#it feels too emotional for an early part of the fic in a way that can even be ooc which makes me self conscious | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ashonheavenscloud · 3 days ago

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everyone go read part one and this IMMEDIATELYYYYYYYY

i’m way too late to reposting this but i’ve been trying to recover from the irreparable damage it did to my emotions…..

who am i kidding i’m never going to recover because THIS is a masterpiece, in every sense of the word. the characterization of seokmin is perfect, the slow burn feels so tender and natural, and all the pieces coming together in the end in such a beautiful, bittersweet conclusion… this fic is my everything and i will come back to this weekly, monthly, yearly, etc etc😭😭

thank you for the early birthday gift AND FOR MAIMING MY HEART IG😭😭

because even then, i knew — l.sm { 2 }

✰ genre: non idol! seokmin x reader, stanger to lovers / kdrama au

✰ cw: female reader, petnames, cursing, seokmin is desperately down bad, slowburn, pining, so much fluff, mentions of alcohol, consuming alcohol, nsfw, oral (f recieving) protected sex, mentions of cheating, angst

✰ wc: 23k

✰ tracklist: {spotify} {apple music}

✰ navigation: {one} {two}

✰ note: play wonder - kyungsoo

≡;- ꒰ ° two꒱

After that night, everything felt different to Seokmin. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was a quiet shift in the air, a change that felt as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for him to realize something new. The kiss had unlocked something—a door between him and you, and now, everything was moving in a direction he hadn’t quite expected.

It wasn't overwhelming. Not in the way he'd feared. There was no rush, no need to hurry through the moment. Instead, he lingered in the afterglow, letting the warmth of your smile, your soft laughter, that had soon become his favorite sound, and the quiet moments you shared settle over him like a comfortable blanket. Every time he saw you, it felt a little easier, a little more natural, like this was where he was meant to be all along. But still, he couldn't help but feel nervous. Nervous in the worst and best way, the kind of nervous that made his heart flutter whenever his eyes met yours.

And he noticed, with a growing sense of quiet affection, how you started to pass by the flower shop more often. At first, it was just a passing thing, like the usual routine of grabbing him for coffee, but soon it became something more. The way your gaze lingered on the window, the way your eyes would light up when you saw him behind the counter, arranging flowers, or tidying up the shelves. It felt like a secret, even if it was simple, a little dance of shared glances and quiet moments. Sometimes you’d stop by, just for a few minutes, chatting about the most random things—weather, books, life—and he would savor those brief moments, like they meant the world to him.

It wasn’t just those little interactions, though. There were messages now—casual at first, but with every day that passed, they became more frequent, more personal. Seokmin found himself looking forward to your texts, to hearing about your day, to seeing the little things you’d share with him when he wasn’t around you. And when he’d send back something goofy or heartfelt, he couldn’t help but smile at how easily the conversation flowed. It felt… effortless. Liking you was effortless.

After that night, he and you started going out more and more often. The beach, the museum, the karaoke, they had led to more—a walk in the park, spontaneous visits to the bookstore, long talks that seemed to go on forever. It felt like the lines between friendship and something more were beginning to blur, but Seokmin didn’t mind. He wanted it, in a way he couldn’t entirely explain. Being near you felt right, felt easy in a way he hadn’t realized was possible. There was laughter now, just as there was before, but it was different. There was more intimacy in it, a warmth that wasn’t just about shared jokes or teasing. There were touches too. Small things—your hands brushing as you walked together, the moments when your fingers would linger a little longer than necessary.

And then, when the picnic he owed you was mentioned, it felt like the perfect thing to do to complement the windy weather. As he packed the charcuterie board, overloading it with more food than either of you could possibly eat, he found himself looking forward to it as he usually does whenever he would get to spend time with you.

He finds himself constantly thinking of you—wondering what you were doing, what you were thinking, how you were feeling. And it wasn’t just a fleeting thought. It lingered. It was more than just a crush or infatuation. It felt real. And though that made him apprehensive, there was something in him that wanted to take the chance, for what felt like the first time in forever.

He needed to see this through with you. You deserved that much, and more.

Maybe it was too soon to know for sure. Maybe it was too early to put a name to it. But Seokmin couldn’t ignore the way you made him feel. And as much as his past made him hesitant to dive in too quickly, he knew that somehow, with you, he was willing to at the very least, try.

The park is bathed in warm afternoon light, filtering through the trees and casting dappled shadows on the grass. Seokmin arrives with an armful of supplies, a wide, proud grin plastered on his face as he reveals his self-made “charcuterie board,” which, to your surprise, takes up nearly half the picnic blanket.

He’s packed everything. From neatly arranged meats and cheeses to stacks of crackers, olives, fresh berries, and even a few jars of spreads. He beams at your astonished laugh, like he’s managed to pull off the ultimate surprise. “I may have gotten a little carried away,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, feigning modesty, even as he’s clearly pleased with himself. He promised he would out-do your sandwiches, after all.

“A little?” you tease, biting back a smile as you watch him lay everything out with meticulous care. He hands you a cracker topped with some kind of creamy cheese and strawberry jam, watching for your reaction with a delighted anticipation. You take a bite, savoring it, and he grins wider, clearly satisfied.

“I also didn’t know what kind of cheese you would like.”

“Right,” You giggle, “and the logical solution was to bring seven different cheeses?”

He nods, leaning forward to leave a kiss on your lips before fitting another cracker into his mouth. “Course. You deserve nothing less,” he jokes.

Once you’ve both had your fill of snacking, he pulls his guitar out of its case and pats the spot directly next to him on the blanket, urging you to get closer. “Alright, time for the next part of our date.” he says, guiding your fingers to the strings with a gentle, steady touch. His fingers rest over yours as he shows you a simple chord, his face close enough that you can feel his breath on your cheek.

“Press here,” he murmurs, guiding your fingers along the frets. “And then you strum, like this.” His hand covers yours as he shows you, his touch warm and steady, his eyes flicking to yours with a soft, slightly mischievous smile.

Your first attempt is clumsy, the sound far from perfect, but he only chuckles, his thumb tracing slow circles over the back of your hand. “You’re doing great,” he assures you, squeezing your hand gently before he releases it. “Way better than I was when I first started.”

You try again, more focused this time, but his thumb starts tracing little patterns against your palm, thoroughly distracting you. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, his lips ghost over your neck until you feel them land a kiss there. The feeling makes you roll your head back against his chest and you glance up to see him watching you with a soft look in his eyes, a hint of adoration that makes your heart want to burst.

After a few minutes, the lesson dissolves entirely as he leans in, pressing another light, playful kiss to your cheek, then your forehead, before brushing his lips against yours in a way that feels perfectly effortless and natural. He laughs softly, murmuring, “You’re way better at this than you think,” before he kisses you again, longer this time, his hands resting on your waist, pulling you a little closer.

There’s a teasing edge to your voice he can clearly hear despite the fact that you’re nearly whispering. “You mean kissing? Or playing guitar?”

“Both,” He hums against your lips and you whine.

He reluctantly pulls away, placing his hands over yours again. “Alright, this is a C chord,”

Seokmin watches as you fumble with the guitar, fingers finding their place on the strings with uncertainty. His heart swells a little—he’s never thought teaching someone guitar could feel so right. But with you, it’s different. You’re here, looking up at him with wide, focused eyes, and he can’t help but lean in closer to guide you.

“Here, like this,” he says softly, his voice warm as he brushes his fingers over yours to adjust your hand on the neck of the guitar. His breath is near your ear, and you can feel the closeness, but you focus on the instrument, trying to get the chord right.

You glance up at him, an eyebrow raised, half-challenging. “Like this?”

Seokmin’s smile widens as he nods. “Exactly. That’s it.”

He lets his hand linger for a second longer than necessary, but quickly pulls back as he instructs, “Good. Now, try strumming.”

You strum the strings, but the sound doesn’t come out as clean as you’d hoped. It’s messy. You sigh, sitting back against him slightly, fingers still pressing the strings, trying to fix it.

“This is harder than it looks,” you mutter under your breath.

Seokmin laughs softly, his tone light and teasing as he leans in again. His shoulder nudges yours gently. “It’s okay, it’ll come. And if it doesn’t, that’s okay, too. Honestly, I think you look pretty cute trying.”

You raise an eyebrow and shift just slightly. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

He grins, shrugging casually. “Maybe a little. But it’s true.” His voice drops, a little softer this time.

The words linger in the air for a second, but you just laugh, trying to distract yourself with the guitar. You focus again, pressing down the strings, trying to make the chord ring true. When it does, you look up at him, eyes wide.

“Did I do it?”

Seokmin’s heart gives a little skip. The way your smile spreads, bright and genuine, makes him feel something warm settle in his chest. “Yes. Exactly like that,” he says, a little breathless. He can’t help but admire the way you’re so proud of yourself.

You’re both quiet for a moment, his gaze lingering on you. There’s something about this moment, about the way you’re looking at him that feels different. He’s not just teaching you guitar. He’s simply… enjoying being with you. And before you can respond, his hand moves, his fingers brushing gently against the side of your face. It’s a subtle touch, barely there, but it sends a little thrill through you.

Without thinking, you lean into his touch, your breath catching as his hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you in just enough for him to kiss you softly. It’s quick, but it’s sweet, and his lips linger against yours for a heartbeat longer than expected.

He pulls back just a little, and his smile softens, his eyes sparkling with something warmer, more familiar now. “That’s for getting the chord right,” he murmurs, teasing but with a softness that melts your heart.

You smile, your fingers still resting on the guitar. “Well, I’ll need a lot more kisses to learn the rest of the song, then.”

Seokmin laughs, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second before he grins, shifting closer. “Guess you’ll just have to keep playing then, huh?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “You’re a tough teacher.”

His smile widens, and he shifts again, this time nudging you gently. “I’m just giving you a reason to keep trying,” he says, his voice low and a little more serious now. “Besides, I like being close to you.”

You meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his words more than you expected. “I like being close to you, too,” you reply quietly, your voice softer now, but with a truth that hangs between you.

Before you can think, you lean in, kissing him again, this time a little longer. Seokmin responds just as eagerly, his hand moving to your waist, pulling you closer. His heart is racing now, but in a way that feels good—exciting, even. It’s not just the kiss. It’s everything that is you.

You sit there, tangled together on the blanket, the sound of his guitar a soft backdrop as the day drifts lazily by. With every touch and every stolen kiss, he pulls you further into the moment, into this lighthearted bubble where it’s just the two of you, completely caught up in each other. And as you sit together in the golden glow of the afternoon, Seokmin’s hands gentle on your fingers, guiding you through the notes, until night begins to fall, and he offers to walk you home.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Seokmin isn’t sure how long the two of you have been walking, but he doesn’t mind. Every second feels easy, peaceful. As the sun dips lower and the leaves fall from the autumn gusts of wind, casting a honeyed glow over the street, he notices how the light falls on your face, softening every edge and detail. He’s struck by how happy he feels in this moment—wandering aimlessly, your hand in his, with no real destination in mind.

It’s when you stop abruptly, tugging at his arm, that he notices the small, worn sign hanging just above an old staircase. Hidden Treasures. The name, faded and a little tilted, somehow feels right in this quiet, tucked-away corner of the city.

“Wanna go in?” you ask, and your eyes sparkle with curiosity.

He smiles, nodding without hesitation. “Lead the way.”

Inside, the shop is a world unto itself, a warm, cluttered maze of forgotten, handed down things. The air carries a mix of dust and vinyl, with a faint undertone of leather. Seokmin’s eyes drift over racks of vintage clothes, crates of records, and stacks of books and trinkets piled onto shelves. You’re already making a beeline for a shelf at the back, and he follows, quietly amused by how naturally you seem to navigate the cramped space. It’s funny—he’s never given much thought to old records or thrift stores before. But here, watching you take it all in, it seems like he’s seeing it through a different lens.

When you stop in front of a display case filled with cassette tapes, Seokmin can’t help but linger nearby, half-hidden behind a rack of jackets. He watches as you pick up a tape, studying it intently. A soft, faraway look settles on your face, and for a second, Seokmin can imagine how it might feel to be a part of that daydream. He inches closer, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Something good?” he asks casually, leaning over to look.

You glance up, and for a split second, he sees a shy, almost bashful smile. “I found one of my favorite albums.” You look down at the cassette like it’s a piece of history you’re holding in your hands.

His mind whirs as he notes the titles of the tapes you keep picking up, trying to commit them to memory without you noticing. When you’re distracted by another row of tapes, he snags a few of the ones you seemed especially drawn to and quietly slides them behind his back, out of your sight. A plan begins forming in his head, but he plays it cool, waiting for you to move on to a different section before he slips them to the cashier with a little nod.

As you wander through racks of clothes, he tries on hats for your amusement, pulling funny faces that make you laugh. He feels the warmth in his chest whenever he catches you glancing at him, your expression somewhere between amusement and…something softer.

He plucks a bowler hat from the stand, spins it dramatically in his hand, and places it atop his head. “What do you think?” he asks, striking a pose with a raised eyebrow.

You bite back a laugh, eyeing him with mock seriousness. “Very dashing, but maybe a little too serious for you.”

“Fair point.” He grins and swaps it out for a wide-brimmed sun hat, pulling it low over his eyes with a grin. “Better? I’ll wear it to our next park or beach date. And if you’re nice, I might let you borrow it sometime.”

You dissolve into laughter, nodding in approval, but he doesn’t stop there. He reaches for a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses on a nearby display and perches them on his nose, winking at you over the top of the frames.

“Now?” he asks, a glint of playful confidence in his eyes.

You shake your head, your laughter filling the space around you. He leans in closer, heart-shaped lenses reflecting your amused expression, and kisses you once, quick and teasing.

You gasp out in surprise and he’s overcome with adoration for you and your reaction, unable to resist leaning in again. He starts peppering kisses on and near your lips, humming contently against your skin.

When he catches your sweet gaze, there’s a small moment of stillness, a quiet shift in the air as he leans in again, slowly this time, brushing a tender kiss against your lips. The feel of your laughter against his mouth is enough to make his heart race, and he’s momentarily lost in how light and easy everything feels with you by his side.

You pull him back into the playful atmosphere, nudging him toward a rack of vintage shirts and jackets. “Try this one,” you insist, holding up a bomber jacket. He slips it on, giving a playful spin as you nod in approval.

“Alright, your turn,” he says, grabbing a leather jacket from the rack and holding it out to you. When you put it on, his eyes widen just a bit. “Wait… It actually kind of suits you.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely,” he laughs, watching as you adjust the jacket.

“Yours doesn’t look so bad either,” You step closer, pulling him in by the collar and planting a quick kiss on his lips before either of you has a chance to pull away.

The warmth of the kiss lingers as you both turn back to exploring the store, the silliness giving way to a gentler, more intimate mood. He trails behind you as you flip through stacks of old vinyl records, catching snippets of memories and favorite bands from you as you move down the aisle.

Eventually, you both make your way back out into the evening air, Seokmin carrying a paper bag that you assume is holding his own finds. You barely make it down the street before he stops you, looking as though he can barely contain his excitement.

“Close your eyes,” he says, his tone playful but just a little shy.

“What?” you laugh, eyebrows lifting.

“Just do it,” he insists, that familiar lopsided grin tugging at his lips.

With a bemused smile, you shut your eyes, and after a few seconds, you feel something light press into your hands. Opening your eyes, you see the cassette tapes—the very ones you’d been admiring inside. Your gaze flickers up to him, and he’s watching you with a slightly nervous, almost childlike grin.

“You didn’t—”

“I wanted to,” he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant but failing. “You said they were some of your favorites. Would’ve been rude not to let them come along.”

You can’t stop smiling, looking between the tapes and him, a small laugh bubbling out. “I can’t believe you did that.”

He shrugs again, scratching the back of his neck, his eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and a touch of nerves. “Well, it seemed important to you,” he says softly, the confession hanging between you both.

Your shared laughter fades into a quiet moment, and he’s suddenly aware of just how close you are. Before he can second-guess himself, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek—a thank-you without words. The warmth of your lips lingers long after you’ve pulled away, and he can’t hide the grin spreading across his face.

He finds himself leaning in, your laughter caught in a hushed space between you, and for a second, he wonders how it’s possible for something to feel both thrilling and completely natural at the same time. You kiss once, twice, and he’s laughing quietly against your mouth, one hand curling around your waist.

“Thank you,” you emphasize when you part, and his eyes crinkling with a smile.

“Anytime,” he says, nudging your shoulder playfully, and his heart flips at the easiness between you both.

As you slip your hand back into his, he squeezes it gently, hoping you’ll never let go.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Seokmin looks at you, eyebrows raised in mild skepticism as you pitch the idea of glamping on a Saturday morning at the shop.

“So... it’s like camping, but not?” he asks, crossing his arms. His expression is somewhere between curious and slightly worried, as though he’s imagining himself fending off mosquitoes in the middle of nowhere.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No, no—there are no bugs. And no sleeping bags on the ground, I promise. It’s more like a cozy, modern cabin with all the comforts of home. Think cute tents, soft beds, and fairy lights everywhere.”

His shoulders visibly relax, though there’s still a hint of doubt in his eyes. “And... we won’t have to make a fire from scratch or eat out of cans, right?”

“Not unless you want to,” you say, grinning. “There’ll be proper meals, maybe even a fancy coffee machine for our coffee time. It’s just like a mini vacation under the stars.”

He pauses, tilting his head as he considers it. “So... it’s basically a staycation, but outdoors.”

“Exactly!” you say excitedly, “And just imagine the view at night! You’ll love it, I promise.”

After a moment’s thought, he lets out a small sigh, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. “Alright, fine. Let’s do it. But if I see a single bug…”

The flower shop is particularly alive today, and Seokmin is convinced it has something to do with your presence. Greenery fills the shelves around you while a sunbeam slips through the window, highlighting Seokmin’s amused expression. He leans closer, grinning at your bug-handling confidence, the warmth in his gaze unmistakable. You nudge him playfully, feeling the cozy, sweet familiarity between you.

“Don’t worry,” you tease, nudging his shoulder again. “I’ll handle any bugs. All you have to do is enjoy the stars.”

He laughs, a soft, warm sound that’s almost musical. “Fine, but you owe me an extra cup of coffee if there’s anything even resembling a mosquito.” He nods, already envisioning the drive together. “Only if we can have a little barbecue. I haven’t shown you my grilling skills yet.”

“If your grilling skills are anything like your charcuterie-board-making skills, I’m in for a treat.”

He chuckles, cheeks flushing slightly as he reaches to adjust a pot on the counter, keeping his hands busy.

And so, it was decided. The following week, the two of you would go glamping. You spend the week planning out the trip, selecting a location, and picking out a menu from all the dishes Seokmin has offered to make you during your mornings at the coffee shop. Now that he had a car, neither of you had to take the bus. He’d pick you up after your time reading at the cafe and drop you off at yours with a lingering kiss and a promise to see you the next day.

The weekend came rather quickly, but suddenly, despite all the planning both of you had done, Seokmin felt completely unprepared.

He takes a deep breath, double-checking the bags in his trunk for what must be the fifth time. Snacks? Check. Extra blankets? Check. His guitar—of course, just in case there’s a moment for a quiet tune under the stars. He runs through his list again in his head, but his mind keeps drifting to one thing: you both sharing the same bed tonight.

He laughs softly to himself, feeling that mix of nervousness and excitement tightening in his chest. It’s not like he hasn’t imagined being this close to you, but now that it’s real, it feels like his imagination would never come close, as it usually did with you. He hopes he packed everything to make the evening perfect, especially the surprise he thought you’d love—a matching PJ set he’d picked out just for you, in the same soft fabric as his.

He shakes off his nerves, throwing himself one last look in the rearview mirror. “Alright, Seokmin, it’s just glamping,” he mutters to himself, trying to keep his cool. But even as he says it, he can’t help the excitement building, hoping this night turns out to be as perfect as he hopes.

Seokmin pulls up to your place, heart beating just a little faster than usual as he catches sight of you waiting downstairs. You wave and jog over, and the smile that stretches across his face is immediate. “Ready for our glamping adventure?” he asks, a playful edge to his voice as he leans over to unlock the passenger door.

“Definitely ready,” you say, settling into the seat and tossing him a grin that instantly has him feeling that familiar warmth.

With you beside him and the car loaded with bags, he pulls onto the road, a playlist of carefully selected songs filling the space between you with a perfect, mellow vibe. The early moments of the drive are filled with laughter and conversation that flows as easily as the winding road ahead. He’s already feeling more at ease; everything feels right, from the low hum of the engine to the late-afternoon sunlight spilling through the windshield, casting a glow over you.

At the first red light, he lets his hand drift over to yours, giving it a small squeeze. You look over at him, slightly surprised but smiling. “Getting bold, aren’t you?”

He laughs, feigning nonchalance. “Just felt right.” He leans in, stealing a quick kiss—soft and gentle, but enough to make his pulse quicken just a little. You’re barely pulling apart when the light turns green.

The next song that plays is one he remembers you mentioning once because you had the cassette in your collection, and as it fills the car, he sings along softly, sneaking a glance your way to see if you’ll join in. You laugh, rolling your eyes, but then you join in on the chorus, and the two of you sing as the scenery outside rushes by.

When he sees a gas station up ahead, he slows down and nods toward it. “Need anything?” he asks, pulling in.

“Let’s stock up,” you say, and he parks. Inside, the two of you pick out snacks, teasing each other over your choices—he insists that his preference for sweet and salty snacks is superior, while you counter with your taste for fruit and more “refined” options. By the time you’re back in the car, there’s a pile of snacks balanced between you, and you’re begging him to try something new.

“Come on, just one bite,” you say, holding a piece of dried mango up to him.

He rolls his eyes but relents, taking a small bite, pretending to make a face of disgust. “Alright, alright, it’s... decent,” he says, stifling a laugh. “But these,” he says, lifting up a bag of his favorite chips, “are what make a real road trip snack.”

You’re halfway through a conversation about your favorite drink choices when another red light gives him another excuse to lean in for a kiss—this one a little longer, filled with the sweetness of your laughter and the warmth of the sun filtering through the windshield. He can taste the mango on your lips, deciding it tastes much better this way than on its own.

As you get closer to the glamping site, the landscape starts to change, giving way to more open fields and a deeper blue sky overhead. He glances over at you, noting the way you’re soaking in the view. There’s something so peaceful, so effortlessly beautiful about you right now, and he finds himself thinking that this might be one of his favorite memories with you already—and you haven’t even made it there yet.

As you step out of the car, you’re immediately greeted by the scent of fresh, earthy air and the wide-open stretch of the campsite with just a hint of mountains in the distance. The skies are painted with hues of blue and the golden edges of late afternoon. You take it all in, breathing deeply, almost losing yourself in the view when you hear the trunk pop open and catch sight of Seokmin, arms already filled with bags and supplies.

He shoots you a playful, determined look. “Guess I went a little overboard, huh?”

“A little?” you laugh, eyeing the sheer number of bags and supplies he’s brought along.

But Seokmin just grins, shrugging as he starts unpacking with vigor, unloading what seems to be enough to host a small party rather than a quiet date night. He’s fully focused, setting up with precision—cooler, blankets, grilling tools, and that glorious charcuterie board he promised, which he reveals with a flourish. “Just the essentials,” he jokes, flashing a proud smile.

While he organizes, you wander a little ways down the slope, mesmerized by the way the sun lights up the fields and the soft rustling of the leaves. Just as you’re getting lost in the tranquility, you feel his arms gently slide around you from behind. He pulls you close, resting his chin on your shoulder as he takes in the view with you. It’s quiet, with only the sounds of nature around and the soft weight of his embrace.

He leaves a few kisses on your cheek that you lean into, smile breaking out into your face as he squeezes your waist tighter.

“Pretty, huh?” you ask, smiling as you tilt your head back slightly to meet his gaze.

“Yeah, it really is,” he murmurs, but he’s looking at you, not the scenery, and his voice has that familiar softness that makes your heart skip.

You stand there for a little while, content just to be in his arms, until your stomach gives a not-so-subtle reminder. You laugh, breaking the quiet moment, and admit shyly, “Sorry, I’m starving.”

“I’m on it, baby.” Seokmin releases you, rolling up his sleeves with a mock serious expression as he heads toward the grill.

You settle down at the little table he’s set up, watching as he works with surprising ease, flipping open the grill and setting up a few slices of pork belly, grilling each piece with careful attention. He even hums a little tune as he works, glancing over at you every now and then to catch your eye, flashing you a smile that’s more than a little pleased.

You laugh, rolling your eyes but feeling the warmth of his thoughtfulness all the same. As you watch him tend to the food, the sun dipping lower in the sky, you feel a surge of gratitude for the moment, for his sweet, over-prepared heart.

When a piece looks just right, he grabs a little plate, places the pork belly on it, and uses his chopsticks to bring it up, blowing on it gently to cool it down. “C’mere,” he mumbles, a playful glint in his eyes.

You lean forward, opening your mouth as he feeds it to you, watching with a mix of nerves and pride as you chew. The flavors burst in your mouth, rich and perfectly grilled, and you let out an appreciative hum, nodding enthusiastically.

He beams, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks. “Yeah?” He moves closer, his gaze lingering on you, and before you can respond, he leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a quick, soft kiss.

It leaves you smiling, and you can’t help but laugh softly, giving him a playful nudge. “Trying to win over the food critic, huh?”

“Absolutely,” he murmurs, leaning in to reconnect your lips for longer, until both of you are a little breathless, smiles lingering as he pulls back to check on the grill.

The two of you linger over the grill, savoring every bite of grilled pork belly and vegetables, laughing at how much food Seokmin managed to bring. Just when you think you’re too full, he pulls out the last surprise: a box of instant ramen he’d brought just in case. “I mean, what’s camping without some ramen, right?” he says, grinning as he sets up the small camping stove.

“Of course,” you laugh, eyes wide with amusement. “As if I’d let you eat it all yourself.”

