#it isn’t the first time where she OFFERS to do something for me

[tender-rosiey]

MOOOOOOREE SUKUNA WITH HIS SHY DAUGHTER🙏🙏🙏🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

lull — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: this idea holds a special place in my heart (also am i back? who knows)

your daughter squirms restlessly in her futon, her tiny hands clutching the edges of her blanket.

she’s been unusually fussy tonight, her soft murmurs rising each time you try to ease her into slumber.

you sit beside her, brushing a hand through her fine hair. “d/n,” you murmur gently, “it’s time to sleep.”

she shakes her head, her lips trembling in that way that precedes a fit of tears. “mama stay,” she whispers, her wide eyes glistening.

you sigh, glancing toward the doorway where sukuna leans, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the room.

his usual scowl is firmly in place, his arms crossed as he watches the scene unfold with thinly veiled impatience.

“she won’t settle,” you say softly, your voice carrying a tinge of exasperation. “it’s been almost an hour.”

sukuna raises an eyebrow, his sharp gaze flicking between you and the tiny, restless figure on the futon. “she’s three,” he grunts. “just tell her to sleep.”

“oh, yes, because commanding a toddler works so well,” you reply dryly, shooting him a look. “why don’t you try?”

his eyes narrow. “me?”

“yes, you.” you stand, brushing off your kimono. “she’s your daughter too, isn’t she?”

sukuna clicks his tongue, clearly displeased, but he doesn’t protest further. he steps into the room, his presence overwhelming the small space.

your daughter freezes, her wide eyes locking onto him as she clutches her blanket tighter. she’s always been shy around him, despite—or perhaps because of—his imposing nature.

you stifle a smile as you watch the scene unfold, stepping back to lean against the doorway.

“go on,” you urge, folding your arms. “show me how the mighty king of curses handles bedtime.”

he glares at you but kneels beside your daughter’s futon.

she stares up at him, her small frame looking even tinier next to his broad shoulders. for a moment, neither of them moves, the silence stretching taut between them.

sukuna finally exhales through his nose, his expression softening—just barely. “d/n,” he says, his deep voice unusually gentle, “it’s time to sleep.”

she blinks at him, her grip on the blanket loosening slightly. “not sleepy,” she mumbles, her voice barely audible.

sukuna frowns, glancing over his shoulder at you.

you shrug, clearly enjoying his discomfort. he turns back to your daughter, his expression caught somewhere between annoyance and awkwardness.

“close your eyes,” he tries again, his tone more commanding this time.

her bottom lip wobbles. “no…”

you bite back a laugh, and sukuna shoots you a murderous glare. he sits back on his heels, clearly at a loss. then, as if remembering something, his gaze flicks to you again.

“she likes when you sing to her,” you offer helpfully, knowing full well how he’ll react.

his scowl deepens. “I don’t sing.”

“well, tonight you do,” you reply, your grin widening. “come on, sukuna. you’re her father. she’ll fall asleep in no time.”

he looks like he’d rather fight a dozen curses barehanded than follow your suggestion, but your daughter’s soft, expectant gaze leaves him with little choice.

he sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair before turning back to the little girl.

“what do you want me to sing?” he asks gruffly, his voice low.

she hesitates, her tiny fingers playing with the edge of her blanket. “lullaby?” she whispers, her eyes darting to you for reassurance.

you nod encouragingly at her, then at sukuna. “go on,” you urge. “she’s waiting.”

he grumbles under his breath but clears his throat.

the sound is awkward, hesitant—so unlike the confident and domineering man you know. your daughter watches him intently, her wide eyes filled with curiosity.

he begins, his deep voice rough at first, as if the act of singing is foreign to him. but as he continues, his tone evens out, and the melody flows smoother.

it’s a simple tune, one you’ve hummed countless times to your daughter, but hearing it from sukuna feels different.

your daughter’s eyelids begin to droop, her small body relaxing under the soothing tone of his voice. her hand rests on his knee, gripping it ever so slightly.

you can’t help but smile, your heart swelling at the sight of sukuna—fearsome, unyielding sukuna—softened by the presence of your child.

as the lullaby comes to an end, sukuna’s voice trails off, and the room falls silent. your daughter is fast asleep, her breathing slow and steady.

sukuna watches her for a moment, his crimson eyes unreadable. then, almost hesitantly, he reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from her face.

“she’s asleep,” he mutters, his voice quiet.

you step forward, kneeling beside him. “see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

his eyes flit up to yours as he glares at you. “you won’t speak of this ever again, you hear?”

“of course,” you say, though the smile tugging at your lips suggests otherwise.

sukuna rises to his feet, his towering form casting a shadow over the futon.

he looks down at your daughter, his expression softening in a way that you have become used to whenever it involved your daughter.

without a word, he turns and strides toward the door, pausing only to glance back at you. “you coming?” he asks.

you gently pet your daughter’s head before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. you look at him and smile, “yeah.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss@pompompurin1028@scul-pted@requiem626k@nameless-shrimp@sonder-paradise@jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will sneeze in your face

check out my buy me a coffee!

[lovelysakuryay]

yo why the fuck would you offer your home to me as an escape from a) my home life b) my brain but every time i ask you when i actually need to and not just to hang out it’s always no.

WHY EVEN OFFER THEN?

[kisses4reid]

criminally hot | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - you get wrongfully accused by a sheriff, and it isn’t you who’s angriest. it’s your boyfriend who has to expose your relationship in order to clear you.

genre - spencer x bau!fem!reader, fluff, slight angst if u squint, angry reid x calm reader

wc - 1.2k

warnings - reader uses she/her pronouns, handcuffs, violence, a weird white man i know id be fucking scared as well, oh swearing as well.

a/n - i love u you’re so awkward i am doing so well bc of ur request, keep requesting things your brain is crazy. ummm anyways this is my first time writing this kinda thing omg how exciting okay start reading it wtf you still doing here?

request - ( from @babyoureahauntedhouse ) omg hii!!! :3 this is my first time requesting, so please excuse the awkwardness 😭😭😭😭 first of all, how are you????? i hope you’re doing amazing!!! absolutely no pressure, but can you do one where reader gets falsely arrested (not a huge thing, maybe in a police station at a small town or something) and spencer absolutely **loses** his shit at how she’s being treated????? like, she’s freezing and the sheriff or somethjng keeps pushing her and then he just bursts into the interrogation room and uncuffs her and it’s just very fluffy???? thank you!

Emily handed you your coffee with a smile, receiving a small thank you in return. It was warm in your hands and created a comforting contrast to the cool chill of the police precinct you were set up in.

Things were going well given that you’d only been in the small town for half a day. The team debriefed on the plane, but Aaron had been on the phone with the leading detective for at least an hour now asking him where he was.

Emily headed off to the restrooms when a slender hand made its way to your waist. You turned and felt your cheeks heat, knowing exactly who is was.

“Hi Spencer.”

“Hi Y/n.” His eyes held sweetness in the chocolate swirls, and you felt like a kid who had been given candy. Spencer and you had been dating for a few months, but somehow in a team of profilers you both kept things under wraps, even with Spencer’s clumsy touches and your lingering stares. “I wish we were home,” he whispered.

You glanced around for anyone who could witness your interaction and get suspicious, but you were mostly alone other than Hotch and some officers who were weirdly taking a lot of attention to you.

“Yeah me too. I’m feeling oddly popular and not in the good way.”

Before you could talk more or offer him a sip of your coffee (even if you know he doesn’t like it), Aaron calls his name and the slim tall boy scurries away with a straight face.

You turn to find something to do. To reread a case, to help someone fill out papers, to talk to Morgan or Garcia. You would’ve opted to huddling in your cardigan if a tall man didn’t interrupt.

“Y/n L/n?” He asked in monotone. His arms were at his sides, one hovering above a pair of cuffs that hung from his police belt. Furrowing your eyebrows you answered,

“Yes? What’s wrong?”

“You’re under arrest for the robberies of…”

His voice pounded into the background of your head, thoughts attacking your eyes through a sudden headache as the words registered before you could help it. The room was silent except for the man’s voice, yet all you could hear was the furrow of eyebrows and quick approach of your boss, Aaron Hotchner.

“What’s going on here?”

“Your agent has been seen…”

You stood still as another officer came behind you and forced handcuffs onto your arms, gripping your wrists with unnecessary force that would surely leave bruises. You winced and looked between your boss and the officer, and then at Spencer, who was being pulled back by Morgan. He yelled your name in worry, witnessing the hardened grips on your body and rough pushing you were being subject to. Your coffee splattered on the ground, staining your white shoes.

There was only mumbles and white noise, as your eyes met with Spencer’s. The large officer behind you kicked your leg to get you moving, the shock glueing your shoes to the rubbery floor. And you almost didn’t even notice the hand on the back of your neck pushing you towards a dark room with a desk and two chairs.

You were so familiar with these rooms and yet it felt so different.

Of course, you didn’t actually do anything. And of course you attempt to clear that up to the officers who are slamming their hands on the table and screaming as much as they could, in a poor attempt to intimidate you.

Aaron was in the corner with a scolding face and hard hand to his chin, observing the situation with an intensity you barely ever see.

“Last month, you were seen at one of the houses that got robbed over night. You left a few days later, after also being seen at two of the other houses-“

“So she was seen at three of the ten houses robbed and you arrest her?” Aaron spoke up, bringing the men’s attention to your boss instead of you. You took the opportunity to look outside of the window.

Though it wasn’t clear, you could make out the outline of a tall boy you wished would just break into the room and save you.

And he did.

“Your evidence is illogical and childish. She’s an FBI agent for gods sake-“

“Anybody can be a suspect Agent Hotchner, even federal agents.” The tall one replied with a stubborn mumbled.

Suddenly, the door was slammed open and you were met with a disheveled Spencer panting with a red and severe face. He didn’t even bother looking at you before he starting schooling the men in blue, who at that point were glaring at him and attempting to look more intimidating than they actually were.

“I’ve read your files on this case and nothing links to Y/n L/n, not one-“

“There’s no way you read our-“

“I can read more in a minute than you can in a day, dickhead. Y/n was meeting old school friends when she was in town, we went to the Diner Inn afterwards and we met with her parents who have receipts for the meals because they’re-“ he turned his glance at you,” “sorry Y/n- they’re hoarders. You have nothing against her other than some positively reported visits and some photos of her hugging the house owners.” Spencer had slowly pinned the officers to the opposite wall unconsciously. It was hot. “I was there, I’m her receipt. And like her parents, she loves keeping those. So if you want to insist she’s your culprit, go for it. But your going against a man with eidetic memory and a lot of evidence.”

And while he was logical and correct, he was also a little too truthful.

The officers blinked in fear. Spencer definitely didn’t seem the type to yell or swear, so this clear, concise and undermining approach to the situation was somehow even scarier.

“Spencer,” you began, “thank you.”

He looked at you, his expression softening into empathy and care, “Of course.” His hands found a key in his back pocket as he approached you, starting to promptly uncuff you.

As Aaron continued to speak with the officers of their major mistake, Spencer took you outside of the room and into a private office. Your heart was racing, but it seemed Spencer was more stressed than you. He paced as you leaned onto the front of a wooden desk, hands over your chest as your eyes trailed Spencer.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I should’ve reacted faster, then you wouldn’t have been..” He stopped closely in front of you, his breath hot on yours as his gaze scoured over your body for injuries or bruises. “Are you okay?”

You smile calmly, “I’m fine. My leg hurts, and I think my wrists will be bruised, but I’m fine.”

He took your hands and rubbed his thumbs on your wrists carefully, causing butterflies to explode in your stomach.

“Thank you Spencer.” Your eyes dance with each others. “You were really hot. Maybe I need to get arrested more often.” You joke with a lift to your voice and a smirk, causing him to look down with a smile and shake his head.

“If being angry makes me hot maybe you should reevaluate what you-“

Your lips found his, you hand going to his bicep and his going to the back of your neck, before a clearing of the throat took you both out of your trances. It was Hotch.

“I’ve got some paperwork you both need to sign. About the arrest and,” his hand waved between you two, “this.”

Morgan stood behind Aaron with a smirk, leaving quickly to go tell Garcia that she had lost their bet.

taglist: @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

[nezuscribe]

gojo is used to strange people with strange requests. he gets paid for doing people’s dirty work, things they’d never do themselves, so this is pretty standard in his line of work.

he had to survive somehow, and if becoming the bidder of bad tidings was what made him coin, then he wasn’t one to complain.

another thing that gojo had gotten especially good at is knowing when somebody is looking for him. it’s usually scurried glances and sweaty palms that give them away. which is why now, as he’s resting an ale in hand at the back of the tavern, does he feel this sense go off.

he sits alone, not looking up from his drink as he feels a set of eyes on him. tonight was his night of rest, his horse was sleeping outside, and he had booked a room just for himself. he didn’t care what they gave him. he was checked out for the night.

the room is crowded, with loud and boisterous laughter filling any gaps of silence. people are taking and shouting, but it doesn’t mask the set of footsteps getting near to where he was trying to hide away from everybody else.

gojo keeps his head down, his nose wrinkling in annoyance when timid hands set a pouch in front of him. filled to the brim with gold, most likely.

“i need your help,” a voice, frightful and cracking, says.

gojo rolls his eyes. this isn’t the first time a girl has run away from his rich family and begs him for a chance away. but he’s done that too many times, gone through too much. he’d rather just kill the parents. he takes a sip of his drink, resting his back on the wall.

he knows how this usually goes. a girl wants to run away, she finds him, they end up running away, only for the girl to feel guilty and beg him to take her back home. either that or she has no plan in mind and forces him on an endless chase to somewhere she doesn’t even know.

judging by the tone of your voice, he’s betting you’re a mix of both right now.

“i’m not offering any help right now,” he says, twisting a ring back and forth on his fingers, one he had stollen a while ago.

“i have more gold,” you beg, “i need your help… please. i heard you’re the only person who’s made it through the north alive.”

gojo glances up at you briefly, taking in your bruised and cut face, most likely from running away, at your eyes filled with tears, and at the way your lips trembled.

his eyes flit away momentarily, not expecting you to take him by surprise. you look more roughed up than the other girls he’s seen so far, a certain heaviness in your stare.

“no.” he says bluntly and your gaze seems to waver just slightly. you gnaw on your lips, wondering how you could change your speech to change his mind.

“my father wants me to marry this man. he’s,” you shudder a little bit at the thought, “inhuman. if i don’t get away soon his men will find me. i,” your breathing shudders, “i can’t let them find me.”

gojo sighs deeply though his nose. so much for a relaxful evening.

his eyes search yours again, and he feels a different urgency that he’s never felt before. something that tells him that this is different, that if he doesn’t help you it’s going to be more than a simple punishment of your father taking away your allowance.

“where’s the rest of your gold?” he looks to your empty hands and then back up to your face.

you sputter, looking at him in shock.

“i-in my satchel,” you swallow thickly, “i left it near your horse.”

his mouth almost quirked upwards.

“where do you want to go?” he asks, watching as your posture straightens up a bit.

“to the shore,” you say, “i’ll get the soonest ship out.”

gojo stares at you and you stare at him. he surveys the pouch of gold, knowing it’s more than he’s ever made in months, something he desperately needs.

he rubs a hand across his face, squeezing his eyes shut as he thinks.

“when do you need to leave?” he asks although gojo already mows the wretched answer.

you look bashful as you duck your head down.

“n-now, if possible.”

gojo stares at your pouch a little bit longer. he downs the rest of his drink as he stands up, eyes raking over your features. if it weren’t for time and place he might’ve asked you to accompany him back to his room.

you stare back at him silently and he quirks his silver brow.

“what?” he grumbles, “get your things. we’re leaving.” a small smile breaks its way into your face as you collect your measly bag and your satchel of gold.

gojo knows he shouldn’t have said yes the moment he saw you grin, knowing that you weren’t an ordinary girl and this wasn’t an ordinary request. but he didn’t find it in himself to care.

at least for now, he didn’t.

[fairy-writes]

Hi!! I saw that you write for Arcane and had a really cute idea for Vander. I don’t really see a lot of fics where you get to see Vander’s reactions to the reader either playing with the kids or comforting them, so I thought a fic centered around that might be cute? (I think also having a bit of slow burn would be sweet, like both Vander and the reader like each other but don’t do anything about it until getting a little push from the kids because they ship).

ONE LITTLE PUSH

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing(s): Vander x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Bit of a Slowburn, Fluff, Getting Together, Reader is Smaller than Vander (but who isn’t?), Sibling Bickering

Notes: VANDER MY FAVORITE

(No, but seriously, contrary to popular belief, he’s my 1st favorite over Viktor)

JUST IN TIME (kind of) FOR SEASON TWO, LETS GOOOOO

__________________________________________________________________________

Vander wasn’t quite sure why you stuck around for so long. 

In fact, he wasn’t sure why you stuck around in the first place. 

But… As Vander watches you with the kids. His kids. He begins to understand why. 

You were kind, unyieldingly so. Even as Mylo grew to start picking on Powder, even as they fought, you were kind and patient and offered them the unending gentle love they all so craved. 

The love he couldn’t afford to give them because who could be gentle in the Undercity? Especially in the depths of the Lanes?

You could. 

Vander was in the middle of pouring a drink when Powder tumbled into The Last Drop. She was covered in bruises and dust from something. Or someone. She barely met his gaze as she clambered to her feet and all but sprinted into the back where they all slept. Vander looked through the multitude of customers and spotted you. 

You had obviously seen Powder go bolting, worry twisting your face as you glanced toward the bar and met his stare. You arched an eyebrow, and he shrugged. You rolled your eyes and sighed before smiling in jest and getting up from where you had been tinkering with the jukebox. 

Vander finally manages to get away from his chatty clients and makes his way back into the back room nearly fifteen minutes later. 

Only to pause by the door. 

“—ylo hates me! He does, I swear!” Powder cries, and you hush her gently, dabbing what looks to be some of the antiseptic you have lying around on her cuts and bruises. Disinfectant was hard to come by, especially in the Lanes, but you were seemingly magic in the sense that you always knew who to talk to to get some. It seems you had worked your magic yet again. 

“Did Mylo say that he hates you?” You ask gently, whispering a quiet “sorry” under your breath as she flinched with the sting of the antiseptic. 

Powder pauses, thinking what had to be her earlier conversation over, 

“Well… No…” She mumbles, and you hum, 

“Can I give you my honest opinion?” You ask, and she stills, looking up at you with wide eyes before nodding. 

“Aren’t you always honest with us?” She asks. You chuckle at that. 

“I suppose I am. But I don’t think Mylo hates you. Does he find you a bit annoying? Maybe. But every big brother thinks that about their younger siblings. I know mine did.” You say, and Powder mulls your words over and over and over in her mind. 

She always did overthink things. 

“I didn't know you had a big brother.” She says eventually, and you let out a loud laugh at that. 

“You are a silly girl for focusing on that. But yes, I came from a big family. And guess what? I was the baby of the family. Just. Like. You.” You say, emphasizing your words with a pinch to her side. Powder squeals with laughter and wriggles away to escape your dastardly tickling. 

Vander hangs his head with a huff and a smile before turning to head back to the bar counter. He can hear your conversation continue as Powder escapes your grasp.

“Now, where did you get all these bruises from?”

“Um… Vi taught me parkour from Topside down…”

“Powder! You’re like seven!”

“Seven and a half! And she said I was ready!”

Ever since you began to stick around, you had become something of a parent figure to the four little children Vander had come into care for. 

To Vi and Powder especially. 

So when Mylo burst into The Last Drop with the words of a fistfight on his tongue, you were the first one out the door. 

Vander was close behind. 

Mylo led you and Vander deep into the Undercity. In fact, it was so far into the Undercity that Vander was worried they were getting into some dark territory. 

Like… Really dark territory. 

But soon enough, the sounds of a fight were heard, and soon after, you were deep in the throng of a multi-person fistfight. Everyone paused for a second when they saw you and then stopped altogether when they spotted Vander not far behind. 

You began to pull people off and shoved them out of the way. You did this again and again, ducking under a few stray punches until you managed to unearth Vi. 

She wasn’t looking too hot. 

Her face was bruised and swollen, and the fifteen-year-old spat out a wad of blood as she bared her bloody teeth and prepared to fight again. 

At least until she saw you. 

It was as if the tension had been released from her shoulders. 

She all but slumped into your grasp, and you stumbled back a step with the sudden weight. Vander yanked the last person away from you both and scooped up his adoptive daughter. She leaned her head into the crook of his neck and was obviously fighting back tears. 

Mylo was hunched over, hands on his knees, and wheezed from all the sprinting. 

“Vi? Violet, can you hear me?” You said as soon as you all returned to The Last Drop, and Vander set her down on the couch. Powder and Claggor had been found a block away, fighting off more thugs from whoever sent them after the literal children. 

He would've pummeled them to a pulp if Vander hadn’t hung up his gauntlets years before. 

Vi’s head lolled from side to side, and you shone a pocket flashlight into her eyes, watching as her pupils dilated and contracted. You were experienced at this, taking care of people, even more so than he thought. 

Were you a doctor deep in your past? 

As Vander thought about it, he realized he didn’t know practically anything about you. Your past, your likes, dislikes, he knew you were good with machines and medicine and that you came from a big family. But that was it. 

And that hurt his heart. 

You ended up ushering everyone out of the room while you worked on caring for Vi. Vander closed the bar early and was in the middle of putting chairs on tables when you emerged. Powder, Mylo, and Claggor dropped what they were doing. They scampered to your side, a chorus of “How’s Vi?” erupting from the kids. You offered them a tired smile and patted their heads. 

“She’ll be okay. She’s resting right now. You can go in and see her if you’re quiet.”

And then it was the two of you. 

Vander set the final chair on top of the table and meandered his way over where you were sitting at the bar, head in your hands. 

You looked tired. 

“Is she really okay?” He asked, and you grunted, rubbing at your temples. 

“She has a broken nose, fractured left arm, some bruised ribs, and a concussion. Which, all things considered, she’s very lucky. It could’ve been a lot worse.” You say, and he sighs, 

“Did she say why she got into the fight?” He replied, and you shrug, 

“She was protecting Powder. Then, more people started showing up until it was an all-out brawl. That’s when we stepped in.” You say, and his shoulders sag. 

Vi was going to be okay. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever said it. But thank you. For everything you’ve done. Taking care of them and all that.” He says, and you just hum. 

“You guys gave me a home after everything. I’m just repaying my debt. Well… that and I love those kids.” You say, and he arches an eyebrow,

“After everything?” He inquires, and you glance up sharply as if not realizing what you had said. 

Eventually, your gaze casts downward, and you run a hand over your head and through your hair. 

“I was a doctor in Piltover before the rebellion. I was caught trying to help the Undercity before they were officially citizens and cast out.” You say, and his arched eyebrow raises even higher. 

“A doctor? Were you any good?” You bark out a dry laugh at that,

“One of the best!” Your voice cracks as you speak, and he feels his heart splinter into pieces. 

Vander should’ve known that Claggor and Mylo were up to something when they came in with sneaky grins on their faces. 

The Last Drop was all but desolate. It was the wee hours of the morning before the people of the Undercity awoke to begin their day. But the door was unlocked, and the kids were allowed to run in and out as they pleased. 

Which they had been doing a lot in the last hour or so. 

“Vander!” Mylor clamored for his adopted father’s attention, waving an excited hand as he scampered up to the counter. Claggor hung behind, ever the stoic young man. But there was mischief in their eyes and curling the corners of their mouths. 

Vander slung the rag he used to wipe the counters down over his shoulder and leaned on the bar counter. 

“What did you do now?” He teased, and Mylo all but squawked. 

“When have I ever done anything?!” Vander just stared, 

“Do you really want me to answer that?” He asked, and Claggor snickered at Mylo’s deflated expression. Mylo quickly spun on a heel and jabbed a finger at his adopted brother, 

“Not a word outta you, Claggor!” He snapped before spinning back as something dawned on him.

“You gotta come with us!” He demanded, and Vander glanced between the two of them. 

“Why?” He asked, and Mylo let out an exaggerated groan.

“No questions! Just come on!” He grabbed Vander’s hand and tried tugging him around the counter and toward the front door. 

Vander relented, locking the door behind him as he followed the two boys. 

Only to realize very quickly what was actually going on. 

His first tip-off was hearing Powder and Vi’s voices, yours mixed in as you asked where you were going, why they were taking you, and what they were doing. 

Vi answered no questions. Powder just chirped excitedly. “You’ll see! You’ll see!”

The six of you met in the middle of the street, Powder dragging you by your hand as you followed behind patiently. You glanced up from listening to Powder, and your gazes met. Vander felt his heart skip a beat as he took in your appearance. There wasn’t anything particularly new, but you looked like you had cleaned up some. Your hair was pinned neatly back, and your clothes looked ironed. 

You looked… Really nice.

“Vander? What’s going on?” You asked, and Vi nudged you with her good arm. Her fractured left one was still healing carefully under your care. 

“We’re setting you two up.” She teased, and you stared dumbly. 

