you're so fucking perfect…"

"But you haven't come yet," she suddenly notes.

"You're right. And where do you want my cum, princess?" You ask.

"On my face... want to taste you..."

"Fuck... Okay. Yeah, right. Get on your knees, baby,” you ask her as you quickly remove the condom.

Miyeon looks up at you with those innocent eyes as she kneels before you, her pretty face flushed with arousal. Her lips are already swollen from all the kissing, making them look even more cock-hungry than usual. You grab a fistful of her silky black hair, guiding her face closer to your throbbing shaft.

"Open that pretty mouth for me baby," you command, tapping your cock head against her plump lips. "I want to see how deep you can take it."

She parts her lips obediently, sticking out her pink tongue to lap at your sensitive tip. The sight of your precum glistening on her tongue makes your cock throb with need. You slowly feed her more of your length, watching in satisfaction as her lips stretch around your girth.

"Mmmmph," she moans around your cock, her eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. She clearly loves having her mouth filled, eagerly sucking and slurping as you push deeper.

You start with slow, shallow thrusts, letting her get used to your size. Her tongue swirls expertly around your shaft as you slide in and out between those perfect lips. Wet sucking sounds fill the room along with her muffled moans.

"That's it baby, take my cock," you growl, tightening your grip in her hair. "Your mouth feels so fucking good."

She responds by taking you deeper, relaxing her throat to accommodate more of your length. Tears form in the corners of her eyes as you hit the back of her throat, but she doesn't pull away.

If anything, she seems even more eager.

You pick up the pace slightly, fucking her mouth with measured strokes. Her lipstick is getting smeared all over your cock, marking it with traces of red. The sight of her face getting messy already has your balls tightening.

"Such a good little cocksucker," you praise, watching her cheeks hollow with suction. "You love having your pretty face fucked don't you?"

She nods as best she can with your cock stuffed in her mouth, humming in agreement. The vibrations send pleasure shooting through your shaft.

You pull out briefly to let her catch her breath, a string of saliva connecting her lips to your cock head. She gasps for air but immediately opens wide again, eager for more. Her face is already a mess of smeared makeup and drool.

"Please fuck my face harder," she begs, voice hoarse. "I want you to use my mouth like a pussy."

You don't need to be asked twice. Gripping her head firmly with both hands, you slam your cock back between her lips. This time you don't hold back, setting a brutal pace as you fuck her throat. She gags and chokes but takes it like a champ, her eyes watering heavily.

The wet sounds of her throat getting pounded are absolutely obscene. Drool runs down her chin and neck as you use her mouth roughly. Her hands grip your thighs for support but she doesn't try to pull away or slow you down.

"Fuck yes, take that cock," you grunt, watching your shaft disappear repeatedly into her willing mouth. "Going to paint that pretty face white soon."

She moans eagerly around your length, clearly excited by the promise of a facial. You can feel your orgasm building as her throat muscles massage your sensitive head.

Your thrusts become more erratic as you get closer to the edge. Her face is an absolute mess now - mascara running down her cheeks, lipstick completely ruined, drool everywhere. She looks utterly debauched and you haven't even cum yet.

"Get ready baby," you warn, feeling your balls tighten. "Going to cover that beautiful face."

You pull out just in time, the slick heat of her lips giving way as you grip your shaft tightly, aiming at Miyeon's upturned face. Her mouth is already open, tongue stretched out, her eyes locked on yours with a look of pure, desperate need. "Give it to me," she breathes, her voice thick with anticipation. The sight of her waiting so hungrily for your release sends a jolt through you, your cock twitching violently in your hand.

With a guttural groan, you let go, the first rope of hot cum splattering across her forehead and sliding down to her nose. She gasps softly, her breath hitching as the next thick jet paints her cheek, followed by another streaking across the bridge of her nose. Your hand works your shaft steadily, aiming with intent, making sure to glaze her perfect lips thoroughly, the creamy mess dripping onto her tongue as she moans in satisfaction.

She doesn’t flinch—if anything, she leans into it, her tongue sweeping over her lips, savoring every drop that lands in her mouth. You’re relentless, emptying yourself onto her until her face is a masterpiece of your desire, every inch of her skin marked with your seed. Thick streaks cling to her lashes, a stray drop dangling precariously from her chin before falling onto her chest. By the time you're finished, she’s a vision of debauched perfection, her flushed cheeks and parted lips framed by the glistening evidence of your climax.

"Fuck," you mutter, your voice hoarse as you admire her. "Look at you. My perfect, filthy girl."

She moans softly, tilting her head as you bring your cock closer, your tip still sensitive but eager for more. Slowly, deliberately, you use your softening length to spread the mess across her skin. You smear the cum over her cheeks, tracing her jawline, rubbing it into her lips before sliding down to her chin. She stays perfectly still, her eyes closed, a serene smile tugging at her mouth as she basks in the attention.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” you whisper, your voice thick with awe. “That pretty face deserves to be covered in my cum every day.”