The ramen simmers quickly, filling the air with its savory scent. When it’s finally ready, you take turns slurping from the pot, laughing between bites, blowing on the noodles to cool them down. “This is seriously perfect,” you say, giving him a playful nudge. “You really thought of everything, didn’t you?”

Seokmin blushes, looking sheepish but pleased as he scratches the back of his head. “I wanted to make it nice for us.”

“It is,” you assure, giving him a soft, affectionate smile.

As you finish up the last of the ramen and start stacking up the dishes, you come up beside him, resting your head on his arm. “I’m gonna shower. I smell like pork belly.” He’s rummaging through something in a bag, but you can’t see what it is over his broad shoulders.

That’s when Seokmin clears his throat and turns around, looking down at his hands nervously, seemingly gathering his thoughts.

“Actually, um…” he starts, then holds up an item. You can’t tell what it is just yet, but the soft blush on his cheeks lets you know that he’s been planning this moment, even if he’s a little shy about it. “I, uh… thought you might like these.”

You look at him, then down at the pajamas, recognizing that they match his. “Wait, matching PJs?” you ask, eyes lighting up in surprise.

He nods, laughing awkwardly. “Yeah… I just thought it’d be fun. But if it’s, you know, too much or—”

“Not at all,” you cut in, grinning. “It’s adorable.”

His face brightens, and he lets out a relieved breath, clearly pleased that you like the gesture. “Good. That’s… good,” he mumbles, finally meeting your gaze with a shy smile. He gestures toward the showers, still looking flustered but undeniably happy.

You head off to shower with the pajamas tucked under your arm, feeling the warmth of his thoughtfulness wrap around you as you go.

After both of you have showered and changed, the air between you shifts, becoming softer, closer, and undeniably more intimate. The small glamping cabin feels cozy with the lights dimmed, the sounds of the night drifting softly in through the open window. Sitting cross-legged across from each other, you’re in the matching pajamas he picked out—an idea that seemed cute and innocent just hours ago but now has become the bane of his existence. Your set is a top that matches his, but instead of long pants, yours comes with shorts.

It’s not like he hadn’t seen you in shorts or a skirt before, but he hadn’t… felt your bare legs against him like he would tonight. Tonight, when he’d have to sleep next to you. God, he feels like a fucking virgin.

Seokmin’s eyes keep drifting over to you, taking in the way your smooth skin glows under the dim light, how relaxed and comfortable you look. His gaze lingers on the delicate line of your collarbone, the soft rise of your shoulders, and the way a few stray strands of hair frame your face. He tries to focus on your conversation, on the way you keep checking that the chords you’re mindlessly playing on his guitar are correct, but every laugh, every casual touch, sends his heart racing a little faster.

“You keep staring,” you tease, your voice light and playful as you stop playing, but there’s a boldness behind it that sends a thrill down his spine.

He laughs, embarrassed but unable to deny it. “I can’t help it,” he admits softly, giving you a sheepish smile. “You’re… really beautiful.”

The words hang between you, soft but full of meaning. You reach over, gently placing a hand on his knee, your fingers lingering just a little longer than usual. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you say, voice just above a whisper.

The warmth of your touch feels electric, and he doesn’t resist the urge to lace your fingers with his. A small silence settles between you, but it feels anything but empty.

You tilt your head, leaning a little closer, and he follows your lead, heart pounding as he lets himself close the distance just a bit. The edges of your pajamas brush against each other as you inch closer, and before he realizes it, he’s right there, his hand reaching to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

As he leans in to kiss you, the guitar makes a foul sound, strings having been disturbed between your bodies and you laugh. “Let me move this, yeah?”

He nods wordlessly, watching as you pick it up and carefully lay it inside the open case on the ground. His eyes trail after you as you rejoin him on the bed, watching the way you sit closer this time, your weight on your knees so that you’re hovering above him only slightly. Your palms come down to rest on his shoulders, and your lips, which he’d unknowingly been staring at for the last few seconds, finally meet his in a tender kiss. It's slow, careful, full of thought and feeling and tamed nervousness all at once as your hands wrap around his neck. It doesn’t take long before his lips part and your tongue meets his, head tilting in order to better taste him, desperate to feel him closer in any way he’ll let you have him.

He's kissed you before, he’s felt the closeness between you two before, but this—this feels like the part of the song where every instrument comes together in harmony. There’s an unexpected depth to the way his hands find the small of your back, in the way you whine and sigh out in utter need, in how you fit so easily against him.

A part of him panics, scrambling to put a name to what he’s feeling. It’s something big, bigger than he’s been ready to admit even to himself. Every moment he’s spent with you flickers in his mind, and it feels like he’s been collecting pieces of a story that only now makes sense. He doesn’t just care for you. He doesn't just like you. The feeling pressing in his chest, warm and weighty, is something else entirely—persistent, relentless, constant.

As your lips leave his to kiss down his jaw and neck, he wonders, dazed, if you can feel it too. This gravitational pull, he’s wrapped up in it. With each wet mark you leave behind on his neck, he’s free-falling further, and he realizes it’s too late to stop. He's already far beyond the point of no return.

Seokmin doesn’t hesitate to respond to your body, the space between you becoming both smaller and warmer as he tugs you closer until you’re practically situated on his lap. You let out a small, surprised gasp as you settle onto his thighs, hands sliding back up until they’re raking through his hair.

As Seokmin slowly lowers you onto the soft bedding, the world outside feels distant, muted, as though it's been replaced by the gentle rhythm of your breathing and the steady thrum of his heart. His hands tremble, just slightly, but it’s not from uncertainty.

He hovers above you for a second, eyes tracing your features, like he's trying to commit every detail to memory. There's a stillness between you, but it’s not awkward—just quiet, full of anticipation and softness. He touches your cheek gently, his thumb skimming over your skin.

"I..." he starts, words escaping him for a moment. He wasn’t sure what he’d wanted to say, but now all that’s left is the weight of the feelings he’s been holding back. He doesn't force it out, though, unsure if he can say anything that would encapsulate how he feels.

Instead, he leans down again, slowly, giving you the space to meet him halfway. His lips find yours once more, soft and tender, the kiss full of the things he can’t yet bring himself to voice. With each press of his mouth to yours, his body hums with the need to be close, to be tangled up with you, to feel you so completely.

When he pulls back, he stays close, forehead resting against yours, sharing the same breath. His heart beats faster than usual, as you utter his name in a single breath. “Seokmin?”

“Yes?”

“I… I need this off. Please.” You whisper, tugging at his shirt. He realizes immediately what you’re implying—or better said, what him taking his shirt off implies; his heart rattles wildly as he nods quickly.

He wastes no time in giving you exactly what you want, only hesitating to offer you the chance to change your mind. When you don't, laying there with your hair fanned out across the pillow and your eyes dazed and your lips still wet and swollen from his kiss, he pulls it off in one motion. He carefully observes the way your eyes trail down and right back up to meet his, a warmth spreading across his cheeks.

“Help me with mine?” You plead softly, and he has to physically force his eyes to not roll back at the sultriness and vulnerability laced in your tone. He can’t help the low groan that escapes him, however, as he slides his slender fingers under the hem of your shirt and begins to lift it off of you.

And with this, he takes his sweet, sweet time, holding his breath as inch by inch, more of your smooth skin is exposed to him. Until the swell of your breasts appears under the fabric. You sit up a little to help him slip it over your head and when you lay back down, Seokmin swears he might die.

You can tell he needs a bit of a push, made obvious in the way he’s become gone completely still above you, jaw slack and chest heaving, so you grab his hand that sits at your hip and slide it up, molding it over your chest. Only then does he take some initiative to slide his thumb over your nipple and dip his head down to kiss your lips with a suppressed moan.

“Do you know how much you mean to me?” The words spill out before he can help them, though he feels no embarrassment, especially not when you smile lazily up at him, eyes flickering between his.

You nod without missing a beat, letting your fingertips brush back a few strands of hair that have fallen in front of his eyes.

“I feel the same way.” You reassure, and that’s all it takes for him to kiss you again. This kiss is different from the last in just about every way; it’s desperate, wet, full of passion and you reciprocate it with just as much fervor, whining out when his hips roll into yours once, then twice, then as many times as it takes for the two of you to begin panting in each other’s mouths from the friction.

Seokmin kisses your neck and down your sternum, using his hands to push both of your breasts together so he can alternate between licking and sucking at both of them with ease. He eats up every little whimper you let him have, returning the sound to you with no restraint as he rubs himself against your core.

You watch him carefully, the way his jaw tenses when he bites down on your skin, the way he glances up at you through his brows as he swirls his tongue on your abdomen.

He lives and breathes for each little hiccup you let out, the whimpered chants of his name and ��more” and “yes” only encouraging him to absolutely ravish you.

“I’m gonna take this off, okay?”

You nod, letting his fingers trail around the waistband of your shorts. He hooks his fingers on either side, watching your face as he slips them down your thighs to discover the prettiest little lacy panties. They’re a midnight blue to match the night sky, and somehow, even through the dark material he can spot a wet mark from your slick.

A sound rumbles from his chest, “You’re so-” he starts, but he’s interrupted by your moan, one that he draws from you the moment he runs a single digit over your clothed core.

“Seokmin,” you pant, hips rolling up to meet his finger as it rubs you over and over again. He’s focused, keen on catching every little shift of your breath so can conjure up a trend of what you enjoy most. When he leans in to kiss your cunt, you almost lose your mind. It has formed a heartbeat entirely separate from the one rattling in your chest, and your body, which responds so well and obediently to his every touch, has altered itself to flutter in time with each one of his kisses.

The material of your panties is so thin it’s almost easy to pretend it’s not there. Seokmin could have easily moved it aside, but he felt the need to create a pace, for your sake and his. If he had already tasted your slit, he’s sure he would have come untouched in his pants and this was the only sleepwear he brought, so it had to last him until tomorrow, too.

His concentration doesn’t falter for a second, hands moving to cradle your thighs, rubbing them and squeezing your flesh as if he couldn’t believe your bare skin was truly in his hold. You’re becoming restless, he can tell, because you’re writhing, hands trembling as they reach for his hair.

“Take them off,” you beg. “I need to feel you.” You can’t take it anymore, the way he’s making out with your folds without any direct contact. You need to feel the drag of his tongue, the softness of his lips, without any material in the way.

When he hums against you, the vibration feels wondrous. Being the great listener he is, he fulfills your request instantly. Your panties are dragged down your legs and tossed aside. Less than a second later, he leans his weight on his elbows, marveling at the sight before him.

With his pupils blown wide, he mumbles something in between a plea and a praise, but it’s indiscernible because he’s already started to kiss you, whatever he’s said getting lost against your skin. His lips attach to the innermost part of your thigh, teeth nibbling boldly as you squirm. He doesn’t mean to be such a tease, but when all you want is to feel his mouth on you and he’s busied himself with marking the skin nearest to where you need him, you can’t help but whine in protest.

“I can’t take it anymore.” You whisper, and he looks up to meet your eyes.

It’s in a soft, lust-dripped voice that he requests, “let me take my time with you,” but you quickly shake your head.

“Please,” you try to beg, and the silkiness of your voice makes his dick swell inside his pants. He leans up, face close to yours and observing the way your cheeks redden from the humiliation of begging so shamelessly. He cracks a small grin and brings a hand up to hold your jaw affectionately, but firmly, as he kisses you.

Seokmin's lips break away from yours, his breath hot against your skin as he gazes deeply into your eyes. "Are you sure?" he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sends shivers down your spine. His fingers trail down your side, and you nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

"Seokmin," you moan, your voice ragged and desperate. "Please..."

He looks up at you, his expression one of such raw desire that it takes your breath away. "I need you so much," he admits, his voice thick with emotion. "But I want to make sure that you're okay... that this is what you want."

You nod again, more urgently this time, your body thrumming with need. "Yes, yes," you insist, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I want you."

With a growl of satisfaction, he shifts his weight. You feel his fingers press against you, tentative at first, but then firmer as he begins to explore your wetness. You gasp at the touch, your hips bucking involuntarily.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice reverent as he continues to stroke you. "So perfect... I can't believe I get to be inside you."

His words send a thrill through you, making your heart race even faster. You watch as he removes his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to taste you. His eyes lock onto yours as he licks his fingers clean.

With a gentle yet firm grip, Seokmin lifts your legs, hands holding them to your chest. He leans in closer, his dark hair brushing against your inner thighs as he moves. Your skin tingles where it grazes you, and you bite your lower lip to stifle a moan. Seokmin's eyes never leave yours, his gaze intense and full of purpose. He lowers his head, his warm breath fanning over your sensitive core, sending shivers up your spine.

His tongue licks a stipe up your folds, tasting you for the first time. The sensation is electric, shock waves of pleasure radiating from the point of contact. You gasp, your back arching slightly as you try to ground yourself. Seokmin's hands on your thigh tightens momentarily, holding you steady as he continues his exploration.

With a groan at the feeling of you clenching against him, his tongue delves deeper, each stroke calculated, designed to elicit the most profound responses from your body. You can feel the heat pooling between your legs, your arousal growing with each passing second.

"God, Seokmin," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your racing heartbeat. His name sounds so unbelievably sweet on your lips, a mantra of trust and desire.

His mouth works feverishly now, his tongue flicking against your clit, occasionally pausing when he decides to wrap his lips around you or lay his tongue flat for friction. His teeth graze your clit lightly, a teasing nibble that sends sparks through your entire body. You cry out, your hips lifting involuntarily to roll against his face. He responds by increasing the intensity, his tongue now working in unison with his fingers, plunging into you as his mouth focuses on your bud.

You can feel your orgasm building, and Seokmin senses it too, his actions becoming more urgent, more frantic. It’s obvious that he wants nothing more than to give you your release. The way he grinds himself down into the bedding shows that he’s just as affected as you are, and it only turns you on more. Every pant and moan he lets out against you is dizzying and overwhelming. As he leans back for a second to study your swollen, glistening cunt, you let out a whine.

His hand slides up to cup your breast, squeezing gently as his mouth devours you again, murmuring a quiet “Sorry,” into your folds.

"Seokmin, I'm... I'm close," you manage to gasp, your voice strained with need.

He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded and glossed over. "Let go for me, baby." he murmurs against your slick skin, his words sending a fresh wave of sensation through you. He leans down enough to stick his tongue in you, and the moment he does, you feel his nose bump your clit.

That was it—all it took for you to fall apart. Your body convulses, your muscles tightening and releasing in a torrent of ecstasy. Seokmin, driven by your cries, continues his relentless assault as you gasp and tremble beneath him. It feels endless, a cascade of bliss that leaves you breathless.

You knew his big ass nose would come in handy.

When the waves of pleasure finally subside, you lay there, spent and sated. Seokmin remains between your legs, his gaze never leaving yours. He seems content, as if he had just accomplished something monumental, and at the same time, awe stuck by how absolutely fucked out you look.

"Seokmin," you whisper again, your voice soft and filled with wonder.

“I know,” he mutters, crawling back up your body to kiss your lips sweetly. With deliberate slowness, he drags his pants down and lines himself up, his tip nudging at your entrance.

Suddenly, he stops, burying his face into your chest as he realizes one thing.

“What’s wrong?” You run a hand through his hair and he looks up at you, trying not to look too disappointed. If all he got to do today was eat you out, he would die a happy man.

“I didn’t bring condoms.” He sighs, “I mean… I would’ve, but… I didn’t want to assume we would– I would never want you to feel like–”

“All that overpacking and you didn’t think to bring a condom?” You giggle, letting your thumb caress his cheek.

He grumbles, huffing out with exasperation as he hides his face in your skin again.

After a moment, you hum contemplatively, and he can’t help but notice how little this seems to be affecting you. He ignores the pang in his chest and contemplates excusing himself to finish in the bathroom when you whisper the last thing he thought he might hear right about now: “It’s a good thing I did.”

Slowly, he cranes his head to look back up at your eyes with his own wide ones. You wink, and he lifts himself up a little too eagerly as you tell him “They’re in my backpack. Side pocket.”

The way he rolls out of the bed and jogs over makes you laugh, rushing to find the shiny packet in your bag. When he does, he holds it up to showcase it and runs back over to you, reassuming his position between your legs.

“You brought so many.” He blushes and you laugh.

“Just in case. You’re not the only one who came prepared.”

The giggles from the short interruption dissolve into happy, contented sighs as he presses his lips to yours with want. He only breaks the kiss to lean back on his heels and tear the packet open, fully removing his pants this time and slipping on the pastel colored rubber.

You hold your breath as you feel him poking your thigh, every muscle in your body tense with anticipation. Then, with a deep sigh, he guides himself to your entrance and pushes inside, inch by inch. You gasp at the intrusion, your body stretching to accommodate him, and he freezes, waiting for you to adjust.

"Relax for me," he whispers, his voice soothing as he distracts you from any discomfort by dragging his lips from the corner of your mouth to your jaw.

When you nod and tug his hips closer, he begins to move, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in, his actions slow and measured.

The sensation is overwhelming, being wrapped up in you, surrounded by your soft walls. It’s so warm and so wet, better than he could ever have imagined. The way you squeeze him, the way your hands cling to him—the way you let his name fall from your lips like it belongs there. His emotions are so heightened, he has to slow down to not finish already.

You moan, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you, and he bends down to kiss you, his tongue licking at your bottom lip as he continues to thrust. The sound of your combined moans fills the tent, mingling with the rustle of fabric and the soft murmur of the night outside.

Seokmin's pace gradually increases, his movements becoming more forceful, more desperate. You can feel the strain in his muscles, the tension in his body as he tries to hold back, to savor every moment. But the need is too great, the connection between you too powerful, and soon he's lost in the rhythm, his thrusts hard and steady, each one driving you closer to the edge.

"I'm so close," you gasp, your voice breaking as a particularly deep thrust hits just the right spot. "Please, please, please..."

He responds by increasing his speed, his hips snapping against yours with brutal precision. You can feel the pressure building inside you, a coiling sensation that threatens to explode at any moment. Your body arches off the bed, your nails digging into his back as you chase after that elusive climax.

"Shit, baby,” he mumbles, his voice strained. "Let me feel you come around me." His hands come up to hold yours, fingers intertwining as you mumble incoherently, squeezing your eyes shut.

And then, with one final, shuddering thrust, you do. Your body seizes, the second wave of ecstasy crashing over you as your breath catches, your release washing over you in pulsing waves. Seokmin follows closely behind, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he spills inside the condom, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm.

For a long moment, neither of you move, simply basking in the afterglow of your shared release. Seokmin's breath is warm against your skin, his heartbeat slowly returning to normal as he nuzzles into you. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers, his voice so soft you wonder if you imagined it.

But before you can respond, he lifts his head, his eyes searching yours, forever prioritizing your needs over his. “Was that okay?”

You smile, “More than okay,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

A look of sheer joy spreads across his face, and he leans down to kiss you once more, his lips lingering against yours.

“You tired, pretty girl?”

“Just a little.”

“Let me clean you up, yeah?

You hum as he gives you a one last kiss and slips out of you with a hiss, sensitive still. He tosses the condom in the trash and slips on a pair of briefs, still a little shy to be naked in front of you, despite what just went down. He goes over to the bathroom to grab some towelette wipes and a towel.

“Let me see, honey.” He spreads your legs again, leaving a kiss at your knee before wiping away the wetness that leaked out of you. He uses the wipe, then dries you off with the towel, tossing both things before going towards your bag.

“Where do you have your panties?”

“Front pocket…” You mumble tiredly. A small grin forms on his face at how sweet you sound, tired, still caught up in your post orgasmic bliss. He picks out a pretty pair, white and lacy, and helps you slip it on. “You cold? Want me to get you a shirt?”

This time, you can only nod, eyelids heavy with sleep. To avoid bothering you again with the question of ‘Where do you keep your shirts?’ he grabs one of his own and gently lifts you off the mattress to slip it over your head. You hum softly, grabbing his hand to pull him to bed as he tries to pull away again. Seokmin thinks his heart might burst. He kisses your knuckles softly, cheeks glowing.“One second, I promise,” he coos, “I just need to dim the lights.”

As soon as he flips the switch and dims the fairy lights, he settles down beside you, feeling your arms instinctively reach for him, wrapping around his waist as you draw yourself closer.

Your face is buried against his shoulder, a soft, contented sigh escaping as you nestle in. Your breathing evens out almost immediately, eyelids fluttering closed as the last hints of wakefulness slip away. Seokmin can feel the gentle weight of your legs tangling with his, pulling him into your warmth and, for a moment, he just watches—completely captivated by how you feel against him.

A small smile tugs at his lips as he brushes his fingers over your arm, savoring this closeness and the peaceful look on your face. Every bit of tension melts away as he breathes in your familiar, comforting scent. He knows you’re fast asleep now, fully trusting and at ease in his arms, and that thought alone is enough to make his heart swell.

For the first time in a long while, he feels completely at peace. So, he lets himself relax, tucking you close as he watches over you, basking in the soft quiet of the night.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The first time Seokmin wakes up next to you, he decides the world will never give him enough mornings by your side.

It’s evident in everything that surrounds the two of you on that Sunday morning—it’s in the breeze blowing through the curtain of the window that you had left open the night before. It’s in the blanket you had hogged in your slumber, exposing one of his legs to feel the warm welcome of the early sun peeking in through that very window. It’s your breath that he can hear by his ear, light and shallow and calm, through soft parted lips he can’t wait to feel on his again.

It’s your skin, smooth and delicate. It’s near him, on him, touching him in different places, across his legs and chest and arms and neck; he can’t keep count, he just knows he’s enveloped in you—and it’s igniting the most intense adoration within his bones. The kind he might have felt long ago, the kind that grips his heart and thoughts with no means of slowing down.

It’s you, beside him, and suddenly, he can’t bear the thought of sleeping alone again.

Your rustling brings a smile to his face, simply because he’s eager to meet your eyes once more. And when they open, unfocused but searching for his face too, they crinkle into half moons and Seokmin swoons.

This moment, so simple and familiar, feels perfect. It’s then, when he’s least prepared, caught off-guard in his sleepy haze and admiring your soft, tired features, that he hears you say it:

“I love you.”

From the moment the words leave your mouth, his own sit on the tip of his tongue, begging to be uttered back.

Instead, he offers you silence. Seconds of silence after a confession so vulnerable, so true—a confession he’s needed and longed to hear from you since the moment he kissed you that first night under the flickering streetlight.

That word—love—feels dangerous, almost cursed. The last time he’d said it to someone, the last time he felt love for someone and told them so with no hesitation in his mind, with no consideration for his fragile heart, he was humiliated. It’s silly, he knows, but each time he’d said those words before, they’d somehow signaled the beginning of the end. And he could not bear to see the end of things with you. And now, looking into your hopeful eyes, that same fear rears its head, cold and stubborn, whispering that to say it back is to invite heartbreak, to open himself up to being left behind again. It’s irrational, maybe, but the thought is paralyzing.

He swallows, managing a soft smile, trying his best to keep his face composed as his mind raises and his voice threatens to shake. His fingers brush your cheek as he murmurs the same words he uttered to you last night, “You have no idea how much you mean to me.” It’s the best he can manage, the closest he can get to saying it without actually risking the word. He hopes it’s enough, hopes you can see the love in his eyes, even if he can’t yet bring himself to say it out loud.

“It’s okay,” you say softly, offering him a small, understanding smile. “I didn’t say it because I expected you to say it back. I said it because… well, because that’s how I feel.”

You seem to understand, at least partially, your hand squeezing his, and he can see the glimmer of acceptance in your gaze. He knows it won't be enough—momentarily, perhaps, or for an unknown amount of time, but not forever.

You squeeze his hand again, letting out a quiet breath. “I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready,” you say, voice warm and steady. “And until then… I’m here.”

He feels the tension ease just a bit, his heart swelling with both relief and guilt. You’re being so patient, so open, and it only makes him want to be brave for you. But he just nods for now, pressing his lips into a thin line as he manages, “Thank you. For understanding.”

You give a faint nod, a smile that tries to hide the slight sadness in your eyes, and he feels his heart twist. He wishes he could tell you that he feels it too—that your confession wasn’t one-sided. But for now, he stays silent, feeling the weight of what you’ve given him settle in.

“Do you wanna get up?” He offers softly. You instantly shake your head, burying your face into his bare chest.

“Five more minutes?” you mumble. You peek up at him, your smile sleepily mischievous, and Seokmin chuckles, his hand brushing a stray hair from your face.

“Five minutes, ten—however long you want,” he whispers, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your lips. It’s unhurried, as if the whole world could wait while the two of you are wrapped up like this, tangled in each other.

When you shift beside him, stretching your arms out lazily, you glance at him with a small, reassuring smile that eases his heartbeat just a bit. He’s grateful for the way you make things easy, like even this moment doesn’t have to be heavy if you don’t want it to be. You run a hand over your face, yawning, before nudging him with your elbow.

“Guess we should get up,” you say, your tone light and natural. “Don’t want to waste a good morning, right?”

He gives a half-smile, nodding as he follows you out of bed, and you throw him a playful look over your shoulder.

“Unless you were hoping I’d stay and keep you company in bed all day?” you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice. His eyes widen slightly, a bit taken aback by your ease, but he can’t help the shy grin that spreads across his face.

“I wouldn’t complain,” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

And with that, you slip past him to get ready, leaving him with a sense of relief—and an unmistakable, lingering warmth.

Seokmin manages to shake off some of his nerves, filling the air with his easy going laughter as he cooks breakfast and teases you over little things, falling back into the playful rhythm the two of you share so naturally.

Your voice echoes there, soft and steady, the simple weight of those words still settling over him. Every time he catches a glimpse of you—whether it’s the gentle way you sip your coffee or the absent-minded way you tuck your hair behind your ear—it stirs a quiet ache he can’t ignore.

As Seokmin finishes up the breakfast, he watches you from the corner of his eye, letting the simple moments drift by like steady waves, lapping at the shore of his thoughts. There’s something calming about the way you settle into the space around him, fitting so easily into this quiet morning routine together, as if it’s something you’ve done a hundred times before. He hands you a plate, his fingers brushing yours briefly, and the warmth that spreads through him feels steady, grounding.

