#is there a difference between watching and seeing?
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14dayswithyou · 2 days ago
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Some long-term followers may have noticed this subtle shift already (especially those who are in the 14DWY Discord server or have read this post), but I figured I'd make it official.
I'm no longer associating myself with the yandere VN community.
The TLDR is that the energy here really fuckin SUCKS!! And I don't want to be part of something so hostile and needlessly competitive.
The constant infighting and epicaricacy between communities is deeply upsetting, and it's very disheartening to see aspiring developers cancel their projects because of the unwarranted backlash and harassment they face.
Some entitled folks on here reeeeally need to understand that constantly harassing others for updates, encouraging developers to belittle others to make themselves/their project look better, complaining about a project not meeting the expectations you specifically put in place, attacking other communities because of the parasocial relationship you share with another developer, getting mad that you chose to ignore important PSAs or warnings and faced the repercussions, or even sending in hate messages on anon because you're bored are not things you should be doing — let alone be proud of.
I try to avoid bringing up these topics as it's not the vibe I want to have on this blog (nor do I want to negatively contribute to the Streisand Effect and blow things out of proportion), but I'm genuinely getting tired of being on the receiving end of all this harassment and negativity, seeing it happen to others, and watching other indie developers encourage such vile behaviour. I'm done.
For those wondering what this means for "14 Days With You": for the most part, everything will still continue like usual. I've said this from the very beginning, but 14DWY is just a passion project I pursue whenever I feel like it. It's something I do for fun as a hobby — not because I want to publish a well-known game or turn it into a career. I've been on Tumblr for over thirteen years now, and it's taught me how to grow thick skin, so everything that I'm yapping and yammering about won't stop me from working on 14DWY.
However, this does mean that I won't be as interactive with other developers or their communities anymore; many ill-natured people have ruined this for me.
Because of them, I'm no longer able to voice my opinion on other games without some opinionated rat whispering in my ear about how the developer is "problematic" or that I could get cancelled for simply following them on Twitter. I can't interact with certain games without its parasocial community becoming hostile or gatekeepy towards anyone they don't like. I've seen communities belittle and devalue promising demos because in their eyes, nothing can compare to their favourite game (or their favourite developer). I have been harassed, bullied, and doxxed by other communities and have seen the same thing happen to others as well. I've heard about the developers who weaponise their community's loyalty to attack and drive out their competition. And I've witnessed more than enough developers expressing how badly they want to take a hiatus due to how much unwarranted negativity they receive, but don't want to disappoint their community by doing so.
By saying all of this, you can understand why I dislike being here so much, as well as why I no longer find any enjoyment in interacting with the yandere VN community.
Many people here — fans and developers alike — are so needlessly pushy about their standards and personal opinions being the norm, and if anyone else goes against them, they'll purposefully try to ostracise and bully them out of the community. This place isn't as laid-back or inclusive as it used to be, and I don't want to be associated with a community that acts so hostile and aggressive towards anyone who shares a differing opinion — nor do I want to be part of a space that caters towards developers who'll tear down others in order to have a moment of relevancy.
We're all doing our own thing and making our own games; it shouldn't be a competition. But if you see it as such, then I urge you to take a moment to stop and rethink your actions — or, at the very least, understand how it's affecting you and others around you.
So until there's a reasonable change and people can go back to being less... demanding, hypercritical, and gatekeepy about who interacts with what, I'll be stepping away and continuing to stay in my own bubble, as I have for the past two years now. I've already unfollowed everyone associated with the yandere community many months ago, but I think I'll just unfollow everyone entirely now for my own peace of mind. I will also no longer be interacting with any yandere VN communities (aside from close friends), nor will I be as public with my interests from this moment on. Everything on this blog will be strictly related to 14DWY like usual, and I will continue to block and report any spiteful "anons"/burner accounts sent my way and delete their messages.
Again, this isn't really much of an announcement — it's more so just paragraphs of me bitchin and moanin 🫶 — but I wanted to get this all out there instead of leaving things unsaid and having people come to their own conclusions as to why I've suddenly become less active, less optimistic, and why I've stopped engaging with a majority of the yandere community in the last two years.
So, yeah... ^^; If there's anything I want y'all to take away from this entire post, it's to be kind, open, and understanding towards everyone — developers and communities alike — and to spread support rather than negativity. It's what I want my own community to be known for, so please be mindful of how you treat others online.
And if you find yourself being surrounded by constant toxicity and negativity (be it from friends, mutuals, or even other developers or communities), please don't feel ashamed to step away or cut them off entirely. Put yourself and your mental health first. I also think it'll be good for me to leave all this negative energy behind and continue to kick off 2025 in a better light, so if y'all need to let out any frustrations of your own, feel free to go ham in the replies (obviously, be kind and civil though jghsjg T_T)
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pitchsidestories · 3 days ago
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What is this feeling ? (1) II Alexia Putellas x Reader
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romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1875
summary: Alexia tells herself you're to young for her, but her heart wants you.
author's note: hi everyone, enjoy the anticipated oneshot.💌
You knew it from the look on her face. You knew before she even made a sound. You knew what was coming and you still were unprepared.
It felt like time had stopped, like you and her could only existed in this small dressing room.
“Listen…”, she said calmly.
In contrast to you, she didn’t seem nervous at all. Her face was unreadable and stern, like it usually was when she was out on the pitch with the captain’s armband on.
You bit your lip, bracing yourself.
“I know what you’re going to say.”
Alexia didn’t miss a beat: “This won’t work.”
It took a lot from you to not let out a frustrated sigh.
“It’s the age gap, isn’t it?”
“I’m too old for you.”, Alexia confirmed, her face unmoved.
The room began to feel too tight suddenly.
You shook your head firmly, trying to shake the shock off: “No, that’s not true.”
“You’re too young. Better?”
It all felt like she was trying to make excuses. You were 22 and she was about to turn 31. Nine years weren’t that much. And you were both consenting adults.
The fact that Alexia didn't seem to see this filled you with frustration.
“I don’t care about the years between us.”, you said passionately, maybe also stubbornly.
The older player shook her head like there was no convincing her: “But I do.”
You frowned at her: “That’s your head, not your heart speaking.”
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?”, she replied cooly.
“It does matter.”
“Y/n.”
Your name out of her mouth made you stall for a moment.
“Yes?”
“Don’t do that.”, she said plainly.
You cocked your head in confusion: “Do what?”
“Look at me like that.”
Finally, her voice softened.
“I look at you like I want to.”, you retorted.
Alexia rolled her eyes: “You’re a child.”
“Wrong, I’m an adult like you.”
“You just turned 22.”
You crossed your arms in front of your chest. She already thought you were a child so you didn’t care if you looked like one too. “Still.”
“You’ll never stop until you get what you wanted, huh?”, Alexia asked with raised eyebrows.
“Right. I had the best teacher for that.”, you retaliated.
“Oh, you did?”
“Yes, I learned that from you.”
“I know that you meant me.”, Alexia said, rolling her eyes for a second time.
“But you already gave up so I should leave.”
You took one step towards the door, trying to pass her.
“You’re leaving?”
“Isn’t that what you want?”, you asked, lifting your head to directly look into her eyes.
Alexia was left speechless: “I…”
“Tell me what you want, Alexia.”, you demanded.
She looked away, shaking her head: “I don’t know what I want.”
“That’s a lie.”
Memories flooded to the surface, back to the moment when everything seemed possible, and the age difference still seemed unimportant. It all started at your birthday party, which you celebrated with your teammates. Every longer look and touch made both your hearts beat faster.
“No, Cata, there’s no way I’m doing that.”, you shook your head determined.
The young women and you were going all out tonight, and the alcohol made you all a bit reckless except for your team captain. She gazed at you with growing concern.
The goalkeeper grinned: “Do it.”
“Fine.”, you sighed.
Ona watched you in disbelief: “I can’t believe she’s really doing it.”
If there was a test of courage, you wanted to pass it no matter what. Whether on or off the pitch, you were known for being brave and sometimes even reckless.
“Look at Ale’s face.”, Cata chuckled, amused by the stern expression on the older midfielder's face.
Smirking, Jana remarked:” Absolutely priceless.”
“What are you doing?” Alexia's worried voice interrupted the adrenaline rush that had been triggered in you by the task.
“I...”, when you saw the worry lines on her forehead, you bit your lip guiltily. Under her watchful eyes, you suddenly felt very stupid and childish.
She growled:” Don’t ever do that again.”
“It was just a test of courage.”, you tried to play down the whole thing.
The blonde crossed both arms in front of her chest as she warned:” Keep me out of this."
“Can I get you a drink?”, you asked, changing the topic to something more light-hearted with a charming smile on your lips.
“No, are you even allowed to order yet?”, Alexia lifted an eyebrow.
You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her question: “We’re celebrating my 22nd birthday.”
“It was a joke.”, she revealed, and a shy grin lit up her face.
You returned her smile: “You’re really bad at jokes, captain.”
“I know.”, the midfielder admitted, nervously running a hand through her unbound hair.
Once you realised how nervous she was around you, it put you in a flirtatious mood: “But you look adorable while making them.”
The older woman’s cheeks flushed instantly. “Shut up.”, Alexia hissed, pretending not to be touched by your flattering words.
The blonde could deceive herself, but not you.
“Or what..?”, you boldly  answered her with a counter question.
The midfielder explained; her intense gaze gave the feeling that you were the only two people in the room, even though it was quite full: “You better not test your limits.”
On the other side of the room, the rest of your teammates had followed your conversation from a safe distance.
 “Oh, she’s overdoing it, girls.”, Salma observed anxiously.
Ona cleared her throat and declared fearlessly: “I’ll go and save her.”
You felt Onas presence next to you before you saw her. “Ona?”
“Hey, you can’t stay here all night.”, your teammate said, nodding towards the rest of your friends standing on the other side of the bar.
Alexia replied before you could: “I told her but she’s not listening.”
Her voice was flat, one note like she was bored by you.
Ona forced a light laugh: “Oh, you know her.”
You had enough of this talk. You wanted to get back to your friends and far away from Alexia.
“Yes, let’s go.”, you agreed with Ona.
“Please.”, the defender said, clearly relieved that you didn’t need any more persuasion.
You casually slid of the barstool next to Alexia but your heel got caught on the footrest and for a split second you lost your balance.
Alexias hands were on your body within the blink of an eye, one stabilising your waist and the other holding your hand.
“I’ll help you down.”, she announced but didn’t move.
You blinked at her, too stunned by the situation to realise that you were silently staring at each other instead of doing anything else.
Alexia finally took a step back, leading you down from your seat like a princess.
You pressed your lips together in the closest thing to a smile that you could manage: “Thanks.”
“You’re… welcome.”
Her words came out on two different breaths and she finally let go of you.
Cata wrapped on arm around your shoulder and dragged you away from Alexia: “Let the party continue.”
“Yes, time to party.”, you smiled through the memory of Alexias touch and her lips being too close to your own.
Salma grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the dance floor: “Come on then, no more waiting!”
Grateful for the distraction, you followed and moved your body to the rhythm of the music until a distinctive guitar sound resounded.
You paused with your eyes wide but as soon as you heard Taylors voice sing the lyrics to “22”, you let out a sigh.
“Who put on Taylor Swift?”, you yelled over the music.
“Me! Fitting, no?”, Mapi answered, beaming at you.
You didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was horribly cliché so you shrugged: “Kind of.”
“Ingrid, I told you she’ll love it.”, Mapi said to her girlfriend. You were suddenly reminded of a golden retriever.
Ingrid nodded patiently: “You were right.”
“The only ones enjoying it even more are Lucy and Ona.”
You followed Mapis gaze towards your two teammates who were going all out on the dance floor and looking at each other like they were alone at this party.
In that moment you made a decision. You left the dance floor and went back to Alexia, who was still nursing her drink.
“Dance with me, Ale.”
The older woman raised the hands in defence: “I don’t dance.”
You asked her nonchalantly: “Why not?”
“I just don’t.”, Alexia tried to shrug it off until she noticed your disappointed look.
“Oh, okay.”, you nodded sadly.
The blonde couldn't bear to see you so sad on your birthday, so she gave in with a sigh:” Fine. One dance.”
“Wait, you’re serious?”, you lifted your chin in surprise. The look in her hazel eyes told you that your team captain really meant it. Undoubtedly.
“Yes, it’s your birthday after all.”, Alexia confirmed.
Her serious tone made you shiver in the otherwise hot room.
“Alright.”, you agreed, hoping she didn’t hear the slight nervousness in your voice.
Before it started, the DJ switched from a fast song to a slow one, which brought each couple on the dance floor closer to their partner.
“Oh, no.”, the midfielder muttered under her breath.
As you took the lead in your dance, you assured her: “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”
Underneath your guidance, you could feel her heartbeat relax.
“Not too bad.”, Alexia admitted quietly.
At that exact moment, you had the feeling that the two of you were the only ones dancing.
With a smirk on your lips, you observed: “You like it.”
“I..”, she began anxiously and broke off, unable to translate the turmoil inside her into a coherent sentence.
You noticed her struggle and kindly interrupted the older woman:” You don’t have to say anything more.”
“Okay.”
The song had already been over for a few seconds, but Alexia was still holding you tightly in her arms.
Nobody apart from you and her best friend saw it.
Comradely, Mapi poked her captain's side, once she sat down next to her:” You’ve a crush on her.”
“I don’t.”, Alexia laughed.
The defender smiled at her: ���Sure, Ale.”
“That’s ridiculous.”, she huffed.
With a wise undertone, the younger woman responded: “It’s what it’s.”
“You can’t say that about everything.”, Alexia shook her head amusedly.
Mapi grinned at her counterpart: “Why not?”
“It’s not always what it’s.”, the midfielder explained earnestly, feeling like she was talking to a child rather than a grown-up woman.
Her good friend's belief in love was simply unshakeable. That's why the younger player's response didn't surprise Alexia at all, it was full of hope, something she thought she had lost when it came to love:” Maybe it’s more a question of what could be between you two?”
What was the feeling that arose in the midfielder when she looked at you?  Attraction, yes, but maybe deep down it was something more, something that terrified her. Loving family, friends and team-mates was one thing, but loving a person with all her heart was a brave step in her eyes. Was Alexia ready to open herself up to that? But what about the age difference between you?
So many questions which wanted to be answered.
gif source: https://www.tumblr.com/okboomer17/754477277102931968/alexia-labor-omnia-vincit-2022?source=share
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peachesofteal · 21 hours ago
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Simple Math / Part Twenty
Simple Math masterlist
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Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.1k words - AO3 Tags: 18+ mdni, nurse reader, feelings of fear and panic, PTSD, references to domestic violence. Trauma, blood. Flashbacks. Dubious ethics and morality, dark content.
“Are ye comin’ inside?”
“I need a minute.” He needs more than a minute. He needs days, weeks. Needs to wind back the clock and slam it into the ground, over and over again, until the springs and hands and tiny numbers splinter into pieces.
Failure. He failed. They failed.
They failed you.
“Wait, go back.” The video pauses and rolls backward, all the way until Simon tells Kate to stop it when you step out of the elevator. “What’s in her hand?” 
“Dinnae,” Johnny’s nose is practically touching the screen. 
“The recording is pretty low quality; I’ve tried enhancing it with no luck.” Kate’s voice crackles through the speakers from the other side of the laptop, the other side of the world. This is the first time they’ve managed to get a hold of her in weeks, and even now, the connection is half static. 
“Looks like a piece of paper, or a picture?” Johnny murmurs, leaning back. 
“This is just before she bolts,” the playback continues, and they watch as you walk down the hall, bright smile fading when you reach the corner. “She’s here for a minute and then runs…” Simon is glued to the screen, forward on his haunches, and Johnny rubs his back, kneading his knuckles into that ever-present knot in his shoulder. He watches your head turn, your back stiffen, and Johnny sucks in a breath. 
Kate nods the confirmation. She’s already put the puzzle together. 
Graves.
You’re reacting to Graves, seeing Graves. Entire demeanor shifting, changing from their sweet, smart girl with newfound confidence, to a deer, shocked and startled, running from a scope. 
Graves.
It’s simple math. Plain as day. You take one look at where he’s come around the corner, running his mouth, chewing that fucking gum, and split. 
It’s Graves. 
And it all makes sense. 
“-you don’t know what he’s capable of. You don’t understand. He’s chased me across the world, he always finds me, no matter what, no matter what I do”
“He’s in the military. Some sort of security work, department of defense, or something. He never really talked about it.”
“He always finds me.” 
“He has resources. Has followed me across the globe more than once. My only saving grace is that when he has to work, he has to work, and it’s usually for long chunks of time.”
“I’m originally from Texas.” 
Texas. Texas. Texas. 
There was a conversation, months ago, that slipped through Simon’s fingers. A wisp of a suspicion, one pushed away by doubt, by disbelief.  
Not possible. A coincidence. 
He was wrong, about being wrong. He was right, all along.
Johnny nearly flips the table before Simon urges him back down. “Where… where does she go after this?” 
“She gets the car,” Simon answers, timeline clicking into place, “she borrows that gits car, comes home, packs a bag, and runs.” Johnny’s hands are shaking, fingers white against his knees. 
They’ll kill him. He’ll paint the walls with Phillip’s blood. They’ll do what should have done in the first place. 
He should have protected you, should have seen it all clearly. Should have applied more pressure and made you crack, if only for your own safety. 
He failed. 
They failed. 
“That piece o’ shite, I’ll-“ 
“Kill him.” Simon finishes simply, and they exchange a look. A promise without words. Simon will shatter his skull between his palms if he has to. 
Johnny nods. The gears are already turning. Are they so different from a man who has stopped at nothing to drag you back to him? 
No. 
They'd burn the world for you, to protect you, to bring you home to them. 
Kate clears her throat. “There’s more.” More? “I was checking some records, looking at her last clock out, when the last paycheck was paid out and I pulled her personal information, her medical chart.” Kate’s tone is wary, hesitant, and Johnny straightens. 
“What is it?” There’s a pause on the other end of the line, unsure trepidation that’s so unlike Kate the hair on the back of Simon’s neck stands up. 
“Kate…” 
“She’s pregnant.” You could hear a pin drop. Johnny’s rage turns to panic, and an ocean of blood rushes in Simon’s ears. 
“She’s- she’s what?” 
“She’s pregnant. By now, she’s probably twenty weeks, maybe? I’m not sure. I don’t know much about those things, but her chart notes say both of them are… were in good health. Low risk.” 
“Twenty weeks,” Johnny echoes, faraway look in his eyes. 
A baby. You’re pregnant. 
Pregnant. Pregnant and alone, and scared. Running away.  
From them. 
Simon’s trying to wrap his head around it, but he can’t. The information doesn’t fit. It doesn’t make sense. 
“If she’s twenty weeks, then she’s been pregnant since before she left.” Johnny’s talking to himself at this point, because Simon can’t force his mouth to make words. “Why keep it a secret?” Kate is telling them something about index hits and cameras, but it all amounts to nothing after you board the train, and Simon still fails to make a sound. 
And then, she piles it on. 
“Graves is in the wind.” Simon’s heart stops like he’s been struck by lightning, electricity jolting him alive. 
“How?” 
“He went offline. No traceable activity in the last week or so. Last known location was Texas. After that, I’m not sure. Yet.”
‘He can’t be in the wind,” Johnny whisper shouts, all too aware of Penny upstairs, napping. “We need to know where he is. Now.” 
“I’m doing all I can. He has resources too, you know. A lot of them.” The screen goes black for a second, before she reappears, lips pressed into a grim line. “I have to go. I’ll keep you updated. Sorry guys.”
They can only nod. 
It’s clear as day, what happened now. How you saw them in the hallway, how you drew the conclusion, one that seemed so painfully obvious, connected the dots that appeared in your mind, stringing together bits and pieces until it all made sense.
He knows what will have to happen now. They both do. 
Simon presses his forehead to Johnny’s. “We’ll find her.” 
“An’ bring her home.” 
“No matter what.” 
The rest is left unsaid. 
You’re having a dream.
It’s a lovely one, more of a memory than anything else, but a dream, nonetheless.
“This still feels like a bad idea.” 
“Isnae, ye’ll do great bun. Jus’ the ‘hawk now.” You’ve already finished the sides of his head, which were easy enough, but using actual scissors to cut hair is well outside your wheelhouse. 
“What if I mess it up?” 
“It’s jus’ hair, pretty girl. It grows.” 
“How’s it going out here?” Simon leans out the sliding door, Penny in his arms, and you try to plead with him with wide, nervous eyes. He chuckles. “Looks good so far.” 
“See?” Johnny smiles, one of the big ones that stretches his whole face and makes your knees weak. Penny loves them too, and she claps her hands together, giggling. 
“But… I don’t… I’m going to mess it up.” Johnny stands, warm hands on your arms. 
“Ye could shave me bald and wouldnae mess it up, bun.” You nod, but the acid, noxious taste of worry is still there on your tongue. 
“I just… I…” you’re starting to shake a little, fingers squeezing together. He tugs you into his chest, kisses your temple. 
“Ye’re alright.” 
“I know.” You do know. You’re safe. They’d never hurt you, never betray your trust or even yell at you, but muscle memory doesn’t forget. “I know, I’m sorry.” 
“Ye dinnae have to be sorry.” 
“It’s okay, bunny.” Simon murmurs, but it’s not. 
Is this how you’ll spend your whole life? Afraid? Shaking? 
No. 
Not anymore. 
“If I ruin his hair… it’s not my fault.” Simon chuckles. 
“We’ll blame him.” You turn back to Johnny and put your hands on his shoulders, taking a deep breath, surveying the mop of unruly brown strands, and he covers one of yours with his own. 
“It’s okay. If ye-“ 
“No, I can. I can do it.” You don’t know why you’re so nervous. It’s just a hair cut, for crying out loud, but for some reason it feels like plunging into the deep end of a pool. “Okay,” you breathe, making the first snip. He nods encouragingly and you roll your shoulders. 
“See? Not so bad?” 
“Not so bad.” You cut again and again, trying to manage it all into a proper length, shaping as best you can. 
Each snip, something grows. Your hands tremble a little less, your jaw unclenches, lips flexing upward into your cheeks. You breathe deeper. 
When Johnny turns around, he doesn’t care about his hair, or the slightly uneven chunks, or the fresh clippings on his shirt. 
He cups your face, kissing you before pulling away to rub his thumb across your cheek. 
“There she is.” 
Spring rain. There’s nothing like it.
It washes away the gloom of winter. It’s the turning of a page, the spine of a brand-new book snapped open with a splintering crack. Cabin fever becomes walks in the park, lunches and coffees outside, hanging out on balconies and patios.
Dead things turned to soil now sprouting new life.
Like you, you guess.
You’ve been dead before. If someone looked really closely, they could see it in your eyes. The grey of decay, the separation of iris and pupil. Dead and brought back not quite right, every time. Sally, stitched together incorrectly, the wrong pieces of patchwork, poorly aligned.
Every time he ripped another piece of you away, you found a different one, one less like you, to put in its place.
Every time, until you weren’t you at all. Until you were a girl in a mirror. Until you were a ghost.
It makes sense that you don’t know yourself now, haven’t known for years. On the run, there’s not a lot of time to stop and consider things like that, those pieces. Coffee or tea? Chocolate cake or vanilla? Do you like snow? Do you like the beach? 
Do you like yourself? 
You could have had these answers, you think. Could have learned these things, if it hadn’t turned out the way it did. If Simon and Johnny hadn’t turned out to be a hydra, mouths open, waiting to devour you.
Sunbeam kicks. They nail you in the bladder, and you wince, rubbing over the crest of your belly. “You’re killing me, you know that?” You feel like you’ve been hit by a bus, every day. The aches and pains are never ending, your back and hips screaming by the end of a shift. You can’t sleep, the heartburn makes it hard to eat, you’re never comfortable.
The whole time, you curse them, Simon and Johnny.
Their fault, it’s their fault.
And yours too. 
But no matter how tired, how sore, how cranky you are, you can’t bring yourself to regret it, and in your dreams, it’s like all the bad, all the awful betrayal didn’t even happen. You dream of a family with them, Penny holding her little sibling, the five you together. It’s all been buried in your mind, too deep and nearly impossible to dig out. The visions of them, the longing, the good memories. You’re infested with them.
You didn’t want this. You wanted them, you wanted it all, and that might be the hardest thing about it. You weren’t given a choice, this decision was made for you, taken from you, just like almost everything else.
Except little sunbeam. You wanted them, chose them, will choose them, over and over, forever, keep them safe, make sure they know they’re loved.
No matter what. 
It’s the train, always the train.
Not the long rail train, the commuter train. The one that takes you to and from work, the one that’s sometimes-standing room only, though most people offer you their seat, which is surprisingly kind, compared to where you’re from.
Regardless, you feel the gaze on the train, and no matter how hard you scan, dissect, watch the people around you, there’s nothing. All three faces, three sets of eyes, three profiles, are never anywhere to be seen.
It’s overwhelming, unsettling. The stress of this prickling unease combined with the stress and physical strain of your job is taking its toll on both you and Sunbeam, as the midwife likes to remind you.
Take it easy, take some time off, try to relax. Stay hydrated, eat well.
Yeah… okay.
You rub your belly anxiously, tugging your hood farther over your head, trying to look around without being so obvious.
“Excuse me?” You jolt, startled by a man standing at your elbow, pointing to a vacant spot on a bench. “Would you like my seat?” His smile is subtle, matching an encouraging but not overly intrusive demeanor.
“Sure, thank you so much.” He nods, stepping to the side, into the space between the seat and the divider, close to the door. You try to swing your backpack in front of you, but it gets caught, and he snags it before it falls. “Sorry, thanks.”
“Of course, no problem.” You give him another glance. Really handsome, rich brown eyes you could get lost in. He’s got a baseball cap on, but it’s not pulled down over his face like your hood, he’s not trying to hide. “I’ll move when your stop comes up.”
“Okay, it’s not for a while so, no worries.” He might be kind, but he’s still a stranger, and you’re not going to divulge anything specific. Stranger danger. 
Not everyone is a threat but… 
“How far along are you?” You blink.
“Uh, about twenty-five weeks, give or take a few days.” He nods.
“My wife is due next week; it’s been a rollercoaster.”
“Yeah, it’s not the easiest.” You laugh, a little apprehensive, but also, a little glad, secretly, to have a casual conversation with someone. He sticks his hand out.
“I’m Kyle.” Your tongue rolls with the practiced name you’ve memorized, the one you’ve drilled into yourself over and over again. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, you too.” The next stop is announced, and he moves gracefully, reaching for his bag and tugging it over his shoulder, barely giving you a second glance.
“This is me, have a good day.”
“Thanks.” He doesn’t look over his shoulder at you when he’s getting off, doesn’t watch you through the window from the platform. He’s completely uninterested, and you breathe a sigh of relief.
The box is delivered on a Tuesday.
The Scottish government gives you almost everything you need. Clothes, thermometers, baby books, a changing mat, a mattress, a sheet, a blanket, the list goes on. The box even doubles as a bassinet.
You cry over it. Rifling through everything, tears drip down your cheeks and you bury your face in your hands. You didn’t get to share an ultrasound with anyone, or have a shower, or hold someone’s hand to your belly as sunbeam kicked, but there’s this. A box full of baby stuff, a box that says no matter how hard it is, you and sunbeam will have a good start. Even Sunbeam’s room is halfway sorted at this point, crib set up, dresser half stocked with clothes, collection of diapers and burp cloths and bottles starting to pile up in various places in their room. You’ve made it comfortable, slowly, mix matched furniture and all.
Every day feels like a year, but as each one passes, you slowly adjust to a new normal, a new life. Something you made, again, from scratch, for yourself, your survival.
And now, for Sunbeam.
One day, maybe it will feel like home.
You really need to stop buying so much crap at the store.
You practically have to drag your grocery loot into the elevator, bags overflowing with fruit, vegetables, cans of formula. Random cleaning products, stuff for baby proofing, a new candle.
Apparently, some call this nesting. You just call it annoying.
You lean against the wall and close your eyes for a moment, shifting your weight to alleviate the pressure on your spine.
Thirty weeks.
Ten weeks left.
Ten weeks left. It’s wild to even think about, to even say to yourself, or out loud. You’re going to be a mom in ten weeks. Going to have a whole human depending on you for every single thing, in ten weeks.
You’ll be alone, with a newborn, in ten weeks.
Alone.
It still aches. Stings. Salt in the wound-
Lit end of a cigarette against your skin.
You instinctively cup your belly, thumb rubbing over where one of your burn scars has been stretched by Sunbeam, and shiver.
You’re fine. You’re safe. Get it together.
“We’re home!” You announce to no one, no one except Gus the goldfish who’s swimming circles around his bowl. You got him two weeks ago on an impulse, following a pathetic, sad desire all the way to the pet store.
It’d be nice to have something to come home to. 
You tap a few flakes into the water and watch him gobble them up, oddly soothed by his presence in the flat.
This is how far you’ve fallen. Taking comfort in a damn goldfish.
You blow out a breath and fall onto the couch, swinging your legs up onto the cushions, dragging the pillows under your ankles, or what used to be your ankles. They’re more like overstuffed sausages now, tops of your sneakers cutting into your skin. Every chance you get, you’re finding places to sit at work, caught yourself leaning most of your weight on your patient’s beds, more than once. Thankfully, your coworkers are overwhelmingly understanding.
And when you come home, you do this. Collapse on the couch. Talk to a goldfish, or Sunbeam, or both.
The oddest trio: Mom, baby, goldfish.
You manage to limit yourself to three bites of ice cream before putting the carton away in the freezer. You’re supposed to be watching your sugar intake, apparently, not because you’re at risk for gestational diabetes, but because Sunbeam is already projected to be on the bigger side.
You look mournfully at container, spoon still in hand.
One more. What’s it going to hurt? One more bite isn’t going to turn Sunbeam into a giant, it’s-
Knuckles rap against your door.
Your blood goes cold, colder than ice, and you instinctively find the floor, crouching by the fridge, using it to shield yourself, keeping away from the door’s direct line of sight.
The knocking gets louder.
Someone’s saying something on the other side of the door, but you can’t hear it over the buzzing, beeping sound in your ears.
How. 
How? How did it happen so fast? Where did you fuck up? 
The fear you once felt for yourself pales in comparison to the true fear you feel now. You’re supposed to protect Sunbeam, supposed to keep them safe.
You’re supposed to be a mom. 
A sob claws its way out, and you clap your palm over your mouth, agony squeezing your heart, panic clutching your throat in a vise, choking off your air, throttling you until you’re gasping.
You should run, should sprint into the bedroom and grab the gun from under your mattress, should start crawling out the window to the fire escape.
You should do these things, but instead, you’re trapped, immobile, watching with horror as the deadbolt turns horizontal, sliding the lock free with a bloodcurdling click.
Your baby. You were supposed to keep your baby safe. 
You failed. 
You stand, so unsteady you have to support your weight by leaning against the counter. The only thing in here are kitchen knives, and you rip two from the block, one hiding behind your back, the other brandished in front of your body like a sword.
You’re going to die. 
But not without a fight. 
Tears wet your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you choke, sliding a hand over little Sunbeam, “I’m so- so sorry.”
The creak of the door handle is unmistakable, a metal whine scraping against the frame. You close your eyes.
“Bunny.”
Your heart stops.
The men you thought love you are standing just inside your kitchen, the sight of them turning your stomach, their eyes flicking between you and the shiny, sharp knife in your hand.
Johnny inches forward, his voice a low, gentle murmur, one that cracks your heart. “It’s okay pretty girl, we’re here to take ye home.”
“Get away from me.” The knife is practically rattling in your hand.
"It's alright. We’d never hurt ye, either of ye. We know what ye saw and-“
“N-no,” you sob, voice cracking, shoulders shaking, “don’t come near me.”
“Put that down, sweet girl, it’s alright.” Simon edges around the counter, caution and wary weighing his steps. They’re supposed to be muffled you think, soft, but they ring so loud.
“Stop!”
“Just let us explain, give us a minute-“
“I saw you! I saw you w-with him.” Your vision is blurred by tears, and you look down at your belly, desperate. “Just let us go, please. Don’t- don’t let him-“
“Listen to me, sweetheart. We have nothing to do with Phillip.” His name makes your flinch, and you inch backwards.
“You know him.”
“We do. He tried to kill us, betrayed us, on a mission. Nearly succeeded with Johnny.” The words conflict, mash together into a scramble you don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense.
More lies. 
“I don’t believe you.”
“I know, I know you don’t. I wouldn’t if I was in your position either, but we’re telling the truth.” You shake your head.
“No. You’re just… you’re just trying to trick me.”
“We’re not,” Johnny murmurs, “We’ve always told ye the truth, bun. And we’d never hurt ye.” He steps forward. It’s too close, way too close, and you pivot, both knives still clutched in your hands.
“Put them down.” Simon instructs, a little bit of steel in his voice now. He can obviously see the one behind your back, and your heart starts to sink.
There’s no way out. You should have run when you had the chance. 
Stupid.
The girl in the mirror stays silent. She says nothing.
For all you know, she’s dead already. Killing blow dealt by your own hand.
You think about Sunbeam, all warm and safe, protected from the world, and despair swells in your chest, an entire ocean beneath your feet, waiting to swallow you up, drag you down and drown you.
“Now, sweetheart. We don’t want you to hurt yourself.” You laugh. It’s a sickly, nervous thing, too tinny and high pitched.
You’re falling apart. You’re not a fighter, you’re a runner, shot lame in a race rigged against you from the beginning. They’re closing in, wolves stalking the bleeding lamb between them, predators about to fall on prey.
 “Don’t,” whisper, fingers tightening around the knife in front of your body, unable to hold it steady through the trembling.
“Bunny, listen to us, please.” Johnny is reaching and you get trapped in his gaze, spiraling into the swirl of misery and fear, mirroring your own. “I love ye, we love ye. Ye belong with us, at home, where we can keep ye safe.” You slam your eyes shut, trying to block him out. “I’ve loved ye since the day I opened m’eyes and saw ye leaning over the bed. We’d never hurt ye, we jus’ want to take ye home.”
Out of the corner of your eye, Simon moves. One powerful, huge step, and he’s on you, grabbing your arm, applying pressure to your knuckles to release the knife.
You scream. It’s instinct. Everything shuts down, narrowing down to one objective.
Run.
“Johnny,” he half shouts over your keening, holding gentle pressure against your arm as you try to rip yourself free. “Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay.” You thrash, trying to twist out of his grip, shoulder shrieking in pain, and he goes with your momentum, providing slack so there’s no tension in your arm. “Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself sweetheart, you’re okay.”
You’re not. 
You’re not okay. You’ll never be okay. 
The walls close in, and it all becomes so clear. Your future, what will happen if they take you, if you leave here with them.
They’ll take Sunbeam. They’ll turn you over to Phillip, throw you out like trash, and you’ll die.
Are you going to let it happen, just like you let everything else? Are you going to roll over? Let it all be stolen, again and again? 
No. 
Simon reaches for the other knife and you swing it wide, slicing through the air until the blade meets flesh.
He hisses. Blood spills, drips down the handle, coats your fingers, and you stand there, frozen, gobsmacked.
Did you- 
Did you just- 
“Johnny,” he barks, but it barely registers, you’re too transfixed by the blood, hypnotized by it, too entranced to even register Johnny at your side, too stunned to see what’s in his hand.
A needle. 
He whispers your name, cradles your face-
And then everything goes black.
663 notes · View notes
jupiterpilgrim · 3 days ago
Text
Drown With Me
Pt.3: Ecdysis
Ningning x Minji x Male Reader
word count: 23K
part 1 | part 2
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Love hurts.
But honestly, who would survive without love?
A small window into the present:
The park is quiet this afternoon, the kind of peace that feels slightly artificial—manicured paths, neatly trimmed grass, and a fountain bubbling in the center as if someone planned it to be calming. The air is crisp but not cold, the weak winter sun filtering through the bare branches. You sit on a bench near the lake, waiting. It’s been a week since dinner at Minji’s parents’ house, a week of strained silences and avoidance. Not intentional, not entirely, but life has gotten in the way. Work has been relentless, and honestly, you weren’t sure how to approach her after everything. That dinner had been a disaster—a collision of expectations and tension, her parents’ thinly veiled judgment clinging to the air like smoke.
You spot her before she sees you, walking down the path with her usual poised stride. Minji is dressed simply—a long, beige wool coat belted at the waist, black boots clicking softly against the cobblestones. Her hair is tied back into a sleek ponytail, and her glasses reflect the weak sunlight. Even in this casual setting, she’s impeccable, and it makes you feel a little underdressed in your battered jacket and scuffed boots.
She notices you and gives a small, polite wave. You stand up as she approaches, shoving your hands into your pockets to hide your nerves.
“Hey,” she says, her voice calm but guarded.
“Hey,” you reply, gesturing to the bench. “Thanks for meeting me.”
She nods, sitting down gracefully, her hands folded neatly in her lap. You sit next to her, leaving a deliberate gap between you.
“How’ve you been?” she asks, breaking the silence first.
“Busy,” you say. “Work’s been... you know, the usual.”
She hums softly, her eyes on the lake. “And otherwise?”
You hesitate, your gaze dropping to the ground. “I started therapy.”
That gets her attention. She turns her head, her expression softening slightly. “Really?”
“Yeah,” you say, nodding slowly. “I—I needed to. I’ve been thinking about what you said, about dealing with my shit instead of burying it.” You glance at her, trying to gauge her reaction. “My psychologist recommended AA, too. I'm thinking of giving it a try. I’m not blaming it all on the drinking, but I think it’s tied up in... everything else.”
Minji’s lips curve into a small, genuine smile. “I’m really glad to hear that. I know it wasn’t easy for you to get to this point.”
“It wasn’t,” you admit, leaning forward, your elbows on your knees. “But I think it’s the right thing. I’m tired of feeling like I’m just surviving day to day.”
She nods, her gaze softening. “You’re taking a step, and that’s what matters. I'm proud of you.” There’s a pause, the kind that feels both comforting and uncomfortable. You shift slightly, the tension in your chest easing just enough to let you exhale.
“What about you?” you ask, your voice quieter now. “How’ve you been holding up? How are your parents?” Minji’s expression falters for a moment, the mask slipping just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the strain beneath. She adjusts her glasses, buying herself a second before answering.
“They’re... adjusting,” she says carefully. “It’s a lot for them. They’re not used to this kind of… situation. Nobody really is.”
You nod slowly, unsure what to say. Dinner had been rough—her father’s terse remarks, her mother’s forced smiles, the unspoken tension hanging over the table like a storm cloud.
“I hope I didn’t make things worse,” you say quietly.
Minji shakes her head. “This had to be done sooner or later. They’re just... traditional. It’s going to take time for them to see things differently.”
You watch her for a moment, the way her fingers fidget with the belt of her coat, a rare crack in her usual composure. “I want to make it right,” you say softly. “With them. With you.”
She glances at you, her expression unreadable. “We'll get there.”
The restrained distance between you feels less sharp now, softened by the honesty in her tone. You both sit in silence for a while, watching the ducks glide across the lake.
“I meant it, you know,” you say eventually. “About wanting to change. I don’t want to keep screwing things up.”
Minji turns to you, her gaze steady. “I believe you.”
You nod, the weight on your shoulders lifting just enough to make the world feel a little less heavy.
“Thank you,” you say.
The park ice cream stand is one of those charmingly outdated carts with a cheerful umbrella and a grumpy vendor who only half-cares whether you want sprinkles or not. You order two cones—strawberry for Minji, chocolate for yourself—and hand hers over as the two of you start walking. It’s quiet, save for the soft crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional laughter of kids running past. You’re trying to keep the momentum going, anything to draw her out a little more after the conversation about her parents.
“So,” you say, licking your cone, “are you sleeping any better these days?”
Minji glances at you, her lips brushing against the edge of her ice cream. “Not really,” she admits after a pause.
“Still the nightmares?”
She nods, looking ahead at the path, her face thoughtful. “It’s weird. I’ve always had the occasional bad dream, but ever since... you know, the hospital, it’s like my brain can’t let me have a single peaceful night.”
You frown, concern tightening in your chest. “What are they about? Same one, or do they change?”
“They change,” she says, her voice soft but steady. “But there’s this one I’ve been having lately. It’s... strange.”
“Strange how?”