Her lashes flutter as she peeks up at you, her voice soft but dripping with satisfaction. “I’ll let you paint me whenever you want. I love how it feels... so warm, so dirty.”

Your thumb moves to her lips, smearing the last of the cum over them before pushing lightly into her mouth. She sucks on it obediently, her tongue flicking against your skin, her moan vibrating through your thumb.

When you finally pull back, you grab a handful of tissues, leaning down to clean her face. You start gently, dabbing at her cheeks and lips, but you can’t help but pause to admire her wrecked state—the messy hair, her flushed skin, her swollen, cock-bruised lips. Even as you clean her, the heat between you lingers, your touch lingering on her skin as she smiles up at you.

"You’re mine, Miyeon," you blurt out unconsciously, but there’s no mistaking the edge in your voice.

"Yours," she repeats, her voice a dreamy whisper. "Yeah, I'm yours.”

—

After changing the sheets on the bed, you both collapse onto the fresh, clean mattress, exhausted but content. You pull Miyeon close, her body fitting perfectly against yours as you snuggle together. The room is quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the city outside the window.

Miyeon props herself up on an elbow, looking down at you with those dark, beautiful eyes. "So... this isn't just a one-time thing, right?" she asks, her voice soft but hopeful.

You pull her in for a kiss, your lips lingering on hers. "Definitely not," you murmur against her mouth. "Unless you want it to be?"

"No!" she says quickly, then blushes, her cheeks turning a cute shade of pink. "I mean... I really like you. Like, really really like you."

You smile, your heart swelling in your chest. "Good, because I really really like you too," you say. "Even when you're not dressed as an elf."

She groans, hiding her face in your neck. "Are you ever going to let me live that down?" she mumbles, her voice muffled.

You chuckle, your arms tightening around her. "Nope. It's how we met, it's part of our love story now."

She goes still in your arms, her body tensing slightly.

"Love story?" She asks

Shit. Too soon? You think to yourself, wondering if you've fucked up. But then she's beaming up at you with that bright smile that first caught your attention, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

"Yeah," you say softly. "Love story."

She kisses you again, pouring all her feelings into it. When she pulls back, her eyes are sparkling with happy tears. "Best Christmas present ever," she declares, her voice filled with joy.

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latanyalove · 4 days ago

Text

Sick Day

Summary: You're sick but you don't want to disturb your busy captain and the crew.

Song: Coming Down by The Weeknd

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

The salt spray stung your face as you clung to the railing of the submarine, Polar Tang. The familiar rocking of the vessel usually soothed you, but today, it churned your stomach with a vengeance. Each swell sent a wave of nausea crashing over you, and the lump in your throat threatened to betray the secret you’d been desperately trying to keep.

“Another beautiful day at sea, eh, Y/N?” Shachi called out, his ever-present grin plastered on his face. He approached, a length of rope slung over his shoulder, and threw an arm around your shoulders.

His touch, normally comforting, felt like a brand on your feverish skin.

“Gorgeous,” you managed, forcing a smile and leaning away slightly. “Just taking in the fresh air.”

Shachi, bless his oblivious heart, seemed to buy it. “That’s the spirit! Captain’s in the library, buried in some ancient medical text again. Probably trying to find a cure for boredom.” He chuckled. “Don’t think he’s slept in days. You should see the bags under his eyes.”

Your heart clenched. That was precisely the reason you were out here, battling the waves and the growing weakness in your limbs. Trafalgar Law, your…everything, was already overworked.

He dedicated his life to the well-being of his crew, pushing himself relentlessly. The last thing he needed was you adding to his burden with a simple cold.

“Maybe I will,” you said, your voice a little too high-pitched. “Catch up on some reading myself.” You detached yourself from Shachi’s grip and hurried below deck, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in your hands.

The air inside the submarine was thick and humid, doing little to alleviate the chill that had settled deep in your bones. You bypassed the library – Law’s sanctuary – and stumbled toward your shared cabin.

Collapsing onto the bunk, you pulled the threadbare blanket over yourself, trying to ignore the throbbing in your head and the scratchiness in your throat.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

Bepo’s anxious voice cut through the fog in your brain. You peeked out from under the blanket to see the massive polar bear crouched in the doorway, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Fine, Bepo, fine,” you mumbled, pulling the blanket higher. “Just a little tired.”

Bepo wasn’t stupid. He knew you better than anyone, barring Law himself. He padded closer, his large paws silent on the metal floor.

“Your face is flushed,” he said, his voice laced with worry. “And you’re shivering. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Just a little seasick,” you insisted, turning your face to the wall. “It’ll pass.”

Bepo hesitated, his ears twitching. “Maybe…maybe I should tell Captain.”