You look up, catching his gaze with a small, grateful smile that makes his chest tighten. He watches as you take a bite, the way your eyes light up with approval, and he feels his nerves settle just a little more.

“Good?�� he asks, half-laughing as you give a quick nod, cheeks full, and he finds himself grinning at the way you look.

Between bites, the two of you chat, slipping into your familiar rhythm. He makes a lighthearted comment about your hair sticking up in the back, and you laugh, nudging his arm. Somewhere in the banter, you catch his hand in yours, resting there naturally like it belongs.

Seokmin can't help but replay those three words you said over and over in his mind, thinking of the quiet certainty in your voice, the way your eyes held his as if no hesitation existed. And now, with you here beside him, he almost says it back, the words, the words itching to be let out. But he doesn’t—he can’t; not yet.

Instead, he gently squeezes your hand, hoping, in some way, that you can feel the depth of his affection in the simple, steady warmth of his touch. The way his gaze lingers on you speaks volumes he isn’t yet brave enough to say. And you smile at him, as if you know.

The rest of the day drifts by like a dream, bathed in golden afternoon light that slowly deepens into the cool, quiet tones of evening. After breakfast, the two of you go for a short walk around the grounds, wandering past trees in full autumn colors, the air crisp and bracing. Occasionally, Seokmin’s fingers find yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that feels both grounding and unspokenly affectionate.

As it turns out, you and Seokmin have a knack for stumbling into things—quite literally. He catches his foot on a root hidden beneath the leaves, nearly pulling you down with him by your attached hands as he laughs, scrambling to regain balance with a sheepish grin. You poke fun at him, of course, only to nearly slip on a patch of damp grass a few steps later, and Seokmin’s hand shoots out to steady you, laughing as he catches you in his arms.

“You were saying?” he teases, eyebrows raised, his playful smirk softened by the affection in his gaze.

Later, as evening settles in, you sit together outside on the small porch, wrapped up in blankets and each other, watching the stars begin to pepper the sky. Seokmin pulls his guitar into his lap and plays a few soft, mellow chords, humming quietly, his voice blending with the evening calm. Occasionally, he looks up at you, his gaze tender and constantly admiring, as it always is.

By the time you head inside, there’s an anticipation between you, growing steadily when the two of you embrace after your showers. The glow of the small lamp fills the room, casting soft shadows on the walls as you settle into the bed together. You both fall into an easy rhythm of conversation and laughter, whispers blending into quiet confessions and gentle touches, which eventually lose their innocence. Even then, there’s no rush, no need for words, just a sense of closeness that feels like a second skin. As one kiss leads to another, the night takes on a similar course as it had the previous evening—one that feels both familiar and thrilling in its newness. In the stillness of the campsite under the moon and stars, there’s only the soft sound of breaths, kisses, and… Well.

The next morning arrives with a gentle sunlight spilling through the windows, casting everything in a warm glow. You wake slowly, savoring the feeling of lying next to him with the comfort of his presence still wrapped around you. You share soft smiles as you both get ready, packing up the last of your things in a comfortable, tired haze. There’s a sweetness in the routine, the way he hands you your jacket and steals a quick kiss on your cheek, as if he can’t help himself.

The drive home feels just as perfect as the drive there—filled with little moments of laughter and teasing, fingers brushing over the console, songs you hum along to together. Seokmin stops for your staple coffee time halfway to home, passing you a cup with a small grin. You glance out the window occasionally, taking in the passing landscape, but every time you turn back to him, he’s already looking at you, a soft warmth in his eyes.

It’s only when he pulls up to your place that a sense of reality settles in, a quiet reluctance to let the trip end. He helps you with your bags, walking you to your door with that familiar ease, and there’s a bittersweetness in his goodbye kiss, lingering a moment longer as if to preemptively make up for the inevitable time apart.

“See you soon?” he says softly, his hand still holding yours.

You nod, and the warmth in his gaze tells you everything you need to know, even as he steps back down the hall and out of sight.

Weeks after your first confession, you and Seokmin have fallen into an easy rhythm that feels like second nature. He’s more open now, sharing silent looks across the table, catching you with a gaze that feels almost as sentimental as the words you’re longing for him to say. He’s grown comfortable in so many ways, but in quiet moments, you still see it—that flicker of hesitance, like something inside him just can’t cross a line he’s drawn. And tonight, with the city lights casting a soft glow around his apartment, you feel ready to try again.

The two of you settle close on his couch, your legs brushing against each other as you both sink into the comfort of the evening. A movie flickers on the screen, but it’s more of a backdrop than the main event, something you both occasionally glance at in between kisses, light touches, and murmured exchanges.

Seokmin leans back slightly, his fingers brushing through your hair as you press closer, sharing soft, lingering kisses. It’s slow, unhurried, and he lets himself forget everything else for a while, entirely caught up in the feeling of you next to him. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, giving a gentle squeeze. After a while of pretending to watch the screen, he pulls you a little closer, his gaze searching yours for a moment before he tilts his head, brushing another soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. And then another, slower and deeper this time.

His nose digs into your cheek and you smile, cradling his face in your hands, letting them wander around to the back of his neck, where you run your fingers through his hair.

The movie fades further into the background, replaced by warmth and soft laughter as you lose yourselves in each other, both of you letting the feeling settle deeper into your bones. It’s simple, but for Seokmin, it’s the kind of night that reminds him why he’s feeling so swept up in you.

You turn toward him on the couch, reaching out to trace your fingers gently along his arm, and catch his gaze. He smiles, eyes softening as he leans into your touch. The moment feels right, and with a steadying breath, you let the words spill out again: “I love you.”

For a moment, he goes completely still. You see a rush of emotion in his eyes, something soft, vulnerable and unguarded, and you think—just for a heartbeat—that this might be the time he finally lets go of whatever’s holding him back. But the warmth fades, replaced by that familiar shadow of hesitation. His fingers curl around yours, gripping tight as if holding on could substitute for the words he can’t bring himself to say. He presses his lips to the back of your hand and sighs.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion, his gaze falling as though he’s searching for something on the floor.

Your gaze drops from his too, focusing somewhere off to the side, and your grip on his hand loosens, as if without thinking, like something in you is just pulling away.

A soft, reassuring smile comes to your lips, and you do your best to hold it there, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. When he squeezes your hand, he feels you squeeze back, and you’re still right there beside him, warm and present. But Seokmin can feel the edges of something—uncertainty, maybe—hovering, just barely.

While your heart aches with a sting that’s sharper than last time, you brush it aside, leaning closer to reassure him, trying to smooth the hurt in both of you. “It’s okay, Seokmin,” you whisper, thumb tracing over his knuckles softly. “I didn’t say it to hear it back… I just wanted you to know.”

His eyes meet yours, full of regret and something else—something deeper that can’t be voiced. He gently lifts your hand, pressing it against his chest, over his heart, as if willing you to feel everything he wishes he could say. “I’m so sorry. It’s… it’s not fair to you.” His voice trembles, the words catching in his throat. “It’s not that I don’t feel it, I just…”

You nod slowly, holding his gaze even though your own emotions are mixed—somewhere between understanding and the ache of waiting. “I know you care about me, Seokmin. I’m trying to be patient, really. I…” You hesitate, searching for the right words. “I wish you’d let yourself believe in this too. I don’t want you to be afraid of it.”

He tightens his grip on your hand, his eyes turning somber. “It’s not that I don’t believe in it,” he says, his voice soft, almost pleading. “It’s that every time I say those words, it feels like… like saying it out loud will make it vanish. And I don’t ever want to lose you.”

Your expression softens. “You won’t lose me, Seokmin. I’m right here.”

Seokmin feels a knot in his chest, seeing the quiet disappointment in your eyes, a look he never wanted to be the cause of. He pulls you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead as if trying to bridge the gap with touch instead of words. He’s silent for a moment, caught between the instinct to protect himself and the fear that he’ll push you away if he doesn’t change. The tension melts, if only a little, as he wraps his arms around you, anchoring you to him with a fierce kind of tenderness.

You don’t say anything, and neither does he. The warmth between your bodies fills the space where the silence lies, saying enough for the time being, and you feel your eyelids growing heavier as the quiet lulls you toward sleep. His hand drifts up to brush through your hair, a touch so gentle that it makes you smile, just barely, and you let yourself drift off, hoping, as his heartbeat thrums against your cheek, that it’s all for you.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

≡;- ꒰ ° three꒱

The night starts quietly, with the two of you curled up on his couch, the dim, golden glow from the living room lamp casting a warm hue around you. You talk about everything and nothing—work, weekend plans, the idea of a trip he wants to take you on. Each topic drifts easily between you, filling the space with laughter, shared glances, and gentle touches.

Seokmin has his arm loosely draped around your shoulders, his fingers tracing light patterns on your arm as you lean into his warmth. Occasionally, he reaches over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering softly against your cheek, giving you a gentle smile that makes your heart flutter. It’s in these tiny, quiet moments that you feel his affection most—unspoken, steady, as if no words are needed.

At one point, he leans down to kiss you, his lips warm and tender with a hand sitting at the base of your neck. You kiss him back a little slower, savoring the sweetness of it. When he pulls away, he nudges you playfully, his eyes crinkling with that familiar, affectionate look that never fails to make you feel giddy.

“You’re going to stay the night, right?” he asks, his tone just a little shy, though his fingers are threaded through yours with a quiet confidence that feels both fragile and sure.

Smiling, you nestle closer, feeling that familiar spark in your chest. “If you’ll have me,” you tease, laughing as he tugs you even closer, your head settling comfortably against his chest as his hand traces slow circles along your back.

He nods, a quiet joy in his eyes as he presses a light kiss to your forehead. His hand finds yours again, fingers curling around yours in a small, reassuring squeeze. For a moment, he looks like he wants to say something, his gaze lingering on your face as if he’s searching for the right words.

Instead, you break the silence, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Baby,” you murmur softly, a little smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “I really… I care about you, a lot.”

His smile softens, his eyes warm as they meet yours. “Me too,” he replies quietly, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. His gaze holds something vulnerable beneath the surface, a weight to his affection that feels so real, even if he doesn’t say it.

The conversation drifts on, flowing from one topic to another as the minutes slip by. Every now and then, he leans in to kiss you again, an affectionate touch of lips that lingers a little longer each time, filled with a quiet intensity that makes you feel wanted, cherished. As the evening wears on, you find yourself wrapped in his arms, half-drowsy and content, happy to simply exist there in his warmth. You leave a kiss on his throat and the words leave your mouth unexpectedly; soft, steady, unplanned, as if saying them was the most natural thing in the world, “Seokmin… I love you.”

The room grows still, and Seokmin’s face shifts immediately, as though he’s braced himself for something he isn’t sure he can accept. He looks away, lips pressing into a tight line. There’s a quiet between you, but it isn’t the warm silence you’re used to; it’s the kind that leaves you feeling exposed.

After a beat, he exhales sharply. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

You feel frustration stirring, a tightness forming in your chest. “Seokmin, it’s the third time I’ve told you in the last three months, and I still haven’t heard anything back. Not even once.”

He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “It’s… it’s complicated. I told you that.”

You take a deep breath, nodding, trying to keep your voice even. “I understand. But don’t you think it’s a little unfair? I’m putting myself out there, and every time, you just… close up.” You glance down, the words catching in your throat as you add, “I don’t even know if you want this to be anything serious, Seokmin.”

Your words hit him, and his brows furrow as he finally looks back at you. “Of course I do. Why do you think I’m with you?”

You shake your head, exasperated. “Then why can’t you say it? Why can’t you just say you love me?”

He sighs, clearly struggling, and you can see the way he’s wrestling with the internal conflict he’s been carrying for so long. But before he can answer, your phone buzzes, drawing both your eyes to the screen as it lights up with a message. You barely look at it, just a quick glance, but Seokmin’s expression shifts, his eyes narrowing as he catches sight of the heart emoji he had seen back when you left your phone on the bus.

“Who’s texting you?” he asks, a hint of irritation in his voice.

You look down at the name, realizing with a sinking feeling that it’s from your ex. You hadn’t changed the contact since meeting Seokmin, hadn’t thought about it, really. But the moment feels heavy as you explain, “It’s just… someone from a while ago. We don’t talk anymore.”

His mouth twitches in a half-bitter smile, half-scoff as he lifts himself up from under you, standing up to pace. “A heart emoji? Doesn’t seem like ‘just someone.’”

You follow, reaching for his hand, but he pulls away, pain in his eyes harder than you’ve ever seen. “Seokmin, it’s not what you think. I haven’t talked to him since we started seeing each other.”

But he shakes his head, looking away. “You say that, but how am I supposed to believe it? I’ve been here before, and I know what happens next.”

The accusation hits you like a slap, disbelief mingling with anger. “Are you serious? Seokmin, I’ve done nothing but give you every reason to trust me. I’ve waited, I’ve been patient with you. I told you how I feel because I thought you’d want to know, not so I could be questioned like this.”

His voice rises, defensiveness seeping in. “You don’t understand, okay? You don’t know what it’s like to think everything’s fine and then realize it was all a lie. I can’t just give myself away like that. I’m not ready.”

The frustration boils over, and your voice trembles as you retort, “Then maybe you shouldn’t have been with me if you weren’t ready for someone who actually loves you.” You take a step back, feeling a crack in the wall you’ve been holding up. “And you know what? I don’t even want to hear ‘I love you’ now, not like this. Not if I have to beg for it.”

Seokmin looks away, swallowing, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence between you feels like a chasm, a point you can’t return from. Finally, his voice softens, barely above a whisper. “Maybe I just… don’t know how to love anyone right.”

The silence stretches uncomfortably, the weight of his words filling the space between you. Your heart twists, but instead of softening, it stirs your anger.

“You know what, Seokmin?” You break the silence, voice sharper than you intend. “I don’t think you really want this. And God, that fucking sucks—because every day with you felt like I finally got everything I ever wanted. But apparently the feeling isn’t mutual. I mean, you say you care, but every time I take a step closer, you’re right there pushing me back.”

His expression hardens, and he crosses his arms defensively. “And maybe I don’t want to get hurt again. You think it’s easy for me to just jump in like nothing happened?”

You shake your head, exasperated. “I get that you have baggage, but what about mine? You don’t think it hurts every time I tell you how I feel, and you just stare at me like it’s some impossible thing for you to say back? Like I’m asking too much from you?” You scoff, shaking your head. “Maybe that’s on me for thinking I could mean more to you than just… this convenient relationship you can pull away from whenever you feel like it.”

He takes a step back, his eyes blazing with hurt and anger. “Convenient? You think this is convenient for me? You think everything we did means nothing to me? You think you mean nothing to me?”

Your voice breaks, hurt now outweighing the anger. “You never even asked me to be your girlfriend, Seokmin!” He looks over, finding that tears have begun pooling in your eyes. “I feel like I’m just waiting around for you to make up your mind.”

Seokmin freezes, his heart sinking at the sight of your tears. The words hit him harder than anything else you’ve said. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been taking for granted, how much he’d been leaving you to carry on your own. The look on your face—raw, vulnerable, and heartbroken—pierces him in a way nothing else has.

His breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, he can’t move. His chest feels tight, like there’s a weight pressing down on him. He had always thought he was doing enough, that his feelings for you would be enough to show how much you meant to him. But hearing you say those words—waiting around for him to make up his mind—it’s like a gut punch. He never intended for you to feel this way.

“Y/N…” he starts, his voice strained and unsteady. His hand hovers in the air as if unsure whether to reach for you or not, the space between you seeming wider than ever. His lips tremble slightly, and he takes a step forward, but you don’t move. The distance between you feels like an impenetrable wall, and he feels like he’s losing you with every passing second.

“I—I never meant for you to feel that way,” he says, his words faltering. His eyes flicker between you and the floor, unsure of how to fix the brokenness that’s suddenly so palpable between you two. “I… I thought you knew how much I care about you. I thought I was doing enough…”

His voice trails off, and the realization dawns on him like a harsh slap. He didn’t ask you to be his girlfriend. He didn’t make it clear how serious he was. He just assumed you knew. And now, seeing the hurt in your eyes, he understands how wrong he’s been.

“I—I never wanted you to feel like you were waiting. I just… I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits, his voice thick with regret. His chest feels tight, constricted by the weight of his own inaction. “I didn’t realize how much I was asking of you.”

He takes another tentative step toward you, his hands trembling slightly as they reach for yours. This time, when he touches your hand, there’s no hesitation—just a desperate need to bridge the gap between you. His fingers wrap gently around yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, his gaze searching yours for any sign that there’s still hope.

“I never wanted to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to… how to make it right.” He shakes his head in disbelief, as if trying to make sense of it all. The weight of everything he’s left unsaid presses down on him, and the guilt gnaws at him, leaving him feeling smaller with each passing second. "Please, just tell me how to fix it," he says quietly, his voice barely audible. "I don’t want to lose you. But–” You roll your eyes before he even elaborates, already knowing where his point is going, “I can’t. Not after what happened last time.”

You take your hand out of his grip, clenching your fists. “Do you even hear yourself? I’ve been here, Seokmin. I stayed, I waited, I tried. But all you’re doing is punishing me for something that has nothing to do with me. And I can’t keep trying to prove myself to you when you’re already convinced I’m going to hurt you.”

Seokmin’s expression twists with frustration, his voice dropping, “Well, maybe that’s because people like you always do. You say you’re here now, but I’ve seen what happens next. You’ll find someone else, someone who can say all the right things, and you’ll leave me just like everyone else has.”

There’s a sudden ache in your chest, a pang of betrayal, and it’s your turn to take a step back. “People like me?” you repeat, voice trembling. “You think so little of me that you’d group me with whatever happened to you before? How could you possibly believe that after everything we’ve been through?”

He glances away, unable to answer, but his silence only fuels your frustration.

“Maybe you’re right,” you say, voice barely above a whisper but seething. “Maybe you’re not the guy for me. Because I deserve someone who trusts me, who wants to be with me, and isn’t stuck in this endless cycle of doubt and fear.”

The words hang in the air between you, and Seokmin’s face instantly shifts from anger to something far more fragile. His eyes widen, and he looks as if you’ve struck him—like he hadn’t considered, not for a second, that things could actually end this way.

“You… you don’t mean that,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. He takes a step toward you, desperation in his eyes. “You can’t just… walk away. We can work through this; I’ll try harder.”

You shake your head, the weight of disappointment settling heavily in your chest. “Seokmin, this isn’t about trying harder. It’s about trust, about feeling like you actually want me in your life. I can’t keep pouring myself into this when you’re too afraid to meet me halfway.”

His voice cracks as he pleads, “But I need you. I just… I didn’t know how to say it before. I’m sorry. I thought… I thought you’d understand. I thought you’d give me more time.”

You can feel your resolve start to waver, but you swallow hard, staying strong. “I thought I could, too. But it’s not fair to keep asking me to wait. I’m not your past, Seokmin. I’m here, right now, trying to build a future with you. And if that’s not something you can give me…” You take a shaky breath, the finality of it sinking in, “…then maybe this isn’t right.”

The devastation on his face is clear, and he takes another step toward you, reaching out hesitantly as if afraid you’ll pull away. “No, please… I’ll try to be better. I don’t want to lose you.”

Your chest tightens at the rawness in his voice, and for a moment, you soften. But there’s still an ache, a lingering feeling that’s been growing with each unspoken “I love you,” each moment he couldn’t bring himself to trust you.

“Seokmin, I didn’t want it to come to this,” you murmur, voice breaking slightly. “But I can’t be the only one fighting for us. You need to want this, too. Not just because you’re afraid of being alone, but because you’re willing to love me.”

He’s silent, his hands dropping as his gaze falls to the floor, visibly struggling with the weight of your words. Finally, he nods, a defeated look in his eyes. “I do want to… but I don’t know how.”

You close your eyes, heart aching for him—for what could have been, for the love that’s still there between you but not enough to hold you together. You gently touch his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin one last time. “I hope you figure it out, Seokmin. For both of us.”

He looks up, a tear slipping down his cheek as he whispers, “I’m so sorry.” And you walk out the door, leaving him standing alone in his living room.

The silence presses in around him, heavy and suffocating, like an oppressive weight settling over his chest. His body feels frozen, like he’s still trying to catch up to the reality of what just happened, the weight of your words and the finality of your departure sinking into his bones.

He rubs his face with both hands, the frustration and guilt bubbling up in a way that feels suffocating. His mind spins, replaying the argument over and over again, each word cutting deeper than the last. You were right. He never asked you to be his girlfriend. He never gave you the security you needed, the assurance you deserved. And now, the one person he thought would always be there, the one person he couldn’t afford to lose, was walking away.

He drags a hand through his hair, pacing across the room aimlessly, unsure of what to do with himself. His mind races, but everything feels so muddled, so unclear. He knows he messed up, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t know how much he’d taken for granted until it was too late, until you were gone.

His breath comes in shallow bursts, and suddenly, the tears come, hot and stinging against his eyes.

He doesn’t try to stop them. They fall freely, a mixture of frustration, guilt, and regret overwhelming him. The harshness of the argument fades into the quiet ache of realizing what he’s lost, and with it, the reality of how deeply he’s hurt you. His chest tightens with every tear that slips down his face, the lump in his throat growing impossibly heavier.

He slumps further into the couch, his face in his hands as he tries to catch his breath. The sobs come harder now, raw and uncontrollable. He’d never imagined it would end like this—he’d always believed things would somehow work out, that time would fix everything, that he could somehow get over his own fears and be the person you needed. But now, in the quiet aftermath, all he can feel is the void left by your absence, and the fear that maybe it’s too late for any of it.

Should he have followed you outside? Grabbed your arm, held you against his chest, begged you not to leave? Would it have made a difference?

He paces back and forth in the living room, his thoughts a jumbled mess. Every step feels like it’s dragging him deeper into a pit, each round of his feet against the floor only making him feel more isolated. The tears that had come earlier are dry now, but the hurt still lingers, gnawing at him. His mind is a whirlwind, replaying everything from the argument to the moment you walked out.

I didn’t mean to hurt you. The thought runs over and over in his mind, but he’s not sure how to make it stop, how to undo what’s been said. He’s not sure what’s scarier: the fact that he couldn’t say the words you needed to hear or that now, in the aftermath, he’s terrified of losing you.

His eyes keep drifting to his phone, as though waiting for some kind of sign, a message from you, maybe, telling him you’ve reconsidered. But there’s nothing. Just the empty silence that presses down on him, the space between you growing further with each passing minute.

Hours slip by, and eventually, he can’t stay awake any longer. He drags himself to his bedroom, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated, like everything is moving in slow motion. The bed feels too big, too empty without you beside him, where you were supposed to lie tonight, in his arms. He lays down but can’t seem to settle, tossing and turning as thoughts of you invade his every attempt at rest.

His mind drifts back to the warmth of your laughter, the softness of your touch, how easily the two of you had fit together. And now, he’s left with this cold, aching emptiness. He can’t stop thinking about you—how he should’ve told you everything you needed to hear, how he could’ve fixed it.

But all he can do now is lie awake, staring at the ceiling, hoping, wishing, that somehow, he’ll find a way to make things right.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The days since you’d left feel like an eternity. A month and a half.

The space between you and Seokmin has grown too wide to bridge, but every day, as he drives home from work, he’s haunted by the sight of you getting off the bus at your usual stop. There’s a painful rhythm to it now, a constant reminder of what once was and how easily it all slipped away. He can’t help but notice the way your shoulders are hunched, the distance in your stride, as if you too are carrying a weight you hadn’t expected.

Seokmin keeps his eyes on the road, trying not to look, but every day, it’s harder to ignore. His heart aches with the knowledge that you’re right there—so close, yet untouchable.

It’s a quiet torment, this space between you two. The conversations with his friends, the questions about you, all feel like another layer of pressure, a weight he can’t seem to shrug off.

“Hey, Seokmin,” Seungkwan says one evening, voice light but laced with concern as he wipes down his work station. “Have you heard from Y/N? I haven’t seen her around lately. Did you guys have a fight or something?”

Seokmin stiffens, his grip on the rag he’s holding tightening. His best friend’s eyes are searching, but Seokmin doesn’t know how to explain. How could he? The words still feel heavy in his mouth, and he’s not sure how much longer he can lie about it.

“I… uh… we just haven’t talked in a while,” Seokmin says, his voice unsteady, the smile he tries to muster faltering. “I think she’s been busy with schoolwork, you know?”

Seungkwan doesn’t press, though the concern in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s hard for Seokmin to explain what’s going on, especially when it feels like everything’s been left unsaid, hanging in the air like a storm that never quite hits.

Then, it’s Joshua at the coffee shop, always quick to greet Seokmin with his usual bright energy, but his tone shifts a little when he mentions you. “So, where’s your friend been? Haven’t seen her in here lately. You two still hanging out?”

Seokmin’s chest tightens, the words harder to push out than he expects. “Yeah, she’s just been busy with some stuff. You know how it is.”

Joshua looks at him for a moment, expression softening as though he’s trying to piece things together, but he says nothing. Instead, he just hands over Seokmin’s coffee with a knowing smile, as if that’s all he can offer for now.

Seokmin hates the question, the one he can’t answer truthfully. Every time it comes up, it breaks something inside him. So, when Mr. Kim asks why you haven’t been coming by to read his books, Seokmin smiles—his smile that feels too heavy, too tired—and gives the same response he’s been giving for weeks. “She’s been busy, Mr. Kim. I’m sure she’ll stop by again soon.”

Mr. Kim, not catching the underlying sadness, just nods and pats Seokmin’s shoulder, his eyes warm with understanding. “I hope so. It’s not the same without her.”

But the worst of it all is when Ms. Boo, Seungkwan’s grandmother, asks. Seokmin has always had a soft spot for the elderly woman, and her memory isn’t what it used to be, so she asks about you often—sometimes multiple times in a week.