“Setting us up how?” You asked, and now it was Powder’s turn to blurt out an answer, 

“On a date!” 

Before the two of you could react, all four kids all but disappeared around the corner in a cloud of dust. Leaving you facing Vander and utterly alone. 

It was safe to say he was panicking just a little bit. 

“Vander? Do you have any idea what they meant?” You asked gently, and he scrubbed a hand down his face. 

“My guess is they want us to go on a date.” He said, fully prepared to hear rejection. Because who would want to go on a date with him? A middle-aged man with a stained past. His lungs twisted as he heard you take a step closer. 

A smaller hand slipped into his, and he looked down from where he had been staring at Topside. 

Your eyes were lit up, not with disgust at the proposition he was proposing. 

But they were filled with hope for the future this relationship would bring. 

[hazelfoureyes]

The Big Part

Alastor x Virgin FemReader smut

(part 2)

You were dead, it was time to divest yourself of your virginity. When you ask Alastor, he takes to the task immediately. Unfortunately, he seems to enjoy surprising you.

warnings/promises: Alastor x Reader smut, Alastor dislikes getting naked, virginity does not rock, possessive Alastor, head pats, reader is an adult she’s just a nervous idiot bad at words

Horny little deer cult: @frompeach , @chirimeimei , @poppingaround , @polytheatrix , @itsmskeisha , @stygianoir , @celestial-vomit , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @amurtan

minors dni, this isn’t educational in the slightest and is just straight smut

It made sense, at the time. You didn’t want a relationship and you didn’t want to meet a stranger you couldn’t trust, that left very few people to ask. Husk would say no, and probably stop serving you drinks. Angel would most likely agree, but you were a little intimidated by his experience. That left Alastor. While you hadn’t spent much time together, your interactions were always cordial. And plus, this was hell. Isn’t this kind of situation a sinners dream come true?

For most, maybe. But you didn’t know Alastor. Not yet, not really. Everything he did had some ulterior motive. Perhaps nothing he had ever done was simply selfless. If Alastor wasn’t gaining something, Alastor wasn’t interested.

You caught him in the hallway one evening after redemption-oriented activities, deciding to get the moment over with as quickly as possible.

“It’s a favor, little… odd. But you’re the only person I have to ask.” Your eyes darted around his face, down the hall, up the walls, anywhere really but his eyes.

“I’m all ears!” Alastor tapped the microphone to the ground with a satisfying ‘thud’.

Oh— you had rehearsed this but you hadn’t prepared to be staring at that large, toothy grin. It wasn’t unsettling, it was just distracting. Would he be smiling the entire time he… ya know.

“I am,” you steepled your hands, pointing them at him, “a virgin.” You paused, hoping maybe he’d just infer the rest and you could stop talking.

His face was motionless save his eyelids rising up.

“And I don’t want to be. Anymore.” Your lips pursed together. C’mon, Alastor. Figure it out.

Alastor nodded.

You dragged your fingers down your face, “Would you help me with that?”

His head cocked to the side like a golden retriever being handed a book on ancient Egypt. Very nice offer but what exactly do I do with it?

“Help how, precisely?” He finally spoke, tone unchanged from any normal topic of discussion. Alastor watched your face scrunch up, mouth moving around words you abandoned half way through. You weren’t saying anything, just making panicked sounds. “I find annunciation most helpful when wanting to be understood, dear.”

You wanted to somersault out the nearest window. “Alastor will you take my virginity?”

“Take it where?”

You groaned, he laughed, “Just kidding, my dear! All in good fun. So, to be clear, you would like your first sexual experience to be with me?” He pointed the microphone from you to him.

You nodded, “Yes, please.”

His smile seemed to strain. Staring down at you, he tried to understand what your motivation was for this. But as he looked into your big, concerningly innocent eyes, he realized there was none. You really, simply, want him to be the first.

Ooh, as he thought it, he felt his pulse quicken in his lap. The first. A spot no one else could take. For the rest of your afterlife, he would always be the one who was first in you. A delicious thought. He could work with that.

“Are you free now?” He leaned down to your level.

“Oh. I wasn’t-,”

“Expecting immediacy? Perfect, the element of surprise has never failed me before.” His hand wrapped around your waist and drew you in to his chest, there was a rush of cold air over your skin before you felt yourself falling back.

It was soft, the room was dark, save for a small floor lamp in the corner. Your room, you realized.

“I didn’t know you knew my room number.”

“It’s my job to know everything about the hotel.” He said, tossing your shoes behind him. Was this happening now? Right now?

“I can do it, it’s, it’s fine.” You sat up and began undoing your pants. Alastor just standing there, watching. Smiling. Fuck, was it going to be this awkward the entire time? Should you say something? Touch him? You were lifting the hem of your shirt when you realized he was still fully dressed. “Are you going to take off your clothes?”

“Why would I do that?” Head lolled to the side.

You stopped mid-way through unhooking your bra, “Alastor you do know I was asking you to fuck me, right?”

He nodded. Maybe this was a mistake.

After taking off your bra, and finally your panties, you crawled to the top of your bed and drew your knees to your chest. Your feet hid your sex from view. Heart racing, but it wasn’t excitement, as you had anticipated. It was nerves. Would it hurt? Would you make a stupid face? What if he didn’t like the sounds you made? What if you regretted it after?

Alastor got on the bed on his knees, undoing his belt buckle but not his pants. The way he looked at you, your heart skipped a beat. You suddenly remembered he was called the ‘cannibal deer’ as you saw something akin to hunger in his eyes.

“What experience do you have?” His voice was suddenly low, deeper than before. This wasn’t the pun loving radio man you saw prodding the staff.

“I dated. Before. Kissing, um, I don’t know the bases. Groping?” You grimaced, it sounded so formal.

“Have you ever,” he began to slink toward you on his hands and knees, red eyes glowing in the dim light of your room, “been entered?”

Your cheeks burned, your head suddenly swayed as if it was half full of water and someone tipped you over. “Just myself, my,” you lifted your hand.

“Show me.”

All the air left the room, sucked out of your lungs and into his grin.

Uncrossing your feet, you tried to open your thighs without seperating your knees. It didn’t work, but you still managed to get a hand between your legs and to your entrance. You could have cried, you were soaking wet to an embarrassing degree. Your eyes return to Alastor, his gaze never leaving you. Even as you slipped a finger, then two, into yourself. You thought for sure he would want to watch your hands playing with your wet pussy but no, his eyes stayed on your face. Somehow, that was worse.

A shaky sigh escaped, your eyes closing as you tried to focus on relaxing around your digits.

Your head smacked against the headboard when you felt a third finger enter. Not yours. Your eyes flew back open to see him now directly in front of you.

“Two won’t do, dear.” He spun his finger around, pulling slightly at the thin skin of your entrance. “Unless you’d prefer this to hurt?”

You shook your head no, still stinging from the impact you had made. “May I?” His hand took your wrist and removing your fingers. Swiping your wetness from your ass to your clit, he coated his claw-like digits and pushed three back in. They were longer than yours, sharper. You could feel he moved gently, in and out. Your head was heavy, breath short and fast.

He laughed, bringing your consciousness fully back into the room, “Already wanting to change your mind?”

You shook your head side to side, still too embarrassed to speak, and took a grounding breath to help your body accept his fingers. He took his time, sliding in and out of you. His fingers picking up the slick and letting it lubricate your lips. It was so slow, the only pleasure for you was knowing it wasn’t your hand doing it.

But then his stretching of your hole stopped, and he grabbed both of your knees from underneath and pulled you down toward him. Now on your back, legs up and in his hands, you heard his belt slide through the loopholes, his zipper drop. You wanted to look, but you also absolutely did not want to look.

Your knees came together when you felt something hot and round at your entrance. “Ah-ah,” He opened them immediately. He reached for one of your hands, and brought it down to his cock. It was so hard under your fingers, but gave a little when you squeezed. It made him hiss.

“You tell me when to stop, little doe.” He pressed into your opening, pulled back. Pressed in, just barely making it past your lips, pulled back. He kept this pressing and pulling, head making slightly more leeway every time. Your fingers were holding right behind the tip.

“How about this, dear. I’ll just get the head in for now. Manageable!”

“Just— just get the big part in first?” You asked, the pressure at your entrance building with every shallow thrust.

He laughed, nodding as he held both of your knees further apart. When he attempted to get past the curve of his cock’s head, your hands flew down to press against his thigh, pushing back with the intrusion. Alastor stilled, sighed, and pressed his head fully in with a determined thrust. Instinctively, your feet came to his chest and tried to push away from him. It felt like you were being torn down the middle, your body forced apart at your most sensitive junction. He held you still now by the ankles, legs splayed in the air.

It burned where your walls were pushed aside. Stinging where the skin tore slightly just beneath your hole, unable to stretch.

“Breath, sweetheart.” He set your ankles down. “Does it hurt?”

You nodded.

“I’ll stay here for a bit,” he settled on his legs, looking down at where he was connected to you. Your pink little pussy looking positively overwhelmed by his cock. No one has ever been here before, and he could feel it. Your walls were pressing so hard against him his shaft was slightly curved from the force pushing his head out. You still had so much to take, there was so much more of you for him to explore. You tried to calm your breathing but your heart was racking against your sternum.

Hand reaching down again, you let your fingers count little paces from his core to yours. You knew the hardest part was over, but that didn’t bring much comfort as you felt how far you still had to go.

Alastor let his eyes wander away from your not-so-virgin cunt to your face. Your expression was twisted, not pained but clearly uncomfortable.

“How does it feel?” He asked, gesturing to your lap with a nod of his head.

“Full, so full.”

His cackle disheartened you, “Darling I am no where done filling you up.”

You clenched when he said it, earning a small groan from him. You were already too tight, when you spasmed on him it was nearly painful. There was more to do yet, more of you to claim as his. Just the tip of his cock was simply not enough.

His hips started moving again, the folds of his head pulling at the skin of your entrance but not actually crossing the barrier. He was gently rocking, barely making friction between you two. Your hand clawed at his knee, breath hitching. You let an airy moan slip, his head no longer an intrusion but something hot and melty barely rubbing your walls. It started to feel almost good.

Alastor’s cock was throbbing, his shaft touch-starved and desperate for the heat of your cunt. Your face was relaxing now, eyes blinking around new sensations. He wanted to see you experience more, more firsts and frighteningly foreign pleasures. He wanted to see you scared of how good he could make you feel. Alastor wanted you to never feel whole again without him buried balls deep in you.

“Can you take more?” His voice was like gravel, a radio static crackling in.

You met his eyes, glowing still in the dim light, wide and nearly frenzied in their dilation. His smile was practically beaming down at you.

“I don’t know.” You were scared to move forward, even though you wanted more.

“I don’t like liars.” A pop of electricity arcing at the end of his words. You pulled a pillow over your face, trying to hide from the reaction you knew he’d have as his voice made you tighten around him. “Your body says otherwise,” he hissed.

You wanted to say ‘yes’, if this could feel good then how great would all of him feel? But you were scared to vocalize it. Scared to make it start. Alastor lifted the pillow, “I need to see you, dear.” He set it beside his leg, “Do you remember what I said earlier?”

Brow furrowed, you shook your head. His grin widened to his ears as his hands slid down your thighs to your hips and he sank his cock to the hilt.

The element of surprise definitely made the nerves of saying ‘yes’ dissipate, but you were now choking on your breath, hands gripping at the blankets beneath you. Was this normal? Was he too far inside you? You felt nauseous, your guts prodded by Alastor’s member.

“How does it feel now?” He watched your eyes scanning the ceiling for an answer. You felt sure there was no way his head could leave you ever again. It was so snuggly fit in you, you feared you’d be pulled inside out. “Words, dear.”

You sat up on your elbows, sweating from the nerves of it all. “Like there’s a big stick stuck in me.”

“Accurate!” He laughed, and began pulling out. You whined, head dropping back. Almost taking himself out completely, he paused before thrusting back in. The head of his cock dragged against your walls, you could feel him with such detail. Every inch of him leaving impressions behind. Alastor could feel it too, how your soft warmth moved out of his way with every push. How pliable your womb was to his intrusions.

More. You could take more, he was positive of it.

Slowly, your moans began to get louder as the pressure faded into pleasure. Every time he bottomed out, you jumped. Every time he pulled out, you wanted to chase after him with your hips.

Watching your face soften, eyes now watery, Alastor was sure you were relaxed enough. He grabbed the pillow beside him, lifting your ass and sliding it under the small of your back. You didn’t ask, just waited to see what the point was. Dissatisfied, he grabbed another and added it under you.

Your hips were up, ass hanging over the ledge the pillows made, back bent upward. When he began to thrust again, you whinced feeling a new part of you widen for him. “Can you see me?” You looked at him when he said it, but he grabbed your hand and placed it beneath your belly button. When he pushed back in, you could feel his cock beneath your hand. Moving it, you watched your stomach bulge slightly when he was completely sheathed in you.

“Oh fuck-,” your head fell back into the bed, it was too much to feel let alone to watch, “Too deep.”

He hummed an acknowledgement, picking up his pace. “Let me see how you cum.”

Your face was hot, reluctantly bringing your hand to your clit and rubbing.

No, this wasn’t a mistake at all. If anything you regretted not asking sooner.

His thrusts now brought lightning to your core, your finger quickening in speed with the realization of just how good he could feel.

Studying your face still, he adjusted his angle until he saw the muscles in your neck tighten. He knew he found your g-spot, your moans dipping into cries.

“I can’t—,” You couldn’t get over the hump, knowing he was watching you, waiting for you.

“You can”, the lights flickered, his eyes now black with small red pupils illuminating your naked body, “and you will, my dear.” One of his hands stopped pressing finger sized bruises into your hips to instead push your own finger aside. The wide pad of his thumb took over and began thrumming you fast and hard.

That familiar build up of pleasure was stronger than you’d ever felt it, and when it finally snapped your muscles from your thighs to your toes cramped. How long had you been tensing?

You practically sobbed into the crook of your arm, Alastor’s hips slowing but still carrying you through your orgasm. They moved slower and slower, until stopping entirely. His head popped out of you, leaving you feeling hollow. Cold.

Eyes wet and blurry, you looked up at him, “Aren’t you going to finish?”

“If we do everything now, what ‘first’ will we have for tomorrow night? And the night after that?” He smiled, member already hidden away and pants buttoned. Your thighs twitched. “Same time tomorrow, little doe?”

You covered your face with both hands, and nodded.

His big hand came to your head and patted you gently, “Good girl.”

I hope you liked it 🥺 I don’t feel as confident about this one. Fun fact, my first time involved bondage. Very on brand, huh? 💖

༻Masterlist༺

Gonna start calling his dick ‘the element of surprise’. You look tired today! What happened? Oh the element of surprise kept me up all night.

[luveline]

can I request something where Spencer is already with and married to y/n and the rest of the team has never known about her and one day they find out he’s married when she meets the team for the first time coming to bring him lunch maybe and the team is just taken aback after all the teasing they used to do to him because y/n is just so beautiful and flirty and they weren’t expecting any of it? And Spencer is just like “yeah I did that 👀😌💅🏼”

thank you for requesting !! hope this is okay, fem!reader

“I have something I need to tell you.” 

Derek looks up from his desk with an eyebrow raised. “I don’t like the sounds of that.” 

“I know you’re going to blow it out of proportion,” Spencer says, adjusting the strap of his watch where it lays over his sweater sleeve. “So I think I should tell you about it before she gets here with my lunch.” 

Derek leans back in his chair and tosses the clipboard he’s ticking through into a pile of outgoings. “I’ll bite. ‘She’?”

Spencer holds his hands clasped in front of himself, looking cagey. “Listen, I wanted to tell you, I wanted to tell the whole team, but it happened so quickly, and then I got it in my head that everyone would be mad at me or make fun of me and I didn’t want to deal with it so I didn’t tell you, and now it’s been a year and I kind of want to brag.” He ducks his head, scratches his neck, and refuses to meet Derek’s eye. “I wanted to tell you.” 

“Reid, man, what are you talking about?” Derek feels himself soften. “I’m not mad at you, pretty boy. Just tell me what’s going on.” 

“She’s over there,” Spencer says, pointing.

Derek follows his friend’s hand to you. You’re a lovely thing to look at because you’re smiling like you’ve never been happier, and you’re dressed in a simple, elegant sort of style that gives you a timeless feel, like you could’ve been in a romantic movie in the 50’s or just got back from walking the shiny streets of Paris. You aren’t his type at first glance, but you could be, the way you’re looking at him. 

“Derek Morgan,” you say as you approach, your little black purse slipping down your shoulder, “I can’t believe it’s you.” 

“You’ll have to forgive me, sweetheart, do I know you?” Derek asks. 

You give Spencer a loving, sorry look. “You didn’t tell him?”

“Sorry! I tried, but you know. I was nervous and I kind of chickened out when you got here.” 

You shift the white plastic bag you’re holding in two hands to the crook of one arm and beckon him into your side. “It’s fine,” you say, leaning upward to kiss his pale cheek, “it’s okay, don’t worry about it. I like introducing myself, you know that already.” You give him a last friendly pat before removing yourself, your hand just close enough to brush against his as you offer your name. “I’m Spencer’s wife,” you add. 

Derek laughs, the low first chuckle of disbelief. Spencer’s watching him carefully, and he thinks, oh, maybe she’s not kidding. “His wife.” 

“Yes,” you say, taking Spencer’s shoulder into your hand. You don’t seem to notice that he’s a good few inches taller than you. “And I’m so happy to meet you, you know? I’ve heard so much about you, about everyone! I realise we waited too long. S’gonna make sending you the registry pretty awkward.”

Spencer laughs. You look at him like he’s put the sun in the sky. 

“Sorry, I don’t think I understand.” 

You turn your hand to show Derek the gold wedding band on your marriage finger. “For a year, almost.” 

There’s just no way. 

Derek watches in quiet shock as Emily and Hotch descend the steps into the bullpen. “Hi,” Emily says, plainly confused. 

“Hi,” you say, deferring to Spencer with an encouraging glance.

Spencer puts his arm behind your shoulder, and Derek realises loverboy isn’t lying after all. The way he touches you is too familiar, speaking to a longstanding sort of love. His thumb immediately rubs gentle semi-circles into the fabric of your cardigan, circles you likely can’t even feel. “This is Y/N, she’s… my wife. We got married.” 

“And didn’t invite us,” Derek says. 

“You what?” Emily asks, head snapping to the side. 

Hotch is smiling at you. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” 

“You knew?” Emily asks. 

“It altered his health insurance,” Hotch says nonchalantly, stepping forward to shake your hand. 

“I’m thrilled to meet you, Mr. Hotchner.” Your eyes are sparkling. Derek can understand why Spencer’s married you from that look alone; you look overjoyed to be here, and to be speaking to them. “And you too, Emily. I've heard amazing things about all of you.” 

“Wait a minute, when did this happen? Wha–” Emily shakes her head. “I feel like I’m on reality television.” 

You turn to Spencer again, your eyes following up his cheek, a caress of a gaze as you begin to tell the story, “Well, we met by accident by at Christmas market on Cassidy square trying to buy stamps for cards, so that was sort of our first date a year and two months ago, but we didn’t get married until February, so a year.” 

“You got married after two months?” Emily asks, saving Derek the breath but not the sentiment. 

You don’t so much as wince, nor does Spencer. “It might’ve been unfair to her for me to rush things, but it didn’t feel like rushing at the time,” Spencer says surely. 

Derek knows that Hotch would’ve mentioned you months ago if you were nefarious. You certainly don’t seem nefarious, melting under Spencer’s touching, your almost frantic excitement to be meeting them quelled to a softer happiness. 

“Do you have any photos?” Emily asks.

It’s Spencer who moves for his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He flicks it open and pulls a photo from the clear window, unfolding it to reveal a shiny six by four of the two of you outside of a courthouse. Your dress is white and silk, his tuxedo made to fit. You both look amazing, but better, you look so, so happy. 

“This is the weirdest prank ever,” Emily says. 

You lay your cheek against his shoulder. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world.” 

Spencer shuffles through a hundred shades of pink. Derek struggles to wrap his head around it, but he can’t wait to tell Penelope. 

[saberlibrary]

weeping dragon

pairing: neuvillette x fem!reader

summary: neuvillette thinks he isn’t deserving of your love.

content: cliche !!!, reader trapped in his house bc of rain, lil antsy but happy ending

wc: 800

a/n: mm hii!! first fic here! I hope you enjoy it I kind of wrote it in twenty minutes and I’m just publishing it without beta reading bc (we die like men) I’m just too in love with neuv and I want to share it with the world lolol

Neuvillette couldn’t bring himself to even think about making a move.

He kept many secrets, and every time he faced your bright smile he would remember it was not his place to disturb your peace. After all, how could a young woman like you endure the dangerous claws of a dragon?

You had stopped by his house to discuss the latest trial and his emotions got the best of him, causing a rain to start pouring.

A storm was approaching; lighting was seen through the window and low thunders could be heard. Neuvillette plagued himself under his breath, hoping there would be a day where he could better control his feelings.

“Here,” he said as he handed you the cup of tea. You watched the lighting curiously, “I do not think the storm will pass for a few hours. You should stay. For the night, I mean.”

You took the cup of tea and averted your eyes from the window to Neuvillette’s face. You studied him with caution, as if it was the first time you ever saw the man — even though you worked together for many months.

“Are you okay?” you asked, ignoring completely his offer.

The words got stuck in his throat and, for a few seconds, he really thought he wouldn’t answer. The man sipped on his tea, his mind racing while trying to figure out why you would ask that all of the sudden. “May I ask why are you asking me such a question?”

It was a small gesture, but he saw it all the same; the way you flexed your hand. There was something you wanted to grab?

Something you wanted to hold?

“They say… It rains when the Hydro Dragon weeps. Yeah, that's what they say,” you murmured and once again looked out the window. To the storm. “The Hydro Dragon. That would be you, right?”

Neuvillette almost choked on his tea, every part of his body malfunctioning and leaving him with only one thing for sure: in his entire existence, this was the first time he was left completely and utterly speechless.

Your warm and comforting eyes turned to him, and you grabbed his cup of tea to put it alongside yours on the coffee table. “Neuvillette,” you spoke his name as if it was a piece of poetry you were yet to learn — eager to do so, “Talk to me.”

And then— your hands, so small and fragile if compared to his, touched him. Your fingers traced his, and you embraced his hand between yours. He could feel the warmth of your skin contrasting against his cold one, pulling him closer, closer, closer.

“When did you figure it out?” was the first thing he said, scared it may be recent. If so, there still is time for you to run, for you to escape. To turn your back and never see him again. It’s probably the best for you, he knows, but this little selfish part in him can’t stand the thought of seeing you gone.

“A month ago or so, it doesn't matter,” you’re quick to cut the subject. “I didn't mention it because I knew you didn't want me to. I’m just worried, that's all.”

Worried.

She is worried.

The realization clicks in Neuvillette’s mind, for the first time in so long acknowledging that maybe, just maybe, he was too, deserving of someone’s concern and care.

“You are saying it does not matter,” he repeats as if to confirm what he just heard.

I pushed you because I cared about you. I pushed you because you made me feel good and comfortable. I pushed you because I thought my true self would frighten you.

Yet, you’re here. And you’re telling me it doesn’t matter.

“It doesn’t. Never did,” you frown. “I just wanna know, no— I need to know why it is raining, Neuvillette. Why would you weep? I’m here with you, talk to me.”

Without giving it a second thought, Neuvillette’s right hand finds your lower back and in a split second you're pressed against his chest, the tightest hug you have ever been given. He’s much taller than you, and you can feel perfectly as he inhales your scent and hugs you tightly.

“Neuv—”

“I thought I had to restrain myself from you. I thought I was no good,” he finally speaks his mind, distancing himself enough for you to see his face; the weeping Dragon. Oh, the melancholy in his eyes.

The eyes of someone who almost lost something precious.

“Neuvillette,” you whispered. “There’s nothing better for me than you.”

And it was true; so you pulled on his hair just enough to have him connecting your lips, a sigh of relief escaping him as if there was nothing in this world he had anticipated more.

[sunnie-angel]

week 3 (oct. 18) | period sex

✮⋆˙bon appétit (2.2k)

jason's a vampire, you're on your period, and, well a man's gotta eat

tags: f!reader, vamp jason, established relationship, period sex, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, blood drinking, blood as lube, slight size kink, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

a/n: for @luvrodite my darling, this would not exist without your encouragement

⊘ this is an 18+ fic. minors do not interact, you will be blocked

Jason Todd is on you the second you walk through the door, pharmacy bag dropping from your hands in surprise. The door’s barely shut behind you before he’s crowding you up against it, cold night air still lingering on your skin, his nose buried in your neck. His lips part along your collarbone and you roll your eyes at the pinprick of fangs already descending from his gums.

“I smell blood,” he rumbles. “Are you hurt?”

With a sigh you dig your now empty hand into the thick mess of his hair and pull him off of your throat. His pupils have already started to narrow into slits, catlike.