Panic flared in your chest. “No! Bepo, please don’t. He’s so busy. It’s nothing, I promise. Just let me rest.”

You knew you were being unreasonable, but desperation lent your voice a sharp edge. Bepo, always sensitive to your feelings, retreated slightly.

“Okay, Y/N,” he said softly. “But…but if you need anything, anything, you promise you’ll tell me?”

“I promise,” you whispered, closing your eyes.

Days blurred into a miserable cycle of stolen naps, forced smiles, and growing weakness. You avoided Law as much as possible, knowing he’d see through your charade in an instant.

You choked down your meals, forcing yourself to socialize with the crew, all the while battling a fever that threatened to consume you.

The hardest part was keeping your distance from Law. You craved his touch, his presence, his unwavering gaze. He was your anchor, your safe harbor in a turbulent world.

But you couldn't risk him seeing you like this, a pathetic, sniffling mess. You’d rather suffer in silence than burden him with your trivial illness.

One evening, as you were attempting to sneak a cup of herbal tea – Penguin’s well-intentioned remedy, despite your protests – Law’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Y/N.”

You froze, your back to him. The sound of his voice sent a shiver down your spine, a different kind of shiver than the one that racked your body with fever.

“Captain,” you said, turning around slowly. You tried to appear nonchalant, leaning against the counter as if you weren’t desperately trying to keep from collapsing.

He stood in the doorway to the galley, his dark eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. He was even more tired than Shachi had described, the lines around his mouth etched deeper, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he stated, his voice flat.

You forced a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Captain. I’ve just been…busy.”

He raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge. “Busy doing what, exactly? Trying to master the art of disappearing?”

You swallowed, your throat burning. “I…I just wanted to give you space. You’ve been working so hard.”

He stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “And you think hiding from me is helping?” He reached out, his fingers brushing against your forehead. You flinched, but he didn’t pull away.

“You’re burning up,” he said, his voice laced with concern. “How long have you been sick?”

The fight drained out of you. There was no point in denying it any longer. He knew. He always knew.

“A few days,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.

His grip on your forehead tightened slightly. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

You looked up at him, your eyes pleading. “I didn’t want to bother you. You have so much to worry about.”

He sighed, a sound of weary exasperation. “Y/N…" He took your hand in his, his thumb stroking the back of your palm. "You are never a bother. Ever. Do you understand?”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “But…”

“No buts,” he interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. “Come with me.”

He led you back to your cabin, carefully helping you onto the bunk. He didn’t say anything as he peeled off your clammy clothes and wrapped you in a fresh blanket. He worked with a practiced efficiency, his movements precise and gentle.

He summoned Bepo, who scurried off to fetch a basin of cool water and some clean cloths. Law sat beside you, dipping the cloth in the water and gently dabbing your forehead.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked again, his voice softer this time.

Your voice was hoarse. “I was scared.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and something else, something that made your heart flutter despite the throbbing in your head.

“Scared of what?”

“That you’d be angry,” you whispered. “That I’d be a burden.”

He shook his head, his dark hair falling across his forehead. “You could never be a burden, Y/N. And I could never be angry at you for being sick.”

He continued to bathe your forehead in silence, his touch soothing and comforting. You closed your eyes, letting the cool water and his presence wash over you.

“From now on,” he said softly, after a long silence, “no more secrets. Not from me. Understand?”

You opened your eyes and looked at him, your heart overflowing with love and gratitude.

“I understand,” you whispered.

The next few days were a blur of fever dreams and Law’s unwavering care. He made you herbal teas, insisted on you resting, and even managed to coax a few bites of bland food past your protesting stomach.

The crew tiptoed around the cabin, whispering their well wishes and leaving small gifts – a rare orange, a hand-knitted scarf, a crudely drawn get-well card from Bepo.

Slowly, the fever began to break. The throbbing in your head subsided, and the nausea faded. You started to feel like yourself again, a little weak perhaps, but alive.

One evening, as you sat propped up in bed, reading a worn paperback, Law entered the cabin. He carried a tray with a steaming mug and a plate of crackers.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"Much better, thank you," you replied, offering a tentative smile. "I'm almost back to normal."

He placed the tray on the small table beside your bed. "Good. I was starting to miss your sharp wit and irritating questions."

You chuckled, a genuine sound this time. "Irritating questions? You're just jealous of my superior intellect."

He smirked, a rare and precious sight. "Of course. That must be it." He leaned back against the wall, watching you as you sipped your tea. The silence that followed was comfortable, a familiar rhythm between you.

"Law," you began hesitantly, "I wanted to thank you. For everything."

He raised an eyebrow. "There's no need. I just did what anyone would have done."

You shook your head. "No, you went above and beyond. You could have left it to the others, but you didn't. You took care of me. And I... I really appreciate it."