She takes a deep breath, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “I’m in this garden. It’s beautiful, like something out of a storybook. Perfectly trimmed hedges, colorful flowers everywhere, the works. It feels like mine, you know? Like I take care of it.”
You nod, already intrigued. “Go on.”
“And there are these birds,” she continues, her voice taking on a distant quality. “Hundreds of them, all in cages. They’re everywhere—hanging from trees, lining the paths. But they’re not unhappy. It’s like... they belong there.”
“Okay,” you say, licking your cone thoughtfully. “Then what happens?”
“Something breaks,” she says, her brows furrowing slightly. “I don’t know what—maybe the wind, maybe it’s me—but the cages all shatter at once. Suddenly, the birds are flying everywhere. They’re panicked, and so am I. I’m running through the garden, trying to catch them with my hands.” Her voice trembles just slightly, and you glance at her. She’s still looking straight ahead, her posture composed but her eyes haunted.
“Why were you trying to catch them?” you ask softly.
“I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head. “I just... I felt like I had to. Like, if I didn’t, something terrible would happen. They were important to me. But there were so many, and they kept slipping away, no matter how hard I tried.”
“Did you catch any?” you ask.
She shakes her head again. “I don’t know. I always wake up before I can figure it out. But it’s so... desperate, you know? Like this frantic feeling in my chest that doesn’t go away, even after I’m awake.”
You take a moment to process that, glancing at her as she licks her cone absentmindedly, lost in thought. “You know,” you say finally, “I think you caught some.”
She looks at you, surprised. “What?”
“The birds,” you say, shrugging. “I mean, if they’re that important to you, I like to think you managed to catch at least a few. Maybe not all of them, but some. The important ones.”
A faint smile tugs at her lips, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re an optimist, huh?”
“Not really,” you admit, finishing the last of your cone. “But I figure dreams are weird like that. They don’t always give you answers, so you might as well make up the ones you like.”
She chuckles softly, and for the first time that day, she seems a little lighter. “Maybe you’re right.”
You walk in silence for a while, the sound of the gravel underfoot filling the space between you. The sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the park.
“Thanks,” she says suddenly, her voice quiet but sincere.
“For what?”
“For this,” she says, gesturing vaguely to the park, the ice cream, the conversation. “For listening. You know I like talking to you, I always have.”
“Anytime,” you say, meaning it.
As you walk back toward the bench where you started, you glance at her again. She still looks a little haunted, a little worn down, but there’s something else now too—a faint glimmer of hope, like maybe she’s starting to believe she can catch at least some of those birds.
Back to the past
The bar hums with the low buzz of voices, the occasional clink of glasses, and the muted crackle of a classic rock playlist that’s been stuck on repeat all week. You’ve been here since six, same as always, pouring drinks and wiping counters, forcing smiles and easy conversation like a well-rehearsed act. The clock ticks past ten, and you’re starting to think everyone’s forgotten your birthday.
Not that you expected much. Birthdays aren’t exactly high on the list of priorities when you’re juggling shifts and school deadlines. Still, the lack of acknowledgment stings more than you’d care to admit.
You’re stocking glasses when the door swings open, and in walk Ning and Minji, their energy lighting up the place like a spark in dry kindling. Minji’s carrying a neatly wrapped box, and Ning—beaming from ear to ear—is balancing a modest cake in her hands, the kind that looks too perfect to eat. Behind them, your coworkers suddenly start clapping and shouting, “Happy Birthday!”
You blink, startled, as they gather around.
“Surprise!” Ning practically shouts, setting the cake down on the bar with a flourish. She's wearing this short red dress that you've never seen before, while Minji is cozy in a beige sweater.
“You didn’t think we forgot, did you?” Minji says, her lips curling into a faint smirk.
“Well, I—” You trail off, feeling a ridiculous wave of emotion swell in your chest. “You guys are insane.”
“Insanely thoughtful,” Ning corrects, nudging you with her elbow.
After your coworkers and even the few customers present at the bar wished you a happy birthday, you find yourself sitting at the counter, a glass of something amber and sharp in your hand, while Ning fusses over the cake she’s brought. She’s crouched on the other side of the bar, carefully lighting the candles one by one, her face illuminated by the small, flickering flames. Minji leans against the counter beside you, her head tilted as she watches Ning, a faint smile playing on her lips.
“You didn’t see this coming, did you?” Minji asks, her tone light but edged with amusement.
“Not even a little,” you admit, taking another sip. “I thought you two forgot.”
“Forgot?” Minji repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Are our morale really that low?”
“We would never forget, silly,” Ning chimes in, straightening up and stepping back to admire her handiwork. She looks at you, her catlike eyes bright with excitement. “Okay, ready?”
“Ready for what?”
“Happy Birthday, obviously,” Minji says, nudging you lightly.
The room quiets as everyone gathers around the bar. Ning starts the song, her voice sweet but a little off-key, and the others quickly join in. Minji doesn’t sing—of course she doesn’t—but she taps her fingers against the counter in time with the melody, her eyes never leaving yours.
When the song ends, Ning beams at you. “Make a wish!”
You stare at the cake, its frosting a perfect swirl of white and blue, the candles flickering like tiny beacons. For a second, you feel like a kid again, the kind of kid who still believes in wishes.
You blow out the candles, and everyone cheers. Ning claps her hands together, practically bouncing on her heels, while Minji leans closer, her voice low enough that only you can hear. “What’d you wish for?”
You smirk, leaning back slightly. “Not telling. It won’t come true if I do.”
“Superstitious,” she murmurs, her lips curling.
The cake is sliced, the drinks keep coming, and the music on the jukebox changes to something faster, something that makes it impossible not to move. You’re buzzed now, maybe more than buzzed, the alcohol blurring the edges of the world in a way that feels like freedom.
Ning is the first to drag you to the small open space near the jukebox, her hand tugging insistently at yours. “Come on,” she says, laughing. “It’s your birthday. You have to dance.”
“I don’t dance,” you protest, but she’s already pulling you along, her grip surprisingly strong for someone so small.
Minji follows, her movements slower, more deliberate, but there’s a glint in her eye that tells you she’s enjoying this more than she’ll admit. The three of you end up in a loose, messy circle, moving to the beat in a way that’s more about feeling the music than looking good. At some point, Ning spins you around, her laughter ringing out like bells, and when you turn back, Minji is there, her hands brushing against yours as she steps closer. She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, everything else fades.
It’s later—maybe an hour, maybe two—when the dynamic shifts again. The music slows, the room thinning out as people leave, and suddenly it’s just the three of you near the jukebox. You’re sitting on a stool now, another drink in your hand, watching as Ning and Minji dance together.
They move differently when it’s just them. There’s a fluidity to it, a quiet intimacy that makes it hard to look away. Ning’s hands rest lightly on Minji’s shoulders, her head tilted as she says something that makes Minji laugh—a soft, genuine sound that you don’t hear often. Minji’s hands skim Ning’s waist, her touch fleeting but deliberate, and the way they look at each other feels like a conversation you’re not quite part of.
They know you’re watching; Minji glances over her shoulder, her eyes locking with yours for just a second before she turns back to Ning, her lips curling into a smirk. Ning follows her gaze, her expression softening as she meets your eyes.
“Come dance with us,” Ning says, holding out a hand.
You hesitate, the weight of their attention making you feel unsteady in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol. But then Minji tilts her head, her expression calm but expectant, and you realize there’s no saying no. You stand, letting Ning pull you into their orbit. It’s not much—a simple sway to the music, their hands brushing against yours, their laughter low and easy—but it feels like more. Like something unspoken is passing between the three of you, something you don’t fully understand but don’t want to let go of.
At some point, you find yourself sitting at a corner table, away from the noise and laughter. The room spins slightly as you lean back, closing your eyes for a moment to steady yourself.
“Hey.” Ning’s voice pulls you back. She slides into the seat next to you, still wearing that easy grin of hers, the hem of her dress riding up slightly as she crosses her legs.
“Hey,” you mumble, your words slurred but soft. “Having fun?”
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” she teases, nudging your shoulder.
“Yeah,” you say, exhaling heavily. “It’s... nice. Thanks for this.”
“You’re welcome,” she says, her smile softening. “Oh, and I didn’t bring your gift tonight. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” you say, shaking your head. “Your company’s already the best gift.”
Ning’s cheeks flush slightly, and she ducks her head, hiding her expression behind her hair. “That’s sweet,” she murmurs.
There’s a pause, the kind that feels comfortable and heavy at the same time.
Then, Ning speaks again, her voice quieter. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” you say, your head lolling slightly as you turn to face her.
“Are you and Minji... you know... sleeping together?”
You blink, caught completely off guard. “What? No,” You lie instinctively. Something tells you that telling the truth now, under these circumstances, is not a good idea. “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know,” she says, shrugging casually but with an edge of something sharper in her tone. “She’s been meeting you alone a lot lately. And you guys talk about... stuff.”
“Yeah, studies and stuff,” you insist, feeling a little defensive despite the alcohol muddling your thoughts. “That’s it.”
Ning studies you for a moment. “I don’t believe you.”
“Well, it’s true,” you say, leaning back and running a hand through your hair. “There’s nothing going on between us.”
Ning shifts closer, her knee brushing against yours. “Okay,” she says, her voice light, almost teasing. “But can I ask you something else?”
“Sure,” you say again, your voice slower now, confused but too drunk to really think it through.
She takes your hand—gentle but deliberate—and places it on her bare thigh. The warmth of her skin jolts through you, and you freeze, your mind struggling to catch up.
“Do you like this?” she asks.
“What... what are you doing?” you stammer, blinking at her.
“Nothing,” she says. Her hand moves yours slightly higher up her thigh, her dress hitching up with the motion. “Just asking a question.”
Your fingers twitch, and she leans in closer, her breath warm against your cheek. “Squeeze it,” she whispers.
You do, but it’s hesitant, your grip light and unsure.
“Do you like it?” she asks again.
“I don’t... I don’t know,” you mumble.
Your hand is still resting on her thigh, and every second it stays there feels heavier, more confusing. The alcohol muddles your thoughts, makes everything feel both too sharp and too distant at once.
“And,” Ning says softly, her voice carrying a dangerous kind of sweetness. “What do you think of my body?”
Your eyes snap to hers, wide and uncertain. “What?”
“My body,” she repeats, tilting her head slightly, her dark eyes almost playful. “Do you like it?”
“I—” You stammer, your throat dry. “Ning, you’re—you’re my friend.”
She smiles faintly, but there’s something sharper behind it. “That’s not what I asked.”
“I don’t know how to answer that,” you admit, your words slurring slightly. “You’re—you’re beautiful, okay? You know that.”
Her smile widens, but it doesn’t feel warm. “So you do like it.”
“I didn’t say that,” you mutter, rubbing your temples with your free hand.
“Relax,” she says, her voice softer now, almost coaxing. “I’m just asking questions.”
Her fingers brush against yours on her thigh, and you flinch slightly. She doesn’t let go. “Did you know I was the one who reminded Minji about your birthday?”
“What?” you ask, blinking at her.
“The cake?” she says, her tone light but insistent. “The party? That was all me. I thought of the flavor, too. Minji wouldn’t have remembered without me.”
You stare at her, unsure of what to say. “Thanks,” you mumble finally. “I mean it. Thanks for thinking of me.”
Her grip on your hand tightens slightly. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course,” you say, looking at her through the haze of alcohol. “It... it means a lot.”
Her smile softens, but only for a moment. Then, she leans in closer, her breath warm against your ear. “Have you ever imagined me naked?”
The question hits you like a slap, and you jerk back, blinking at her. “What? No!”
“It’s okay,” she whispers, her tone unnervingly calm. “You can be honest. I know how guys are. Sooner or later, you all think about it.”
“I haven’t,” you insist, shaking your head. “I swear.”
She tilts her head, studying you like she doesn’t believe you. “Well,” she says quietly, “I’ve imagined you naked.”
You try to pull your hand away, but she keeps it there, sliding it a little higher up her thigh.
“Ning, stop,” you mumble.
“Why?” she asks, her tone almost innocent. “Don’t you like it?”
“I don’t—” You shake your head, trying to focus. “Ning, what’s going on with you?”
Her eyes narrow slightly, her voice dropping lower. “Are you having sex with Minji?”
“For the last time, no!” you say, frustration breaking through the fog in your mind.
“That’s good,” she says, her smile returning. “Because she can’t, you know. Not really.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Her heart,” Ning says, her voice soft but steady. “She can’t handle anything that gets her heart rate up too much. No sex, no heavy exercise... nothing.”
You stare at her, your mind reeling. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because,” she says, sliding your hand a fraction higher, “that means you don’t have anyone to make you feel good. But I could. If you gave me a chance.”
You feel a sudden urge to vomit, and you finally manage to pull your hand away, the effort making your head spin. “Ning, stop. Please.”
“Why?” she asks, her voice sharper now, almost accusing. “Why won’t you give me a chance?”
“Because,” you say groggily, leaning back against the booth, “you’re like a little sister to me. I want to take care of you, not... not this.”
Her expression flickers, something dark passing over her features. “A little sister?” she echoes, almost disgusted.
“What’s going on with you?” you ask, your voice heavy with exhaustion and confusion.
Before she can answer, a voice cuts through the air, sharp and clear.
“What are you two doing over there?” Minji calls from the other side of the bar, her tone light but with an edge of suspicion.
Ning sits up straight, her movements quick and practiced. She adjusts her dress, tugging the hem back down, and smiles sweetly in Minji’s direction.
“Just talking!” she calls back, her voice cheerful.
Minji raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press, turning back to her drink. Ning glances at you, her smile turning sly.
“You should drink more,” she says softly, nudging a fresh glass toward you. “It’s your birthday, after all.”
Your head is spinning, your thoughts tangled and heavy. You don’t know what to say, so you pick up the glass, hoping the alcohol will blur the edges of whatever just happened.
Ning grips the small, neatly wrapped package in her hands, her palms damp with sweat. Her stomach twists with nerves as she walks toward the bar, the memory of last night replaying in a loop she can’t turn off.
She hadn’t slept much, tossing and turning as the weight of what she’d done settled deeper into her chest. The heat of embarrassment burned through her every time she replayed the moment she put your hand on her thigh, the words she whispered, the things she revealed. It had been wrong—she knew that now, knew it even then—but the alcohol and whatever storm had been brewing in her mind made it all seem like a good idea at that moment.
Now, she’s stuck between two strategies. If you remember, she’ll apologize, chalk it up to being drunk, to losing her mind for a second. She’ll laugh it off, maybe throw in some self-deprecating humor about how dumb she can be. But if you don’t remember—well, then she’s off the hook.
And she hopes, desperately, that you don’t.
When she steps into the bar, the air is cool and familiar, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses greeting her like usual. But you’re not there.
“Hey,” she asks one of your coworkers, her voice tight. “Where’s—uh—where is he?”
“In the back,” they reply, jerking a thumb toward the storage room. “We just got a shipment in. He’s organizing it.”
Ning nods, swallowing hard, and makes her way toward the back. Each step feels heavier than the last, her nerves threatening to get the better of her. She clutches the gift tighter, as if it’s a lifeline.
When she reaches the door to the storage room, she hesitates, taking a deep breath before pushing it open.
The sight stops her cold.
You’re there, your back to her, leaning against one of the shelves stacked high with boxes of liquor. Minji is in front of you, her hands resting lightly on your chest, her lips pressed against yours in a kiss that’s somehow both casual and intimate.
Minji left the dormitory when Ning was taking a bath, and didn't bother to say where she was going. Now it makes sense.
Ning’s heart plummets, her breath catching in her throat. She doesn’t even think to step back, to hide—she’s frozen, rooted to the spot as the scene plays out in front of her.
Minji’s eyes are closed, but as the kiss lingers, they flutter open—and meet Ning’s.
Minji doesn’t react the way Ning expects. There’s no guilt, no panic, no scrambling to pull away. She’s calm, composed, as if she knew this moment was inevitable. She doesn’t move at first, just looks at Ning with that quiet, assessing gaze of hers. Then, she lifts one hand and nudges you gently, breaking the kiss.
You turn, confused at first, until you see Ning standing there, pale as a sheet, clutching the small package like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
“Oh,” you say, your voice awkward, unsure. “Ning. Hey. What are you doing here?”
Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out at first. She clears her throat, forcing the words out. “They said you were back here.”
“Yeah, uh...” You rub the back of your neck, suddenly very aware of the situation. “We were just, um, sorting the shipment. Minji was helping.”
Ning’s eyes flick to Minji, who’s watching her with that same impassive expression. Not smug, not apologetic—just... unreadable.
Ning nods stiffly, holding out the package like it’s a shield. “I brought your gift.”
You blink, caught off guard, and take it from her hands. “Oh. Thanks. You didn’t have to—”
“It’s fine,” she says quickly, her voice clipped.
You fumble with the wrapping, tearing it open to reveal a hardcover book you’d mentioned weeks ago, something about entrepreneurship or finance that you’d wanted but couldn’t justify buying. Your face lights up, and you look at her, genuinely touched.
“This is... wow. Ning, this is perfect. Thank you.”
Without thinking, you pull her into a hug, the book still clutched in your hand. She stiffens for a moment before relaxing, her arms looping around you loosely.
When you pull back, she’s already stepping away. “I should go.”
“What? No, stay,” you say, frowning. “I was just about to head back to the bar anyway. We can hang out—”
“I can’t,” she cuts you off, her voice flat but with an edge that betrays her. “I have stuff to do.”
Before you can say anything else, she’s already turning, her steps quick and purposeful as she makes her way out of the storage room.
You’re left standing there, the book in your hands, a strange weight settling in your chest.
Behind you, Minji speaks for the first time. “She’s upset.”
You turn to look at her, but her face is as calm and unreadable as ever.
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I noticed.”
Minji doesn’t reply, her eyes fixed on the door Ning just walked through.
“Why would she leave like that?” you ask aloud, not really expecting an answer.
“Like I said, she’s upset,” Minji repeats.
You turn to her, frowning. “But why? I don’t get it. It’s not like I did anything wrong.”
Minji tilts her head slightly, her dark eyes steady on yours. “It’s not about you doing anything wrong,” she says, her voice measured and thoughtful. “It’s... Ning.”
“What about her?” you ask, genuinely curious.
Minji sighs softly, taking a step closer to you, her hands clasped in front of her. “Ning likes to be the center of attention. Always has. It’s part of who she is. She doesn’t know how to share things—friends, experiences. She probably thinks I’m stealing you from her.”
You blink, her words sinking in. “Stealing me? That’s... I mean, I don’t think that’s it.”
“She wouldn’t say it outright,” Minji continues, her voice gentle but firm. “But she feels it. She doesn’t like to share her people. And lately, she’s been sharing you more than she’s used to.”
You frown, glancing down at the book in your hands. “I don’t want her to feel that way. I hope I didn’t mess things up with her.”
“You’re not messing anything up,” Minji says, her voice softening as she takes another step closer. “This isn’t your fault.”
You look up at her, and for a moment, you’re caught by the way she’s looking at you—steady, calm, her expression full of quiet understanding. She’s close enough now that you can smell her perfume.
“I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “Maybe I should talk to her.”
“I’ll handle it,” Minji says. “Let me talk to her later. She’ll listen to me.”
You nod slowly, relieved but still uneasy. “Thanks. I just... I don’t want things to get weird, you know?”
“They won’t,” she says, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Trust me.”
Before you can respond, she closes the remaining distance between you, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders.
“You’re not messing anything up,” she says again.
Her gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment, the air between you feels electric, and then she leans in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s soft but insistent.
You freeze for half a second, but then you find yourself leaning into it, your eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of her mouth against yours sends a rush of heat through your chest.
When she pulls back, her face is still close to yours, her dark eyes searching yours for a reaction.
“Minji,” you murmur.
“You’re not messing anything up,” she repeats, her tone steady but soft. “You’re amazing.”
You feel a strange mix of emotions swirling in your chest—confusion, excitement, guilt. But most of all, you feel captivated. Minji is... everything. Beautiful, intelligent, composed. She’s the kind of girl you never thought you’d have a chance with, the kind who feels like a fantasy brought to life.
“Thanks,” you say finally, your voice shaky. “I just... I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“They won’t,” she says simply, her hands sliding down your arms before she steps back, giving you space. “We’ll figure it out.”
You nod, swallowing hard as you watch her. There’s something about her that draws you in, something magnetic and almost overwhelming. You can’t help but feel like you’re being pulled into her orbit, whether you’re ready for it or not.
The dorm is silent and cloaked in darkness when Minji steps inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Her eyes adjust quickly, tracing the familiar outlines of the room: the tidy desk on her side, the slightly chaotic one on Ning’s, and Ning herself—sprawled face down on her bed like a discarded doll.
Minji knows she’s not sleeping.
She turns on the lamp by her desk, its soft glow casting long shadows across the room. Ning doesn’t stir, but her breathing isn’t the deep, rhythmic pattern of sleep. Her messy hair spills over her pillow in wild waves, her loose top riding up just enough to reveal the curve of her waist above her panties. She’s a cute mess, but a mess all the same.
“Ning,” Minji calls softly, her voice calm, measured.
No response.
Minji crosses her arms, leaning against her desk. “I know you’re not sleeping.”
There’s a beat of silence before Ning turns her head slightly, just enough to meet Minji’s gaze. Her eyes are red, swollen, and have deep dark circles, as if all her accumulated tiredness had collapsed on her at once. Minji doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she holds up the tub of ice cream she’s carrying, Ning’s favorite flavor, like it’s a peace offering. “Sit up,” Minji says gently.
Ning hesitates, her expression guarded, but eventually pushes herself upright, her movements sluggish. Minji walks over and sits beside her on the bed, her posture as perfect as always, even in the dim light.
“Why’d you leave the bar like that?” Minji asks, her voice calm but probing.
Ning shrugs, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I just felt like leaving.”
Minji isn’t buying it. She studies Ning for a moment, then leans in slightly. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
Ning doesn’t respond, her silence speaking volumes.
Minji sighs, setting the ice cream tub on the bed between them. “Alright,” she says, her tone soft but purposeful. “Then let me make it easy for you. Yes, I’m seeing him. We’re hooking up.”
Ning stiffens, but she keeps her eyes down, her expression carefully blank.
“Does that bother you?” Minji asks, her voice light but probing, her gaze unwavering.
Ning stays silent, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.
Minji presses on, her tone shifting to something softer, almost confessional. “I only let things happen because I thought you didn’t care. You’ve always said he’s just your friend. And I believed you.” She pauses, letting her words settle before continuing. “But if I was wrong... if you like him too, tell me. I’ll step back.”
Ning looks up at her then, startled. “What?”
“I’m serious,” Minji says, her expression calm. “You knew him first. You introduced me to him. If you like him, I’ll stop seeing him. Friendship comes first.”
The words hit Ning like a punch to the chest. There’s nothing accusatory in Minji’s tone, no edge to her gaze—just an unshakable calmness that makes Ning feel small and foolish.
“I don’t like him like that,” Ning says finally.
Minji tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing just enough to suggest she doesn’t entirely believe her. “Are you sure?”
Ning hesitates, her mind racing. If you and Minji are already together, what difference would it make? You’d never leave Minji for her. She’s better than Ning in every way—prettier, smarter, more composed. Ning would just make everything worse by admitting the truth.
“I’m sure,” Ning says again, forcing the words out.
Minji watches her for a long moment before nodding, as if accepting it. “Okay,” she says softly. “Then why did you leave the bar like that?”
“I was embarrassed,” Ning lies, her voice steadier now. “I saw you two kissing, and... I don’t know. I thought you’d be mad at me for walking in on you.”
Minji chuckles softly, shaking her head. “Why would we be mad? It’s not like we were doing anything wrong.”
Ning doesn’t respond, her fingers still picking at her shirt.
Minji reaches for the ice cream, peeling off the lid and handing it to Ning along with a plastic spoon. “Here,” she says, her voice gentle. “Eat.”
Ning takes it reluctantly, her movements mechanical as she scoops a bite into her mouth.
Minji watches her for a moment before speaking again. “You’re sure everything’s okay?”
Ning forces a smile, one that feels brittle even to her. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
Minji exhales softly, a small smile playing on her lips. “Good,” she says. “Because I think... I think I’m falling for him.”
Ning freezes mid-bite, the spoon hovering in the air.
Minji doesn’t seem to notice. “I don’t fall for guys easily,” she continues, her tone contemplative. “You know that. I don’t date just to date. But with him...” She trails off, shaking her head slightly. “It feels different.”
Ning forces herself to swallow, her chest tightening painfully.
Minji reaches out then, her thumb brushing against the corner of Ning’s mouth. “You’ve got ice cream,” she says softly, her touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.
The gesture sends a jolt through Ning, and she quickly looks away, focusing on the ice cream in her lap.
“Eat, Ning. You’ll feel better.”
Ning nods, shoveling another spoonful into her mouth, her movements hurried and desperate.
She glances at Minji, who’s watching her with a faint, unreadable smile, and decides to take the plunge.
“Did he say anything about last night?” Ning asks, her voice casual, as if the question doesn’t mean much.
Minji raises an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Just... I don’t know,” Ning says, forcing a shrug. “Like, did he mention anything weird? About the party, I mean.”
Minji tilts her head slightly, studying Ning like she’s trying to figure out what angle she’s working. “No,” she says finally. “Why?”
“No reason,” Ning replies quickly, her eyes dropping back to the tub of ice cream in her lap. “I was just curious. He got very drunk yesterday.”
That makes Minji laugh, soft and elegant. “Oh, trust me, I know. He told me he had a splitting headache and a killer hangover. Said he drank so much he forgot a lot of what happened.” She pauses, her smile turning almost amused. “Apparently, that’s not the first time it’s happened. Seems to be a habit of his.”
Ning nods, her grip on the spoon tightening slightly. “Yeah, I know.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then Minji leans back slightly, resting her hands on the bed. “But he was really happy about the surprise party. And he loved your gift.”
Ning feels a sudden urge to cry, but it’s different this time—something bittersweet, something almost tender. “It wasn’t anything special,” she says.
“It was,” Minji counters, her tone firm but kind. “Mostly because it came from you.”
Ning doesn’t know how to respond to that, so she takes another bite of ice cream, the sweetness almost too much now. She glances at Minji, who’s still watching her, and before she can stop herself, the next question tumbles out.
“Have you and him... you know.”
Minji blinks, caught off guard for the first time that night. Her composure falters just slightly before she regains it, smoothing her expression into something neutral. “Not yet,” she says, her voice carefully even.
“But you’ve done something?”
Minji hesitates, then nods, her eyes flickering toward the window as if she doesn’t want to meet Ning’s gaze. “I... gave him a blowjob.”
She doesn’t know why she asked—doesn’t know what she expected—but the answer still hits her like a punch to the chest.
Minji, sensing her discomfort, lets out a soft laugh. “It was the first time a guy’s ever... you know, finished in my mouth.”
Ning swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry. She forces herself to keep her voice steady. “And? How was that?”
Minji shrugs, her lips curving into a faint, wry smile. “Not as bad as I thought it’d be. A little weird, but... not terrible. But no facials with me. That's my limit. It would ruin my skin.”
Ning doesn’t respond, her mind racing. She feels like she’s on the edge of something, teetering between jealousy and shame and something dangerous, something she doesn’t want to name.
Minji stretches slightly, her movements graceful as always, and lets out a small sigh. “I’m exhausted,” she says, her tone softening. “You should brush your teeth when you’re done with that ice cream.”
She leans in then, pressing a light kiss to Ning’s cheek, her lips soft and cool. Ning freezes, the touch sending a shiver through her, but Minji pulls back quickly, standing and moving toward her dresser.
“I’m going to change,” Minji says, her voice light and casual as if nothing unusual had just happened.
Ning watches her, the tub of ice cream still heavy in her hands, and wonders how Minji always manages to walk that perfect line between kindness and control, between affection and distance. And she wonders, for the hundredth time that night, why it hurts so much to lose something she never really had.
The kitchen glows under the soft light of your pendant lamp, a warm oasis on a cold evening. Minji is standing at the counter, dressed in a slim, forest-green silk dress that clings to her form without being ostentatious. The fabric moves like water, catching the light every time she shifts her weight or raises her arm. A subtle slit at the hem reveals just a hint of her toned leg as she steps closer to the chopping board. Her hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few stray strands framing her face, and her gold-rimmed glasses sit neatly on her nose, catching the light like a delicate accessory she doesn’t even notice.
You stir the sauce simmering on the stove, stealing glances at her as she expertly dices a red bell pepper. The soft rhythm of her knife against the cutting board blends with the faint hum of music coming from the speaker in the corner. It’s some instrumental jazz you picked randomly, but it fits—smooth, understated, just like her presence.
“It’s funny,” she says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. Her voice is calm, clear, the kind that pulls you in without demanding attention. “The lecture I had today—it was about communication, or the lack of it, really.”
You glance over your shoulder, curious. “Yeah? What about it?”
Minji doesn’t look up from her task, the tip of her tongue caught briefly between her teeth as she concentrates on slicing the pepper into perfectly even strips. “How dangerous it is,” she says simply.
“Dangerous?” you echo, turning back to the stove. The sauce is thickening nicely, the smell of garlic and tomatoes filling the space.
“In my field, sure,” she continues, setting the knife down and picking up a carrot. “Business is all about negotiation, asserting yourself, making your position known. If you can’t communicate—if you’re passive, afraid to take up space—people walk all over you. You become... irrelevant.”
You nod, scooping up a spoonful of sauce and tasting it. It’s missing something—salt, maybe. “Makes sense. You’ve got to make yourself heard.”
“Exactly.” She pauses, running the carrot under the faucet, then patting it dry with a paper towel. “But it’s not just in business. It’s everywhere. Relationships, friendships, even just day-to-day interactions. If you can’t say what you think, if you’re always holding back...”
She trails off, her knife poised over the carrot. For a moment, you think she’s lost in thought, but then she shakes her head slightly and starts slicing again.
“It’s cowardly,” she says finally, her tone sharp but not loud. “To let life pass you by because you’re too afraid to say or do anything. It’s—" She stops herself, exhaling softly. “I don’t understand how people live like that.”
“You’re not wrong,” you say instead, reaching for the salt and sprinkling a bit into the sauce. “But some people are just wired differently. They don’t know how to... I don’t know. Assert themselves?”
“That’s an excuse,” Minji replies. She sets the knife down and turns to face you, leaning slightly against the counter. “It’s not about being wired differently. It’s about choice. If you let fear dictate your life, if you don’t fight for what you want—what does that say about you?”
Her eyes are dark, steady, the kind of look that makes you want to nod and agree with her, even if you don’t fully understand.
“I guess it says you’re not living,” you say finally.
“Exactly.” She smiles faintly, turning back to her work. “Not living. Just... existing. Letting other people decide everything for you.”
You don’t know what to say to that, so you focus on the food instead. The sauce is perfect now, the pasta boiling steadily in the pot next to it. You grab a wooden spoon and stir, the repetitive motion grounding you.
Minji starts talking again, her voice lighter now, almost casual, but there’s still an edge to it. “We had this case study in class,” she says, slicing the carrot into neat, thin rounds. “A guy who inherited a failing company from his father. Had all the tools, all the resources, but he couldn’t make decisions. Always second-guessed himself, deferred to his advisors, avoided confrontation.”
“What happened to him?” you ask.
“The company went bankrupt,” she says simply. “And he blamed everyone but himself.”
You whistle softly. “Harsh.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s deserved. If you can’t take responsibility—if you can’t stand up and say, ‘This is what I think, this is what I want’—you don’t deserve to succeed. Period.”
There’s a finality to her tone that makes you glance at her again. Her hands are steady as she gathers the sliced vegetables and transfers them to a bowl. There’s no anger in her expression, just quiet conviction, like she’s already decided what the world should be and won’t waste time pretending otherwise.
“I guess you’re right,” you say, draining the pasta and dumping it into the pan with the sauce. “But some people are just... afraid. Of rejection, failure, whatever.”
She snorts softly, reaching for a tomato. “And that’s supposed to excuse them? We’re all afraid. The difference is whether you let it control you.”
“You’re good at this,” you say, gesturing to the cutting board as you plate the pasta.
She glances at you, a faint smile playing on her lips. “At cooking?”
“At everything,” you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your tone.
Her smile widens slightly, and she tilts her head, studying you for a moment. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she says, her voice softer now. “Honestly, I don’t think people realize how much they lose when they hold back,” Minji says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s like...” She pauses, searching for the right words, her knife resting momentarily on the cutting board. “Imagine having all this potential—ideas, feelings, everything—and just letting it rot inside because you’re too scared to let anyone see it. It’s...”
“Wasted,” you finish for her, nodding.
“Exactly. Wasted,” she echoes, her gaze flicking to yours for a moment before returning to the half-sliced tomato in front of her. “I see it all the time. Students who are brilliant but can’t speak up in class. Colleagues who let others take credit because they can’t bring themselves to push back. It’s infuriating.”
“Not everyone can be as fearless as you,” you tease, half-smiling as you wipe your hands on a dishtowel.
She lets out a soft laugh, but there’s an edge to it. “It’s not about fearlessness. It’s about... discipline. Conviction. Knowing what you want and not apologizing for it.”
The words linger in the air, and for a moment, you think she might say more. But then she shakes her head slightly and focuses back on the tomato, her knife moving with a precision that seems almost meditative.
“You really have this figured out, huh?” you say, watching her work.
“I try,” she replies, her voice almost introspective. “But it’s easier to see these things in other people. When it’s yourself...” She trails off, slicing through the tomato, her knife slipping slightly as she loses focus.
“Shit!”
The knife clatters onto the cutting board, and she pulls her hand back, blood welling up from a neat cut on the side of her index finger. For a moment, she just stares at it, as if unable to comprehend what’s happened.
“Are you okay?” you ask, already stepping closer.
“I—I don’t know,” she stammers, holding her hand up as blood starts to drip onto the counter. “I’ve never...”
“It’s not bad,” you say quickly, grabbing a paper towel and wrapping it around her finger. “It’s just a small cut. Let me see.”
She doesn’t move, her body rigid, her breath shallow as she stares at the blood soaking into the towel. “I’ve never cut myself before,” Minji says.
“It happens,” you say gently, trying to keep your tone calm. “Everyone does it sooner or later. Here, hold this tight while I grab the first aid kit.”
You guide her hand to press the towel against the cut and rummage through the drawer until you find the small, rarely used kit. When you return, she’s still standing in the same spot, her expression a mixture of shock and something sharper—anger, maybe.
“Let me clean it,” you say, carefully unwrapping the paper towel. The cut is thin but deep enough to keep bleeding. “It’s not serious, I promise.”
She flinches as you dab at it with an antiseptic wipe, her jaw tightening. “I can’t believe this,” she mutters, more to herself than to you.
“Minji, it’s really not a big deal,” you say, glancing up at her.
“It is to me,” she snaps, then immediately looks away, exhaling sharply. “Sorry. I just... I don’t like this.”
“I get it,” you say, wrapping a bandage around her finger. “But it’s going to heal. Probably won’t even leave a scar.”
Her head snaps up at that. “A scar?”
“Maybe a tiny one,” you admit, trying to keep your tone light. “Nothing noticeable.”
Her lips press into a thin line, and she pulls her hand away as soon as you finish wrapping it. “I’ve never had a scar before,” she says, her voice low but sharp. “Not a single one.”
“Well, if it does scar, it’ll be really small. Barely visible.”
“That’s not the point,” she says, her tone rising slightly. “I don’t want one at all. Why should I have to live with something like that?”
“It’s just a part of life,” you say, shrugging. “Everyone gets scars eventually.”
“Not me,” she retorts, pacing to the other side of the kitchen. “I’ve always been careful. Always.”
“Hey,” you say softly, stepping closer. “It’s really not that bad. I promise.”
She doesn’t look at you, her gaze fixed on her bandaged finger. “Do you think there’s something that can get rid of scars? Like a cream or... something?”
“Maybe,” you say carefully. “I think there are treatments, yeah.”
“Good,” she says, finally meeting your eyes. “I’ll look it up later.”
You nod, deciding not to push her. “If it bothers you that much, we’ll figure it out. Okay?”
She exhales, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Okay.”
The air between you feels fragile now, like a thread pulled too tight. You want to say something to break the tension, to bring back the easy warmth from before, but you don’t know how. Instead, you reach for the chopping board, picking up where she left off.
“Why don’t you sit down?” you suggest, glancing at her. “I’ll finish the vegetables.”
For a moment, she hesitates, her gaze lingering on you. Then she nods, walking to the table and sitting down, her movements slower than usual.
Dinner unfolds with a quiet kind of intimacy. The two of you sit across from each other at the small dining table, your plates piled high with pasta, the vegetables Minji had been chopping earlier perfectly sautéed and scattered on top. The warmth of the meal fills the space, but the air between you feels delicate, like a glass balancing on the edge of a table.
She’s been quiet since the incident in the kitchen, only speaking when you ask her something directly. You don’t mind the silence, though. You know her well enough by now to understand that she’s working through her thoughts, rearranging them until they feel presentable.
Finally, as you’re finishing the last bite of your pasta, she sets her fork down and looks at you. Her hands are folded neatly in her lap, her posture straight but not stiff.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly, her eyes meeting yours. “About earlier. I didn’t mean to overreact.”
You lean back slightly, letting her words settle. “It’s okay,” you say, your voice calm, steady. “You don’t need to apologize.”
“I do,” she insists, her gaze dropping to her plate for a moment. “I... I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to make such a big deal out of it. Or ruin the night.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” you say firmly, leaning forward now, your elbows resting on the table. “I promise. It’s not a big deal. Things like that happen all the time.”
“Not to me,” she murmurs. She takes a deep breath, her fingers tightening slightly in her lap. “I’ve always been... careful. Protected. My parents, my doctors, even my friends... they’ve always made sure I never got hurt. Physically, I mean.”
You nod slowly, giving her space to continue.
“I guess that’s why it rattled me so much,” she says, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. “It sounds stupid when I say it out loud. It’s just a tiny cut.”
“It’s not stupid,” you say gently. “I get it. If you’ve never had to deal with something like that before, of course it’s going to feel... bigger.”
She looks at you then, her expression softening. “You always do that.”
“Do what?” you ask, curious.
“Understand me,” she says simply, her voice warm. “Even when I don’t make sense, you... you just get it. Get me.”
You smile, a quiet sense of gratitude settling in your chest. “That’s because I like you, Minji. A lot.”
She ducks her head slightly, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “I like you too,” she says softly.
After a moment, you both rise from the table, moving together to clear the dishes. The easy rhythm returns as you rinse the plates, her hand brushing against yours as she hands you a glass to dry.
When everything is cleaned and put away, you lead her to the couch, the soft hum of the jazz playlist still filling the background. She sits down first, but then, without hesitation, shifts onto your lap. Her body fits against yours like it belongs there, her dress cool against your hands as they find their way to her thighs.
Her arms loop around your neck, and for a moment, she just looks at you.
“I really like you,” she says again, her voice quieter now, more intimate.
“I feel the same way,” you reply, your hands instinctively tightening their hold on her thighs.
She leans in then, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that starts soft, tentative. But as you respond, as your hands slide up her legs and her fingers tangle in your hair, the kiss deepens, the world outside the two of you fading into nothing.
Her breath hitches slightly as you pull her closer, your hands finding the bare skin just above the slit in her dress. Her lips taste faintly of the wine you had with dinner, warm and lingering, and you think you could stay like this forever.
When she finally pulls back, her forehead resting against yours, she exhales softly, her fingers tracing the back of your neck. “I’m happy,” she says quietly.
You smile. “Me too.”
Her warmth presses against you, your hand rests lightly on her thigh, the silk of her dress cool and slippery under your palm. It should feel perfect, unbroken, but something niggles at the edge of your mind.
Ning.
You don’t know where the thought comes from, but it’s there, uninvited, lingering like a shadow just out of reach. Your hand flexes slightly against Minji’s thigh, and she notices, tilting her head to look at you.
“Something on your mind?” she asks.
You hesitate, trying to shake it off, but the words tumble out before you can stop them. “Is Ning okay? I mean, really okay?”
Minji blinks, her lips parting slightly in surprise. For a moment, she’s quiet, her gaze searching yours. Then, she smiles faintly, leaning back just enough to study your face.
“I told you,” she says calmly, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on the nape of your neck. “I talked to her. She’s fine.”