“No, and if you’d stop thinking with your fangs for a hot second you’d realize it’s because of my period.” Reaching down for the bag you’d just let go of, you gasp as another cramp spikes through your lower belly and claws up your back. “Right, you can get the bag because you made me drop it. I’m going to find my heat pack in the kitchen.”

Jason’s already waiting for you by the time you hobble into the kitchen, slow and regrettably human. Under your breath you curse his unnatural speed but he hears you anyway and grins. He’s already put your heat pack in the microwave so there’s nothing to do but gratefully take the painkillers he’s fished out of the bag for you and wait. His stomach grumbles.

“Nope,” you declare. “Not happening tonight. I’m losing enough blood as it is, you aren’t getting your hands on any more.”

“Please, baby? ‘M starving over here,” Jason pouts. He’s suddenly behind you, arms around your midriff. He lets out a huff of air right over your jugular, goosebumps rising across your skin. Usually, that would be enough to have you caving, knees weak and and panties wet, begging for his bite. Tonight, you push his face away with annoyance.

“Go get some synth blood from you maker or something. Isn’t she always offering to hook you up with a supply? I’m off the menu tonight, so put those–” you tap at his upper lip, right over where his fangs have descended “–away.”

The microwave beeps, giving you an excuse to slip from his grasp. You moan at the warmth as you shove it down the front of your clothing, the heat already making the cramps reside a little.

“Talia’s out of town and you know nothin’ tastes anywhere near as good as you do,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You want to scream at his perfect dumb face with its stupid puppy eyes.

“Jason. I’ve got a waterfall of blood in my underwear – which is stained by the way because none of the PATH toilets had any pads in any of their dispensers – my back hurts, my stomach hurts, my boobs are pain central, and my ankles are sore for some ungodly reason. I’m not adding “mauled by a hungry vampire” to the list of reasons why I’m destroying my liver with painkillers.”

You know you’re probably being bitchier about it than you normally would be to turn him down, but you’ve just had the day from hell. First your period had started on your morning commute to work. Then the pad you had been counting on to be in your purse hadn’t been there, a casualty of Tamara two desks over last week. There’d only been a single pill left in the bottle of painkillers you kept at your desk, and you’d been so run off your feet with work that you hadn’t had a chance to run out for more. You’re tired and sore, absolutely ready to face plant into bed.

“I don’t gotta bite, you know,” Jason says slowly.

“What,” you retort flatly, already done with this conversation.

“Well if you’re already bleeding. I don’t hafta bite you.” He smirks at you like he’s solved all of your problems. Slowly, your face starts to heat up as you put together what he’s implying.

“You don’t– what. You wanna...” you splutter, unable to string the thought together.

“C’mon sweetheart,” he prowls towards you, predatory glint in his eye “let me put my mouth to good use. I promise I won’t bite.” He’s got you backed against the countertop, balancing on your tip toes. The faux marble is firm beneath your scrabbling fingertips as you let out a squeak. He traces the apple of your cheek with a deceptively gentle finger. “Besides, you always feel so nice and relaxed after you come. Might make those cramps better.”

Cotton mouthed, you swallow down your desire but you can tell from the lopsided grin that Jason can already smell it on you.

“Ye-ah, okay.” You nod and bite your lip. “But if you make my cramps worse, I reserve the right to knee you in the head.”

Jason’s got you undressed and flat on your back on the bed in under 15 seconds in what has to be a new personal record. He’d even managed to put a towel down and reposition the heating pack right over your womb between breaths. Somewhere in the trip between the kitchen and the bedroom Jason had lost his shirt and you’re reminded again of just how badly he can make your mouth water, staring at the broad expanse of muscle covered in a thin layer of fat. He looks down at your bare, bleeding cunt and you swear you see a hint of something cold and predatory tinge his desire.

You reach out to him feeling oddly vulnerable, the rabbit kicking in the jaws of the wolf. He smiles at you, and despite the narrowed slit of his pupils you feel the warmth leech back into the room. Gently, he lowers himself down to cover your body with his. Kisses and laps at your open mouth, careful not to nick you with his fangs. Jason smooths a broad palm along the side of your ribcage until it settles on the plush curve of your hip. Slowly, he starts to kiss at your jaw and throat, purposefully avoiding the lush temptation of your carotid.

When Jason takes your aching breast into the wet heat of his mouth for the first time that night, you gasp and arch your back. Your hips strain with nowhere to go against the rock solid weight of his body. He’s gentler than he usually is, keeps his promise not to bite by laving at the bud of your nipple with the flat of his tongue. Kisses and sucks at the aching flesh until you are mewling from oversensitivity, now wet with more than just blood. He barely reacts to you clawing at his back, nails leaving raw red lines that heal over in an instant.

“Too much too muchtoomuchtoomuch,” you babble, body leaden with a different type of ache.

He pulls off your breast with an audible pop, a thin line of spit connecting his lips to the wet mess he’s made of your tits. Jason smiles as he peppers kisses down your belly, still careful not to jostle the heat pack from it’s place. He licks and kisses at each thigh before placing them onto his shoulders, sucking hard enough to leave bruises in your wake. You start to roll your eyes at him for his obsession with getting as close to your blood as possible when the scrape of teeth across the thin skin has you trying to strangle him with your thighs.

“No biting,” you gasp out, the curve of your spine pushing your breasts into the air.

“No biting,” he says, humouring you.

Jason hands close around your hips and drags you down to meet him. He licks a broad stripe right across your dripping cunt, obliterating any indignant thoughts in your head. Sucks a kiss to your clit that has you grabbing for his hair, desperate to keep his face right there. Your hips struggle to move but the coiled strength in his palms traps you right where he wants you. He’s enjoying this, you can tell from the way he’s playing you like a finely tuned instrument. Alternates long slow licks with taps and flicks of his tongue just to watch you dissolving into a whining and desperate creature.

You’re wet, so wet you can feel it dripping down to the cleft of your ass. Jason slurps – slurps! – up the mixture of your blood and arousal, traces it straight back to the source until he’s sucking right over your entrance. The tip of his tongue traces your cunt before plunging in and you moan, body tensing up at the intrusion. Trying to arch up into him, Jason slams your hips back down onto the mattress, the heating pad sliding somewhere off to the side of your hip.

“C’mon baby, gotta stay still so I can finish my dinner,” he purrs, not even bothering to look up from the blood drooling between your legs.

Arousal and embarrassment flare through you, lighting you up and burning through your cheeks as he goes back to eating you out. The spread of his fangs pinning your hole wide open as he thrusts the slick muscle of his tongue back into you. Uses it to curl into you wickedly until you moan high and reedy in your throat, aching for more. A thick finger prods at your entrance, alternates thrusting in with his tongue, forcing you to clench down around the intrusion. You can do nothing but lay there and take it, as he fucks you on his fingers and tongue. There’s no  escape from him and his questing mouth, pinned down as you are.

Your thighs start to shake when he curls a second finger into you, scissors his fingers wide to make it easier to drink you down. Spreads you open and fucks back in as deep as his hand will go. Hooks those fingers into the soft spongy part of your gut that has you seeing stars and pushes as he sucks on your clit again.

“Right there, Jay,” you whine, fighting for breath as your tummy screws up tight. “Please.”

Jason keeps hitting that spot with his fingers with unerring accuracy, hammering away as he laves over your clit. It’s the barest hint of teeth dragging across it that sends you burning over the edge, vision whiting out at the corners when you come. Chest heaving as you try to breath through it, body turning to jelly, your cramps are long forgotten in the flood of endorphins.

Jason grins from between your thighs, chin red with your blood and sticky with your slick. Leans over to show you the mess you’ve made of his hand, the sticky strings that still cling, connecting it to your twitching cunt. He keeps his eyes locked with yours as he licks it all up, moans at the taste of you and ruts his dick into the bed.

“You taste so good, honey–" you whine at the praise “–just had to have a little taste. And I was good wasn’t I, didn’t even bite to get it, so I think I deserve a little dessert too.”

You nod too fucked out and relaxed to move, body nearly one with the bed as your aching muscles melt. He grins, predatory again, and oh you should have seen this coming. Something about wetting his throat with blood always has Jason desperate to get his dick wet too.

Jason slowly feeds his cock into you, smile still stained red. Moves one of your legs to hook around his waist while he carefully keeps the other one pinned over his shoulder as he folds you in two. He’s big. He’s always big but in this position you can feel every inch of him, can practically taste your hips giving way as he makes space for himself inside of you. Jason sets a pace that has you shaking under him, eyes wide as he steals the air from your lungs with each deep thrust. Filthy, wet squelching noises stream from your cunt as he fucks it sloppy, driven feral by the scent of blood in the air.

He coos at your wide eyes and slack-jawed expression as you clench tighter and tighter around him. Bends his head to mouth at your neglected breasts and smear them bloody. Jason minds his teeth as he laps and suckles at your tits in a crude approximation of what he just did to your clit. All the while his thrusts speed up, jolt you up the bed as he starts to jackhammer. You wail as he comes inside of you, hot spurts of cum painting your quivering walls. Jason works a hand between you and all it takes is the slightest pressure to set off the chain reaction in you again.

Smug, Jason rolls off to lie beside you, head propped on his hand to watch you gasp and twitch like a gutted fish. He reaches down between your thighs and runs a finger through the mess there, causes you to shiver. Jason licks your combined spend off his finger and sighs with satisfaction. Starts to rub the warm mixture of blood, cum and slick into the skin over your womb in idle patterns.

“You know, you tasted good before, but I think I like you best when you taste like me.”

[jophiel-shakes]

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summary :: Alastor during a rut

warning :: nsfw

note :: requests are still open

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Alastor isn’t a sexual person by any means.

Don’t get me wrong, he fooled around once or twice in life but in hell there was never a looming pressure to get married or have children.

Despite his aloof attitude towards sex and general romance there is a certain time when his more animalistic side controls him.

These periods happen to be ruts.

Every sinner has to deal with unsavoury things because of their hellish form, Alastor’s is just a unbridled need to have sex.

Of course Alastor tries to survive the ruts in confinement (usually in his radio tower or bedroom), making it clear to everyone that they’d best stay away if they value their lives.

Though there comes a point where dealing with the issue himself doesn’t do the trick.

So he decides to leave his tower in search of a mate.

And you happen to be the perfect find.

On sweeter terms you would’ve been honoured and perhaps even flustered but Alastor’s inky tentacles ripping you from your own room and dragging you into his own was rather alarming to say the least.

His room was hot and dense, Alastor himself loomed like a predator, his horns large and winding whilst his teeth glistened with drool.

It was a sight to behold and you were unsure if you should’ve been horny or terrified.

He’s quick to get in your personal space, scenting you immediately.

He asks to strike up a deal;

“How about a deal?” Alastor croons, sliding his hands down your back as he mumbles in your ear.

You clear your throat and try to mentally solve his mixed signals. “What for?”

“I’ll do you a favour, anything you want at any given moment. In return, you offer me your… company.”

You take it of course, to have a favour from Alastor was a great deal and you’d be helping him through his rut. Everyone wins.

Despite Alastor’s strong belief in acting as a gentleman most of his manners are thrown away once you shake hands.

He’s immediately buried himself into your body, inhaling your smell and pressing himself into you.

First, he takes you against the wall, being far too eager to move to his bed.

His talons graze your skin, pulling you into him with a desperate tightness.

One would’ve imagined sex with Alastor as sweeter and gentle, but whilst in a rut he’s got unbelievable stamina that he uses to split you.

Biting biting biting. Alastor can’t help but taste you. It’s a cannibalistic tendency, but he never takes a chunk out of you. Do expect him to draw blood though.

When in a rut he prefers to take you from behind. Mostly he likes to trap you between him and something else like a wall.

During the end of his rut when things have cooled, he’ll take it smoother and actually make love to you.

Though, when he’s in the heat of it it’s nothing but quickies and rough sex.

Alastor goes for multiple rounds, usually three before you tap out or someone interrupts. Generally he could go longer.

Alastor will not cum anywhere but inside you. He’s mentioned in passing that the feeling of cumming inside helps settle him more.

No one in the hotel knows of your affair, well, apart from Angel who could practically smell the daily quickies on you, see it in your flushed face and frizzed hair. Husk was a close second who’s seen Alastor in a isolated rut before. Angel then spread it to everyone else.

Nifty knew too, being the little creep she is, she mentioned to you her habit of listening in.

Despite most having heard you yelp his name at night, Alastor just pretends nothing ever happened and nobody dares mention it to him.

Although you do cop a lot of teasing from Angel.

Once things settle down and Alastor gets the frustrations out of his system, everything goes back to normal. Your bite marks heal and everyone settles.

That is, until his next rut.

[lovlidollie]

i would absolutely love to hear you talk more abt crybaby!reader and rafes ddlg/little space dynamic💕

i’ve gotten two asks abt this so i’ll just combine them here !! this is more of a darker aspect of their dynamic, so let me know if you’d like something sweeter :) cw ; ddlg themes, subspace, manipulation (emotional and psychological), slight mention of watersports, icky rafe

i think no matter which !rafe we’re talking abt, he will always be a stickler for rules and discipline. this is probably something that’s transferred over from ward and from the way he was brought up, but he does not stand for disobedience. rafe has rules for crybaby that he expects to be followed, for example, a strict screen time limit of two hours and bedtime at 8 o’clock. if she’s acting up, being bratty or not listening, rafe gives her one chance to stop and apologise. if she doesn’t, she’s getting sent straight to timeout. crybaby hates timeout. he makes her sit at an empty corner of the room while he lectures her about how bad girls get punished. he’s got her on her knees, hands fidgeting in her lap as warm tears flow down her face. he’s so mean. he doesn’t even let her hold onto her comfort plush, says that she ‘doesn’t deserve it.’ rafe doesn’t tell crybaby how long she has to sit there. he waits until she’s wriggling around uncomfortably, knees achy and legs asleep from the position. she’s not allowed to make any noise, because that would distract rafe from his work. sometimes he’ll make her strip her clothes or remove a few pieces, and then turn the aircon up so he can watch as she shivers and shakes. he gets some fucked up sense of pleasure from seeing her completely vulnerable.

rafe needs her truely and utterly fucked over before he’s even thinking about offering any sort of comfort. he needs to make sure she’s sorry for what she’s done.

he’s not above denying her the bathroom.. watching as she struggles to stay still with her bladder full.. eventually soiling herself in front of him …

sometimes he’ll guild her towards subspace under the guise of it being for her own good, when in reality he just really. really gets off to how pliant she becomes, how soft and impressionable. he could do anything to her, and she’d let him because he was her dad. he was her everything and she would never, ever want to disappoint him. rafe encourages her dependency on him, “can’t even stand up on y’own, can y’baby? y’need dad, right?” he says things like “you’re too little f’that,” and “that’s f’big girls only,” to keep her small and floaty, just for him.

there’ll be times where crybaby doesn’t want to, where she doesn’t want to be small and stupid. but rafe’s raising his eyebrows and giving her such a scathing look she has no choice but to shrink into herself, afraid of what he’d do. “dad just wants t’take care of his girl. y’don’t want to take that away from him, do you? he’s doin’ you a favour.” rafe pretends it’s for her benefit when his hand slips under her skirt or when he slides a finger up against her lips. “just helpin’ you out, angel. ‘feels good, doesn’t it? y’feel better?” he acts like he’s won a trophy or something every time he manages to force her into the headspace.

he plants ideas in her head, trying to make her more susceptible to his words. rafe makes her believe that she needs physical contact in order to feel better. he’ll push his thick fingers into her mouth, tone cloyingly sweet when he mutters, “suck niceee ‘n slow, sweetheart. ‘f’you bite dad’ll have t’stop, ‘n you don’t want that d’you?” he’s just so — demeaning. she isn’t allowed to talk back if they’re having an argument. if she tries, rafe’s hushing her with that mocking voice of his; “uh-uh, babies don’t talk.”

he does spank her on occasion as another punishment, but the most effective one is probably the silent treatment. it really messes with crybaby’s head whenever he does this. rafe cuts her off entirely, acts as if she doesn’t even exist in the first place; it forces her to feel completely isolated and alone. she could be ugly crying and desperately begging for him to come back to her, and he’d let it go on for hours. it starts of slowly. he stops responding to her questions or looking at her when she speaks. his answers, if any, are clipped and dismissive: “don’t have time f’you right now,” “figure it out yourself.” crybaby can immediately pick up on the shift and she starts panicking. rafe removes anything that could give her comfort, her favourite plushie, her comfort blanket, her phone. if she tries to cling to him or crawl up into his lap, he’s moving away from her, deliberately keeping space between them. when it does finally end, it’s on his terms. he’s pulling her into his arms, stroking her hair gently. “there we go, there’s m’good girl. this didn’t have t’happen. if you’d jus’ listened, dad wouldn’t have to do this. you’re not gonna make him do it again, are you?”

[faebled-stories]

Healing Touch

Kinkvember Day 14: Oral (TW: Emotional & Physical Abuse)

StayC Isa (Lee Chaeyoung) x Male reader

8.5k words

AN: Just a heads-up, this story has more character development and plot, with less smut than usual. I hope you guys still enjoy!

“AGH, fuck!” Isa’s breath comes in shallow gasps, her body still tingling from the waves of pleasure that had just torn through her. The room is filled with the quiet aftermath of your lovemaking, a soft hum of satisfaction buzzing in the dim light. She lies beside you, skin slick with sweat, her heartbeat slowly returning to its natural rhythm. For a few moments, neither of you speaks—just the sound of your breaths mingling as you both come down from the high, letting the silence settle in comfortably.

You lie on your back next to her, staring up at the ceiling with a lazy grin, your chest rising and falling in sync with hers. Isa turns her head toward you, her body still warm and electric from the intensity you just shared. She treasures these moments—the calm after the storm—when every part of her feels alive yet settled. But tonight, something lingers at the edge of her mind, a familiar ache that always seems to resurface after these most intimate moments.

It’s been a year and a half since you became a couple,—since you reached the point where words were no longer enough to hold what you shared. You’ve grown closer with each passing day, yet even now, there are places in you that feel just out of reach to her, guarded and closed. Isa longs to reach those parts, to touch you in ways that go beyond the physical. She feels it most in the aftermath of nights like this—when your bodies speak a language all their own, but she knows there’s still something more, something unspoken between you.

You both bask in the comfortable silence, bodies entangled yet thoughts drifting. Isa’s fingers trace the lines of your chest lazily, feeling the steady warmth of your skin beneath her touch, grounding her. Her body hums with contentment, but her mind is already longing for something beyond it. She feels the quiet tension that always lingers after, a sense of wanting to give herself more fully to you, to offer parts of herself that words or touch can’t fully convey.

After a few moments, Isa turns her head toward you, her voice soft, carrying a hint of hope. “Do you want me to… take care of you?” She doesn’t need to be more specific; you know what she means. She wants to show her love in this way, to take you to that place of vulnerability she finds beautiful.

You smile faintly but shake your head, brushing it off. “No need, baby. You don’t have to. I’m good.”

Isa’s heart sinks, a familiar disappointment settling in. The rejection stings, even more than she lets herself admit. “I know I don’t have to,” she murmurs, her fingers still tracing patterns on your chest, searching for the right words. “I want to.”

Your response is gentle but dismissive, as always. “I’m spent. Too tired,” you say, your voice already softening with sleep as you turn to spoon her from behind. Your arm wraps around her waist, pulling her close, and Isa can feel the warmth of your body against hers, your breath soft against her neck. But despite your words, she feels your half-hardened length pressing against her, betraying your claim of exhaustion.

Her mind swirls as she lies there in your embrace. She’s noticed this pattern before—how you always find a reason to decline her offer. It isn’t the first time you’ve said you’re “tired” or that it “wasn’t necessary.” Each time, it leaves Isa feeling more confused and frustrated. For her, it isn’t about obligation; it’s her way of showing love, an expression as important as anything else you do together. She wants to share that intimacy with you—to feel the satisfaction of bringing you pleasure in her own way. And yet, every time she tries, you have an excuse.

Tonight, with the way your body presses against hers even as your words tell her no, the quiet rejection stings more deeply than ever.

As you hold her, your arm draped over her waist, you sense a shift in her, a quiet tension. Normally, after moments like these, you would both talk softly or drift into easy silence. But tonight, there’s a difference in the air, something in the way her body feels tense against yours, her breath slow but not fully relaxed.

“Chae,” you say, your voice breaking through the silence. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Isa hesitates, biting her lip as her thoughts tumble over one another. Should she brush it off? Or is tonight the night to finally voice what’s been building inside her? After a long moment, she sighs and rolls over slightly to face you, her gaze soft but searching.

“Why don’t you ever let me… you know, give you head?” she begins quietly, her voice uncertain but steady. “It’s not like I don’t want to. I love doing it. I love making you feel good in that way. But you always say no.”

You blink, momentarily taken aback by her honesty. You open your mouth to respond, but Isa continues, the words pouring out now that she’s started.

“I don’t want to pressure you, I swear,” she says, her fingers resting lightly on your chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of your heart. “I just… I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I can’t help but feel like I’m missing something. You say you’re tired, or that you’re fine, but it’s a way for me to show my love, and I want to share that with you. But you keep shutting me down.”

Her words hang in the air between you, a weight both of you can feel. Isa’s heart pounds as she waits for your response, vulnerability tightening in her chest, wondering if you’ll brush it off or finally explain what holds you back.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, your gaze shifting as if searching for the right words. You’ve always avoided this conversation, not because you don’t care about Isa’s feelings, but because the truth isn’t something you like to acknowledge—not even to yourself.

Finally, after a long pause, you look back at her, your expression serious but softened by affection. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just… complicated.”

The words sit between you, a partial explanation that leaves Isa feeling both relieved and unsatisfied. She knows you well enough to sense that you aren’t ready to share more, so she nods, squeezing your hand gently before releasing it. She won’t push you any further tonight, but a familiar ache remains, lingering like an unanswered question, a space between you still waiting to be bridged.

-----

The next day, as Isa strolled through the market, the weight of your quiet rejection still lingered, gnawing at her thoughts. The autumn air was crisp, carrying the earthy scent of fallen leaves and the comforting aroma of baked goods from nearby stalls, yet the usual warmth she felt here seemed dulled. The marketplace buzzed around her—children laughing, vendors calling out their offers—but Isa moved through it, distracted, her mind tethered to the unsettled feeling that trailed her since last night. As much as she loved you and felt a deep connection, there was this persistent gap—your quiet refusal to let her give you pleasure in the way she most wanted.

It wasn’t that you were harsh about it; you always deflected her with gentle excuses: Not right now, I’m too tired, You don’t need to. But Isa cherished to have this connection with you. For her, it was an act of love, something woven into her very identity. Giving herself in that way made her feel closer, like she was tapping into a deeper level of intimacy, one that words or gestures couldn’t quite match. Yet, every time she offered, you gently closed the door. The rejection, soft as it was, had begun to settle into her, like an ache that didn’t quite fade.

Lost in thought, Isa approached a vegetable stall, barely noticing the colorful array of produce before her. Just as she reached out to pick a ripe tomato, a familiar voice pulled her back to the present.

“Isa? Is that you?”

Isa looked up, her heart skipping a beat. There, standing a few feet away, was Sojang—your ex—smiling at her with an easy familiarity that immediately set Isa on edge. They had met once before, briefly, and Isa hadn’t thought much of her since. But seeing her here, unexpectedly, in the middle of her own thoughts about you, made Isa feel oddly unsettled, as if her internal worries were somehow surfacing before her.

“Oh, hey! Sojang, right?” Isa managed a smile, though it felt tight, her voice sounding more strained than she intended.

Sojang beamed, her expression disarmingly friendly, almost too friendly. “Yes! It’s so nice to run into you. How are you? How’s Y/N?”

Isa nodded, trying to mirror Sojang’s warmth. “I’m good! We’re good, thanks. Just picking up a few things for dinner,” she replied, hoping the conversation would remain light and fleeting.

“Ah, nice, nice,” Sojang said, her eyes gleaming with an interest that made Isa feel oddly exposed. There was something too sweet, too earnest in her tone. Isa couldn’t quite place why, but there was something about Sojang’s bright smile that felt like a performance, a mask that was a little too carefully worn. Isa pushed the thought away, telling herself she was just being paranoid.

They exchanged a few pleasantries, Sojang filling Isa in on her recent return to town. Isa responded politely, though the conversation felt increasingly forced, like Sojang was trying to carve out some deeper connection than Isa wanted. As she listened, Isa’s intuition prickled, a sense that Sojang’s friendliness was intentional, perhaps even calculated. Nothing was explicitly wrong, but her smile seemed too eager, like a practiced act Isa hadn’t signed up to watch.

Then, out of nowhere, Sojang’s tone shifted, becoming playfully teasing. She leaned in, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “So, since you’re with him, your jaw must be tired all the time, huh?” Sojang winked, a sly smirk dancing at the corner of her mouth.

Isa blinked, her mind momentarily freezing. “Uh… what?”