He pushed himself off the wall and took a step closer. "Y/N," he said, his voice low and serious, "you're important to me."

Your heart leaped in your chest. "I –"

He cut you off, continuing before you could overthink and ruin the moment. "You're smart, resourceful, and you have this infuriating way of always knowing exactly what to say to piss me off, but also... to make me laugh. You bring a unique perspective to the crew. You challenge me."

He paused, his eyes searching yours. "And," he swallowed hard, "you're… kind of… essential to me."

You stared at him, speechless. Essential? Was he… could he possibly…

He seemed to realize what he had said, the implications of his words hitting him like a tidal wave. His cheeks flushed a faint pink, and he looked away, running a hand through his hair.

"I… I didn’t mean to say that," he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

"You didn't?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

He looked back at you, his gaze intense. "Well, I mean… I did. But… I didn't mean to say it like that. It just sort of… came out." He was a mess, a far cry from the stoic, collected captain you knew him to be.

You couldn't help but laugh, a nervous, shaky sound. "So, you're saying you didn't intend to accidentally confess your… whatever this is, to me, while I'm still recovering from a fever?"

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. "This is a disaster."

You reached out and took his hand, your fingers intertwining with his. "Hey," you said softly, "it's okay. It's more than okay."

He looked up, his eyes filled with doubt and a glimmer of hope. "It is?"

You squeezed his hand. "Yes, Law. It is. Because… I feel the same way."

His eyes widened. "You… you do?"

You nodded, your heart soaring. "I do. I have for a long time."

A slow smile spread across his face, transforming his features. It was the most genuine, unguarded smile you had ever seen. He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear.

"Then maybe," he whispered, "this accidental confession wasn't such a disaster after all."

He leaned in closer, and you closed your eyes, anticipation flooding your senses. His lips brushed against yours, a tentative, feather-light touch. It was a promise, a beginning.

The door to the cabin slid open with a bang, and Penguin's head popped in. "Captain! We've spotted–" He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in the scene. "Oh. Sorry. Am I interrupting something?"

Law pulled away, his cheeks flushing again. "Yes, Penguin. You are."

Penguin backed out of the cabin, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and amusement. "Right. Carry on, then. I'll just… tell the others to steer clear." He disappeared, leaving you and Law alone once more.

You both burst out laughing, the tension finally dissipating. The world outside your tiny cabin seemed to fade away, leaving only you and Law, the quiet hum of the Polar Tang, and the undeniable spark of something new, something real, igniting between you.

The fever might have been a curse, but it had inadvertently led to a cure for a different kind of ailment, one you had both been suffering from in silence for far too long.

And maybe, just maybe, accidental confessions were the best kind. . . .

#trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #law #law x reader #trafalgar d law #law x you #law x oc #law x y/n #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar d law x you #trafalgardwaterlaw #one piece law #one piece headcanons #one piece fanfic #one piece x reader #one piece

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luveline · 8 months ago

Note

Heyyyy can you do a Hotch x reader where readers just kinda been down all day but doesn’t wanna tell Hotch because she’s kinda used to being the badass with all her walls up? And hotch kinda pulls her to the side and forces it out of her 😊😊

thank you for requesting!! fem, 1.2k

Hotch has dark hair. He’s an older guy but he’s yet to grey, hair like the strands are soaked with coal pitch, even darker under the office lights. He braces his hand on the desk and ducks toward Spencer’s computer screen, pointing at a corner with patience.

“This one,” Hotch says.

“Why would they organise it like this?” Spencer asks, his voice bordering incredulous.

“I’m not sure. You’ll remember where this is?”

“Do you usually have to tell me more than once?” Spencer says lightly.

“Ask your licence to carry.”

You’d laugh, his wit quick and poor Spencer a good sport, but your head feels heavy with a forming upset. Like your mind has turned to thick porridge. You woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but you don’t feel angry, more magnificently empty. Nothing is touching beyond your surface level.

“Thank you, sir,” Spencer says.

You ignore the weight of a gaze on you while you click through your emails, prioritising what needs to be answered before the end of the day, the end of the week, and the end of the month as Hotch taught you to. You double click an email chain from a consult you’d been assigned from out of state and reread your response, nervous that your lack of confidence today might have shone through blunt wording. Hotch is looped into the chain —he can correct any glaring errors should you have made them.

“Hey,” Hotch says when you don’t look up. He doesn’t use your name, and he doesn’t need to. “I’d like to talk to you. Let’s go up to my office.”

“Can I have a half hour to work through my emails?” you ask apologetically.

“I’d prefer we talk now. Any overdue reply can be blamed on me,” he says.