Each time, it feels like a new cut. She looks up at him with bright, hopeful eyes, always asking where you’ve gone, if you’re coming to visit again soon.

Seokmin forces the smile to stay in place, masking the rawness he feels. “She’s just been busy with school, Ms. Boo. Everything’s alright, I promise. She’ll be back soon.”

But there’s always something about the way she looks at him that feels like she sees through the mask, as if she can tell something isn’t right. She doesn’t say it out loud, but the way she sighs, the way her face falls just a little, makes it clear that she can feel the change in the air. She sees it in the flowers, too. Despite how hard Seokmin tries to hide it, the displays at the window have begun to look lifeless and dull once more.

Seungkwan, who has overheard all these conversations, sees how his grandmother’s face changes with each of these questions. He sees how Seokmin’s eyes dim just a little bit more each time he lies. It breaks his heart to watch, and yet, he doesn’t know how to fix it. He doesn’t know how to make it better for his friend.

Seokmin is a shell of himself when he’s alone in his apartment, and Seungkwan knows it. He’s seen it in the way Seokmin walks through the coffee shop doors, the way his shoulders slump more with each passing day. But there’s nothing to say. Nothing Seungkwan can do except wait for Seokmin to find a way out of this quiet agony.

And Seokmin, for his part, is slowly suffocating in it. The silence between them stretches on, a cruel reminder of how things can slip away when the words left unsaid are too heavy to carry.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Seokmin can’t take it anymore. Every day, he drives past your stop, sees you walking away, and it feels like he's still chasing something he can't reach. He hasn’t let go, not really. It’s been two months, but the feeling of being cut off from you gnaws at him relentlessly. He doesn’t know how to fix it, but he knows he can’t keep waiting, not like this.

He picks up his phone, fingers trembling slightly as he stares at your name in his contacts. The screen is bright in the dimness of his apartment, a silent reminder of all the things left unsaid between you two. He hesitates for a moment, but it’s only a moment—he doesn’t want to regret this. Not this time.

He taps your name, the sound of the call connecting ringing in his ears. It rings and rings, each second stretching longer than the last. His heart beats louder in his chest, and as the voicemail prompt comes through, he lets out a shaky breath.

The words tumble out before he can stop them, a rush of everything he’s been holding back, the things he hasn’t said and should’ve said weeks ago.

“Hey,” he starts, his voice quiet but steady. “I know we haven’t talked in a while, but… I wanted you to know that I miss you, and I miss us. And… I’m in love with you, if that means anything to you now.”

He swallows hard again, the confession hanging in the air, vulnerable and raw. “I just—” His voice cracks for a second before he regains himself. “I just need you to know that. Because I can’t pretend I don’t feel it anymore. And I can’t keep pretending that I don’t miss you. Even if this is too late. Even if you’re already moving on.”

The words weigh heavily on him, but there’s something freeing about saying them out loud, even if it’s just into a voicemail.

He lets out a shaky breath, the lump in his throat tightening as he finishes, “I don’t know what you want or how you feel anymore, but I hope, in some way, you know how much you mean to me. And maybe—just maybe—you’ll understand that when I say I’m sorry for everything that went wrong, I mean it. I really do.”

He pauses again, the finality of the message weighing on him, and he rubs the back of his neck, closing his eyes as if imagining you were hearing him now.

“I hope you’re doing okay. Whatever you decide, just… know that I miss you. I’m sorry. And I love you. I always have.”

His hand falls to his side as the beep signaling the end of the message rings in his ears, leaving a silence that feels even heavier than the one before.

Seokmin stares at the phone in his hand, his breath shaky, heart pounding. The message is sent, but the weight of it doesn’t lift. In fact, everything feels heavier, as if saying those words has only made the space between you feel even more real. He rubs his eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to fall. His chest feels tight, a lump in his throat that won’t go away no matter how many times he exhales.

He stares at the phone, unable to look away. His mind is flooded with memories of you—the way you used to laugh, how your eyes would light up when you'd talk about something you loved, how your hand felt in his, so warm and familiar. He’d taken it all for granted. And now, with the message sent and no immediate response, the silence between you feels deafening.

His eyes water, his throat tightens with the kind of ache that no words can fix. It’s strange how he can feel so empty yet so full of regret at the same time. He thought saying the words would somehow bring relief, some kind of release, but instead, it only makes him realize how much he’s lost. How much he’s hurt you. How he hasn’t been the person he wanted to be for you, not the way he promised he would.

The thought of you not listening to the message, not responding, makes the knot in his stomach twist tighter. What if you’ve already moved on? What if it’s too late for him to fix anything? He can barely bring himself to imagine it.

Seokmin blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but it doesn’t help. His tears spill over, and for the first time since the night you walked out, he lets himself really cry. He sits there, phone still in his hand, the emptiness of the room almost suffocating.

"Please listen," he whispers to the empty room, as though saying it out loud might somehow make it real. The words feel weak, pathetic even, but they’re all he has left.

He sets the phone down on the couch beside him, a hollow ache settling in his chest. The message he left you was everything he needed to say, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. His fingers twitch, almost instinctively, reaching for his phone again as if the act of texting or calling might undo the quiet that’s consumed him. But he doesn’t. His hand falls to his side, heavy and lifeless.

Seokmin feels the weight of it all in the stillness, like the air itself is pressing down on him. He pulls his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them in a loose embrace. His thoughts drift back to the fight, to the moment he knew things had cracked between the two of you. He could still hear your voice, the pain and frustration in it, the words you said—I’m just waiting around for you to make up your mind. They replay over and over, no matter how hard he tries to shake them off.

The silence stretches on, suffocating. The clock ticks, each second heavier than the last. Seokmin’s breath shudders as his mind replays every moment, every opportunity he had to say the words that could have made a difference. But he never did. He never allowed himself to take that step, always too afraid that he’d screw it up, that he’d let you down. And now, in the quiet aftermath of everything, he realizes how much he truly let you down.

His body feels tired, worn, but sleep doesn’t come. Not tonight. He lies back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling as the minutes tick by. His eyes are red, his heart heavier than it’s ever been.

The next morning, Seokmin wakes up to the sound of his phone buzzing beside. He groans, blinking into the early light of the day, the ache in his chest still persistent. He’s been lying on the couch for hours, unable to fall asleep, but exhausted all the same. When he finally brings himself to stand, his phone buzzes again with a text from Seungkwan.

“Hey, we’re coming over. You okay?”

As much as he wants to curl up and shut out the world, he knows Seungkwan won’t let that happen. And Soonyoung, ever the optimistic force, won’t leave him alone until they can make him smile again.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he slowly trudges into the kitchen, staring blankly at the coffee maker as if it holds the secret to feeling better. He pours a cup, the warm liquid comforting in the way only caffeine can, but it doesn’t do anything for the hollow ache that’s settled into his ribs.

When the doorbell rings, he’s still holding the mug, his fingers cold around it. He doesn’t even bother to put it down as he goes to open the door.

Seungkwan and Soonyoung are standing there, both grinning wide, but it doesn’t take long for them to notice how Seokmin’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His hair is a mess, his clothes wrinkled, but it’s the way he carries himself that tells them everything.

“Seokmin,” Seungkwan says softly, stepping forward and clapping a hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on, man? You’ve been off lately. It’s obvious.”

Seokmin doesn’t say anything at first. He just gives a small shrug, trying to brush them off, but Soonyoung isn’t having it.

“Don’t give us that. We’ve been your friends for too long,” Soonyoung says, his voice light but with an edge of concern. “We’re here to hang out, but if something’s bothering you, you know you can talk to us, right?”

Seokmin forces a laugh, but it sounds hollow. He rubs a hand over his face, suddenly feeling the weight of how truly alone he felt settling even deeper in his chest.

“I… I don’t know, guys. I don’t think it’ll make a difference, but…” His voice trails off, and for a moment, he wonders if he should just tell them. If he could just say the words, maybe it would make everything easier.

Seungkwan glances at Soonyoung, and the two of them silently agree. Soonyoung gestures toward the couch. “Come on, sit down. We’re not leaving until you spill, man.”

With a heavy sigh, Seokmin sits down, his body slumping into the couch. He finally sets the mug down on the coffee table and stares at his hands. It’s like the weight of everything is suddenly too much to bear, and he can’t keep it bottled up anymore.

“I… I messed up,” Seokmin starts, his voice tight, a lump forming in his throat. “I messed up with her. She—she told me she loved me, and I couldn’t say it back.”

Both Seungkwan and Soonyoung freeze, exchanging a glance, then turning back to him. Seungkwan speaks first, his voice gentle. “What do you mean, you couldn’t say it back? I thought things were going well.”

Seokmin runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know, I just—I was so scared. I couldn’t let myself fall for her, not completely. I was afraid of getting hurt again. So when she told me she loved me, I froze. I couldn’t say it. And she—she called me out on it. She asked me why I couldn’t just say it, why I never even asked her to be my girlfriend. And then…” His voice breaks, and he wipes his eyes, embarrassed. “And then I let her go. I didn’t fight for her. I didn’t even try.”

The room falls silent, the weight of Seokmin’s confession settling between them. Soonyoung’s voice is quiet when he finally speaks, but there’s an edge of disbelief in it. “You didn’t ask her to be your girlfriend?” He shakes his head, as if trying to make sense of it. “What the hell?”

“I know,” Seokmin replies, his voice barely a whisper. “I was an idiot. I let the fear get in the way, and now… now she’s gone. I haven’t heard from her in weeks. And I’ve been… I’ve been torturing myself thinking I could fix it somehow, but I don’t know if I can anymore.”

Seungkwan sits down beside him, his tone firm but understanding. “So what, you’re just giving up? You can’t expect to just let this go without trying to make it right. You love her, don’t you?”

Seokmin nods without hesitation, his eyes full of regret. “Yeah. I love her. I think I always have, but I was too afraid to admit it, to act on it. And now I think I’ve lost her for good.”

Soonyoung leans forward, his expression serious. “Look, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. If she really means that much to you, you can’t just walk away from it. You have to try, even if it’s scary.”

Seungkwan chimes in, his voice quieter but equally earnest. “We’re here for you, okay? You don’t have to do this alone.”

Seokmin nods, feeling the weight of their words sink in. The guilt is still there, gnawing at him, but for the first time in weeks, he doesn’t feel so alone in it. Maybe there’s still a chance to make things right.

“I... I called her,” he admits quietly, his voice hesitant, like he’s unsure if admitting it will make it real. He looks up at Seungkwan and Soonyoung, who are both watching him closely, waiting for him to continue. “I left her a voicemail last night.”

The room goes still, and Seungkwan leans forward, his brows furrowing in concern. “A voicemail? What did you say?”

Seokmin takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair again. “I told her I miss her. I told her I miss us. And then... I told her I love her. I said it. I just… I don’t know if it matters anymore. She hasn’t responded.”

Soonyoung’s expression softens. “That’s huge. But you can’t just expect one voicemail to fix everything. Maybe… maybe she needs time too.”

“I know,” Seokmin says, his voice raw with emotion. “But it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. I just—I don’t even know where to start.”

Seungkwan places a hand on his shoulder, offering a small, supportive squeeze. “You did the right thing by reaching out, Seokmin. You told her how you felt, and now you have to give her the space to process it. You can’t control how she responds, but you can control how you act. And the fact that you’re willing to try—well, that says a lot.”

Seokmin’s gaze drifts to the window, the weight of the situation heavy on his chest. His voice cracks as he speaks again. “I just don’t want to lose her. Not like this.”

“Then don’t give up,” Soonyoung says firmly, a quiet determination in his words. “You’ve taken the first step. Now it’s time to show her that you’re serious about making things right. She might need to hear from you again. Maybe not right away, but eventually.”

Seungkwan adds quickly, “But don’t rush it. You’ve got to be patient with her, and with yourself. You can’t undo what’s happened, but you can start moving forward. And if she’s meant to be with you, she’ll see that.”

Seokmin nods, the weight in his chest easing slightly. He’s still unsure about what the future holds, but hearing his friends’ words gives him a sense of hope he hasn’t felt in weeks. There’s still a chance, even if it seems small. And for now, that’s enough to hold onto.

“Thanks,” Seokmin murmurs, his voice thick with gratitude. “You guys really don’t know how much this means to me.”

The day drags on as Seokmin tries to focus on what Seungkwan and Soonyoung have planned for him. They’ve taken him out for some outdoor activity—something to get him out of the house and away from the constant, gnawing worry that’s been eating at him since he left that voicemail.

They’re hiking up a trail, the air fresh and crisp around them, the sounds of birds calling and wind rustling through the trees. Seokmin knows they’re trying to get him to focus on something else, but his mind keeps drifting back to his phone. He checks it every few minutes, his thumb hovering over the screen, but every time, there’s still nothing. No missed call, no message, not even an unread notification.

Seungkwan and Soonyoung chat animatedly ahead, laughing and joking, but Seokmin falls behind, his thoughts lost in the stillness of his mind. His phone buzzes in his pocket, making his heart jump, and he pulls it out eagerly, hoping—just hoping—it’s you. But when he unlocks the screen, his shoulders sag in disappointment. It’s just a message from his mom, asking if he’s eating enough. He sighs and stuffs the phone back into his pocket, trying to shake off the feeling of defeat creeping in.

“You okay, man?” Seungkwan calls back, his voice laced with concern as he notices Seokmin lagging behind.

“Yeah, just tired,” Seokmin replies with a half-smile, forcing the words out even though they don’t feel true. He stretches his legs to catch up, trying to hide the emptiness that seems to settle deeper with every minute he’s away from his phone.

Soonyoung turns around to check on him too, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not still checking your phone every five seconds, are you? Let’s enjoy today, okay? You deserve a break from the stress.”

But even as Seokmin tries to convince himself, he can’t shake the constant urge to check his phone. He tries to focus on the hike, listening to Seungkwan and Soonyoung’s conversation as they joke about how out of shape they are, but his mind keeps straying. He checks again when they stop to rest, and then again when they grab lunch at a small café after the hike.

No message. No calls. No unread messages. Nothing.

The silence feels nauseating.

They sit down at a table outside, and Seungkwan gives him a light nudge, raising his eyebrows as a silent check-in. Seokmin replies with a weak, crooked smile. As much as he tries to focus on the present moment, he finds his every thought circulating back to you.

A month later, he hadn’t heard from you, and it had eaten away at him, slowly, quietly—like a slow, insidious rust that creeps across the metal of his soul, gradually weakening his resolve and leaving him hollowed out.

He replayed the voicemail he’d left you a thousand times, but the silence that followed it felt like a cruel, final answer. He convinced himself that you were done with him, that you didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. The distance between you had crushed him, and as the days passed, his hope dwindled until he was convinced this was the end.

Some days, he crashed out on his couch at night, consumed by guilt, regret, and doubt, unable to shake the feeling that he had lost you for good. Other days, he sat staring blankly at the TV, the familiar ache in his chest as a constant companion. He’s learned to live with the silence that hangs between him and you, but it’s still unbearable. The thought of you is a constant, as persistent as the ticking of a clock in the room. He’s replayed the voicemail over and over in his mind, the words you never responded to still echoing in his ears.

It’s late at night, and just as he’s about to get up to go to bed, a knock on his door freezes him in place. His heart skips a beat. For a moment, he wonders if he’s imagining things. But no—there it is again, more urgent this time.

He opens the door, his breath catching in his throat as he sees you standing there, the faint glow of hallway lights casting soft shadows across your face. You look hesitant, like you’re unsure of how to begin. The sight of you shakes him to his core, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

He swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “Y/N?”

You nod, your eyes searching his face, torn between relief and uncertainty. "I… I saw your voicemail." Your voice trembles, as if every word is a weight on your chest. "The day it came in. I just… I needed time. I needed time to figure things out."

Seokmin stands there, frozen, the full weight of what you’re saying finally sinking in. You saw it. You heard it. And yet, you didn’t respond.

“I—” He starts, but he can’t seem to find the words. The tension in the air is thick, both of you still holding onto the remnants of everything that’s gone unsaid.

"I know you were waiting for me to respond. But," you stop yourself, struggling to find the words. "You made me wait for so long, Seokmin. For 'I love you.' I needed to make you wait too. It wasn’t fair, but… that’s how I felt."

The truth stings. He’s been waiting for you, aching with every unanswered day, but hearing this—he hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t expected you to have been just as torn up inside.

“I’m sorry,” Seokmin finally manages, his voice hoarse. “I never meant to hurt you, I just… I couldn’t—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “I was so scared, Y/N. I was scared of getting hurt again. I didn’t know how to say it. But I was never trying to make you wait. I just… couldn’t.”

You take a step closer, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I know,” you whisper. “I get it. I really do. But it hurt. It hurt, Seokmin. All I wanted was for you to let me in, to trust me like I trusted you. And when you couldn’t say it, when you couldn’t even ask me to be yours… it made me feel like maybe I wasn’t enough. Like maybe I wasn’t worth it.”

His breath hitches in his throat, a raw ache spreading through his chest. He feels the weight of your words like a heavy stone pressing down on him.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he repeats, his voice cracking. The tears he’s been holding back finally spill over, streaking down his cheeks. He doesn’t try to hide them; they just fall, one after another. “I never wanted you to feel that way. I never wanted to make you feel like you weren’t worth it. You were always worth it. I just—” His voice falters as he swallows back a sob. “I just didn’t know how to let myself love you. I was so scared of losing you that I pushed you away.”

You can’t hold back your tears either, and they fall silently as you watch him break down. Everything you’ve been holding in—every ounce of pain, of frustration, of longing—rushes to the surface, and all you can do is stand there, letting it all spill over, just like him.

“I was so angry at you, Seokmin,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Angry because I loved you, and I wanted you to love me back so badly, but you couldn’t say it. And I hated that I had to question whether I was enough for you.”

“I know, I know,” he says, wiping his eyes, his voice thick with emotion. He wants so badly to reach for your hand, but he won’t. Not until you make the first move. Instead, he swallows, continuing. “And I’m sorry. I was selfish, and I hurt you. I was terrified of being vulnerable, and I never should have let it get this far.”

You take a deep breath, your chest tight. “I can’t go back to how things were, Seokmin. I can’t just pretend everything is okay. But I don’t want to lose you. I’ve thought about this. A lot. And the thing is, I… I forgive you. I forgive you because I know you were just scared. I get that. I do. But we can’t keep doing this, you know? We can’t keep hurting each other, over and over.”

Seokmin nods, wiping his eyes again, his heart breaking with the realization that you’ve been hurt just as much as he has. “I’m sorry. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I… I can’t imagine my life without you. I just—” He pauses, his voice catching in his throat. “I love you. I love you so much. And I should have said it. I’ve known it for so long. And fuck, you would’ve though I was crazy, but I should have said it since the night we kissed because even then, I knew. I should’ve told you I’m in love with you. Then I wouldn’t have been regretting right now.”

You suddenly laugh weakly, and he’s both so delighted at the sound he had missed, and confused, having just poured his heart out to you. Until your lips part to explain, hands swiping away at the tears on your cheeks. “Sorry–It’s just… Those are the lyrics to your song.”

"What?" he asks softly, his voice a little strained.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to keep your composure, but there's a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. "The song," you repeat, wiping your eyes as you try to gather your thoughts. "The one you wrote, the one you sang for me at the beach."

“Oh.” At the time, the song had been just a way of sharing a piece of himself with you. But now, it felt like a mirror of everything that had gone wrong between you two—the love he couldn’t say, the hesitation, the distance that had grown between you. He had no idea then that it would be ever so relevant now.

"I—I'm sorry," he whispers, almost afraid to speak too loud in case it shatters the fragile moment between you. "I should've said it. I should’ve made it clearer."

You shake your head, your voice breaking just a little as you reach for and squeeze his hand. "I just needed to hear those three words, Seokmin. I needed to know you meant it."

“I love you.” He repeats. And it’s real, raw, and enough to mend the cracks in your heart.

You step forward, slowly, carefully, and you wrap your arms around him. Seokmin doesn’t hesitate for a second; he pulls you close, burying his face in your hair, holding onto you like you’re the one thing that can keep him from falling apart.

“I love you too, Seokmin,” you whisper against his chest, your voice trembling. “I love you.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels right.

"Y/N," he starts, his voice hoarse but steady. "I know you’ve been through a lot waiting for me to figure everything out. And I want you to know... everyone’s been asking about you."

You raise an eyebrow in confusion, unsure where he’s going with this. “What do you mean? Who’s been asking?”

Seokmin gives a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Seungkwan and Soonyoung were both asking about you, about how you’re doing, how things have been. They’ve noticed something’s... off with me. And, uh, Mr. Kim, too. He said he hasn't seen you at the coffee shop lately. I think he misses having you around to borrow books from him." He hesitates, his expression turning more serious as he looks down at his feet, voice almost cracking. "And... Ms. Boo. She’s been asking about you every time I go to work. She doesn’t understand why we haven’t been hanging out. She doesn’t know what happened, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her everything. So, I told her you were just busy."

A sad smile spreads across your face at the mention of Ms. Boo. "I didn't realize they were still thinking about me," you murmur softly, feeling a lump form in your throat. "It’s been so long, I didn’t want to keep bothering them."

Seokmin shakes his head, his hand gently reaching for yours again, this time holding it with more certainty. "You never bothered anyone. I just... I didn’t know how to explain everything. And I didn’t want to make it worse."

You let out a small sigh, your heart aching. “I should’ve reached out sooner. I just... I was trying to give you space to figure things out, Seokmin.”

Seokmin’s gaze softens, and he takes another step closer to you. “I don’t want you to feel like that anymore. You’re not alone in this, and I never should’ve made you feel like you were. I’ve missed you so much. I just didn’t know how to fix everything.”

“I know,” you reply quietly, squeezing his hand. “I understand now. I just needed to know I wasn’t just... waiting around forever.”

Seokmin nods, his eyes brimming with sincerity. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to get it right. But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The words sink in, warm and comforting, and for the first time in months, you feel like a weight has lifted off your chest. He’s here, truly here, and that’s all you ever needed.

“You should come in,” Seokmin says gently, realizing the two of you are still standing in the doorway. “It’s late, and I don’t want you to be out here in the cold. I’ve been thinking about you every day, Y/N. I want to make up for everything I put you through.”

You glance up at him, a small but genuine smile tugging at your lips. “I’d like that.”

As you step over the threshold, Seokmin pulls the door shut behind you, his hand lingering on the knob for a second before he leads you to the living room, where you notice how much quieter it feels now that you’re back in it.

Seokmin sits next to you, close but not too close, as though still letting you take the lead. His eyes search your face for any sign of doubt, but all he finds is a quiet peace. He reaches for your hand again, intertwining your fingers with his.

The two of you sit together, talking for hours, the conversation flowing as you sift through the pain of the past months. The words you’ve both held back, the misunderstandings, the regrets, all of it is finally laid out in the open, and with every confession, every apology, the weight between you seems to lift just a little more. You cry, both of you, but the tears don’t feel heavy anymore. They’re cleansing, freeing.

Seokmin holds you close, his arms wrapping around you tightly as if to keep you there, to remind himself that this time, he wasn’t going to let you go. You bury your face in his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, and you smile through the tears. It’s a smile that says everything you couldn’t say earlier: I’m here. I’m still here.

Seokmin reaches out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if testing the waters, before cupping your cheek in his palm. His touch is soft, tender, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he holds on too tight. You lean into his touch instinctively, eyes fluttering closed as his thumb traces the curve of your jaw.

His lips brush against yours at first, a delicate press that sends a spark through your chest, and you melt into it, hands reaching up to gently pull him closer. The kiss deepens just slightly, as though the floodgates have opened, and suddenly all the words you didn’t know how to say are there, in the way his lips move against yours, in the way you both cling to each other like this might be your last chance.

When you pull back, it’s almost reluctantly. Both of you are breathing a little heavier, but there’s something infinitely reassuring in the way you look at each other now. No more words are needed.

The hours slip away as the two of you laugh, talk about memories, and share quiet moments. You rest your head on Seokmin’s shoulder, your fingers gently tracing over his hand. You know the past isn’t easily forgotten, but for tonight, it doesn’t matter. It’s the two of you, right here, right now, rebuilding what you lost.

Eventually, sleep starts to pull at you both, and with one final, lingering kiss, you settle into the couch together. Seokmin shifts, adjusting himself so you’re both comfortable, and without another word, you fall asleep, wrapped in each other’s warmth.

The morning after, Seokmin wakes up with a start, blinking against the sunlight that streams through the window. His body aches from the position he’s been in, his neck sore from sleeping on the couch for what feels like the hundredth time in a row. He groans softly, stretching, and then pauses when he realizes—this time, it’s different.

It’s not the familiar emptiness that he’s grown used to, the loneliness that had made each morning feel longer than the last. It’s you. You’re still in his arms, tucked close against his side, your head resting on his chest. He feels the softness of your hair against his cheek, your warmth pressed against him, and for the first time in so long, he doesn’t feel that cold, hollow ache in his chest.

His heart swells as he watches you sleep, your face peaceful, and he’s overwhelmed with gratitude. For the first time in months, the quiet of the morning doesn’t feel like a reminder of everything he’s lost.

He breathes in slowly, savoring the moment, letting the calm wash over him. You’re here. You’re here with him, and he can’t help but smile softly at the thought. His fingers gently run through your hair, brushing it away from your face, and he holds you a little closer, not wanting to ever forget this feeling.

He smiles, soft and content, as he slowly slips out from beneath you, careful not to wake you. His movements are slow, deliberate, and as stealthy as possible.

As he quietly stands and stretches, he feels the familiar ache in his body from having slept in the same position for too long, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s a reminder that he’s here with you. He heads into the kitchen, the soft hum of the morning settling around him as he begins preparing breakfast. There’s something soothing about the routine, the way the eggs sizzle in the pan and the faint aroma of bacon fills the air. But most of all, he takes extra care to make the coffee.