Sojang laughed, seemingly taking Isa’s reaction as bashfulness. “Oh, come on. You don’t have to pretend. I know he’s practically begging you to suck his dick all the time.” She winked again, as if they shared some private joke, as if they were in on the same secret.

Isa’s stomach dropped, a cold, twisting sensation gripping her. “I… um…” Her thoughts raced, scrambling for a response. That wasn’t you. You never begged for oral—if anything, you avoided it. What was Sojang talking about?

Oblivious to Isa’s discomfort, Sojang continued, her tone light, even bubbly. “Oh, trust me. He loves it. He was always asking me for it. Like, constantly. It was kind of his thing, you know? Blowjobs were his main way to unwind.” She giggled, reminiscing with a fondness that felt almost too casual, as if she were sharing a harmless story. “I mean, I used to joke that my jaw was always sore because of him!”

Isa tried to process Sojang’s words, but they didn’t align with the version of you she knew. Her pulse quickened, each beat intensifying the confusion as Sojang’s words echoed in her mind. Constantly? Always asking? She barely managed to keep her expression composed, though her head was spinning. This didn’t sound like you—at least, not the you she knew. The more she tried to piece it together, the more alien it felt.

With effort, she forced a smile, though it wavered. “That’s… interesting. I didn’t know that.”

“Oh yeah!” Sojang replied, all too happy to continue. “If there’s one thing he loved, it was a good blowjob. I used to give them to him all the time. It was like the highlight of his day,” she added with a carefree laugh. “I’m sure you’re keeping him satisfied.”

Isa’s throat tightened, each of Sojang’s words adding to a strange, hollow ache that made her feel smaller, less certain. The more Sojang talked, the more Isa felt a creeping sense of inadequacy. She wanted to respond, to say something—anything—but found herself grasping for words that wouldn’t come. You had never once hinted that you wanted that from her, and every time she offered, you politely refused. Yet here was Sojang, painting a completely different picture of you, one that seemed to revel in a kind of pleasure you wouldn’t let her give.

A sliver of doubt wormed its way into her thoughts, each repetition of Sojang’s words chipping away at her confidence. Was it her? Was she the problem?

“Yeah, um, well…” Isa stammered, her voice trailing off as she glanced down, feeling awkward and exposed in a conversation that had turned sharp without warning. Sojang kept talking, oblivious to Isa’s growing discomfort, but Isa could barely focus on her words. All she could think about was the contrast Sojang’s experience painted, a version of you that felt foreign, unsettling.

If you loved it so much, why didn’t you want it from her?

The question echoed in her mind, nagging, each repetition a sharper edge to her doubt. After a few more forced pleasantries, Sojang finally said her goodbyes, leaving Isa standing alone in the crowded market, the buzz of conversation and laughter around her feeling oddly muted. As Sojang walked away, a heavy feeling settled in Isa’s chest, as if she’d been blindsided, caught off guard in a game she hadn’t known she was playing. Sojang’s cheerful demeanor had made it seem casual, unimportant even, but Isa’s heart felt weighed down by confusion and self-doubt.

On the walk home, the conversation replayed in her mind, every detail sharpening the ache inside her. Sojang’s words kept circling back, as if taunting her: you loved it, needed it, craved it. So why didn’t you want it from her? Was something wrong with her? Did you not trust her the way you had trusted Sojang? Or was there something deeper—something about her that just didn’t move you in the same way?

The doubt gnawed at her, a relentless churning that she couldn’t shake. She told herself not to let Sojang’s words get to her, that people change, that your past with her was just that—the past. But the seeds of insecurity had been planted, and they were starting to take root, their grip tightening around her heart.

More than anything, something about Sojang’s comments unsettled her on a deeper level. The way Sojang had been too familiar, too knowing, as if she’d relished the chance to make Isa feel small. Isa tried to shake the thought, to dismiss it as paranoia, but the suspicion lingered, settling uncomfortably in the back of her mind.

By the time she reached home, the unease had only grown stronger, her heart weighed down with questions she was almost afraid to ask.

-----

That evening, you and Isa sat down for dinner together. You had prepared a comforting meal of pasta in a rosé sauce with a side of golden, buttery garlic bread. On Isa’s plate was a vibrant mix of grilled vegetables and quinoa sprinkled with fresh herbs. Normally, the familiar flavors and your shared meal would soothe her, but tonight, they barely registered. Her mind was elsewhere, tangled in the remnants of her encounter with Sojang and the unsettling thoughts that had trailed her all the way home.

You began chatting about your day, sharing funny stories from work, your face lighting up as you recounted your coworker’s clumsy misadventures with the new coffee machine. Isa nodded along, trying to stay present, even forcing a few laughs. But her mind kept drifting back to the market, to Sojang’s words, each one chipping at her sense of ease, making her quieter than usual.

After a moment, you looked up from your plate, brow furrowing as you noticed her stillness. “Hey, is the food okay?” you asked gently, eyes filled with concern. “You’ve barely touched it.”

Isa shook her head quickly, offering a faint smile. “Oh, no, it’s good,” she replied, taking a small, obligatory bite of her vegetables, though she hardly tasted them. She didn’t want to bring up Sojang or the thoughts stirring inside her—not now, not over dinner. But she couldn’t shake the tension, and every time she looked up, she could feel your worried gaze settling on her.

The two of you finished the meal in subdued silence, Isa barely eating, her appetite dulled by the emotions she was wrestling with. You quietly gathered the dishes and moved to the sink, washing them with your usual care, while Isa slipped into the bedroom, feeling the weight of her unresolved thoughts pressing down on her, heavier than before.

Later that evening, Isa sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her reflection in the mirror, her mind a whirl of doubt and frustration. From the bathroom, she could hear the sound of running water as you washed up, the quiet rhythm amplifying the silence around her. She tried to focus on her nightly routine, brushing her hair, massaging moisturizer into her skin, but her thoughts kept dragging her back to the market—to Sojang’s playful, almost taunting voice. I know he’s practically begging you to suck his dick all the time. The words echoed in her mind, louder and sharper with each repetition, until she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

How could Sojang’s experience with you have been so different from her own? Isa had tried to offer you that same intimacy, that same pleasure, only to be gently brushed off each time. She wanted to feel close to you in every way, to connect with you on the most vulnerable level, but your repeated refusals… they were beginning to feel like a rejection of her, not just of the act.

By the time she crawled into bed, you were coming out of the bathroom, hair damp, smile easy. Normally, Isa would feel comforted by your presence, but tonight her body tensed as you slid in beside her. You wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close like always, but instead of the familiar warmth she usually felt, Isa found herself resisting, a strange weight pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Hey,” you murmured, noticing her stiffness. You pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been quiet since dinner.”

Isa swallowed, managing a weak smile though her heart pounded in her chest. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

You didn’t look convinced. Shifting slightly, you propped yourself up on one elbow to study her face, concern etched in your expression. “Chae? You seem… off. Did I do something?”

Isa felt her throat tighten. She didn’t want to talk about it—not yet, not when her thoughts felt this raw and tangled. She wasn’t even sure how to explain it without sounding insecure. “I’m just tired,” she repeated softly, turning her head away. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

You hesitated, clearly worried, but you nodded, giving her space. “Alright,” you said gently, settling back down beside her. “But if something’s bothering you, you can tell me. You know that, right?”

Isa didn’t respond, keeping her back to you as she curled up on her side. Normally, she would lean into you, her back against your chest, feeling safe and grounded. But tonight, she held herself apart, feeling an unfamiliar anger simmering beneath her sadness. You shifted behind her, closing the gap between you, your arm slipping around her waist again, but she stayed still, not moving to nestle into your embrace.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice soft, tinged with guilt. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”

Your words tugged at her heart, yet Isa couldn’t bring herself to respond. She wasn’t even sure if it was something you had done, or something inside herself that had shifted. She stayed turned away, eyes shut tightly, fighting against the frustration building in her chest. The image of Sojang’s cheerful, too-knowing smile and her casual comments gnawed at her, each one twisting further into her insecurities.

Eventually, Isa drifted into an uneasy sleep, her body still tense with your arm draped over her. But for the first time, the warmth she usually found in your touch felt distant, as if a wall had formed between you, quiet but unmistakable

-----

When Isa woke the next morning, sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, but it did nothing to ease the tension gripping her chest. She turned over, expecting to find you still asleep beside her, but you were already up, pulling on a t-shirt at the foot of the bed. You smiled when you saw her stirring.

“Morning, beautiful,” you said gently, crossing over to kiss her forehead. Your touch was familiar, warm, but Isa’s thoughts were elsewhere—trapped in yesterday’s conversation with Sojang.

Isa sat up slowly, her mind racing, replaying Sojang’s words over and over. You slipped back into bed beside her, draping an arm around her waist like you always did, but today, it felt wrong. She tensed, her skin crawling with unease. You kissed her shoulder, your lips soft against her skin, but Isa couldn’t stop the flood of thoughts—the image of Sojang talking so casually about how much you had loved receiving oral.

She tried to smile, tried to shake the thoughts from her head, but the tension inside her was building too fast. Isa pulled away from your touch, sitting at the edge of the bed, her hands trembling slightly in her lap. You immediately noticed the shift, frowning as she distanced herself.

“Chae... what’s going on?” you asked, your voice gentle but filled with concern. “You’re not yourself. Did I do something?”

Isa bit her lip, her chest tightening. She could feel the frustration and doubt bubbling up inside her, and she couldn’t hold it in anymore. The words tumbled out before she could stop them.

“Why won’t you let me do it?” she asked quietly, her voice tense.

You furrowed your brow, confused. “Do what?”

Isa’s hands tightened in her lap. She turned slightly toward you, her voice trembling as she spoke. “Give you head. Why won’t you ever let me? Why was it okay with Sojang but not with me?”

You instantly stiffened at her words. Your entire body went rigid, eyes narrowing slightly as you processed what she was asking. Your reaction was immediate and unmistakable.

“Wait... why did you and Sojang meet up?” you asked, your voice sharp with unease.

Isa blinked, caught off guard by your sudden tension. She frowned, shaking her head, thinking you were deflecting. “Seriously? That’s your concern right now? You’re trying to change the subject.”

Your eyes stayed fixed on her, body still stiff with discomfort. “No, I—I’m just asking—”

“Sojang told me everything,” Isa interrupted, her voice rising with emotion. “She said you two broke up on good terms. She made it sound like you had this perfect relationship and then just decided to part ways. She implied that blowjobs were practically your favorite thing.” Isa’s voice wavered as her insecurity bubbled up. “She made it sound like she could give you something I can’t. Is that why you keep pushing me away?”

Your face tightened further at the mention of Sojang, your jaw clenching as your eyes flickered with something Isa couldn’t quite read. She mistook your reaction for guilt, for confirmation of her worst fears.

“If that’s what you want—if you still want her—I can leave,” Isa continued, her voice cracking. “If you’d rather be with Sojang, just tell me. I won’t stand in the way.”

You blinked, expression shifting from tense to confused. “Wait, what?” you asked, clearly thrown off. “Leave? Babe, what are you talking about?”

“You guys are perfect for each other. I get it. If she’s still important to you, I won’t—”

“Chae, don’t think like that,” you interrupted, your voice firm but bewildered. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. That’s not what this is about.”

Isa froze, tears pricking her eyes as she stared at you, her frustration and confusion now battling with her fear of rejection. “Then why?” Her voice broke, and her tears finally spilled over. “Why won’t you let me show you how much I love you? Why do you keep pushing me away? What’s wrong with me?”

Your face softened with guilt and regret, shoulders sagging as if the weight of what you had been holding back was finally crashing down on you. You reached out for her, but Isa pulled away, too hurt to accept your comfort.

“Honey, please, listen to me,” you said, your voice low, thick with emotion. “It’s not you. I swear, it’s not about you.”

“Then what is it?” Isa demanded, her voice trembling with frustration and heartache.

“Sojang...” you began, your voice strained, “she’s not what you think.”

Your hands trembled in your lap, eyes darting away from Isa’s as the weight of your past pressed down on you. You could feel your throat tighten, chest aching as memories you had tried to bury for so long began to resurface. Isa’s heart pounded in her chest, watching you with growing concern. She had never seen you like this—so vulnerable, so visibly distressed. You were always the strong one, the one who held her together when she felt like falling apart. But now, sitting there with your hands shaking and your gaze far away, she realized how much you had been hiding from her.

You took a deep breath, jaw tightening before you finally spoke, your voice low and strained. “Sojang... she’s not who you think she is. And we didn’t break up on good terms. We didn’t end things cleanly like she made it sound. I didn’t even tell her it was over face to face. I just... I left.”

Isa’s eyes widened slightly, her heart already sinking at the pain she could hear in your voice. “What do you mean?” she asked softly, not wanting to push, but needing to understand.

You stared at your hands, fingers fidgeting with the sheets as you tried to explain. “Sojang… She was my first girlfriend. I didn’t know any better back then. I didn’t have anything to compare it to. I was just happy that someone wanted to be with me, you know?” You glanced up at Isa, your eyes filled with a mixture of shame and sadness. “I thought that was love.”

Isa’s heart broke at your words. She could see it now—the innocence, the trust you had given Sojang, not knowing what a healthy relationship looked like. You had believed Sojang loved you, that the way she treated you was normal, and it made her stomach turn.

“At first, everything seemed fine,” you continued, your voice growing quieter. “But slowly, she started changing. She got controlling. She’d use sex as a way to manipulate me.”

Isa felt a lump form in her throat as your words sank in. She could see how much this was hurting you, how difficult it was for you to relive these memories. She wanted to reach out and comfort you, but she didn’t want to interrupt. You needed to get this out.

“She’d use it to punish me,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “Whenever I did something she didn’t like, whenever I tried to pull away from her, she’d… use her mouth to cause me pain. I know that sounds weird, but she knew exactly how to hurt me. She’d make it seem like it was this intimate thing, but it wasn’t. It was about control, about making me feel powerless.”

Isa’s breath caught in her throat, her mind reeling. The idea that Sojang had weaponized something so intimate, something that should have been about love and connection, made her feel sick.

“It got worse,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “If I flinched, if I tried to tell her to stop, she’d accuse me of not being a real man. She’d say things like, ‘How can you not like blowjobs? What kind of guy doesn’t enjoy that?’ She made me feel like there was something wrong with me. And when I started to believe that... I didn’t know how to leave.”

You swallowed hard, your voice growing even quieter as the memories overwhelmed you. “Sojang would say things like, ‘Don’t you know how lucky you are to have a girl like me suck you off? You should be grateful.’ And for a while, I believed her. I thought… Maybe she was right. I didn’t feel lucky, but I felt like I had to be. Like I was crazy for not wanting it.”

Isa’s heart shattered as she listened. She had no idea that Sojang had twisted something so intimate into a way to control and demean you. Your hands clenched in your lap as you continued, the words pouring out now, like you had been holding them in for too long.

“I hated it,” you said, your voice raw. “But I stayed because I thought that was what love was supposed to be. I thought… I thought maybe this was all I was worth. Maybe she was right.”

Isa’s tears fell freely now. She wanted to reach out, to tell you that none of it had been your fault, that you weren’t the problem, but she stayed silent, letting you finish.

“I started dreading it,” you continued, your voice breaking slightly. “Every time she’d order me to undress, I knew it wasn’t about love or making me feel good. It was about control. And I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t know how to stop it.”

Isa’s stomach churned, imagining the fear and helplessness you must have felt, trapped in a relationship with someone who wielded intimacy as a weapon.

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” you said, your voice barely audible now. “I reached my breaking point, and one night, I just… I left. I snuck out. Cut all contact. I didn’t even tell her it was over. I was scared she’d pull me back in again. I was scared she’d make me feel like I was the problem, all over again.”

Isa’s tears blurred her vision as she reached out, placing a hand on your arm. “Oh my God… I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” Her voice cracked, filled with sorrow and regret. She couldn’t believe how much you had been holding inside, how much you had been carrying alone.

You finally looked up at her, your expression filled with pain but also relief, as if finally saying these words had lifted some of the weight from your chest. But your eyes still carried that haunted look, as though the trauma lingered, even after all this time.

“That’s why I can’t let you do it,” you said softly, your voice hoarse. “It’s not about you, baby. I love you. But every time you offer, all I can think about is her. The pain. The manipulation. I don’t want to go back there.”

Isa’s heart shattered all over again. She had thought your refusals were about her, but now she saw it for what it was—a way to protect yourself from reliving the nightmare that had nearly broken you.

Tears streamed down her face as she scooted closer to you, wrapping her arms around you tightly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her tears. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

You didn’t cry, but she could feel the tension in your body, the way your muscles were taut, as though you were barely holding yourself together. You had always been the strong one, the one who held everything together. And now, here you were, crumbling in her arms, showing her the depth of your vulnerability.

“You’re not weak,” Isa whispered, pressing her forehead against your shoulder, her voice choked with emotion. “You’re not. You’re the strongest person I know, and I love you so much.”

You didn’t speak for a moment, but your hand found hers, squeezing it gently. It was a small gesture, but Isa knew what it meant. You were letting her in, slowly, piece by piece.

The two of you sat there in silence, Isa holding you as if her embrace could somehow mend the cracks in your heart. She wished it could. She wished she could erase all the pain your ex had caused you, take away the trauma that had scarred you so deeply. But she knew that wasn’t possible.

All she could do was be there for you. To love you. To show you that this—your love—was real, and safe, and nothing like the twisted version Sojang had given you.

“I love you,” Isa whispered again, her tears dampening your shoulder. 

-----

In the days and weeks following your confession, something shifted between you and Isa—not in a bad way, but in a way that made her feel even closer to you. She hadn’t realized just how much you had been holding inside, how much of yourself you’d kept hidden. Now that you’d shared your past, there was a lightness about you that Isa had never seen before.

You were still the strong, steady man she’d always known, but now there was a vulnerability you allowed yourself to show. You smiled more, laughed a bit louder, and even in the quiet moments between you, there was a newfound ease. It wasn’t that your trauma had vanished—it never would—but confiding in Isa had released some of its hold, and that brought her a profound sense of love and pride.

Isa never pushed, nor did she bring up what you had told her unless you wanted to talk. She understood that healing was not something that happened overnight, and she didn’t want you to feel rushed or like you had to “fix” yourself for her. She was simply there, letting you go at your own pace, accepting that some things might never change and that this was okay.

Still, she made sure you knew she was there for you, whenever you were ready.

One evening, as you lay in bed together, Isa turned to you, cupping your face gently. “I just want you to know,” she whispered, her voice warm with love, “that whenever—or if ever—you feel ready, I’d love to show you what real love feels like. Not the kind that hurts, not the kind that controls. Just love. Real, safe, and full of trust.”

Your eyes softened, and you covered her hand with yours, saying nothing but giving her a look that held everything she needed to know. You weren’t ready yet, but Isa’s patience meant the world to you.

So, life continued. You grew more open, letting yourself be more at ease. Isa noticed the subtle ways you began to change—the quiet confidence that started to return, the warmth in your touch, the way you kissed her a little longer each morning. Your bond grew deeper, and Isa felt a pride she couldn’t put into words, watching you heal, knowing she had created a space for you to feel safe.

Then, as time passed, things shifted. Slowly but surely, the weight you carried seemed lighter, and the shadows in your gaze began to lift. You still had difficult days, times when memories resurfaced, and Isa could sense your mind drifting to a place she couldn’t reach. But you no longer shut her out. You let her in, allowing her to be with you even when the darkness threatened to creep back in.

And Isa never pushed. She loved you, and that was more than enough.

Soon, your birthday arrived, a day Isa had been secretly looking forward to it. There was no need for grand gestures—it was just a day for the two of you, a time to celebrate how far you had come together. You spent the day as you always did—laughing, reminiscing, and filling each other’s lives with stories and small joys. That evening, after a cozy dinner at your favorite little restaurant, you walked home hand-in-hand, the city lights shimmering like stars around you, the crisp night air wrapping you both in a sense of warmth and belonging.

When you got home, you pulled her into your arms as soon as you crossed the doorway, your embrace tender but filled with affection. Isa’s heart fluttered as you whispered softly against her hair.

“Happy birthday,” she murmured, looking up at you with a soft smile.

“Thank you,” you replied, gazing back at her with a warmth that made her feel like the only person in the world.

The rest of the evening was spent together, curled up on the couch, comfortable and content in your little bubble. Isa had no expectations for the night; she was simply grateful to be with you, sharing another beautiful year. But as the night wore on, she noticed something different in your demeanor—a quiet intensity in your gaze, a sense of anticipation in your touch, as though you were building up to something.

Later, as you lay in bed, you turned to her, your eyes searching hers, the sincerity and calmness in your gaze making her heart race.

“Chae,” you began softly, your voice a bit shy, a hint of hesitation as you traced gentle patterns on her arm. “I’ve been thinking about what you said… about showing me what real love feels like.”

Isa blinked, her heart suddenly pounding. She hadn’t expected you to bring it up—not tonight, not even ever if you didn’t want to. She sat up a little, holding your gaze, her excitement barely contained.

You took a steadying breath, your fingers curling around hers. “I think I’m ready,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to try… with you.” Your eyes softened, the weight of your words filled with trust. “I trust you, more than anyone.”

Isa’s breath caught, her heart swelling with joy. You had always been the one to gently refuse when she offered to give you head, and she had never thought you’d be the one to ask.

And then, as if reading her thoughts, you added softly, “I was wondering if… if you’d still want to. I mean, if you still wanted to… you know…”

“Yes!” Isa answered, her voice bright with excitement before you could even finish your sentence. Her cheeks flushed, a soft, shy laugh escaping her as she realized how eagerly she’d spoken. “I mean… yes,” she whispered, this time more softly, her face glowing with love and anticipation.

Your eyes lit up at her response, and Isa couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face. She’d been waiting for this—not just because of the act itself, but because it meant you trusted her in a way you hadn’t been able to before.

“You’re sure?” Isa whispered, her voice tender, but her heart raced with excitement. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to… I’d be happy to wait.”

You smiled, reaching up to gently cup her cheek. “I’m sure,” you murmured, warmth in your eyes. “I want this. With you.”

With a soft smile, Isa moved closer, leaning down to press gentle kisses along your chest, her lips trailing slowly, savoring the feel of your skin. Each kiss was a promise, filled with the love she held for you—a love that was gentle, safe, and real, just as she had always hoped to give.

As her kisses moved lower, Isa could feel your breath deepen, the slow rise and fall of your chest as you allowed yourself to relax. Her hands slid down your torso, brushing over the hard planes of your stomach, and she smiled to herself, feeling the slight shiver of your muscles responding to her touch. There was something deeply intimate about these moments—something Isa had craved, not just for herself, but for you.

She reached your hips, her fingers teasing along the waistband of your boxers, and she could feel the tension there, the quiet anticipation that came with trusting someone enough to let them in. Isa paused, her lips brushing against your hip bone as she looked up at you, meeting your eyes.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice a soft whisper, wanting to make sure you were truly ready.

Your gaze met hers, your breathing a little heavier now, but there was no hesitation in your eyes. You gave her a small nod, your hand threading gently through her hair. “I’m okay,” you whispered. “I’m more than okay.”

With a gentle nod from you, Isa slowly pulled down your boxers, revealing you to her. For a moment, she simply paused, admiring you, taking in the quiet beauty of this moment—your body, open and vulnerable, trusting her completely in the most intimate way. Her heart swelled with love, understanding that this wasn’t just about the act itself but about showing you that intimacy could be safe and beautiful.

Her hand wrapped around you first, her touch soft and unhurried. She felt you respond immediately, a subtle tension running through your muscles as her fingers moved in a gentle, deliberate rhythm. Isa’s heart skipped as she saw you like this—open, trusting, letting her guide each moment. She brushed her thumb over the sensitive tip, watching as your breath hitched, your hand tightening slightly in her hair, not guiding or pushing, just resting there, a silent expression of trust.

Isa lowered her head, taking you into her mouth with tender care, her lips wrapping slowly around you as she savored the warmth of your skin. She moved deliberately, her hands resting on you, steady and reassuring, her mouth exploring you with gentle affection. Each movement was thoughtful, her focus entirely on you, every moment filled with care.

She heard soft sounds escape your lips—quiet, breathy sighs that let her know you were starting to let go. Your hand stayed light on her head, not guiding, just there, a reassuring reminder that you felt safe. Isa moved at her own pace, unhurried, making sure each second was filled with intention and love. There was no rush, no goal; she simply wanted you to feel safe, to understand that this could be pure and healing.

Isa found herself enjoying each second, more deeply than she had expected. It wasn’t just about your pleasure—it was about seeing you let go, watching your body respond in a way that showed you were leaving the pain of the past behind. A quiet warmth flooded her chest, a sense of fulfillment, knowing she was finally able to give you this kind of love and closeness.

As she continued, Isa felt your breathing grow more unsteady, your muscles tensing as you edged closer. Her movements remained gentle but purposeful, her hand and mouth moving in sync. Every soft sound you made, every shiver, filled her with pride, knowing you were allowing her to take you to this vulnerable place. To her, it felt like a gift you were both sharing.