The way he talks is natural to him but perhaps strange if it were another person, with another disposition. You know Hotch to be both gentle and stern at once. His tone leaves little room for debate, but it reassures you to hear the measured cadence of each word without rush. The openness of his expression is similarly comforting, and though he doesn’t know it —you would never own up to feeling this way, verbally or physically— you’d quite like to be comforted by him. Even if he takes you to the office to reprimand you, you’ll at least have been near him for long enough to forget your odd aching.

Hotch doesn’t walk until you do, taking each step by side until he gets to the office, where he opens the door to encourage you in.

You drift a few feet inward, shoes soft on clean, crisp carpeting. Hotch closes the door, where he stands momentarily, silence held.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

Hotch pulls out one of the two black chairs in front of his desk and gestures for you to sit. “Everything’s okay,” he says, standing back to give you space to sit, his hand moving to rest on the back of the chair as you sit. It whines as you shift to see him. “With me, everything’s okay. How about you?”

“Everything’s fine with me.”

You’d pad your explanation out if you didn’t think he was about to tell you what you’re in the brig for. No one likes a nervous Nelly.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

You glance at his hand behind you and he moves it swiftly. “Hotch?” you ask tentatively.

“I’ve noticed you aren’t yourself today.”

“I’m completely myself.”

“It’s not like you to stare into space.” He frowns. “I want to sit down because I don’t like towering over you, but I don’t want you to internalise this as a meeting.”

“You’re not towering over me, Hotch.

His frown doesn’t ebb. “…We each have our own unique levy to carry the weight of, I know that. But it’s not… nice, to see you like this. I’d like to know what’s wrong.”

Again, no nonsense and reassuring at once.

Maybe he is towering a little. You avert your gaze from his, feeling uncharacteristically meek for a weak moment.

“I think I woke up mixed up,” you confess eventually, picking at a stray thread on your skirt until the tips of your fingers burn. “Like, nothing happened to upset me, but I…”

“You do feel upset.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You’re not sure why?”

“Not really. I think that–” You lick your lips nervously, not finding the right words, wanting to be vulnerable and simultaneously reluctant to show him anything he might not like. “I think it’s lots of smaller things and they’re layering on top of each other. Do you get that?”

“All the time. Though usually my way of dealing with it is less pleasant for others.” He looks down at you steadily. “And yours,” —he aims enough fondness at you to stop your heart— “is self-contained. But I don't want you to think you’re walking through life unseen.”

“Unseen,” you repeat.

He stands very still. “Can I touch your face?” he asks quietly.

You don’t know why he’d ask, but you say, “Yes, please.”

“Please,” he says. You’re repeating each other. The air in the room feels thicker as he lifts his hand to your cheek and cups it gently. “When you’re upset, I notice. I can’t help but notice.” Your face lists into his palm slowly, worried he’ll move, but he holds you and he watches you with care. “Is there anything I can do to make it all feel better?”

“I don’t think so.”

He rubs your cheek with his thumb. “No?”

You close your eyes. “No,” you say, matching his volume.

“I don’t know what to do now,” he murmurs.

“Sorry, I’m okay,” you say, asking yourself to move away from his touch, but unable to force it, “I’m gonna…”

It’s a boundary crossed, but you and Hotch are good at that. He’s constantly treating you with more sweetness than a boss should show toward his employee, and you eat it up despite every instinct in you that says you shouldn’t. So you won’t tell him you’ve had a bad day until he asks, and even then, you have nothing permanent to offer him for fixing, and still he’ll hold your face and make it feel ordinary. Like he’s touched you a hundred times, something about it feels right, and real. Your cheek feels softer under his tracing thumb. You could fall asleep in his hands.

“How can I make you feel better?” he asks again.

“It’s not that bad.”

“But what can I do?”

You want to ask for a hug, but even the idea of it is too much to think about. Miss Independent admitting she needs more than this? When it’s already more than you should have?

Profilers profile, and somehow you give yourself away.

“Come on,” he says softly.

He hugs you. His hand falls from your face to your shoulder, wrapping behind it, encompassing you in a strong arm as he bends down to embrace you fully.

“I wish you’d ask for more,” he says, his free arm slinking between your arm and side, hand to your back, encouraging you to hug him back.

You don’t know what to do with your arms. Each movement feels stilted, but Hotch makes up for it. He hugs you without inhibition, like he’s wanted to do it for a long, long time.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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raven-dor · 6 months ago

Text

come back to me

In which gwayne hightower leaves his wife asleep before the battle, and she worries over his return

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x reader, alicent hightower x PLATONIC!reader, rhaenyra targaryen x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: allusions to nsfw, angst, old friends, hurt/comfort, arguing (not actual arguing, just reader letting out her worry), fluffy ending

WORD COUNT: 2.9k

🎶 : old money - lana del rey

Her emerald green dress flowed with the wind as she stood on their shared balcony, staring at the town below. He always admired her from afar, she was angelic, Gwayne had come to realize over the years. He walked behind her, his arms snaking around her waist, a gentle touch that spoke volumes as to how much he treasured her. “Come to bed, my love.”