You nod, but it doesn’t feel like enough. “What did she say? I just—she seemed upset that night at the bar.”
Minji’s smile doesn’t falter, but something shifts in her eyes. “She said she was embarrassed. That’s all. Embarrassed and worried she might be... getting in the way of us.”
“In the way?” you echo, frowning.
Minji hums softly, her thumb brushing against your jaw. “You know how she is. Always second-guessing herself, always afraid of being too much. She didn’t want to... complicate things.”
You’re quiet for a moment, processing her words. Your hand is still on her thigh, your thumb brushing absently against the slit in her dress. The thought of Ning being embarrassed—or worse, feeling like she doesn’t belong—makes you feel wrong somehow. “She didn’t need to leave like that,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Minji.
“No,” Minji agrees, her voice soothing. “But that’s Ning. She always runs before she can let anyone help her.”
The words sting, though you’re not sure why. Minji shifts in your lap then, her movements deliberate, and takes your hand in hers. For a moment, you think she’s going to pull it away, but instead, she guides it down, sliding it under the edge of her dress.
You freeze, your breath catching as your fingers brush against the soft fabric of her panties. She doesn’t stop, doesn’t even falter, her hand pressing yours firmly against her.
“Keep going,” she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear.
“Minji,” you start, but she cuts you off with a small, reassuring smile.
“It’s fine,” she says, her voice steady. “I want you to.”
Her hips roll subtly against your hand, and instinct takes over, your fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles over the fabric. She exhales softly, her body relaxing against yours, but her gaze remains locked on you, sharp and unflinching.
“Ning really is a good friend,” she says suddenly, her tone casual.
The words catch you off guard, but you nod, your movements faltering slightly before you find your rhythm again. “Yeah. She is.”
Minji hums in agreement, her head resting against your shoulder. “I like her. She’s sweet. A little naive, maybe, but sweet. Sometimes I think of her as a doll, but I can never decide whether she's made of cloth or porcelain.”
You’re not sure how to respond. Your hand is still moving, the heat of her seeping through the fabric, and the dissonance between her words and what you’re doing is dizzying.
“She’s always been so... eager to please,” Minji continues, her voice soft but steady. “It’s endearing. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” you say quietly, unsure if you’re agreeing with her or just trying to keep up.
“She looks up to you,” Minji adds, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Did you know that? She talks about you all the time.”
“Does she?” you ask, your voice thick, your movements slowing as the conversation twists into something unknown.
“Mhm.” Minji’s eyes flutter closed for a moment, her body arching slightly against your hand. “She admires you. Trusts you. I was the only one she felt this way about… until you came along.”
The weight of her words settles over you, heavy and disorienting. Your fingers pause, but Minji presses down against your hand, guiding you to keep going.
“She’s lucky,” she murmurs, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. “To have someone like you.”
“Minji...”
Her eyes snap open, locking onto yours, and the intensity there makes your breath hitch. “Don’t stop,” she says, her tone firm but not unkind.
You obey, your hand moving again, and she lets out a soft sigh, her head tilting back slightly.
“I mean it,” she says, her voice quieter now. “You’re good to her. Better than she knows how to be to herself.”
There’s a finality to her words, a weight that presses against you even as her body moves in perfect sync with your hand. The contrast—the tenderness of her words, the sharpness in her gaze, the heat of her pussy against your fingers—leaves you unmoored, unable to do anything but follow her lead.
As her breathing quickens, her grip on your shoulder tightens, and you can feel the tension building in her body. But her expression remains calm, composed, her eyes never leaving yours.
When she finally pulls back, her chest rising and falling with each breath, she smiles—a slow, deliberate curve of her lips that feels like both a reward and a warning.
“Do you understand?” she murmurs, her fingers brushing against your cheek. “We must take care of her.”
And somehow, despite everything, you nod.
Minji’s lips press against yours with an intensity that leaves no room for misunderstanding. It’s a kiss that demands, that consumes, that floods every sense. Her fingers find the back of your neck, pulling you closer, her touch as steady and deliberate as the woman herself.
When she finally breaks away, just enough to catch her breath, her dark eyes search yours, gleaming with something you can only describe as hunger. She reaches up, slipping her gold-rimmed glasses off her nose with a slow, deliberate motion, and places them on the cushion beside her.
“Take me to the bedroom,” she murmurs, her voice low, husky.
You hesitate for just a moment, searching her face for any sign of doubt. “Are you sure?” you ask, your voice softer than you expect.
“Yes,” she says firmly, her hands gripping the sides of your face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
Her words leave no room for argument. You kiss her again, deeper this time, your hands tangling in her hair as she pulls you closer, her body pressing against yours like she’s trying to meld into you. It’s clumsy and desperate as you guide her toward the bedroom, bumping into walls and laughing softly between kisses.
By the time you reach the bed, you’re both breathless, flushed. She steps back for a moment, her hands moving to the straps of her dress. You watch, your pulse pounding in your ears, as she lets the silk slide off her shoulders and fall to the floor in one fluid motion.
Her lingerie is understated but stunning—a black lace bra that clings to her curves and a matching pair of panties, delicate and sheer, the fabric clinging to her hips like a second skin. The lace pattern catches the dim light of the bedside lamp, adding an air of quiet elegance to the raw heat between you.
She smiles then, a slow, teasing smile that makes your stomach flip. Stretching her arms out, she falls back onto the bed, her hair fanning out against the pillows. “Your turn,” she says.
You chuckle, feeling a rare flicker of self-consciousness as her eyes roam over you. Kicking off your shoes and pulling off your shirt, you move quickly, her gaze following every movement. By the time you’re down to just your underwear, she’s propped herself up on her elbows, her smile widening.
“Not bad,” she teases, her tone light but edged with genuine appreciation.
“Not bad?” you repeat, grinning as you crawl onto the bed.
Before she can answer, you’re on top of her, your hands braced on either side of her head, your lips crashing into hers with a force that steals her breath. She arches against you, her hands running down your back, her nails pressing lightly into your skin as your kisses grow more frantic, more demanding.
Her laughter mixes with soft gasps as you trail kisses down her neck, her shoulders, the curve of her collarbone. Her skin tastes faintly of the lavender lotion she always uses, warm and familiar.
“You’re overdressed,” you mutter against her skin, your fingers toying with the clasp of her bra.
She laughs softly, her hands sliding into your hair. “Then do something about it.”
You do, the clasp giving way easily under your fingers. The bra slips off, and for a moment, all you can do is stare, taking in the sight of her bare skin, her confidence, the way she doesn’t flinch or shy away from your gaze.
“You’re incredible,” you whisper, and her smile softens, her hands pulling you down for another kiss.
Her skin is impossibly soft under your hands, warm and alive as your fingers trail over her collarbones, down the slope of her shoulders, and back to the curves of her breasts. The contrast between her confidence and the slight tremble in her breath makes your pulse race. You take your time, letting your thumbs graze over her nipples, dark and inviting, their perfect areolas standing out against her smooth skin.
Minji sighs softly, her chest rising under your touch. You lower your head, your lips brushing against one nipple before your tongue flicks over it, savoring the way her body responds—a sharp intake of breath, her fingers tangling in your hair.
You suck gently at first, then harder, your mouth working over her, tasting her, teasing her. Your other hand cups her other breast, your thumb circling her nipple in time with the rhythm of your mouth. She gasps, her back arching into you, her hips shifting beneath your weight as if she can’t stay still.
“God,” she whispers, her voice breathy and raw. “You’re—” She doesn’t finish, the words melting into another soft moan as you move to her other breast.
You give it the same attention, your tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles around her nipple before you take it fully into your mouth. Her hands tighten their hold on you, pulling you closer, her body alive under yours.
When you finally pull back, both nipples glistening, hard from your attention, she’s looking at you with half-lidded eyes, her lips parted, her breath shallow. You lift your head, your lips brushing hers lightly before your noses meet, a quiet moment of intimacy as they nudge and caress each other.
She smiles against your lips, soft but full of mischief. “My turn,” she murmurs, her voice still heavy with desire.
Before you can respond, she pushes against your chest, flipping you onto your back with surprising strength. She straddles you for a moment, her hair falling around her face like a curtain as she leans down to kiss you again—slow, deep, her tongue teasing yours before she pulls away.
She crawls backward, her hands trailing down your chest, your stomach, until she reaches the waistband of your underwear. Her fingers hook into the fabric, and she glances up at you, her eyes dark and gleaming with intent.
“You don’t mind if I take these off, do you?” she asks.
“Be my guest,” you manage, your voice thick.
She smirks, tugging your underwear down slowly, deliberately, her nails grazing your skin as she goes. She takes her time, her movements unhurried, like she’s savoring the moment. When she finally pulls the fabric free, she tosses it aside without a second glance, her eyes fixed on you, her lips curling into a satisfied smile.
“Perfect,” she says softly, more to herself than to you, her hands sliding up your thighs as she settles between your legs.
Minji lingers for a moment, her lips hovering just above your skin, close enough that you can feel her breath but not her touch. The anticipation is maddening, every nerve in your body strung tight as she takes her time, her hands steady on your thighs.
She starts slowly, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to the base of your shaft. The warmth of her lips makes you shudder, and she smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction. Her mouth trails upward, planting light kisses along the length of you, her tongue darting out occasionally to flick against your skin.
“God, Minji,” you murmur, your voice thick and strained.
“Patience,” she says softly, her tone almost playful. “I want to enjoy this.”
Her lips reach the tip, her kiss lingering there as if she’s savoring the moment. Her tongue flicks out, running over the head in a slow, deliberate motion that makes your breath hitch. The first bead of precum gathers, and she laps it up with a quiet hum of satisfaction, her eyes flicking up to meet yours.
“You taste good,” she murmurs, her voice low and sultry.
You’re too far gone to respond, your body already aching for more. She seems to know exactly what she’s doing, letting her tongue circle the head, her movements deliberate, teasing. Every flick, every graze, every soft kiss feels calculated to drive you to the edge without giving you what you’re desperate for.
When she finally takes you into her mouth, it’s slow, her lips wrapping around the tip and sucking gently, just enough to make you groan. She pulls back slightly, her tongue pressing against the underside as her hand wraps around your base, stroking in time with her movements.
She takes more of you in, her mouth warm and wet, her lips sliding down your length with a slow, practiced rhythm. Her hand moves with her mouth, stroking the part of you she can’t yet take, her fingers firm but gentle. She hums softly, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through you.
“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your hands gripping the sheets as she sets a steady pace, her head bobbing slowly, her hair falling around her face.
She glances up at you, her eyes locking with yours, and the intensity there nearly undoes you. Her movements quicken slightly, her tongue working in tandem with her lips as she takes you deeper, her free hand pressing against your thigh to keep you steady.
She doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter, her focus unbroken as she works you over, her lips and tongue and hand driving you to the brink.
And just when you think you can’t take any more, she slows, her mouth pulling back slightly, her lips leaving you with one last teasing kiss before she leans back, her smile wicked and satisfied.
“Enjoying yourself?” she asks.
“Are you kidding?” you manage, your breath ragged.
She laughs softly, her hand still stroking you lazily. “Good. Because I’m just getting started.” Her hand replaces her mouth for now, stroking you slowly, deliberately, as she leans down further. Her lips trail lower, pressing kisses along the sensitive skin beneath your length, her tongue flicking out to taste as she goes.
She settles between your legs, her warm breath ghosting over your balls before she places an open-mouthed kiss there, her tongue dragging lazily over the soft skin. A low groan escapes your throat, your hands fisting the sheets as she takes her time, exploring every inch with her lips and tongue.
“Fuck, Minji,” you murmur, your voice hoarse.
She hums softly in response, the vibration sending a spark of pleasure through you. Her tongue traces slow, deliberate circles over one ball, her lips following close behind to suck gently, her saliva pooling and making everything slick. She pulls back slightly, her gaze flicking up to meet yours as a string of spit clings to her lips before breaking.
“You like this?” she asks, her voice low and teasing, her hand still stroking you in time with her movements.
“God, yes,” you groan, your hips twitching involuntarily.
“Good,” she whispers, leaning back in.
Her mouth wraps around one ball fully this time, sucking lightly, her tongue rolling over the sensitive skin in slow, deliberate motions. She pulls back only to give the other the same attention, her hands never stopping their steady rhythm along your shaft. Her spit drips down, messy and unabashed, mixing with the heat of her mouth and the wet glide of her strokes.
The sound of it—the wet, lewd noises her mouth makes as she works—fills the room, mingling with your ragged breathing. Every flick of her tongue, every gentle suck, every glance up at you from beneath her lashes feels like it’s designed to undo you completely.
Her free hand moves lower, her fingers pressing lightly against the base of your balls, massaging them in time with her tongue. She’s thorough, relentless, her lips and hands and tongue working in perfect harmony to keep you on the edge without letting you tip over.
“Minji,” you groan, your voice strained, your body taut with need.
She pulls back slightly, her lips glistening, her chest rising and falling with each breath. “Not yet,” she murmurs, her smile wicked as her hand tightens slightly around your length.
“Fuck,” you hiss, your hips jerking against her touch.
“Patience,” she says again, her voice soft but commanding.
Minji’s mouth wraps around you with a deliberate slowness, her tongue swirling over the sensitive head before she slides her lips down your length. Her eyes remain locked on yours, dark and gleaming, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth even as she takes you deeper. The sight of her, so poised and yet so filthy in the way she works you, sends another wave of heat coursing through your body.
Her hand strokes the base of your cock in time with her mouth, her spit dripping down, messy and unapologetic. She hums softly, the vibration making your thighs tense as your breathing grows ragged. You’re holding on by a thread, her movements so precise, so unrelenting, that you can’t think of anything but the need building inside you.
“Minji,” you groan, your voice thick and raw.
She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips glistening, her hand still working you. “What?” she asks, feigning innocence, her smile widening as her tongue flicks out to taste you again.
“Enough,” you manage, your hand tangling in her hair. “I need to fuck you. Now.”
She laughs softly, her hand slowing but not stopping. “Hmm, okay, I think you deserve a break,” she teases, pressing one last kiss to the tip of your cock before pulling away.
You sit up, reaching for the drawer beside the bed, your hands fumbling slightly as you grab a condom. Minji watches you with a smirk, leaning back on her elbows, her chest rises and falls as she catches her breath, her hair wild, her lips swollen.
You tear open the foil, rolling the condom over yourself quickly. When you look back at her, she’s watching you with a raised eyebrow, her smile almost mocking.
“You’re on top?” she asks.
“Yeah,” you say, climbing over her, your hands bracketing her hips. “I want to see your tits bounce while I fuck you.”
Her laughter is low and throaty, her hands sliding up your chest. “Direct. I like that.”
You slide your hand between her legs, hooking your fingers around the edge of her panties and pulling them aside. She’s already wet, the heat of her pussy making your pulse quicken as you position yourself at her entrance.
“Minji,” you murmur, leaning down to brush your lips against hers. “If you need to stop—if it’s too much for your heart—you have to tell me.”
For a moment, something flickers in her eyes—frustration, maybe, or something deeper. But she nods, her voice soft but firm. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just... go on.”
You nod, pushing forward slowly, your cock stretching her inch by inch. The warmth of her, the tightness, the way her body yields to yours—it’s almost too much, and you have to force yourself to go slow, to savor the moment.
Her breath hitches, her nails digging lightly into your shoulders as you sink into her fully. “Fuck,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “You feel...”
“You okay?” you ask, your voice strained as you fight to keep still.
She nods quickly, her hands sliding down your back. “Yes. Don’t stop. Please.”
You begin to move, your hips rocking into hers with slow, deliberate thrusts. Her body arches beneath you, her breasts bouncing with every motion, her moans soft and breathy as you find your rhythm. It’s new, electric, every sensation heightened as you lose yourself in her completely.
Your hips move with slow, deliberate precision at first, every thrust designed to make her feel the full length of you. Minji's back arches beneath you, her head pressing into the pillows, and the soft, breathy moans slipping from her lips fuel the fire raging in your veins.
"God, you're so deep," she gasps, her voice breaking as you sink into her again, her tight heat enveloping every inch of you. Her nails rake down your back, her fingers digging into your skin as though she needs to hold on for dear life.
You lean forward, your chest brushing against her bouncing breasts, each motion of your body sending them into a hypnotic rhythm. Your mouth finds her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone, leaving trails of wet, open-mouthed kisses. "You like that, Minji?" you growl against her skin, your voice rough and ragged. "Feel me stretching you, filling you up like this?"
Her answer is a strangled moan, her hands gripping your shoulders so tight it’s as if she’s afraid you’ll stop. "Yes," she pants, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you even closer. "God, you’re so big—I can feel you so deep inside me."
Her words make your pulse spike, a growl rumbling low in your chest as you shift your weight, planting your hands on either side of her head. You increase the pace, your thrusts growing harder, deeper, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the room. Her moans grow louder, less controlled, her usual composed demeanor shattered beneath the pleasure you're giving her.
"Fuck, Minji," you hiss, your eyes locked on her face, on the way her mouth falls open, her brows pinched in bliss. "You look so fucking good like this—moaning under me, begging for it. Never thought I'd see you like this."
"Fuck—you're... driving me crazy."
"Yeah? That so?" you taunt, leaning down to kiss her, your lips claiming hers with a roughness that leaves no room for doubt. Her tongue meets yours, desperate and needy, her hands threading into your hair and pulling hard.
Her walls tighten around you, her body responding to every thrust, every grind of your hips against hers. "Harder," she whispers, then louder, "Harder! God, I can take it—don't hold back!"
You oblige, slamming into her with a rhythm that’s wild, relentless, each movement pushing her closer to the edge. The headboard rattles against the wall, the slick, wet sounds of your bodies joining filling the room. Her cries grow higher, her hands clawing at your back as if she’s trying to anchor herself amidst the chaos.
"You're so fucking tight, Minji," you groan, your head dipping to suck one of her nipples into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the hardened bud, biting lightly, and her reaction is immediate—a loud, desperate moan that makes you even harder.
"Yes!" she cries, her hips bucking to meet yours. "Oh my God—don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!"
"Look at you," you rasp, pulling back just enough to watch her. Her chest heaves, her hair sticks to her damp skin, and her lips are swollen from your kisses. "You're a fucking mess for me, Minji. You like being fucked like this? Having me ruin you?"
"Yes!" she screams, her voice breaking as her body shudders beneath you. "Fuck, yes! You're—ah—you’re going to make me—oh, God!"
Without missing a beat, you pull back, your cock slipping free from her soaked pussy with a wet, obscene sound that makes her gasp. Minji looks up at you, her flushed face a mix of frustration and anticipation, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.
“I'm gonna make you cum hard,” you growl, your hands sliding down her thighs. Her skin is damp and hot under your palms, trembling slightly as you grip her legs and shift her position.
You lift her legs, folding her knees toward her chest, then place them on your shoulders, her panties still aside. The movement leaves her completely exposed, her slick folds glistening in the dim light, her body open to you in a way that makes your cock throb.
Minji lets out a shuddering breath, her hands gripping the sheets beside her head. “What are you waiting for?” she snaps, her sharpness laced with a raw, desperate edge. “Fucking do it.”
Your smirk is wicked as you lean down, pressing your weight into her just enough to make her feel the shift in power. The new angle makes her eyes widen slightly, and you can’t help but revel in the way she’s completely at your mercy.
“Oh, I’ll do it,” you rasp, your cock pressing against her entrance again. “I’m gonna fuck you so deep you’ll feel me for days.”
She doesn’t even have a chance to respond before you thrust back inside her, hard and fast, your cock stretching her again in one smooth motion. Her back arches off the bed, a strangled cry tearing from her throat as the new position lets you sink even deeper.
“God, yes!” she gasps, her hands flying to your forearms, nails digging in as you start to move. “Fuck—so deep—Jesus, you’re—”
“You like that, huh?” you grunt, your hips slamming into hers with a rhythm that’s rough and unrelenting. Her legs tremble against your shoulders, her body jolting with every thrust. “Like being stretched open like this, taking all of me?”
“Yes! Fuck—yes, don’t stop!” she cries, her voice high and breathless. Her walls squeeze you tight, her slick heat making every movement feel like heaven.
You lean forward, pressing her knees closer to her chest, the angle driving you even deeper. She lets out a broken moan, her head thrashing against the pillow as her hands claw at your arms.
“Look at you,” you growl, your eyes locked on her flushed face, the way her mouth falls open with every thrust. “You’re fucking perfect like this, Minji. So wet, so tight—taking my cock so well.”
Her reply is a choked moan, her words lost in the overwhelming sensation. Her breasts bounce with every thrust, her nipples hard and begging for attention. You lean down further, capturing one in your mouth, sucking hard as your hips keep their punishing rhythm.
“God, yes!” she wails, her nails raking down your back. “I can feel you—oh, my God, I can feel you in my stomach!”
Her words send a thrill down your spine, spurring you on. The sound of your bodies meeting—the wet, lewd slap of skin against skin—is loud, raw, and completely unrestrained. Her cries grow louder, her hips lifting to meet yours despite the overwhelming pressure.
“You’re mine, Minji,” you hiss against her skin, your teeth grazing her nipple. “You hear me? No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to fuck you like this.”
“Yes!” she gasps, her body tightening around you. “Yours—I’m yours—just don’t fucking stop!”
Her words are a command, a plea, and you obey, driving into her harder, faster, your cock slamming into the spot that makes her whole body tense and shudder. Her legs shake against your shoulders, her walls clenching so tightly around you that it’s almost too much.
Her head falls back, her voice breaking into a string of curses and moans as her orgasm builds, her body arching beneath you. “Fuck—yes—don’t stop—I’m so close!”
You reach between your bodies, your thumb finding her swollen clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles. The added stimulation makes her scream, her entire body locking up as the climax overtakes her.
Her walls flutter and squeeze around you, her cries filling the room as she comes hard, her body shaking violently beneath you. The sight of her—completely undone, wild and raw—nearly pushes you over the edge, but you grit your teeth, determined to hold on just a little longer.
As her orgasm subsides, her body slackens slightly, her chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath. Her eyes flutter open, glazed and hazy, but the look she gives you is pure hunger.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers, her voice hoarse but insistent. “Fuck me until you come.”
You don’t waste a second. The moment those words leave her lips, something primal inside you takes over, your need to claim her completely, to make her yours in every way, surging to the surface. You shift her body with practiced ease, turning her onto her side, her legs tangling slightly as you follow her movement.
She gasps at the new angle, her body arching instinctively as you position yourself behind her. Your chest presses against her back, your arm slipping under her head to cradle her, your other hand gripping her hip to pull her flush against you. The intimacy of the position is electric, raw, and the way her body yields to yours drives you wild.
“You feel that?” you rasp against her ear, your voice low and rough as you slide back inside her, your cock filling her with a single, deep thrust. “Feel how perfectly you fit around me, how tight you are?”
“God, yes,” she whimpers, her hand flying back to grasp at your hip as you start to move, your pace slow but relentless. “You’re so deep—I can’t—oh, fuck—”
Her voice falters as you rock into her, the sideway angle letting you reach deeper than before, your cock pressing against spots that make her whole body tremble. Your hand on her hip slides up, roaming over the curve of her waist, her ribs, her breast. You squeeze her flesh possessively, your thumb flicking over her hard nipple, and she lets out a soft, needy moan, her body arching into your touch.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” you murmur, your lips brushing against her ear before trailing down the side of her neck. “Every inch of you. I could fuck you like this forever, Minji.”
Her answer is a shaky, desperate whimper, her head tilting back against your shoulder to give you more access. Your mouth moves lower, leaving hot, wet kisses along her neck, her shoulder, tasting the salty sheen of sweat on her skin. The scent of her—sex and sweat and lavender—fills your senses, intoxicating and addictive.
Your hand slides down her stomach, your fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in slow, firm circles that make her hips buck against you. She’s so wet, so slick, and every time you thrust into her, the sound of it is loud and obscene, driving you both higher.
“Please,” she breathes, her voice soft but filled with need. Her hand reaches back, her fingers threading into your hair as she clings to you. “Don’t stop. Don’t let go.”
“Never,” you growl, your teeth grazing the curve of her shoulder. “You’re mine, Minji. All of you. And I’m going to fuck you until you can’t think about anything else but how good I make you feel.”
Her body shudders against yours, her walls tightening around your cock as your words send a new wave of heat through her. She turns her head, seeking your lips, and you kiss her hungrily, your tongues tangling as your thrusts grow harder, faster.
Her moans become louder, higher, her hand clutching yours where it cups her breast, her other hand gripping the sheets. “Oh, my God—fuck—I’m so close—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” you whisper fiercely, your mouth moving to her ear. “Come for me, Minji. Let me feel you.”
Your fingers press harder against her clit, your cock driving into her with a pace that’s relentless, merciless. Her body tenses, her breath hitching, and then she’s coming undone, her climax hitting her like a tidal wave.
She cries out, her walls clenching around you so tightly that it pulls a groan from your throat, her entire body shaking in your arms. You don’t stop, don’t let up, fucking her through her orgasm as her pleasure peaks. The way she’s clinging to you, her nails digging into your forearm, her breathless gasps of your name—it’s all so intense.
“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your thrusts growing erratic, completely focused on her pleasure.
“Yes,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “Please—don’t stop—I want to feel it all—”
Her words spur you on, and you continue to drive into her, every movement designed to prolong her ecstasy. With one last, deep thrust, you bury yourself inside her, feeling her body convulse around you as her orgasm reaches its peak, your breath ragged as you hold her close.
For a moment, neither of you move, your bodies tangled. Then Minji shifts slightly, turning her head to press a soft kiss to your jaw.
“You’re incredible,” she whispers, her voice barely audible but filled with warmth.
“So are you,” you murmur, your arms tightening around her.
She’s still trembling slightly, her slick pussy clenching around your cock, her breath shallow and uneven as she tries to recover. You pull back slightly, adjusting your angle, and thrust into her again, slow but deliberate, dragging a gasp from her parted lips.
"Not done with you yet," you growl against her ear, your hand sliding down her body, fingers tracing the curve of her waist, her hip. "You’ve got another one in you, don’t you, Minji?"
"I—" she starts, but her words cut off with a sharp moan as you roll your hips, the movement grinding your cock against her sweet spot. Her head falls back against your shoulder, her hand clawing at your forearm where it holds her steady.
"That’s what I thought," you murmur, your lips brushing the shell of her ear before trailing down her neck. You suck hard enough to leave a mark, your tongue soothing the sting as your other hand slips between her legs.
Her breath catches as your fingers find her clit again, slick and swollen, and you rub slow, teasing circles over it in time with your thrusts. "God, you’re so wet," you say, your voice rough with desire. "You hear that? Hear how messy you are for me?"
The lewd, wet sounds of your cock sliding in and out of her echo through the room, and Minji’s cheeks flush even deeper. "Please—ah, fuck—" she tries to speak, but another roll of your hips cuts her off, leaving her gasping.
"Uh-uh," you taunt, biting down lightly on her shoulder. "You don't have to say anything, baby. Just moan for me. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel."
Her moans grow louder, her hips rocking back to meet yours despite the overwhelming pace. Her body is completely pliant in your hands, her usual control stripped away by the sheer intensity of the pleasure you’re giving her.
"Fuck—so deep—" she gasps, her voice breaking as you press harder against her clit, your thumb working in tight, relentless circles. "I can’t—oh, God, I can’t—"
"Yes, you can," you whisper fiercely, your teeth grazing her earlobe. "You’re gonna come for me again, Minji. I can feel it. Your body’s begging for it, squeezing me so fucking tight—"
"Shit—ah—" Her words dissolve into a strangled cry as your fingers pinch her clit lightly, the shock of sensation making her thighs tremble.
"You like that?" you rasp, your thrusts growing harder, sharper, each one driving her closer to the edge. "You like being fucked like this? My cock filling you so deep you can’t even think straight?"
"Yes—fuck, yes—don’t stop—" Her voice pitches higher, her hands scrambling to find purchase on the sheets, your arm, anything to anchor herself. "I’m so close—I’m gonna—ah, fuck, I’m gonna—"
"Come for me, Minji," you command, your voice low and rough. "Come on my cock again. Let me feel you fall apart."
It’s all she needs. Her body seizes up, her walls clamping down on you in a vice grip as her orgasm tears through her. She lets out a loud, broken cry, her nails digging into your arm, her legs shaking uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her.
"That’s it," you murmur, riding her through it, your thrusts slow but deep. "Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this. So fucking perfect."
Her cries taper off into soft, breathless whimpers, her body going limp against you, utterly spent.
You pull her close, wrapping her up in your arms and covering her in kisses. Your lips trace her cheeks, her jawline, the delicate curve of her neck, every press of your mouth filled with an intensity that makes her sigh softly against you. Her plump lips, slightly smudged with lipstick from your earlier assault, part as she lets out a quiet moan when your tongue teases along her bottom lip.
“You’re stunning,” you murmur against her mouth before capturing it again in a deep kiss. When you finally pull back, your forehead presses against hers, your breaths mingling in the shared, charged air. “Do you want to take control now?”
Her answer comes as a throaty moan, her nails lightly grazing your chest. “Yes,” she whispers.
Your lips curl into a wicked smile as you tilt her chin up to meet your gaze. “Do you like being in control?”
“Yes,” she breathes, the single word coming out as a desperate sound. Her hips shift slightly against yours, the motion sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you.
“Do you want to make me cum?” you ask, your voice dropping lower, rougher.
Her dark eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of mischief and raw desire. “I really want to,” she confesses, her voice dripping with need.
Your hand comes up to cradle her face, your thumb brushing over her swollen lips. “You have no idea,” you murmur, your tone heavy with honesty, “how hard it’s been to keep my eyes off you since the first day you walked into that bar.”
Her breath hitches, her fingers curling around your wrist as her lips brush against your thumb. “Is that so?” she asks, her tone light, teasing, but her cheeks flush a deeper red.
“Yes,” you admit, your eyes scanning her face. “Every time you walked in, I couldn’t stop staring. You were so calm, so composed, and all I could think about was ruining you.” You let the words hang for a moment, letting their weight settle between you.
She bites her lip, her gaze flicking down to your chest before meeting your eyes again. “And did you ever imagine us like this?” she asks, her voice soft but edged with curiosity. “Have you ever thought about fucking me?”
Your hand trails down her back, pulling her even closer. “Yes,” you confess, your voice raw. “I imagined you riding me. I imagined watching you take control, watching you use me to make yourself come.”
Her breath catches, and for a moment, you think she might shy away. But then her lips curl into a wicked smile, her hands pressing against your chest as she pushes you back onto the mattress. The movement is assertive, commanding, and it sends a thrill straight through you.
“Then let’s make that fantasy real,” she purrs, swinging her leg over you to straddle your hips. Her hands slide up your chest, her nails dragging lightly over your skin as she settles herself on top of you.
“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your hands finding her hips as she shifts her weight, the heat of her pussy pressed against you through the slick mess between you.
“Like this?” she asks, rolling her hips in a slow, deliberate motion that makes your cock twitch beneath her. “Is this what you imagined? Me on top, calling the shots?”
“Exactly like this,” you admit, your voice strained. “Except you’re even hotter than I ever imagined.”
Her smirk widens as she reaches down, wrapping her fingers around your length and guiding you to her entrance. “Good,” she murmurs, sinking down onto you with a slow, deliberate motion that makes you both gasp.
Her head falls back, a soft moan spilling from her lips as she takes you in, inch by agonizing inch, until you’re buried fully inside her. Her walls squeeze you tightly, her body adjusting to your size as she braces herself against your chest.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” she breathes, her nails biting into your shoulders as she starts to move.
Your hands grip her hips, guiding her movements as she grinds down on you, her rhythm slow and sensual at first. The sight of her above you—her flushed skin, her breasts bouncing slightly with each roll of her hips, her hair falling around her face in a wild curtain—is enough to make your restraint falter.
“God, Minji,” you groan, your head pressing back into the pillows. “You’re incredible. You’re so fucking sexy like this.”
She leans forward, her lips brushing against your ear. “You like it?” she whispers. “Like watching me fuck you like this?”
“Fuck yes,” you growl, your hands sliding up her back to pull her closer. “You’re fucking perfect. Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop.”
Her laughter is breathy, her movements growing faster, more erratic, as she loses herself in the pleasure. “I wasn’t planning to,” she pants, her breath catching as she rides you harder, her nails raking down your chest.
The sight, the sounds, the feel of her—it’s overwhelming, intoxicating. Every roll of her hips sends sparks of pleasure racing through you, and you can tell she’s close again, her moans turning into broken cries, her rhythm faltering slightly as she chases her release.
“Come for me again, Minji,” you urge, your hands gripping her ass, helping her move. “Show me how good it feels to take control.”
Minji settles into a rhythm that’s nothing short of hypnotic. Her hips roll with a perfect, deliberate precision, her thighs flexing as she lifts herself just enough to tease before sinking back down, taking you to the hilt. Every motion sends a jolt of pleasure through your entire body, your cock throbbing inside her tight, wet heat.
“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your hands sliding up her ass to her hips, gripping them tightly. “The way you move—it’s driving me fucking crazy.”
She smirks down at you, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief and desire. “Good,” she breathes, her lips curling into a teasing smile as she grinds her hips in slow, torturous circles. “That’s exactly what I want.”
Your grip tightens, your fingers digging into her soft skin as you fight the urge to flip her over and take control. But you hold back, letting her have her moment, letting her ride you the way she wants. Her pace is maddening—slow and deliberate, her body squeezing you so tightly with every movement that you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of control.
“You’re so fucking tight,” you rasp, your voice rough with strain. “I can feel every inch of you, Minji. It’s like you were made for me.”
Her breath hitches, her smirk faltering for just a second as a soft moan slips past her lips. “God, you feel so good,” she whispers, her hands bracing against your chest for balance as she starts to move faster, her rhythm quickening.
The sight of her is almost too much—the way her plump lips part with each breathy moan, the light sheen of sweat on her flushed skin, the way her breasts bounce with every movement. She’s a vision, completely uninhibited, completely in control, and it only makes you want her more.
“You look fucking perfect, Minji. The way you take me—shit, I could stay like this forever.”
She laughs softly, the sound low and throaty, and leans forward, her lips brushing against your ear. “Forever, huh?” she whispers, her voice dripping with playful arrogance. “You’re really losing it, aren’t you?”
“Can you blame me?” you shoot back, your hands sliding up to cup her breasts, your thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. Her moan is immediate, her body arching into your touch as her hips buck against you. “You’re fucking incredible, Minji. The way you feel, the way you move—I’ve never felt anything like it.”
Her reply is a strangled gasp as she grinds down on you, her movements growing rougher, more desperate. “God, you’re—” She cuts herself off with a sharp moan, her head falling back as her pace falters for just a second. “You’re so big—I can feel you everywhere—”
Her words send a surge of heat through you, your grip on her hips tightening as you thrust up into her, matching her rhythm. “Yeah?” you growl, your voice low and rough. “You like the way I fill you up? Like the way my cock stretches you, baby?”
“Yes,” she cries, her nails digging into your chest as she moves faster, her moans turning into soft, breathless gasps. “Fuck, yes—don’t stop—I don’t want this to stop—”
“Then don’t stop,” you urge, your hands guiding her as she bounces on your cock, the slick sounds of your bodies meeting filling the room. “Ride me just like that, Minji. Fuck, you’re perfect—so fucking perfect.”
She moans louder, her movements growing more frantic as the pleasure builds between you. Her body squeezes you tighter with every motion, the heat and wetness of her making it almost impossible to hold back. But you don’t care. You don’t want to hold back. You want to lose yourself in her completely.
Minji’s movements grow frantic, her rhythm breaking as she chases her high. Her hips slam down onto you, her thighs trembling as she rides you harder, faster, the sound of her ass meeting your hips filling the room in wet, obscene slaps.
“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your head pressing back into the pillows, your hands gripping her hips to steady her. Her pussy clenches around your cock, impossibly tight, her slick heat driving you closer to the edge with every erratic motion.
Her breath comes in short, desperate gasps, her nails digging into your chest as she moves. Her hair is wild, damp with sweat, sticking to her flushed skin as her moans turn into broken cries.
“God—fuck—I’m so close,” she gasps, her voice high and strained. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—”
Before she can finish, you act. Sitting up, you wrap your arms around her, lifting her with ease as she lets out a startled gasp. Her legs instinctively wrap around your waist, her arms looping around your shoulders as you hold her against your chest.
“My turn,” you growl, your voice low and rough as you adjust your grip, your hands sliding down to cup her ass. With one powerful thrust, you bury yourself inside her, pulling a scream from her lips as you take back control.
“Fuck—oh, my God—” she cries, her head falling back as you pound into her, your cock driving deep into her tight, slick heat. Every thrust is hard, relentless, your hips slamming against hers as her body bounces against yours.
“You’re so fucking tight,” you groan, your breath ragged as you move. “Jesus, Minji—you feel like heaven. Taking me so fucking perfectly.”
Her only response is a series of broken moans, her nails clawing at your back as she clings to you, completely at your mercy. Her pussy tightens around you, her walls fluttering as her cries grow louder, more desperate.
“I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna fucking cum!” she screams, her voice breaking as her body tenses, trembling in your arms.
“Come for me,” you command, your voice rough and strained. “Scream for me, Minji. Let me feel it.”
Her entire body seizes up, her head pressing against your shoulder as her orgasm hits her like a tidal wave. She screams your name, her nails digging into your shoulders, her pussy clenching around you in tight, rhythmic pulses that make you see stars.
“Fuck, yes,” you groan, your thrusts never faltering as you ride her through it, your grip on her ass tightening as you slam into her over and over. Her body shakes violently, her cries turning into soft, breathless whimpers as she collapses against your chest, completely spent.
You don’t stop, your cock still buried deep inside her as you hold her close, your lips brushing against her ear. “You’re fucking incredible,” you murmur, your voice soft but filled with awe. “The way you come for me—Jesus, Minji—you’re perfect.”
She shudders at your words, her breath hot and ragged against your neck as her fingers tangle in your hair.
You gently lift Minji from your lap, her body still trembling slightly from the intensity of her orgasm. Her legs are weak, and her cheeks are flushed, but there’s a gleam in her eye, a hunger that hasn’t been sated yet. You kneel on the bed, tilting her chin up so her gaze meets yours.
“On your knees,” you murmur.
Her lips part in a breathless little gasp, but she obeys without hesitation, slipping down to kneel on the floor in front of you. Her hands rest lightly on your thighs, her touch hesitant for a moment as if waiting for your instruction.
You reach down, peeling the condom off and tossing it aside. Your cock is still rock-hard, and her eyes dart down to it, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips.
“Make me cum,” you say. “Make me cum in that pretty little mouth, Minji.”
She doesn’t say a word—she doesn’t need to. Her hands move to your length, her slender fingers wrapping around you as she leans in. Her tongue flicks over the tip first, tasting herself on your cock, and she lets out a soft hum of satisfaction that sends a shiver through you.
“Fuck,” you groan, your hand finding its way into her hair as she slowly takes you into her mouth.
Her lips wrap around your head, soft and warm, and she starts with slow, deliberate strokes, her tongue swirling over the sensitive underside as she takes more of you in. Her hand strokes the base, slick with her spit, matching the rhythm of her mouth.
She glances up at you, her dark eyes locking with yours, and the sight of her like this—on her knees, your cock in her mouth, her lips stretched around you—is almost too much.
“You’re fucking gorgeous like this,” you murmur, your hand tightening in her hair, guiding her movements. “Look at you—such a messy, beautiful little slut for me.”
Her eyes sparkle at your words, and she hums around your length, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. She takes you deeper, her lips sliding down your shaft with a slow, deliberate rhythm that has you gripping her hair tighter.
Her pace quickens, her spit dribbling down her chin as she starts to lose herself in it, her hunger taking over. She pulls back slightly, her tongue swirling around your tip before plunging back down, taking you deeper than before. The wet, obscene sounds of her mouth fill the room, mingling with your ragged breaths.
“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your head tilting back as she works you over. “That mouth of yours—you’re so fucking good at this.”
She gags slightly as she takes you too deep, her throat contracting around you, but instead of pulling back, she swallows hard and coughs a little. Then she looks up at you, her lips swollen, her chin slick with spit, and gives you the cutest, most mischievous smile you’ve ever seen.
“Goddamn,” you mutter, your fingers tightening in her hair as your hips jerk forward slightly. “You are the hottest girl I have ever seen, you know that?”