He grins as he prepares it, thinking back to those moments when you’d meet him at the shop. It was always a small moment in the day, but it felt special, like a secret between the two of you. That was when he’d get to steal a few minutes with you, to laugh, to catch up, to just be in each other’s company.

The smell of the freshly brewed coffee drifts from the kitchen and into the living room, and without realizing it, Seokmin finds himself looking over his shoulder. He doesn’t want to rush you, doesn’t want to wake you up too soon, but the idea of sharing a quiet morning together makes him giddy. He takes the coffee mug, walking back toward the couch, smiling as he notices the way you’re still curled up, your face soft with sleep.

He kneels beside the couch, the weight of the mug warm in his hands, and gently places it on the table in front of you. Your eyelids flutter, and Seokmin’s heart skips a beat when you slowly stir, your eyes opening just enough to meet his gaze. The first thing he sees is your sleepy, familiar smile, and it’s like the last few months never happened.

"Coffee time?" he asks, his voice low, teasing, but full of affection. The inside joke between you that always felt so special, so intimate—those little moments where it was just the two of you, caught in a world all your own.

Your smile widens, your eyes still half-lidded from sleep, and you stretch slightly, rubbing at your eyes as you sit up. “Coffee time," you echo, a soft laugh in your voice, like you’ve been waiting for this very moment to return.

Seokmin hands you the mug, feeling a warmth spread through him as you wrap your fingers around it, your eyes meeting his with a new sense of connection—like everything is coming back into place, slowly but surely.

And as you sip the coffee, the silence between you is filled with comfort, the kind that only comes after all the pain, all the uncertainty. You’re here, together, sharing this simple morning with each other.

Love at first sight is undoubtedly the biggest fabrication that the media and modern culture has ever tried to push on society. It only happens in the movies and the books, and rarely is it even done right.

In the real world, people make mistakes. They hurt the people they love, and they hurt themselves. They don’t talk for months on end, only to barely piece themselves together and try again.

Make no mistake; Lee Seokmin is not a pessimist, nor is he a bitter person. He’s the kind of guy who likes playing guitar at the beach as the waves crash against the shore, and going on spontaneous museum trips where he pretends to fully read each placard. The kind that enjoys drinking with his friends at karaoke rooms, and stumbling home tipsy under the stars. The kind that flips over a penny on the street so it’s face up—In hopes that the next stranger that finds it can have a bit of good luck. He likes picnics at the parks and vintage thrift stores full of cassette tapes and funny hats. And, as it turns out, he actually does like glamping (it really is nothing like camping).

Once upon a time, he used to be a hopeless romantic.

That was before.

Before you, the person who showed him that love is all of those scary things, but without them, it wouldn’t be as special as it is. As real as it is. As raw and emotional and warm as it really, truly is.

Love is the coffee the two of you bonded over at the start—warm and inviting at first, comforting with its rich aroma that fills the air. It starts slow, the first sip lingering on your lips as you savor the sweetness, the bitterness, the complexity all wrapped up in one. At times, it can be too hot, burning you with its intensity, leaving you a little singed, but it’s that very warmth that keeps you coming back for more. Over time, as it cools, you get to know its depth, its subtle flavors unfolding with each moment shared. Sometimes it’s a little bitter, and sometimes it contains an unfathomable amount of sweetness… and then some.

But in the end, it’s the kind of thing you can’t imagine your days—your life without.

Love at first sight—true love—It was a flat out lie, and he refused to fall for its charm ever again.

So why, he thinks to himself, why did he so easily fall in love with you?

End.

#seokmin x reader #lee seokmin x reader #dokyeom x reader #dk x reader #seokmin imagines #dokyeom imagines #dk imagines #seokmin fluff #dokyeom fluff #dk fluff

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daz4i · 1 year ago

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too lazy and having trouble with words to work on my fic but i do enjoy imagining it. fuck yeah make that beast bleed

#i think i might try to rewrite the second chapter (or what i wrote from it so far)#it feels too emotional for an early part of the fic in a way that can even be ooc which makes me self conscious #and in turn makes me want to not write it bc it's bad. so. idk. I'll try maybe. just gotta figure out what to replace it with 🤔😔#edit: ok some of this is really cute. i might just tweak the scenario to be less heavy bc the actual start of Thing is p good

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leqclerc · 1 year ago

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Help girl I’m doing it again (thinking about 2019-2020 until my tummy hurts)

#sometimes im fine and other times i get hit by a crippling wave of nostalgia :)))#charles's early years at ferrari and his meteoric rise and the online shift in response to that and the character study fics #everything to do with seb and charles and how that developed and ebbed and flowed and the massive media coverage of this new big rivalry #the way everyone was gearing up for a continuation of that in 2020 but then the pandemic happened #the insanity of the twitch era in the wake of the lockdowns and the emotional turmoil of seb's announced departure #the condensed 6 month season that somehow felt like it went on forever and was simultaneously far too short esp knowing what's coming #and just....the way things were in the online community at the time?? all that creativity and brainstorming and sense of togetherness #im aware im probably romanticizing it a lot but ironically the further away we get from those times the more i miss them ig??#we've had some good times since obviously but idk it feels like the zeitgeist of that time can't be replicated & a part of me feels so sad #idk this isnt making any sense but sometimes i'll see a photo or gifset or clip or whatever and think only a time machine could fix me #i need to go touch some grass 😭

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gojonanami · 10 months ago

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❝ 𝐈 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ! ❞

❝ I HEARD FROM A FRIEND OF A FRIEND, THAT DICK WAS A TEN OUT OF TEN !! ❞

✧ pairing: jjk au sorcerer! suguru geto x sorcerer! reader

✧ summary: geto's routine after a mission -- ingest the curses that he collects before his shower. but after he does, his body begins to burn and ache with lust to the point of pain -- and he can't get rid of the feeling alone. so what else can he do when you show up at his doorstep offering to help but accept it (aka a sex pollen / aphrodisiac curse fic).

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, jjk compliant au, geto stayed a sorcerer and didn't defect, reader is one year younger than geto, (set during jjk s1), aphrodisiac curse (sex pollen), multiple orgasms, multiple positions (missionary, doggy, riding, other positions mentioned: standing, against the wall, spooning from behind, against the wall), masturbation (m), soft dom! geto, oral (m +f), handjob (m! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, cervix fucking, panty stealing, squirting, mutual pining, a little angst (discussion of star vessel / premature death arc), but a lot of comfort, cuddling, gojo hijinks

✧ wc: 8,180

Suguru was only sure of one thing, as he stared at himself in the mirror — cheeks flushed red, sweat nearly soaking through his black t-shirt, and a painful and glaring problem in his boxers—

This was a curse — literally.

Curses were made up of different negative human emotions — from loneliness to grief to anger, these negative feelings would pool and create a curse. Sorcerers were made to exorcise these curses, and Suguru did so — but in a different way than the others. He had to consume them as part of his technique. And even with the hundreds of curses he’s swallowed over the years, he would never get used to the taste — a shit soaked rag used to clean up vomit was how he could best describe it, but even then, that didn’t come close to the indescribable act of swallowing the manifestation of the worst negative human emotions — at least for most of them.

The one he had swallowed today was different — he was sent to exorcise a grade 1 curse in the heart of Tokyo that dwelled in an abandoned building — from the inside, he could tell that it was used as a strip club and possibly a bathhouse-turned-brothel, from the seedy mattresses left behind with dirty sheets and mussed covers, with rusting incense burners placed around the room, and the gaudy, fake jewelry that laid strewn about the place — assumedly any real jewelry picked clean. He swore he could have even smelt the ever lingering scent of cheap perfume in the walls and vents.

But the greater concern was the curse he had found himself with — a grotesque creature that stared back at him — its body a deep maroon, many eyes dotting its back with a large pair of black lips that Suguru didn’t care to draw any closer to. It was more humanoid than most — its form showing a more sophistication than many curses did, muscles of its many arms contracted as it finally spotted Suguru, its many eyes settled their gaze on him.

It was far too easy for him to take down the curse in hindsight — far too easy — and it seemed to watch him summon curses — and he swore it almost had seen a glimmer of recognition in its eyes and then it allowed him to deal the final blow.

He had kept the curse on hand — he could swallow it later, when he was near a toilet and perhaps some mouthwash — though that barely did much to remove the taste from his mouth. He had returned to Jujutsu Tech to do his reports, and hopefully head back early — Satoru was out on another overseas mission and Shoko was busy tending to patients and bodies as always, but you—

He wasn’t sure what you were doing, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to text you. Not after what Satoru said.

“When are you guys gonna fuck already?” the strongest sorcerer asked, making Suguru choke on his Sprite — strong in ability, but not in tact, “you and her have been eye fucking for weeks and you had such a thing for her before she decided to move to Kyoto—”

“That was years ago—”

“She has a key to your apartment—“

“So do you!” he glares.

“Then what about last night at the bar?” Satoru leans back in his chair, lifting the front legs off the ground, as he pulled his sunglasses down, “you could have murdered the guy that was hitting on her with your look alone — and I think you did when you stuck yourself to her side with your arm around her waist, until he ran with his tail between his legs,”

If looks could kill, Suguru would have surely murdered his best friend — infinity be damned, “She looked uncomfortable, what was I going to do—”

“Well, she certainly didn’t look uncomfortable with you hanging all over her, now did she?” He raises an eyebrow, as he leans forward again, the front legs of his chair landing with a thunk, “what are you gonna do if a guy comes along that she falls for? You’re telling me you’re not gonna regret it, Suguru?” Suguru says nothing, unable to meet Satoru’s gaze, as Satoru crushes his own can into a ball, before tossing at Suguru, “You guys just got to hurry up and fuck,”

Suguru swats the crushed can away, “You’re disgusting,”

He grins, as his words seemingly only confirm what he assumes, “Disgusting, but correct, and if I’m right, you’re taking some of my missions off my hands,” he grins.

And Satoru’s words had been running around in Suguru’s head — just like any annoying song on the radio — but he couldn’t let Satoru’s words stop from hanging out with you. He had just gotten you back in his life again — he couldn’t lose you, not again.

Geto: Are you free to watch a movie and have takeout?

You: sounds good - did you get back from your mission alright? No injuries I need to yell at you about?

He snorts, as he types his reply: no, not this time.

You: Let’s keep it that way! :)

He bites back his smile as the two of you decide to have you head over in an hour to his place — you preferred it that way since you were still settling into your place, boxes still unwittingly everywhere there should be actual furniture. Last time he came by to pick a report up, he found you eating your meal on a packed box, instead of a table.

And he catches himself smiling, before his face sours at the thought of Satoru again.

Satoru was right — and he hated to admit it, his knuckles pressed to his lips. A year under him, you had spent days with him, along with everyone else — you always waited for him with his favorite snacks when he would return from a mission. You sat with him sometimes when he would get sick from swallowing curses, helping him swallow some water and saltines after he turned his stomach inside out. You were the one that pushed him when he hid his disillusionment from everyone else — even from Satoru. You wouldn’t leave him alone, you wouldn’t stop dogging his every step with snacks and comfort and company, hounding him to sleep, to eat, to say something, anything.

Until he did — one late night you spent up together — he didn’t sleep much those days anyway. And he told you everything — the poison seeping from his body, and leeching onto yours, your frown and hurt was the whole reason he hadn’t wanted to tell anyone to begin with. But the frown wasn’t yourself — it was for him, as your arms only curled around him, and he let you hold him the entire night.

“You don’t always have to pretend to be strong, Suguru. You’re allowed to be upset, you’re allowed to be angry, you’re allowed to grieve — but don’t bottle it up,” your fingers raked through his wet hair, undoing the tangles gently before running the comb through it, “don’t let it kill you from the inside out,”

“I feel like I did die — along with Amanai,” and you pause, your arms curled around his shoulders, chin resting on his head before you pinched his cheek and he flinched.

“There, you’re definitely not dead,” you say, “so don’t act like you are. And don’t act like you’re alone — because you’re not. You have me, you have Satoru and Shoko — even Nanami and—“ you voice cuts off at the thought of Haibara — “Haibara wouldn’t want you to hide from us, he looked up to you — more than anyone else, even Satoru,”

“I don’t know why,” he mutters with a sigh.

“I do,” your fingers guide his face to meet your gaze, your face an inch or two from his, “because you’re kind, you��re intelligent, and you’re strong,”

He scoffs, “Satoru is the strongest,”

“And you think Satoru thinks any differently of you? That any of us feel differently? You’re the only person who can understand him — and he’s the only one who understands you,”

He gives a small chuckle, “not the only one,” and he tears his eyes away, hoping you don’t see the way his cheeks burned.

And when he found those two sorcerer girls locked up — you were the one who called. The rage and anger had built into murderous intent, but he could hear your words ringing in his ears and before he knew it, he had called you to come to him.

You saved them together — Nanako and Mimiko had fallen asleep in your respective laps after all was said and done on the ride back — without much bloodshed (not that the blood that was shed was worth much, in his opinion) — and with Gojo and you smoothing things over with the higher ups (mostly with veiled threats and petty remarks), you managed to allow the twins to grow up safe, under Geto’s care, and your own.

At least for a time. After you graduated, Nanami left — and you were the only one of your class left — and the absence of your best friends weighed on you, even if you didn’t show it.

“I’m leaving for Kyoto,” you told him one afternoon the two of you spent lazing around his dorm, you sat against the bottom of his bed, as he lounged on the mattress, his gaze snapping to you, only able to see the back of your head, “this place holds too many memories — i need perspective, I need space from all of this,”

He wants to ask if you have to, ask you if he could convince you to stay, if he could do something, anything to make you stay — ask if he wasn’t enough to make you stay. But he doesn’t, because it’s the best decision for you. So he instead slips off the bed, sitting beside you, his hand ruffling your hair, “You’ll come to visit right?”

He knows you’re blinking back tears, but he pretends not to notice, your lip quivering, and god, he knows he wants nothing more than to tilt your gaze toward him by your chin and brush his lips against yours, until every sad thought has evaporated under his touch.

But he knows that would only be one more thought that would make things far more difficult — for the both of you. It was better this way. And it was. Years had passed, the two of you had become teachers at the Tokyo and Kyoto schools respectively — but as the years had passed, your relationship grew more distant, as it always seemed to with time and distance.

But then you decided to come back to Tokyo, transferred over — Yaga explaining it was due to all the happenings in Tokyo with the special grades and emergence of Yuji as Sukuna’s vessel — and he found himself in your presence again. And it was as if no time had passed — your days off spent in his apartment — as yours had become a haven of unpacked boxes. And he couldn’t help but wonder — when he’d glance at you in the dark of his living room, the only illumination was the TV that played some shitty horror movie (your words not his) you had put on — if the special grades were the only reason you’d come back. Your fingers were so close to each other’s on the couch, but an inch felt like a ravine.

One he couldn’t dare to cross.

But It was fine, just as he told Satoru — you were just friends, until both of you decided otherwise. Not that it would ever happen — no, he thought that ship had sailed, even if his heart had stubbornly said that it hadn’t.

Until he decided to consume the curse — and his heart was no longer the problem.

Or at least, not his main problem.

He sat in his bathroom, towel in the shower rack, ready to shower after he dealt with this. He had discarded his uniform jacket and pants — only in a black t-shirt and boxers. He stood by the toilet — as he learned his lesson the first few months swallowing curses — he never knows when one will turn his stomach inside out.

He holds the balled curse in his palm — he could feel it squirm just underneath of his cursed energy — the thing keeping it contained at all, itching to be freed from his grasp — though it never would. He pressed the ball to his lips, bracing himself as he opened his mouth, nearly having to unhinge his jaw for how large this curse was and pressing it past his lips and into his mouth. His palms pressed against his mouth, as he swallowed, eyes squeezed shut.

It…wasn’t as bad as he thought. He frowned, brow knit as he stared at his empty palm — it was still appalling to consume, but it was….sweet? But it burned as it went down, heat remaining in the pit of his stomach, even as it should have faded.

That should have been his first clue.

Either way, he turned on the shower before he shed the rest of his clothes, and stepped in. The water felt warmer than usual, as he washed his body first, letting his hair grow wet under the shower head. His fingers reached for the shower handle, turning it even colder, but his body barely reacted to the water — was it even cold?

Even under the water, he felt like his body was burning — a slow fire that lingered under the surface of his skin, burning and aching, the frigid water barely doing enough to soothe it. Running his hands over his body seemingly helped, a shiver running down his spine as he washed himself, but he knew it would have felt even better if it was you.

….what? He tried to shake that thought from his head — it wasn’t the first time he had thought of you like this. There were many times where his mind would drift to you at night, the warmth of your touch from a few hours ago still lingered, as his hard-on pleaded for his touch. Guilty gnawed at his conscious when he indulged, the first time being after a particularly vivid dream of you pinning him down while training — your mouth kissing down his body, eager fingers tugging at his shorts until that smirk met—

This wasn’t helping.

The burning had traveled southward, as his blood did, and he glanced down at his raging hard-on.

Fuck.

No, he couldn’t.

But his fingers were possessed, already reaching for his aching cock, large beads of pre-cum leaving his slit just as hand closed around it. He hisses when he does, a gasp ripped from his throat, as he braces himself against the shower wall with his other hand.

He palms his erection, swallowing thickly, as he grunts, as he begins to pump his cock from base to tip, smearing his pre along his length. But his mind wanders to you, how pretty you’d look pressed against the wall of his shower, his hard cock dragging between your ass. Lovely moans parting your lips as his fingers would reach around to rub at your puffy clit.

“Suguru, please—“

“Tell me what you want baby, gotta use your words,” he’d murmur, teasing your slick entrance with the tip of his cock.

“Need your cock — need you to fuck me,” you would whine, words nearly enough to make him bust there and then. And he would sink into you just as he does his fist, but your sweet cunt would feel so much better than his hand does.

Fucking wet and tight and just for him, as he works his dick deeper and deeper, until his tip is nudging your cervix. And he’d fuck you hard, just like he’s fucking his fist now, skin slapping each time his hips met your ass.

You’d cum before he would, he would make sure of it — one hand rubbing harshly at your clit, the other toying with one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. And your walls would squeeze and wring him dry, just as he squeezed his own dick now.

He spilled all over the wall of his shower, white spurts kept coming, as he grunted, imagining he was painting your walls instead. He panted, but as the afterglow ebbed away, the heat only came back tenfold.

He panted, as his fingers left his cock, only to find it still hard — the tip red and angry, twitching as he stared back at it.

What the fuck is going on?

He finally left the shower, pulling on his shirt and boxers delicately — every inch of his body felt feverish and sensitive, even the rubbing of his clothes against his skin was almost too much for him.

He stood in front of the sink, knuckles white against the porcelain as he tried to will his erection away, but each thought was only chased away with thoughts of you — of the dress you loved to wear riding up, of your legs spreading for him, of the wet patch on your panties—

He was so fucked. Sweat dripped into the sink, as he glanced at himself in the mirror — skin a ruddy red flush, lips impossibly dry, pupils blown out with need — he was so fucked.

He called Shoko — the embarrassment of this situation far gone at this point fading into plain need of wanting this situation to be over. One ring, two rings — finally five rings and she picks up.

“It’s not like you to call—“

“I need your help,” he cuts her off, biting back the groan from his cock rubbing against his boxers the wrong way — “I don’t know what’s happening to me,”

Her voice shifts from curiosity to concern, “Slow down, Suguru, tell me what’s going on,” and he tells her his symptoms — and she’s silent on the other line for a moment, “you have been a teenage boy before right? You’re not really calling me because you’re horny and you don’t know what to do—“

“It’s not that—“ he hisses, running a slow hand down his face, “I already tried…solving the problem myself but it didn’t work. And I feel weird — it only made it worse. I can’t stop sweating or thinking about—“ he cuts off — he couldn’t stop lewd thoughts of you from springing before his eyes, the thoughts of your moans, how soft your flesh would be under his fingers, how you’d look when he— “what is this, Shoko?”

She pauses on the line for a moment, “When did it start?”

“Right before my shower I think,” his mind foggy with need, he could barely even comprehend a coherent thought.

“And what did you do before your shower? Anything different?” he’s swallowing the lump in his throat, as he resists the urge to brush his hand over his hard-on.

He’s barely hearing Shoko at this point — “I took off my clothes, I got my towel, and then I—“ and the realization struck him — the curse, “I consumed the curse I collected today from my mission,” he mutters, “fuck—“

And then there’s a knock at the door, “Suguru?” He heard you call through the door. His dick throbs at the sound of your voice.

Shoko’s voice cuts through the white noise, “Suguru, the curse you ate — was there something different about it?”

“It was a grade one — it seemed a little too easy to defeat — it formed in—“ he swallows thickly, “in a brothel,”

“I’ve heard of curses being lustful, but not of them becoming a stimulant,” she murmurs, and he can hear her sigh, “you could try extracting the curse from your body — I doubt that would be effective at this point. I assume the effects will linger until the symptoms pass — just as it does when you become nauseous or sick from swallowing other curses,”

His phone buzzed with texts from you:

You: I’m outside, I grabbed takeout for us this time since you always treat me!

You: are you home?

His mind swam, it wasn’t the takeout he was craving — it was you. But no, no — he couldn’t. Not like this, but he was fighting a losing battle and he just about lost the war along with it.

“I don’t know, how do I get it to pass?” he was desperate, the sounds of your knocks and messages ringing in his ear, along with your sweet voice — why do you sound so good with his name on your lips? So sweet — his boxers grow even tighter — bet you even taste even sweeter.

“If dealing with it yourself didn’t work, then,” she sighs, “you’re going to need a partner,”

Another knock.

“Shoko, I have to go,” and he hangs up before she can get another word — a thought to thank her and apologize shoved to the back of his mind, as he stumbles to his door, a thunk as he nearly tumbled into it, wood and hinges groaning under the force and weight.

“Suguru?” you’re so worried yet his name on your tongue was nearly enough to have him cumming in his boxers then, the wet patch of his boxers nearly making the fabric translucent, “are you okay?”

He says your name, “You should go home, I’m not feeling well—“

“What’s wrong? Do you need help?” And he’s biting his lip, teeth digging into his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood, “let me in,”

“I can’t—I can’t let you help with this,” he’s shaking his head, “please, sweetheart, you have to go—“ And he hears the clink of your key going into the door — fuck, that goddamn key he gave you, and the door pulls open, just as he braces himself against the doorframe.

Your brow furrowed in concern, takeout bag in hand, as your eyes examined him, until they found their way to his boxers.

“Suguru—“

“You should leave — I can’t explain, there’s a curse inside me—“

Your eyebrows knit together, “Suguru, a curse did this to you? What happened?” And he’s shaking his head, mind far too gone, as he forces himself away, “let me help—“

“You can’t help. I have to get out of my system but the only way is—“ he cuts off, as he groans again, body and mind railing against each other, as his body just seemingly burns from even being near you.

“There must be something—“ and you step closer, and he can barely hold back from grabbing you, fingers twitching to wrap around your waist, the other holding your neck, lips finding yours, as he fucking rips his own clothes off— “I want to help—“

He’s tugging at the collar of his shirt incessantly, as you step closer, closing the gap between your bodies, and he can only focus on the way your pretty lips part, the way your chest curves under your shirt, and the far too short shorts you choose to wear — fuck.

He was so fucked.

He can’t hold back, as he’s drawing close to you in a moment, his mind clouded with lust, the hitch of your breath only making him want you more — but he forced every muscle in his body to stop. He couldn’t. Not until you agreed.

“If you don’t want me to fuck you right now,” he says lowly, his lips nearly brushing your ear, “I want you — regardless of this, I’ve wanted you for so long,” the confession tumbles from his lips because he needs you to know, needs you know so you can either leave him to his fate or help him get through this, “but if you don’t feel the same—“

But to his surprise, you lean closer, breath warming his skin until it was left scalding, “who said I didn’t?”

And he can’t hold back.

His lips crash to yours, his hands holding your cheeks, as he grasps desperately to you, takeout boxes spilling from the plastic bag and your purse spilling your things when you drop it, your fingers grasping at his damp t-shirt.

And your touch alone even through the fabric is nearly enough to make him bust a nut there and then — and his mind hadn’t even felt so clear until he felt your touch. He could notice every little detail about you — the way your breath caught when his fingers ghosted down your sides, the way your lips parted for his tongue without hesitation, and the way your knees shook when he squeezed your hips.

“So pliant for me,” he murmurs, eager to touch more, to taste more, “such a good fucking girl, aren’t you?”

And you’re nodding wordlessly — lips kiss ruined and red, saliva clinging to your lips when he parted from your lips — and he wonders which one of you swallowed a glorified sex curse.

“Know how long I wanted to do this?” words said pressed with heated kisses down your neck — he was right, you tasted so sweet, he bet another part of you tasted even sweeter — “how many times I thought about this?” He nibbled at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, rewarded with a pretty gasp, “wanted to mark you up so many times — when that fucker tried to hit on you — I wanted to do more than just wrap my arm around you. Wanted to show him how he could never please you,” and he’s sucking a mark there, teeth grazing and pinching your skin before he soothes it with his tongue. He smiles against your skin, as he admires his handiwork.

You whine when he drags a thumb down your puffy lips, “Sugu, please, more,” and his lips find yours again, swallowing your complaints and moans eagerly, as his large palms slide down your back to rest on your ass, squeezing as he presses you flush to his body, hard on pressed against your body.

“Need my touch that much, Princess? Should’ve just fucked you in that club, huh? Let them see that you’re mine,” And he’s walking you backwards towards his room, as he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the floor of his living room. Your fingers running over his exposed flesh, thumbs teasing his sensitive nipples, pretty little lips pressing teasing kisses to both sides.

Fuck, the need to bury his cock in you grew by the second. But he wanted to feel good first — been waiting too long. He had all night to fuck you — but he only had one time to do it right the first time.

He’s walking you into the edge of his bed, as you both tumble onto the bed, his hands sliding under your shirt, tugging at the hem, and you help him take it off — and he hissed at the sight of nothing underneath.