She hummed, leaning her head back into his chest. “If I come to bed, this night will end, and that will mean you are leaving.” She shook her head, her resistance palpable in the air. “So I will not.”

He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Will you deny your lord husband the pleasure of your company before he goes into battle?”

She laughed, twisting in his hold. “Is this a request or a demand?”

“It is a plea.” He leaned down, inches away from her lips. “I do not wish to leave on bad terms. This battle will be one for the histories.” He shivered, pulling her closer. “Indulge me.”

She leaned forward, cruelly teasing him. Quickly, she pulled back, escaping his hold easily. She walked past him, smirking. “If we must.”

He grabbed her wrist, spinning her back to him. She gasped, her knees weakening under his piercing gaze. Gwayne had always had a hold on her, even long before they were promised to each other, and she was just the Dowager Queen’s childhood friend. He was a good man; he always had been. “You know I would never force myself on you, my lady. But I must confess…” He leaned down, whispering. “If I do not kiss you, I will surely die.”

She giggled, reaching for his lips. “We cannot have that, can we?”

He collided her lips with his, groaning. “My darling girl…”

“Take me to bed, Gwayne.” She murmured, linking her lips with his once more. “Please.”

“Whatever you wish, my love.” He grabbed her thighs, wrapping her legs around him with ease. “Whatever you wish.”

The sun peaked through their wide-open curtains, stirring her from her otherwise peaceful sleep. She rolled over, reaching out for her husband. Her reach came up empty, his side of the bed still warm. She gasped, realizing what he had done. She sat up quickly, calling for her maid. “Help me dress.”

The young girl nodded. “Which dress would you-”

“It does not matter!” She snapped. “I am sorry, truly. Any dress, just do it quickly.”

The maid threw on her frock, a simple green velvet slip that she typically wore when exploring the woods surrounding Old Town. Smiling gratefully, she raced through the halls, not caring for the looks that followed her. The doors to the courtyard burst open, and she scanned quickly for her husband. The Dowager Queen stood alone in the center, staring at the gate. Gathering herself, she approached, curtsying. “My Queen.”

Alicent smiled lightly. “No need for such formalities. We were once friends, Y/N.”

She ignored the request. “Has your brother-”

The queen nodded knowingly. “He just left, I’m afraid.” She put a comforting hand on her sister-in-law’s shoulder. “He did not want to wake you.”

“I-” Tears began to well, and she coughed. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Y/N, wait!”

She had already dashed up the stairs, her tears now fully streaming down her cheeks.

It had been over a month before she’d received word that the battle was over and the surviving soldiers would be returning home. In that month, not one letter from Gwayne had graced her room or, more accurately, her cell. The Red Keep was a prison now, though if Gwayne came back, she would not tell him. He loved his family dearly, especially his sister and learning of his wife’s distaste for them would surely cause a rift.

She closed her eyes, trying to remember what had only been twenty years ago, when she, Alicent, and Rhaenyra would sit in the gardens, jesting about tutors and gossiping about knights of the realm. When Alicent left to attend to her father, Rhaenyra would look over at Y/N, teasing her about her budding crush on Alicent’s brother.

She had not seen Rhaenyra in years. Now, her nephew by law had usurped her throne, and there was nothing Y/N could do but watch. She had no dragon, no power of her own. Which she had been contempt of before her husband had been dragged into this whole mess. Thanks to her nephew, he might never return to her. All she could do now was count down the days until the horns blew, and she stood in the courtyard, raking over the faces in the crowd until she found Gwaynes.

A knock rang through her chambers, her guard's voice coming through the door. “My lady, the Dowager Queen, would like to see you.”

She sighed, taking a deep breath. “I will be out in a moment.”

Alicent rarely called for her anymore. The last time had been when Viserys had died, a letter arrived to Old Town not for her brother, the Lord Paramount, but for you. For you to come.

You had not; after all, you had just given birth to your second child, and you were too frail to walk. Gwayne had refused to even let you entertain the notion, insisting that your health came before his sister, even if she was the queen.

Her chamber doors were wide open, and Alicent sat at her table, tea and two glasses in front of her. The Queen smiled, waving away her servants and guard. “Leave us.”

“But my lady…”

“My sister-in-law is no threat, Sir Rickard.” The older man nodded, ushering the servants out of her chambers and closing the doors soundly behind him. “Are you well?”

“As well as I can be, my lady.” Y/N smiled. “And yourself?”

“As well as one can be, I suppose.” The two former friends sat in silence, sipping their tea. The fire crackled behind them, and Y/N began to wonder what exact moment had caused a rift in their friendship.

“I must tell you something.” Alicent looked torn like she was fighting herself to stay silent. “You must not tell anyone, not even my brother.”