Her only response is a low hum as she dives back in, her mouth warm and wet, her tongue moving in perfect rhythm with her hand. You take control then, gripping her hair firmly and guiding her movements, setting the pace.
“Just like that,” you rasp, your voice rough and strained. “Take it, baby. Take all of it. You love this, don’t you? Being on your knees for me, choking on my cock?”
She moans around you, her hands gripping your thighs for support as you move her head faster, harder. Tears well up in her eyes, her makeup smudging as spit pools at the corners of her mouth and drips down her chin.
“You’re such a good girl,” you growl, watching her struggle to take you deeper. “Look at you—so fucking messy for me, and I can’t get enough of it.”
Her moans grow louder, more desperate, and she starts sucking harder, her cheeks hollowing as she works you over with a fervor that makes your thighs tremble. You’re close, so fucking close, the tight knot of pleasure in your core threatening to unravel at any second.
Your grip on her hair tightens as her pace grows more frantic, her mouth sliding over your cock with a wet, obscene rhythm that has your entire body trembling. The tight warmth of her lips, the way her tongue works against you, the sight of her on her knees like this—it’s all too much.
“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your voice strained as you feel the tension building, coiling tight in your core. “I’m so fucking close.”
She pulls back suddenly, your cock slipping from her mouth with a wet pop, and she looks up at you, her lips red and swollen, spit dripping down her chin. “Go all out,” she says, her voice breathless but firm. “I want you to cum in my mouth.”
Your breath catches, your grip in her hair slackening for just a moment. “Are you sure?” you ask, your voice low, rough, almost a growl.
“Yes,” she breathes, her eyes dark with determination. “I can handle it. Give me everything.”
Her words ignite something feral in you. Without hesitation, you tighten your grip in her hair, guiding her back to your cock. “Open wide, baby,” you rasp, your voice raw with need.
She obeys, parting her lips and taking you in again, her mouth warm and eager as she lets you set the pace. This time, there’s no hesitation, no holding back. You thrust into her mouth, deep and deliberate, the head of your cock brushing the back of her throat with every motion.
“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your hips moving with a steady, relentless rhythm. “Your mouth—it’s so fucking perfect. Feels just like your pussy. So tight, so warm—shit, I'm gonna cum so hard.”
Her moans vibrate around you, her hands gripping your thighs for balance as she takes you deeper and deeper. Her throat tightens around you, the sensation almost unbearable, and her eyes water, tears spilling over as drool drips from the corners of her mouth.
“You’re such a good girl,” you growl, your voice rough as your thrusts quicken. “Taking me so fucking well. Look at you—so messy, so perfect.”
She glances up at you, her eyes red and shining with unshed tears, and the sight nearly undoes you. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks harder, her tongue working in tandem with the movements of your hips.
“Goddamn,” you rasp, your hand tightening in her hair as you hold her in place. “I’m gonna cum, Minji. Gonna fill your mouth with it. You ready for that?”
She hums her approval, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through you, and you can’t hold back any longer. With a guttural groan, your hips jerk forward, burying yourself deep in her throat as your release hits.
Hot, thick spurts of cum shoot down her throat, and she chokes slightly, her body trembling as she struggles to take it all. But she doesn’t pull away, her hands gripping your thighs tightly, her throat working around you as she swallows.
“Fuck,” you groan, your head tilting back, your body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure courses through you. “Take it all, baby. Swallow every fucking drop.”
She does, her throat contracting as she drinks you down, her tongue swirling over your length as if coaxing more from you. When your hips finally still, your cock twitching as the last of your release spills into her mouth, you don’t pull back right away.
Instead, you keep her there, your hand still firm in her hair, her lips wrapped around you as you catch your breath. “You’re incredible,” you murmur, your voice hoarse as you look down at her.
She blinks up at you, her cheeks flushed, her chin slick with drool and cum, and smiles around your cock, her eyes filled with satisfaction. It’s a sight that sends another shiver through you, even as the intensity of the moment begins to fade.
You finally release her hair, your fingers brushing against her cheek in a moment of tenderness. “You okay?” you ask softly, your voice still rough around the edges.
She nods, pulling back slightly, her tongue darting out to lick her swollen lips. “More than okay,” she whispers, her smile turning wicked. “I told you I could handle it.”
The morning is still. The faint light of dawn filters through the curtains, painting soft, pale lines across the bedroom walls. The room is warm, cocooned in the leftover heat of two bodies tangled together through the night, but outside, the air bites with the typical cold morning wind. Minji lies on her side, the blanket pulled up just enough to cover her hips, her upper body bare against the cool sheets. She’s been awake for a while now, watching you sleep.
Your breathing steady, your chest rising and falling under the rumpled comforter. Minji studies you, her dark eyes roaming over the curve of your cheek, the slight furrow of your brow even in rest. She wonders if you always look like this in the morning—calm, almost boyish, as if the weight of the world hasn’t found you yet.
She can’t remember the last time she felt like this. Like last night. Intense. Raw. Alive in a way she hasn’t been in years, maybe ever. Her heart aches—not in the poetic sense, but the literal one—and she remembers the sharp, searing pangs that struck her chest after you left the bed last night.
You’d gone to brush your teeth, humming faintly to yourself, water running in the sink. She’d waited until the door closed before scrambling to her purse, her fingers fumbling to find the small orange bottle. The pills rattled like a cruel reminder as she popped the cap and dry-swallowed two, her breath shallow, her chest tight.
The worn pill bottle, a constant companion in her purse for safety and convenience, as her doctor had recommended, held only two pills remaining after months of sporadic use. But now it's empty, and the prospect of replacing it fills her with a sense of dread.
Even now, the memory of it stirs something dark in her. Disgust. Weakness. She is beautiful, young, confident—by all accounts, powerful. But her body betrays her, fragile and unreliable, reminding her with every beat of her heart that she is not invincible.
Her lips press into a thin line as the thoughts threaten to pull her under, but Minji has never been one to drown. She takes action.
Sitting up, she reaches for her glasses on the nightstand and slides them onto her face, the world snapping into focus. The blanket slips from her shoulders, exposing her naked body to the cool air, but she doesn’t shiver. She stands, her movements deliberate, and crosses the room to the chair where you’ve draped one of your shirts.
She picks it up, the fabric soft and worn under her fingers. It’s loose on her, hanging down to mid-thigh, the hem brushing her bare skin as she adjusts it. She could’ve grabbed any shirt, but she chooses this one—the one Ning had complimented once. “I like that shirt,” she’d said, almost shyly, her catlike eyes flicking over you.
Minji smirks faintly to herself, her lips curling as she pads out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.
The apartment is quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the muffled sound of her footsteps on the hardwood floor. She pulls back the curtains, inviting the soft, gray light of the cloudy morning to fill the room and spill across the kitchen counter, and sets to work. She opens the fridge, pulls out eggs, butter, and milk, and sets them on the counter. The cabinets yield bread and a frying pan.
As the pan heats, she flips on the TV mounted above the counter, more for noise than anything. The channel is set to some early-morning talk show, the kind with too much smiling and overly earnest hosts. But she doesn’t bother changing it, her attention focused on cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them into a frothy yellow mixture.
The host is interviewing someone—an author, maybe, or a psychologist. The woman’s voice carries over the gentle sizzle of butter hitting the pan.
“Sexual frustration in young people has reached an all-time high,” the woman says, her tone serious. “We’re seeing a generation that’s more disconnected from their own sexuality than ever before.”
Minji pauses, the spatula in her hand hovering over the pan as the words register. She glances at the screen, where the guest sits primly, her hands folded in her lap, speaking with clinical precision.
“Pornography, dating apps, social media—these things create a toxic environment where unattainable standards of beauty and performance are the norm,” the woman continues. “Young people are left feeling inadequate, their self-esteem eroded. They’re losing touch with the natural, messy, human nature of sex.”
Minji snorts softly, shaking her head as she flips the eggs. “Interesting topic for seven in the morning,” she mutters to herself.
Still, the words linger. She finishes the eggs, sliding them onto a plate and setting bread in the toaster. The coffee pot gurgles behind her, filling the air with its rich, familiar scent. She moves with purpose, each motion precise, controlled. It’s how she keeps the dark thoughts at bay—by filling every moment, every space, with action.
But as she spreads butter over toast and pours two cups of coffee, the woman’s voice echoes in her mind. Minji doesn’t consider herself disconnected. She knows what she wants, who she is. But there’s something about the idea of inadequacy, of being shaped by forces beyond your control, that gnaws at her.
She pushes the thought away as she carries the plates and mugs to the table, the smell of breakfast filling the apartment. She glances toward the bedroom, where you’re still asleep, and allows herself a small, fleeting smile.
You wake slowly, your body heavy with the warmth of the bed, the remnants of sleep still clinging to you like cobwebs. The first thing you notice is the absence of Minji. The sheets on her side are cool, and the room is quiet, but the smell of breakfast—coffee, butter, eggs—wafts in from the kitchen. It's a good sign.
You sit up, running a hand through your hair, and glance at the clock on the nightstand. It's earlier than you thought, but you don’t mind. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, you shuffle out of the bedroom, drawn by the sounds of movement and the clink of plates.
Minji is there, near the table, pouring coffee into two mugs. She’s wearing your shirt, loose and hanging off one shoulder, her hair messy from sleep but her posture calm, deliberate. She looks over her shoulder when she hears you, her glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose.
“Good morning,” you say, your voice still rough with sleep as you walk up behind her and kiss her. Her lips are warm, soft, and she smiles against your mouth.
“Morning,” she murmurs, turning to face you. “Coffee?”
You nod, glancing at the plates on the table. Eggs, toast, and even a small bowl of fruit. “This looks amazing. Thanks, but you didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to,” she says, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Consider it a little favor. A thank-you.”
“For what?”
She smirks, raising an eyebrow. “For last night.”
You laugh, leaning down to kiss her again, then take your seat at the table. She joins you. The morning feels easy, warm, the kind of domesticity you didn’t realize you wanted until now.
As you eat, the conversation flows naturally, alternating between teasing and genuine reflection about the night before.
“So,” you say, spreading butter over your toast, “how’s your finger?”
Minji glances down at her hand, flexing her fingers before carefully peeling off the band-aid. The cut is clean, small, but still raw around the edges. “Not bad,” she says, holding it up for you to see. “But there’ll probably be a scar.”
You set down your toast, reaching for her hand. She lets you take it, her fingers warm and delicate in yours. Without thinking, you lean down and kiss the tiny wound, your lips brushing against her skin lightly.
She inhales sharply, a soft, barely audible sound, but the goosebumps that ripple across her arm don’t lie. When you look up, her expression is unreadable, her eyes dark and steady on yours.
“Does it hurt?” you ask, your voice quieter now.
“No,” she says, shaking her head slightly.
“Good.”
The moment stretches, the air between you charged. You lean closer, your lips brushing hers once, then again, deeper this time. Her hand slides into your hair, pulling you closer, and just as the rest of the world starts to fade away, the intercom buzzes, cutting through the stillness like a blade.
You both freeze, the sound startling in the quiet morning. Minji pulls back, her brow furrowed. “Who the hell...?”
You stand, crossing the room to the intercom. Pressing the button, you lean in. “Hello?”
“Hey,” comes a familiar voice, hesitant but unmistakable. It’s Ning. “Uh, it’s me. Can I come up?”
You glance back at Minji, who is now standing, her arms crossed, her expression equal parts surprised and wary.
“It’s Ning,” you say, your tone as confused as hers.
“At this time?” Minji asks, her voice sharp but quiet.
You press the button again. “Yeah, sure. Come up.”
The intercom buzzes as Ning lets herself in, and you turn to Minji, shrugging. “I have no idea what this is about.”
Minji exhales sharply, adjusting her glasses as she leans against the counter. “Neither do I. But I guess we’re about to find out.”
The knock comes a minute later, light but insistent, and you open the door to find Ning standing there, her coat wrapped tightly around her, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She looks up at you with her usual nervous energy, her cat-like eyes darting behind you to where Minji is standing.
“Hey,” Ning says, her voice small but steady. “Am I... interrupting something?”
You hesitate, glancing back at Minji, whose expression remains carefully neutral. “Uh, no. Come in.”
She steps inside, the warmth of the apartment seems to relax her slightly.
“Hey,” she says, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her voice is soft, careful. “I hope it’s okay I came by. I was feeling... I don’t know. Weird. Lonely.”
Minji is the first to respond. “Did something happen?”
Ning shakes her head quickly, her hands gripping the straps of her purse. “No, nothing like that. I just didn’t want to be by myself.” She glances at you, her catlike eyes wide and almost pleading. “I thought maybe I could hang out here for a while? Keep you guys company.”
You and Minji exchange a glance, her eyebrows raising slightly as if to say, “What the hell is this about?”
“Of course,” you say, your voice more certain than you feel. “You’re always welcome.”
Ning takes off her coat and places it on the couch, the purse too.
The smell of breakfast seems to catch her attention, and she glances toward the kitchen. “Did I interrupt something?” she asks, her voice tinged with self-consciousness.
“Just breakfast,” Minji replies smoothly, already moving toward the stove. “Have you eaten? I can make you something.”
“Oh, no, I don’t want to bother you—” Ning starts, but Minji cuts her off with a small, easy smile.
“It’s no bother,” she says, pulling a pan from the rack with practiced efficiency. “Sit down. I’ll make you something quick.”
Ning hesitates for a moment before nodding, taking a seat at the table across from you. Her eyes flick to your plate, then back to you. “Thanks. I wasn’t really hungry earlier, but... I guess I could eat now.”
You nod, watching as Minji moves around the kitchen with her usual precision. She doesn’t even ask Ning what she wants, just starts preparing something—scrambled eggs with a little sesame oil, a slice of toast, and some sliced fruit. You can tell it’s not random; she knows exactly what Ning likes.
“So,” Ning says after a moment, looking at you with a small, nervous smile. “What are you guys doing today?”
You hesitate, glancing at Minji, who doesn’t look up from the stove. “We didn’t really make plans,” you say carefully.
“Well, I was thinking,” Ning continues, her voice growing a little more confident, “it’s been so long since the three of us did something together. Maybe we could go to the movies? Like old times?”
You blink, caught off guard by the suggestion. You’d been planning to spend the weekend with Minji, just the two of you, but you don’t want to outright refuse Ning. You glance at Minji again, who’s now plating Ning’s breakfast, her expression unreadable.
Before you can respond, Ning’s face lights up with a new idea. “Actually, better than the movies—what if we just watched something here? At your place?”
The enthusiasm in her voice is hard to ignore, and you find yourself nodding automatically. “Sure. That could work.”
Minji sets the plate in front of Ning with a small smile. “But first, eat,” she says, her tone gentle but firm. “You’ve been eating so little lately.”
Ning ducks her head slightly, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “I haven’t been that bad...”
“You have,” Minji counters lightly, sitting back down at the table. “But it’s okay. Just eat this, and then we’ll figure out what to watch.”
Ning picks up her fork, her smile growing as she takes a bite. “This is really good. Thanks, Minji.”
Minji waves off the gratitude with a small shrug, her focus shifting to her coffee. The three of you fall into an easy rhythm as Ning eats, the conversation turning to light topics—shows you’ve been watching, new restaurants you want to try. Ning seems to relax more with every bite, her earlier awkwardness fading into something closer to comfort.
But then she pauses, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looks at Minji. “Hey,” she says, her tone still casual but tinged with curiosity. “Is that... my favorite shirt of his?”
Minji glances down at the shirt she’s wearing, then back at Ning with a small, knowing smile. “Maybe. Why?”
“I love that shirt,” Ning says, her voice slightly higher now, almost pouty. “It looks so soft. Lucky you.”
“It’s just a shirt,” you say lightly, trying to diffuse whatever tension is brewing.
Ning looks at you, her expression suddenly shy. “Can I have one of your shirts?”
“What?” you ask, laughing a little. “Why?”
“Just... because,” she says, shrugging one shoulder. “I want something special. From you.”
The request is so childlike, so out of nowhere, that you’re not sure how to respond. Minji raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, her eyes flicking between you and Ning with quiet amusement.
“I mean,” you say slowly, “you can take one, I guess. Just not one of the good ones.”
Ning lights up immediately, clapping her hands together. “Really? Okay! I’ll pick something after breakfast.”
You glance at Minji, whose smirk is subtle but unmistakable. She sips her coffee, saying nothing, but the look in her eyes speaks volumes.
The dorm room seems to get smaller and smaller as the mess grows, cramped with the kind of lived-in clutter that comes with two girls sharing a space for years: piles of books on the desk, a forgotten hair tie looped over the edge of a lamp, shoes scattered haphazardly near the door. It works like a cycle of nature: Ning messes up, Minji cleans up. Ning messes up, Minji cleans up. (Although Minji's efforts have diminished, almost considering them in vain).
Minji stands in front of the mirror, fastening her earrings, the soft click of metal against metal the only sound besides the faint hum of the blow dryer. She’s already dressed, her black skirt snug around her waist, a cropped sweater revealing just enough of her stomach to be intriguing but not loud. Her hair, sleek and shiny, falls perfectly into place with only a few quick passes of her hand.
The plan? You and the two girls go out to dinner and then go back to your house to watch a movie (which will surely be chosen by Ning).
Behind her, the bathroom door creaks open, and Ning steps out, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her skin still damp from the shower. Steam follows her into the room, curling around her like smoke. Her bare shoulders glisten, and her dark hair sticks in wet strands to her cheeks. She holds the towel tightly against her chest as if she’s still unsure about her own body, even after years of sharing this space with Minji.
Minji catches her reflection in the mirror and smirks faintly. “You’re going to freeze like that,” she says, turning around to look at Ning. “Dry your hair before you catch a cold.”
Ning nods, her movements tentative, and plugs in the blow dryer. The roar of the machine fills the room, and Minji returns to the mirror, adjusting her earrings, turning her head to check how they hang against her jawline.
When the blow dryer clicks off, Ning stands there, her hair still a half-tangled mess. She looks at Minji hesitantly, her hands hovering near her head as if unsure what to do next.
“Come here,” Minji says, sitting down on the edge of her bed. “I’ll do it.”
Ning doesn’t hesitate. She walks over, dropping to the floor in front of Minji, sitting cross-legged. Minji picks up a wide-toothed comb from the nightstand and starts working through Ning’s hair, careful but firm. The room feels quieter now, as if the act of detangling Ning’s hair has drawn them into a bubble separate from the rest of the world.
Ning exhales softly, leaning back into Minji’s hands. “I like it when you take care of me,” she says quietly, her voice almost drowned out by the rustle of the comb through her hair.
Minji pauses for a moment, then resumes, her tone calm, matter-of-fact. “Of course. That’s what friends do.”
Ning hesitates, her hands resting on her knees, her fingers picking at the hem of her towel. “Sometimes... I wish I could be more like you. And less like me.”
Minji laughs softly, the sound light but not mocking. “You don’t want to be like me.”
“I do,” Ning insists, turning her head slightly to glance back at her. “You’re confident. Cool. You don’t let people push you around. And you’re... I don’t know. Just... you.”
Minji tilts her head, her lips curling into a small, almost secretive smile. “You think that’s all good things?”
“Yes,” Ning says firmly, her voice stronger now.
“Well,” Minji says, her hands still moving through Ning’s hair, “I wouldn’t want to be you either. You’re too sweet. Too soft. You’d make a terrible Minji.”
Ning lets out a quiet laugh, but it fades quickly. She stares at her lap, her fingers still pulling at the edge of the towel.
“You know,” Minji says after a moment, her voice quieter now, almost playful, “sometimes you remind me of a doll.”
“A doll?” Ning asks.
Minji hums softly, setting the comb down and smoothing Ning’s hair with her hands. “That's why I like taking care of you. And, you know, If you were my doll, I’d take you everywhere. Even to bed. You’d sit on the pillow next to me, and I’d never let anyone else touch you.”
Ning’s cheeks flush, and she bites her lip, her voice wavering. “You’d get tired of me.”
“No,” Minji says simply, her tone decisive. “I wouldn’t.”
After a long moment, she turns slightly, her face tilted up toward Minji’s. “After university... do you think we’ll still see each other? Or will we... you know... separate?”
Minji frowns slightly, her hands resting on Ning’s shoulders. “Why would we separate? Of course, we’ll still see each other. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
Ning smiles faintly, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve just been feeling... strange lately.”
“Strange how?” Minji asks, her tone still calm but edged with curiosity.
Ning hesitates, her gaze dropping again. “Like... like love hurts. Is that normal?”
Minji seems caught off guard. She blinks, her hands stilling on Ning’s shoulders before she leans back slightly, considering her words. “Sometimes love hurts,” she says finally, her voice softer now. “But it’s a good kind of pain. It reminds us that we’re alive.”
Ning is silent for a moment, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the towel. “It doesn’t feel good,” she says quietly.
“No,” Minji agrees, her voice low. “Not always. But that’s what makes it real.”
Minji brushes a strand of hair from Ning’s face, her touch gentle, almost reverent.
“Come on,” she says finally, her voice lighter now. “We’ll be late if you don’t get dressed.”
Ning nods, standing slowly and heading to the closet. Minji watches her for a moment, her gaze lingering before she turns back to the mirror.
The credits roll, and the room falls into a quiet, dim stillness. The TV screen casts a faint blue glow over the apartment, and Ning is sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep. Her head rests on Minji’s lap, her hair fanning out like ink on the soft fabric of Minji’s skirt, while her legs stretch out over yours. She’s wearing her usual mismatched pajamas—striped shorts and a slightly oversized blouse—and her breathing is steady, her face slack with the kind of peace that only sleep can bring. You glance at Minji, who’s idly running her fingers through Ning’s hair, her other hand resting lightly on her own thigh. She doesn’t look at you, her gaze instead fixed somewhere past the TV, lost in thought.
“She’s out,” you whisper, your voice soft so as not to wake Ning.
Minji hums in agreement, her fingers still moving gently through Ning’s hair. “She always crashes like this when she’s comfortable.”
You nod, shifting slightly, careful not to disturb Ning’s legs on your lap. “We should move. She can sleep here.”
Minji’s hand pauses for a moment before she nods. Slowly, the two of you maneuver yourselves off the couch, trying not to jostle Ning. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, her body curling in on itself as you reach for the blanket draped over the back of the couch.
You unfold it and drape it over her, tucking it gently around her shoulders. She lets out a soft sigh, her hand twitching slightly as if reaching for something in her sleep.
“She’s fine,” Minji says quietly, her voice almost absent as she watches Ning for a moment longer. Then she turns, heading toward the bedroom.
You follow her, closing the door softly behind you. The room is dark except for the faint light spilling in from the hallway, and Minji moves with a kind of quiet efficiency, unzipping her skirt and letting it fall to the floor. She pulls off her sweater next, leaving her in a simple white bra and matching panties, her movements as unselfconscious as ever.
You tug your shirt over your head, tossing it onto the chair in the corner, and sit on the edge of the bed, watching her. “She’s been acting strange lately,” you say, breaking the silence.
Minji glances at you over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “How so?”
“She’s... clingy,” you say, frowning slightly. “I mean, she’s always been kind of like that, but lately, it’s more. She’s always around. Always with us. Even at weird times.”
Minji turns back to the dresser, rummaging for something before straightening up. “That’s normal,” she says simply.
“Normal?” you repeat, your brow furrowing. “How do you know?”
“I know Ning,” Minji says, her voice calm, measured. “This is just a phase.”
You shake your head, leaning back slightly. “I don’t want to sound like an asshole, but... it’s too much. I mean, I like Ning. She's my friend, and sometimes she's like a little sister to me. But she’s everywhere. And it feels like she doesn’t even realize how... weird it is.”
Minji sits on the edge of the bed, her back to you. She stretches her arms above her head before turning to face you, her legs crossed under her. “It’s both,” she says.
“Both what?”
“On purpose and unintentional,” she replies.
You stare at her, more confused than ever. “What does that even mean?”
Minji tilts her head slightly, her hair spilling over one shoulder. “It means she doesn’t fully understand why she’s doing it. But part of her does. Part of her knows exactly what she wants.”
You shake your head again, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t get it. You make it sound like some... elaborate plan.”
“It’s not a plan,” Minji says. “It’s instinct. She’s shedding her skin.”
That stops you. You blink at her, trying to make sense of the metaphor. “Shedding her skin?”
Minji smiles faintly, leaning forward slightly. “Like a snake. She’s outgrowing herself. She doesn’t know what’s next, but she knows she can’t stay the same. And it’s messy. Confusing. For her and for everyone else.”
You shake your head again, feeling like you’re missing some crucial piece of the puzzle. “I don’t understand.”
“We don't need to understand everything,” Minji says simply, standing and walking toward you.
She climbs onto your lap, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders, her body warm and familiar against yours. “She just wants love,” she says. “That’s all anyone wants. What’s wrong with giving it to her, until she learns to find it for herself?”
You stare at her, your hands resting on her hips, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond.
“Minji...”
She shakes her head, silencing you with a small smile. “It’s okay,” she says, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “It’s not forever. Just for now.”
And somehow, that’s enough to quiet the unease in your chest, at least for tonight.
Ning stirs awake, the sunlight filtering through the blinds cutting across the living room. She groans softly, the weight of sleep still heavy on her as she stretches out on the couch. The blanket you’d thrown over her the night before slides down, pooling at her waist as she blinks groggily at the room.
She sits up, yawning hard enough that her jaw cracks, and rubs at her eyes, her hand raking through her messy hair. The TV is off now, but the faint echo of the movies you binged together still lingers in the back of her mind. She smiles sleepily, recalling the way you’d teased her about falling asleep halfway through the second one.
Her bladder nudges her out of the haze, and she stands, her bare feet padding softly across the floor. She heads to the bathroom, her movements slow, unhurried, the quiet stillness of the morning lulling her into a half-awake stupor.
Inside, she flips on the light, squinting slightly at the brightness, and shuffles over to the toilet. She tugs her loose shorts down her hips, settling onto the seat with a sigh of relief as the sound of her peeing fills the small space. Her head tilts back slightly, her body relaxing as the last remnants of sleep start to ebb away.
When she's done, she lazily reaches for some toilet paper, tearing off a few squares and carefully wiping herself, the paper crinkling softly in her hand. She gives a quick glance to make sure she’s clean before tossing it in the toilet and standing up.
The loud whoosh of water startling her slightly. Still on autopilot, she moves to the sink, turning the tap on and letting the water run cool before washing her hands. The soap smells faintly of citrus, and she rubs it into her skin, rinsing and drying off quickly.
She leans against the sink, staring at her reflection for a moment, her fingers brushing over her slightly puffy face. She frowns at the bags under her eyes, then cups her hands under the water to splash her face, the cold shock waking her up a little more.
Grabbing a toothbrush from the cup on the counter, she squeezes a line of minty toothpaste onto the bristles and starts brushing, the rhythm of it almost mechanical. She looks at Minji's toothbrush and yours and for a moment thinks about how it looks like a dystopian domestic scene. Her thoughts wander, drifting back to the conversation from last night, the easy laughter, the way you’d tossed popcorn at her when she said something smart. Or when Minji stroked her hair until she fell asleep. She smiles faintly around the toothbrush, rinses, and spits, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
As she leaves the bathroom, the quiet of the apartment feels different now—less serene, more alive somehow. Her footsteps slow as she makes her way back to the living room, a faint murmur catching her attention.
She pauses, tilting her head, her brows furrowing. The sound is faint, indistinct, but it’s coming from your room. She takes a step closer, curiosity tugging at her as her ears strain to make out the words.
The murmur becomes clearer as she approaches, her heartbeat quickening. She shouldn’t eavesdrop, she knows that, but something about the tone—the soft giggles, the whispered urgency—pulls her in.
When she reaches your door, she hesitates, her hand hovering near the handle. The murmur continues, and a thrill of something she can’t quite name runs down her spine. Slowly, carefully, she crouches down, her knees brushing against the carpet, and leans in to peek through the keyhole.
Her breath catches in her throat as her gaze sharpens on the scene inside. You’re there, standing next to your bed, your hands sliding up Minji’s thighs. Minji’s back is arched slightly, her nipples hardened by the cold, arousal and risk, her head tilted back, her hands gripping your shoulders as she lets out a breathless laugh.
“We need to be quick,” you mutter, your voice low but playful, your fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. The delicate white lace slides down her hips as she bites her lip, her eyes flicking toward the door. “Before Ning wakes up.”
Ning freezes, her heart pounding in her chest as the words sink in.
Ning’s breath hitches, her heart hammering in her chest as she presses her eye closer to the keyhole. The angle isn’t perfect, but she can see enough. You’re on your knees now, your hands gripping Minji’s thighs, spreading her legs as you bury your face between them.
Minji’s fingers tangle in your hair, her knuckles whitening as she fights to keep her composure. Her lips part, and Ning can barely make out the soft, desperate moans that slip past them, muffled by the hand she brings up to cover her mouth.
“Fuck,” Minji whispers, her voice trembling as her head falls back, her hips jerking slightly against your mouth. “You’re—ah—you’re so fucking good at this.”
From Ning’s perspective, it’s almost surreal. Minji’s bare skin gleams in the soft light of the room, her body shivering as your hands roam her thighs, your grip firm and possessive. The wet, obscene sounds of your mouth working on her pussy carry through the quiet, and Ning’s thighs press together instinctively, her body reacting without permission.
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, her breathing shallow as she keeps watching, her cheeks heating as she realizes how wet she’s getting just from the scene unfolding before her.
Minji bites her fist, her other hand gripping your shoulder for balance as you suck on her clit, your tongue flicking over it with deliberate, relentless precision. “Oh, God,” she gasps, her voice still quiet but shaky. “Right there—fuck, don’t stop.”
You don’t. If anything, your movements grow hungrier, more focused, your hands sliding up to grip her ass and pull her closer to your face. Minji’s knees tremble, her body swaying slightly, and Ning can see the tension in her muscles, the way her chest heaves as she tries to suppress her cries.
“Please,” Minji whispers, her voice breaking, her hips grinding against your mouth. “Please—don’t make me scream. Ning—oh, fuck—Ning’s right out there.”
Your laugh is muffled, the sound vibrating against her, and Minji’s response is immediate—a sharp, shuddering gasp that has her nearly collapsing into your arms. “You’re such an asshole,” she hisses, but there’s no heat in her words, just breathless, desperate need.
Ning’s hand slips between her own thighs without her even thinking, her fingers brushing over the damp fabric of her shorts. She curses softly under her breath, her cheeks burning as she realizes how turned on she is. Her fingers press down lightly, teasing herself through the material as she watches you work, her breath catching every time Minji lets out another muffled moan.
“God, you’re gonna make me—” Minji gasps, her nails digging into your shoulder. “I can’t—I can’t stay quiet—”
Your hands tighten on her ass, holding her in place as your tongue moves faster, the wet, lewd sounds of your mouth against her pussy growing louder. Minji’s body trembles, her legs nearly giving out as she fights to hold herself together, her cries growing more desperate despite her best efforts.
And all the while, Ning watches, her fingers pressing harder against herself, her body trembling as arousal coils tight in her stomach. She knows she should stop—knows she shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be watching—but she can’t tear her gaze away.
Your tongue works Minji’s clit relentlessly, swirling, flicking, sucking with a precision that has her trembling against you. Her legs are unsteady, her grip in your hair tightening as you lap at her pussy, your face buried in her heat. The wet sounds of your mouth on her, combined with her quiet, gasping moans, fill the room.
“Fuck—fuck,” Minji whispers, her voice barely controlled as she tries to keep her cries quiet. “You’re gonna make me cum, you asshole—I’m so close—”
You don’t let up, doubling down as your lips close around her clit, sucking hard and then flicking your tongue rapidly over the sensitive bud. Her whole body jerks, her thighs squeezing your head as she bites her fist to muffle the scream that’s building in her throat.
Ning watches through the keyhole, her heart racing, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Her fingers press harder against herself, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. She shouldn’t be watching this—she knows that. But watching you make Minji cum, watching the way you dominate her with your mouth, is more than she can resist.
Minji’s body locks up suddenly, her breath catching as her orgasm crashes over her. Her nails dig into your scalp, her hips bucking against your mouth as she lets out a muffled cry, her legs shaking as she tries to keep standing. You don’t pull away, your tongue and lips drawing out every last wave of pleasure until she’s practically collapsing into your arms.
“Fuck,” Minji gasps, her voice weak, her body trembling as she clings to you. “I’m done—I’m so fucking done—”
But you’re not. You guide her toward the bed, gently lowering her onto her knees, her arms bracing against the mattress as she pants for breath. “I know you can handle more, on all fours for me,” you tell her, your voice rough with hunger.
Minji obeys without hesitation, her knees sinking into the mattress as she shifts into position. You stand behind her, your hands hooking into the waistband of your underwear and sliding them down. Your cock springs free, thick, hard, and glistening with need, and for a moment, the room seems to pause.
Ning stifles a gasp, her eyes widening as she stares through the keyhole, her breath catching in her throat. She’d imagined it before—fantasized about what you might look like, what you might feel like—but nothing had prepared her for the reality. It’s almost too much, seeing you like this, seeing the cock she’s dreamed about so vividly right there in front of her, but not for her.
You stroke yourself slowly, your eyes fixed on Minji’s ass, the curve of her back, the way she looks so perfectly ready for you. “I’ll grab a condom,” you mutter, your voice rough, your tone almost detached as you try to keep control.
Minji glances back at you, her eyes hazy with lust. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t care. Just fuck me now—I need you inside me.”
Her words resonate with Ning. She can feel the heat pooling between her legs, the ache of desire building to an unbearable level. Before she even realizes what she’s doing, she’s tugging her shorts and panties down her thighs, her fingers slipping between her slick folds as she watches you climb onto the bed behind Minji.
You line yourself up with Minji’s entrance, your hands gripping her hips as you press the head of your cock against her wet, swollen pussy. She lets out a shuddering breath, her body trembling with anticipation, and then you’re inside her, sliding deep with one smooth, deliberate thrust.
“Goddamn,” you groan, your head tilting back as you bury yourself to the hilt. “You’re so fucking tight, Minji. So goddamn perfect.”
Minji cries out, her hands gripping the sheets as she adjusts to your size. “Fuck,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “You feel—shit—you’re so deep—”
Ning’s fingers work faster, her hips lifting slightly as she rubs her clit in tight, desperate circles. Her other hand grips her thigh, her eyes locked on the scene in front of her, her breath catching every time you thrust into Minji. She’s wet, so wet, her fingers sliding easily as she imagines it’s her on the bed instead, her body stretched and filled by you.
“Harder,” Minji begs, her voice muffled against the mattress. “Please—fuck me harder—”
You don’t hesitate, your hips slamming against her ass with a rhythm that’s rough, relentless, each thrust driving you deeper. Minji’s moans grow louder, less controlled, and Ning bites her lip to keep from crying out herself as she watches your cock disappear into Minji’s tight, glistening pussy over and over again.
“Look at you,” you growl, your hands tightening on Minji’s hips. “Taking me so fucking well. You love this, don’t you? Love being fucked like this?”
“Yes,” Minji cries, her voice cracking as her body rocks with every thrust. “Yes—don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”
Ning’s breath hitches, her fingers sliding faster, her body trembling as she teeters on the edge. She’s so close, the sight of you fucking Minji, the sound of your groans and her cries, pushing her to the brink. She bites down hard on her lip, her eyes squeezed shut as she imagines what it would feel like to have you inside her instead.
This makes her go beyond reason, her body moving on instinct, completely overtaken by the scene playing out in front of her. Her fingers, already slick with her arousal, slide down to her dripping entrance, and before she can second-guess herself, she pushes two fingers inside.
The sensation is electric, her walls clenching around her fingers as she starts thrusting in time with your movements, mirroring the rhythm of your cock driving into Minji. Her other hand remains pressed to her mouth, trying to stifle the quiet, breathy moans that spill out as she fucks herself.
On the other side of the door, you’re relentless, your hips slamming into Minji with a force that makes her cry out, her voice muffled against the mattress. “God, Minji,” you growl, your tone dripping with dominance. “You’re so fucking wet, squeezing me so tight. You love being my little slut, don’t you?”
Ning’s eyes flutter shut, her fingers curling inside her as if you’re the one filling her up. “Yes,” she whispers, barely audible, her voice shaky and desperate. Her fingers move faster, her thumb brushing over her swollen clit, and she can’t stop herself from whispering again. “Yes, I love it—I love being yours.”
Your voice cuts through the door again, rough and commanding. “Say it, Minji. Say how much you love being fucked like this, how much you need my cock.”
Ning's head leans against the door, her lips parting as her fingers drive deeper, the wet sounds of her own arousal mingling with the lewd noises from the other room. She’s lost, caught up in the fantasy, responding as if the words were meant for her.
“I need it,” Ning murmurs, her hips rocking against her hand. “Fuck, I need you so bad—”
Inside the room, Minji’s voice rises, a high-pitched, breathless cry. “Yes, I need it—I need your cock so bad—don’t stop, please don’t stop—”
Ning matches the rhythm of her fingers to the frantic pace of your thrusts, her knees trembling as she pushes herself closer to the edge. Her juices drip down her thighs, her clit throbbing under the relentless assault of her thumb. She’s mumbling now, her words incoherent, her body shaking as she chases the pleasure building inside her.
“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice trembling as her fingers curl inside her, brushing that spot that makes her legs weak. “So deep, baby—feels so good—oh, my God—”
You grunt loudly, your hands gripping Minji’s hips tighter, pulling her back against you with every thrust. “You’re fucking perfect, Minji,” you growl, your voice rough. “Taking me so fucking well—like you were made for this.”
Ning can’t hold back her response, her whispered voice growing louder despite herself. “Yes—I was—I was made for this,” she mutters, her breath hitching as her fingers slam into her wet pussy. “Fuck me harder—please—don’t stop—”
Her words blur into soft moans and gasps, her body trembling as she teeters on the edge of release. Her eyes are glued to the keyhole, watching the way your cock disappears into Minji’s pussy, the way Minji’s body arches with every thrust. It’s too much, the visual, the sounds, the fantasy she’s building in her head—all of it pushes her closer, her fingers working furiously as she chases the same pleasure Minji is drowning in.
“Fuck,” she gasps, her voice breaking as her fingers curl again, her body arching off the floor. “I’m so close—oh, my God, I’m gonna—”
But she doesn’t let herself finish, biting down hard on her lip to keep herself from crying out. She’s too lost, too far gone, completely consumed by the rhythm of your thrusts, the sound of Minji’s cries, the fantasy of being in her place.
You slow your thrusts, pulling out of Minji for just a moment, earning a frustrated whimper from her as you guide her toward the edge of the bed. Sitting down, your cock slick and throbbing, you grab her hips, pulling her onto your lap.
Minji straddles you, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your legs. Her chest brushes against yours as she lowers herself, your cock sliding back inside her in one smooth motion. She lets out a shaky gasp, her fingers gripping your shoulders as she settles into the position, her tight pussy squeezing you in all the right ways.
“Ride me,” you murmur, your hands gripping her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Show me how much you love this cock, Minji.”
Her lips curl into a wicked smile, her hips starting to move in slow, deliberate circles. Her pace is teasing at first, her heat clenching around you as she adjusts to the angle. Her chest presses against yours, her nipples brushing your skin, and you can’t resist leaning forward to capture one of her breasts in your mouth.
Your tongue flicks over her hardened nipple, your lips closing around the sensitive bud as you suck greedily. Minji moans above you, her nails digging into your shoulders as she starts to bounce on your lap, her movements growing more erratic, more desperate.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “I love your cock—I love the way it fills me, stretches me—God, I can’t get enough.”
Ning’s breath catches as she watches through the keyhole, her own hand moving instinctively to her breast. Her fingers slip under her tank top, squeezing the soft flesh as her thumb brushes over her nipple. Her other hand is still buried between her legs, her fingers glistening with her arousal as she thrusts them in and out, imagining it’s your cock instead.
“Yes,” she whispers softly to herself, her cheeks flushed as her hips rock against her hand. “I love it too—I love the way it feels—”
Your mouth moves to Minji’s other breast, your tongue swirling around her nipple before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Her back arches, her cries growing louder, her hips slamming against yours with an urgency that drives you wild.
“You’re fucking incredible,” you growl against her skin, your hands sliding up to grip her waist, helping guide her movements. “The way you ride me, Minji—fuck—you’re perfect.”