A moment later, your breath hitched sharply, your hand tightening in her hair as if bracing yourself. “Oh, fuck, Chae,” you breathed out, voice thick with a blend of surprise and pleasure. Hearing her name from you, Isa felt a surge of warmth, a quiet assurance that you were allowing yourself to feel fully, without holding back.

Your body tensed one last time, every muscle tightening as Isa felt the warmth of your release fill her mouth, unexpectedly intense. Her eyes widened in slight surprise, her heart swelling with the depth of the trust you had placed in her. The sensation was overwhelming, but she held steady, her lips remaining gentle and firm around you as she guided you through each wave, ensuring you felt safe, cherished, and seen.

As each pulse flowed into her, Isa’s movements grew even more tender, her hands holding you with care, a gentle presence as she felt you surrender completely. She swallowed softly, letting you essence fill her completely, her touch light and reassuring. Each subtle twitch, each surge of release, was a testament to the vulnerability you were willing to share, and she received it all with love.

With every pump, Isa could feel your tension melting away, and a quiet pride blossomed within her. She knew what this moment meant—that you had entrusted her with something sacred, a vulnerability once guarded. She felt a sense of fulfillment, a deep sense of joy and purpose, as she coaxed you through each wave, letting you know with every gentle movement that you were safe and deeply cherished.

Keeping her mouth softly around you, Isa lingered, savoring the warmth of every response from your body. Each twitch, each gentle pulse, filled her with satisfaction, a connection she had longed to share with you. This was her love in action, a gift of care and devotion. The fullness of that feeling glowed within her, making each touch an act of affection.

When you glanced down, your breath caught at the sight of her—her mouth still gently surrounding you, her eyes meeting yours with a look so full of care, warmth, and adoration that it sent a shiver through you. Her gaze was unwavering, her expression beautifully open, filled with a love that went beyond words.

With a slow, tender swirl of her tongue, Isa gently lapped up every last trace, her movements graceful and attentive, savoring each second. Her lips stayed around you until she released you with a soft, lingering pop. She then pressed a gentle kiss to your tip, a shimmering thread connecting her lips to you for a moment before it faded, leaving her with a soft smile of pure contentment.

Feeling deeply fulfilled, Isa continued to shower you with tender kisses, each one unhurried and filled with meaning. She traced a delicate path along your length, her mouth warm, her kisses gentle and intentional, as though committing every inch of you to memory. Her heart swelled with love and pride, knowing that you were allowing her to be this close, to give you this intimacy. Each kiss felt like a balm, a way of rewriting the past, easing old hurts with a touch that was gentle and true.

She took her time, mixing in soft licks with her kisses, her gaze never leaving yours. She wanted you to feel her presence in every touch, to know that this was her gift to you—a gift of safety, of trust, of unconditional love.

With one final, lingering kiss to your tip, Isa’s lips held there, as if sealing a promise. Then, slowly, she began to kiss her way back up, her warm lips trailing along your skin, savoring every inch. Each kiss felt like an affirmation, a reminder that she was exactly where she wanted to be, giving herself to you in a way that felt both sacred and healing.

When she finally lay beside you, your chest was still rising and falling, your breath heavy as you came down from the high of her love. Isa rested her hand lightly on your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart beneath her palm, her own heart swelling with fulfillment and joy.

For a few quiet moments, neither of you spoke, letting the silence fill with warmth and contentment. Finally, as your breathing settled, you turned to Isa, your eyes wide, your expression a mixture of amazement and gratitude. For a moment, you seemed at a loss for words, simply gazing at her with a quiet reverence. And then, with a soft laugh, you shook your head, holding her close, knowing that words could never capture what you both had just shared.

“Honey… that was…” You paused, breath still uneven, feeling your heart race as you searched for words. “I mean, I don’t even know what to say. That was… incredible. You’re incredible.”

Isa’s lips curved into a soft smile, her own chest warm with the closeness you’d just shared. She let out a laugh, eyes bright as she leaned her head against your shoulder. “Speechless?” she teased, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “I think that might be a first.”

You laughed, shaking your head, still catching your breath. “I don’t think I’ll find words anytime soon. That was… way beyond anything I ever imagined it could be.” You rubbed a hand over your face, still looking a bit dazed. “Chae, you’re just… I can’t believe how... we need to do that again.”

Isa let out another soft laugh, her face lighting up as she took in your reaction, the awe in your expression making her feel more than just appreciated—she felt deeply cherished, like she had given you a gift that mattered. Leaning in, she pressed a playful kiss to your nose. “Glad I could surprise you,” she whispered, her voice filled with warmth.

You grinned, still in awe. “Surprise doesn’t even cover it,” you said, shaking your head, the sincerity in your voice deepening. “That was…wow.”

Isa’s laughter softened, a tender look settling in her eyes as her fingers traced soft, comforting circles on your chest. “Well, I’m glad I could be the one to show you,” she said, her voice gentle, filled with love. “You deserve to feel this way, to feel safe, to feel everything. And… I’m just glad I could be here for you.”

You reached for her hand, intertwining your fingers, giving them a gentle, lingering squeeze. “Thank you,” you murmured, voice thick with emotion as you met her gaze. “I don’t know how I got so lucky to find someone like you.”

Isa’s playful smile softened, her gaze warm as she squeezed your hand in return. “I think we’re both pretty lucky,” she said, a light laugh escaping her as she nestled closer. “And honestly, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You shook your head, still grinning. “Lucky doesn’t even come close,” you whispered, pulling her close, wrapping your arms around her as if to hold onto this moment forever.

You lay together, letting the silence settle between you, comfortable and content, Isa’s heart swelling with joy at having been able to share this moment with you, and you filled with gratitude for her presence, her patience, and her love. She leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your chest, letting her lips linger over the steady beat of your heart. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice soft and full of warmth.

You pulled her even closer, feeling her warmth against you, a profound sense of peace washing over you. “I love you too, Chaeyoung,” you replied, voice low and filled with sincerity. “More than I ever thought possible.”

With a quiet sigh, Isa tucked herself into you, her hand resting over your heart as the two of you let the night wrap around you, safe in each other’s arms, both knowing that this love was everything you had ever needed.

[defmaybe]

Mistake

NewJeans' Kim Minji (Angst) & NMIXX's Oh Haewon (Smut) x Male Reader

15.4k words

Some discussions of suicide

A/N: A few things before going in:

This is essentially an unedited, raw first draft. Expect an insane amount of errors and self-indulgent metaphors.

It's also unfinished in parts.

Still, I do genuinely hope that you enjoy this!

Thanks to Tyler and and Summer for putting me on the right track of being a writer!

Big inspirations from Caps' Departure, Nichu's Where Our Blue Is, Ddeun's Our Love Language is Sex, and Challengers

—

Prologue

—

Mistake all the time, You’re my mistake all the time, yeah

Mistake all the time, I’m your mistake all the time, yeah

—

You realized that you’ve never possessed the creative calibre as much as a writer should’ve had. Perhaps it’s appropriate that you’ve never pursued it as your major career. You read all these stories, and you knew that you just can’t come up with these plots. You don’t know how to do character developments, hell, you can barely write dialogues. The way people talk in real life remains a mystery to you. So, it’s probably for the best that you’re in engineering.

Though, it just takes a mistake to change it all. Many stories start with a catastrophe, a turning point, or something that puts the protagonist on their journey. So, here you are, you have a story right in front of you, so should it be transformed into something commendable? award-worthy? a selfish portrayal of what’s supposed to be just a passage of life? The goal of it doesn’t really matter much (though some recognition would be nice); you just had to write it out.

—

You don’t know how much time you have for this. Everyone has been telling you it should be long enough for the forgiveness to be ready, but you’ve also been wondering whether, if that day comes, it would be too long that the cadence won’t strike you as pristine as before.

Though, it hadn’t stopped you from fantasizing how this encounter would play out. You’d say something witty with a chuckle, and she’d smile back, or even better, a laugh. Both of you would see the separation as some childish actions of the past. The two of you would go back to where you were: grief-stricken, exhausted, scared high school students. 

The sunlight would force you to retreat to some cafe during the afternoon, letting you two trade stories between the gaps. And as the sun sets, you’d sit beside her in some park, laid back a bit, hands on the grass to offer some balance. She’d do the same. Then your hearts would slowly be reconnected with each other, hoping to reclaim solace missing in the separation, as if you are the only two people on earth.

Firstly though, those events would have to be triggered by your words. And despite thousands of days of you trying to perfect every syllable, they just conveniently stuck in your throat. This isn’t what you’ve been readying yourself for. Awestruck and powerless is an understatement, and no tests have ever made you feel so drowned in your gargantuan number of thoughts.

You cannot say a word to her, and there may not be any second chance for this.

You are her mistake, and you’ll always be.

–

One: About You

–

There was something ‘bout you that now I can’t remember

It’s the same damn thing that made my heart surrender

And I miss you on a train, I miss you in the morning

I never know what to think about

–

I like you

What

I like you! Like do you wanna go out on a date?

(Seen)

It isn’t the longest silence you’ll experience with her, let alone with someone else, fourteen years on earth won’t give much of an insight to you, but it’s enough for you to know what she’s going to say next.

I’m sorry

Regret in her words bled through the pixels. 

But I just see you as a friend

Being on text messages takes out the awkwardness a bit, but that doesn’t help transform the dagger, really.

Kim Min-Ji, your entire relationship was based on this encounter, and that three-week phase of some bullet crush upon entering a new school preceding this. You were charmed by a girl’s look, and then no one can compete with that.

You had found her face appealing, then you fantasized your whole life with her. One thing led to another, and you were head over heels for her in just a week. 

Nowhere that you haven’t gone with her in your head: a date at an American diner—drinking milkshakes, a trip to the theater—watching some schlocky romance and cringing when the couple on the screen are kissing each other, and the most ambitious one: marriage, she’s smiling, everyone you’ve ever known is surrounding you, cheering as you are leaning in for a kiss.

Too bad you didn’t have a backup plan if it failed.

Consequences of the rejection had you decompressing every, single, thing you’ve been admiring about her to your friends, yeah, the same ones. You treated that as if it was the end of the world. 

It was quite a phase, and you inevitably got closer to those people. They were slowly fading away eventually, one by one, but at least, at that moment, you felt like there’s someone listening to you.

While the dagger stuck, you kept eluding her, avoiding eye contact as you were walking past each other. You had to let her know you were hurt. God, that shit looked so damn petty in retrospect.

It was a month later when the heartbreak dissipated, and both of you decided that the next three years cannot be spent evading each other. (To be honest, it’s mostly just for you to stop being weird.) A nod was all it took, and that probably was a lot better than having her as a girlfriend.

–

She wants you to live on your life, separately

Being on text messages (and having it delivered through a friend) takes out the cruelty a bit, but that doesn’t help transform the dagger, really.

It started with just some petty acts, a crude joke. Then, just over a month later, you deleted every single picture of her, almost five years of them. It wasn’t a hard thing to do when you were so deep in melancholy, just a few minutes after a friend brought the breakup message to you. 

You thought you had to block her everywhere. But with every step taken to create some distance from her, those actions just, somehow, create unending echoes tormenting you.

Why

You really wanted to fix this; you really fucking did. You’ve never wanted it to end, even when you sent some faux, response-seeking farewell messages after days of waiting for her confirmation of how she felt, just to have her come and reply about the exam she was having just a few minutes later.

Are you gonna send something to her again if you know?

But even with her crying emojis, you were relentless with your replies. I fucking hate you still echoes to this day. It shaped how you see yourself: a selfish, yet codependent, self-indulgent, unlovable person. Even with the apology texts you sent a few weeks later (which she never saw), those four words were tattooed on you.

I won’t

You wished you could, but this answer seemed to be the way to satisfy her.

Think about it

Like all those years

What have you done to her

It was supposed to end with your first apology text, when she called herself an asshole over it. Then, you became one yourself. It turned out that reading only the preview message doesn’t give you the full picture, so you paid the price just a month later. You replied to that, then you waited. And with how God made you so insecure, you thought she wanted it to end after a week you took to reply.

You had problems.

It’ll all be okay

Someday

Looking at your friend’s text, you sighed, knowing that you can only let fate and time lead you to it.

–

You were nothing more than a friend. She sure loved you, just not in the way one would perceive as romantic. There were kind words, there was thoughtful advice, there were chatting deep into a lot of nights. 

Any form of physical contact though, you brought it up in some conversations (which one eventually being the spark that burned it all), were always quickly suppressed by her. So, there you were, having her as a friend, and the bar for where your future girlfriends should be.

hey

need some advice rn

uh huh

there’s this guy

send me his pic

alright wait a sec

[photo]

my god

what

okay yeah I know why he’s a big deal

fuck auto caps on I again

fuck

just turn it off in the settings lol

thanks

[Replied to: okay yeah I know why he’s a big deal] ikr

[Replied to: thanks] no prob

so

how is it with him

As it was flourishing, there were times that you wished for it to be as easy as a kiss and a happily ever after, with how well-gelled you’ve always been together. But the distance between you is just too much. 

You can’t conveniently visit her on every other weekend, while she really didn’t want to close the distance from being a close friend (or as you would think to yourself later: “our love may not coincide at the same time”). So, there you were, you became each other’s advisor for those times you’ve had.

–

All of what you saw as confidential: all the vibrations of your heart, all the tears running down your cheeks when alone, all the ties you cut and formed, as any teenager would do, was at last, delivered to your parents, at the age you didn’t think it was possible for such change. 

You didn’t expect that your parents would take it well, with how you’ve withheld everything for the last half decade, reducing every answer to their questions into a binary set consisting of yes and no. But as they’ve always been, they didn’t leave you in the dark.

You pleaded guilty to all of it – how you were wretched inside. How she became so much to you, how you took everything she says as an oath, how her jokes lit up a smile on your face every time, and how they still haunt you, to this day, keeps you from initiating any new, proper relationship with someone. 

They kept coming back, even if you thought time would slowly fade them away. The minor details, yes, but the bigger ones are still having free shots on you every now and then.

The first few months were difficult. Bed seemed to be the best place you could’ve been, lying down, your fingers sliding reels after reels for god knows how long. Though, it hits you, years of being alone, walling people out was detrimental to you. It starts with some small repairs: story replies to disconnected peers, dates with your close friends, more exposure to your family. 

You seek connections, desperately, to fill up the hole she once occupied. You took too many side jobs aside from the grueling university classes, and to be honest, you did meet a lot of new people in the next semester, even more than you did in the last two or three years here.

The space though, five years of freestyle carving put it into this twisted, incomprehensible, harrowing state in which all the adjectives in the world aren’t enough to define the shape of its former owner. How every fibre of your existence was tied to her was, as seen from outside, sad. 

Sure, it’s not wrong to let someone into your life, but with this extent – thousands of words to pry out a response - it just reeks codependency in retrospect.

It took some time, and a bunch of people, to cover up the space. You never quite make it like it was; there’s always a hole somewhere, and you can still see the footprints she left on you through it.

How you tell people close to you, most of the time, is that there was a fight - one you started. Then you were being a bitch for too long, and by the time you returned, she put you out of the picture. You added some bits of how you were dependent on her for your heartaches, how you treated her like shit for years, how you sent waves of messages that she didn’t reply because she was busy, how you said you hated her, only to retract and regret it a few days later, then it all ended.

It could be some way of unearthing emotional vulnerability under that “cold” façade - as often pointed out by your friends, which you deflected as crippling social anxiety. You thought people would trust you more if you decided to tell them how you succumbed to those inner demons. It works most of the time.

You told them that you cried to some K-pop song that you can only understand like two lines. 

You told them how you tried to recover the photos with some external program not a week later. 

You told them, with an otherworldly consistency, that it’s your fault, never hers. 

You told them you’d send something a year later, as an apology, to return to where you once were.

You told them that you might crumble again if the response is anything but a warm embrace.

Your taped-up heart remained intact when the day came, having your friends around and such after a year of reconstruction, and you surrendered to the fact that you really can’t do much more than a guilt-ridden text. But it’s not easy at all to watch “Sent just now” become “yesterday”, then “last week”, then “last month” slowly unfold. Then you knew that your strength just cannot handle this; cadence can’t exist with a single note.

It took you back to that day, when the future was just this black, unbounded, silent yet serene space. Times where every knife suddenly became alluring, heights weren't what you were afraid of anymore, the next trip to a pharmacist might be a deathtrap.

This eternal apathy: it was tempting to give in to it – to just leave all of these behind. Yet, you weren’t so sure to give yourself such an ending. People won’t like it, or do they? A lot of stories saw their main characters to their ends, no matter which way it would be. And to be fair, a lot of them became cult classics. You weren’t so sure which would be the right ending for yours.

–

Two: Now That We Don’t Talk

–

You grew your hair long, you got new icons

And from the outside, it looks like you’re trying lives on

–

One advice you took from your therapist is to keep journaling your emotions, each day. And even with the poor self-discipline, whether in a book or a journal, you carved your grimaces, laughters, and tears into words. But perhaps that became too customary. And as time passes, you find the storyteller side of yours magnetized outwards. So, there you were, in front of your old laptop, nibbling on the dagger.

–

Your plane landed in Tokyo mere hours ago. It was a few days after your sophomore year finals. You were paying for your inability to sleep with the shaking cabin, and it was just nine (Tokyo Standard Time) in the morning. Your eyes went dry, and you can feel the irregular beats of your heart. The sleeping pills from your psychiatrist can’t handle the excitement of getting on a plane, especially if it’s to Tokyo.

It’s cold, spring cold. Snow is nowhere to be seen, but your tropical genes are already shaken with a small breeze. You excused yourself from your family for some minutes outside the airport, to get some air for alertness.

The train would depart in an hour, but with the risk-averse nature of your parents, you had only 20 minutes to snap a few photos around Narita. You quickly pace yourself against the crowd, to the outside. You strode through the arrivals terminal, before reaching the automated door, finally catching the air. And it’s cold, spring cold.

It was cloudy, yet the sun was bright enough to deflect your vision away from the matter of protecting it. You pick up your camera to snap a few photos, testing the recipes you had looked up from home. And god, wasn’t Japan so pretty?

But maybe it’s the wind, maybe it’s the temperature, maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, you’re drawn to her, again. It was just over a month ago since the incident. Yet miles away from your parents’ car, when Minji had her dagger delivered through your phone, and as the distance grew, you realized that it’s poisoned.

Should I check my block-list?

It echoes, even if you had no reason to do it. And you gave in, under that spring air: cold, dry, unrelenting, merciless.

You took a seat by a slanted cream walkway outside. A man was sitting across from you. He looked up, before going back onto his phone, nonchalant to your presence, and it’s like you could complain about it.

And immediately, you take out your phone, so eager to check your blocked accounts.

She changed her profile picture into something that you can’t even make sense of: her. Even under the face of the drawn character, you could feel her radiate through your screen. Locals and tourists are still marching towards their destination, either into the city, or a plane, unbeknownst to your internal collapse. It’s probably the way your face is always the same - concealing the tears so well - cheerful or devastated.

She moved on from you: her old persona shed, bio rewritten, era changed. Yet there you were, at least a sea away, crumbled into pieces.

Perhaps it was time for you to shed a new shell.

–

“Minji will be here too!” One of your friends said.

It was the first time you had a sleepover at your friends’ apartment. Alcohols were, of course, involved. A bit of drunk chatting with your friends and walking around helped with the university-induced depression, which you, then freshman, naively dismissed as a normal thing. Then, you heard she would come for some lunch before you go back to the mundane routine you got yourself into.

“Heyyyyy.” You shouted into the room as soon as the apartment’s door was closed. She was sitting on the sofa in the middle of your friends’ studio-sized room.

“Hey!” She seemed to look different from her high school days, crimson on her lips, longer eyelashes, paler cheeks. She wears makeup now, and you wouldn’t lie that it took you by surprise - how beautiful she was. It may have been contributed to the fact that you had just six hours of sleep the night before, but she was gorgeous that day, breathtaking even.

“God, I miss you so much.” You said, sitting down beside her on the couch, while looking over the screen of her ancient phone.

“Awww, thanks babe.” Minji blew you a kiss, irony, to which you happily caught. 

“Long trip?” You asked, knowing how far she is from the city.

“Hour and a half.” She murmured.

“Sorry about that.” You chuckled, laying your back on the couch. It’s a display of your insufferable narcissism as usual, a humble smugness.

Your friends were too busy on their phones, waiting for a member to finish his shower before taking a trip into the city.

“No need, I’m here to see you.” Minji beams.

“Thanks, Minji.”

Not that you haven’t seen love blooming in front of you before, it’s just that you can’t grow the petals to display your stern sentiment. It has been, to say the least, difficult for you to express any tinge of compassion.

–

“ROMEO TAKE ME SOMEWHERE WE CAN BE ALONE, I’LL BE WAITING ALL THERE’S LEFT TO DO IS RUN.”

It’s only the two of you screaming between the other guys in the karaoke room. Even if it’s Taylor fucking Swift, she still seems to be threaded just between you two.

“YOU’LL BE THE PRINCE AND I’LL BE THE PRINCESS, IT’S A LOVE STORY BABY JUST SAY YES.”

You were pointing to each other, with others baffled by how enthusiastic you were.

Both of you kept going like wannabe singers until the end.

“WE WERE BOTH YOUNG, WHEN I FIRST SAWWWWW YOU.”

And the song ends, leaving only you two sharing the only spotlights in the room.

“Minji, fuck, god, that was great,” you panted, trying to catch your breath after screaming Love Story.

“You should thank me for listening to only English songs,” she scoffs, smiling at you.

You attempted to make a cute face, sarcastically. “Thanks, Miss Kim.”

“It’s my job to listen to Taylor Swift for you.” She bowed and smiled.

It’s always the irony-infused conversations, but deep down, you know you could trust her, at least once you do. So many of your problems were solved by her. Just tell them directly, just do this, just do that. And if you didn’t even want to, she’d take your place to show how competent in the field she is, just for you.

As your friends continue with the songs you two can’t capture the lyrics, you slid yourself towards her. “So, how’s the med school?”

She finds the words to answer the completed question for a while. Your other friends are still screaming their lungs out. “It… fucking sucks, yeah, it beat my ass back to high school.” She’d frowned at her script.

“I guess so, I shouldn’t have asked, even. We should talk about light things instead, I’m sor—”

“Don’t be.” Minji cut you off. “It’s fine, I needed a place to vent, anyway.”

The mood, again, swung into glee along with the background. “Oh, so what, Miss Kim, you’re going to use me as your personal venting tool now?”

As if you predicted your future.

“I might, if it doesn’t get better.” She’d snickered at her own comment.

Your expression softens to sympathy. “Well, I’m here. Miss Kim, Go ahead.”

“Really? We can chat about this later, to be fair” She negotiated your offer, not wanting to ruin the mood.

You pondered for a moment, as the song came to an end. “I suppose so, wanna pick the song?”

Minji smiled. “Sure.”

It was these small moments that you kept digging up, even if it is surrounded by smiles and laughs. I wasn’t kind enough to her. I said the wrong things. I was selfish. And it slowly grew into something far more sinister. I am a bad person.

–

“Okay, I’ll post this and tag you all.”

After the group selfie, it was time for you to go back to your regular depression-inducing activities at university.

“I have to get going now. I have class tomorrow morning.” Slightly annoyed by the time restraint, it’s evening now.

“Don’t forget to tag me~” Minji would speak out, playfully, a façade for the fear of being excluded.

“What if I do?” You pointed a finger to your chin.

“I’ll block you, that’s what I’d do”

“Aww, I’d be so sad.” You sarcastically pouted, before giving a farewell, “Bye, babe. Bye, everyone.”, waving.

“See ya.”

That was the last time you’d see her face.

Upon reelings, you can only recall the words as a vague, half-hearted goodbye. Oh how you felt so secure with her back then you just gave some shitty farewell, unbeknownst to how it would stick with you as her final image of you – the fact that has been gripping you tightly ever since.

–

Maybe, in a way, it is to broadcast the insides of your heart to the world. It’s always been what you do best. You found yourself sitting down in front of your laptop, pondering on the word choices. You were walking on a minefield of words, avoiding repetitions that would make your readers groan at such occurrences.

It could’ve been easy - the one who left was the villain, and the one who found you is the typical manic pixie dream girl any man would want. You would boast it when you meet her again, saying something along the lines of “I won the breakup.”, or “Guess who’s crying now.”. It’s quippy, snarky, made-ready, and gives some sense of revenge to the readers, and to you.

It’s not hard to give in to the waning under the half-lit moon; the vengeance is too alluring. Still, perhaps it was that single, small spot in the dark sky - the one that keeps on flickering a signal. And it was decrypted into the ending you didn’t want, acceptance, even if the creeping clouds are slowly curtaining the sky. The star keeps on flickering, to guide you.

And you followed it. The piece didn’t get as much recognition as you’d like, as the grudges were, even if partly, let go, and only mentioned as your thorns. Yet, that day, those spikes were shed, for a new shell to form to protect you from your own hatred.