“Were you always coming to my place with no bra on?” his lips curl, as your eyes look away, embarrassment painted on your expression, “wanted this as long as I did, Princess? Don’t get so shy now — you’re the one who insisted on helping me, so aren’t you going to fulfill your promise?” His lips brush against your earlobe, lips wrapping around it and sucking lightly.

You shiver, biting your lip, before you’re tugging him fully onto the bed, before slinking off of it and onto your knees for him, “Then let me help you,”

When your fingers toy with the elastic of his boxers, he’s ready to cum right there — he’s so sensitive still, he’s sure he won’t last long, but fuck, he doesn’t care with how pretty you look between his legs.

“Don’t be a tease, Princess, or I’ll pay you back later,” but your lips only curl, as you lean forward and press a kiss through the drenched fabric, tip of your tongue teasing his slit through his boxers.

“Oh I expect you to,” and you’re pulling his boxers down painfully slowly, letting the fabric of his boxers rub against his hard-on teasingly, a low hiss leaving the thin line of his lips, his balls aching with his release as his cock slaps against his stomach, “fuck, Sugu,” you murmur in almost reverence — he was thick, the tip flushed red with lovely beads of pre-cum already dripping down his length, your fingers already eager to trace those pretty veins, and feel the slight curve of his cock in your aching cunt, “how am I gonna fit you all in me?”

And his cock twitches at your words, as you pity him with a chaste kiss to the top, “Please,” he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing, fingers knuckles white as they fisted the now creased sheets, “fuck—“ as you blow air along his length, “I’ll cum all over your face at this rate,”

“Oh I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Sugu?” your point finger lightly follows the trail of his vein, as your lips continue to press butterfly kisses along his length, “paint my face with your cum,”

And his fingers thread themselves in your hair, pressing his length to your lips, and you smirk, looking up at him with half lidded gaze, as your lips part and his length slides in — that’s all it takes.

The coil in his stomach snaps, as he cums down your throat, hot seed spilling into your mouth, as his hips jerk against your mouth, his groans of your name sending a hot stripe of heat down to your cunt.

Despite that, his cock only seems to grow larger, twitching against your tongue, as you part for a moment, a trail of saliva and cum dripping from your lips, “Taste so good, Sugu — gotta have you one more time—“ you envelop him with your lips again — and he’s a mess of moans, head thrown back, thick haze of lust as his eyes finally meet yours. You swallow around him, tongue wrapped around his length, as your sinful fingers touch whatever can’t fit in your mouth.

“S’good baby, should’ve fucked this mouth a long time ago,” and he’s gone, as his hips begin to slowly roll against you, watching as you don’t resist, the tip of his cock brushing against your throat, “good fucking girl, never gonna go a day without these lips around my cock,” and god, he’s so close — twitching in your mouth, but what sends him over the edge is when he feels you moan, and spots your hand down your shorts.

Fuck, he’s pulling out, “can I—“ and you pump him in response, a grunt of your name as you let him cum all over your face and chest, the sight enough to make him hard all over again — his thick release slipping down your lips, as your tongue darts out to taste it again.

And he’s pulling you into a bruising kiss, tasting his own cum on your lips, before grabbing his discarded shirt to clean you off. His hand grabs your wrist and eases it from inside your cunt, tongue darting out to lick the release from your fingers, cleaning each of them.

In an instant, he’s got you spread on his bed, legs parted for him, “where’s that attitude now, pretty?” And his lithe fingers sneak under the elastic of your panties and snaps it against your skin, making you squirm, “seems like all those words fell out of your head just from sucking my cock,”

He’s slowly dragging your underwear down, before pulling at his bedside drawer to stuff your panties in, “for later use,” and you can’t managed a reply before his lips are pressing butterfly kisses up your thighs, before his teeth graze the soft flesh of your inner thigh, drawing a gasp from your lips, before sucking and soothing it with his tongue, “mine, all mine,” he’s already hard again — the feel of your soft skin under his lips was enough to have him cumming again like a virgin — the burning in the pit of his stomach only burned brighter for you — god, would he ever work his way out of this state? But as his gaze was met with your lovely dripping cunt with your puffy clit begging him for attention, he couldn’t seem to care.

You hiss when his fingers slowly spread your folds, “So fucking tight, baby, how am I gonna fit in you?” he clicks his tongue, inhaling, as his nose brushes against your clit, making your hips jump, “patience, gotta take my time with this princess cunt, gotta make sure you’re ready for me,” his dick twitching at his next sentence, “because I sink my cock in here, we’re not stopping at one round,”

Your cunt squeezes around nothing at his words, his breath warming your sensitive pussy, until he finally drags a stripe up your needy folds.

“Sugu, fuck,” his arms brace your thighs and hips down, as the tip of his tongue drags teasing circles around your clit, your slick gathering on his tongue, as he tastes it with a groan.

“Fucking, the best thing I’ve tasted,” and as much as he wants to bury his dick in you, he could live with his face between your thighs, “so perfect f’me,” and his tongue trails in tight circles around your clit, while his finger toys with your entrance, gathering your pre on his finger, teasing your entrance and delighting in the way your breath hitches.

He looks up at your face between half lidded eyes, you’re too fucking pretty — your hair a mess from, a sheen of sweat on your body, the lovely way your nipples were erect, and your eyes — pupils lost to lust and need. And all for him.

Fuck, he knows he won’t last long at this rate, he can already feel the urge to palm his raging cock, but he wants you to cum first, and he’s sinking a finger into your sweet cunt. He can almost imagine how your walls would feel fluttering around his cock — but he doubts his engorged tip would be even fit right now.

No, he needed to make this good for you — he slowly starts to finger fuck you as his tongue circles your clit in tighter circles, even sucking on it, and by the way your fingers grasped at the sheets, crumpling under your touch — you liked it.

Pretty moans left your lips, as your fingers found their way to his dark locks, still slightly damp from his shower — as he added a second finger inside. His name said between pants, as his fingers drag against your molten insides — the wet squelch rang in his ears as he fucked your cunt open. Knuckle deep in your sweet pussy, he knows he’s addicted — to the feeling of your molasses insides — warm and soft for him, his digits curling against your walls, looking for that one place that would make you fall apart.

“Sugu, please, please ‘m close—,” and he knows you need a little more, and he’s obliging with a chuckle, a third finger joining the other two, and he’s fucking you in earnest now — lips closing around your clit and sucking mercilessly, as his fingers find that spongy spot that has you seeing stars. Your back arches, as your nails dig into his scalp, as you cum around his fingers — walls fluttering as he eats you out through your high, his name leaving your lips again and again, as you slowly come down from your high, thighs twitching and chest heaving as you do.

As he finally pulls away, his chin and mouth glossy and drenched in a mixture of your cum and his spit — that he licks clean from where his tongue can reach, fingers collecting the rest, as he looks at your sticky cum gathered on his fingers.

Fuck, he could live in your cunt. Your sweet taste was the only thing he’d crave now after consuming curses — he wondered if you’d let him eat you out for hours after the curses he ate — he was sure your taste was the only thing that would erase that disgusting like nothing else ever would.

He’s giving you soft kisses after, dotting them up your body, murmuring praises, but you’re pulling him into a kiss, your fingers resting against the back of his neck, as your other hand finds his aching erection, swallowing his gasp with pleasure.

“Want you, Sugu, please,” and your words are enough to make him cum right there, as he tugs your hand away, “Sugu—”

“Won’t last long if you keep touching me and whining like that, Princess,” the heat only seems to lick at his skin like flames, engulfing him with every touch, and his cock was the epicenter of the wildfire, while you were the fuel that only made it consume you both to ash, “but I know it won’t be long until I’m fucking you again anyway,” Your cunt throbs at his words, as he draws close, dragging his weeping tip against your folds, watching his pre-cum smear against your slick with a grunt, “feels like you’re already trying to swallow me up, princess — you want this cock that bad?” fuck, he can’t hold back anymore, as he’s lining up himself up, and he’s sliding right into you with a groan, “know how long been waiting to do that?” his skin meeting yours as he bottoms out deliciously, stretching your walls out with his girth, pleasure ripping up your spine, “wanted to do this since the moment you walked through the door, but needed to do this right — when nothing about this was right,” he had so many things to say, while your mind had left you with not even a syllable, his cock twitched and pulsed inside your walls, dragging against it deliciously, “wish our first time wasn’t like this — but I’m so glad it’s finally happened, sweetheart,”

And you can’t help but smile up at him, lips parted with a small moan, as tears burned at your eyes from his size, “Me too, Sugu, wanted you for so long, needed you—” and he’s kissing your tears and words away with his lips,

Then he begins to fuck you — hard, the slapping of your skin and the wet squelch of your sex filling up most of the silence of the room, while both of your moans and grunts took up the rest. Your cunt was heaven to him — warm, wet walls wrapped around his aching cock — the slightest bit of relief was overcome with waves and waves of need — he needed to fuck you, needed to make you cum, needed to cum inside — he just needed you.

“S’big, Sugu, too big,” you whine, he was almost too much for you, the way his dick fucked places you only could imagine reaching, as his mouth leaned down to take a pert nipple between his lips — sucking and licking, as he couldn’t have enough of you, while his hand toyed with the other, “feels too good,”

“I know baby, gonna fuck your princess cunt so good — make sure its made just for me,” he’s murmuring, as his teeth graze your tit, as he pistons into you again and again, the tip of his cock brushing your cervix with each thrust, “all mine, baby, fuck — such a good girl for me,” and the praise has you keening against him, the knowing flutter of your cunt that tells him you’re all too close to the edge, as his hand reaches between your bodies to rub at your clit, “cum for me, pretty, need to feel your pretty little cunt squeeze me,”

And you do, falling apart as he fucks you through your orgasm, again and again — fuck, you felt so good, as he watched his cock slip in and out of you, a white ring of your release forming around his base. He’s fucking close too — can feel his balls tense, eager to blow his load, “where—”

You’re still moaning, eyes blown out in pleasure, as you watch him fuck you again and again, “Inside, Sugu, fill me up,” and that’s it, he’s gone — spurting his hot release, painting your walls, as he does, fucking it inside you — deeper, deeper, until he stills for a moment. And you’re twitching, eyes fluttering shut, when he pulls out, a groan parting his lips as he watches his seed spill from your cunt.

But then silence for several moments, the soft pants of your breathing only, before you hear him swearing and grunting, as your eyes open, and your pussy twitches at the sight before you. Suguru’s hand slid up and down his still erect cock, his eyes squeezed shut, as he groaned, “Suguru—”

“Wasn’t enough, need more,” he’s shaking his head, as his fingers squeeze around the base of his cock, “thought it would be enough to cum with you, but I can still feel it—” and he’s groaning, as you sit up, watching your mixed releases drip from you, “baby—”

And your lips kiss the tip of his weeping cock, “I told I’d help you,” and you ease his hand away, as you lick up his length, your eyes fixed on his, “just because we fucked, doesn’t mean we’re done,”

And in a moment, he’s got you flipped onto your hands and knees, as his cock slaps against your ass, his fingers squeezing the flesh, as he leans over to kiss your back, “Then I guess we’re gonna be up all night, sweetheart, because if you’re okay with this — I don’t think I’ll be satisfied with just a blowjob,” his tip drags against your messy cunt, “gonna need something a little tighter than your mouth,” and he’s sinking his thick cock into you again, balls slapping against your ass as he begins to fuck you, “better cancel any plans you have, pretty — because we’re not leaving this bed for a while.”

“Don’t fall asleep on me, baby,” his fingers grab your chin, and force you to meet his gaze, as he fucks into you, as you sit on his lap, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders, “almost gonna cum, and don’t want you to be asleep for it,”

How many times had you fucked? You had lost count — but you knew you had done it in far too many positions — on your hands and knees, standing up, against the wall, from behind with his hand gripping your leg up, and far too many others — and now you were spread in his lap, cock deep in your pulsing pussy, his lips kissing your neck, as he fucked into you, his dick reaching a deeper angle from this position, easily able to hit the furthest parts of you.

He had cum in you more than you thought was humanly possible — and you supposed it wasn’t — it was only the curse that enabled this — it was animalistic even, the way he rutted into you desperately. He grabbed a water bottle only to take a swig, and find your lips again, forcing you to swallow the water.

“Good girl,” he’s grunting, his hips beginning to stutter, “I’m close baby, are you?” You hadn’t thought it was still possible to feel pleasure at this point, but it was — his cock dragged against your walls, his dark gaze finding yours, “tell me you wanna cum,” and your pussy twitches at his order, “use your words, pretty, or have I fucked them all out?”

“Please, Suguru, I wanna cum on your cock,” and you’re so fucking close again — the all too familiar knot in your stomach ready to snap any moment.

“Fuck, greedy pussy hasn’t enough of me? We’ve been fucking until the daylight now,” as his hand grabs your chin to make you see the first rays of light peaking over the horizon, and he’s making you bounce on him with each thrust of his dick — your orgasm building and building with every brush of his tip against your g-spot, “fuck, s’good for me, baby — been so good — just need one more and we can stop,” and tears stream down your cheek that only make him groan, his lips finding yours in a messy, sloppy kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth right as his cock hits at the deepest part of you—

And you squirt all over him, drenching his cock and lap as you cum, your lips parting from him, as your head is thrown back, boneless, as he fucks into you, your spasming walls pulling him over the edge as he paints your insides with his release, fucking it into you, until he finally slows, your body draped on his, head resting on his shoulder. Bodies sticky with sweat and cum, his cock finally softens inside you, the heat finally beginning to dull, as he presses soft kisses and gentle caresses to every inch of your skin, as he lays you down carefully, pulling himself from you.

“Thank you, princess, thank you,” and you’re burying your face in the crook of his neck, soft breaths cooling the sheen of sweat on his skin, “did so good for me,” and he slowly rises, grabbing his shirt and running it under water to clean you off, if only a little.

You’re already half asleep, eyes only fluttering half open to watch him, and he can’t help but bite his lip, “Sugu?”

“Yes, princess?” And you nod, fingers twitching for him, and his lips curl as he obliges, wrapping you up in his body, “know it was rough on you baby, I’ll make it up to you — don’t worry, just rest,” he grabs a water bottle, and lifts your head ever so slightly and helps you drink some water.

“I know you want to ask me something,” and he pauses, as he pulls the bottle away, “I can see the gears grinding in your head — you can ask me anything, y’know,” you had quite the way of embarrassing him, didn’t you?

“I know, I just,” he swallowed, “was there any other reason you came back to Tokyo, aside from the threats, did you come back for anything else?”

And your lips curl, raising an eyebrow knowingly, “Anything or anyone you mean?” and you chuckle when his eyes can’t meet yours, your fingers finding his again, “baby,” and your hand brushes against his cheek, tracing the cut of his jaw, making his breath catch, “I did come back for someone — a very particular someone,” and he smiles, as your lips lean up to press a chaste kiss to your lips, “and my friends, of course,” you add, “I love Utahime, but I missed Shoko and Satoru, and you,”

“You did?” he murmurs, and you giggle, kissing him again, melting into his touch again, as your foreheads brushed against the other’s, “Sugu?” and it’s your turn to ask something now, chewing on your bottom lip, “can we do this again?” you murmur, before adding, “not like this but—“

And he laughs, pulling you impossibly closer, lips finding your leaping pulse, “Yes, we can, if you want to — because I know I do, because,” his thumb brushing the length of your cheek, “but I want all of you — want your body, your thoughts, your time, your heart and soul—“ and his lips quirk at the sight of your eyes widening ever so slightly, “is that okay?”

And your lips find his own as an answer, sweet kisses turn languid, heat stealing any doubts from either of your minds, “As long I have yours as well,” and the two of you share only a few more kisses, before you both finally drift off.

“If he’s fine, and I’m checking on him, I’m kicking his ass,” Satoru grumbled, as he held his phone between his cheek and his shoulder, Shoko sighing as he rooted through his pockets for his keys.

Shoko chewed her lip, she hadn’t heard from him in hours, “He was in bad shape, I can't find the time to go check and you were on your way home anyway,” Shoko says, wiping her brow, twisting a strand of her hair between her fingers.

“Yeah, on my way home back from a mission,” he finally finds his keys, sticking Suguru’s spare key into the lock and turning it, “If I have jet lag, and all I find is him jerked off and sleeping, you owe me,”

He twists the knob, and looks — he doesn’t see Suguru in the living room or kitchen — but he does see takeout containers spilled on the floor, along with a very familiar bag, and he blinks, before his lips curl. He asks if she’s heard from you, to which she says no,

He walks silently to Suguru’s bedroom, opening the door a crack to see you and Suguru curled up against each other, your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you, the comforter strewn about and covering the rest of your bodies.

Satoru only grins, before he pulls his phone from his ear and switches to the camera.

“Never mind, Shoko, I owe you one,” and he snaps a picture of the two of you, wondering how many missions he could pawn off to Suguru now, “I’ll treat you to lunch.”

✧ a/n: so this turned out way longer than i thought (story of my life). i had so much fun writing this - i've been writing this in conjunction with prof geto part 3 and its been funny darting back and forth between these two -- although the scenes i've been writing

✧ taglist: @peachyminx, @garfunklefield, @unicornqueen05, @hiyori-ii, @equikaz, @unoriginalidea, @forest-fruits-jam, @torusinfinity, @hellkaiserinphoenix, @loonimae, @gojoedd, @sugurufic, @glaceliy, @telvess, @kentocalls, @nayasch, @iluvvreze, @yamaguccitadashi, @faeismism, @hanxyy, @catsgomurp, @sukaibg, @sugurusdiscordmoderator, @gojorgeous, @getos-slvtt, @sirencholia, @teatreeoilll, @dewdropdive, @appysauc, @kobycetacean, @missroki, @fushitoru, @pricetagofficial, @that-goth-bisexual, @shoyosdoll, @regrettinglifechoices, @mostinsanegirl, @roseybean, @fayyyrieee, @gojobbg, @strangehuman101, @saccharine-nectarine, @i-belong-in-a-retirement-home, @spider-fan72

#sab [mlist]#geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto x reader #geto smut #suguru geto smut #geto suguru x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto x you #jjk x you

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that-fic-girl · 10 months ago

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HAZBIN HOTEL X READER HC #1

Head canon: what it would be like to date them.

characters: Alastor, angel dust, husk, vox

disclaimer: everything i write about these characters might not be accurate to the actual story, please take everything in the fic with a grain of salt, none of this is canon!!

Alastor

he hasnt been in an actual relationship in a while so being close and vulnerable with someone is quite hard for him, especially as someone who associates emotions with weakness.

First off, its safe to say he adores the ground you walk on. He's in love with everything about you, your clothes, the smell of your hair, your sickly sweet voice. his loves it all.

If there was ever a problem you needed fixing, a person you needed taken care of or even a errand you needed to run he would tend to it himself. he would not let you lift a finger.

PDA is a iffy thing for him, he wouldnt do grand big gestures but maybe a hand on the hip or a few words of affirmation.

everyone in the pride ring quickly learned of yours and radio demon's relationship. And no one dared to mess with you, ofcourse there was people who wanted to test their luck but they would have to pay the price later.

his love language is definitely words of affirmation, he will sweet talk the shit out of you. At night when it's just you two in bed, he will have his hands stroking through your hair whilst you rant to him about your day and he'll reply with sweet nothings

"oh darling, i've missed you all evening"

"you looked ravishing today my dear.."

"mm your hair smells amazing, my love"

Angel Dust

Angel is one of, if not, the horniest mother fuckers out there but somehow, he manages to somewhat make a healthy relationship with someone.

you two are seen as "the bad bitch" couple. you're always out together, always getting into dumb shit together. You'll get yelled at by vaggie at early hours in the morning because the two of you where playing a childish game of tag in the hotel halls.

his love language is definitely physical touch, he'll have his arms slung around your waist almost all the time. Kisses are a MUST every 5 minutes, like this boy will NOT part from you. especially in the mornings when you have to leave for work;

"mmnnnnoooooooo...stayyy for five minutes pleasseeeee"

"but sweets..you're soooo warm"

"sweetheart please, you feel so comfy"

yeah good luck with that.

nights with him are VERY eventful, if it wasn't obvious. You two would usually be at it late hours into the night but sometimes, when you two where too exhausted to fuck like rabbits, he would be sprawled across your lap whilst you stroked his fur.

Husk

Despite his harsh tone and uncompromising demeanor, you understood that Husk wasn't trying to be malicious towards you. It was simply his way of communicating, and you knew that his behavior wasn't personal. Even though he could be abrasive at times, you loved him for his rough edges and authentic personality

You and Husk's time together was mostly spent at the bar. You didn't like to drink much, but you loved seeing him work and make cocktails like a pro. You didn't mind that it wasn't considered a typical date, because you liked spending time with him in whatever way he felt most comfortable.

Husk is not used to receiving compliments, as he didn't often receive them in his past life. When you complimented him, it caught him off guard and he was surprised. But he eventually learned to appreciate it, and it even made him feel a little sentimental.

Despite the difficulty, you were able to help Husk realize that you genuinely cared about him. He had been used to being surrounded by dishonesty and hypocrisy, but you were always sincere and real. He held you in high regard, as you were the only source of light in his life, and he didn't want to lose you.

vox

You were known as a strong and independent person who didn't need assistance from others. You knew how to stand up for yourself, despite being harsh and tough at times. Despite your exterior, no one was aware of the soft spot in your heart that Vox's affection and touch alone could melt away your severity.

He appreciated seeing your affectionate side, as it felt special and intimate, like a shared secret between the two of you. He knew you valued your privacy, and he respected it by never sharing photos or other details on social media. He didn't want to betray your trust.

You were often feared and respected when you were with Vox. People found it hard to believe that someone as intimidating as yourself could have a tender, caring side that was kept hidden from most. Vox was glad that he was the only one who got to see that side of you. He didn't want to share something so special and personal with anyone else.

Quite often, he would call you on the phone, knowing that sweet words could be just as effective as a kiss. He enjoyed hearing how your voice softened from its usual seriousness to a more affectionate tone. He was aware that when he said loving phrases to you, you would blush and smile shyly, and sometimes he even regretted not being able to witness it in person.

"i've missed you today babe.."

"mhm look at my pretty girl/boy!"

#Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin Hotel x Reader #Hazbin Hotel headcanons #Alastor #Alastor x Reader #Vox #Vox x Reader #Hazbin Hotel oneshots #Husk #Husk x Reader #angel dust #angel dust x reader #vivziepop\

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ffsg0jo · 6 months ago

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cw: nudity , suggestive 16+ , fluffy , fem/wife reader , mentions of insecurities/self-hatred , making out

i am taking requests and writing fics and matchups for gaza. check the linked post out to find out more !!

"you're so beautiful nemi," you whisper, lips pressing against the scars on his chest.

in normal circumstances, you would never have been given the chance to sit upon the wind hashira's bare torso this early in the morning.

you were both usually up and out by now, only having time to chastely kiss each other goodbye after running off to your daily training. and by the time you both stumbled back home and into bed, you were too exhausted to do anything.

but you reckon there was a silver lining to being out of commission and needing time to heal. it allowed you to have time to truly appreciate sanemi's beauty.

your husband had two strong hands planted on each side of your waist and eagerly rubbed up and down to just below your bare breasts and down the curves of your waist, resting on your hips.

occasionally, he'd stop just under your soft mounds, fingers teasing the underside and gently brushing over your sensitive nipples. he relished in the way you gasped against his skin, and your even breath stuttered.

your lips continued, following the path his scars had engraved onto his chest. your heart ached knowing the hardship and loss sanemi had faced. but his scars were proof that he was strong, that he was worthy of life.

emboldened by the surge of emotion running through you, you sit up and move your hands to gently hold your husband's face. he looks up at you in confusion, noticing the light shine in your eyes. his eyebrows furrow, and he opens his mouth to speak, but you interrupt.

"you're gorgeous, my dear husband," you say, the conviction in your words going straight to his heart, goosebumps starting to form on his skin.

he's never thought himself to be much to look at, and with the scars on his face and littering his body, even less so. but god, through your words, does he wear them with pride. he finds himself looking down at his scars, and a tiny part of him sees the beauty you speak of, buried between the layers of self-hatred and insecurities.

sanemi's speechless underneath you, and you barely have time to appreciate it before he's flipping you both and pressing his lips urgently against yours. he loves you so much he doesn't know what to do with it sometimes. it fills him to the very tips of his hair and then some, overflowing and enshrouding him.

you're still holding his face as he reaches up to hold your jaw, angling you to push his tongue deeper into your mouth. his bare chest presses against yours, and you can feel the roughened skin of his scars deliciously stimulating your hardening nipples. your moans are licked up and swallowed by your husband; he devours every single little noise like it's his last meal.

sanemi slightly pulls apart, spit-soaked lips still resting on yours. you're trying to catch your breath underneath him, and he can't help but groan at the sight of your lust-filled eyes and desire written all over your face.

"not as beautiful as you, my little tempest."