“God, yes,” she moans, her head tilting back as she grinds down on you, her pace frantic. “You make me feel so good—so fucking good—I never want to stop.”
Ning’s thighs tremble as she matches her rhythm to Minji’s, her fingers curling inside her, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. She squeezes her breast harder, her thumb flicking over her nipple as she imagines it’s your mouth on her, your hands gripping her body, your cock buried deep inside her.
“I need you,” Ning whispers, her voice barely audible but filled with raw need. “Fuck, I need you so bad—I’d ride you just like that—I’d make you feel so good, baby—”
Inside, Minji’s cries grow louder, her hips slamming down on you with a force that makes the bed creak. Her hair sticks to her damp skin, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted as she moans your name over and over again.
“You’re so fucking tight,” you rasp, your grip on her waist tightening as you thrust up into her, meeting her movements. “You take me so fucking well, Minji. You’re perfect—so fucking perfect.”
“Yes—fuck—yes,” Minji moans, her nails raking down your chest. “I love it—I love your cock—I love the way you fuck me—”
Ning’s own voice joins hers, a soft, breathy murmur as her body shakes with pleasure. “I love it too—I love it—I’d take you so well,” she whispers, her words blending with the sounds of your thrusts, the wet, obscene noises filling the room.
Her hips rock harder, her fingers plunging deeper as she imagines you looking at her the way you look at Minji, your hands on her, your cock filling her completely. She’s on the edge, teetering between reality and fantasy, her entire body trembling as she chases the release building inside her.
You grip Minji’s waist tighter, your breath coming in ragged gasps as her movements grow faster, more erratic. The tight, wet heat of her pussy has you on the edge, your cock twitching inside her as your body threatens to lose control.
“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your head falling back as she rides you harder, her hips slamming down with a desperate rhythm. “You’re gonna make me cum—God, you’re gonna fucking make me cum.”
Her nails dig into your shoulders as her moans mix with yours, her face flushed, her lips parted. “Me too,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “I’m so close—I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna fucking cum, too.”
You grip her ass, pulling her closer as you thrust up into her, your words spilling out in a rush. “Where do you want it, baby? Tell me where you want my cum.”
Her eyes lock on yours, filled with wild lust. “On my tits,” she says, her voice cracking with need. “I want it all over my tits.”
The words send a jolt of heat through you, and Minji’s body responds, her pace growing frantic as she bounces on your cock, trying to hold back the screams threatening to burst from her lips. Her hips jerk, her thighs trembling, and then she’s cumming—hard.
Her back arches, her nails scraping down your chest as her pussy clenches around you in tight, rhythmic spasms. “Oh, fuck—fuck—” she cries, her head tilting back, her eyes rolling as waves of pleasure crash through her.
Ning’s fingers falter for a moment as she watches through the keyhole, her breath hitching at the sight of Minji’s orgasm. The way her body shakes, the sheer rawness of it, sends a fresh wave of arousal through Ning’s already trembling body. She bites her lip, her own fingers slick with her juices as she thrusts them deeper, chasing the same release.
Minji’s hips slow, her movements languid as she comes down from her high, her breath ragged as she whispers, “Please—I need your cum—I need it so bad.”
You growl low in your throat, gently lifting her off your cock and guiding her to lie back on the bed. Her chest rises and falls, her skin flushed, her eyes hazy with lust as she looks up at you.
You climb over her, your hand wrapping around your cock, stroking it slowly as you hover above her. Minji’s lips curl into a wicked smile, her voice soft but dripping with urgency. “Give it to me,” she whispers, her hands sliding over her own body, cupping her breasts and squeezing them together. “I want it all—cover me in it. Please, baby, cum for me.”
Ning’s breath comes in shallow gasps as she mirrors Minji’s words, her voice barely audible as she whispers, “Cum for me—please, I need it—I need you.” Her fingers pump in and out of her dripping pussy, her other hand teasing her breast, pinching her nipple as she imagines being in Minji’s place.
“Fuck, I’m so close,” you groan, your hand moving faster as you watch Minji writhing beneath you, her words driving you closer to the edge. “You’re gonna get it—all of it. You ready?”
“Yes,” Minji moans, her eyes locking on your cock. “Yes, I’m ready—give it to me, please.”
The tension snaps, and with a deep, guttural moan, you let go. Hot spurts of cum shoot out, painting Minji’s chest and dripping down her cleavage as she gasps with each pulse. “Fuck, yes,” she cries, her hands smearing the thick, warm fluid over her skin. “God, there’s so much—”
Ning’s body arches, her fingers thrusting deep as she watches your release, the sight of you cumming and Minji’s reaction sending her spiraling. “Oh, God,” Ning whispers, her breath catching as her own orgasm crashes over her. Her thighs tremble, her hips bucking against her hand as pleasure floods her senses, leaving her shaking and gasping for air.
Back in your room, Minji reaches up, her hand wrapping around your cock as she guides the tip to her lips. She sucks greedily, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head, and you let out a shuddering groan, the overstimulation almost too much to bear.
“Fuck,” you whisper, your body trembling as she cleans you off, her mouth working over you with slow, deliberate precision.
In the hallway, Ning slumps against the wall, her body still trembling from her climax. Reality crashes back in, her cheeks burning as she realizes what she’s done. Her fingers are sticky with her own juices, her shorts and panties pushed down around her ankles. She feels the ache of her release, but also the heavy weight of knowing she’s still alone, left only with the echo of her own mind.
The kitchen is quiet except for the clink of forks against plates and the faint hum of the coffee machine. Breakfast is simple—scrambled eggs, toast, a little fruit—because none of you had energy for anything more elaborate after the intense morning sex. You and Minji sit side by side, her hand occasionally brushing yours under the table, while Ning sits across from you, her posture slightly hunched, her head down as she picks at her food.
You and Minji exchange a glance, subtle but questioning.
“Did you sleep okay?” you ask finally, your voice cutting through the silence.
Ning looks up briefly, her eyes darting between you and Minji before settling back on her plate. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “The couch was fine.”
“Are you sure?” you press, trying to read her expression. “If it wasn’t comfortable, you could’ve said something.”
She shakes her head quickly, her fingers tightening around her fork. “No, it was fine. Really.”
Minji leans back slightly, her dark eyes studying Ning with a precision that always feels a little too sharp. “You seem... off,” she says, her tone light but probing. “Nervous, almost.”
Ning’s shoulders stiffen slightly, but she forces a small smile. “It’s just... college stuff,” she says, her voice a little too quick, too rehearsed. “You know how it is.”
Minji hums softly, her gaze lingering on Ning for a moment longer before she nods. “Yeah. I get it. Stress gets to everyone.”
There’s a pause, the silence stretching out again as Ning takes a small bite of her toast, her movements mechanical. You glance at Minji, who shrugs subtly, as if to say, “Leave it alone.”
You’re not sure why the mood feels so strange. You’re satisfied—more than satisfied, really—after the slow, sleepy morning you spent with Minji. But Ning’s tension casts a shadow over everything, and you can’t help but feel like there’s something you’re missing.
“Anything specific?” Minji asks suddenly. “With college, I mean. Anything you’re struggling with?”
Ning’s head snaps up, her expression briefly startled before she smooths it out. “No. Nothing like that. Just... the usual. Assignments, deadlines. It’s fine.”
“You know you can talk to us, right?” you say, trying to sound reassuring.
“I know,” Ning says quickly, her voice tight. “It’s not a big deal. Really.”
Minji doesn’t push further, instead picking up her coffee cup and taking a slow sip, her eyes never leaving Ning. It’s a look you’ve seen before—the way she dissects people without them realizing, pulling apart their words, their body language, their silences… You wonder if she knows something you don’t.
“Okay,” Minji says finally, setting her cup down. “But if it ever does become a big deal, you know where we are.”
“Thanks,” Ning murmurs, her smile faint but grateful.
The conversation fizzles out after that, and the rest of breakfast passes in strained silence. Ning keeps her head down, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her tank top, while you and Minji exchange the occasional glance, unsure how to bridge the gap.
When Ning finally stands to clear her plate, you notice the way her hands shake slightly, the way she avoids looking at either of you. Minji notices too—you can tell by the faint narrowing of her eyes, the slight tilt of her head. But she doesn’t say anything.
The sun hangs high in the sky, its warmth spilling over the quiet streets as Minji and Ning walk side by side. The air smells faintly of spring—cut grass, blooming flowers, the faint musk of pavement warmed by sunlight. It’s the kind of day that makes you forget there’s still homework to finish, lectures to catch up on, deadlines looming like dark clouds in the distance.
Minji is wearing her usual glasses, her stride confident, her shoulder purse slung loosely over one arm. Ning is quieter, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her skirt, her pace a little slower. The two of them have walked this route several times, but today, the silence between them feels heavier, more intentional.
Ning is the one who breaks it. “How are you?” she asks, glancing sideways at Minji.
Minji doesn’t falter, but the question surprises her. She tilts her head slightly, her lips curling into a faint smirk. “I’m fine,” she says. “Why?”
Ning shrugs, her gaze fixed on the sidewalk ahead. “Just asking.”
Minji hums softly, unconvinced. “I’m fine,” she repeats, her tone a little firmer now. “Really.”
Ning hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “I meant... how’s your heart?”
Minji slows, her glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose as she turns to look at Ning. It’s always a complicated question (even if she pretends it isn't), one she’s learned to deflect with ease. But Ning’s tone—gentle, almost hesitant—makes it harder to brush off.
“It’s fine,” Minji says finally, her voice even. “Everything’s fine.”
Ning doesn’t push, at least not directly. Instead, she pretends to shift the conversation. “Are you and him having sex?”
Minji stops walking, blinking at Ning like she’s just been hit with a bucket of cold water. “What?”
“You heard me,” Ning says, her voice steady but her expression unreadable.
Minji stares at her for a moment before she starts walking again, her steps a little quicker now. “Yes,” she says finally, the word clipped, like she’s trying to end the conversation before it starts.
“How’s it been?” Ning asks, keeping pace with her.
Minji’s jaw tightens. “Good. Very good.”
“That’s not what I’m asking,” Ning says. “I mean... is it too much? For you, I mean. With your condition...”
Minji’s steps falter, just barely, but she recovers quickly. “No,” she says, her voice sharper than she intends. “He’s... gentle. Respectful. He knows my boundaries.”
Ning nods slowly, as if considering her words. “I know you took the medicine,” she says suddenly, her voice quiet but firm.
Minji freezes. “What?”
“Your medicine,” Ning repeats, stopping to face her. “You took it. I know you did.”
“That’s not true,” Minji says, her voice flat.
“It is,” Ning says, crossing her arms. “Before we left for the restaurant yesterday, the bottle was sealed. This morning, when I saw it in your purse, it was open.”
Minji’s mouth opens, then closes, her mind scrambling for a response. “Why are you going through my purse?” she demands finally, her tone defensive.
“You told me I could borrow your lipstick,” Ning says simply.
Minji stares at her, caught off guard by the straightforwardness of her answer. For a moment, she doesn’t know what to say. Then she exhales sharply, tugging her glasses off and running a hand through her hair before putting them back on. “Fine,” she says, her voice quieter now. “I took it. After... after we had sex.”
Ning’s brows knit together, her tone growing sharper. “Why didn’t you tell him?”
“It’s not a big deal,” Minji says, brushing past her and continuing down the sidewalk.
“Not a big deal?” Ning echoes, catching up to her. “Minji, your heart hurts so much you need medicine, and you think that’s not a big deal?”
Minji stops again, turning to face her. “I said I’m fine.”
“You’re lying,” Ning says bluntly, her voice rising slightly. “You’re putting your health at risk, and for what? To prove that you can handle it? That’s not fair, Minji. To him or to you.”
Minji’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t respond. She can feel the heat rising in her chest—not from her heart this time, but from the frustration of being called out, of having someone see through her so easily.
“You need to tell him,” Ning says firmly, her voice steady despite the tension between them. “If you don’t, I will.”
Minji stares at her, her lips parted slightly in shock. Ning’s tone, her posture, the unwavering determination in her expression—it’s not the Ning she’s used to. It’s... impressive, in a way. “Fine,” Minji says finally, her voice softer now, almost grudging. “I’ll tell him.”
“Good,” Ning says, her expression softening slightly. They start walking again, the tension easing but not disappearing entirely. Minji glances at Ning out of the corner of her eye, a small, wry smile tugging at her lips. “You’re full of surprises,” she says quietly.
Ning doesn’t look at her, but there’s a faint flush on her cheeks. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” she murmurs.
The words hang in the air between them, heavier than the warm sunlight, and the ambivalence of feelings silently settles in Minji, something without its own identification. Gratitude, maybe. Pride. Love. Or something else entirely.
For Ning, the moment is different. Seeing Minji vulnerable—seeing her imperfect—fills her with something that feels almost like relief. Minji isn’t untouchable, after all. And somehow, that thought is comforting.
Continued in part 4...
640 notes · View notes
woso-dreamzzz · 2 days ago
Text
Injured (Alexia's Version) VIII
Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader
Summary: You try to help your brother
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It's not that being gay is bad, Jaume knows this.
His aunt is gay. His mothers are gay. You, his sister, are gay.
There's nothing wrong with being gay when you're a girl.
There shouldn't be anything wrong with being gay when you're a boy.
But when Jaume's at football, he knows that there is something wrong with it. He can't find boys attractive. He can't look at a boy and think he's handsome.
He has to like girls. He has to look at girls and think they're hot. He has to talk about girls with the rest of the guys. He has to get a girlfriend. He has to prove that he's just another one of the guys. He has to prove that he's just like them.
It doesn't matter if he becomes the best goal scorer in the world.
If they find out he likes guys then all that's he's worked towards doesn't matter. It's all worthless if the team decide he isn't one of them anymore.
The Putellas name, the Putellas legacy means nothing if the team decide he doesn't deserve to be one of them anymore.
You frown as your brother stares off into space, inching out your leg to the other side of the sofa, digging your toe into Jaume's ribs.
He yelps, turning to you accusingly.
"What's up with you?" You say," You're not watching the film."
"It's boring."
Your frown deepens. "You're the one that wanted to watch it."
It's a late evening, just the two of you while Alexia and Olga are out on one of their date nights.
Jaume's just come back from a Spain youth team round of friendlies and a Barcelona B match as well. He's fifteen now, growing into his looks and his talent and just now opening his eyes to why he doesn't get the same fluttery feeling in his stomach with girls as he does with guys.
You're nineteen, still living at home and dancing professionally. There's only four years between you both but somehow you seem so much more worldly and smart than him.
You're settled and comfortable with your attraction to girls and your attraction to girls only. You're open with it. You don't mind talking about it.
Jaume doesn't know if that's because ballet is more open about that thing or just because you're mimicking what you're seen and grown up surrounded with people like Mami and Mama and Tia Ingrid and Mapi and Tia Irene and Lucía.
There's so many women on Mami's old team that are gay and have surrounded you and Jaume as you've grown up.
The women's team are much more open about that thing but Jaume's never met a man who is a footballer and gay at the same time.
It's different.
It's not normal in men's football and Jaume desperately wishes that he was the same as everyone else.
He wants to be able to look at a woman and think she's beautiful. He wants to be able to approach a girl at school or a girl in the crowd and invite her on a date. He wants to be able to kiss a girl and feel fireworks.
He doesn't want to look at a boy on the opposite team and wish he was caged in his arms, wish his were the lips on Jaume's at the end of the day.
He wants to be normal.
He wants to go into the locker room and not hear the jeering of his teammates as they make fun of some gay guy they've seen on Instagram or at school or in the street.
But then he looks at you, his older sister, talk about that girl you hook up with when she comes to Spain. He sees you talk so candidly about your lack of attraction to men. He sees you dance and dance and dance and, at the end of the day, know that you're no less a great dancer as the straight girls that dance with you.
"I'm gay."
You turn to look at your brother, taking in the way his mouth hangs open like he's shocked that he's even said it.
"That's cool, Jaume," You say.
You say it like's it's natural. Like it's normal for him to confess this to you out of nowhere. You say it like he's just told you the weather or that he's in the starting eleven at the weekend.
You say it like it's something that you've always known.
You smile at him like it doesn't change your perception of him, your little brother that climbs into your bed in his sweaty kit, your little brother that leaves his dirty boots all over the house, your little brother who uses you like his personal taxi service now that you've gotten your license.
"No," He says," I'm gay."
Your brows draw together, an amused smile on your face. "I know. You've already said that."
"No." Jaume shakes his head, a sudden pressure on his chest that he's desperate to force out. He stands, beginning to pace the small space as his hand rubs at his chest. "You don't get it. I'm gay. I like guys. I-I don't like girls. At all."
Something wet and desperate pricks in his eyes.
"I...I like guys. I...What's wrong with me? Fuck! There's something wrong. I...I'm..."
"Jaume? Jaume!"
Your hands are on his arms, gently guiding him to sit against the wall. You draw his hand away from his chest, placing it onto your own.
"I need you to match my breathing. Nice and slow. In and out."
Jaume doesn't know how long it is until the roaring in his ears disappear and the crushing weight on his chest turns from rib cracking to manageable. It doesn't disappear but he can breath again and function.
He looks into your eyes.
"You can't tell anyone."
Something in you breaks as you look into your brothers eyes.
He's always been a bit of a goofball. He's always been the extroverted one out of the both of you.
You've never seen him look so lifeless before.
You're not quite sure what to do.
"Should we get milkshakes?" You ask, ignoring the way your own stomach twists itself into knots in outrage," Would that make it easier?"
"With whipped cream?"
"Whipped cream and sauce. Whatever you want."
Your mind runs the whole week. Jaume's face is etched in your mind even as Alexia sits in front of you in the little café you're eating at.
Olga's at work but both you and Alexia have the day off. There's no matches for her to coach for the week and you had a performance yesterday so take today as your rest day before you're dancing for a crowd for four days straight again.
"What's up with you?" Alexia asks," You feeling okay?"
You contemplate just telling her.
Jaume had spilled everything to you as you sat on the beach with your milkshakes. He spoke about realising he only liked boys and the attitudes of his teammates at football and his friends at school and they way that he's had to lie and fake his attraction to girls all year because he doesn't want to be iced out of the group.
Alexia is more equipped to deal with that stuff than you. You're a dancer but Jaume is a footballer. The reception to being gay in your dance company is wildly different to the reception to being gay in a football team.
Alexia would be able to help. Alexia always helps.
But Jaume told you not to tell anyone so you're not.
"Yeah. I'm fine," You say. Just because you can't spill the beans doesn't mean you can't help push your Mami in the right direction.
But Alexia's not the best at picking up hints.
So she takes your words at face value, nodding along as she stirs her coffee.
"And you know that we're coming to watch you on Friday, right?"
You roll your eyes. "Yes, Mami. I know. You and Jaume and Olga and Abuela and Tia Alba. Centre of the middle row so your necks don't get crooks in them. I know."
Alexia smiles at you. "Just making sure you know. I mean-"
The ringing phones interrupts Alexia and soon you're abandoning your lunch to get to Jaume's school.
He's sitting outside of the head teacher's office with bruised knuckles and a split lip.
Alexia stalks into the office and you stay outside, gently taking Jaume's hand.
"What happened?"
"It's nothing."
"Tell me."
"No. It's-"
"Tell. Me. I can't help if I don't-"
"They said some stuff," Jaume says," You know, stuff about..."
"Oh."
"So I punched him and they all ganged up on me."
"Did you get some good hits in at least?"
The corners of Jaume's mouth turn upwards and he stares down at his split knuckles. "Yeah, I did."
Alexia storms out of the headmaster's office and you and your brother both go stiff.
"Jaume," She says," Get in the car."
"Mami-" You say and she holds up a hand.
"Don't defend him. He knows better than to start a fight."
"Mami..."
"No! He's suspended. You're suspended, Jaume! Was it worth it?!"
Your brother shrinks under Alexia's furious gaze.
You can relate to that. All you've ever wanted is Alexia's approval, in all your actions and you know Jaume feels the same.
Your brother is taller than you like Alexia is but, still, you step between them.
"Mami," You say," Just wait. Hear him out. It's not what you thin-"
"I'm not having this conversation here." Alexia cuts you off, taking a deep breath. "Give me some time to calm down. We'll talk at home."
The car ride is tense with Alexia ramrod straight in the driver's seat and Jaume staring blankly out the window.
Alexia goes in first and you catch Jaume's hand.
"You can tell her," You tell him," You don't have to if you don't want to but you can tell her. She won't be mad at you."
"I...I don't know if I can."
"It won't make her love you any less. It won't make her see you any differently. She loves us. She loves you."
Tears are in his eyes as he looks at you, hands shaking. "Promise?"
"I promise."
He looks at the front door, where Alexia waits for him.
He reaches his hand out for you.
You take it.
"It's going to be okay."
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theminecraftbee · 24 hours ago
Text
Grian sits on the edge of a desert cliff, watching the sunrise. His knuckles are bloody. He's had this dream before, and he's lived this moment before. He's awfully tired of it, honestly. He's not even particularly sad anymore. It's hard to be particularly sad, this long after, this much more between them.
But his knuckles are bloody again. There's someone sitting next to him.
"Joel?" he says, baffled.
"Yeah, hi, really weird bloody dreamscape you've got. Literally and figuratively: bloody hell. Like, Scott, he's got this pretty cottage and all these flowers and the single most terrifying version of Jimmy that I've seen in my life. Which serves him right, since he's a bastard, and I told him that. Or, uh, Pearl. She's normal. She's got dogs and... shit, I don't know--"
"Why are you here?" Grian asks.
"Oh, right, I was tasked with asking you if you regret it," Joel says.
There's a long moment of silence. The wind blows.
"I mean. No?" Grian says.
"Right? That's what I said! Blumin' stupid question, that!" Joel says.
"Wait, you mentioned--are you asking everyone that?" Grian asks.
"Yeah! It was all, oh, you've got a car, you can travel, it'll be all poetic like. You've had a 'character arc'--like I'm some, some fake guy--and grown as a person, everyone else has to, would they do things differently now? And I said, man, that's stupid. That's really stupid. But the glowing purple eyes guys--"
"Wait wait wait wait, the who?" Grian interrupts.
"Sorry, do you not know the glowing purple eyes guys? Martyn was acting like you're all buddies or something. Then I punched him. Because it was funny," Joel says.
"No, I know the--they asked you to do this?" Grian says. He takes a moment to try to imagine it. He has some trouble. Joel and the Watchers don't really belong in the same place at the same time for so many reasons that Grian doesn't know where to begin.
"Apparently, I'm not being serious enough," Joel informs Grian. "I kinda get it, actually. Like, everyone but Cleo has been somewhere like..."
Joel looks out over the cliff. It is tall, and Grian knows he cannot see the ground from the top. He had been able to during the actual games, of course, but these aren't the actual games; these are the memories of what brought him to victory, made manifest.
"So I guess I kinda wondered, since you lot always seem so blumin' sad about it," Joel finishes.
"I'm not really," Grian says.
Joel raises an eyebrow.
"I mean, maybe once, but--nah. Not really."
"Cool. That's the last one then," Joel says. "Hear that, weird glowing eyes guys? You act like I'm all weird or whatever but none of them regret it either. Not a single one of them."
Grian looks over the cliff again himself.
"None of us?" he asks, very quietly indeed.
Joel sighs. "All of you asked that too. I'm getting back in the bloody car."
Grian doesn't watch Joel leave. He rubs the blood off his knuckles and watches the sky instead. When he's tired thinking in circles about how he didn't really expect that he would be telling the truth, just then, he starts trying to imagine the trouble Joel might be giving everyone else instead. It's much more fun to think about than the sand that's getting in his socks. He's never able to get sand out of anything, these days, and it leaves him always just a little bit uncomfortable. Oh well; the price of being in a desert. He wouldn't be anywhere else if he had the choice, though, grit in his socks or not.
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moonlightwritingf1 · 1 day ago
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The Sweet Surprise | LN4
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⋆˚✿˖° summary ━━━━━━━ Lando finds Y/N's sex toy
⋆˚✿˖° pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader
⋆˚✿˖° word count ━━━━━━━ 2.7k
⋆˚✿˖° warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content
Based on this request.
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It was a quiet Friday evening in London, the sky painted with hues of pink and orange as the sun began to set. Inside her apartment, Y/N was still at work, wrapped up in her typical 9-to-5 routine. The familiar hum of her laptop screen and the rustle of papers were the only sounds filling the space. But there was something different in the air today, something she couldn’t quite place. Perhaps it was the way the evening light seemed to make the room feel a little warmer, or maybe it was the anticipation of the surprise she knew was coming.
Lando had always been a bit unpredictable when it came to their time together. After weeks of gentle teasing and persistent gifts, she had finally agreed to go on a date with him—six dates, to be precise. Each one had brought them closer, the chemistry undeniable, the tension palpable. Yet, Y/N couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he was just playing with her. She wasn’t sure whether he was serious about her or simply enjoying the chase. And as much as she tried to convince herself that she wasn’t falling for him, she couldn’t ignore the fluttering in her stomach whenever she saw him.
Tonight, she had no idea what to expect. All she knew was that Lando was coming over, and he had promised her a surprise.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
She opened the door to find Lando standing there, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. In his hands was a box, carefully wrapped with a ribbon. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” he said, his voice low, yet teasing. “I brought you something.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow, feeling a sudden wave of curiosity. “What’s this?”
Lando grinned mischievously. “You’ll see. Open it.”
Inside the box was a cake—no ordinary cake, but the one from her favorite bakery. The one she had mentioned in passing months ago, how she rarely got the chance to have it because it was always sold out. Lando had somehow managed to secure a special order, paying extra for the bakery to make it just for her.
“You actually got it?” she asked, her voice filled with surprise. “How did you even—”
“I have my ways,” he said with a wink. “But you deserve something special. I figured this would be the perfect treat.”
Her heart warmed at the gesture. She hadn’t expected something so thoughtful. “You really went all out.”
“I would do anything for you,” he said softly, his eyes locking with hers. “I hope you like it.”
They sat down together, savoring the rich layers of the cake, the sweetness of the moment matching the sweetness of the dessert. The conversation flowed easily, the two of them slipping into a comfortable rhythm. The tension between them was undeniable, but they both danced around it—teasing, flirting, but never crossing the line.
After they finished their cake, Y/N stood up to put the remaining slices in the fridge. As she did, Lando leaned back in his chair, watching her with that familiar glint in his eyes.
“So,” Lando said casually, leaning against the kitchen counter as he watched her put away the leftover cake. His tone was smooth, almost too casual. “Do you have the book you promised me?”
Y/N glanced over her shoulder, momentarily confused. “Book?”
“Yes, the one you said I absolutely have to read,” he replied, smirking. “You said it’s in your room.''
“Oh!” Y/N’s eyes widened as realization struck. “Right. That book.”
He chuckled softly, amused by how easily distracted she was. “Where is it?”
“It’s on my nightstand,” she said, closing the fridge door. “You can grab it. I think it’s on top of the stack.”
“Sure,” Lando said, pushing off the counter and heading toward her bedroom.
Y/N didn’t think twice about it. Why would she? The book was exactly where she said it was, and her room was relatively tidy—at least, she thought it was. She turned back to the counter, wiping it down absentmindedly as her mind wandered to the cake he had surprised her with.
Meanwhile, Lando stepped into her room, his gaze immediately falling on the nightstand. The book was there, just as she’d said, but his attention didn’t stay on it for long.
Because there, on the bed, lying in plain sight, was something far more attention-grabbing: her dildo.
He blinked, taken aback for a second, before a slow, mischievous grin spread across his face. Of all the things he’d expected to find, this was certainly not one of them.
“Did you find it?” Y/n called out from the kitchen, her voice carrying a casual tone as she slid the remaining slice of cake into the fridge. The sweet aroma of vanilla and buttercream lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of Lando’s cologne that seemed to follow him everywhere.
Silence.
“Lando?” she tried again, this time tilting her head toward the hallway leading to her bedroom. Her heart began to thud softly in her chest, a nervous flutter she couldn’t quite explain. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and stepped into the hallway, her bare feet padding softly against the hardwood floor.
When she reached her bedroom door, she froze.
Lando was standing by her bed, his back to her, shoulders tense. His gaze was fixed on something on the mattress, something Y/n had completely forgotten about until now. Her dildo.
Oh God. Her stomach dropped. Heat rushed to her cheeks, spreading down her neck and across her chest. How could I forget? Earlier that day, after a particularly steamy session in the shower, she’d left it there, too lost in her own thoughts to remember to put it away.
“Uh…” she started, her voice barely audible. “I can explain…”
Lando turned slowly, his blue/ green eyes darkening as they met hers. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it wasn’t mocking—it was hungry. “Explain what?” he said, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripping off a spoon. “That you like to keep things… handy?”
Y/n crossed her arms over her chest, trying to will away the embarrassment. “It’s not what you think,” she muttered, though even she knew how weak that sounded.
Lando took a step closer, his fingers brushing against the edge of the bed. “Oh, I think it’s exactly what I think,” he said, his tone teasing yet laced with something deeper. Something raw. He picked up the toy, turning it over in his hands as if inspecting it. “Impressive size,” he added, his smirk widening. “Guess you don’t settle for less, huh?”
She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Could you not?”
He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. “Why? Embarrassed?” He closed the distance between them, stopping just inches from her. His free hand reached out, gently tugging one of hers away from her face. “You shouldn’t be.”
His touch was warm, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a way that made her breath catch. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, searching his for any hint of judgment. But all she found was… desire.
“Lando…” she whispered, her voice trembling.
He leaned in, his lips hovering just above hers. “Do you really think I care about that?” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “If anything, it just makes me wonder… What else are you hiding behind that tough-girl act of yours?”
She swallowed hard, her mind racing. This was dangerous. Too dangerous. She’d spent months keeping him at arm’s length, convincing herself he wasn’t serious, that he didn’t see her the way she secretly hoped he did. But now, with him so close, with his words unraveling her defenses, she wasn’t sure she could hold back anymore.
“I’m not hiding anything,” she lied, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lando tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Bullshit,” he said bluntly, his tone firm yet gentle. “You’re always hiding, Y/n. Behind your sarcasm, your independence, your I-don’t-need-anyone attitude. But I see you. I always have.”
Her breath hitched. No one had ever talked to her like this, stripped her bare with just a few words. It terrified her. And yet…
Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “And what if you don’t like what you see?”
He paused, his expression softening. Slowly, he set the toy down on the nightstand and cupped her face in his hands. His touch was so tender, so genuine, it nearly brought tears to her eyes. “I already do,” he said, his voice steady. “Every single part of you.”
The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with tension. Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest as she searched his face, looking for any sign of deceit. But there was none. Just honesty. And something else… something that made her knees weak.
“Lando…” she breathed, her resolve crumbling.
He didn’t wait for her to finish. His lips crashed onto hers, the kiss fierce and hungry, as if he’d been holding back for far too long. Y/n gasped into his mouth, her hands instinctively clutching the front of his shirt. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers, and she melted into him, every thought, every doubt, vanishing in an instant.
When they finally broke apart, both of them breathing heavily, Lando rested his forehead against hers. “Stop running from me,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Let me in.”
Her eyes fluttered shut, her body trembling with the weight of his words. She wanted to. God, she wanted to. But fear still lingered, clawing at the edges of her mind.
“What if I’m not enough for you?” she asked, her voice breaking.
He pulled back slightly, his hands still cradling her face. “You already are,” he said firmly. “You always have been.”
She searched his eyes, finding nothing but sincerity. For the first time in months, maybe even years, she let herself believe it.
“Okay,” she whispered.
His lips curved into a soft smile, and he kissed her again, this time slower, more tender. Their bodies pressed together, heat building between them, until neither of them could think straight.
“Bed,” Lando murmured against her lips, his voice husky.
She nodded, her heart racing as he guided her backward, their movements clumsy yet frantic. When the back of her knees hit the mattress, she fell onto it, pulling him down with her. He hovered above her, his eyes burning with desire as he brushed a strand of hair from her face.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
She shook her head, her hands gripping the collar of his shirt. “Don’t you dare.”
Lando’s lips trailed down her neck, leaving a searing path of heat as his fingers gently traced the curve of her waist. Y/n’s breath hitched, her mind still reeling from the intensity of their kiss. She could feel the weight of him above her, the warmth of his body pressing into hers, and it sent a shiver down her spine.
His hand slid lower, brushing against her thigh, and she instinctively parted her legs, inviting him closer. But instead of continuing where she expected, Lando pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with mischief as he glanced toward the bed. Her cheeks flushed when she realized what—or rather, who—he was looking at.
The dildo. Still lying there, shamelessly exposed.
“So…” Lando drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Is this how you spend your Friday nights?”
Y/n groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Oh my God, can we just forget about that?”
He chuckled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Why would I want to forget?” His fingers brushed over her wrist, prying her hands away from her face so he could look into her eyes. “I think it’s hot.”
Her heart raced at his words, and she bit her lip, unsure how to respond. Hot? The idea of him finding something like that attractive made her stomach flip in the most delicious way. But before she could say anything, Lando reached for the toy, holding it up between them with a smirk.
“You know,” he said, his tone dripping with playful confidence, “I could give you a much better experience than this.”
Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening as she processed his words. “W-what are you saying?”
Instead of answering, he leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “Let me show you.”
A wave of heat surged through her, pooling at her core. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, all she could do was nod weakly as Lando moved down her body, his hands trailing along her skin. He pushed her dress higher, exposing her thighs, and she tensed slightly, her nerves getting the better of her.
“Relax,” he murmured, his voice soothing despite the wicked grin on his face. “Just let me take care of you.”
She swallowed hard, her pulse pounding in her ears as she watched him position himself between her legs. His gaze locked with hers, and he held up the dildo, his expression daring her to stop him. With deliberate precision, he slid her panties to the side, exposing her to him fully. But she didn’t stop him. She couldn’t. The anticipation was too intense, the desire too overwhelming.
When the cool silicone touched her bare skin, she gasped, her hips arching instinctively. Lando’s free hand pressed against her hip, holding her steady as he teased her with the toy, tracing slow, deliberate circles around her most sensitive spot.
“You like that?” he asked, his voice rough with need.
All she could manage was a whimper, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her. The sensation was maddening, every touch sending jolts of pleasure through her body. And then, just as she thought she couldn’t take anymore, he pressed the tip of the dildo against her entrance, slowly pushing it inside.
Her back arched off the bed, a moan escaping her lips as she felt herself stretching to accommodate it. Lando’s eyes never left her face, watching intently as he began to move it in and out, setting a slow, teasing rhythm.
“Fuck,” she breathed, her head falling back against the pillow. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt before—the coldness of the toy contrasting with the heat of his touch, the way he seemed to know exactly how to move to drive her wild.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Lando murmured, his voice thick with admiration. “Completely undone.”
She opened her eyes, locking gazes with him, and saw the raw desire in his expression. It sent a thrill through her, knowing that she was the one who had put that look on his face. Without thinking, she reached for him, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him down for a bruising kiss.
Their lips clashed together, messy and desperate, as he continued to work the dildo inside her. The dual sensations were almost too much—the deep, filling pressure of the toy combined with the soft, insistent movements of Lando’s tongue against hers.
“More,” she begged against his mouth, her voice trembling with need.
He obliged without hesitation, increasing the speed and intensity of his thrusts until she was writhing beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders. Every nerve in her body was alight, every inch of her skin on fire. She could feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter until it threatened to snap.
“Lando,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “I-I’m close.”
“Come for me,” he commanded, his tone firm yet tender. “Let go.”
And just like that, she shattered. Pleasure exploded through her, white-hot and all-consuming, as her body convulsed around the toy. Lando held her through it, his arms wrapped tightly around her as she rode out the waves of ecstasy.
When she finally came down, her chest heaving and her limbs boneless, Lando set the dildo aside and shifted to lay beside her. He brushed her damp hair from her face, his eyes soft with affection.
“See?” he said, his voice laced with smug satisfaction. “Told you I’d do better.”
She laughed breathlessly, her cheeks flushing again. “Okay, fine. You win.”
“Good,” he replied, leaning in to capture her lips in another kiss. This one was slower, more tender, but no less passionate. When he pulled away, his eyes sparkled with mischief once more.
“But don’t think for a second I’m done with you yet.”
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crookedteethed · 22 hours ago
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ᡣ𐭩 Positive • °   .  * : r. cameron
synopsis -- There are three things you know for certain right now:
You're pregnant.
The father currently has his hands all over some blonde at The Wreck.
According to Topper, you're Rafe Cameron's favorite topic during locker room talk.
warnings -- 18+-mdni, unplanned pregnancy, cursing, angst no happy ending, readers a pouge, fuckboy!rafe (?) toppers a dickhead frl, mention of abortions (once)
main masterlist(s) | taglist | wc: 2.2k
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"Fuck." You stare at the positive pregnancy test between your trembling fingers.
"Fuck," you curse again, realizing you're alone in your apartment with this life-changing news.
Of course this would happen.
After months of sneaking around, of heated encounters and promises to keep things casual, one reckless night was all it took. One moment where passion overrode common sense, where neither of you cared about consequences.
A hushed "I want to feel you, all of you," slipped from Rafe's lips as he paused, the condom still on, but his desire for you raw, uninhibited, consuming him. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours, silently asking if you trusted him enough to let go..
How naive you'd been, thinking you could trust Rafe Cameron with something so intimate. The golden boy of the OBX, known for his volatile temper and reckless abandon. The type of man who treats both relationships and speed limits as mere suggestions.
And you'd fallen for those dark cerulean eyes and heated whispers like every other girl before you. Only difference was, you were now staring at the consequences of that trust, watching it turn into two pink lines that would complicate everything.
Your secret hookup.
The trust fund bad boy of the OBX. The same Rafe Cameron who's probably at some country club event right now, charming his way through a crowd of socialites, completely unaware that he's about to become a father.
You can already hear the whispers at the yacht club – the Camerons' golden boy and his latest pouge conquest.
As if sleeping with Rafe Cameron wasn't scandalous enough, now you're carrying the next heir to his family's empire.
"Have you seen Rafe?" you shout at Topper over the pulsing bass of The Wreck's speakers. Your hand instinctively rests on your still-flat stomach – a new nervous habit you've developed since seeing those two pink lines.
Topper takes a swig of his whiskey, looking entirely too amused--and drunk, "Lost track of your boyfriend already?"
"He's not my—"
"Yeah, yeah." He smirked, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Just his favorite little Pogue to fuck behind closed doors, right? You know, he tells us everything in the locker room." He leaned closer, whiskey breath hot against your ear. "About how eager you are, how you beg for it. Though I gotta say, for someone from the cut, you've got quite the reputation among the trust fund crowd now."
Your cheeks burned with humiliation and anger. Of course Rafe would brag about all the girls he's had to his Kook friends. Of course you were just another story for their country club gossip.
"Go fuck yourself, Topper. Where's Rafe?"
"Aw, don't be like that, sweetheart. We all know you've got a thing for rich boys. Though usually we don't keep Pogues around this long – Rafe must really like something about you." His eyes raked over you suggestively. "Or some things."
The way he says it makes your skin crawl – it's pure Rafe Cameron coming out of Topper's mouth. That same calculated charm, that practiced way of making someone feel simultaneously special and worthless.
You wonder how many hours he spent watching Rafe work his magic at bars, memorizing the exact tone needed to make "sweetheart" sound like an insult. Rich boys and their fucked-up everything.
He holds up his hands in mock surrender, that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. "Hey, I'm just messing with you. No need to get your discount panties in a twist." He gestures toward the bar with his glass.
"Last I saw him, he was chatting up some blonde by the bar." Topper continued, "Though, something tells me you've got more on your mind than just another quick fuck in the coat closet."
"You're a real piece of shit, you know that?" you snap at him, hands clenching into fists.
Your head whips around, scanning the crowded bar area, but there's no sign of Rafe's familiar frame among the sea of drunk socialites.
"He's not there," you mutter, frustration building in your chest.
"What's wrong? Don't have your Kook King on a leash?" Topper calls after you as you push past him toward the exit. "Better hurry – you know how fast Rafe moves on to the next thing!"
You storm out of The Wreck, the humid night air doing nothing to cool your rising anger.
Perfect. Just fucking perfect.
Here you are, pregnant with his kid, and Rafe Cameron can't even stay in one place long enough to hear the news.