–

Three: Feels Like

–

Met you at the right time

This is what it feels like

–

You were told that it’s going to be some kind of joint committee between universities. And so, as one of the chosen, you are here, in such rare occasions of being in a suit. It’s tiring - you just got off from your senior project, internship is approaching in a week, right after the Christmas holidays. Yet, being given a few activity hours from your university isn’t a bad offer at the time.

Some classical music you’ve never bothered to look their names up were sent through speakers; they probably couldn’t afford a real band. The grandiose, dimly blue-tinted-lit hall was occupied by hundreds of representatives. Waiters were walking back and forth to corporate demands for the food and drinks. The sounds from all kinds of conversations are lighting this ball up. It’s, from a whim, lively for now.

As always, you felt out of place here. You’ve never been the type that would slot into a conversation with ease. Every word you say might be interpreted as an insult, a showboating of your dull wit. So, silence seemed to be the best choice here. You can’t have people see you as some lowly, dense, out-of-place ordinary guy.

You kept checking your watch, anxiously, it should have been eleven when you were to leave, and time gets slower on purpose. Words around you were slowly, but surely on its way to push you to your edge. There were a couple of people from your university too, just that they were nowhere to be seen. Maybe they are in the toilet? Maybe they can talk to strangers? Maybe they don’t want to be around you?

With every second ticked, an uneasy feeling crept up your body with confidence, eager to take control. Your eyes were stuck to your phone, with right thumb swiping short videos after another. Each one elicited a dopamine shot to keep the shadows at bay, but it could do just that. You know this stuff is going to shave off your attention span bit by bit, but not faltering in front of everyone now just matters more.

Until-

“Sorry.” A stark, yet tender voice shook you, despite its message. You expected someone to come take you into their company, but it’s still a long way to go to get rid of this shell.

You turned your head back until she’s in your vision. A short-haired woman stood before you, around your age; her lips formed a weak grin. Her left hand was holding an empty plate, though with a few hints of red velvet’s frosting on it. “Can I have some more cake?”

Her right hand was in her blazer pocket.

You realized you had been standing in front of the cake stand for the last fifteen minutes. Fuck, this is embarrassing. You immediately moved away from the front table. What if I was seen as some fucker guarding all those cakes?

“What’s with that face?” 

“Uh—uh—” Being heavy in your thoughts can sometimes send some erratic, unwanted instructions to your facial features. This Fuck, this is embarrassing ordered the classic eyebrow squints, and a slight mouth frown.

“Are you seriously getting mad because I told you to move a bit?”

Ok, ok, shit, what the fuck is happening now. You were lost, failed to come up with a response. Those doe eyes were sure to be flammable with how you can feel trickles of sweat on your forehead now. First, you were all by yourself in what’s supposed to be a networking opportunity, and then this. This is how you are going to be viewed by these people now, an entitled, selfish asshole. A real chance pulled away from a single mistimed expr—

She pulled you back with her contagious simper. “I’m sorry. I was j—” She broke into another chain of laughter; there’s no reservation in those, like at all. “I was just fucking with you.” She put her right hand to cover her gaping mouth, while swaying her upper half back and forth like it was the funniest shit she has ever pulled. 

You may have just felt the largest absolute emotional slope in your life - it doesn’t really matter in terms of good or bad, just closest to being a straight line. You let out a shaken sigh, then, without knowing, you can’t help but start laughing with her in unison.

“God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect you to be s–so anxious about that.” The hilarity subsided, as she was starting to regain her composure.

You replied with some remnants of the previous guffawing. “It’s fi—ha, ha, it’s fine.” Still taking in what’s just happened.

You finally got a proper look at her. And on that exact night you first met, she wore a gray blazer, perfectly compatible with her decent height, just a few inches shorter than you – did she get it tailored? The navy wide-leg pants she had on her really gave her this “young and rising executive” look. Her short hair was a bit messy, probably from all the walking and talking she had while finishing that poor red velvet cake. 

Her nose was supposed to be the part that had you gawked, with how its bridge was flawlessly sculpted while still fitting with every other part on her face. And with the crimson lipstick on her plump lips, those features alone, perhaps, had Aphrodite working overtime. 

Then, just a bit above those, her hazel eyes, the ones that will have you gladly trapped in it for hours. The sunsets you will be sharing is going to be reflected in her eyes, as you bring your face closer to hers, to realize that she’ll be the person you can, and want to spend the rest of your life with.

(We still need to come back to the first night though. You haven’t gotten much more of her personality than that joke.)

“So, aren’t you going out and talking to someone?” She asked, her right hand using the cake server to pick up the lone chocolate one in the center of the table.

“Well, uh, it’s kinda hard to explain” You gestured your hands into an “I don’t know” pose, moving them up and down a little to imitate a weighing scale, as if you know what’s on both sides.

She puts on her curious face, staring straight into your eyes, trying to pry out an answer. “Try me”

You tried to hit back with your straight face, ready to not give in to her request, but to no avail. Her stare was getting even more intimidating. God, that gaze is strong.

“Fine.” You replied, as she giggled with her victory.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” She furrowed her eyebrows. She really looks like a confused bear with that face.

“Never have the courage to do it.”

“Well, you look like you have enough to talk to me.” She cuts the chocolate cake with her fork, before putting the piece into her mouth.

“That’s because you’re the one initiating.”

“Oka—“ She tried to reply with a stuffed mouth, but the content was still too big. She chewed it a bit more with her right hand covering her mouth, the other putting a stop sign on you. “Okay? And am I wrong for doing that?”

“No! I—“ Her right hand moved to her waist; she was burning you with her eyes, cheeks still moving. It is important that you don’t say the wrong words here. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome~” She twisted the last syllable into a melody, before letting out a cute giggle. “I’m Haewon by the way. And sorry for fucking with you a little too much.” She offered a handshake, which you reluctantly accepted. 

You suspected that there’s something weird with her then, with how chatty she was with you. Who would be going around, talking like this to other people?

It turned out a few years later that you’re the weird one.

“Aren’t you supposed to have some friends with you?” Haewon continues her pressing on you.

Shrugged, “Yeah, but I lost them like an hour ago, so—", as you fanned your eyes around for the umpteenth time of the night. The crowd rumbled, but still no sight of your peers. “I really have nowhere to go.”

Haewon kept switching her gaze between you and the crowd, as if to make more topics and banters out of it.

“You wanna join?” Haewon finally locked you within her sight; her thumb pointed away, into the uncertainty of the crowd.

“Uh—" 

It’s one of the few times you picked the right choice, even if it was clear as day.

“Let’s go then”

Joy gleamed her face, “Great, follow me”

Along with Haewon, you walked with her into the crowd. You bumped into some people who are apathetic to your action, and some even give you an understanding look, unbothered by your mistakes. The classical music blaring around seems to calm everyone down.

You’d finally reached a group of similarly-dressed students. “Welcome back Haewon, what took you so long?” One of them muttered out.

“Him.” Haewon replied, while looking at you and beams a smile.

–

Four: Cutie

–

Woke up in your orbit

Now where do I start?

–

Eighth wonder of the world: how the fuck can you secure a date with the royalty, Oh Hae-Won. You were aware – made known by her friends teasing you during a few group dates, knowing how Haewon has been spending a lot of time on her phone lately, too often with a grin on her face. 

“Hey” Haewon appears behind you in a sudden, voices in your head are now scattered.

A little shocked, “Hey”.

White tee, brown, modern crossbody bag on her shoulder, light navy jeans, hair a little shorter from that day, topped wi—

“Haiyah!” Haewon calls out, snapping you out of your trance. “You’re doing that again, aren’t you.”

“Doing what?” You replied, hoping she didn’t notice your pondering, borderline ogling on her choice of garments.

“Thinking.” She taps her head lightly. “Like you were being hypnotized or something.”

Rebuttal, “No, I wasn’t?”, and your eyebrows are marred.

“Yes, you were. And the first time I met you was also like this; you were lost in your head, and staring at me like you were trying to gauge something out of me.” She retorts with an arrogant chuckle.

“Alright, alright, fine, I’m a daydreamer, and what’s the problem with that?” You deflect the guilt. Shit, what the fuck did I say?

“Well—" Haewon nibbles her chin while finding the word. “People don’t really like being stared at, you know.”

“Yeah, that’s a fair point, my bad.” The people pleaser inside you got the better of the debater.

“Hey, look, let me give you some advice.” Determination sparks in her eyes, her hands holding on to the string. “Don’t think, just—do it, or feel it, you know.” You aren’t quite sure how to play along with her words. “The reason I’m here today is because I see something in you, and I’m sure you see something under this pretty face.”

And it’s true, Haewon sparks a sense of an adventurer inside you, even if they’re through internet lines. She brings up quite a number of places in the city you’ve never even heard the name of, and thinking of the list is, to say the least, nauseating. But under the boulder, your determination to match her venturesome nature isn’t crushed after all.

“You’re speaking like one of those life coaches, you know.” You sarcastically reply with a chuckle.

“It’s called encouragement, get used to it.” She nicks your shoulder softly. “Shall we start the walk?”

“Sure.”

–

You two stride along the road, catching the sight of other sightseers, both local and foreign. Graffitis are etched into the walls by your sides, interspersed with numerous coffee shops aimed to lure gen z customers with their furnishings. And one seems to work on you guys, because you now have an iced thai tea, while Haewon has a matcha latte, also iced.

“So.” You cut the silence, taking a sip of your content. “Are you here often?” It’s one of the more “talky” questions you can think of right now. Your head slightly turns towards her; your eyes during the rest (more than half actually) of the work to catch her in the bullseye of your vision.

“This is just my second time, to be honest.” She replies, drinking her matcha. “And I love how these buildings look; they probably look gorgeous on your camera, don't they?”

“It’s a good substitute for my Tokyo needs.” You scoff, scanning over the old houses around you.

“Oh yeah, those photos did look breathtaking, I can see why.” She brings up the photos from over a year ago, letting out a tiny smile in the process. “I’ve been to Osaka once actually.”

Surprised, “Osaka? How come you haven’t told me this already?”, she has never brought it up during the six months you’ve known each other.

“I can’t describe it as well as you, really.” Haewon looks down, still strolling at the same pace as before. “Plus, it was just for a project. We didn’t have much time for sightseeing.” She mutters out, eyes fixated on the ground.

“I think it would be fun, please?” A chortle escapes you, thinking it would let her know your enthusiasm.

It’s quite a clear day for a rainy season - hints of white clouds here and there, but never enough to rage against your first date. You two remain at a distance, still, leaving a gap between your shadows.

“No, no, you even laughed at the idea of it, I won’t tell you that.” She calls you out, whimpering as the sentence ends.

The next thirty seconds go by in silence, the two of you keep glancing at each other, evading contact at any signals. People pass you by as you walk, widening the distance between the tip of your fingers. Guilt, fear, uncerta–

“I won’t laugh again, I promise.” You give her an assurance, and that’s the best you can do.

“Really?” She looks up at you, catching your honest compassion.

“If it’s funny, I might.” You chuckle. “But I’m sure it was a good experience for you.”

“Thanks.” You lit up a grin on her face, as she’s getting all excited to tell you about her adventure.

“So, this was like three years ago, back when I had just finished my freshman year, it was a subway surveying thing.” Haewon starts her tale, with you two turning left, now walking to the river. “I went with a group of people, and it was mostly lecturing around the tracks, really.” She chuckles. “So we had just the evening for ourselves for like, a week.”

“We went to a firework festival on the first day. God, it was so fucking crowded, but the sparking lights looked spectacular. They did the color work well.” As she tells the story, you can’t help but get immersed in the words. There’s clarity in the way she recounts it, greatly assisted with how often she says “flickering”, “cold”, “bright”, “exhausting”, “overwhelming”, and much, much more.

“The wagyu just melted in my mouth.”

“The system was confusing, to be honest, like a spider’s web, but they helped me with that a lot.”

“Yeah, it was fucking cold, and I brought so many shorts because I underestimated late spring Osaka.”

You two walk past some more old buildings and a few more cafes, with her story as the melody. It sweeps your leg like a damn good movie. How vivid the atmosphere she’s enamoring you in, how she’s so enthusiastic in her reminiscence, and how she grins and narrows her eyes upon any mention of food.

After a while, the river is finally in your view, as she’s getting through her final day at Marble Beach.

“I pulled a friend I made there to see the beach with me, and he said that it changed his life.” She laughs. “It was beautiful, you really should see it.”

A soft smile escapes you. “Well, I kinda get him, really.” You two finally reach the cement barrier, heighting just on your hips. It’s not too short that Haewon would have to throw a life ring to you, yet not too tall to obstruct your river view, enough for you to rest your arms on it as if you’re posing.

“Yeah, the Odaiba Beach, right? I saw the photos, once you mentioned that.”

[More dialogue]

–

“How far is your stop?”

“Four stations.”

“Wow, I’m on six, then interchange to another four.” She sighs at the daunting route, knowing she’d be alone.

The carriage slightly shakes as it takes a small turn. Sight of people are only a few; both of you are holding onto a pole in the middle. You’re gathering all the willpower to keep your weak hand from falling onto hers.

Haewon is looking out the window in the same direction as you, eyes examining the view outside - nocturne. “Have you ever gotten bored of this?” She asks, turning her sight to face you still looking out along.

You ponder for a moment. “It looks pretty at night.”

“That’s true, but it’s not the question.” She replies. “And the way you talk is strange, you know that? Especially with how you answer questions”

“Probably from watching a lot of movies, I guess.” You deflect.

“See? You did it again!” She points at you, unbeknownst to the inadvertently closing distance between your hands on the pole. “It’s not a peeve or anything, really, but I see that you always answer yes-no questions with a reason, not directly yes or no.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve got this complaint a bit often. I have to say the same thing twice, or even thrice to a lot of people.” You reply.

“They probably expect a yes or no, perhaps?” Haewon ends the playful nudge with a chuckle. “I don’t mind though; I can catch your words.”

You can only smile in response. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to do that for a while.” You laugh, in a volume that wouldn’t make it echo inside the whole train.

“Woah, getting daring just being with me for a day? I’m having a good influence on you~” Haewon playfully takes a jab.

“You’ll have a lot of influ–” You pause. “That’s the same joke, yeah, that’s the same joke, I’m not saying it.”

She laughs, not quite as contained as yours, attracting a few looks onto you. “Yeah, I’ll see my schedule first.” Her laughter would dissolve into a smile. “I think I can sort out a few things for us.”

Us. You can melt right here and now. The way she says it so easily is just too attractive. What does she think of me? Are we a thing now? Should I kiss her?

“U—Us?” You stutter out, mind flayed.

Haewon is locked onto her calendar. “Yeah, I know I’m not that good at planning but—” She meets your eyes. “Oh.”

[You are blushing and there’s going to be a kiss at the end of this chapter.]

–

Five: Party Police

–

You don’t have to leave

You can just stay here with me

Forget all the party police

We can find comfort in debauchery

= = =

The sound of the air conditioner fills the room, emulsified with your anticipation, forming a perfect cadence. The air between you is a mixture of both minty breaths you insisted the two of you to take a spearmint candy, the gender-neutral-honey-scented body wash both of you used in separate shower sessions, and the summer breeze air purifier Haewon bought from your first trip to the convenience store together.

You two are inside her room, sitting on the queen-sized bed, hands clutched between the hole your tangled legs make.

Haewon’s lips are slightly parted, as if their owner is about to make out a sound, yet the whirring fan blows any of her half-thought intentions away. And instinctually, to which you realized a few blinks later, yours are also making their own gap, and the whirring fan blows any of your half-thought intentions away.

“I—" Haewon would be the first to stabilize her frequency, ever so mildly fluctuated by your proximity. “I love you.” She can only confirm it in a whisper, barely vibrating the dormant air around you.

Yet, it seeps in, perhaps by the sincere nature in her voice. Haewon has never looked this fragile before, and your next move can actually ignite her neurons with blue flame this time.

“I—I love you t—too.” Flushed, presto heart rhythm, you muttered out these simple words. Resting air now shook with the expressions.

You’ve kissed her many times before, the end of the first date, the middle of the second date, the start of the third date, then a full on make out session during one of The Academy’s International Film nominees, with an unknowing crowd in the theater (it helps that the movie is quite a rare action triumph, so that the wet smooches of your lips are buried under clips after clips being unloaded, and the bullet cases clanking on the floor). Though, never once has it ended with her uncontrollably uttering fucks or shits, or even deity names neither above nor under you.

Haewon starts to lean closer to you, wholeheartedly knowing that this won’t be a normal kiss. Her head tilts so acutely, barely deviated from the axis. The small, deep hum from her throat is unexpected, with her eyelids closed and all. Yet, who are you to say no to her proclamation of love.

The expectations are high, yours, hers, on this kiss to capture much more than your lips. It’s both of your first times after all. And with the contact, you can’t help but match her tone in lovestruck. Hands are still stationed, too afraid to take this further, until they aren’t yours that touches a face first. Haewon fondles your cheeks with both of her hands as the kiss ensues, persuading you to reciprocate, and you do.

Fervor rises along the ticks of all the clocks, Haewon pierces the gap you opened with her tongue, invading your mouth. You gasp in shock, signaling her to break off from the session.

“Shit, are you okay?” Haewon’s eyes enlarged, her breathing still out of rhythm.

Giggling, “No, no, no, just a little shocked, let’s continue”, as you initiate the action this time, hands holding her cheeks, tongue sweeping the insides of her mouth.

Again, fervor rises along the ticks of all the clocks, the sound of the kiss becomes the only thing you can hear now. It’s wet, a little salty, albeit ardent, and rapturous. 

And with an unknown source of bravery, your hand traverses down from her cheeks, grazing her neck. Haewon hums a minim into your throat as your fingers hit the ridge of her chest. And through the fabric, you give her left mound a squeeze, eliciting another two-beat note from her. Tender, addictive are the first few words as your fingers sink into the cloth, and the desire arises.

Your voice, muffled through the kiss, and raspy in hunger, asks such a bold question. “Fuck, God, Haewon, may I suck on them?”

Haewon would hum another note into your mouth, before unlatching from the torrid endeavor. “Make me moan, and don’t use your teeth.” She commands.

It’s all instinctual now, don’t think, just feel echoes. You playfully push Haewon onto the bed, eyes focus on your targets. The rhythm of her ragged breaths now takes over the room.

You run your hands down her luscious curves, feeling every hill and hollow on the fabric, before hitting an edge. ”May I?” As you grab the hem of her shirt, so eager to expose her.

”Of course, babe”

Permission granted, you swiftly pull the edge of her garment up, with her putting her arms up for easy exposure. The stream of the sight of her somewhat toned midriff, perky chest, and collarbones runs through your eyes, and it’s almost too heavy to take it in. “Fuck.” And you can only give a profanity for it.

“I know, right?” She responds, chuckling.

Magnetized, and sudden, your lips latch onto her left, brown peak, coating her breast with your saliva. She complies with your action under you, letting out a symphony whenever your mouth is right at the top of her areola, right before leaving, then swallowing it again. 

The buds, excited, erect under your touch. This seems to go on for minutes. You keep switching between her left and right mounds, one hand kneading the mound that isn’t currently savored, with the other traversing her upper body, marking every square inch as yours. You won’t get bored of this easily, especially with her moaning this loud.

“More, baby, more” Haewon pleads. Her hands start to push your head onto her erect nipples now.

If you’re going to be honest, it tastes just like any other part of a human body: skin, with some honey aroma after the shower. Perhaps it’s desire, perhaps it’s ardor, or perhaps it’s love, maybe all of them together, you were drawn to them. Her writhing cries only fuel the attraction further, and the force you use with your lips.

Until–

“Fuck, fuck–, yeah.” She whines. “That–That’s good, but I want more now, baby.” Haewon mutters in the same pitch as her moans, unable to retain her usual deep tone. “You seem to– love my tits– a lot, don’t you.” Her talking is constantly cut short to make ways for the ragged breaths.

“Twenty-one years of drought, babe” You chuckle, turning your head to face hers, chin hovering above her hard nubs.

“You wanna use your mouth or your dick, huh?” Slightly annoyed, yet excited, and perhaps too lecherous that she comes off as a horny cutie joke bear. “I gotta cum first, or at the same time with you, isn’t it” She seems to be aware of how your body works, and she’s right. You don’t wanna risk being unable to get yourself up again within five minutes, while she waits, unattended.

”Damn, babe, you’ve come prepared.”

”No?, I’m gonna come with you here!” She lets out another laughter, breaking the lustful mood a bit. God, she just can’t go a minute without making a joke. Her pursuit in digging any giggles out just kills you every time, even if that means the problems were hardly addressed, tingling a small part of you on the occurrences.

You sink into the glee with her. “Oh fu— fuck off babe.” But this lustful tryst just drives you into a whirlpool right now. You quickly dispose of your shorts (why the fuck would you guys even wear clothes if you’re just going to fuck after???), freeing your delirious digit.

“God.” Haewon stares at your erect cock in awe, twitching, a glint of concern in her eyes. You wouldn’t say that it’s exactly big, but it’s enough to make her gulp. “Do I have to take all of this?”

“I’ll push slowly.” You replied, panting from the brimming anticipation.

Without a word, Haewon yanks her shorts away. Another stream of her eden, thighs, and the full lower body strikes you. And Haewon is now bare in front of you, glowing, despite her cheap light hanging above. You want to cherish this moment forever, freeze it in time, or at least just slow down a bit. Oh Hae-Won trusts you enough to expose herself, fully, in front of you. And you aren’t sure which gesture can compare to this as her proclamation of love (maybe a marriage proposal, but let’s not get into that yet).

“I thought you’d do it slower”

“All that foreplay got me so fucking turned on, babe, plus, I’m not on the shy side.”

“The nipple sucking?”

“Yeah, that meal you just had. Also, take off that shirt, I wanna feel all of you.”

Ordered, you hastily get rid of the last piece of garment, tossing it into the void, following your shorts. Both of you are now fully naked, only the cold, compressed air is your barrier now.

“Good, now come here” She says with a wink, provocative, commanding, yet so greedy. Haewon is resting on her back, with her elbows lifting her abdomen just a little from the bedsheet, enough to face you without much eye movement, smiling with desire. She bends her left leg a little, and it drives you crazy. 

Fuck, she’s the most beautiful woman in the world, perhaps ranked among the gods: Hera, Artemis, Athena, Hestia, and Haewon’s victory is a certainty. She can even go bar for bar against Aphrodite, her own creator, under this cheap room lamp. And you can’t just wait to be tied to this lady with her deity-defying charm with such an intimate act.

“You want my cock that bad, Miss Oh?” You slowly, to make it a tease, slide your knees against the bedsheet towards Haewon, getting closer to her, inch by inch. Haewon opens her leg, giving you permission and space to be in her proximity. Her eden is now in view, glistened with arousal. 

“There’s just this thing, ma’am, that I wanna take a sample of first.” Playfulness is attached in your message. She’s still on her elbows, heads slightly tilted at your defiance, as if you also have a god-challenging act in your pocket as well. And with some more inspection, it’s apparent that Haewon isn’t a firm believer in having cleanly-shaved hair, and somehow, this kind of nature just drives you into a frenzy.

“And what is it, mister?” Haewon asks, still with seduction, eyes locking on yours.

“You.” And without another word, you dive face first onto her wet, needy sex. Your nose is pressed against her mound, pubic hair brushes against it, but the “distraction” never succeeds in repelling you away. Further, it feeds the ferocity inside you to take in her scent, with a deep breath. With the sight alone, you thought you reached your limit, yet, spellbound under her musk, a hint of sweat, the honey-scented body wash, and her mildly tart aroma from the inside sends you into a literal mind break, like a morning coffee. Haewon is fucking addictive, and you can’t go a single day without her smell.

“She s–smells good, doesn’t s–she?” Her voice starts to quiver again, as your nose tickles her hair.

Meanwhile, your tongue, with a mind of its own, is lapping up her nectar, savoring the salty, tangy taste of her canal. Her sensitive nub, the one you’re sure it’s clitoris, is now stuck in your philtrum. Every swipe just grazes it, eliciting squeals from her.

“F–fuck.” Haewon cries out, starting to get lost in her immediate pleasure, “Ah.”, and your enthusiasm. “Just f-five minutes babe.”

Mouth busy in a sinful act, you hum an affirmative note out. Her vagina is now coated with your saliva, mixed with her lubricant. And with each time you pull yourself out, there’s sometimes a string of the cocktail connecting your lips to her sex - a thread between you and her.

At first, it’s a savoring session of her taste, for you, but as her wailing grows louder, you can only be curious about the limit. And without hesitation, you give her clitoris a brush - the same way you suck her nipple. As your lips contact, delicate, her moans would reach such a forte to the point you’re quite sure that everyone in the dorm would be able to hear.

Conspiring her frustration, “Want a few more, babe?”, you retreat your ministrations to her pale thighs, making a few marks here and there, robbing the pleasure that was once hers.

“Fuck you.” Haewon groans out. “Please, keep eating my pussy, please.”