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wintersera · 19 days ago

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"so are you ovulating?" || ningning x succubus!reader

notes: i actually wrote this fairly quick, but finding the right pics for the moodbaoard actually pissed me off erm.. but first of all FIRST NINGNING FIC WE CHEERED (a/n i forgot to say this was a part two of the succubus!reader thing soooo here’s the link!)

cw: tail sex (kinda), succubus!reader, top!ning, bottom!reader, mentions of a singular man

wc: 4k

after the ‘feeding on your unnie’ incident that had happened a few months ago, your performance was phenomenal. with all that energy you gained from that one night, plus some extra other nights following from then with jimin unnie, it was as if your every move, every note and every emotion was amplified by tenfold. you were on fire and the audience could feel your passion for performance burning brightly with every stage you did.

your mentors and managers commented on how energetic you had been for the past couple of months, how your performances were absolutely phenomenal, the knetz weren’t on your ass - which was surprising since almost half of them were all the time. the western fans said that you were, quote on quote,“serving cunt” in the recent solo weverse live you did… whatever that meant. even your own members were surprised at how active you were throughought day and night.

but like everything in life, things weren’t bound to stay all too well.

a few days ago you tripped on stage, and to make matters worse, it was in front of your fans. the audience heard a small little thud and spotted you on the ground looking at the ceiling for a few seconds before you stood up embarrassingly. luckily this was the first take, you had other opportunities to do your very best with the smidge of energy you had left.

knowing your fans, particularly your stans - either they’d make a meme out of you spacing out on the floor, or, they’d spam hashtags all over twitter saying “SM PROTECT YOUR ARTIST” or something around those lines.

not only did that happen, but whilst you were preparing to record your lines in the studio, that familiar pain you would get whenever you were starved from energy came back ten times worse; it felt like you were being pierced in the stomach.

jimin noticed your pained expression and squeezed your shoulder in reassurance as she entered the recording room, but it kind of translated wrong in your head, causing you to moan out loud into the mic in front of your directors - not to mention you could hear yourself through the headphones echo. jimin chuckled lightly “what’s up with you?” then left the room a moment afterwords.

fast forward to the present day. a mundane and repetitive one. you had a photoshoot early in morning and a small meeting sometime in the afternoon and then you were free to do whatever you wanted afterwards. you thought that maybe some vocal lessons later in the evening would distract you, but you were pretty sure your vocal teacher was out with his husband drinking today. good on him, it buys you more alone time, and alone time makes you think about what to do about your situation.

on to more pressing matters, aka your raging desire for sex.

it randomly hit you hard while walking back from the company to your local seven eleven. you thought to distract yourself with buying a sweet treat for everyone, but instead you began to feel dizzy “ouh.. this isn’t good” there wasn’t a bunch of groupies following you around the block to your own misfortune, and it was still bright outside.so what was there to do about that urge?

it’s not like you could message jimin unnie out of the blue and ask to fuck. where was the decorum? plus you’re in the middle of promotions, what if you drain too much energy that she’s unable to perform the next day.

and it also didn’t help that your internal monologue was fucking you up.

“shit, do i just ask the manager to… NO- ew what the hell am i thinking? he’s way older than me. nevermind. why did i think about that jesus christ.”

your options were slim. it was either wait for night, go to the practice rooms and prey on a cute trainee, with consent of course - or go ask jimin unnie again and risk exhausting her even though you just started promotions…

you wondered who was at home right now.

you recalled ning going straight back home as soon as the meeting had finished. you could always ask? i mean she is your unnie after all, it wouldn’t hurt to ask to her.

ah, but it would be awkward though. it’s not like when jimin unnie walked in on you tweaking out and then you had to shamefully ask her to “help you out”. either way you had to go home and do something about it. being out in the open wouldn’t be good for you anyway. anymore stress and you could lose your mind, probably going out of your way to do something that would be highly illegal, and you wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

–

on the way home you couldn’t suppress your excitement. you had already made up your mind to ask ning if you could, you know, do something nasty. multiple scenes were made up in your head. she could bend you over the table, press you against the wall and limit your restrictions with her pretty hands, or maybe she could shove your head into the pillow and pound into your desperate pussy.

as opposed to jimin, you never caught ning wound up in her own thoughts, nor staring at you in a sexual manner. whether it was pracitce, a stage, any event with the members, or an upcoming show, you had never caught her once. maybe she did look at you while you were dancing promiscuously as a joke. even so, her expressions were so nonchalant that even if she was, you would never be able to tell… though that thought alone excited you even more. who knows what her pretty little head was thinking about.

although jimin said to tell the other members about who you actually were to prevent you from being too awkward to ask your members for help, you refrained from doing so because well… you’re just like that, what else. how were you gonna do it anyway- hold a meeting in your apartment around the dining table and say that you need sex to stay active and alive? then what, they’ll eagerly accept the fact that you literally need to be inside of them, or vice versa, so you can get up on stage and preform as if it was a regular ass day.

those five minutes you spent daydreaming and thinking about telling your members were stopped abruptly by the door in front of you. when did the walk home become so quick.

then you started to think once again.

would ning be the type of person to go out of their way to help you? yes she’s that type of person, however, does that mean she would willingly want to have sex with you… god, you don’t know her ‘that’ well. you’re close, close as how close a lifetime friend could ever be, but still, things would be weird if she ultimately says no to your request.

“you’ve been staring at the door for an awfully long time y/n. are you coming inside or do you want to stare at the door a little longer?”

fresh out of the shower, yizhuo greets you with a friendly smile followed by a giggle. her towel sticking against her body showing off the curves of her hips.

oh fuck, why does she have to be wearing that now.

“did you just finish showering? also, girl… get back inside. what if someone sees you with just a towel on” the aroma of your shampoo wafted through the air “you smell good…” you all were tight on money this month, so you all shared things like perfumes, shampoos, pretty much all products you and the other members owned. each time either one of your members had applied your shampoo, god, you had such perverse thought about them, wanting to ravage them until they couldn’t walk or even stand

“yeah i ran out of mine- and yours was newly opened so you know” she had been looking way too good recently, not saying that she never did look good, but there was something about her that made you feel extra desperate and needy. the wetness between your thighs spoke for themselves

“let’s go in. i need to talk to you quickly before my brain explodes” yizhuo cocked her head in confusion, reluctantly following your lead, closing the door behind her as you walked into your guys’ apartment.

you followed behind her as she led you to your shared bedroom, looking up because you didn’t want to turn yourself on even more by staring at her ass “wow, the ceiling looked nice. a pretty beige colour… what the hell am i doing” you thought to yourself with a heavy sigh, looking back down and regretting it immediately. you noticed that yizhuo turned around as you locked eyes with the front of her cream coloured bath towel.

as perceptive as yizhuo was, she noticed a little black swish behind your back. she just played it off, too tired from all the practice, so she thought she was hallucinating a tail or something of the sorts.

now, being both the youngest and the least serious members of the group, you rarely ever had a heart to heart. to talk one to one with each other with the tone you had used, yizhuo must’ve thought that there was some topic you couldn’t bring up with the eldest “hey what’s up? it’s been a while since we last talked seriously” her damp hair against her soft looking skin, the fresh scent of soap and the way she looked at you with worry in her eyes. it almost drove you off the edge. she was so tantalising that you almost missed your cue to speak.

“uh- um, you know how we’ve been besties since i came to korea right?”

“yes”

“and you know we said that we’d always tell each other anything right?” you glanced around the room, avoiding her gaze while your fingers unconsciously played with the fabric of her bedsheets.

“yes…?” ning pondered for a while “…are you going to confess your undying love for me, is that what this is?” she cackled.

“WHAT? no, no- i think that might be less shocking than what i’m about to say” you take a deep breath in hopes to stifle the sound emitting from your booming heartbeat “okay so like, hypothetically speaking, would you have sex with any of the four of us?” for a god awful few seconds you sat tensely, waiting for yizhuo to say something.

“are you trying to redirect my attention from a more important question girl?” her eyes rested on your face, heartily laughing until she released you were being totally serious.

scratching your arm, you let out a sigh. it would be better to ask her directly wouldn’t it “you don’t need to analyse me like that. i was just saying-”

you could charm her into agreeing, but in the long run you’d feel like a horrible person. charming a person came with moral problems, and you strictly told yourself that you would never do that to a person. ever.

“yizhuo… can we- can you do me a favour?” your stuttering caught her attention. you simply couldn’t bring yourself to ask, it’s strange out of the blue.

“mhm mhm, what do you need”

“you”

“me?”

“yes.” with every fibre of your being you held back a variety of different ways to scream out ‘JUST FUCK ME’ biting your lip to help fight back a blush. it’s odd to blurt out ‘im a succubus. let’s have crazy passionate intimate gay sex right here right now’

hold on- does she even know you’re a succubus? “listen, it’s going to sound absurd and you probably think i’m not sober, but can you hear me out” it was still weird to outwardly say that you were in fact this demon thing that sucks people dry, literally. saying it to jimin was no easy feat, but you were obviously losing your damn mind that day. and then you have the other two members too? now was not the time to think about what you’d do in the near future, you were hungry and yizhuo was right in front of you, practically naked “are you, by any chance, okay with maybe” your gaze darted around the room before you locked eyes with her “maybe having… sex? maybe?”

“ohhh, okay i see how it is. you’re ovulating” she spoke with a dead serious tone.

you were losing your mind. you couldn’t tell if she was fucking with you or not. but in all honesty, yizhuo did think you looked like you were ovulating with the way your thighs pressed together. yup, ovulating.

your heart began to race as you increasingly became desperate within seconds. you felt feverish, hot to the touch while your head throbbed. almost a whole two months without tending to your needs ended up with you succumbing to the symptoms “please yizhuo. i need you to do something, anything- i feel like i’m gonna die actually”

“woah woaah, let’s calm down. you’re not gonna die silly. is it just-“ yizhuo paused for a while, coughed and maybe even hesitated to say the word “sex. is that all? it can’t be too bad. plus if it’s with you, i don’t mind…” yizhuo’s words were genuine. it put your mind at ease.

“you don’t understand though. it’s like… it- i don’t know” you pout at her with the remaining energy left in your body “it’s alright- i’ll ask other people, it’ll be okay” sluggishly pushing yourself off yizhuo’s bed.

“no no, i get it. you wanna relieve stress, i get it” from what you could understand, yizhuo was trying her absolute best, trying to relate with your problem “we’ve all been there. the company doesn’t allow us to go out and meet other idols like that so it was eventually gonna happen. i mea-“

“it’s not about that, yizhuo” your eyes darken, a desperate sigh emitting from your lips “ah, whatever…” with trembling hands, you held yizhuo’s in yours, momentarily silencing her as you sit back down on top of the smooth sheets of her bed “if you’re not okay with doing ‘this’, then will a kiss be okay?” there was a hint of softness to your voice, the rest shrouded with seriousness “it won’t be enough for me, but it’ll keep me… sort of stable” you shut your eyes as you press your forehead against hers, sharing the warmth “please, that’s all i ask for”

she whispered “a kiss? i can do that. it seems fun.”ning, inches away from kissing you, smiled sheepishly. her gaze drifted briefly towards your lips before finally shutting her eyes “and if it’s with you i think i’ll be okay”

you took this as your opportunity to kiss her softly on the lips. a quick peck really. a surge of energy coursed through your veins for half a second before coming to a stop.

that’s all the energy you’ll take from her, and the most you’ll take for the next couple of days “mmm… thank you yizhuo” though it was a sweet couple of seconds before it broke off, the sweetness of her lips left a longing impression on you.

yizhuo asked for “one more kiss?” growing in confidence, she leaned into another, her eyes fluttering shut as she melted into your embrace. though you were unsure, you gave into the moment, savouring her delicate lips. her fingers tentatively reached for your shirt, grabbing you and pulling you in closer. as the kiss intensified, yizhuo’s hands journeyed down your back, directly pushing down so your chests were pressed together “do whatever you want…” her breath hitched as you trailed down kisses from her jaw down to her neck, taking the time and effort to not accidentally leave a huge hickey there. you replied by pushing her back onto the bed, the loose towel that wrapped around body fell apart easily, exposing yizhuo’s pretty tits. she paid no mind, letting you do whatever you pleased.

“god, you’re so pretty” you climbed onto the bed, straddling yizhuo’s waist as you carefully removed your t-shirt.

she burned holes through your face, why was she staring so hard all of a sudden? “how are your eyes are pink, y/n” taken aback, she sits up and examines your face. she raised her hand and waved it in front of you “is this thing real?” tilting her head in confusion.

“it is real- mmh?” a jolt shoots right up through your spine and then down to your core out of nowhere. ning held your sleek black tail, rubbing her fingers against the weird leathery texture, caressing and prodding at your poor flimsy, slightly erect(?) tail, as you let out a soft sigh. “yizhuo…” you mewl pathetically “that- that feels weird”

“does it now?” her tongue darted out, licking the centre of your heart shaped tail with the ever so subtle tug at the corner of her lips “sensitive much” a couple more licks and kisses to your tail and you were pretty much done for.

time to time you forget that you have some sort of libido increasing, aphrodisiac power. the kiss you two shared may have affected her. well it definitely did. the increase of confidence radiating from the older girl was way different in comparison to her usual self. cause by now you’d expect her to be a little more gentle with you.

flipping positions, yizhuo held you down with her two hands with a devilish look on her face “if it’s sex you want, then i’ll make sure to fuck you till your begging for me to stop” her hand travelled down your tail, stroking it as if she was stroking your dick. never before had someone do something like that to your tail, but my god did it feel so fucking good.

she toyed with it, prodded and poked the tip of it and sucked it with her pretty pink and plump lips. the other hand cupped your chest, fondling over your boobs to get a feel for her own satisfaction “i could get used to this…” being on top of you, she had the advantage to do whatever she desired, and also because you were too weak to move at all “what do you want y/n? want me to fuck you with my tongue or my fingers. you choose”

you chose the latter.

throwing your head back onto the fluffed up pillows, yizhuo waisted no time and went to her destination. not one, but two fingers pushed deep inside of your pussy, stretching you out so good. her lustfully hooded eyes looked down at you, absorbing in the expressions of your pleasure contorted face “how’s it feel? want me to add another for you baby?”

unable to answer her question with words, you nod eagerly, wanting nothing but her fingers to fill you up. so she did, adding in a third finger since you asked to cutely with that nod of yours. now knuckles deep inside, that same devilish grin spread across her face. you unconsciously buck your hips up, smiling wearily at yizhuo “so.. so deep” your moans urged her to immediately start moving. she started out nice and slow, curling her fingers at different intervals to squeeze out those lovely moans of yours. every thrust, she explored your spongy walls, testing out the waters to see which place hit the best for you. then as time went by, she gradually built up her pace until she came to her desired speed.

three fingered merciselessly pounded hard into your tight cunt, your juices leaking and dripping onto yizhuo’s bedsheets, and the sounds of your wetness leaving the chinese girl in awe. noticing the way your hips began to meet with her speed, her hand that played with your tail slowly slided towards them, holding you down by the stomach “let me do all the work” driven by your moans, she leans down to press a hungry kiss on your lips, then leaving a hot trail of kisses down from your neck and onto your perky nipples.

swirling around the hardened bud on your chest, a guttural moan catches her attention “you like it when i suck on your tits, huh?” her thumb pressed against your swollen clit as she muttered those words, all the while still paying attention to your sensitive tits. she enjoyed the way you tried to wriggle your hips in attempts to move them, and how your hands clutched the sheets with pure desperation. she felt hazy, maybe a little bit tipsy somehow, but all she wanted to do was fuck you until you were screaming her name.

as her fingers continued to slide against your walls, hitting the right spots at an intense speed, you felt a knot form in your stomach. you were so desperate for relief, needing to buck your hips into her palm to get that sweet friction you felt on your clit, but she didn’t allow you to do that; her hand still resting on your stomach to stop you from squirming “yi-yizhuo~” you whined, teary eyes staring at her with a pitiful look “please yizhuo.. r-rub my clit please~”

and who was she to deny you.

though she didn’t do exactly what you wanted, she did something way more better. moving away from your nipples, she lowered herself down onto the bottom of her bed to shove her face right between your thighs. tongue darting out her mouth, she gives a few kitten licks on your clit, savouring the sweet essence of your pussy for a starter. those tiny kitten licks turned into something much more. the tip of her tongue circled against your heat, occasionally wrapping her lips around to give you a quick suck before continuing to lap your soaked folds up to your sensitive clit.

the stimulation drove your crazy. you never knew that yizhuo was so skilled at this. still thrusting those three fingers inside of your now pulsating cunt, at the hot and wet kisses and licks she left on your clit, she knew - and you knew, that you were on the verge of toppling over the edge. but it wasn’t enough for her “is that good, hm? does my needy baby want me to fuck her harder?” yizhuo somehow had the strength to speed up, fucking your hole as she moans at how well you’re taking her.

those words vibrated from your core and sent shivers across your spine, leaving goosebumps all over your skin - in which also made you clench around her fingers.

fuck, it was way too damn good. you felt your legs shaking, jaw opening wide, stomach tightening and that course of hot pleasure travelling through your entire nervous system “close- close yizhuo.. don’t stop” your words came out slurred, a few unintelligible praises and swears being ripped out of the back of your throat as you felt yourself on the edge.

with one final deep and hard thrust, your jaw slacked open as your orgasm was pulled out from your body, legs twitching and spasming as you repetitively screamed out yizhuo’s name alongside even more praises. for a minute your body fell limp against the bed, exhausted from the mind blowing orgasm yizhuo gave you, and also from the built up stress you had from promotions.

now full of the sexual energy you gained from yizhuo, you spring upwards, patting yizhuo’s head gently “t-thank you… i feel refreshed…”

the older girl finally sat up after she cleaned you up. wiping her face and chin from the juices that dripped all the way down, she flashed you a smile “with that tail of yours, and those pink eyes, you’ve got to be a succubus… right? to answer her question, you nodded, cheeks red from her straightforwardness.

“y-yeah. you’re right… wanna go again?”

“only if i bottom next”

#wintersera #ning yizhuo smut #ningning smut #ningning x reader smut #ningning x fem reader smut #aespa smut #aespa x reader smut #kpop smut #kpop girl group smut

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faeriekit · 4 months ago

Text

Health and Hybrids (XXV)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Tim pulls a fast one on Batman for their mutual benefit. Everybody giggles. Danny goggles.

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

(Additional TW: I think this counts as a panic attack ngl)

On the one hand. The room Danny’s in has a killer view of the earth from the moon.

The wall is basically just one big window. Danny is also apparently permitted to mash his face into the glass and ogle the Earth from Space for as long as he wants until the stinky dad, whoever he is, finally emerges from the depths of the building.

Diana’s the only one beside him today. She looks nice—nicer than usual, in her armor and bright clothing rather than soft scrubs and hair net. She can push his chair without getting tired—she could probably fly and carry him too, if she had to, so. Danny’s maybe counting on her liking him if this stinky dad tries to be mean.

So. Diana (nice lady) and Danny (half-dead ghost boy) are quietly seated in a dim, peaceful board room, absorbing the early morning (?) space radiation when the door hisses open across the room.

In the doorway is a long, dark, shadow of a man.

…And the green guy!!

Okay, if the stinky dad man brought a friend to this meeting the same way Diana’s meant to supervise him, Danny feels like he’s been lawyered up for the sake of some kind of court trial. This is not fair. Danny wasn’t able to review his case with his legal representation before this.

Well. Danny fumes. Whatever. His lawyer is Diana, the most powerful living being he’s seen ever in his life, and she can totally kick the green guy’s ass. Hell, Danny could probably kick the green guy’s ass.

...You know. If he wasn’t. Sick.

The stinky dad guy looks a lot like the blob his kid drew him as. That’s kind of neat—his suit is all black with little to no variation, which sort of just washes out the colors Danny might have been able to see if his eyes were still good. He’s very quiet, which is nice, and he’s very not-trying-to-read-Danny’s-mind, which is even better.

The two sit. Danny’s already in a wheelchair, so he just lets Diana wheel him to the table. The lady sits beside him in the spinny office chair.

Hello, the green guy opens with, already toying with the edges of Danny’s aura.

Danny sends back an abundance of ass-kicking emotions.

…Alright then, the green man capitulates, the barest hint of bemusement quickly stifled.

Good. Danny is mean. He’s awake enough to be mad about other people touching his aura from any end of his personal bubble.

But then the green guy…says stuff to the dad guy? And it’s very? Quiet?

Explanations, the green guy says. The image of a sign language translator at a baseball game floats over to him, and—

…Oh. He’s translating. For Danny.

That’s…nice? Nicer than Danny expected, honestly? Most of the time, people are perfectly happy to misinterpret him. It was kind of the way of the world at this point. Getting blamed for stuff, getting accused of stuff…

Man. If they turn out to be indoctrinating him for secret war purposes, at least they’re going all in. Danny might actually. You know. Like it here. A little.

He squirms in his chair, and tries not to look at anyone in particular. Diana—the lady who’s been nice to him—makes as if to straighten his hair for him, and remembers at the last second that he doesn’t like to be touched.

And sure. Danny doesn’t want to be touched. By bad guys.

…But Diana’s been really nice to him, so. Maybe. He scratches at the back of his neck, and ducks his head down—and remembers to use his words. “Yes,” he consents verbally. He can’t make eye contact. But he can…let her. Brush his hair back. A little.

Diana asks something long and complicated—and the green guy presses an image of Wonder Woman asking permission, being kind, being gentle—up against the edges of Danny’s awareness.

Danny nods at the floor instead of at the lady. It’s fine. She’s fine. It’s fine.

And her fingers carefully brush through the front end of his fringe, and Danny. Danny is so normal about it. He doesn’t even cry or anything. Not even in front of his friend’s stinky dad.

And she doesn’t do it like Mom did it. And she doesn’t ruffle his hair like Dad did.

But it’s. Nice. And she doesn’t pull.

…And she doesn’t hit.

Danny eventually leans back into his wheelchair. It’s a little bit embarrassing to be halfway in and halfway out, but. Whatever. The scary-looking-dad with the earsies on his helmet has his own teenager. He should understand what it feels like to get emotionally weird with your teen in a public place. If he doesn’t, well...he wouldn’t be a great dad, then, and his opinion would suck anyway.

Based on what Danny knows about the masked kid, Danny isn’t sure the guy would tolerate a bad dad. The teen seems kinda unhinged.

The man says something, and the green guy presses a number of translated feelings against Danny’s awareness: Greetings. Questions about Danny’s wellbeing. Curiosity, but not demanding.

“…Hello,” Danny says back, and. Waves.

The man waves back. He’s got little claws on his gloves.

…Like a cat? Is it to go with his ears? Danny wonders about the possibilities of the guy being cat themed. It’s possible, presumably.

So…they want to know how Danny’s doing? Danny shrugs, and he glances at Diana, since, you know, she could probably fill them in? She does speak their language. And she’s been here the whole time.

The lady leans in close to him, black hair falling out from behind her ear. “What do you want to say?” she whispers into her ear, hand covering her mouth from their watchers.

Uh. It’s up to…Danny?? Somehow??

Danny winces. “…Good?” he tries, unsure if the word he uses means okay or fine or well. “…Not…hungry?”

“Very good,” Diana agrees, a little louder. She looks proud. Being not hungry must mean a lot to her, then. It means a lot to Danny too—he can remember the sensation of his stomach rubbing against itself, friction pulling raw at his insides as acid ate at him.

It was. Bad.

It was bad.

Danny’s glad he’s not there anymore. Anyway, there’s a guy in the room who reads minds, and Danny doesn’t really want to share that memory with anyone ever; especially someone who could turn it back on him.

The stinky dad says something else, but he uses words too thick and long for Danny to understand. The green guy translates, pure conceptual recall brushing against Danny’s outer aura—Needs? Wants?

…Danny frowns.

Danny looks at Diana, who looks back at him. Wants, needs…? What?

“Do you need aniþing?” Diana whispers to him, which. You know. Mostly makes sense.

Does Danny…need anything? He has medical care, he has food, he has water, he has toys and brain teasers, even…he has people to hang out with, he has people who stretch his legs with him so that he can go back to normal…heck, he doesn’t even have to clean his own waste bag. There’s people who do that for him.

Like. What more could Danny ask for?

Danny shrugs. He just wants to heal up and run away. Maybe…maybe, if Diana is real and not just pretending to like him to keep an eye on him, she’d let him visit her later or something. Danny would do what Dani doe—did. What Dani…did. And he’d just go a bunch of places and come back when he wants to.

But. No. There’s nothing he really needs right now.

The pointy-eared guy and the green guy share a look and a couple quiet words. Danny flares his annoyance into the silence, but all he gets is a silent Apology/Apology, which isn’t answers.

Ugh. Danny leans over the arm of his wheelchair. This is kind of super boring; it’s more boring than it is frustrating, even.

The stinky dad guy says something else, and Danny feels the push and pull of something double ended tugging on the outer edge of his aura. Additional/information, giving/take?

Danny really wishes he’d brought a fidget toy or something. His nerves are ramping up but all he can do is contort his fingers together, feeling the strain in and the joints click as he pushes them together and twists them apart. They want…to ask him questions? No, they’re already asking him questions. They want Danny to…give them questions??

…Danny doesn’t really want to. Still, he probably…should.

“The…space station,” he says, using the wrong word for their big space building but not knowing the better one; “Is this…where…why is it?”

The black-caped dad grumbles something vaguely approving. A tablet pops out of the table—spooky—and the guy starts drawing on it, explaining all the way. The green guy simplifies more of the verbally complicated concepts for Danny as they go.

Anyway. So they’re in space because it’s their…job? Danny thinks? They do…fighting stuff. Which Danny knew. Because he’d seen them on the news.

But it looks like they do a lot of things—they clean up after storms, and chase regular bad guys and super-bad-guys instead of just big ones. And they stop bad aliens from hurting people on Earth.

The green guy shifts from a green-looking, pointy-headed, red-eyed form to a warm, brown, human skin tone. And even. Like. Human clothing.

Danny stares.

…And the guy immediately takes back his natural form, his body physically shifting and morphing, which, fair, but holy crap. He’s living, on Earth. He passes as normal, on Earth. No one snitches on him. No one’s selling him to the government for parts. No one’s trapping him in a cage and not feeding him.

This guy works here, and everyone lets him.

Danny shifts in his chair. He…he wants that. He wants that. He wants to pass as human and not have to worry about…about anyone getting rid of him. He wants to go back to school. He wants to hide, and never ever not ever be found by anyone or anything when he does.

“I want that,” Danny says. There’s no inflection. He feels dead. He is dead, but usually he doesn’t feel it. “What do I do for…that.”

Help/Searching/Finding? the green—alien—questions, but there’s nothing for Danny to find. He knows exactly where everyone he loves is—and unless they’re already fully formed in the ghost zone…

…Well. Danny has forever to wait and see if he’ll see his friends and sister again. Maybe he’ll find them again one day, in a world purely green and glowing.

He shakes his head.