Slumping into your car, you grab your phone, fingers trembling as you pull up his contact. Three rings, voicemail. Again. Four rings, voicemail. Your frustration builds with each failed attempt.
hey, we need to talk
rafe, answer your fucking phone
where are you?
this is important
You watch the messages turn from "delivered" to "read" with no response. Of course he's seeing them. He's probably looking at his phone right now, some blonde draped over his shoulder, both of them laughing at your desperate attempts to reach him.
seriously rafe, this isn't about us. something happened
Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. You could just text it. Three simple words: I'm pregnant, asshole. But somehow, dropping that bomb over text feels wrong, even for whatever this is between you.
After the tenth unanswered call, you throw your phone onto the passenger seat, fighting back angry tears.
You should have known better than to expect anything different from Rafe Cameron, who treats Pogues like they're as disposable as his designer clothes.
To him, girls from the Cut are just temporary entertainment – something to play with until a more suitable option from his tax bracket comes along.
Your phone buzzes. For a moment, your heart leaps – but it's just another notification that he's read your messages.
"Fuck you, Rafe," you mutter, starting your car with more force than necessary. The engine roars to life, matching your mood.
You consider driving to his place – you know he'll end up there eventually, probably with tonight's blonde in tow. But the thought of waiting outside his house like some desperate ex makes bile rise in your throat.
Your phone buzzes again. This time it's a text:
busy rn. talk tomorrow?
A laugh escapes you, bitter and hollow. Busy. Of course he's busy. He's always busy when it doesn't involve getting into your pants. Your fingers fly across the keyboard before you can stop yourself:
hope she's worth it. btw, might want to start setting aside some trust fund money for child support
You hit send before you can think better of it, immediately regretting it. Your phone explodes with incoming calls – now he wants to talk. But you're already pulling out of the parking lot, vision blurry with unshed tears.
Let him panic for a while. Let him feel a fraction of the anxiety that's been eating at you since you saw those two pink lines.
Besides, if he can't be bothered to give you five minutes when you need him, he can wait until tomorrow to hear how he managed to knock up his favorite Pogue.
You wake up to the sound of coffee brewing – which is impossible because you live alone and definitely didn't set the timer last night. Stumbling out of your bedroom, you freeze in the doorway.
There's Rafe Cameron, looking unfairly good for someone who should be hungover, sitting on your beaten-up futon. His expensive clothes are a stark contrast to your shabby apartment furniture, but somehow he looks like he belongs there.
Between his fingers, he's holding the pregnancy test you'd forgotten to hide in your emotional spiral last night.
"Breaking and entering now?" Your voice comes out shakier than you'd like. "That's low, even for you."
He doesn't look up from the test, but you catch the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "It's not breaking in when I have a key." He finally meets your eyes, holding up the small silver key you'd given him three months ago after that night he'd brought you soup when you were sick. "You know, the one you said was 'just for emergencies'?"
The unspoken truth hangs heavy between you. This thing between you had stopped being just hookups somewhere between the late-night conversations and the drawer of his clothes in your dresser. Between him knowing how you take your coffee and you knowing which side of the bed he prefers.
"That's not—" you start, but he cuts you off.
"Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to text it and disappear like you did last night?"
"Oh, like how you disappeared with that blonde? Or should we talk about how you disappear every time after you're done with me, just to go brag to Topper about your latest fuck?"
His face darkens. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't play dumb, Rafe. Your locker room talk is apparently quite entertaining. 'Eager.' 'Begging for it.' Ring any bells?" You wrap your arms around yourself, hating how your voice shakes. "Tell me, do all your Kook friends know how I sound in bed, or is that a special story just for Topper?"
"That's not—"
"Not what? Not what you meant? Not what happened? Because Topper seemed pretty clear about exactly what kind of reputation I have among your trust fund crowd now."
"You really think that's what this is?" He gestures between you. "That I could think of you as just another hookup?"
"Isn't it? I mean, god forbid the Kook King actually care about the Pogue he's fucking—"
"Jesus Christ," he runs his hands through his buzzed hair in frustration. "If this was just about sex, would I have a key? Would I know your coffee order or—"
"You can't use that as some kind of proof you care! Having a key doesn't mean shit when you're out there treating me like your dirty little secret!"
The silence that follows is heavy, charged with months of unspoken hurt. When Rafe finally speaks, his voice is low, controlled: "Is it mine?"
The question hits you like a slap. "Are you seriously—"
"Just answer the question." His eyes are intense, searching yours. "Is it mine?"
The unspoken truth hangs heavy between you. He already knows the answer – can read it in the way you can't quite meet his eyes, in how your hand unconsciously drifts to your stomach.
That night without protection wasn't your first together, but it was the first time he'd looked at you like you were something more than just a good time.
Like maybe you could be everything. Now that look is back, mixed with something like fear as the reality of what you're not saying sinks in.
"Those tests—" he starts pacing, running his hands through his hair. "They're not always accurate, you know? Maybe you should take another one. Or three. Fuck, how do you even know for sure?" His voice takes on a desperate edge. "There are… options. I know a clinic in Chapel Hill. Discrete. I could make some calls—"
"You know what?" Your voice comes out quiet, defeated. "Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe this is exactly what I need to finally stop pretending this—" you gesture between you, "—could ever be anything real."
"I'm just saying we need to think about this logically—"
"No," you snap, your voice rising until it bounces off the walls of your tiny apartment. "You're trying to make this disappear, just like everything else that threatens your perfect Figure Eight lifestyle!"
You watch something crack in his expression, that carefully maintained Kook King facade finally showing a glimpse of real emotion. His hand reaches for you, then drops. "Don't—"
"I think you should go." You turn away, unable to look at him anymore. "Use that key one last time to lock up behind you."
You don't need to see his face to know he's struggling with what to say. The perfect Rafe Cameron, for once at a loss for words. It would be funny if it wasn't breaking your heart.
You don't turn around to watch him leave, but you hear the way he hesitates at the door. The silence stretches, filled with all the words neither of you are brave enough to say. Finally, the door clicks shut, and you're alone again.
Your hand drifts to your stomach, and you let out a bitter laugh. You can do this alone.
You'll move out of the OBX, maybe up to Wilmington where no one knows your name or that you're carrying a Cameron heir. You'll work extra shifts at the restaurant, save every penny.
Your kid won't need trust fund money or a father who treats relationships like they're disposable. Your child won't grow up feeling like some dirty secret.
Somewhere across town, Topper's probably already hearing about how the Pogue girl tried to trap Rafe Cameron with a baby. You can almost hear the yacht club whispers starting. But let them talk – you've survived worse than country club gossip.
(What no one would ever know: how your hands shook as you slid his key under his door later that night, or how he sat in his car outside your apartment for hours, staring at a small velvet box he'd been carrying in his pocket since before you ever said the word "pregnant."
Some love stories aren't meant to have happy endings, and some babies are meant to have just one parent who actually wants them.)
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a/n -- thanks for reading, as always all likes comments, and reblogs keeps me motivated! 💕🫶🏾
taglist --
@rafestoothbrush @alexxavicry @trapistani @Hejsj @neslayuh @hotvampdragon @alyisdead @jelybely @elmolovesw33d @littlelamy @futuremrscameron @percysley @rrafeswhore @madzig @thatdesigirl17 @drewstarkeysrightarm @seqhyvnz @romantasyreader2024 @luizaelias @rafe-cameronswife @emmavzlsblog @aileenunfiltered @swe3theart-succubus @511rkive @morrrrphin @xcinnamonmalfoyx @obxrafeandjj @rafegf-real @theeternaloptimistt
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sky-scribbles · 2 days ago
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I'm going to say something controversial. I think there's something Veilguard does better than any other Dragon Age game. Namely: incorporating the companions into the plot.
Look, I love Origins as much as everyone. But to be frank: you could cut every companion except Alistair, Morrigan and Loghain and the plot could still work. Once you've finished the mission where you recruit a companion, there aren't other main quests that involve them in any way.
Oghren and Wynne could have stayed home after their recruitment missions for all the difference it would make to the main plot. Sten, Leliana and Zevran could vanish and nothing would change, because once they're on your team, they don't interact with the main plot at all. (There's the Temple of Sacred Ashes, I suppose - but even then, you'd be going on that quest whether Leliana and Wynne were there or not, and it's very telling that they can both die here and next to nothing in the rest of the game is impacted.)
Again: I love Origins. This doesn't detract from any of these characters being great, or from the story being great. It just means there's a layer of separation between the two. They're involved in the story, but they're not driving it, and you seldom get to see them have strong feelings about it.
DA2 is a huge step up. Your companions' personal stories are integral parts of the main plot. You can't do the Deep Roads expedition without witnessing Karl's death and its impact on Anders. You can't enter Act 2 without seeing Varric's brother betray him, or watching your sibling either die or begin a new path in life. Act 2's climax happens because of choices Isabela and Aveline have made. Act 3's endgame is all about Anders making one enormous decision. Even Fenris and Merrill, who have the fewest ties to the plot, have strong reasons to be invested in the Mage/Templar conflict.
And then Inquisition just... backslides. There are multiple companions you don't need to recruit at all, or can send away with zero alteration to the main plot. Your companions don't like Corypheus because he's bad, but no one - except maybe Varric - has any strong personal feelings about him. They have no personal stake in defeating him, not like Alistair has a personal stake in opposing Loghain, or Anders in opposing Meredith.
We go to the Winter Palace, and Vivienne is not made a part of that story. We have a whole subplot about the Wardens, and Blackwall only gets a couple of extra lines, if you even bring him. Their personal arcs could have been somehow impacted by these missions, and they're just... not. Sera is packed with internalised self-hatred that manifests as trying to distance herself from elven culture, to the point of sometimes lashing out at other elves. And despite all the missions you do where elven history features... Sera's growth past that flaw happens entirely offscreen between the base game and Trespasser?????
IMO, this is one of the biggest reasons why Corypheus is such a bland villain. He doesn't make anyone grow, except by starting a plot for them to be part of. He doesn't challenge them emotionally. No one is invested in him. Because no one interacts with the darn plot.
Veilguard, though? Veilguard keeps your companions interacting with the story the whole way through. The Treviso/Minrathous choice affects both Lucanis and Neve heavily, and impacts who they become for the rest of the game. These cities are personal to you, even if you're not a Crow or Shadow Dragon, because your companions love them.
The Siege of Weisshaupt is beyond personal to Davrin and Lucanis, both of whom are entrusted with major parts of the quest: trying to kill the archdemon and Ghilan'nain. Lucanis is affected by his failure to kill Ghilan'nain for ages afterward. Davrin is haunted by survivor's guilt; he should have died when he struck down the archdemon. He's alive. How can he live with that?
Whenever killing the gods becomes a possibility, Rook hands the lyrium dagger to Lucanis. When the squad go to fight the gods' dragons with the Wardens, Taash is the one to flush the first dragon out. When you infiltrate the Venatori, Neve tricks your way in, and everything that happens is especially weighty to Bellara, whose people have been abducted. On Tearstone Island, because of how Lucanis and Spite have grown, they strikes true.
Did you not hate Elgar'nan before that mission? Because you probably will after you watch him capture Bellara or Neve, and see his fellow god kill Harding or Davrin.
You know what's a great piece of writing? There's no reason Emmrich shouldn't have been an option to deal with the wards on Tearstone Island; he's one of the ideal options to take out more wards with the Veil Jumpers in the final mission. But you can't select him to do it. Because Emmrich has far less personal investment in the Elgar'nan battle than the other two. This is Neve's city. This is the monster who tries to call himself Bellara's god. The game makes sure the characters who take control of the Blight at the end are the ones with the greatest stakes in doing so.
One of your companions, not you, wrests command of the Blight from Elgar'nan. The final mission depends on how well you've come to know each companion's skills. They're just... always involved.
And they're invested, too. The companions all have serious personal reasons to hate the antagonists by the end. Lucanis and Neve have either seen their city burn, or know it happened at the cost of their friend's (and potential partner's) hometown. Davrin has seen his order devastated. These are Bellara's and Davrin's supposed gods, and instead of helping the elves reclaim their history and culture, they're trying to enslave the world. Harding learns that the Evanuris maimed and destroyed her Titan ancestors.
Emmrich and Taash have perhaps the smallest emotional tie - and sadly I do think Emmrich especially gets underutilized in the plot. But heck, Taash is still hella motivated by the way the gods are abusing dragons. And Emmrich is tied thematically to the main conflict. He's facing the question of immortality, while nigh-immortal beings are right in front of him, proving how that gift can be abused. The final choice of his personal arc is whether he's willing to embrace his personal, mortal attachments, at the cost of consequences that terrify him... you know, the same question that Solas faces at the end.
And don't even get me started on how everyone is emotionally tied to Solas. Harding and Neve watched him kill Varric in front of them. Everyone not dead or captured has to watch him drag Rook into the Fade. Just about every companion faces some kind of huge regret or failure at some point, in constant foreshadowing for Solas's prison of regret: both the literal one he sticks Rook in, and the mental one of his own making.
Veilguard has its problems, but it absolutely shines at keeping its characters involved and invested in the main story. It gives them things to do, it gives them reasons to care. For all the flaws this game has, this part is good writing.
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chancloud8 · 3 days ago
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Teach Me {5}
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series masterlist
Pairing: Changbin x Reader, Seungmin x Reader
Word Count: 3,7k
Tags: fluff, kissing, smut, nsfw, dry humping, fingering, 18+
Summary: Changbin tries to help you get rid of your nerves, but when his plan goes a little different than he'd hoped, Seungmin swoops in to help out.
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A movie is playing on the TV, but you've stopped watching the silly k-drama Jisung and Hyunjin chose a while ago as your mind keeps drifting to the conversation you had with Chan and Jisung.
The thought of one of the guys giving you your first orgasm makes you nervous. Who will be the one to do so? What if it doesn't work? How will it feel? How should you react? Do you make a lot of noise or should you keep quiet? 
A nudge against your thigh stops the train of questions in your brain and you look up to see who's trying to get your attention. 
'Wanna help me get some popcorn?' Changbin asks when your gaze meets his. 
You look around the living room of Felix and Seungmin's apartment, but everyone is either focused on the movie, on their phone or in Jeongin's case, asleep. 
'Sure,' you nod, carefully getting up from the couch to not disturb Jeongin's sleeping form. 
The youngest member is curled up against Felix, his head resting against the older's shoulder as he softly snores. The sight is so cute you nearly take out your phone to take a picture, but you refrain and quietly pat towards the kitchen where Changbin already disappeared too. 
'Salty or sweet?' Changbin asks, holding up two packages. 
'Both,' you grin, moving past him to grab two bowls from the cabinet. 
'Mhm, good choice,' Changin agrees as he puts the first bag into the microwave. 
You lean against the counter and close your eyes, waiting for the sound of popping to fill the kitchen. It doesn't take long before you feel the heat of another body next to you, gently pressing against your side. 
'What has you thinking so loud?' Changbin asks softly. You open your eyes and find him looking at you with a worried frown between his eyes, and when you don't reply immediately the frown gets deeper. 'Did someone do or say anything?'
Your eyes widen at the suggestion and you shake your head, a blush spreading over your neck and cheeks.
'No, not really. It's just-,' you swallow and lick your lips nervously. 
Are you really going to talk about this now? 
'What is it?' Changbin asks softly. 'You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I want to help you if I can.' 
You smile at him and turn your body a little to face him. Changbin really is one of the sweetest guys you know and while it might feel embarrassing for you to talk about, you know he would never judge you or make you feel silly about anything. 
'I had a conversation with Channie and Sungie,' you start, lowering your voice. 'About, uhm, how I've never orgasmed before.' 
Changbin's eyes widen and his ears turn red, but he doesn't say anything, he just waits for you to finish speaking. 
'And, uhm, it got me thinking about when that will happen,' you let out a little cough and lick your lips again. 'And with who.' 
Changbin clears his throat and shifts from one leg to the other. 
'And?' He presses. 
You sigh and stare at your feet, faintly registering how the corn in the microwave is starting to pop faster and faster. 
'And then I started overthinking it, I guess,' you shrug. 
Changbin nods and purses his lips, his fingers tapping against the counter as he thinks for a moment. 
‘What's the loudest question in your brain right now?’
You blink at him and feel your cheeks heat up once more. Is he asking so he can answer your question or? 
‘When it will happen,’ you admit, your voice barely audible. ‘The waiting is making me nervous.’ 
‘And it gives you time to overthink it,’ Changbin adds, giving you a small smile. 
You nod and move to the microwave to remove the first bag of popcorn and replace it with the second. ‘Exactly.’ 
Changbin hums and when you turn around again he’s grinning at you, a mischievous grin you know all too well. It usually means trouble. 
‘What are you up to?’ you ask as you cross your arms and narrow your eyes at him. 
‘I have an idea, do you trust me?’ Changbin holds out his hand for you to take and for a moment you just stare at it. 
Of course you trust him. You trust everyone currently in the apartment with you, but that doesn’t mean that what he’s saying isn’t making you nervous. Especially considering what you just talked about. Is he going to offer to take care of you now? Here? With everyone in the house? Are you okay with that?
Looking up and into Changbin’s soft brown eyes causes you to make a decision and you take a hold of his hand. He smiles down at you reassuringly before pulling you away from the microwave where the second bag of corn is just starting to make popping sounds. Changbin leans over to turn off the device and with a gentle squeeze to your fingers he starts to pull you with him towards what you think is Seungmin’s room. 
When the door closes behind you, he only gives you about two seconds to look around the room. There’s a guitar in the corner and on the bedside table there’s a glass case with a baseball in it. It’s definitely Seungmin’s room. 
‘Y/N,’ Changbin whispers hoarsely as he pulls you against his strong body. 
‘Binnie,’ you whisper back. ‘What are you up to?’ 
‘First I really want to kiss you.’ 
A warm feeling spreads through your entire body as he slowly moves his fingers over your arm, staring at your wrist and going up and up until he reaches your shoulder. His thumb slides under the sleeve of your shirt for a moment before he moves up further and cups the back of your neck, pulling your face closer to his. 
‘And then?’ you breathe out just as his lips are about to connect with yours. 
Changbin chuckles and touches your nose with his. ‘Don’t think too much baby and just try to enjoy the feeling. If anything gets too much or you want to stop, pat my thigh or arm or anywhere you can reach two times, yeah?’ 
He waits for you to nod and then he crashes his mouth against yours, his lips soft but urgent at the same time, like he’s been wanting to do this for a while now. You smile against his lips and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing even closer against his chest. He feels warm and solid against you and you like the way his arms around you make you feel safe. 
You’re the one to deepen the kiss and a thrill of excitement goes through your body when Changbin groans into your mouth. He tilts his head a little to create an even better angle and his thumb caresses the side of your neck. Your entire body tingles deliciously and if you weren’t standing up you’d be crawling into his lap to get even closer. 
As if he read your mind, Changbin slowly starts to move backwards. He never stops kissing you and you cling onto him so you won’t fall, trusting him to catch you if you do. When he sits down on Seungmin’s bed, you waste no time climbing on his lap, your legs resting on either side of his thick thighs. 
‘You okay?’ Changbin pants as he pulls back, leaving only a millimeter of space between your lips. 
‘More than okay,’ you say, nuzzling your nose against his like he had done before. ‘If I knew how much I’d like kissing I would have never freaked out two weeks ago.’ 
Changbin hums and presses a kiss against your jaw before slowly trailing his lips towards your neck. ‘It’s only natural when you don’t know what to expect. I for one, am glad you came to us.’ 
‘Me too,’ you whisper, baring your neck to give him better access. 
You let out a soft moan when he sucks on the skin just below your ear, his tongue soothing the bruised skin afterwards before he continues exploring your neck with his mouth. Your stomach flutters and your eyes fall closed as your whole body seems to light up, feeling hot and tingly. 
‘Binnie,’ you gasp, when he bites down on the skin between your neck and shoulder. 
More heat seems to explode in your belly and your body jolts forward a little on its own account, causing your core to rub against Changbin’s and it creates a delicious friction that you want to feel again. 
‘Fuck,’ he mutters against your neck, his hands moving to grab onto your hips. ‘Do that again, baby.’ 
You roll your hips forward and gasp when it feels even better than before. 
‘How does that feel?’ 
‘Good,’ you pant, closing your eyes. ‘So good.’ 
‘Good,’ Changbin echoes and he attaches his lips to yours again. 
Your body feels like it's on fire and when Changbin’s hands slip under your t-shirt at the same time as you push your hips forwards again, it’s like your insides are turning into liquid. Your skin erupts in goosebumps and you shiver with the combined feeling. 
‘Hmm your skin is so soft,’ Changbin murmurs against your mouth. 
You want to laugh, but your body has a mind of its own, so instead you just chase his mouth and move your hips forward again. Your eyes roll back at the intense good feeling that’s starting to build in your belly. It kind of feels like a knot is tightening and you can’t help but chase the feeling, moving your hips again and again until you create a rhythm. 
Changbin’s chest is heaving against yours and his legs start shaking beneath you. 
‘Fuck, slow down baby,’ he moans, throwing his head back with his eyes squeezed shut. 
The sight of his bared neck does something to you and while your hips try to slow down, you can’t help but lean forward to latch your lips against his neck, nibbling and licking on the skin like he’d done with you. 
Changbin lets out a grunt and his whole body tenses for a moment before it seems to stutter and then relax again. His hands move from your back to your hips and he clamps down to stop you from moving. You immediately lean back in confusion, your eyes searching his face for any clues of what’s happening. 
‘What’s wrong? Are you okay? Do we need to stop?’ you ask, taking notice of his red cheeks and dilated pupils. 
Changbin groans and drops his head on your shoulder. 
‘Fuck, Y/N, I’m so sorry,’ he mumbles. ‘This is so embarrassing.’ 
‘Why? What is?’ you comb your fingers through his hair, your mind racing at what could have happened that made him feel embarrassed. 
‘He’s come in his pants.’ a voice speaks up behind you. 
You startle and a loud squeak leaves your throat as you whirl around to see Seungmin lean against the doorframe. He has an amused smile on his face, but his neck and cheeks are red. 
‘How long have you been there?’ you ask, your own cheeks heating up in embarrassment as well. 
‘Long enough to see Bin come in his pants,’ Seungmin says and he pushes himself off the doorframe to step closer to you. 
His words finally register in your brain and you turn back to look at Changbin who has his eyes closed in mortification. 
‘You– you did?’ you softly ask, moving your fingers through his hair once more as if to soothe him. 
For some reason the thought pleases you. It doesn’t matter to you that you haven’t, you like the idea of Changbin enjoying himself so much that he couldn’t hold back. 
‘Yes,’ Changbin mumbles against your neck. ‘I’m so sorry.’ 
Your fingers leave his hair to cup his face and you gently force him to look up at you. 
‘Don’t be, I actually like the idea of me making you feel so good that you–’ you clear your throat. ‘That you came.’ 
Changbin blinks up at you in surprise and slowly the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile. He leans forward and presses a soft kiss on your lips. 
‘You’re something else, you know that,’ he whispers as he pulls back. 
You giggle and place your hands on his shoulders to support yourself as you get off his lap. You bump into Seungmin as you do so, your back colliding with his chest and he quickly grabs onto your waist to keep you steady. 
‘Easy,’ he mumbles, his hot breath tickling against your ear. 
You shiver and bite your lip as the heat seems to reappear in your belly, like it suddenly remembered how you were feeling before Changbin stopped you. 
You don’t notice the look the two men share over your shoulders, but you startle when Seungmin speaks up again. ‘Why don’t you go clean up, you can borrow some sweats.’ 
For a moment you’re confused, but then you realize he’s talking to Changbin. 
‘I should–’ you start to say, but Seungmin’s hands tighten around your waist and pull you even closer against him. 
‘You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart,’ he says, his voice sweet like honey. 
Your eyes widen when you feel something hard twitch against your ass. Changbin chuckles and gets up from the bed, softly pinching your chin between his thumb and forefingers. 
‘Minnie has got you now, baby. Remember what I said and try to relax and enjoy the feeling,’ he winks and then he turns around and disappears into what you think is the bathroom. 
With bated breath you wait for Seungmin to do or say something, the anticipation nearly driving you mad and your breathing is already quickening. It’s a bit pathetic really how your body reacts to him while he hasn’t even done anything but press his body against your back. 
Just when you start to lose your patience and open your mouth to say something, Seungmin twirls you around. You only get to glance at his face for a second before his lips are on yours, stealing your breath away. He kisses you like he’s starving for you, like this is what he needed all along.
His hands glide down your body, lingering on your ass for a moment before his fingers slip under the hem of your skirt. You shiver against him and arch your back, pressing your breast closer against his chest. You want him to make you feel good, to feel that pressure against your core again, the delicious friction. 
‘Minnie,’ you whine against his lips. 
A chuckle rumbles in his chest and his hands find your panty covered ass, squeezing the flesh and pulling your hips flushed together. A gasp leaves your mouth when you feel his hardness against your belly now. 
‘You feel that?’ Seungmin whispers. ‘That’s how you’re making me feel most of the time and you don’t even know it.’
You whimper, your brain feeling fuzzy with need and you stand on your tippy toes to try and rub your core against him somehow. You roll your hips like you’d done with Changbin and while it doesn’t feel as good as before, it still sends a rush of heat through your body, especially when Seungmin lets out a soft groan. 
‘Getting needy, are we,’ he mumbles, pressing an open mouthed kiss against your neck before he’s slowly walking you backwards until the back of your knees hit the back of his bed. 
He gently lowers you to the mattress and climbs on himself, his body hovering over yours for a moment before he sinks down next to you, leaning on his elbow to keep his upper half popped up. You frown at him, not understanding why he’s laying down next to you. How will that create the friction you need? 
‘Relax, I got you,’ Seungmin smiles, leaning forward to capture your lips in a kiss again. 
Your body immediately melts and your skin seems to hum when Seungmin once more lets his hands wander underneath your skirt. His fingers are tickling against your inner thighs and when he gets teasingly close to your panties, your legs fall open on their own accord. Seungmin pulls back from your lips to look at you, his pupils are so big that you can barely see any brown anymore. 
‘You’re doing so good, baby,’ he whispers, moving his hand up to slide his fingers over the soft fabric between your legs, only applying a light pressure. 
An ecstatic feeling bubbles up in your tummy again and you moan, bucking your hips up to chase his finger. Seungmin chuckles and repeats the movement, watching you respond with another loud moan, with lidded eyes and parted lips. 
‘Hmm you like that?’ his voice is hoarse. 
‘Yes, more,’ you pant. ‘Please, Minnie.’ 
Seungmin leans forward to kiss your neck again, his hand moving away from where you want him to touch you most. Just as you’re about to protest, his hand dips underneath the waistband of your underwear, his finger slipping through your wet folds. You gasp loudly, your body jolting at the feeling. 
‘Fuck, you’re so wet,’ Seungmin groans against your neck as he continues to slide his finger up and down, gently brushing your clit. 
‘Oh,’ your voice pitches high and your eyes widen. 
It feels like electricity is moving through your veins, like you're on fire and ready to explode. It feels so much better than when you touch yourself and you just know that you’re ruined forever now. Nothing will beat this feeling of flying high in some cloud of pleasure. 
Seungmin is breathing heavily against your neck, his finger still moving up and down, collecting moisture before circling your clit in an eight motion. Your mouth is starting to feel dry from all the panting you’ve been doing and without thinking you move your hand to grab onto Seungmin’s hair, pulling his head towards your mouth. He comes willingly and when you open your lips for him he licks into your mouth without hesitation, tangling his tongue with yours.  
‘Hmgh,’ you groan, bucking your hips up to create even more friction. 
Seungmin slides his finger further down and gently presses against your opening before moving up again, brushing against your clit. He repeats the motion just like before and then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore, he slips his finger inside. 
Your mouth falls open at the sensation and Seungmin pulls back to look at you, his eyes never leaving yours as he curls his finger inside of you. 
‘So tight,’ he mumbles. ‘So perfect.’ 
You whine and claw at his shoulder with the hand that's not in his hair, needing more but not knowing how to tell him when it feels like you can’t speak. Pleasure crawls up your spine and your legs are starting to shake. 
‘You’re doing so good, baby,’ Seungmin says. 
His thumb starts drawing lazy circles around your clit and he arches his finger in just the right way every time he pushes in again. More moans and pants leave your throat and for a moment you wonder if the others can hear you. 
The knot in your stomach tightens then and your vision is getting blurry when a feeling of ecstasy floods your body. It feels incredible. 
‘You can let go now, baby, it’s okay. I got you.’ 
With the loudest moan you’ve ever heard yourself make, you do just that. You let go and the tight coil in your belly snaps. Your eyes roll back into your head and you feel like you're floating and floating as your muscles spasm and shake. 
‘That’s it, baby, so good for me,’ Seungmin whispers, pressing soft kisses against your neck as he moves with you through your orgasm. 
Your very first orgasm. 
Fuck. 
You get it now, why everyone is always going on and on about how good it feels. 
‘Fuck,’ you whisper when you get down from your high. ‘Holy shit.’ 
Seungmin chuckles and pulls you against his body, kissing your temple. It’s only then that you notice the both of you are still fully clothed, but it doesn’t really matter right now. 
‘Are you okay?’ he asks. 
‘More than okay, that was-,’ you think about it for a moment and giggle. ‘Mind blowing, really.’ 
Seungmin laughs and presses another kiss to your head. ‘I’m glad and I can’t tell you how happy I am to have been the first to make you feel like this.’ 
Your mind wanders to Changbin and you wonder where he went after changing his pants. Did he go back to the living room with the other or did he stay in the bathroom, waiting for you to finish?
‘Wait,’ you pull away from Seungmin’s chest to look up at him from underneath your lashes. ‘How did you know what Bin and I were up to?’
‘Well, you weren’t exactly being quiet, sweetheart,’ he grins. ‘No one else seemed to notice, so I went to investigate the sound by myself. Imagine my surprise when I find you humping against Binnie on my bed.’ 
You dip your head and giggle, your cheeks heating up. ‘Oh my god.’ 
Seungmin laughs again. ‘Don’t worry about it, I didn’t mind. The others are going to be so jealous though, especially Channie.’ 
‘Why?’ you ask, frowning. ‘I thought you were all okay with this?’ 
‘We are, I promise,’ Seungmin strokes your cheek with the back of his hand. ‘I guess it’s just because we all love you–’ 
Your eyes widen and so do Seungmin’s. He quickly clears his throat. 
‘I mean, we all care about you a lot and we just get a bit competitive. It’s all friendly though, so don’t worry okay?’ 
You nod at him, but can’t help the nagging feeling that there’s more to it than that.
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a/n: thank you so so much for all the love on this series!! I'm so so happy to see so many of you enjoying this silly little fic <3 I'm sorry it takes me a bit longer to write, but with life being busy and flu season i have less time than before and my brain keeps getting distracted with other blurbo's as well..
Please let me know if there's anything you'd like to see in this series and I'll try and make it happen ;)
Big smooch <3
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410 notes · View notes
circe69 · 2 days ago
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simon ghost riley and pr!mal play fuck yeah
cw: unprotected p in v, rough!sex, predator/prey, dubcon-non, primal play obvi (girl run slower c’mon now)
uhhhh, he’s right behind me isn’t he? ~(>_<~)
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“i’ll give you three fuckin’ seconds to run.”
shit.
you stumble back on the wet forest floor, leaves crumbling beneath your feet. simon stood 3 steps away from you, and all he wanted was to fuck you into the ground.
but a good hunter likes to play with his food first.
“one,” he starts as your breath comes out in distorted pants. you’re so excited, so scared, the adrenaline mixed with the intense lust is running through your blood like fire.
“two,” he takes a step towards you. you’re terrified but you want to egg him on. you want to make him angry. wanna make him punish you. you slowly peel off your sweatshirt, revealing your skin-tight tank top.
simon’s anger (and his cock) was begging him to take you right there. he smirked and shook his head, he couldn’t believe what a fucking. brat. you. were.
“three.”
you jumped into a sprint, running as fast as you could and lunging through trees. even though you were running faster than you thought was humanly possible, simon’s footsteps were still right on your tail.
he was swift and silent, and it wasn't until you turned a sharp corner to avoid hitting a tree that you felt two large forearms wrap around your middle.
your scream could've been heard from miles away, causing birds to flee from their nests. ghost flung you against the nearest tree stump and held you with one hand clenched onto your stomach as your feet dangled nearly a foot above the ground.
"why do you have to make everything so fucking difficult," he grunted out as he stripped your pants off with one hand.
you were still struggling to breath, "simon, no-"
"too late for no's, bitch."
you squealed as he tossed you onto the ground, a small tear coming from the corner of your eyes as you went slack jawed watching simon remove his shirt. he started laughing at the sight, "heh, just like you. just like you to dish it and not fuckin' take it. do you see this, y/n?" he grabbed you by a fistful of hair and shoved it down so you were eye level with his painfully hard dick. "you see it? this," he slammed a knee between your thighs, shoving it against your clit as you let out a small sob, "is what you did to me."
no matter what sound was coming out of your mouth, your pussy couldn't lie; if simon were to drag a finger through your slit, it would come back dripping.
"'m sorry, simon, sorry, sorr-"
the sound of his pistol cocking interrupted your pleas. he crawled over you and petted the top of your head, smoothing the stray hairs. “aww, you’re sorry? how sweet,” you felt the head of his gun hit your hip.
“pull my fucking cock out of my pants and if you take your eyes off ‘a mine, you’re dead.”
you scramble, with fat tears streaming out your eyes and down your jaw, as you unzip his cargo pants and pull out his hard length. you never looked away, and scary enough, neither did he.
only when you wrapped your palm around the base of him did he drop is head into the crook of your neck and groan, “fuck,” he whispered, before leaving an open-mouthed kiss under your jaw.
“you going soft on me?” you said quietly.
“if i was going soft, this pussy,” he shoved two fingers inside of you with no warning, and all you could hear was an embarrassingly loud squelch, proving just how much you wanted this, wanted him. “would sound a lot different.”
“no matter how sweet you are,” simon removed his fingers and replaced it with the head of his dick, forcing a gasp out of you,” n’matter how sick you think i am, you like being prey, you like being caught and gutted from the inside out, isn’ that right baby?”
there was no denying it, and even if you did, your pussy would suggest otherwise.
simon riley was right.
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moonlight-fox · 2 days ago
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There's also a difference between "all ages" and "children's," and a lot of the time - at least in video game discourse - I see people dismissing things that are "all ages" as being "exclusively for children."
Which isn't to say that children's entertainment can't be entertaining to adults - One of the... 5, I think?... things I'm actively watching at the moment is absolutely in the children's bucket - but... I am also tired of the related attitude to "Why are you watching children's media?" of "If it's got a U/G rating it's only for children."
Not everything that children can view without getting traumatized is for children. For example, Wallace and Gromit is all ages. Shaun the Sheep is a children's spinoff of that. Both are excellent.
I really have no patience for posts talking about "adults who only watch kids' cartoons," because, like...people accuse me of "only watching kids' cartoons," despite all evidence to the contrary. It doesn't matter how much I talk about other adult media I like, if I post too many things in a row about Steven Universe or The Dragon Prince or The Owl House, people come out of the goddamn woodwork to accuse me of "only watching kids' shows."
So I really can't take people seriously when they start talking about the supposed "problem" of "adults who only watch kids' shows." Are the "adults who only watch kids' cartoons" in the room with us right now, or are you basing your entire opinion of people solely on their fandom blog? Like, come on.
It makes me think of the couple years I spent volunteering in a school library. The librarian talked a lot about how it's hurtful to enforce "reading at grade-level" on every student with no nuance. Teachers would try to force their students to check out books "at proper grade-level," instead of letting students pick out whatever they wanted (even if it was "too easy"), and it resulted in a lot of students deciding books were boring, too hard, and only good for making them feel stupid. They started to hate reading entirely, because people constantly shut them down and told them they were stupid for not reading the right things. This was especially brutal on disabled students.
I personally apply the same philosophy to adults. You don't know what someone might struggle with, you don't know what someone's history is. You might think a piece of media is "too simple," but that's your experience and your opinion. People learn and grow and experience the world at different paces, and what seems to you like a "simplistic" piece of media may be the most complex, illuminating piece of media someone else has ever had the opportunity to experience. It doesn't make them "stupid" or "childish," and believing that it does is cruel and counterproductive. You cannot wield shame as a fucking cudgel if your goal is education, support, and helping people expand their horizons.
I don't think a culture of shame is helpful. I don't think a culture of "if you like 'childish' things, it means you're too stupid for anything else" is helpful. I don't think constantly making fun of children's media does anything other than demean people--and not just the people who enjoy it, but the people who make it, too.
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xomakara · 1 day ago
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Be Mine [Part 1]
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SUMMARY | You’re being stalked and getting creepy and filthy messages from someone named Unknown. Little did you know that person might be closer than you think.
PAIRINGS |  Yunho x Reader
RATING |  Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked
GENRE |  smut, thriller, random fluff/comedy 
CONTENT/WARNINGS | stalking, creepy and filthy test messages, profanity, mentions of drinking, lots of sexual acts/thoughts, voyeurism, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), public sex, dirty talk, fingering, oral sex, vaginal penetration, creampie, multiple orgasms
LENGTH |  14,264 words
TAGLIST |  @heechwe @lovetaroandtaemin
NETWORKS |  @illusionnet @cromernet @k-vanity
@othersideoutlawsnetwork @ksmutsociety @dove-net
AUTHOR’S NOTE |  Big, big, thank yous to @unholywriters, @kwanisms, and @lovetaroandtaemin for beta-reading this. I couldn't have edited this without your help! Big shoutout to @pars-ley for the beautiful banner! I appreciate you all so much! This is different from what I usually write (I know, I said that about a lot of other fics) but thriller is not my forte but I decided to delve into it. I hope you all like it and see you in part 2! 💚
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He stood in the shadows, looking up into your window, for the fifth night. Your neighbors were out, their car idling in their driveway, leaving him unobserved. You, too, were unaware of his presence, busy getting fucked, face first in the sheets.
You looked oh so sweet, taking that cock. Taking it again and again while he rubbed his hand down the front of his jeans and wondered if you'd look this sweet taking his own. Your eyes glazed over in lust, face contorted into an expression that would have given any man cause to smile, you had no idea that he was right outside, staring into you.
Not that he planned on fucking you. Not anytime soon. He'd thought about it. Of course. Would you give yourself to him the way you were so easily giving yourself to another?
You had a type. Pretty college boys. Trust fund kids. Cocksure and full of themselves, despite the lack of worldly experience they actually had. Oh, he was handsome, tall and lean, but he wasn't a boy. No. He was a man, all man, and he would fuck you the way you needed to be fucked, the way your inexperienced lovers couldn't hope to.
His gaze never wavered as he pulled his length out from his pants, fisting his already throbbing cock to the sight of your soft skin covered in a sheen of perspiration. His feet scuffled further into the darkness to make certain no passers by were likely to happen along while his thumb grazed along the slit, sending a shock of pleasure up the shaft.
All the while, he thought about how hot and tight and wet your cunt would feel wrapped around his cock, bouncing on top of him, sliding him in and out of your snatch. Wondered what pretty sounds would pass those plump pink lips and if that beautiful gaze would glaze over just as pretty when he pumped his seed deep inside of you.
He watched as your young lover finished off before you had a chance to cum. Watch as he shrugs on his clothes, giving you a small kiss before leaving your apartment. Watch as you laid back in bed, fingers reaching for that favorite dildo of yours, your only companion these days.
A smug satisfaction washed through him as he saw you glancing into the dark corners of your room and through the curtainless window. Even in the dim light of the moon, he knew you didn't see him, your mind having no reason to think you needed to keep the bedroom windows covered, especially now with the tall apartment complex at the front of your building blocking your view.
So, instead, you leaned forward, giving the viewer, whether you knew you had one or not, an ample view as you slid your toy in and out of that warm pussy. So pretty and so sad to do this alone when you could have had a nice strong cock between your legs right at this very moment, replacing your poor toy.
As his balls grew tight and he blew his load, all over the front of the complex, the man promised himself he would visit you soon. Very, very soon.
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"Yunho!"
"Oof!" Yunho grunted out as his friend threw herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and nearly strangling him in the process.
"Geeze, woman!" He grunted out as her petite body continued squeezing his neck, laughing and pulling him closer as she tried to squeeze the life out of him. "You act like you didn't just see me last week."