You bring your fingers into play, caressing her inner trunks. And, with instinct, you slip yourself under her ass. Your eyes are still locking on her wet hole, and she seems to gush out streams of honey now. “Y–You are f–fucking insuf–” She moans out as you relentlessly withholding the release she deserves.

“Can’t hear with my hands under your ass, babe” It’s as if something possessed you into a womanizer, a shot of complacency.

Haewon would be able to muster up her remaining inhibition to define you with an adjective. “I–Insufferable.”

“That’s a little mean.” Your hands give her firm butt a squeeze, feeling the soft flesh. This is probably how Indiana Jones felt when he got his hand on the golden idol: like an ascendant. “Considering how soft your ass is.” You lick just beside the spot, motioning parallel to the pink labia.

Haewon groans in frustration, climax stolen by a thief. “Sh–shut the fuck up and put that tongue to use!” In forte, all the pent up energy can crush you into bits and pieces in minutes, while you are still drawing circles around your supposed target, pushing her to the edge of wrath, right before it turns into destruction. “FUCK!”

You are actually scared of her now, and perhaps the complaints of her neighbors about some tenant bossing a guest around in the nocturne. So, complying, you put your tongue to use, taking another sample of the mixture, tasting her and yourself again.

“Good boy, yeah, like that.” She whimpered out, being put back en route to paradise.

Constant pace, don’t go too fast. You tell yourself an advice you’ve read somewhere years ago, and you do as it says. You try to keep the speed the same, but it’s starting to get harder as Haewon decides that she needs something to hold on to, which is, unfortunately, your head. I once had a guy go too fast when I told him I’m gonna cum, and that was the ride down, my mood died completely. A comment you’ve seen somewhere pops up.

Your jaw can never get tired, if it is to devour her into ecstasy. But the force pressed upon your head is starting to be a double-edged sword to her, a place to hold on to, and the act that might close the golden gate.

The five minutes she gave earlier might come into use.

“B—babe.” You cry out between licks, voice muffled. “I wanna use my cock now.”

Haewon lets go of the grip she has in your hair locks, as she looks down from her lying position. “Really?” Expectations running high, she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” She thwarts her arm along the bed for a little while, a little lost, until she catches her colorful spot-covered pillow. And without any word, you help Haewon lift her hips up to insert the fluffy object below, bringing her puckered hole into your focus.

Tranced, “Can I taste it?” the words fell out without any restrictions.

“Don’t fucking kiss me again if you do; I don’t wanna taste my asshole.” Haewon commands, trying to regain her composure. “Maybe another day.”

You whine out. “Ugh, fine.” Before getting on your knees for the main event.

You use her spread thighs as a handle while aiming with your eyes. You line up your twitching digit on the center, resting it on her now-swollen clit. And a small whimper from Haewon would reach your ear, fueling your fire.

“You want this inside you, huh?” You tease, sliding your shaft against her core from the outside, glazing yourself with her honey resting on the nub.

“Fuck… yeah, I—I want it inside.” Haewon chokes out at your heavenly connection; her attempt at putting any façade is crumbling.

Slowly, your rod still above her center, you traverse your hands up her immaculate legs, onto her stomach. Her breaths are now short, out of any earlier rhythm, as your touch starts to overwhelm her senses. “F—fuck.” You’d only move upwards, creeping up her beautiful chest, until they are up for your hands to conquer. She’s yours now.

Now, you have her tits as a grip, ever so carefully fondling them while slowly juggling the movements: your hands squeezing, your hip thrusting, and your upper body leaning in to see her giving in closer and closer. It’s all there, eyes fluttering, lips shaking, loud moaning, and her whole firm frame writhing under you.

You aren’t going in for a kiss, really, but she forces you nonetheless. Hands gripping the sides of your head, Haewon would scream from the overstimulation, all restricted in your mouths, into you, letting out any control she has left.

“Babe.” You mutter out. And even slightly distorted by fervor, she’d break off from the locks under your voice.

Mouth agape, she looks into your eyes, using the final bit of her inhibition to predict your next words. “You can put it in, baby.” And you can only smile.

You guide your rod down to her engine, but neither of you has ever been more ready to ignite the moans. Your left hand has her thigh on the same side as a handle.

Wet, indeed, she welcomes you. The excessive preparation gives easy access, and you become the same groaning lump as she was, swallowed by rapture. In the wake of bliss, you tilt your head down until the sight of your disappearing cock is in the frame, inch by inch. 

The insides of her tighten when you reach halfway, and you can feel your tip grazing a rough patch. “Fuck!” Haewon’s body tenses up, and she lets out a higher note than usual. You also pitch a sound lower than hers, but also noticeably higher than your regular octave.

You slowly bury yourself up to the hilt, now able to let go of your flesh. Haewon stutters a moan out when your patch makes contact with her. 

“S–Seems like you can handle all of me, babe.” Your voice is quivering, without any movement to your body. You keep yourself whole with her.

Haewon can only whimper in response. 

“I-I’ll start fucking you now.” You say as you start to grind your hips back. Haewon nods, giving you the right to control the pace.

Your cock, at an agonizing speed, comes back into view. You can feel the muscles inside gripping you and how the rough patch grazes the top of your digit, evoking staccatos from her. God, anyone would kill to be in your position right now.

And at the halfway point, it’s where you push back in again, still carefully. Haewon surrenders any power she has now, with her g-spot being pleasured by another person for the first time. The suffocating squeeze she has on you persists, sending waves of pleasure around your dick.

It becomes a loop: retreat and thrust, retreat and thrust, and you finally find your rhythm. It’s ecstatic - the way her flesh embraces you. You repay her accommodation with a little angling, aiming for the sensitive patch in the second step. Both of you are lost now, blinded by the passionate endeavor you’re engaging in.

Haewon’s brain can only register euphoria, howling as your tip brushes against the g-spot. And you are no better, bucking hips back and forth, chasing your release while huffing out such notes you could hit before the existence of your Adam’s apple. The only concern now is that your roller coaster would reach its peak before hers.

“Hey, I t–think I’m gonna c–cum now.” Haewon’s words came out tattered, divided by exaltations in her groans. It's a heaven’s message, as you can also feel your climax close by.

Keep your pace; don’t go faster.

You make no attempt to go rougher with your drilling; she’s already a blushing, wailing mess under Allegro Vivace. You can also feel a knot starting to form inside of you, begging to be untangled. “M–Me too, babe.”

Haewon’s moans become even louder than the oral session minutes ago; her orgasm is close by. You can feel the way her vagina contracts around your movements, and you aren’t far from it, either.

Two lost souls search for intimacy, and they eventually find each other. And the mistakes they’ve made don't matter anymore. The people they’ve passed through, either able to find solace or dissonance, have become nothing more than a plot device to drive them forward, for them to meet. And even if the future remains clouded, it’s just them at this exact moment, becoming each other’s sanctuary.

“FUCK!” Haewon cries out. As her hip convulses, bending your digit slightly. She pulls her legs back, feet touching her pale ass before they go up in the air. Haewon cums, violent, ferocious, cathartic. Her whole body tenses up; her tits are shaking. Her walls tighten around you, begging to milk every upcoming drop of you until dry. 

You take in the view but can only register a few words to describe how you feel right now: fuck, and god. She screams from the top of her lungs to accommodate such pleasure. And isn’t it a symphony that’s so pleasing to hear, knowing that they are products of your doings?

Haewon’s breathing starts to slow down, but seeing how she becomes undone beneath, you quicken your thrusts to chase the high you’re anticipating. “Fuck!” Under sensitivity, Haewon squeals.

“Do you want me to slow down, babe? I can still cum no matter the pace.” With care, you ask.

“I–I wanna t–try.” Her syllables come out in stutters, “Keep going.”,  as your length rams into her cunt even faster than before her high.

You keep your fast, lively tempo, and that seems to be the right choice. You can play the melody faster, yet you already fail to register all the fucks and shits, Haewon mutters out while being pounded. You’re guided by your intuition at this point. It builds up inside your stomach, calling to be broken free. You feel your legs wobbling like jello, and your awareness of whether there’s any left, opposite Haewon’s, has left your body already.

And with a single, final thrust, “FUCK!” you bend yourself down to capture her lips, screeching all the satisfaction from your high into her mouth. Spurts of cum released into her welcoming cunt, while you basically buried yourself inside her, twitching under orgasm. Haewon moans into your mouth at each of your vibrations. Lustful, your tongues are swirling inside each other’s mouth, tasting each other as much as you can.

Thick cum is still discharged into her, painting her insides with white. And slowly, you start to slide down from the precipice. Your cock still twitches inside her cunt; the remaining cum only dribbles out from the hardness now. The kiss remains magnetic; you two are too hungry for each other. You can only taste the mint candy from earlier.

Finally, it breaks, a string of saliva connects your lips together, as both of you are bathed in the afterglow. Haewon’s face is drenched from her own sweat, panting, and smiling. “I love you.” She mouths, trying to make sense of her heart rhythm, soft breaths touching your face.

You’re still panting, attempting to take in her words. Even if they’re the same as from the beginning, when the clothes are still barriers between you, it sears you this time. A lock has been solved, yet you are still questioning the contents inside the box.

Then, you realize that it’s your heart, “I love you too, babe.”, and it can explode right here. Love floods, lust flows, binding you two together, in the vast sea of possibilities.

Haewon smiles before pulling you into another kiss. This one is much less passionate than the ones preceding, but it’s, nonetheless, affectionate. The way she captures your lips is too confident for you to be unsure about the attachment she gives you, and that might be the first time in your life that you’re so certain of someone else’s love, and her name is Oh Hae-Won.

Exhausted and spent, you let yourself fall onto her side, looking up. Your left arm is resting on her collarbones. “Fuck.” Your vocabulary seems to shrink under ecstasy as the cadence rings too loud for you to think properly.

“That was fun.” Haewon scoffs, before turning her bare frame towards you, head resting on her hand. “We should do this more often.”

“Should? I’m fucking you everywhere, babe.” You reaffirm with a simper.

“Shit.” Haewon chuckles before seeming to remember something. She quickly gets up from the bed. “I’ll go pissing first. It’s this–”

“UTI. Yeah, I’ve read about it.” You cut her off to show off your knowledge of sex education. “Can we cuddle after?” You plead, attempting to make a cute face.

“Sure.” She laughs, pointing at you. “If you don’t mind having your back getting a bit wet.”, and you can only smile back at her. Haewon would saunter out to her bathroom with a slight limp, managing to sway her reddened cheeks. Fuck. 

And despite the low light, you can see drops of your cum, dribbling a shine down her legs. “Are you going to clean th–”

“No.” She winks before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving a trail of nectar in her path.

You bite your lip in another rise of your arousal.

–

You hear the sound of tap water running from inside the bathroom before the lock clicks. Haewon appears in front of your eyes again, still naked.

“I kept the promise.” She says.

Immediately, still on her bed, you press your vision down her body. Her pussy remains glistened with your white cum, mixed with her tangy lubricant. Perhaps your saliva is also blended into the liquid.

“God, Haewon.” Again, your mind goes blank. “It has been just five minutes. I really can’t do that.”

Haewon chuckles, swaying her alluring hips closer to you. “I know.” Before she pounces you on the bed, staining the sheets with your fluids. Haewon prints a few kisses here and there, usually in the proximity of your lips and neck. And, in disbelief, you watch over her body to see that the five-minute gap is enough for your cock to be ready again.

“Fuck.”

Haewon’s glance follows yours to your erection.

“Another round, babe?”

–

Six: Just Another Girl

–

Now why can’t I sleep at night?

And why don’t the moon look right?

–

Sunlight peeks through the gap in your curtains, casting on the blanket that’s covering any visual hints of last night’s debauchery. Her arms retain their restrictive nature, an environment you’d enthusiastically enlist for. Her fingers barely interlocking on your heart, feeling the thrumming lullaby she holds on to like the greatest hits.

Her chest is pressed against your back, and the fact that you notice this (and how you savored their peaks last night with such unbeatable hunger) only entices your morning wood to last longer than it should’ve. You snuggle into her embrace further, establishing yourself as hers and pressing yourself into her perky breasts even harder, wanting to feel every inch of them.

“Hmm?” Haewon finally wakes up, fading her tightness wrapped around you.

Slightly panicked, you grab her escaping hand onto your warm skin. “Hey.” And you greeted her.

Haewon chuckles. “Oh, this boy needs a hug, huh?”

You close your eyes and hum in agreement, since her embrace becomes another gesture you’ve grown to love now, even if it was discovered just a few minutes ago.

“How was last night, my baby boy?” She questioned you with a tiny simper.

You can only chuckle along. “Cathartic, babe, but I’m not doing the whole mommy thing right now.”

Haewon laughs. “Okay, fine, I’ll ask you properly later, though.”

The cuddle went on for minutes. You are unwilling to let her go after such intimacy you had. After a while, you notice the scar on your chest. This may be the time you show her, but you need bravery. And you’re not sure if love could muster it up.

[A paragraph demonstrating Haewon’s good influence on you and how you’ve influenced her]

“I wanna tell you something, with us being this bare and such.” You gathered a little courage to speak up, adamantly attempting to show her your so-called scar. 

Haewon would let out a tiny chuckle at your cheap joke. “Unload them to me, babe.” She lets out another tiny chuckle, resting her head on a makeshift stand of her fist. You can’t help but join along with her.

“Oh my god, fuck you.” You said, along with a laugh.

“You just did.” 

“Okay, okay, I’ll start now, don't distract me this ti—" You let out a small giggle, as she’s still soaked in her own hilarity. “It’s like seven years of story; trust me, it’s more fun than you’d think.”

“Seven years? Is it like, a long-term heartbreak or something, and what’s with you making everything into a story, catastrophic or not.” Haewon asks.

“Well—” You contemplate - whether to spoil the ending for her or not, but she can probably guess by the way you purposefully hold out the information in lieu of instantly answering. “Seven years ago, in late April, I just started high school.”

You can see the late morning sunlight reflected in her eyes, single-minded on your tale.

“You want me to close the curtains first?” You direct your thumb toward the gap.

“No need, plus, you look better with the light.” She smiles, sincerity can be felt from it, maybe it’s the way the light drapes on your right half of her face.

“Thanks, babe, okay, where was I— Yeah, seven years ago, late April, high school.”

–

“And then I met you.”

“You know that you’re the asshole in this one, right?” Haewon hits you with such a question.

Certainty of a weeping eluded, “Fuck, not even a single tear?”

“Wow, this lack of self-awareness is concerning, babe, and this is out of love.” She scoffs. “You’re the bad guy here.”

“Look, I’ve been telling myself about the same statement since that day, so yeah, Haewon, I’m aware that I’m the asshole in this story.”

“Were you hurt by it or something?” Haewon asks with genuine curiosity, she caught the sadness in your tone, yet unable to make sense of it. Her head remains resting on her fist, albeit making a ninety degrees apart from you.

“I— yeah, I know it was my fault, but—“ You avert her gaze, staring at the blanket covering her midriff. “It was five years, almost. And it still hurts sometimes whenever I see something that reminds me of her.”

Haewon would give you a blank expression; her next words are unpredictable.

“I kinda— get the idea? You can’t deal with college life, so she becomes a–no, the source for you to vent shit. And one day, it became too much, with that fight making it wor–no, apparent.” It’s nothing short of incredible that she gets all of it within the first iteration and gives you the much-needed feedback (even if you’ve already considered this possibility). 

“And she wants you to get better. She didn’t think she could be the person you could rely on anymore. This is how I see it.” With ease, Haewon recounts the most plausible explanation, the one you’ve been avoiding accepting.

“Yeah, it’s…” You resist the urge to argue with her point, realizing that such emotional manipulation cannot work. Perhaps the amount of self-awareness poured in just doesn’t work anymore. “You’re right.”

“There’re some points that I… kinda understand you? Like the whole being insecure stuff, but all of this is just a shitshow, babe. You even write a fic about it.” A tiny simper leaves her mouth.

“Spielberg made a film about his parent’s divorce; Taylor Swift has, well…”

“Steven’s was like… sixty years? And I think Taylor can be an asshole, to be honest, aside from All Too Well.” Haewon replied without a delay.

“Agree to disagree.” You can only sigh afterward, and maybe it’s the way your breath taps on her chest more heavily than it should or the way you avert the eye contact you’ve been maintaining.

“Hey, are you okay?” Her doe eyes hints concern, while the fingers lightly caress your cheek.

Destined, your tears well up just a little, but enough for you to detect and hold back. “Kinda.”

Haewon lets out a sigh, the back of her free fingers still fondling your cheek. “I’m sure you’ve changed.”

“It's been more than two years now.” Your lips quiver. “B–But telling you here, it’s just…”

Like the first time with your therapist, like the first time you tell your colleagues, your tears are always on the hinge as the story ends.

“I know I can’t fix it - this whole weird love-hate relationship of yours.” She finally sits up. “But I know you aren’t the person you were.” Your cheeks are suddenly cupped by both of her hands. “And as long as you… try to be better, I’ll be with you.” Haewon ends her speech with a caring look.

Nothing in her deliverance is poetry-worthy; they’re basic quotes you’d find in the self-help books. Though, the words not coming from some self-centered guy melts the cynic inside you, and that’s when tears start to fall.

“I also know that it hurts, even if you’re the one who’s wrong.” She softly cheers up.

Through the sobs, “Y–You’re quite di–direct, babe.” You try to wipe the tears off your watering eyes.

She lets out a sympathetic titter. “I’m not the best at this, sorry.”

“I-It’s fine. Thanks for being here.” You succumb to the lamentation, crying your heart out, as Haewon embraces you. Maybe it’s the way you’re naked on someone else’s bed, maybe it’s the way her chest presses up against your chin, or perhaps it’s the way she puts her leg over yours as if she’s using a side pillow, but you’ve never felt more vulnerable in your life. And you’re probably being engulfed by it under the right person.

–

Epilogue: Keeping Tabs

–

I wish I never met you.

You are the worst thing that I’m still

Keeping tabs on for some stupid reason.

–

“It’s quite a lot of stations, babe. Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah–”

It was your birthday two days ago. How old are you now, twenty-five? Three years after graduation, you rejected a job offer from Japan because you didn't want to leave your girlfriend. Not that it was a wrong choice, since the number of fights, sex, and after-fight, angry, heated sex between you and Haewon sits on the average rate. 

Further, not having to buy a plane ticket every time you want to see your parents, or your friends is definitely a plus. Just a few hours after the plane landed in Narita, you want to break Japan’s immigration law. God, those streets are miles better than what you have at home.

It seems that trying to reach Odaiba Beach from Meguro Sky Garden takes an hour, plus walking. Sure, it’s ninety minutes to sunset, but you can feel doubts in her voice and your own. It’s the few final days, and all of your words hyping this exact place up only make her feral.

“Maybe we can make it if we start walking now, instead of like– arguing over this.”

Haewon shoots you a glare. “This trip would go to waste if we can’t make it before sunset.” And she takes a step towards you, pointing at your chest. The sun still casts a long shadow of her on the ground.

“Waste?” You arch your eyebrows. “Says the one who spent a whole fucking day at Shinjuku to sweep Uniqlo’s stocks.”

The wind blows over the metal fence, assorted colors of leaves swirling around you.

Her eyes remain fixated on you, before giving an apologetic expression. “Yeah that’s fair. It’s a bit of a quickfire for me on that.” 

You snap a photo of her before replying. “Those cardigans are cheaper here anyway, don’t worry.”

She reaches for your camera, X-E4, examining the image of her, and smiles. “Let’s go.” Before leading you, handheld, to the elevator down from the garden.

–

“God.”

“It seems like we’re here at the right time” You speak, before taking another photo of Haewon, showered under the orange of the setting sun.

Haewon is left speechless at the sight in front of her: Rainbow Bridge, salmon sky from the sunset, tinged with clouds, some purple, red, orange. You think it’s probably from some kind of refraction. People aren’t scarce, but to say that there’s a crowd is an overstatement. It’s pretty much the same as in your memory from five years ago. How are the people in my photos doing now?

Similar to the last time, when the breakup was just over a month, you take in the view. It’s just that you aren’t basked in melancholy anymore. Sure, you’re still keeping tabs on her every few months, but it’s nothing more than a blocklist check. You aren’t ready to face Minji, really, and not seeing each other again would be a kind gesture by the gods. However, the hate etched into your wrists isn’t quite as visible anymore.

Still, you can’t play down her impact on your life. In spite of the indirect nature of the teachings, you learned how to love and what to do with one.

“I’ll be back, babe. I’ll see if I can swim to the bridge from here.” Haewon speaks out, like the first encounter, snapping you out of your trance.

Shook, “I’ll wait here; make sure not to get swept into the sea.”, and you joke, smiling.

“See ya.” Haewon grins back, gesturing a goodbye, before stepping out towards the water.

–

[A few paragraphs leading up to the encounter with Minji again; yeah, it’s a little anticlimactic for you to see this in your first read, sorry]

You failed to say a word to her, and there may not be any second chance for this.

It’s funny, miles away from where you’ve feared most. No soul in the world would’ve expected this. 

The sun continues on its path, too busy rushing to make its predetermined setting time, ergo apathetic to the colors it casts onto the sky and the way Minji is elegantly bathed by it. Her features are frozen, you alike, mouth slightly ajar. Waves crashing onto the sand keep filling in the silence between you, each encouraging your heart to push out a syllable you’re choking. There’s no battle on who would give in to snapping back into reality first since the argument on the encounter being a dream is too plausible.

Though less often as time goes on, Minji has been your recurring nocturnal figure. Occasionally, she appears as the one who has disregarded your cries during those final days – unresponsive, cold, unaware of your collapse. If not, it’s you and her enamored in what you’ve always wanted her to see, conversing like high school students again. Either way, you usually classify the world surrounding you as nightmares after the alarms are off, almost always with tears welling and ragged breaths, as if her presence alone is enough to give vitality to your nights.

But if this is a lucid dream, both of you would’ve laughed by now, under the Odaiba Beach sunset. Memories are washed away into the sea, making way for you to run along the shoreline, free from any grievances. You wouldn’t go as far as saying that it could’ve been her on the flight here with you, even if the potential of it touches you in more than one way.

The bewilderment of meeting her in where’s supposed to be your sanctuary hasn’t faded one bit. It clouds the fact that she has preserved her high ponytail. She grips her denim jacket ever so tightly while slightly parting aside from the center, revealing a pitch-black turtleneck shirt beneath. The brown string crossing her body is holding her likely expensive handbag resting on the side of her hips. All of these are topped with beige, all-creased pants, undercut with sneakers of the same color, or not, you don’t seem to care anymore.

Voice notes and texts are woven into a tapestry, the one you and she cut as your paths diverged. Yet, your threads, somehow, have been remaining set to interlock with each other again after all this time. The track was divided into a parallel, just with a sea of hatred, sometimes reflecting a spark of care.

It’s still clear as day, the way she left you blind, likely without remorse, any glimmer of hope was eradicated with blocks on social media. The way you tell the version of your story enough times for you to find the median and average spot where people would start to cry. And not that you were left unshaken with each iteration; you just stop before giving in to the sorrow hanging off the edge of your tear ducts. And at one point, it became another tale, a cult classic to you.

Still, this is no place and time to assert your wounds anymore. It’s Tokyo, and five years have passed. Getting one over her shouldn’t matter anymore, you know that. What’s left to achieve in triumph is just plunging the dagger into yourself once more, revisiting how shaken you have been without her for all these years. And three, you’re the one on the wrong side.

Plus, it’s not so awful that she left, even if it casts you in a state of bereft in the first few months. You deleted her photos, and both of you blocked each other. You learned to collect yourself up again, shredding what was once shared while coming to terms with the ones rooted in the essence of you, learning to let them be shared with others. The cadence doesn’t entirely sound like it was, yet it’s what you’ve accepted as days pass.

You still hate her; it’s a known fact. I fucking hate you rings true to this day - a half-thought during a fire burned into your wrists, calling out to be crossed off. Guilt, shame, and self-loathing have been rooting off it, yet you can’t bleed the source out.

In the shadows that the sun cast, you feel a twitch in the corner of your mouth - the determination to conceal any hints of glee at her presence is trying to keep itself afloat. Another gulp in your throat only delays the inevitable; your cheek is trembling from an unknown feeling. It’s teasing the brim. It’s tasting the uncertainty. It’s towering over your hatred. And it brings the nocturnal summer wind that embraced you on the first day at high school, the day she picked up her name tag when everything was in the right place.

“Kim Min-Ji.” Your teacher called as she stood up to pick up her name tag.

“I like you.”

And it flows through you–

“Him? Not really.”

“God, you suck at badminton.” You did “outscore” her by quite a margin (twenty-one to six).

–all the words you’ve said–

“I’ll probably be a doctor. You haven’t chosen yours yet?”

–all the words she has said–

“I think she’s the one.” (She wasn’t.)

“These early mornings are killing me.” Her high school project was killing her.

“Yeah, I can’t be bothered with all this studying. I’ll probably make some nice portfolio and pray.”

–all the dreams drawn together–

“If someone wants to enter here, they can just look at these pics and follow the instructions. It might not be for everyone, I guess. I still wish I could help them, though.”