“Of course.” She nodded quickly. “Of course, Alicent.”

“I made a mistake.” Her face was ghostly white. “Aegon–” She gasped, a sob wrecking through her body. Y/N froze, unsure of what to do. “He was never supposed to be king. I misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood?”

“Viserys, he was spouting nonsense about Aegon the Conquerer, and I thought-” She scoffed. “I misunderstood.”

Y/N sat back in her chair, staring at the fire. “You mean to tell me that this entire war started because of a misunderstanding?” Alicent remained silent. “Alicent, you must tell Rhaenyra. Before it’s too late.”

The queen laughed. “It’s already too late. Her son is dead; my grandson was viciously murdered in his own bed. She would not see me. You remember how stubborn she is.”

Y/N knelt in front of Alicent, taking her hands in hers. “Alicent, for the good of the realm, you must meet with Rhaenyra and come to an agreement. Atrocities have been dealt by both sides, but if you tell her this…” She shivered. “It would save thousands. It would save your brother, Helaena, your…guard.” She tightened her hold on her old friend's hands. “Please.”

“I-” She nodded, not trusting her voice to stay collected. Y/N stood, dusting off her dress and sitting back down.

“Have you heard any word of your brother?”

“None.” It was Alicent’s turn to hold her hand. “He will return to you, I am sure. He is a great knight.”

She nodded. “He is; that is what worries me.”

“What do you mean?”

“He would never leave his men behind. Even if that meant…” She trailed off, sighing. “You understand.”

Alicent nodded, her heart at the bottom of her stomach. Her old friend had always been melancholy since childhood. Her parents had perished in a horrible accident, and she had been a ward of the crown ever since. She could not bear to be the cause of her further grief.

“How are the children?”

“Well. Daeron writes that Arthur is practically as talented at the sword as he. Emma is still just a babe, but she grows larger by the day.” She murmured. “As far as I’ve heard.”

“You will be back with them soon; I promise you that.” Alicent smiled. “I understand what it is like to miss a child.”

Y/N nodded, but she knew Alicent could never understand. How could she? She had never been forced to leave her children to come and serve a usurper of a king.

The horns had blown midday only two days later. Y/N’s worry for her husband had turned into anger over the past months, anger that he did not say goodbye to her before he went off to war. She’d been sitting on her balcony when the deep sound blared through the city, rousing her out of her stupor. Even if she was angry with her husband, that did not mean her heart did not yearn to be in his arms, to be kissed like it was the last moment they would ever live. Her dress billowed behind her as she ran, again not bothering to acknowledge the prying eyes that followed. She slowed, and two guards opened the doors slowly, slower than she would have liked.

Walking down the staircase gracefully, she tried to keep her composure when she could not find Gwayne in the crowd below. Her heart dropped, and she clenched her fists, nausea bubbling in her stomach. She was too young to be a widow, too young to raise two children on her own, too young to-

“My lady.” She turned around, almost sobbing at the sight. There stood her lord husband, in all his glory. His hair was dirty, his skin broken, but all Y/N saw was her love before her and alive.

She bowed, making no movement to embrace him.

“Lord Husband. I am most grateful for your return.”

His eyebrows raised, a smirk gracing his delicate face. “How formal of you, my dear.”

She huffed, turning on her heels and walking back into the castle. Gwayne followed behind swiftly, entirely confused as to why he did not have her in his arms. They walked in silence to their chambers, servants stilling at the sight of Gwayne. “Leave us.” He ordered, not sparing a second glance. They scurried out, the doors shutting loudly.

He stared at her curiously. “My Love-”

“Let me dress your wounds.” She sighed, walking over to their wardrobe. “It seems you have many.”

He nodded but made no movement to sit or remove his armour. “Darling-”

“Turn for me, my lord. I need to remove your armour.”

He nodded once more, turning as requested. The tension was palpable, but neither of them made any effort to break it. She quickly removed his armour, setting it delicately on the table. “Sit.”

She stood in front of him, leaning down to dress his wounds. His hands ached to reach out and pull her into his lap, but he made no effort; he simply stared at her. “Was the battle difficult?”

He nodded, hissing as she disinfected a cut. She mumbled apologies. “It was quite the scene. A dragon’s fight is something I hope you never witness.” Y/N simply hummed, concentrating on the cut. “Did you fare well while I was away?”

She tensed, nodding quickly. “As well as one can do when their husband leaves without a word.”

Ah. So that is why she had not jumped into his arms when he arrived. Gwayne had wondered why he had not been making his wife sigh and gasp from his tender touch. “I thought it was best if-”

“You thought wrong.” She murmured, walking over to the bowl of clean water. He couldn’t fight it anymore, reaching out to grab her hips. She gasped but made no effort to look down.

“Please forgive me.” He tightened his hold, dropping his head against her stomach. “I did not want to wake you.”