The next question comes…softer. Gentler. The mental push feels more like a breeze than a gale. Friends…Home/family?

The question comes tinged with all sorts of sensations that Danny’s suppressed—warmth, security, happiness, oxytocin, fondness, pride and being the source thereof, warmth and love, love, love—

Danny’s sweating. He can’t stop. His hands are shaking faster than usual—he kicks the brakes off his chair with the heels of his palms, and jerks the wheels back, pulling away from the desk—

He’s halfway across the room before he hears the noise. It’s just. Noise. It’s Diana, carefully shushing the loud heartbeat churning in his ears, hands on his hand, trying not to cage him but trying to keep skin on skin contact. Her hand is on the back of his hand, and on his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Diana whispers. Danny’s shaking. His whole body is shaking. “Shhh, sh sh sh. It’s alright, it’s okay.”

It’s not it’s not it’snoit’snotit’sNOT. His sister is dead. His friends are dead. His parents sold his captors the equipment to catch him and they didn’t care if he got hurt doing it and now they’re DEAD. They tore open his hometown down the middle just to catch him, they stole him—they took his dead parent’s things as tools to hurt him—they HURT HIM and there isn’t—he can’t—he can’t—

Something is holding him down, and Danny thrashes. He has arms, but they’re injured—he has legs but he needs a tail and he—and—

He cries into Diana’s arms, sobbing and wailing. It’s a miracle that the building stays together. She holds him tighter, and he cries even harder into her soft under-layers.

He wants to run away. He needs to run away. Someone is holding him, and he can’t even flicker through her the way he wants to; his core is already too strained just from talking.

Danny’s sick. He’s dying. He’s—

“Take a breath,” Diana whispers, calm and sure. She models it for him. Danny gasps in air. “Good. Lete it out slow. As bobbels in a straw.”

He tries to copy her he does and she’ll be so angry if he can’t do it right on the first try but she lets him try, over and over again, until Danny’s able to stop hiccupping and leaking tears and ectoplasm all over her and realize that she’s holding him like a baby. Like. Actually cradling him against his body armor.

…You know what. He’s too tired to even be embarrassed. Screw that. Danny leans all the way over her and goes completely limp. Someone else can deal with his him for a little bit.

She does. Diana just…holds him.

It’s nice. Mom and Dad used to do that for him, when Danny was still…more human, he supposed. More than he is right now.

Something else touches his hand. Danny looks blearily downwards.

The teenager’s dad gets to his knees and takes Danny’s hand—and he doesn’t need the translation to understand.

“I’m sorry,” the man says, over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Danny blinks sleepily. What does his friend’s stinky dad have to be sorry for? He didn’t even do anything to Danny in the first place.

Danny won’t remember, afterwards, being wheeled back to his room for a nap. They must have wheeled him back, though, because the alternative is that Diana tucked him into bed like a baby, and that’s just kind of embarrassing to even think about for too long.

#Diana: I have been allowed to touch him. Ergo I can pick him up now. This is permission #Bruce (in the meeting review later): ...no #Diana: why not??#Bruce: that is. most certainly not how human trauma works. Keep asking before you try anything.#Diana: ah. Understood.#health and hybrids #dp x dc #danny phantom #dcu crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #tw medical #tw body horror #tw gore #although tbh at this point we're mostly a recovery fic #faer fic

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dollfacefantasy · 4 months ago

Note

hi! i just finished reading your most recent fic, (amazing btw 💕) and keep reflecting on the part where leon calls reader a little disappointing.. so i was wondering if you could write some angst with DI leon where he’s quite mean and degrading and saying how he’s disappointed and stuff with reader, yk! then leon lovingly fucks reader after as a way to say sorry? (daddy kink included) thank you <3

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: leon goes a little too hard on you one night during sex. upon realizing how much it hurt you, he knows he has to make it up somehow.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, daddy kink, praise/degradation, age gap (20s, early forties), mentions of spanking & not using safeword

word count: 5.2k

a/n: part 1 <3 took me a while to figure out how i wanted to do this but i hope you guys enjoy.

Something isn't right.

That's all you could think while watching Leon idly stir pasta sauce at the stove. You were perched nearby at the counter, observing him as if he was under experimentation. While to anyone else his actions would appear completely mundane, you knew that this gesture was only the first step in something larger.

He never cooked you dinner. In the year and six weeks you'd been with him, he'd only ever made you a real meal twice before. Once being six weeks ago on your anniversary, and the other about four months before that, a couple days after you had a fight that nearly blew the wheels off your relationship.

In each case, there was a reason behind it. Whether to celebrate or make amends, neither was an innocuous decision made at random. You weren't even sure that Leon possessed the ability to be spontaneous, but that was a separate issue for another time. The obvious meaning behind his actions was the cause of the splashing of the noodles being poured into the boiling water making your stomach turn.

Because today wasn't anything special. There wasn't a birthday or an achievement to make an occasion of. That meant it was the other option, the makeup option, and you were extra sure of this because the two of you hadn't exactly been the perfect picture of being in love lately.

"Honey, could you put these on the table for me?" he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

He looks at you over his shoulder to make sure you see the plates and silverware he's referring to.

"Yeah, sure," you respond.

You hop off the stool you were sitting on and grab the things he wanted you to. This was even worse. He wasn't going to let you eat in peace at the counter like you did when he wasn't here. No, he was going to stare you down across the dining table.

But you still do what he asks. Sighing, you haphazardly put a plate down on both ends of the table with silverware bordering each side to match. You grab glasses next and put them there too. Once everything is in its perfect place, you plop down at your seat, deciding to wait here until he joins you. This chair was out of view from the kitchen which meant you could get a few moments alone to brace yourself.

It's not that anything terrible was going to happen. It was just going to be a conversation. But it would be a relationship conversation, an emotional conversation, something neither of you were good at.

You weren't good at it because you'd never been good at it. Ever since you were a kid, the slightest spotlight put on your feelings had barbs forming in your throat and stinging, salty tears brimming your lash line. Everything had to be coaxed out of you, or you were sure to break down.

Leon wasn't good at it because his version of a conversation came across more as an interrogation. When talking about feelings, he never wanted to talk about his own. He'd never share what was going on in his own head, he only wanted to know what was going on in yours. You were the one struggling; therefore, you were the one he needed to help. You were the mission to be resolved.

You supposed that was consistent with everything else about the man you loved. He always wanted to be the one in control, the one managing the details of your life. It came from the desire to protect. He showed his love by keeping you safe, keeping you from being like him. He went away for weeks on end following orders. When he came home, he liked to be the one doling them out.

And that was how you liked it too. You weren't some unwilling victim. When he offered to try this stuff out with you, you couldn't have been happier. You liked being told to do this and do it now. You liked the security of his lap, the promise that no matter how bad things got he would be there to wipe away your tears and make it all better.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. You were pretty sure you knew what the specific topic of conversation would be tonight. You'd been distant lately. You could already hear his voice ringing through your head telling you that. For the past couple weeks, you hadn't been you. You hadn't been as sweet on him, kissing his cheeks and stroking his hair while you cuddled. Hadn't been hanging off his body or climbing all over him every chance you got. Hadn't been as eager to squeal daddy when he made you cum.

You knew why, and you knew he didn't. That was by design though. You didn't want him to know. This whole situation had spiraled so far out of control, and you just wanted to sweep your mess under the rug and forget about it. You didn't need daddy's help cleaning it up.

It shouldn't even be that big of a deal. Nothing that bad had happened.

The night that had your panties in a bunch happened a few weeks ago. You'd had a shitty day and so had Leon. You were looking to act out, and he was looking to punish.

You gave him some attitude. A few eye rolls and sharp responses when he asked you things. Looking back, you think maybe you should've sensed he was in a bad mood and just dropped it. That's when the other part of you chimes in and wonders why he couldn't do the same for you. Why couldn't he feel out your emotions and realize you needed him? But then you start to feel emotionally stunted, expecting your boyfriend to be a mind reader.

This internal conversation never gets very far.

That night he hadn't read your mind. He'd taken you over his lap and given you a spanking. It was pretty standard. You'd had over a dozen of those by his hand at this point. The slaps weren't the problem. His palm hit you all the same, bringing the sting you craved. The part that stuck with you and created this wedge was just him. It was how he spoke, the way he looked at you.

You could still see the eyes you fell in love with looking at you with nothing but disappointment.

You could still hear him growling in your ear when he had you bent in half and fucked you afterwards. He had you face down on the couch, holding your head against the cushion while he jackhammered into you.

"If you want my attention, all you have to do is ask. You know that. But you never fucking do it. You play these games with me. You think I wanna put up with that? You think I come home and wanna hear you bitching at me too?"

You weren't even sure what about it had got you. It was harsh, sure, but it was supposed to be.

"I want you to be a good girl. To behave. I don't want to deal with a bratty little slut."

He'd said stuff like that before. But in that moment it didn't feel like daddy was mad at you, it felt like your boyfriend was. It didn't feel like you were naughty or misbehaving. It felt like you were pathetic.

"You want daddy's attention so bad, next time you say please like you're supposed to. Don't make me go through the chore of disciplining your ass again. I'm over it."

By some miracle you still got to cum. He came inside you like normal. When he pulled out he'd fallen back onto the cushions of the couch to catch his breath. He lied there, fingers wiping the sweat from his brow as if he'd put in a hard day's work. You sat there unsure of what to do with yourself. After he'd come down a little more, he'd pulled you close, kissed all over your face like normal and taken to you to bed. But you'd laid there with your eyes open, trying not to cry as he snored against the back of your neck.

You're snapped out of your memories by the thud of the pot on the dining room table. Leon stood a few feet away from you, oven mitts on both hands as he placed the dish between your seats. He cracks a smile at you when you look up and meet his eyes.

"I made way too much. I hope you're hungry," he teases.

You respond with a weak grin of your own. Sitting up straight in your chair, you blink a few times and rub your face as if that'd be enough to clear away the past and magically fix everything.

Two of his fingers duck below your chin and guide you to look at him again.

"You ok?" he asks. His voice is tender like it is most of the time when he speaks to you.

"Yeah. I'm just tired," you tell him with a more convincing smile. You're not sure if it works, but he seems to accept it for now.

"Alright," he says, leaning down and kissing the corner of your mouth.

He takes his seat across the table, opposite yours. You get the privilege of serving your portion first. You shovel a helping of pasta onto your plate. The red sauce spreads on your plate, and you grab a piece of toast to soak some of it up. Leon repeats your actions and gets some of the food for himself. He had made too much. You'd definitely have leftovers, but that was nothing to complain about. He made dinner before these conversations for a reason. Like anything else, he was a good cook when he wanted to be.

The meal starts off silent as you had expected it to. You both eat instead of trying to talk. Forks hitting plates and bread crunching into two fills the room in the place of words. A sense of calm comes over you, but you know it won't last forever. Eventually, Leon does break the silence with some basic questions. How was your day, wasn't this summer heat killer, did you see he fixed that thing in the garage you'd asked him to. It's fine. Just fine like everything had been for the past couple weeks.

The conversation reaches another lull though, and this is when he goes for the killing strike.

"Baby, I think we need to talk," he sighs.

You raise your eyebrows as if you hadn't been expecting this.

"About what?" you ask after swallowing your mouthful of pasta.

Now he raises his eyebrows. He's not disappointed, but he knows you're playing dumb and doesn't appreciate it. It's affectionate though. It doesn't look like it did a few weeks ago.

"I know something's bothering you," he tries softly.

"I told you I was tired," you shrug and look away.

"It's not just today though. It's been more than a few days," he says.

You sigh and put your fork down. You're conscious of every part of your reaction in an effort to avoid looking pouty or melting into tears.

"I don't know. The past few weeks I just haven't felt great. It's not like a crisis situation or something," you say.

"Then tell me about it, sweetheart," he says, trying to will you to look up at him with his gentle tone, "I want to help, but I don't know what's wrong. Every time I try, you pull away."

"Not on purpose," you add. It's an important defense to you.

"I'm not saying it's on purpose," he says. You can tell he's trying to be as non-confrontational as possible. Maybe he does pick up on your emotions a little bit. "All I'm saying is that I'm worried about you."

And with one little sentence, you feel the spikes starting to poke through. You look down and place your palm on your eyes. You felt ten times more pathetic than you had a few weeks ago. He can see you're getting closer to breaking, so he continues.

"You can talk to me. If you need something or I did something, I just want to make it better," he continues, "I don't like not knowing what's going on in that pretty head. I like it even less seeing you look so sad."

Your lip wobbles. A last resort to hold in the barrage of emotions. "It's nothing," you choke out.

"It's not nothing if it has you this upset," he counters, speaking quietly, "Just talk to me, little love."

That's all it takes, and you can't hold it anymore. Tears leak from your water line and draw limpid streaks down your face. You bite your lip to nip any audible cries in the bud. It doesn't matter though, he still sees the small droplets of water.

"My baby," he coos, "C'mere."

You rise to your feet in an instant and round the table. He pushes his chair back and takes you into his lap. You're cradled by his warmth, safe against his chest as he rubs your back. As much as you loved mentally complaining about his interrogations, maybe this is what you needed. Maybe this worked for you.

"You're ok. I'm right here," he murmurs.

He kisses your hairline and cups the back of your neck to keep you close. He lets you cry it out before attempting any more questions. Once it seems you've settled though, the spotlight is back on you.

"What's wrong, sunshine?" he whispers.

Try as he might, you still couldn't bring yourself to say the words. It was like two wires in your brain that just did not physically connect. Expressing pain was hard enough, but expressing pain that he caused? This inability killed you, it really did. Thinking about it brings another sob from your lips. You wanted to beat your own ass till she had enough of a spine to just say a few simple words so this could all be over.

You can't do that though, so Leon continues on with his tender questions.

"Can you tell me when you started feeling this way?" he asks with a hint of hesitation.

There that was one you could answer. "Few weeks ago."

He nods, taking any information he could get as crucial.

"Alright... is there something stressing you out?" he asks.

You shake your head. Technically there was something stressing you out, but while you were breaking down, 'stressing out' was code for responsibilities, so the answer is no.

"Problems with your friends?"

Another head shake.

"Family?"

No.

"...Me?"

You almost shake your head again. You could swing just making something up on the spot. But that wouldn't be right to him. He'd done the work of the guessing game and come to the conclusion fair and square. You nod yes.

A whirlpool of emotion forms in his pupils, but it's almost like he knew he was to blame. He nods and sighs. His hand doesn't stop rubbing your back.

"Ok," he breathes, "You gotta give me a hint, honey."

You found words coming a bit easier now that he had led you this far.

"Remember a few weeks ago when you got mad at me?" you rasp and look at him with your watery eyes.

He blinks at you. "We got into a fight a few weeks ago?" he asks.

There's genuine confusion in his tone. He didn't remember. Or at least this day didn't stick out in his mind. He hadn't been dwelling on it since it happened, hadn't been wondering if it meant something greater in the context of your relationship. You weren't sure if that brought you relief or frustration.

"No. It was like... it was when I had a bad day and I came home and you were watching that stupid cop show. And I kept talking. And you told me to shut up. And I said you were only watching it cause you didn't know how to change the channel," you list off some of the events that led to the infamous incident.

He smiles upon remembering that little joke. He found it funny. Then why did he get so mean?

"Don't tell me you've been mad cause I wouldn't let you watch your show instead," he teases.

"No, it's not that. Remember after when you spanked me? And then we fucked on the couch..." you sniffle.

He pauses to think about your words. The gears turn in his head, the pieces fall into place. The lightbulb goes off in his eyes.

"Oh yeah. I remember that," he says. He remembers, but he doesn't understand. "What about it?"

His thumb swipes a few tears away while waiting for the answer you were still trying to formulate.

"Well... like... I don't know," you start. You felt ridiculous verbalizing it. "You just kinda hurt my feelings."

His brows furrow. He still doesn't get it.

"Hurt your feelings?" he repeats, "I didn't hit you too hard, did I? You know if that ever happens you have the word. You say it, and I stop for you in a heartbeat. You know that."

"It didn't hurt like that... it's just some of the stuff you said," you say. The urge to pull away is starting to come back.

"Sweetheart," he says. His voice is dripping with concern. He didn't remember saying anything bad enough that you'd still be twisted into knots over it multiple weeks later. "You know you can use the word for that kind of thing too. Please tell me you know that."

"I know that," you start, feeling a little ashamed. This was exactly why you didn't want to talk about this.

"If I say something that hurts you this bad, you need to tell me. Right when I say it. You tell me to stop. You let me remind you it's not real," he says, quiet but firm. He holds you tighter, unintentionally squeezing more tears out of you. "I only say things I think will get you off. I don't say them to hurt you."

You hide your face in his neck. You felt so fucking pathetic.

"Hey, hey, hey. Shhh. It's ok. I just... I want you to understand, baby," he murmurs. He rocks you back and forth on his lap a bit before speaking again. "Can you tell me why you didn't use the word?"

Leon prayed with everything he had that it wasn't because you were scared of him. If that was it, you might as well pick up the fork off the table and jam it right into his heart. You don't answer, and it worries him. All he gets from you is the feeling of tears dribbling down his throat.

"Did it not hurt till afterwards? Did you think I wouldn't stop?" he coaxes.

You shake your head. "Cause... because I don't want you to think I can't take it," you weep.

While he's relieved it's not what he feared, he didn't expect this.

"What do you mean? You can't take it?" he repeats.

"I don't want you to think I'm a bratty little girl. I told you that stuff was ok, and I don't wanna tap out and make you feel all guilty and stuff," you cry, the words rushing from your mouth.

He sighs and his eyes close for a second. He did feel like a piece of shit now, but with what you just said, he didn't want you knowing that.

"My sweet girl," he says against your head while rubbing your back, "I would never think that about you. The word is there for you to use it whenever you want. It doesn't matter if it makes me worry I hurt you. That's not a bad thing."

You cry more into his neck, clinging to him as if you're trying to merge into one.

"I just don't wanna disappoint you," you sob.

"Baby, baby, baby," he whispers, holding you tight against his chest and rocking you again, "You never disappoint me. You don't. Not when you act bratty, not when you break a rule. That shit is all a game. It's a game, and if you don't like it, we don't have to play it.

"I know you're sensitive. I know you get emotional. I'm with you knowing that stuff. It doesn't make me think of you as an obligation. I like being daddy, but it doesn't make me think of you like that. If it makes you feel like that, we can stop. You're more important than any of it."

"I do like it," you weep, "I just... I don't want you to think I'm pathetic."

"I don't think that. I never have," he says and kisses your temple, "You're my baby. My pretty girl. My favorite person on this planet."

You sniffle and snake your arms around him tighter.

"Pathetic or disappointment never cross my mind when I look at you. Half the time I don't even have thoughts when I see you. You're so fucking gorgeous you take 'em all away," he whispers.

He nudges your head out of the crook of his neck so he can see you. His lips land on your forehead first. Then your nose. Then each cheek. And finally your lips.

"Look at me," he whispers.

You do what he asks and look up at him. You look into his eyes. These were the eyes you fell in love with.

"You are not a disappointment," he says before a kiss, "You are not pathetic. I love you. I love you when you're being good or when you're being a little shit. I love when you wanna call me daddy, but you'd still be mine if you decided you never wanted to say that word again."

"I still wanna call you daddy," you sniffle and give him a small smile.

He chuckles and returns the expression. "That was a quick decision," he teases, "Doesn't sound like you thought it through."

"I did. I still want my daddy," you say and put your head down on his shoulder.

"Good. Cause I'm right here," he says softly, "Daddy's got you."

The problem wasn't totally resolved in Leon's mind. Never again did he want to cause you weeks worth of stress over something like this. But for now, he was happy to see you smile. He could accept this temporary fix. He nuzzles your neck and places a few soft kisses on your throat.

"I think daddy needs to make it up to his baby for being so mean to her. For making her cry like that," he whispers.

A warm tingle branches out through your spine and curves around your ribs. You scoot closer to him in his lap and shrug, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Don't give me that shrug. You know you like being spoiled. Being the center of attention," he whispers.

"Yeah..." you whisper in his ear.

He grunts as he rises to his feet with you in his arms. Your legs lock around his waist before his feet even start moving. He'd clean up the table later. Right now was about you.

He carries you through the house, tosses you onto the bed. You squeak at your glide through the air. He pulls his shirt off and drops his pants before climbing on top of you. Always efficient your Leon.

The warm lengths of his muscular limbs encompass you against the mattress. He starts by kissing you on the mouth, but his lips soon trail down to your neck. Tongue and teeth brush over the balmy skin of your neck. He nips a few hickeys along the curve of your throat, listening for every little hitch in your breath or stifled moan.

"Always with those pretty little noises..." he mumbles against your skin.

He inhales you before moving away, gets his fix of your scent before his hands push your shirt over your head and toss to the floor with his. His hands rub up and down your side, gently squeezing and massaging while his mouth migrates towards your chest. He lays kisses at the tops of your breasts. He can feel your heart pattering against his lips. It drives him crazy, feeling what he does to you down to that level.

Your legs wrap around his waist and pull his body closer. You couldn't get close enough after the weeks of distance. He groans as his crotch comes flush against yours. It's as if he can feel the heat of your center through the layers of cloth that separate you.

He kisses between your breasts, forcing himself to remove your bra before he thinks about your pants. He nuzzles the two spheres of flesh with all the care he holds in his body. He'd never been good with words, and the last few weeks proved as much. Showing you physically how he feels is easier.

"Haven't been able to kiss my girls properly in too long," he murmurs and glances up at you, cocky smile in his eyes.

"You're stupid," you laugh quietly.

"Hey. That's not a nice word, princess. Not one you should be calling your daddy," he chides before giving one of your nipples a few sucks.

You sigh contently and arch into the wet embrace of his mouth. "Sorry daddy," you smile.

"I'm sure you are."

He gives your tits some more attention, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't antsy to get his fingers wet. They fumble with the button on your shorts before he lifts your legs and practically tears the garment loose. He kisses your ankle and down your calf to your knee where his hands take over and press them up against your torso. He can feel your slick creating a wet patch on the front of his boxers and ruts into it. His cock grows stiffer beneath the fabric as if trying to get to you.

"You ready for me, babydoll? Dripping like a good girl? Gonna be nice and easy for daddy to slide right in," he says while leaning down to be close to you.

You nod eagerly, your nose bumping against his.

"Nothing makes it better than having daddy inside, hm?" he coos.

"Don't need anything else," you say and sling your arms around his neck.

That's all he needs to hear. He pushes his underwear down his legs enough so that his cock is free. You feel it slot between your puffy outer folds and prod at your entrance.

He slips it inside, and you both groan. Your head tilts back, allowing him to kiss at your neck some more. You'd had sex since that fight, but this was the first time you were feeling full. The first time you were feeling like his again.

"Daddy," you whine and grab at him. Just what he'd been missing.

His hips start to rock. The bones in his pelvis press right up against your ass. He fucks you deep and slow at first. Each thrust glides over a myriad of sweet spots. Every time he pulls back, you just want him to push right back in.

"That's it, honey. Tell daddy how much you missed him," he grunts.

You don't say it with words. You tighten up around him, squeezing his dick like if it gets out you'll die. The sensation wrangles a moan out of him, and his face drops into your neck. He digs his forearms into the mattress and uses the leverage to pump himself into you harder.

"My perfect, perfect girl. Don't know what I'd do without you," he whispers.

Your eyes flutter shut. You just listen to the sound of his panting, feel his heart beating for you. Your thighs tremble while pressing into his waist. Your toes curl as his hips strike the right angle to batter right where you need him.

"You could never disappoint me," he mutters. You feel his lips moving against your throat. "I love you, sweet girl. Nothing you do could ever change that."

The words are almost enough to make you get all weepy again, but you'd cried enough for one day. Instead your body latches onto him tighter.

"Harder," you whimper.

"You sure, baby?" he hums.

Your nod comes quickly. "Need to feel it more. Need it harder."

So he gives it to you harder. His eyes clamp shut and shroud his vision in darkness. He focuses on thrusting hard, clapping his skin against yours over and over. He pounds into you while pressing his face harder against you too.

You show your gratitude with a whine. His shaft hits just right, fills you up just the way you'd been aching for.

"Almost there, daddy- Can I-" you stumble over words.

"Yeah, sweetheart. You don't gotta ask tonight. You cum when you're ready," he says.

That's how you know he's really sorry. He keeps fucking into you until he feels your limbs fizzling from the proximity to release. Everything about you gets shaky. Your breaths are ragged and labored, your hands vibrate while trying to clutch at him.

"Fuck fuck fuck," you whimper.

The spark goes off inside you, and you cum hard. Your body goes taut and rolls through the waves of euphoria. He can't resist your walls pulsating around him. It's only a handful of seconds before his tummy is fluttering and his seed is spilling from him into your cunt.

"Inside, daddy," you whine as if he needed the direction.

"That's what I'm doing, baby," he grunts through clenched teeth.

He drools against your neck while his hips twitch and the last few drops leak from him. The saliva gets smeared in the messy kisses he leaves on you while pulling out. He rolls over but scoops you up with him, cradling you against his chest in a position that isn't necessarily comfortable but you love anyway.

A series of over the top kisses land on your face. You scrunch your nose and shake your head.

"Quit it. I already forgave you," you giggle, "You don't gotta slobber on me."

"Tsk tsk. Ungrateful," he tuts affectionately, "You know if I didn't give you these, you'd be begging for 'em."

"Mmm... maybe," you acquiesce with a little smile.

"Sure, sure. Maybe. Silly girl," he mumbles and nuzzles your cheek.

The playful touches continues for a moment before he calms down and softens up. You look towards his eyes, and his fingers sweep down your cheek.

"You're ok now?" he asks.

You nod. "We're ok now."

To give him the final shred of reassurance that you could, you stick out your pinky. He rolls his eyes, but sticks his out to and hooks it with yours. He knew you were back to yourself since your inability to be serious had made a reappearance. He smacks a kiss on your lips to seal the deal. He can feel you smiling into it.

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