"Yeah but now you're part of the company!" You gushed happily, pulling back with a brilliant smile plastered across your face. "We have to celebrate. Drinks after work!"
"You think Hongjoong is going to agree to that?" Yunho questioned, though his smile was already spreading, enjoying the way you squealed excitedly and dragged him towards the office the rest of the way.
"Pfftttt. Like Hongjoong even does a lot of work here," you teased, bumping your shoulder lightly into his side before giving him a cheeky grin as you continued your stride into the office and pushed the door open.
"Someone's talking shit," a voice spoke up as soon as they entered the room.
Yunho tilted his head up, laughing as the older man pinned you with a fierce stare. "Don't pretend you don't deserve every word of it."
"Traitor," Hongjoong cursed with a laugh as he leaned his hip on the desk, arms crossing over his chest as he gave him his attention instead. "Thanks for agreeing to do this."
"Who am I to turn down an old friend," he replied honestly, and you quickly turned and bounced onto your feet.
"The real question," you started, sauntering over towards your boss, "is who's paying for the drinks."
Hongjoong cocked a brow at you, smirking as you danced from side to side before him. "I think you should buy drinks for the whole company. Since you seem so insistent."
Your face twisted into a look of mock horror. "Is the almighty Kim Hongjoong, owner, president, and CEO of ATZ Gaming, telling his most beautiful employee to empty her wallet?"
"I thought I was the most beautiful person here?" Another voice chimed in, Seonghwa stepping in, the second and most trusted employee of ATZ Gaming after Hongjoong.
"You are," you cooed at him, not batting an eyelash, "but I have to throw in some extra charm to get what I want."
Seonghwa chuckled, leaning back against the wall next to Yunho, clasping his friend on the shoulder in greeting. "What is it you want, little liar?"
"Buy us drinks after work," you sassed, grinning brightly at both the men, turning on them. Seonghwa clucked his tongue and glanced over at Hongjoong. "Hey, don't ask him, I was the victim here," you pleaded, hands flailing out dramatically.
"Are we finally having a party?" Yeosang suddenly peeked his head up over the corner of his computer, hair mussed from his earlier activity. "I have some news that could definitely be celebrated with a drink."
"Yo! Yunho is finally here!" Wooyoung called out loudly from down the hall, legs carrying him faster as he waved excitedly. He looked quite fetching as he came around the bend, dress pants pulling tight over his toned muscles, light blue shirt fitted against his upper body. "Welcome to the madhouse!"
Hongjoong, unable to keep the charade anymore, laughed and clasped a hand on Yunho's shoulder. "When I asked all my friends to join me in this company I started, I did not imagine all of them would act like a bunch of kindergarteners, but what can I expect?"
"You love us!" San and Mingi announced in unison as the two rounded the corner.
Jongho followed shortly after, stretching his back as he joined the rest. "Tell us we don't have anything scheduled, please," Jongho spoke up as he settled into a comfortable seat.
"There was supposed to be a party planned for Yunho today but someone failed in their task."
You rolled your eyes, glaring at your boss. "The lovely Hongjoong hasn't agreed to pay yet."
The office of ATZ Gaming was full of the same individuals from middle school, the same ones he had grown up with and spent more time with than anyone else. Hongjoong was the owner of the company. An IT expert and coder. The man was a genius with all things electronic, and his vision was the game of the year right now. An RPG simulation video game that drew so many of its users that it was slowly creating an empire of its own.
You were hired as the lead writer. After high school and starting university, you'd immediately fluttered into a variety of career options that had suited your style. Advertising, commercial art, animation. Though you always ended up circling back around to game telling and concept art, so when you heard that Hongjoong had quit his job and was striking out on his own, you were one of the first calls he'd made.
When you began writing the storyline for Hongjoong's game, and word started going around how good it was, Seonghwa quickly joined forces, a PR rep in the works, followed by San, whose graphics were lovely, and Wooyoung, a known social media sensation and marketer. And the game was finally taking off.
Yeosang and Mingi came along as programmers after the two had spent nights working and perfecting a gaming system that had completely baffled even Hongjoong. And their reputation followed soon after.
Last, but not least, Jongho. Despite being the youngest of the crew, he'd been an IT prodigy that helped support and maintain their website as the company's traffic exploded, helping to launch their product and set them apart from the others.
Yunho, being the newest hire for their sales and marketing department, was familiar with all of their talents, and would be responsible for marketing their product with an enthusiastic eye that would be a strong addition to their group.
"Of course, I'm happy to take all you dorks out for a drink," Hongjoong pulled his attention, glancing over at everyone and holding a stern finger up. "After you all have finished the reports you were supposed to turn in."
"Boo!" You stuck your tongue out at your boss, huffing out your frustration as you trudged over towards your cubicle and dropped into the chair, head buried into the crook of your arms.
"Cheer up princess," Seonghwa laughed as he swiped up his report, moving over and handing the page over to you. "Have a glance over this before I turn it in."
You groaned louder, head shaking at him as he shrugged.
Yunho simply stood quietly off to the side, watching his friends go through the mundane tasks of their work, yet they all appeared so cheerful and energetic in this atmosphere, constantly teasing and cracking jokes. A wide smile spread across his lips. His fingers were twitching in anticipation of being able to do work for the company, already wanting the day to be over so he could go have that drink with his friends and have some fun.
After three long hours, you finally shuffled out of your chair, grabbing onto Seonghwa's elbow, leaning up against the elder and looking up at him with those huge doe eyes. "I'm hungry and my ass is sore, please tell me we are done for today and can have that drink."
Seonghwa looked at Hongjoong. "May the princess get drunk this fine Friday?"
You snorted, slapping his chest with a smirk as he grinned and pinched at the end of your cheek.
"Why not? It's Friday, and it will be an evening well spent," Hongjoong smirked, shutting his computer down and shrugging on his leather jacket. "Come on. My treat. As a welcome to the team, Yunho."
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He sat in the corner of the bar, watching as you smiled up at your friends and playfully ran your fingers along the chest of an older man in a button-down shirt, the two of you whispering things back and forth. The group was a large one, a rowdy bunch that was currently taking up several tables off to the side. A good amount of them were handsome, all young and athletic. Different than your usual flavor of college boys and nerds.
He watched you and the man share a quiet joke. Watched as the male leaned in to whisper something against the shell of your ear, watched the pretty curve of your mouth part, giggle flitting free at the secret passing between you.
His stomach tightened, not because he was upset, or because he didn't like how he watched as your hand curled into the fabric at the male's waist and tugged at the expensive threads there, but because he imagined it was himself you were whispering to, him whose pants your fingers were digging into, him whose warmth you were stealing away with that pretty little smile.
What were you whispering about? What dirty, naughty little secrets were you whispering? Was it about getting fucked tonight? Hard and thorough. This man looked like he would satisfy you more than those little boys. This man didn't seem shy. Not with the way his hand brushed over your bottom, fingers cupping against the supple skin there for a moment before falling away.
When the hours passed, and the laughter began to dim, the group decided it was time to retire, and the group departed the establishment. He stayed behind. Making sure to keep close to the exit while also blending in. He watched as you and the man walked along the sidewalk, arm tucked under his, your soft giggle wafting in his ear when he bent low and whispered again.
He kept to the shadows as he followed, thankful that the night was cloudy and obscured his view, especially when you stopped walking and tipped your head back, gazing up into the handsome man's face, the two standing close, talking quietly as if they had forgotten the world around them. When the man leaned down and brushed his lips over yours, that's when he truly felt a twist in his stomach, a heavy, sickening roll.
His fists clenched into balls, unable to drag his eyes away from the sight. Your body stiffened at first, unsure, clearly the sudden motion took you by surprise, but when you leaned forward and melted against him, that was when his chest clenched.
When his hand came around your waist and he pulled you forward and dipped his hand down and grabbed the bottom of your ass, it was hard not to grit his teeth.
When the male shoved you against the brick wall of the nearby alley and dragged his lips down along the column of your neck, his eyes flared.
How far were you willing to take it in public? This would cause a scandal, wouldn't it?
Did that make you excited?
Did you want everyone in town to see, to watch, as he bent you over and fucked your little brains out? Or did you just want to get caught, the thrill of potentially being seen.
Did it matter?
As long as that cock got shoved inside of you, as long as the pretty moans escaped your parted lips, then who gave a fuck.
As your knees buckled, and you moaned out as the man's fingers curled under your skirt and sank into the soft flesh between your legs, his feet started to move. When the man hoisted you up and pressed you harder against the wall, and your arms and legs wrapped around him, the sounds of slick and wet mixing as the male's length entered you and pulled back out, his stride picked up speed.
Fuck, what he wouldn't give to have you in his arms, hot and wet and needy and letting him fuck you wherever and whenever the fuck he wanted.
When the male's movements picked up, body thrusting harder and faster between your spread legs, he watched the way you moaned louder and threw your head back against the wall, and he wished it were him taking you, ruining you.
You were enjoying it. Clearly. Enjoying that big dick sliding in and out. Enjoying that full feeling, letting the man claim you as his.
You looked like an absolute angel as he fucked you, a filthy fucking angel, hair tangled over your shoulders, the silk strands clinging to your cheeks as the sweat formed, skin glowing underneath the flickering streetlight overhead.
This man was ruining you. Just the way he would soon ruin you too.
How he longed to have that pink tongue swirl over his own, feel those tits press against his chest, his length snug and buried deep.
Soon.
Very soon.
When you cried out, your orgasm splashed all over his shaft, the male was right there behind you, his hips erratic, chasing after his own high. As he painted the inside of you, cum spilling and dripping down the sides of his dick as you clenched tightly to milk him for everything he had, the man pushed his hips harder against yours.
You had a completely satisfied expression, limp and tired as you came down from that intense moment, the passion that had overcome both of you leaving you entirely spent.
There was a sweet giggle as the man placed a kiss on your lips, a soft murmuring, another sweet peck to your lips, and the two of you stumbled away together, the man holding onto your waist, keeping your spent, stumbling body upright.
His feet had carried him forward when you disappeared, following the wet steps down the darkened alley. That was where he saw it, a pair of pale pink, soaked, cotton panties, hanging over a discarded can.
His hand shot forward and he gripped them, crushing the fabric between his palms and pulling it back with him.
Soon.
He would visit very, very soon.
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Seonghwa made his way towards your desk, setting down a steaming cup of your favourite tea. "Okay, princess. Go home."
"I'm almost done with this report. Give me twenty minutes,” you replied, smashing the keyboard.
"Pfft. You said that four hours ago," he scolded, squatting down next to your desk so he was level with you. "Go home. Finish it tomorrow. Come into work late. Sleep in. Whatever will make the princess happy."
"Why is Y/N always getting the special treatment? Hyung, aren't I cute too?" Wooyoung sulked, tugging on his collar and pouting his plump lips. "Tell me you love me more."
"Back off, lover boy," you grumbled, sipping at the tea he'd brought over, moaning softly at the delicate flavor. "Hush and mind your own business."
Yunho laughed, placing a hand on your shoulder, a soothing motion, urging you to finish your work for the night. "The sooner you finish, the sooner we can get dinner, if you're down for that."
"I want Seonghwa's undivided love too!" San whined loudly, stepping around Jongho as he shoved his way past Wooyoung and Yeosang. "I want my cute hyung to baby me too."
Seonghwa quickly backed his way into the elevator before the crew ganged up on him.
"I have a date, so I gotta get going," he smiled, lifting his hand and  giving the boys a two-finger salute. "Y/N, have a good night! Everyone else, see you all tomorrow."
You turned to Yunho, a bright smile on your face. "That offer for dinner still on the table?"
"For you, always," Yunho smirked, leaning down and grabbing your purse, placing the strap around his wrist before pulling you into his side with a gentle tug. "How does pizza and a movie sound? You can go to mine, or we can go to yours, whatever works for you."
You didn't notice Wooyoung's raised eyebrow, the slightly quirked up lip as he observed the two of you. "Oh? Something going with you two that we should know about? You've been spending a lot of time together recently."
"Shh," you stuck your tongue out at the teasing male. "Jealous?"
"You're not my type," Wooyoung sassed back, wrapping his hands over the shoulders of Yeosang and Mingi. "You've never been my type."
"Sure, says the guy who had a crush on me in high school," you called out, shoving your keyboard back into place and shoving the papers on your desk aside. You swung your purse over your shoulder, hooking an arm through Yunho's.
"Hey, that was years ago, I've grown. I have better taste," the younger male started with a childish scoff, pulling the other two guys along towards the exit.
Yunho just stood and listened as you waved and stuck your tongue out at Wooyoung, yelling at the rest of your friends a goodnight. You were such an adorable, flirty brat with the others. His smile never waned. It was fun watching the interactions and teasing. His hand curled over yours, pulling you along next to him.
"Seriously, I can have food delivered to my place, or we can head to a drive-thru," he paused and shrugged his jacket off, dropping it over your shoulders, adding an extra layer for warmth. "Which will it be?"
Your fingers dug into the thick fabric as you peered up at him through your lashes, admiring the smile stretched wide and happy across those soft lips. You loved hanging out with Yunho. He was a nice escape from work, and outside the office, it felt more intimate. More personal. Like you were the ones having fun with each other, not work friends just playing around in the comfort of each other's presence.
"Oh my God," you squealed, tugging at his hand excitedly, "are you inviting me over?"
He snickered, pulling his jacket closed over your chest. "If you'd like. We could share a pizza, have some wine, listen to music..."
"Is this a date, Jeong Yunho? A date-date?" You puffed your cheeks at him. "Not as friends, right?"
His finger hooked under your chin as he leaned in, causing your eyes to flutter as you stared at the mischievous expression on his handsome face, unable to break away. His head cocked slightly. "And if I said yes? What would you do about it?"
A fierce blush warmed the tips of your ears and you pulled his jacket up further, trying to hide the excitement building, the giddiness bubbling up. You nodded, teeth biting into the meat of your lower lip. "Let's just say... I wouldn't mind if it was a date."
You pretended not to notice that he was still holding onto your hand as the two of you left, pretended not to hear the excitement in the sound of his laugh as he guided the two of you down the quiet sidewalk.
He could have anyone, so why did he pick you? Okay sure, you two knew each other and had been friends since middle school. And sure you had the biggest, fattest crush on him in high school and your feelings never went away, so... Why not?
You had your fair share of dating and sleeping around, a couple flings and things that lasted for a few months. It was easy to find dates and go on a variety of dates and sleep with attractive guys... yet they never scratched that itch. They always left something to be desired, and eventually, the shine would wear off and you'd both move on and that would be that.
It wasn’t that the guys weren't attractive, weren't charming, weren't funny, or weren't sweet. They just... Never clicked. You'd have sex with them, unsatisfying sex at that,  that made you walk around the rest of the day wondering 'is this it? Are these the types of guys I've been going for?'
Seonghwa was the closest to having something steady. It was sweet, comfortable. Until your spark just kinda... died? It wasn't anything either of you did. No drama. No cat fight or argument. It just naturally fizzled out and the two of you stepped back into your friendships, and when either of you got horny, the other person was always a phone call away.
But with Yunho? Well, that was a whole other animal. It was butterflies. Nerves and awkward laughter and racing hearts. You felt young and silly again. And you were positive you weren't the only one. The attraction was a mutual thing, which made it more thrilling. You didn't just imagine it, and the heat simmering and smoldering was equal between you.
He lived just outside the main district in a cute studio apartment over an art gallery. Your breath caught every time you saw his smile and his arm slung around your shoulder, keeping you close, that hand drifting back and forth along your arm, knuckles tickling at the flesh at your collar bone as he giggled.
"Home sweet home," he stated proudly as the two of you climbed the steps to his home and stepped inside, toeing his shoes off. "It’s tiny, but cozy and private."
As soon as you stepped into the door, you were in awe. It was exactly like Yunho - handsome and modest and masculine. A king-size bed with deep maroon sheets, dark curtains, and lots and lots of pillows. And his desk had several pictures in frames, displaying memories. There were tons of photographs, including lots of you and the guys from when you were kids and teens, to more current versions, the most recent from the company welcome party for him.
"Jesus," you breathed out in a rush, stumbling forward as your eyes continued to scan the space, landing on the long sofa that sat to the right and his kitchen which looked tiny, "wow, look at you, mister fancy pants. You really landed yourself on your feet."
"Ha!" Yunho cackled, hand clasping onto yours. "It's nothing like where you and the other's are living, but it's paid for and cozy. Let me order the pizza, then we can get comfortable."
"By comfy, do you mean cuddle up and watch a romantic drama?" you wiggled your eyebrows.
He hummed, pulling his phone from his pocket. "Will that make you feel good?"
"Are you offering to make me feel good? Orrrr..." you started.
He shook his head, a laugh gracing his lips. "The usual order?"
You gave a nod, stomach rumbling as if answering his question for you.
He smirked, snagging a pillow and tossing it next to the spot on the couch you would claim, waving his cell phone to remind you to wait patiently while he orders food for you. He vanished into the kitchen, a silly smile on his lips.
You wiggled out of his jacket and tucked the large pillow against you, hugging the warm clothing close to your body. If you closed your eyes, you could easily imagine him embracing you. His scent surrounded you, and you found that it helped calm your jumbled nerves, keeping that level head that usually evaded you whenever this tall, handsome giant was standing too close, looking at you with those intense, kind eyes.
Fuck. This was an actual date.
With Yunho.
A dream come true.
And just how were you supposed to handle yourself now?
Yunho had finally started paying you more attention lately, and sure, the group hung out a lot together, but this was a little bit different, right? It certainly felt more than friendship, and if you were reading his signals right, then the interest was there, especially tonight.
So then, maybe it was possible for the two of you to work. Maybe?
When Yunho finally rejoined you in the living area of his home, he held up two glasses and a bottle, a wide grin spread across his lips. "Drinks?"
He glanced around the area as the two of you chatted, laughing and making small talk while you waited on the pizzas. As the film played and the food was eaten, you relaxed into the sofa, cuddled up at his side, eyes locked on the screen. His fingers caressed the strands of your hair and rubbed a gentle path over your arm, touch drifting back and forth, but not far.
There was comfort, and you sighed. His affection was soft and steady. You relaxed against him, happy to finally have some alone time with him, just the two of you in your little bubble. His scent enveloped you, and his arms cradled you like you belonged here. 
"Can I ask you something? You can always refuse," you nodded, a curious gaze moving over to find him chewing on his lower lip and looking at the floor. "Okay. Well... Do you... Am I... Would it be too weird if I told you that I really like you? And not just as a friend?"
You took the moment to process this question, staring at him for a solid five seconds before you sat up. "Wait what?" you blinked in confusion.
"Oh god, nevermind! This is awkward now," he ran a hand through his hair and you tried not to laugh as his face turned a bit pink and looked away. "Just forget I ever asked."
"Hey, come back," your hands cupped his face and you turned him so you could look into his eyes again. You tilted your head up, lips brushing against his. "I like you too."
He didn't speak and just closed the distance. His lips moved against yours, slowly parting open, pressing firmly yet softly as you relaxed your mouth against his and let the pleasure of the feeling flow through you. Your hands ran along his face, into his hair, curling the soft strands around your fingertips.
The kiss is soft and gentle. Unhurried and eager, but not rushed. His arms tightened around your waist, and you moved in his lap, adjusting your legs on either side of his hips and seating yourself properly, so you were facing him and comfortably slotted in.
You nipped playfully at his plump lip and parted your mouth open, smiling against him.
"What's so funny?" Yunho asked, tilting his head at you curiously, tracing his finger along your cheek.
"It's not, I don't know, I was worried that there was an attraction here because I've liked you for ages but thought nothing would happen, but like..." your head dropped onto his shoulder and you stifled the nervous giggles against his throat. "This feels really good? I'm having a hard time wrapping my brain around the fact that you like me too."
You couldn't help the grin from pulling at your lips and he chuckled.
"Don't you smile at me like that," you said with mock annoyance, pulling back and playfully hitting at his chest. "It's all your fault. You've grown up hotter and even better as the years passed. You're too tall. Too charming. Too sweet. Just everything, it makes my heart jump and I like you, so what now, you idiot?!"
His hands curled tighter around your waist, fingers digging into your shirt and he gazed down at you, a large smile plastered across his lips. "Let's start dating and take things as we go."
"I really like the sound of that," you smiled.
When you returned home that evening, Yunho walked you to your front door and lifted you into a tight hug, inhaling your scent and holding you close for a few more stolen moments. It was only a kiss goodnight; a sweet, passionate, deep kiss that set your skin aflame.
His smile had never been brighter, and you touched your fingers to your lips, feeling the burn of where his kiss still tingled, even though it’d long disappeared. "See you in the morning, okay? I'll meet you at the office. Don't be late."
You giggled, "Don't worry. I won't be."
Now there you were, home alone, wanting nothing more than for those hands to return to you. You sighed contentedly as you slipped the jacket off your body and placed it carefully on your dresser, smiling at the scent that fills the air and reminds you of Yunho. The evening had been perfect, everything just like a fairy tale came to life. You felt on top of the world.
But, like any other person, that peace and serenity would not last forever, not on your side, and especially not for the monsters watching your every move.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
That dinging startled your sleep, but your eyelashes fluttered as the vibrating continued and you groaned, knowing it must be something important. When your phone sounded a second time, the vibration caused a shudder on the surface of your dresser, you reached over and tapped the screen.
The text had your eyes going wide and your blood turning into ice in your veins.
Unknown: Looks like you had fun with your new boy toy. So cute. I wonder what will happen next time.
Unknown: You have a gorgeous smile.
Unknown: Be careful, little doll. Monsters are watching you.
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You weren't surprised that Yunho was early the next morning. In fact, you were already seated in the break room, sipping a mug of terrible coffee, half asleep as you stared out of the glass wall, your eyes fixated on the downtown buildings a few blocks away, mind and gaze drifting about aimlessly.
Yunho poked his head through the door, finding your slumped form immediately, that stupid, shy smile coming onto his face. When he joined you at the table, his arms stretched out on either side of you and pulled you gently into his chest. His chin rested on your shoulder as he breathed against your cheek.
"How'd you sleep?" he questioned, a large palm rubbing soothing, firm circles on  your arm.
"I'm so sleepy I might die," you buried your head in his chest. You were not going to tell him about those weird texts or that you tossed and turned all night, eyes glued to the screen in case the person tried texting again. How could you tell him that? Or the others?
He chuckled. "Well, don't die quite yet," his nose nuzzled your hair and his lips brushed your earlobe in a playful nip. "I need my girlfriend around, y'know."
Your heart stuttered, heat and flooded your cheeks. His girlfriend... You liked the sound of that. You glance over his features and study his expression as it lingers for a moment before it drifts back to that smug smile.
"Girlfriend... I like the sound of that," you playfully pushed his arm, biting into your lip and trying not to swoon, his reaction had you floating on cloud nine. "And what would my boyfriend say about the coffee at work, huh?"
"I'll run to the shop in a few," he stated, "Whatever my girl likes."
"Oh God, I really love the sound of that," you nodded.
He stood up straight, pulling you out of the chair and giving you a quick squeeze. "Come with me to get your daily dose of liquid sugar. It's on me."
"Are you guys always going to be gross now?" Wooyoung questioned, dramatically putting a hand over his heart, as you walked past his cubicle, laced hands swinging.
You nodded. "Absolutely. I'll just be loud so everyone can know how much my man adores me."
"Did I hear 'man'?" Hongjoong questioned from his own office space, popping his head out to investigate what had caused your shriek. "Did Yunho finally make a move, because God knows we were about ready to stage an intervention."
"Please, everyone knows she's wanted Yunho since the seventh grade," Seonghwa chimed in, poking his head over his cubicle wall.
"Come on," Yunho laughed, pulling you along to the elevator, "I think we've done enough entertaining."
You flipped a rude gesture over your head as you walked. "Bite me. See if I ever get you guys coffee!"
"What!? I didn't say shit!" Jongho yelped from the back, clearly getting caught up in the shenanigans.
You stopped as the two of you waited outside, leaning up onto the balls of your feet and placing a chaste, sweet kiss against his lips. He hummed happily and melted into the feeling of your kiss. His smile was radiant when you parted ways. He quickly leaned down again, pecking the tip of your nose and before reaching out to grab your hand, keeping them tangled while you both crossed the street towards the closest coffee shop.
The two of you stayed for an hour, enjoying the cozy atmosphere, drinking more coffee and hot chocolate. You enjoyed the company, and you simply couldn't wipe the smile off your face as he watched you from the other side of the table. He seemed in his own blissful thoughts and for a moment, everything felt unreal.
The entire day was filled with giggles and stolen moments. You may have disappeared to his cubicle for a make-out session at lunch when the rest of your coworkers disappeared. He sent suggestive texts throughout the day, making sure you knew just how interested he was.
God, his kisses were fantastic, addictive, and oh-so wonderful, it made the ache between your legs even harder to control. All day, all you could focus on was him and that smile, or his handsome face. Or the feel of his skin as you moved to help him. The way he leaned and followed you around like a lost puppy, unable to take his eyes or his hands off of you, stealing those gentle little touches whenever he could get away with it. It was driving you crazy. You were high on hormones.
Fuck, what was it about the beginning of a new relationship that made you feel drunk, and hyper-sexual? All the excitement and anticipation of what could happen, the chance of being alone or maybe sneaking away for something even more private? You felt like an addict and your thirst would likely be unquenchable.
By the time dinner rolled around, and the crew decided to head to a bar on the waterfront for food and drinks, you were floating on air and Yunho was hugging his arms tight around your middle, chin resting on your shoulder like some protective shield, a happy smile stretched across those gorgeous, pink lips.
"Jesus, you two look disgustingly cute," San chirped up, fiddling with a menu, his elbow leaning on the table.
"Yeah, can you please refrain from being so adorable? We're still processing," Yeosang joined, rubbing his face.
"I'm serious, it's sickly sweet. My heart might just fucking implode," Mingi punctuated his sentence by shoving a fry into his mouth.
"Jealous, much?" You leaned forward, eyebrows raising in challenge as Mingi pouted.
"What I'm wondering is," Yunho held up a finger, waving it around the table and frowning, "who has a pool going. Who guessed that this would happen and who thought we'd make a slow, sluggish journey through hell before admitting our feelings? Someone placed bets. Fess up."
The men shared glances, but not a word was said until Mingi finally gave in and folded. "I mean, you two have been making googly eyes at each other forever, so..."
Hongjoong sighed, giving in to the truth and pulling his wallet from his pocket. "Seonghwa, Mingi, Yeosang, and I bet this would be sometime around high school. Wooyoung and San thought it would have happened by our college graduation. And Jongho was confident that you'd get together sometime this year. So, I guess he won the pool."
"I'm a rich man!" the youngest declared excitedly. "Finally, something goes my way, because those idiots are paying for drinks."
"Dicks. All of you," you piped in, unable to hide the smile and the shake of your head. Your coworkers and best friends were such assholes, and it was hard to remember sometimes. But, you loved them, and they've always had your back. You always had each other's backs.
The group ate and shared drinks for a solid three hours. Things got fuzzy after that, though. A lot fuzzier. Everyone was laughing and taking photos. At one point Wooyoung even shoved a fistful of fried calamari up San's nose, causing you both to screech and sputter from laughter, or the food. You couldn't tell anymore, it was all a happy blur.
When you went to the restroom, a text popped up on the screen. Unknown number. Unknown, again. That dark feeling began to build inside your belly and you took the phone with shaking hands into the stall.
Unknown: Thought I saw something cute.
Unknown: Have fun.
"Who the fuck are you?" you whispered. But of course, no one answered you.
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Your fingers tangled in his hair as he moved his head down further. His tongue flicked a hot and wet trail between your breasts, tasting the salt from your sweat before moving further to the other pert nipple, rolling the nub with his thumb and licking until the buds tightened.
It didn't take much. You'd been starving for his touch all day long, a whole twenty-four hours spent teasing and trying to remain professional in the workplace, and tonight, all you wanted was his touch. You were laying sprawled on the soft sheets of his mattress, clothes haphazardly strewn around the living room and down the hall where the two of you had started stripping them as soon as the door was closed and locked.
Those long, gentle fingers brushed back the strands of hair from your forehead, soaking in your flushed cheeks and hooded eyes with a playful grin. "Feel good, little one?" he questioned with a low, rumbling growl.
The endearment sounded good falling from his lips and you hummed. "Very. Don't stop."
"So demanding," Yunho chuckled, his fingertips brushing over your ribs and side, giving you goosebumps as he trailed a slow path back and forth until his fingers found their way around your soft belly and down towards the lacey fabric of your underwear.
"Want these gone, or on?" his finger looped through a tiny ribbon-like strap.
You smiled, cheeky and without shame, raising your hips against him. "What would you prefer, hm?"
"Honestly?" Yunho dipped his face closer to yours, breathing a sigh into the sensitive area and making you shiver. "I want to stuff your mouth with these pretty little things while I fuck the breath from you."
"Fucking hell, Yunho, I didn't know you were so... so..."
He bit your neck. "Kinky? You'll soon find out how dirty I can be, especially when my sweet, sexy girl is being so good for me and begging so pretty."
"Shit," your breath caught. "Go right ahead."
"Let me know if you get uncomfortable. We can always stop. My main priority is that you enjoy yourself, okay?" His voice was soft and sweet and a complete contrast to the huskier tone he had only seconds prior. It was a side of him you'd never witnessed before. He was gentle, sweet, and made you feel secure, safe, and precious. "You'll always come first."
His big hands slipped your lace underwear past your hips, off over your knees and ankles, balling them in his hands.
"Open wide, little one," he growled softly, a thumb running along your lip as your mouth fell open, "just like a good girl." He slipped the fabric past your teeth, smiling at you, "Oh, there's a good girl. Looking so pretty, panties stuffed in her mouth like a pretty slut."
A finger slipped into your folds, testing your reaction and finding slick desire pooling around his digits. "Fuck, baby, you're soaking, is that all for me?"
"Mmhm..." you moaned.
"Spread those legs nice and wide. Yes, just like that. What a good girl, such a pretty angel. My beautiful babygirl," a second finger dipped inside your dripping core, scissoring and making room for a third. Your hips rose to meet his touch, whimpering as the three fingers stretched your cunt deliciously and touched all the right places inside. His long fingers filled you, but didn't fully satisfy.
"Look at the pretty slut dripping onto my bed sheets. So messy, my perfect little girl. Spread open like a hungry, naughty slut, her sweet little cunt sucking in the three fingers I've been gracious enough to stuff in that tiny, soaked hole. What a treat you are. Can you even last till the real thing?" He curled his fingers upward and a scream tore past the lace, tearing, but the moan from your throat was lewd and loud. "Is this what you imagined? In our cubicles? Bent over, getting fucked over and over until my seed dripped from this perfect little cunt. Oh, the dirty things I have planned for my pretty little angel. And don't you worry, I'm not anywhere near finished with you."
Yunho brought the slick fingers back to his mouth, wrapping his tongue over them, cleaning them with a lust-filled gaze and the roll of his hips. Fuck, he was ready to explode right there at the sight.
"Would my little one like to taste?" He pulled the panties from your mouth, replacing them with his soaked fingers, his thumb brushing against your lips, waiting for approval, and you sucked eagerly, your own tongue joining and savoring the taste.
"Now turn over, hands and knees for your boyfriend," you squealed a little, scrambling to turn around for him, positioning your ass and knees and knowing full well you must look quite the picture. "Fuck. Baby. You really want it, don't you? Need that cock, and fast, huh?" His thick, bare cock, aligned at your entrance, hot and pulsing. A whine rose, needy and hungry. "Talk to me, little one."
"Fuck," you gasped, gripping the sheets in desperation, his voice was thick and hungry and the words, holy hell, the words. "I want it! I want it so badly! I just... please."
"Please, what, little one?" Yunho stroked his length along your folds, coating his cock with the ample slickness leaking from your core. "What is my girl begging for?"
"Fuck me!" you shouted, pushing your hips towards him, "Fuck your girl, please. Please, I'll be good for you, whatever you want!"
"Good answer, baby, such a good girl," his palms grabbed your ass and slid along your thighs and ass, landing on your hips in a firm grip. The wide head of his thick shaft pressed slowly into your cunt. In and out. His breathing hitched with a grunt when you took him in halfway. "Fuck you feel so good, shit."
Big. He's so big, the biggest you ever took, and the best. He stretched you in the most delicious ways and took you exactly where you wanted it. None of your past fucks even held a candle to this man, and he didn't even fully fuck you yet.
"So big... so fucking big." It was a gasp, a moan, a desperate plea, a whispered prayer on your tongue. You needed that thick cock more than you've ever needed any other.
He bottomed out and you groaned at the sudden pressure. "Good?" His voice was a growl and he leaned into you, licking and biting the curve of your shoulder blade and down to the small of your back.
"Fuck, so good." Your words were slurred from lust and ecstasy. "Oh, yes, right there, fuck."
"My perfect girl takes dick so fucking pretty," Yunho purred. His big hands settled on your back, massaging gently. raises tumbled from his lips, soft, husky groans and soft hisses, deep groans. He moved again, so fucking thick and stretching you more, that when his hips thrusted in sharply, you saw stars, arching and shattering under the touch.
Yunho was the name that slipped past your lips in a frantic cry and then a steady moan. 
"I got you, baby," he mumbled against your back, "just let me have you. I'm right here, babygirl."
You turned to face him and found his intense gaze meeting yours. He leaned forward, pressing his lips roughly to yours. His chest flattened on your back as he drove forward harder, faster, and rougher, setting a fast, greedy, and almost desperate pace, wanting to hear and taste every piece of you.
"T-this. This is what I-I needed. This is perfect. Need you. Oh, God... Yes," you were struggling to get words out.
"That's what I like to hear, tell me more. Fucking pretty girl, I think your tight little cunt should be filled with my cum, so no one else will have you. Would you like that, would you want me to fill you until you're sore and gaping?" He drove even deeper, so fucking thick and hard. He grabbed your chin and tipped your head to watch the desperation that crossed his beautiful, sweat-slick features and the lustful sparkle in his eyes.
You whimpered. "Yessss. Cum for me."
"Then watch the show, baby, gonna make that perfect pussy of yours gape and swallow every bit of me. You'll do that, won't you? Be good for me and keep it all warm and plugged up? Just for me," his thrusts turned sharp and erratic, bouncing your body along the mattress. You nodded, still feeling his palm gripping your jaw. The wet sounds were so loud in the otherwise silent room.
"Fuck, Yunho," your hands gripped onto his wrists, the muscles tensing and straining, working your core with everything he had. "Yes, keep going. Don't you fucking stop. I need it. Oh God, please don't stop."
"I'm right here, little one," Yunho groaned, voice tight and gravelly, his pelvis rocking and bucking, his breath shaking as he pressed closer. His face burrowed between the nape of your neck, his voice low and thick. "Gonna cum now, gonna fucking cum, gonna make a mess in that pretty little cunt. Going to paint you white, my pretty girl."
"Do it," the words came out as a whimper, "Wanna feel you."
Yunho let out a rough and broken growl.
His cum shot out in heavy ropes that coated your insides and slid past your opening, coating you both with an extra slickness. His hand lands over your mound, massaging and keeping a steady flow of pressure until finally, when his last release hit the deepest spot inside you, you saw that white-hot glow in the back of your eyes.
You broke. His name came out on the edge of a sob.
The world turned and spun. He lifted and cradled you against his chest. Pressing warm lips over your pulse and humming when you tucked your face into the hollow of his neck, spent, exhausted, and drifting into the fuzzy nothingness, he whispered tender words in your ear.
"It's okay," he shushed, a warm palm rubbing circles in the middle of your back, "Don't fall asleep on me yet, let's get you clean." He helped you rise and then ushered you to the bathroom. Once inside, he wrapped those massive arms around you again, pulling you back against his chest. "Doing alright, beautiful?"
"Perfect," you whispered.
His grip loosened a bit and his lips grazed against the back of your shoulder and a quiet huff followed. "You did wonderfully, little one." A hum was all that followed his praise. You were far too tired for anything else.
You barely remembered washing up and drying off. You had no clue how the two of you ended up snuggled, legs tangled up. Your head laid on his chest, while his large hand laid on your cheek, rubbing light circles and playing with your hair.
"Yunho," you whispered.
"Hm?"
"Kiss me again," and he did, bringing those soft, puffy lips to yours in a kiss that is no different, gentle, tender, slow, sweet, and exploratory, despite being together intimately already, you both craved that innocent sweetness and the reassurance it would bring.
"How are you doing? Was I too much, too soon?" Yunho asked quietly.
"Never," you scoffed, smacking his chest, "that was fan-fucking-tastic."
"Well, I aim to please," the grin in his tone was evident and infectious.
Snuggled in his arms, warm and protected, it didn't take long before the both of you were softly snoring away, peaceful and perfectly content. You didn't even see the notification on your phone as the little bubbles popped onto the screen.
Unknown: I bet his cock felt good buried inside that sweet, tight, little cunt. It looks lovely, all stretched and leaking.
Unknown: Sleep tight.
You drifted, blissfully unaware.
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"A camping trip?" Your eyebrows creased, and your cheeks felt as though a blush rose at the thought.
"Hongjoong thinks it's a great opportunity for some relaxation and bonding after everything, what do you think?" Seonghwa sipped at his coffee as Yunho circled his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. "You guys can share a tent and put it far away from us."
"Like far away from us, far away. I mean it," Hongjoong motioned across the span of the field with wild and sweeping hand movements. "I don't need to hear shit, and especially don't need Wooyoung running his motor mouth."
"Bite me," the loud-mouth in question screamed, waving an arm into the air in retaliation.
"And, there's no pressure. If you don't want to, that's perfectly alright," Seonghwa shrugged, but his words weren't nearly convincing.
Yunho smiled. "No, we're totally in. As long as everyone promises not to come within like five miles of our tent in the middle of the night."
"Done deal," Hongjoong immediately stated.
Wooyoung snickered. "Maybe Y/N's loud moans would scare away the bears."
You scowled. "Would they scare the tiny gremlin boy, because, in that case, I'll happily be very loud."
The young male stood up, moving a finger back and forth between the two of you. "Watch your back, Y/N. I might just throw you in the lake while you're sleeping and make it look like an accident. This is war!" He stomped off dramatically towards his desk, pretending to throw a fit.
"Why is he so dramatic? Can we leave him at the camping grounds and pretend to forget him?" Jongho quipped dryly.
The camping trip did sound like fun, especially being able to enjoy it in a small group setting, and without worrying about running into unfamiliar faces, that dark presence that seemed to follow you, stalking and haunting, might stay away. A perfect solution.
The rest of the workday passed in relative normalcy, and before the hour struck five, you had left with Yunho by your side and plans of going shopping were set in motion.
"It's been such a long time since I last went camping," Yunho chattered, skipping around in front of you and leading the way into the sporting goods section, "think they have soundproof tents? Just in case? For when I get super frisky and fuck the breath out of my sexy girlfriend?"
"Jesus christ, Yunho, calm your jets," you laughed, patting his cheeks, "I doubt there's such a thing but maybe we can get lots of pillows to stuff in the corners and walls."
"Perfect," Yunho grins and kisses your palm.
The next two hours flew by, filled with tossing things in the shopping cart, giggles, and teasing. After you managed to find an assortment of things you might need and settled on what looked to be a sturdy tent, Yunho paid. Before heading home to drop off everything, the pair of you went clothes shopping, after deciding that the proper attire included comfortable pajamas, enough clothing to last, and in your case a nice bathing suit to lounge in the lake.
And when Yunho wasn't looking, you grabbed something that was a little... naughty for your favorite kinky giant.
After loading the car with camping and fishing equipment, gear, supplies, a few tents, and a cooler loaded with drinks and snacks, a text came in from the groupchat.
Seonghwa: Load everything into your trucks, we leave tomorrow at 8 am.
Wooyoung: My Jeep will go fast, Jongho doesn't hold back on the gas pedal!
Jongho: You don't drive me. Ever.
Hongjoong: WEAR SEATBELTS!
You: Yes, Joong dad.
Yunho: LOL
Mingi: Dad. Priceless.
Yeosang: He does remind me of an anxious dad.
San: Cannot agree more.
Hongjoong: ....
Yunho: She called him "Joong Dad," isn't that just perfect, Hwa?
Seonghwa: I'm gonna start a drinking game. Take a shot every time you call Joong, "Joong Dad."
Jongho: Count me the fuck in.