“So I was told.” He looked up, and she sighed. “Your sister.”

“You looked so peaceful; I did not wish to see you cry.”

She laughed humourlessly. “Who said I would waste any tears on you?”

He sat back, clutching his chest playfully. “You wound me, wife.”

She scoffed, squirming in his hold. “You cannot charm me into forgiving you.”

“I made no such claim.”

“Yes, well.” She sighed, pulling out of his arms and rinsing the rag. “You thought it. Of that, I am sure.”

He smiled. Her spirit had always drawn him in. From the first day they had met, she had not withered at the sight of a lord. She held her ground, staying as strong as she was. “Withering is for flowers,” she told him. “I am no flower.” He laughed, placing a daisy behind her ear. “No. But you are as pretty as one.” That had made her blush. How he wished they could go back to then when everything was much simpler. When the thought of dragon fire didn’t threaten their very lives, their children’s lives.

She stood back in front of him, but this time, he put his hands on her hips, pulling her into his lap. Her cheeks grew red, and she looked down at his neck, tending to a rather nasty bruise. “My love, please look at me.”

“I can’t look at you.” She shook her head defiantly. “I am angry at you.”

“Y/N-” He cupped her cheek with his hand, caressing it with his thumb.

“Don't!” She yelped like she’d been burned, jumping up. “You left me. I woke up, and you were gone. No note, no kiss goodbye. What if you had died?” She scoffed. “But no, ‘I looked too peaceful to wake.’ That is a horrid excuse. You’re a coward, Gwayne Hightower. A coward.”

Gwayne stood up, his eyebrows furrowed. “Now, wait just a moment-” She hit his chest, tears streaming down her face. “How could you? Do you know how worried sick I was? Do you?”

“Stop this.”

She shook her head, continuing to beat at his chest. “Don’t ever do-”

He grabbed her wrists delicately, stopping her. “Stop this madness.” His voice was gentle, not a trace of anger or annoyance found.

She sobbed. “You mongral. Let me-”

“I understand that you are upset, my darling. But surely you realize this is not the solution.” He lowered his head, their lips inches apart. “I wanted to remember my happy girl. No tears.”

“I wouldn’t have cried.” She murmured, still fighting against his hold.

“As opposed to what you are doing now?”

She glared at his chest. “You are without a doubt the most-” Releasing one of her wrists, he brought his hand to her chin, raising her head gently. When she still refused to look at him, he leaned down, kissing her nose, cheeks, and forehead until she finally gave in to his love.

“I have to admit, I was rather disappointed at the reception I received.”

“If only you had left a note.” She mumbled. “Never do that to me again. Promise me, Gwayne.”

He nodded, kissing each knuckle gently. “I swear to you.”

She wanted to take him to bed, admire his form, and thank the gods old and new that he was with her and not dead on a battlefield, but the reality was he still had many cuts that needed to be tended to, and he desperately needed get the stench of battle off his skin.

“You need a bath.”

“Are you insinuating that I smell?” Gwayne tilted his head, a jesting look on his face. She nodded, giggling.

“Terribly.”

He groaned, letting her out of his hold. “Very well.”

Y/N couldn’t help but wince as she watched him peeled off his shirt. “Let me help you.”

“I can do it-” She glared, and he gave in immediately. “Fine, fine.”

She nodded, carefully untying the top before lifting his shirt. Her cheeks grew bright red, his torso still as muscular as the day they were married. Throwing his shirt on the ground, her breath caught. His eyes were piercing hers once more, drawing her in. She smiled, kissing a cut on his chest gently. “Does this hurt?”

It was his turn for his breath to catch. He shook his head, words failing. Another cut, another bruise; she followed the trail until it stopped at a cut on his lower lip.

“My noble boy.” She kissed his lip lightly, sending shivers down the brave knight’s spine. This time, when he gave her that look, she couldn’t resist it. She placed her arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to hers. “I missed you so.”

He groaned, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “I’m so sorry, my darling. Please forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive. I was acting a fool.” She sighed as he nipped down her neck. “Gwayne, the bath…”

“I promise you I will bathe, but if I do not have you this instant, I will simply combust.”

They stumbled over to the door, locking it haphazardly. “Take me to bed.”

“I will, I will, but first…” He turned her around, undoing her laces quickly. He groaned. “Good god, woman, how many laces can a dress have?”

She laughed, throwing her head back. “Woman?”

“Forgive me. My lady, light of my life, darling, love-”

Now she was fully cackling, and turned around, smothering his face his affection. “Let us retire, please.”

He nodded, the laces finally coming undone. She stumbled backward, drawing him in with her spell. He tapped his chin, tilting his head. “I was about to do something.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I believe, lord husband, you were about to ravish me.”

He grinned, stalking towards her. “Thank you, my lady, for reminding me.”

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