"Hmph," you huffed, scrolling through your notifications and catching another. Same number, unknown again. You blinked twice, then opened the message.
Unknown: So sweet, picking up supplies for your boyfriend. And did you have some naughty plans too? Good, so did I.
"Baby, ready to go home and have dinner?" Yunho pressed a soft kiss on the crown of your forehead.
Your head snapped up and your gaze met his, blinking at him. His wide smile met you and your own slowly stretched to match it.
"Ready," you said, feeling sick at the new unknown message.
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He watched as you slid your clothes off after a long day and tossed them aside. His hungry eyes trailing over the curve of your soft belly, then your wide hips, then down the round curve of your ass. His gaze lingered on the lacy set of panties you'd picked up the night prior.
So tiny. They don't cover nearly enough of that amazing ass.
His dick twitched in his pants as his tongue darted out and swiped across his plump lips. Laying there, on your belly, not aware of the dark shadow lingering right outside your window, looking on as your soft cheeks and round globes jiggled at every movement, the arousal tinted his stare. His heartbeat sounded rapidly and the blood began flowing directly towards the aching part between his legs.
Slowly, carefully, silently, he tugged the zipper down and pushed the fly of his jeans to the side to wrap his fingers around his swollen cock. A soft groan caught in the back of his throat when he tightened his grip and pumped his length along the underside. Watching as you pulled out that favorite toy of yours since your boyfriend wasn't there.
Oh, was he so jealous right then of that lifeless toy, the silicone dick that slid in and out of your pussy, soaking in the wetness and preparing that greedy pussy for a cock of actual flesh and blood. His mouth watered as the silicone phallus sunk deeper into you. His fingers continued to run along his thick girth and grip the sensitive tip, slicked up with precum, spreading it down and adding friction to his movements. His gaze fixated on that damn vibrator. The thought of bending you over crossed his mind, but then decided that he wanted the pleasure of making you cum on his cock. Wanted the sounds of your cries muffled, wanted you to break into pieces at his hand and only his cock, his cock and nobody else's.
"Fuck yeah, just like that. Grab your tit and play with it like a good, little slut. Such a pretty pussy and ass. Bet my cock would slide in and out real fucking nicely if I bend you over the bed and slam in that wet hole until I fucking paint your insides and mark that tight, hot, soaked cunt." Pumping his length and gripping the swollen tip, he bit back the whimpers and the grunts, so desperately wanting to call out.
"Just a little longer," he groaned, his head tipped back, fighting to keep the volume low, "Gonna make you feel me and make you mine. Soon, baby, I'll make that cunt remember the shape of my dick, stretch you and split you open with my fat cock, make you suckle and worship my cock every chance I get, make you full with me."
"Yeah, babygirl. Gonna stuff your pussy and then plug the cum inside. Fuck. Cum all over that face, that pretty ass and tits." He groaned out.
"Shit," his cock pulsated and throbbed, aching and about to release, "nah, gotta wait."
Stopping his self-love session, he focused his attention back to the show, knowing that with this intensity, with every passing second he got closer and closer to the moment when he'll get the chance to bury himself inside your wet warmth and the deepest, darkest spots. You were always meant to be his, always belonged to him.
Because if he can't have you, no else ever will.
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Pulling into the camping lot, the first sight of the trees had Yunho's face lighting up, and you swore that when he looked like that, his cheeks scrunched adorably and his smile a million watts, you had no control over yourself. Every part of him was absolutely precious. Your stomach flipped, and those pesky little butterflies fluttered around and around inside.
Parking alongside the line of trucks and smaller SUV's, everyone scrambled out. A collective yawning, stretching, and murmurs of agreement came in the form of mumbles.
"Gorgeous place, huh?" Jongho raised his hands up above his head, pointing towards the distant view, "Good day for hiking."
"Let's get some tents set up and then explore," Hongjoong murmured.
They set up the tents, arranging supplies and cots. They were in a rush to explore, not that you could blame them. You slipped on shorts and a t-shirt, running up after them, tugging Yunho to come with.
But with him in his element and nature all around, there were things that caught his interest, things that the group explored as they walked through the camping grounds.
"We should try to find a spot not so far into the woods," Yunho's voice pulled your focus and you turned around, meeting the warmth in his eyes. He stepped closer, rubbing his thumb on your cheek. "Sounds good, babe?"
Your eyebrow rose and an inquisitive hum echoed. "Whatever do you mean, honeybun?"
"Welllll," he leaned over, pecking a soft, fleeting kiss on your nose, "we can sit out by the trees, by the lake, watch the sunset..."
You blushed, suddenly knowing exactly where his words were headed. "I think I understand," you grinned. "We packed the earplugs for everyone, right?"
He smirked, cockily, pulling your face closer until his warm breath caressed your lips and teased a response from them, "Sounds like someone is thinking of getting busy?"
"Always," you answered, letting him press his lips to yours.
"Don't worry," his chest shook and his smile lit up the sky, "we have extra earplugs."
"Hurry up, lovebirds!" Seonghwa's shrill screech called.
A light giggle burst forth. "Ready to see the beautiful spot and pick out the perfect tree for our sinful deeds?"
"Too much!" You heard Hongjoong grumbling.
Yunho laughed, breaking free and sprinting, arms lifted in the air, towards Seonghwa, all smiles and eyes closed and sparkling, a few stray wisps of hair falling out and flying through the wind. He turned around, a hand held out to you. "You coming?"
And you ran, meeting his extended palm, lacing your fingers through his, and feeling warmth radiating from him, the bright shine and joy radiating from the man in front of you, loving him all the more, feeling happiness wash over you, too. He brought the back of your hand to his lips and kissed you, a small gesture, but a tender one.
"Hey, now," Hongjoong snorted, walking back over towards you, "keep it PG."
The glare the younger man gave off only caused him to chuckle harder, doubling over in mirth, loud and boisterous, bouncing back from tree to tree.
"Okay," Yunho huffed, arms circling around your back and ushering you forward, "back to the serious business of finding a spot for this lecherous act that Hongjoong believes we have planned."
The snickers from your party began in waves and soon, you were swept up in the infectious fun, laughter surrounding and spilling out and echoing. Yunho pulled you further along, playfully, all lighthearted jests.
Hours later, sitting around the campfire and listening to a guitar, the melancholy strums filled the evening, and the stars sparkled overhead. Snuggled next to Yunho and singing along, you watched the fire flickering.
"What if," San suddenly jumped in and tapped a finger against Mingi's shoulder, "what if we played a game of truth or dare, like we did in high school?"
"No," Hongjoong was quick to shoot down the idea.
"Pleaseeeeeee," Wooyoung's puppy-eyes begged.
Yeosang sighed. "Oh, come on hyung, give in."
"And if they get truth or dare?" Hongjoong points at you and Yunho, "who knows what we'll get subjected to!"
Seonghwa grimaced. "True."
"Pleaseeeee?" Wooyoung cried. "Pretty, pretty pleaseeee?"
"Alright," Hongjoong gave in, a sign of Seonghwa and Hongjoong's long, suffering, and excruciating tale of their school experience. It had to do with those same puppy eyes, specifically, Wooyoung. "But the moment the lovebirds get frisky, I'm shutting it down."
You gave him the most angelic smile. "Roger that, Joong Dad!"
"And so the night continues..." Hongjoong groaned into his hands, elbows propped against his thighs and head tipping into his palms, "why do I enable this nonsense?"
And so the night progressed. Dares were made. Wooyoung sent San to a dark scary area, where the sounds of something like footsteps could be heard. The culprit? Jongho, shuffling his shoes quietly back and forth in the grass. Yeosang ran out to the water and ran around screaming, waving his arms like a mad man, only to do it again - per request from Mingi. Truths were told about silly childhood memories, the most embarrassing moments, the greatest fears, and a few love stories and regrets were spilled, as well.
Sleep eventually took hold of everyone, exhausted from the trip, the music, the singing, and the laughter. Slowly, one by one, each member retreated into their tents. You and Yunho followed, going hand and hand, holding hands. The night seemed to last forever with so much time, a perfect ending to a perfect day.
As soon as you had crawled under the thin sheet and blankets, Yunho pulled you close. He curled a palm around your hip and used the other to lay the crook of your neck onto his chest. You glanced up, pressing a tender kiss to his jaw and looking at the soft expression across his features, so beautiful, so gorgeous, like a dream that never faded.
And then you drifted off.
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He watched you slept through the night, unable to take his gaze away. You didn't zip the tent all the way, it hung just loosely enough to where he could easily spy inside, a mistake on your part and he was completely taking advantage of it. The slow steady rise and fall of your chest as your breaths moved through you, a quiet exhale, your plump, perfect lips curling softly, he couldn't look away, couldn't stop staring at you. His fingers dug into his palm, leaving nail indents into the soft flesh.
How he wanted to caress and trail a gentle touch, feather soft, over that delicate skin, to have your heat spread and pulse beneath his palm. It's an agony he wanted to bury himself in, this perfect image of you asleep, so very delicate and tender.
And when his gaze followed the soft curves of your face, his cock is swelling and throbbing. He swallowed hard, imagining those pouty lips wrapped around the girthy, sensitive cock as his fingers wrapped in your hair and he fucked your face and mouth roughly, spilling himself over and over again until you were gagging and struggling for breath.
His tongue glided between his lips, his dick hardening even more from the lewd thoughts of what he could do to you. All the ways, places, angles, things. So, many things he would be doing. And by the end, you'll be addicted to the feeling of him.
Soft snores sounded through the clearing. Then a snort. And a muffled curse. A bark of laughter.
"Jongho! Keep it down." One of the men snarled from his tent. "Fuckin' christ."
And another zipped open and Mingi and Seonghwa stepped out.
"Let's walk around, get some fresh air," Seonghwa whispers as Mingi nods.
His head whipped around the area, knowing the area's layout, having the chance to scope out the place just recently. So, with the dark cover of night and the absence of those who were awake, he stepped back. It was time for him to disappear back to where he was hiding in wait. For as long as he needed to, he would remain waiting, still.
Stalking quietly, his large feet tiptoed out through the darkness and back into the shadows, as he'd always done.
Biding his time until the perfect opportunity presents itself.
Patience.
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Days after the camping trip, you were at Yunho's place, waiting for him to get home and you sat on his couch, phone clutched in hand, your attention on the string of texts that appeared earlier. Your jaw clenched, eyeing the words, that unsettling feeling returning.
Unknown: Fun camping trip. Tell me, Y/N, which were your favorite moments? I especially loved when you and your boyfriend fucked each other with the tent flap open while the others were sleeping.
You blinked, suddenly a stone lodged in your throat. You could almost taste the sourness seeping through the text message. The fact that the stranger was lurking, following the group's movement and possibly tailing, was not lost to you.
Unknown: Would you have loved it just a little more if I were the one fucking your tight little cunt and you moaning my name, my big cock sinking into those silky wet walls, my hot cum filling you?
There wasn't a text for a couple of minutes, and then more came.
Unknown: Just let me try and guess, baby. How your soft, tight walls would constrict me, would massage and caress my throbbing cock. How my big dick would feel deep inside, opening you up, stretching that greedy hole, making a mess. I know you like a messy pussy. Would you beg me to cum inside you, fuck that juicy pussy hard and fast, mark your insides with my cum and fill your womb until you were full of me?
Unknown: Your mouth is even better. Can just imagine wrapping my fingers into your hair, that gorgeous face pressed against my balls. Sliding the fat tip between those pouty lips while you lick up the length, suckling on the underside of the thick, veiny shaft. I would make sure that you had trouble speaking the next day, sweetheart, from how hard I would be pounding and slamming the back of your throat, having my cock stuffed down your throat until you can only choke. Fuck, baby, gonna breed your holes until you cant ever take anyone else.
Unknown: What can I do to make you mine, babygirl?
You nearly vomited at those last words, crinkling your nose and screwing your eyelids shut to stop reading them.
But then another came.
Unknown: Be ready soon for my cock and cum, darling. It's going to feel so fucking good.
When the key in the door alerted you, your attention shot upwards and you shoved the phone in the side pocket of your bag and met Yunho's dazzling, gleaming smile and gentle gaze. It seemed like your troubles melted, worries forgotten.
"Did you wait long? Sorry I'm late." His wide, bright smile crinkled his eyes in the most precious way as he spoke, tossing the keys aside and toeing the shoes off and kicking them to the side.
Before you could get up, Yunho had plopped himself next to you, kissing you deeply, softly. His long arm curled around your shoulder, pulling you into his broad chest and nuzzling your cheek, and you grinned uncontrollably.
You pressed the palms of your hand flat to his chest, peeling off and leaning back, giving him a sweet smile, then curled both arms around him and laid the top half of your torso against the side of his arm and placed your cheek on the bone. "Did you have dinner already, baby?"
You shook your head. "Nope. Wanted to wait."
He laughed softly. "For me to come back?"
"Uhuh," you nodded.
"Then," his chest vibrated, and a soft purr thrummed. The rumbling, content and happy and low, is warm. "Let's get up, baby, and head to the kitchen. We'll cook together. Then watch a movie in bed. How does that sound?"
"Do I get dessert later?" You nibbled on his arm.
His deep chuckle responded. "I think a lot can be arranged. C'mon," and he stood, hands at your waist and pulling you up with him. "Let's get cooking and eating, and I'll save that for after."
Your heartbeat and stomach were swarming with the familiar butterflies. Even now, being around Yunho was a sensation. And not even that, not only that, but with those new, strange threatening and ominous text messages that crept up. For a moment, you pushed it aside. Allowed yourself to drift into the moment, wanting so badly to spend more time with Yunho.
After dinner, he wrapped his arms around you and squeezed lightly before leading you to bed. You buried your face into his shoulder, mumbling a faint sleepy sentence or two, not quite making out the exact words.
"And, dessert?" You raised an eyebrow, puckering your lips slightly and gesturing towards him.
He smirked, lifting you and throwing your legs around his waist, strong hands firmly holding your plump ass. Then the familiar sensation of being placed, ever so gently and delicately on the bed. With soft touches, hands roaming and sliding under the fabric, clothes were quickly stripped off.
"Can I have my dessert now? Pleaseeeeeee?" you asked, batting your long lashes and feigning a childish expression.
"Go ahead," he laughed as he leaned against the headboard and patted his lap, spreading his powerful legs wider to show his straining erection. "You were talking about this kind of dessert, right?"
"You read my mind, babe," you said, a teasing wink as you slid towards the middle of the bed and between his thighs.
A low grunt passed his parted lips and a heated stare was sent in your direction. You reached out, wrapping the palm and fingers around his thick cock, the veins pulsating against your skin, throbbing and eager. Leaning forward and licking the swollen head, the little bead of precum leaked out of the tip. Sliding the flattened tongue over the slit, your fingers working up and down and around the width, circling up to the sensitive head, feeling the heat and his eager pulse thrumming as it got harder.
"Shit," a sharp intake of breath. His head tipped to the back, and his teeth sunk into the lower lip, biting back the needy whimper.
Taking the fat tip in and hollowing your cheeks, sliding deeper, letting it hit the back of your throat, feeling it sink further and further in as his fingers cradled the nape of your neck. Your nails skimmed his thigh, catching onto the coarse hair before teasing the hot and velvety hardness, causing the flesh to throb between your lips and around his member, moaning from the taste and scent of the cock, swallowing around the heavy weight, causing the vibrations to send a shot of electricity.
His head thrown back, breathless gasps filled the silence of the room and hands caressed your hair. His hips bucked, slowly and carefully, as though afraid of pushing your limits too far. Your throat tightened around the swollen shaft, drool leaking out the corner of your mouth. Eyes wide, half-lidded and gazing up at him. His cock twitched in your mouth and he made the most sinful sound.
"I'm going to fill your mouth, darling. I want you to swallow it and everything that spills out, make sure to drink every last drop. It's your dessert, after all, right?"
Humming lowly, mouth still full, nodding faintly, a confirmation.
A hand lifted to the back of your head. Slowly, he caressed the soft strands, running his fingers through the locks, caressing the strands. Light scratches, soft and loving against your scalp.
And his body shook hips rocking up, in and out of your mouth, picking up a rhythm. "Swallow it, sweetheart. Drink up."
The warm cum spurted into your mouth as a throaty groan fell, a lustful gaze locked to yours, staring. Those warm, gorgeous, honey brown eyes were full of awe and love as you swallowed and licked every single drop that spilled. You squeezed and swallowed, tightly sucking, eager and willing and sucking him off, desperate and eager and swallowing again.
His thumb grazed your skin, tipping his thumb against the corner of your lips to brush away any semen leftover.
You sucked up every bit, licking the warm and soft tip, letting the fat head roll around on your tongue and using the tip to sweep away the last traces of salty seed. Sucking on the cock until nothing remained.
Leaning back, you watched the reaction, waiting to hear the praise, your boyfriend's blissed out expression. A smile bloomed, a pleased hum passed your lips as he reached out, grasping at your shoulders and tugging you to meet his gaze. "Did you enjoy your dessert? Did you have enough?" He laughed. "No? Guess I have to feed you more."
With ease, he flipped your pliant and small body, your back on the mattress. Pressing his cock along your entrance. Sinking the fat cock into you, taking his time, the wet sounds and hot walls clenching his dick. "My baby needs to be full and satisfied, right?" A breathless moan. The pure, lecherous tone of his voice sent heat into your cunt, pussy throbbing, the slick building up. He pushed the length slowly in, relishing the stretch as your walls hugged and swallowed him. He throbbed against you and pressed forward, cock reaching and sending sparks up and through, tearing apart all inhibition and breaking down that delicate restraint.
He fucked and rutted, thrusting, bucking, and moaning into your quivering, hot cunt.
You were already melting, and the lust only grew more intense, like a burning flame, as the sloppy and wet noises echoed around in the room, loud smacks filling the empty space.
The way his large, strong hands moved to your thighs, urging them to wrap around your waist. Using that to angle deeper, driving himself harder. Until his big cock is sinking into you. Overwhelming you completely as he fucked into your warm, welcoming cunt. He moved his hips faster and rougher, panting and desperately trying to catch his breath. His nails raked into your hips and dragged across your skin, leaving his claim. The noises and smells were all consuming, skin flushed and bruised, red splotchy marks coating your hips.
He felt so fucking good, slamming that girth deep inside you, hitting your spot and pounding it until you were trembling and moaning, almosting screaming, his name. Your body collapsed, turning and face-planting into the sheets as Yunho’s fingers kneaded and spread your cheeks wider. He grunted, eyes blown wide.
And he fucked you more.
"More?" You breathed heavily as his dick, grinding, the bulge filling and pressing along, pressing and touching your spot, teasing it. So big. He was too much, and it felt so incredible. His tip and heavy cock and balls and long shaft were brushing and smothering and his hands were everywhere. In your hair, on your body, everywhere.
"Take it, darling. You feel so good. So soft and good. Fucking amazing." The strain in his voice could be heard. But, god, it wasn’t just how incredible he felt, but his low, husky groans and gasps were taking over your ears. "You love this, baby, don't you? My huge cock fucking and thrusting and feeling good inside you, isn't that right? Can't you feel it?"
The air was suddenly hot, sticky and heavy. Everything felt heightened. He moaned as he kept fucking you, murmurs falling from his lips, his breathing rough as he stared down.
"Yunho, please. Cum in me. Cum, please. Feels so fucking good. Baby," you could barely breathe as his thick shaft shoved, harsh, hitting so deep. Your fingers were clutching and grasping at his back/ Yunho’s head dropped, pressing his forehead along your temple. "Gonna cum, shit, Yunho-"
"Do it," he commanded.
Throwing your head back, eyes clenched shut, shuddering and panting, his warm lips suckled and nibbled the skin along the nape of your neck. "Look at me." His husky, gravelly command was clear, your eyelids snapping open and vision settling on his molten chocolate gaze. "You're mine, okay? Say you understand. Tell me."
You nodded feverishly. "Yes. Only yours."
"Louder."
"Yes!"
"Good. You're mine. I love you, darling. You're everything to me," and then he kissed the side of your cheek, running his palms down along your sides, slowing down to tenderly brush his hand on your sweaty face, wiping the strand of dampened hair that clung. "Do you love me, darling?"
Your heart melted. His passion and fiery intensity is gone, replaced by this warmth that surrounded the space in between and spread. There was that soft, tender voice that had a hint of yearning and hopefulness. You smiled brightly at him. "Of course," you nodded softly. "I love you. I love you. I love you. So much, so, so, so, so much. Never want anyone else. Just you."
His bright, blinding smile and glowing happiness was what had you beaming and grinning back as his eyes turned into those beautiful slits, like a cat. Then, he laughed. It was you favorite sound. Laughter that bubbled, like music. Music, just for you.
You lost yourself in his touch and love.
And the strange text messages were forgotten, vanishing completely out of your mind.
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Yunho looked at you, sprawled out, peacefully sleeping after a night of intense fucking and blissfully being knocked out by pure exhaustion. With careful ease, he slid himself to sit at the edge of the bed and picked up your cell phone discarded earlier on the ground. Scrolling through the messages.
What kind of face were you making when you read these messages? Were you disgusted by them? Discomforted? Out of place? Annoyed? Perhaps a bit unsettled? Maybe even just the slightest bit scared? He looked over his shoulder and glanced at your slumbering form.
Yunho was surprised to see that not once had it even crossed your mind that he may be the culprit, the one who would stalk, obsess and prey on his innocent little prey.
But you weren't innocent, were you? You were so damn filthy and lewd, fucking and sucking with abandonment, swallowing the cum and slurping it, begging for more and more and more, not caring who else is watching, just as long as his thick cock filled your greedy cunt. And look at you, lying there, as if you were his property. All his to use and abuse however he saw fit, and you loved it, begging him and moaning and crying for him.
Not once did the idea occur to you, to him, your loving boyfriend, would be the cause behind those messages.
But maybe one day that would happen.
Perhaps you would find out, find out in time, but he had plans for you.
"Yunho?" you murmured, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, blinking the sleep and tiredness away, unaware of the expression plastered on his face. You rolled over to stare, rubbing the edges and corners. "Where did you go?"
"I'm grabbing something to drink, baby. Go back to sleep. I'll be back soon," he responded, voice like the smoothest silk.
Without questioning it, you nodded, mumbled, rolling back over to return to dozing and he quietly walked over to the kitchen. Pulling open the cabinet and fishing a burner phone out of its hiding space, underneath the containers and hidden away, behind the rows. He powered it on and shot a short message.
Unknown: Darling, looks like you enjoyed your meal very much. I'll see you soon. I hope you didn't eat all that dessert. Because there will be a lot more for me to feed and give and for you to swallow.
When it sent, and he received a brief acknowledgement from your phone, he quickly turned the burner phone back off and put it back in its hiding space. Shutting the cabinet, he returned to you, placing your phone on the end table and plugged in to charge overnight, before settling in next to you.
Lifting his arm, he let you slip into his embrace, pulling your face towards his chest, hearing that adorable happy sigh slip through your mouth. When Yunho leaned in, he pressed his lips to your temple. "You're mine, right, baby?"
"Mhmm," you agreed, sleepy.
"Forever?" He stroked your hair. "Not just tonight or tomorrow. But you'll stay with me forever?"
You didn’t answer back immediately, but he felt your nod. It was slight, yet he felt the assurance. The trust you held. And for the time being, it was enough. He decided to hold you a bit tighter, feeling your warm presence at the very center of his heart, where no other could touch. This, to him, was an oasis in the desert of his life. And he felt warm.
Warmth that he vowed never to lose.
He let the wicked thoughts take him. What he had to do, and planned to do. What he could get away with. How he was going to slowly strip apart that innocence of yours, leaving behind a sobbing mess and destroying those bonds of reality.
He wasn’t doing it because he wanted to.
He was doing it because he must.
Because you were meant for him and him alone. You were his from the beginning and no one was going to get in the way.
He buried the darkness away and wrapped his arms more tightly and lovingly around you, letting himself feel the happiness and peace a little while longer before the shadows could reach again.
One thing was clear.
One fact remained.
You belonged to Yunho and Yunho belonged to you.
Even if he had to lock you up and throw away the key. 
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munson-blurbs · 3 days ago
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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries
Summary: Going to the library with Harris is a great way to escape the heat. But with Harris and Hendrix? You just might lose your mind.
TW: pregnant!Reader, mentions of postpartum difficulties, just a ton of fluff
WC: 1.3k
Divider credit to @saradika
August 1999
It’s hot. 
The sun beats down on you the moment you step out of your car and begin walking across the parking lot.  
“Wait for me, Har,” you call out from where you trail behind him. 
You used to spend summers lounging by the public pool—usually with a book in hand. Though being a parent to Harris meant that you found yourself donning a swimsuit and joining him, dodging the water that splashed each time he kicked his feet. 
This summer is different, the heat less tolerable now that you’re six months pregnant. Being anywhere without air conditioning for an extended period of time is akin to torture. Which is why you and Harris spend most of your days at the Hawkins Public Library.
Harris slows to a stop, only walking again once you’ve reached his side. 
“Can we take Baby Brother to the library when he’s born?”
You take his hand in yours. “Of course.” A pause, then the necessary clarification. “Well, not right when he’s born. But once he’s a little older, we can definitely bring him along.”
Harris nods, content with the response, as he bounds towards the doors. He holds it open for you, leaning his whole body up against the frame. It was something he’d learned after watching his dad hold doors open for you. If baby brain doesn’t interfere, you’ll have to tell Eddie about it.
The library hosts various kid-friendly activities, and Harris is no stranger to arts and crafts. Since school let out, your home has become increasingly filled with glitter-coated popsicle picture frames and macaroni necklaces. But there’s nothing on the schedule today, which means an afternoon spent reading.
You find a seat in the children’s section, making yourself as comfortable as you can in the small chairs. Harris flits from shelf to shelf, grabbing every book that catches his eye until he has a pile he can barely hold.
“Okay, Mom,” he grunts behind his stack of books. “I’m ready.”
With a wince, you stand up and help him carry the books to the table. There’s the slew of usuals: Green Eggs and Ham (he insists you read each page in one breath), If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, and The Mitten. But Harris plucks a new one from the stack: Where the Wild Things Are.
“I’m gonna read this one to Baby Brother,” he says, plopping down on the chair next to you. “If I teach him about monsters now, then he won’t grow up to be afraid of ‘em.”
You nod, refusing to argue with his logic. Who knows–he may be right.
Harris opens to the first page, placing one finger on the first word. “The night Max w-w-wore his wolf s-s-s-uh…” He looks up at you, a wrinkle in his brow. “Can you help me? Just with the tricky words.”
His reading has vastly improved thanks to the extra instruction he receives at school, and you’re more than happy to fill in when he needs it. “Suit.”
“Right. Suit.” He starts again. “The night Max wore his wolf suit and mad–made mis-cuh-huh…no, wait, that makes the ch sound…” His little tongue pokes between his lips, another habit he’s picked up from Eddie.
“Mischief.” Your eyes sparkle. “Like what you like to cause.”
He giggles, continuing to read until he gets to the pages where the full pages are illustrations of the wild rumpus. “Is Baby Brother listening?” He peers down at your bump and rests his hand on top. “Hey, are you listening in there?”
You can’t help but laugh at his questioning. “He must be. He hasn’t moved too much since you started reading. And lately he’s been squirming around in there.”
It’s a good enough explanation to Harris, and he picks up where he left off. “Okay, I know you can’t see this, but now the wild things are having, like, a dance party. They’re going stomp, stomp, stomp.” He mimics the monsters’ movements, feet stamping the colorful carpeted floor.
He finishes the book, closing it with a triumphant thwack. “Can you read to me now?” he asks you.
“Of course.” You take Green Eggs and Ham–his favorite. Something about the repetition tickles his brain just right. Before you know it, Harris is doing his jumps, leaning on the table and jumping each time you read a sentence starting with “I do not like…”
It’s the last summer of just you and Harris, and you take an extra moment to cherish it. Next year, you’ll have two sons to read to–what more could you ask for?
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August 2000
You’re exhausted. Running on fumes.
Hendrix has been waking up multiple times per night, thanks to the tiny teeth ripping through his gums. Since you’re off of work for the summer, you take the brunt of the night shift. It makes sense, but you still find yourself scowling at a still-sleeping Eddie each time you pad past his side of the bed and into the nursery.
When Hendrix woke up just after 7 A.M., you walked in to find that he’d had a major diaper blowout. How any nine-month-old could produce that much poop was beyond your comprehension.
Once you’d disposed of his soiled pajamas and bathed him, you hit another roadblock: a Harris tantrum. In your sleep deprived state, you had forgotten to pick up his latest go-to cereal at Bradley’s Big Buy. And when Harris opened the pantry and found an absence of Chex, melted down. You finally got him to catch his breath by promising to stop off at the grocery store on the way home from the library–if you ever got there.
Despite the odds, you managed to get both boys into the car. With a baby on your hip and an almost-third-grader by your side, you take a deep breath and push aside the morning’s frustrations. 
Harris places his old books on the return counter and makes a beeline for the children’s section. The moment he’s out of sight, Hendrix begins to wiggle and whine. 
“Okay, buddy,” you murmur, fielding glares from library patrons who had been savoring the silence, “just give Har a second to get some new–”
Hendrix’s shriek pierces the air, filling you with embarrassment and sending you rushing towards Harris to hurry him up.
“Mom, look! It’s the book I read to Hendrix when he was in your tummy!” He holds up Where the Wild Things Are. “I wonder if he remembers it.”
The baby wails again, and you gently shush and bounce him, though your efforts appear futile.
“Maybe. Why don’t you check it out and we can read it to him at home?”
Harris scrunches up his nose. “We’re not gonna read here?”
You shake your head. “Not today. Hendrix isn’t in a very good mood. He’s teething, remember?”
“Yeah, but…” Harris purses his lips. “Can I see something? Can you put him down for a second?”
“Har, he’s gonna crawl–”
“Just for a second, Mom!”
You sigh, defeated, and you place the baby on the carpet. Sure enough, he starts crawling away, under tables and chairs and heading for the bookshelves. But before you can scoop him up, Harris kneels on both knees, book open, and begins scooting after him.  
“The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mis–mischief of one kind,” he reads as he follows his little brother, unbothered at the prospect of being on the move. “And another…”
Hendrix weaves in and out of the aisles, but Harris is right on his tail. Screeching is quickly replaced with baby giggles, and the next time Hendrix peeks his head out from behind the shelves, there’s a smile on his face that shows all five of his teeth.
“C’mon, let’s have a wild rumpus!” Harris glances at you. “Mom, you gotta rumpus with us!”
And who are you to deny your son–and your lifesaver for the day–a wild rumpus?
--
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chrissturnsfav · 2 days ago
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rapper!chris singer!reader are at a party some guy is making singer!reader uncomfortable she tells chris what’s he doing?
⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris doesn't play about singer!reader
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the party is in full swing, music pounding through the walls, bass shaking the floor. you’re off in the corner with your friends, sipping on something strong enough to make your chest warm. it’s comfortable and easy—but then...
you notice him first out of the corner of your eye. some guy, tall, loud, one of those guys who think the whole room revolves around him. he’s been circling for a while, and now he’s here, standing too close to you, his voice cutting through your friends' laughter.
"yo, you got a name, or am i just gonna have to call you ‘pretty’ all night?" he says, grinning like he’s some fucking hot shot.
you step back slightly, keeping your smile tight as you ignore the way you cringe at his shitty ass pick up line. "i’m good, thanks."
but he doesn’t back down that easy, leaning in like he owns the air between you. you can even feel his breath on your face, and it makes your nose scrunch up. "don’t be like that. i’m just tryna talk."
his drawl makes your skin prickle, the large and crowded space around you shrinking. you glance across the room, you see chris, manspreading on a couch with his rapper friends along with nick and matt, drink in hand, blunt between his plush lips, laughing at something someone just said.
you know how he gets after a few drinks—more protective, less patient—but you don’t care. you don’t feel safe.
you make your way over, weaving coyly through bodies until you’re standing in front of him. his eyes light up when he sees you, but his smile falters slightly when he catches your expression.
"wassup, kid?" he asks, sitting up straight as he looks up at you, elbows on his knees as he plucks the blunt out from between his lips. his tone is different now, serious.
you nod back toward the guy, not even wanting to look in that direction. "some dude’s being…weird, i dunno. just don't feel comfortable."
chris smirks dangerously, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek. he sets his drink down, his jaw tightening as he looks around the sea of people. "where?"
you hesitate, but he’s already on his feet, towering over you even though he’s not that tall—just commanding. you nod toward the guy across the room, and chris follows your gaze, his eyes narrowing.
"yo, hold this," he says to nick over his shoulder, handing the blunt to his brother—who looks confused, but chris doesn't let him ask any questions before he's on the move.
he crosses the room like he’s on a mission, brushing past people like they’re invisible. you trail behind, far enough to not get in his way but close enough to see everything. chris stops in front of the guy, sizing him up before he even says a word.
"yo," chris starts, voice low but sharp enough to cut through the noise. "sum'n wrong?"
the guy looks confused, glancing between you and chris. "nah, man, nothing's wrong."
"then why the fuck you over here talkin’ to my girl?" chris asks, his tone calm but dangerous. when the guy doesn't respond—processing what's going on and who he's being confronted by—chris scoffs, the same dangerous smirk on his lips again. "you ain't hear what i said, playboy?"
the guy tries to laugh it off, holding up his hands. "i didn’t know she was with anyone."
chris steps closer, and suddenly, the space feels electric. "yeah, aight," he snickers. this guy knows damn well you had a boyfriend. of course he did, everyone knows. "you gonna jus' continue to stand here lookin’ stupid, or you gonna move before i fuckin' make you?"
the guy mutters something under his breath and backs off, disappearing into the crowd. chris doesn’t even watch him leave. he turns to you instead, his hand sliding around your hips.
"you good, mama?" he asks, his voice softer now, his eyes scanning your face.
"yeah, i’m fine," you say, feeling a little more at ease with him so close.
he pulls you in, his lips brushing against your ear. "ain’t nobody messin’ wit' you when m'here. don’t even trip."
you roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. "you’re so dramatic."
he smirks, pulling back just enough to look at you. "nah, i ain't dramatic," he chuckles, his grip on your hips tightening, hang hovering just above your ass. "ion play 'bout my girl, that's all."
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thank you for reading!! <3
tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast
@chrissturnsfav ™
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eufezco · 2 days ago
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TOLERATE IT 𓂃 𓈒 ❀
oldman!logan x fem!reader
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synopsis – the struggles with the growing distance between you and logan and holding on to a man who has already let go.
a/n – kinda inspired by tolerate it by taylor swift.
angst.
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logan was late again, though you’d stopped watching the clock weeks ago. time became meaningless when each hour felt like a reminder of how far apart the two of you had grown. he was late and you thought you preferred it this way, because when he was home, it was worse.
when he was home, he didn’t look at you, like you weren’t even there. he didn’t talk to you, offering only brief replies or silence. the man who once made you feel seen, known, and loved was now a shadow. at least when he was gone, you didn’t have to feel the sting of being invisible in your own home.
the sound of the front door opening startled you from your thoughts.
you'd been cooking dinner for him, if you stayed busy, maybe you could ignore the ache in your chest, the endless questions you no longer dared to ask. his heavy steps echoed down the hall, the unmistakable smell of alcohol followed him into the room like an unwelcome guest.
you turned toward the hall, his eyes, bloodshot, avoided yours.
—hey, —you said softly, your voice tentative.
he didn’t answer, just grunted as he moved past you and toward the chair where he always dropped his jacket.
—i've cooked you dinner, —you tried again, forcing a smile.
—not hungry.
the smile disapeared , your lips trembling slightly as you looked at him. —logan, you’ve barely eaten anything lately, —you said, your voice quieter.
—i said i’m not hungry, —he repeated, the irritation in his voice unmistakable. he didn’t even turn to face you, his focus already on loosening his tie.
you stood there for a moment, clutching the edge of the plate, so hard that you thought it would break under your fingers. the meal you’d poured so much effort into, the carefully laid table—it all felt pointless, like shouting into a void. you opened your mouth to respond, to say anything but your eyes caught on the smudge of red on the collar of his shirt. the words died on your lips, and your stomach twisted as realization hit. lipstick.
—logan? —you said, barely above a whisper.
he followed your line of sight, his expression hardening when he saw what had caught your attention. —don’t start, —he said, his voice low and warning.
—don’t start? —you repeated in disbelief. —logan, there’s lipstick on your collar. you—
—i don’t want to do this right now, —he interrupted, his voice rising slightly, frustration etched into every word.
—but... —you tried again. then you noticed how his hair was more disheveled than usual, how some buttons on his shirt were undone. ever since things started to go wrong with logan, you always had a sneaking suspicion that he was seeing other women. most of the times you didn't say anything, not because you didn’t care, but because the thought of confronting him felt more terrifying than the suspicion itself. you had convinced yourself that if this was the price you had to pay to keep him by your side, you would pay it.
but when you confronted him, he’d deny it—nothing was going on. you wanted to believe him, you tried to believe him. but you knew that something was off. there were things you couldn’t ignore and that he didn't care enough to hide, like the way he would smell different when he came home some nights—like someone else’s perfume clung to his shirt.
—i came from work fucking tired and you are trying to start a fight! these things—these things you do are what makes it so goddamn exhausting to be near you.
you didn’t just drop the plate on the floor, you smashed it. the plate carefully prepared, a gesture of love but now, just like everything else, it was broken beyond repair. without thinking, you stepped forward, closing the space between you and him, your breath coming hard and fast, your fist tight with anger.
his expression was unreadable at first, a flicker of annoyance clouding his features, but beneath it, there was something else—something like intrigue, as if he was daring you to keep going, to show him just how much he had hurt you. your pressed your finger against his chest, steady and defying.
—you don’t deserve a fucking thing I gave you, —you spat, your voice laced with fury that you had been keeping to yourself for far too long. his lips parted as if to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance. —what a shame that this mutation of yours is taking so long to kill you and that i have to be the one to suffer all the shit you are rotting in.
silence settled between you after those words. for a few seconds, you both just stood there, locked in each other’s gaze. his eyes were hard, unreadable, and you couldn't see anything shifting. no sign of regret, no sign of guilt.
—are you done? —he said finally, his tone flat, almost bored, as if your pain was just another inconvenience in his already exhausting day.
you made your way to the bedroom. as you passed him, you bumped your shoulder against his and logan closed his eyes and shook his head. you didn't let the tears fall from your eyes just yet. you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.
you collapsed in your shared bed. the sheets smelled faintly of him, even though it had been weeks since the last time he slept there, a cruel reminder of the distance between you. the sobs broke free, quiet and muffled at first, but then louder.
and he heard you from the living room.
you knew he did and you waited, even as your tears soaked the pillow, hoping—praying—that you’d hear the sound of his footsteps approaching. that he’d walk through the door, sit on the edge of the bed, and pull you into his arms like he used to. that he’d say something—anything—to let you know he still cared, still saw you.
but he didn't come.
instead, you heard the clink of his whiskey glass, the quiet sound of him trying to drown out the reality with alcohol. his attempts to ignore the sound of your sobs failed. but still, logan didn’t move.
the tears eventually took over and you fell asleep.
logan picked up the shattered pieces of the plate from the floor and then went into your room. you felt his arm slide across your back, pulling you closer to him, the warmth of his skin too familiar, too intimate, but it felt wrong now, like a cruel mockery of what it used to be. you whined and tried to push his arm away, your body tensed, trying not to surrender to the moment, and shook, trying to make it clear that you didn’t want him to touch you.
—don’t, —you muttered, still half asleep. —don’t touch me.
yet he could feel how it instinctively molded to his. your body remembered him, the way you used to fit together.
—quit it, —logan said, his voice low and rough. his arm tightened around you, firmly, to keep you from pulling away. then, just as quickly, his hold softened, arms relaxing as they hugged you.
he stayed there all night, his arm around you, holding you close in a way that felt almost natural. for the first time in what felt like forever, his breathing steadied, the weight of exhaustion pulling him into a deep sleep. you relaxed into his embrace but when you woke up the next morning, the bed felt cold. you turned, reaching out instinctively and the space where he had been was empty.
he was gone. but it wasn't surprising, not really. you should've known that he wouldn’t stay. he had always been a man who left—left conversations unfinished, left wounds unhealed, left you in pieces. what was truly surprising, more than his absence now, was the fact that he had been ever there at all.
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