“I really fucked up a lot during quarantine, like my mental state was dwindling.”

“Now I’m going to be a tired doctor all my life.” She scoffs, downplaying her success.

“This place is filled with rich people.”

–all the struggles vented–

“God, I look so pretty in this.” The red lipstick looks good on her; you wish you knew the exact shade.

“We need to recreate this photo; you stand here.”

“See ya.” She said, not knowing it would be the last time you would see each other face to face.

“Really fucking drunk right nowww, just wanna say you’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had, like definitely top five, haha.” It was a drunk text in a bar under the blaring music.

–all the love proclaimed–

“I’ll probably have to study another year. You’re still invited to my graduation, though. We’d be like twenty-six by then, right?” 

“I’m sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have done that, too.”

“I fucking hate you.” The line that became a part of you ever since.

–and the ending.

“Don’t message me anymore; just go live your life separately. Have a pleasant life.”

Are you sure to delete 525 photos permanently?

This action cannot be undone.

Delete Permanently

It’s as if someone made a supercut of you two.

It's excruciating, the way it seeps through your brain, the same one that hung you to be ravaged by the abyss. A wave of serotonin washes over your face, sheathed within the Tokyo Bay’s serenity. And a smile forms, over five years of her name being a crucifixion. It’s you breaking the cadence, and you can only beg her to accept it.

Alas, you have never been in the position to ask for anything. You’ve always been the convict in the sad songs supposed to bury you under their alphabets, robbing the sorrow you meant to drown into. You are her mistake, one that she’s likely so enthusiastic to cross off in her diary.

Yet, under the setting sun, in such a foreign place, and after years of it, maybe she forgets, maybe she forgives, or perhaps she doesn’t care about it. But if even it is written in the sand of Odaiba Beach, it would also be etched on the same wound you see on your pulse, that Kim Min-Ji reciprocates your smile, with a chuckle even, back bent forward the same way you remember to accommodate such elation.

And free from conviction, you are. It’s not the late-night, thumbs-on-keyboard kind of relationship anymore, neither being two free spirits against the world; it’s two people, unshackled from grudges. It’s the closure in the same veins of La La Land, a tapestry of love remains, despite the zeroes and ones translated as blocks, plus the frontal lobe chemicals interpreted as detestations. There has always been a part of you that cares - under the miles of self-loathing from guilt and the despise entrenched in you.

As cued, the setting sun is refracted in the drop of tear grazing your left cheek. She seems fine, even if she’s drowned in her droplets, thirty, forty, or fifty—you aren’t sure anymore—meters away from the idyllic waves. It won’t be the same, and it can never be. Years of walling each other out only dims any remaining glimmer. But here you are, under the Tokyo sun, laughing and crying on such an unfortunate encounter.

You aren’t fourteen again. It doesn’t feel like the first day or the first words of you two. It’s two grief-stricken adults with a shared past. Both cannot hold on to their grudges, though, just you being an asshole for having them.

You aren’t her mistake after all, and she’s not your mistake anymore.

And it’s not witty, but it would suffice.

“Hey.”

—

“That was her, right?”

“Yeah.”

“How was it? I see that you guys were kinda smiling.”

You ponder for a moment, a little too long before Haewon would ask again.

“It ends well, right?”

“I suppose so.”

—

I need to get over you.

—

[erens-heart]

levi ackerman 𑄽ᧉྀི

summary: you share your first kiss with the captain.

cw: canon universe, fem!bodied reader, sad reader comforting a sad levi, mentions of war and death, sloppy kissing turns into an angry makeout session, hair pulling, etc, mdni <3

levi ackerman had an apparent disregard for what everybody thought of him; he broke the rules. he had the mettle to make decisions others couldn’t - wouldn’t dare - that’s what made him the perfect captain. he was distant, some would say harsh, and didn’t care to waste his breath spouting nosense about hope.

it wasn’t necessary, he thought, you would all end up dying on him anyway.

despite this, during the little time levi had to himself, he would devise strategies to ensure that you came back alive from each reconnaissance. he would beg erwin to reconsider the formation, so that you could ride next to him on the next mission, where he could keep you safe, although your chances of making it back unscathed were not minimal.

“i don’t give a shit, just make sure she’s next to me. she isn’t as strong as the others.”

he’d bluffed, knowing that you were next in line for his throne, you were nearly as strong as him. to no avail, levi tried to convince himself that was your only value to the survey corps.

you had taught levi more than a few things about softness, and of how to be patient. in the strictest of confidence, he swore an oath to protect you, and would conquer however many titans necessary to fulfil it.

“captain?” you knocked on his door, politely interrupting his concentration.

“what?” he answered curtly, the weight of yesterday’s failed expedition still resting on his shoulders. he glanced up from an empty tea cup, blinking away his exhaustion, “it’s you. i see. what do you need?”

your intentions weren’t obvious, you were off-duty and had no official business in levi’s quarters. he guessed that you needed him for something else. you hesitated, realising that you hadn’t rehearsed any of this before knocking on levi’s door. he frowned at you in exchange.

“i came to see if you were okay?” you said shyly.

“what?” he practically snorted and got up, turning his body away from you so that you wouldn’t see the surprise on his face.

you’d learned to pity your captain. his short body always looked so sore, new scars would appear on his hands, and go unnoticed. you’d once offered to attend to a cut on his knuckles but he’d told you to, quote, “fuck off and mind your own business.”

however, this wasn’t pity that you felt, this was unchartered territory. you were visiting him out of hours, you were worried. you’d been outside the walls, fought titans, and made it back alive, but insinuating that you cared about levi felt, somewhat, scarier.

levi, your captain, of all people.

you took a step deeper into his room, swallowing thickly. you’d always guessed it would be peaceful in his quarters; his room was clean and organised, and he had a candle burning at his bed side. it’s soft light flickered across your face.

“captain. i think you should take a break-“ you paused, treading carefully around the subject of work, “come for a walk with me?”

“what?” he deadpanned, looking up at you in a vain attempt to read you.

you were smiling, but you smiled at everyone, he certainly wasn’t an exception. you were being kind to him but, again, you were kind to everyone, even the assholes.

secondly, he couldn’t deduce what gave you the sudden courage to knock on his door and invite him on a walk - in the middle of the night.

“captain?” you prompted with a keen sparkle in your eyes, unsure what to make of his response, or lack thereof.

“did you have somewhere in mind?” he sighed, finally giving in and putting his cup down.

“somewhere hidden. can be our secret.” you joked, catching him off-guard again.

levi clenched his jaw, painfully aware of the implications should he get caught alone with you. he wouldn’t lose his job, no, it’d be worse than that - he would be teased for the rest of his life!

“sure.” he eventually agreed after pretending to think about it. he took a cloak from his hanger for warmth and, beneath that, he wore a shirt and tight slacks to hide the bruises he’d earned in battle.

he brushed past you, leading the way out, his small shadow dancing on the walls. you could tell that he wasn’t relaxed, he couldn’t relax, and held a permanently stiff posture. could you blame him? all that death on his shoulders, all those lives on the line.

having pulled your hood up to stay hidden, your smile drooped and you looked down at your feet as you followed behind him, wondering what you could possibly say. what could possibly make things better? or change the fate of humanity?

“so. you invited me out for a walk, and now the cat’s got your tongue?” levi asked, breaking the heavy silence.

you dragged your hand mindlessly along the cobblestone walls, and hummed. “there’s isn’t much to say, honestly. just thought it’d do you some good to get out.”

levi chuckled ungenuinely - it was honestly ironic.

“i go outside all the time.” he spoke as he glared at the tunnel ahead. “it’s just unfortunate i have to spend all of that time butchering titans.”

you frowned with him, hugging your cloak to your body you as you emerged from the tunnel onto the training grounds.

it was completely dark outside, save for the two sconces either side of the doorway you were stood in, and the stars twinkling down at you from the heavens. you watched levi’s cold breath make clouds as he exhaled, scanning the field.

“you can relax.” you mumbled, watching him scour the trees for signs of life. it was like he’d developed a reflex for hunting titans, it was instinctual now. he felt the constant prickle of anxiety, you felt it too.

you were so transfixed on levi’s scowl and the determination in his expression, that you had little time to appreciate what beauty was left in your world: the frost, the birds, the wind.

you tugged on levi’s cape, stealing his attention. his hard expression softened.

“sorry. been hard to relax lately.” he admitted, kicking the gravel with his boot.

“you’re the strongest man i know, levi.” your voice cracked,

“i don’t mean physically. i don’t understand how you get up every morning and face the world, and those titans. if- if i were you- i would have given up years ago.” you began messily, clutching your fist against your racing heart.

levi sighed, and cradled your face with his strong hands, furrowing his eyebrows as he peered into you. his hands were freezing, it was a surprise to you that they weren’t numb.

“shut up.” he scolded gently, and looked down at your glistening lips. “i would have given up too, if not for you.”

he brought you closer, snaking one of his thick arms around your waist. levi didn’t care anymore. without a second thought, he surrendered, he couldn’t bear not having you for a second longer, he was but sand in the hourglass of time.

he used his other hand to guide your chin forwards. he pressed his lips softly to yours and your heart stopped, but you pecked him back.

he kissed you so gently, carefully cherishing the taste of you, as if it were his last night on earth.

you kissed him back, holding onto his collar, whilst he made guttural sounds that lit a fire within you. you could feel all of his rough scars tickling your skin as you moaned weakly into his mouth.

crazed, he grabbed your hair from underneath your hood, pulling you into his taut body, so hard that you crashed into him. your hood fell down, revealling tears that would have otherwise gone unnoticed. he wouldn’t dare, but levi felt like crying too.

you kissed his open mouth, licking his tongue sloppily, letting him lick yours too. the way he kissed you gave you butterflies, it was more than what you’d ever imagined. your heart ached, your body tingled, your feelings felt uncontainable.

you smiled at him, sticking your tongue out for him to taste. levi groaned darkly and licked it, again and again, before grabbing a fistful of the hair on the back of your head. he tied his fingers into your hair and gripped it hard before smashing his mouth back into yours again.

you felt so alive you were sure you were going to die.

you pulled back for air after a while. levi looked at you with starving eyes, and followed you backwards into the wall. you parted your legs to make room for his knee, which he pushed up into the space between your legs. he caged your head between his two hands on the wall, gritting his teeth against your ear,

“captain…” you croaked.

“don’t you die on me. ever.” he grunted, pressing his forehead tiredly to the side of your head, breathing raggedly.

“i won’t.”

[covenofagatha]

Okay hear me out Agatha x Reader age gap fic. The reader and Agatha have been together for awhile I was thinking like she used to be your college professor before you graduated, The reader has a monthly night out scheduled with friends from school but Agatha like usual declines in your offer to join you all. Agatha just doesn’t have interest in the “young people bars” and hanging out with old students is strange to her, though it’s a little upsetting you don’t push too much before relenting and going on your way. A little bit into the night despite your efforts in avoiding said persons advances you’re being continuously hit on by either a stranger in the bar or a friend from the group that is your choice! But the resolve would be Agatha showing up cause she felt guilty about always declining, her witnessing and then defusing the situation (jealously obviously). I absolutely love possessive Agatha and love everything you’ve written so far! Whether it ends in smut is also completely up to you!!!

Hope you enjoy and thank you for the very detailed request!! This will be a two-parter and the next part will be based on a request I got about jealous reader x Professor Agatha.

A lesson in jealousy (Part 1)

Agatha gets jealous when she finds you at a bar and a guy is already talking to you.

Word count: 2100

Tags: marking, jealousy, making out, slight thigh grinding

“I was thinking of ordering pizza for tonight?” Agatha muses, already looking at you when you turn your head to face her. 

You’re sitting on the couch in her office, nose buried in a book for one of your other classes. Agatha was your professor two years ago and there had been a spark, at least on your end, so you had kept in touch. 

It wasn’t until a year ago when you had bridged the gap between a professional relationship and something more when you had kissed her one night after getting drinks at a bar across town. 

You had immediately pulled back, apologizing incessantly, but much to your surprise, she had dragged you back in for more. 

That night was the first of many that you spent in her bed. 

Although she was no longer your teacher, you still attended the college that she worked at, so there was a bit of a gray area. Meaning, you two had to keep it under wraps. 

“Oh, sorry,” you say, finally answering Agatha’s question. “I’m going out with my friends tonight. It’s our monthly bar trivia thing that we always do. I think I told you.” She hums and you frown. “What?” 

Agatha shrugs. “Seems like we haven’t had a quiet night in awhile, that’s all.” 

“You could always come tonight,” you offer hopefully. Her nose wrinkles and she raises an eyebrow and you know why she’s being like this. “You could just happen to show up and I’ll just happen to see you and I’ll invite you to join our team. It’ll be fun!” 

And yet you know her answer before she even says it. “That’s not really my scene, baby.” You pout and slouch down further into the couch. She has never once taken you up on an invitation, even though you practically beg her every time. She rolls her eyes exasperatedly. It’s an old game for both of you. “Come on, hon, you know I have no interest in going to a bar with a bunch of college kids on a Friday night where everyone will be drinking and making noise and I taught most of your friends. I just think that it will be weird.” 

A flash of anger bubbles up to protect you from the hurt you feel deep down. Would it kill her to do something for you? “I’m also a college kid who will be out drinking and ‘making noise’ and you were my professor two years ago. Is that weird?” 

She sighs heavily and pushes her chair back, patting her thighs. She wants you to come over, but you grit your teeth and don’t give in. “Of course not. That’s not what I meant, obviously. Just spending my Friday evening with a bunch of college kids isn’t what I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

You stand up, shoving your books and laptop in your bag and Agatha scoffs and says your name. You meet her eyes, disappointment written all over your face. It kills you to show her how much her rejection hurts, but you’re tired of it. 

“Come here, please,” she says softly. You grumble but obey. You slide off your backpack and sit on her laps, tensely putting your arms around her neck. Despite how mad you are, you still fiddle with her strands on her nape that aren’t in her bun. She leans in to kiss your lips but you don’t let it go any further than a press of her mouth against yours. You won’t give in that easily. 

“You never come,” you whine. 

She tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “I know, sweetheart. I just worry it might be risky for us to be seen out in public like that. Why don’t you come over after and we can have a movie night or something? I’ll take you to a bar tomorrow night, I promise. Just the two of us.”

You can see there’s no use trying to fight her on this. No matter what you say, she won’t come with you and you’d rather not have to open up and tell her how you want to just spend a night with the most important people in your life: Agatha and your best friends. You also feel a little insecure about being so young. She is over twice your age and you worry that sometimes you aren’t enough for her, or that she thinks you’re too immature. “Okay,” you say, voice small. 

She squeezes your waist and gives you another peck. “That’s my girl. Don’t come over too late and I’ll make it worth your while.” She winks and you force a smile and climb off her lap. 

“I’ll see you later, Agatha.” 

“Hon, you don’t have to leave right now,” she calls but you’re already walking to the door. You wave a hand as a goodbye and you moodily walk back to your dorm. 

You sulk the rest of the day and debate whether or not you even want to go out to the bar, but ultimately decide that you deserve it. You don’t need Agatha to have a good time, as much as you’d like her. 

“There she is! It’s been awhile!” Natasha exclaims when you get to their table and claps a hand on your back. You wince but pull her in for a hug. You’ve been swamped with homework and when you do have free time, it’s spent with Agatha, so you have barely seen your friends in the past month. 

“Sorry, I’ve been so busy,” you mumble while greeting Wanda and Maria, also at the table. 

“First round is on you for neglecting us!” Wanda says and you laugh and happily go to the bar to order beers for the group. 

“What can I get you?” The bartender asks when you finally make your way through the crowd. 

“Four Pilsners, please,” you almost have to shout. Someone next to you bumps into you roughly and you jump. 

“Oh shit, sorry.” A guy about your age turns around, with shaggy dark hair and blue eyes. Something about his features is so familiar. 

“You’re good,” you say. “Do I know you?” 

He stares intently at your face, trying to place you. He snaps his fingers. “Professor Harkness’s class, freshman year. Something about witchcraft. I sat in the row in front you. You were like the only one who actually knew what they were talking about. I think you were her favorite by a long shot.” 

You blush at hearing that someone else picked up on Agatha liking you. “I don’t know if I’d say that,” you say coyly, smiling a little at the thought of the older woman. 

“I’m James. So, uh,” the boy says, sliding a hand nonchalantly around your waist. You freeze. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone at a bar?” 

“I’m not alone,” you quickly say, stepping back so his hand falls off, and you point to the table with your friends. “We’re here for trivia night.” 

His face lights up and he motions toward a different table with a group of guys. “We are too, but they all suck. Can I join your team?” 

“Um-” You’re trying to figure out how to let him down gently when the bartender puts down the four beers in front of you. You reach for your wallet but James slaps a $20 on the counter. 

“I got it,” he says proudly and then before you can protest, he grabs two of the beers and you follow with the other drinks, dumbfounded, as he walks over to your table. Your friends give you quizzical looks but you just shrug tiredly. You can’t find it in yourself to care that much right now. 

The host of the trivia game comes around to each table and hands out the paper for answers and a pen. He asks the first question: when is Taylor Swift’s birthday. 

You immediately say the answer and James pats his hand on your shoulder but it turns into more of a rub. Your eyes widen and your friends bite back a smile. 

“I’m actually seeing someone,” you say and take his hand off of you. Your friends look even more surprised than he does. Even though you’ve been dating Agatha for close to a year now, you’ve been really secretive and change the topic whenever your love life comes up with them. 

“Come on, baby, don’t be like that,” he says, raising his arms like he’s trying to show you that he’s harmless. He moves to touch you again but a hand darts out and grabs his wrist. You turn and your jaw falls open. 

It’s Agatha, and she is positively fuming. 

“I think she said she’s taken,” she growls and James backs off. 

“Professor Harkness,” he stutters. “I wasn’t trying to do anything, we were just having a good time.” He turns to you, eyes pleading. It’s almost funny how scary he still finds the older woman. “Tell her, we were just talking.” 

You wish he had said anything but that. Agatha whirls onto you. “Were you?” She hisses and you gulp. She scoffs as you protest and storms out of the bar. 

Ignoring the looks from your friends, you chase after her down the alleyway. 

“Agatha, wait,” you yell. “He kept hitting on me and I was trying to let him down gently but he kept trying. I told him that I was with someone else! I’m sorry.” 

She spins on her heel and advances toward you. You stop like a deer in headlights and she shoves you against the brick wall before you can think. Her hands grab your wrists and pin them to the wall. You struggle futilely. 

“Is this your pathetic attempt of getting back at me?” You furrow your brows in confusion and she laughs sardonically. “I was feeling so guilty earlier. You looked so sad when I didn’t want to come and I thought that maybe I could try, for you. I always say no and what a nice surprise it would be for my girlfriend if I showed up. And then what do I find? My pet is flirting with someone else. Not just someone, a sleazy college boy who would probably cum after two pumps because he’s so incompetent.” She’s snarling, her face an inch away from yours, and you hate how turned on you are. 

You’ve always liked it when she got possessive over you. 

“I didn’t want him,” you say levelly. “I only want you.” 

She huffs like it’s a joke. “Sure you don’t want the college fuckboy? Or any of the other people in the bar? They’d never hesitate to join you for trivia night.” 

And then it hits you. She’s jealous because she’s insecure. She also worries about the age difference. 

Your heart swells and you break free of her grasp to grab her cheeks and pull her in for a long and filthy kiss. You moan into her mouth when her tongue swipes against yours and she fits a thigh between your legs. 

“I’m all yours, Agatha,” you groan when she tugs your bottom lip between her teeth and her eyes flash. 

“You better be,” she warns and entangles her fingers in your hair so she can tilt your head to the side and sink a bite into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Your hips buck on her thigh and you gasp when she sucks roughly. She trails up your neck, doing the same thing over and over, and you’re quickly reduced to a moaning, desperate mess. 

Her other hand trails down to hold onto your hip, just feeling you shakily grind against her, trying to get some relief. 

“Should I go back inside and get James to come out and watch this?” She asks against your skin, still marking you up. “So he knows what happens when he touches things that aren’t his?” 

You inhale sharply at the thought and wish that she would just drag you back inside and fuck you right there on the table in front of everyone. 

“Please,” you beg. She actually giggles and pulls back to admire her handiwork on your neck. She lightly traces over the marks and you shiver under her touch and intense gaze. 

Agatha smirks when she meets your eyes again. “That should let everyone know who you belong to. And you, in case you need the reminder.” 

You pretend to think for a moment. “Maybe I could use a refresher. Why don’t you show me who owns me?” 

Her eyes darken even more as she pulls you back in for a searing kiss that she ends too quickly. 

She yanks her thigh from out between yours and grabs your hand, dragging you to the car. 

“Oh, I’m going to, baby.”

[doromoni]

Off Track Pace | MV1 , ?

Ships Max Verstappen x presenter! Reader , ? x presenter! Reader , Platonic! Charles Leclerc x presenter! Reader

Genre : Fluff , Angst

Sub tags : mutual pinning , She fell too early , He fell too late,

Summary : A new f1 presenter and journalist has entered the paddock and she brings chaos along the way. And as competition looms , will the current Champion be as fast outside the track?

Face claim: Sofia Wylie

A/N : I’m so sorry luvs! I’m working on updating Clash of Champions , i promise ~ it’s my uni’s finals exams so I gotta focus on that first… so here’s a peace offering.

Part 2.

Media day, usually on a Thursday — a day that most Formula 1 drivers dread. A day where cameras followed their every move, interviews with journalists that twisted their every word and silly PR stunts forced on them by their teams. It used to be just all racing and winning podiums, but modern Formula 1 is all about media politics and sponsorships.

If you were to ask any driver on the grid if they were given the chance not to do PR, they would say yes to skipping it. But not everything about media day is horrendous.

Not when a new motorsports journalist joins the paddock that was an absolute sweetheart and delight to have around. A natural on the job — she always made sure that every driver that she interviewed was comfortable and enjoying their time with her and the segment.

the.Y/N

liked by skysportsf1 , lissiemackintosh, f1 , and 689,270 others

the.Y/N first day on the job? . i’m not nervous, you are! (She said literally shaking)

skysportsf1 Welcome to the team Y/N! ❤️

the.Y/N thank you kind employers. 🤍

lissiemackintosh Babe!! It’s finally official. Congratulations!

the.Y/N Thanks to you Babe!! I swear I would’ve been lost without you 😭

User1 who is she?

the.Y/N literally no one

User2 Ohhhh a new commentator? 🤔

User3 maybe she’s a journalist?

scuderriaferrari the kids had fun. They want their clay statues on display!

User2 Clay statues?? Hello?? Wut?

User3 Same question, Clay statues??

the.Y/N wait and see 🤷‍♀️ , the interview would drop tomorrow? Maybe~

User4 Its her first day and she literally had an interview with Charles and Carlos in Ferrari???

the.Y/N well no , the first interview was with Lewis Hamilton … so. 🤭

User5 WHAT?? Ok , queen slay!

User4 damnn , imagine being new to your field and already interviewing the big guys.

mclaren Do us next please 🙋‍♂️

redbullracing get in line!

the.Y/N gotta stop by Aston first , sorry besties.

User6 OK WHAT IS HAPPENING, ms. Y/N who are your connections 😭 i want in.

User7 why are all the teams here??

Y/N L/N was the F1 presenter and journalist who put drivers willingly out of their comfort zones and made them try something new. You genuinely loved what you do and you were passionate about it. You never showed partiality among the drivers, you treated everyone with the same attitude — this earned the respect of all drivers on the grid.

You were quickly becoming a paddock favorite. The fans enjoyed the content you put out and the drivers looked forward to your interview when they saw your name on their schedule.

Interviewing with you usually meant cheat meals and unusual activities that you thought they would like.

the.Y/N

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, maxverstappen1, and 740,155 others

the.Y/N maybe bowling isn’t the best idea. @charles_leclerc you suck, ngl. New vid out on Monday at the sky sports channel🤍

charles_leclerc i hate you ❤️

the.Y/N no you don’t 😌

charles_leclerc no, i don’t

User1 I love their dynamic so much!! I need more of the Paddock siblings pleaseee

User2 I can’t wait for more of Y/N bullying Charles into weird things and Ferrari doing nothing about it🤣

landonorris but why is charles in a cowboy costume?

the.Y/N i dunno? He just showed up in that 🤷‍♀️

charles_leclerc You told me we were riding horses and you wanted me to wear smth cowboy!!

the.Y/N oh yeah! Lmao

landonorris should i feel bad?

the.Y/N Nope. He’s happy either way. Aren’t you @charles_leclerc?

User2 NOT THE LMAO . Y/N thank you being you

User3 Y/N giving us Cowboy Charles , yes ma’am

User3 JUST DATE ALREADY!

the.Y/N EW. No

charles_leclerc Ok , the ew was unnecessary. But same. No thanks :)) i’m not dating my sister .

User4 Charles call y/n his sister 🥺

However, No matter how much you tried to keep things professional by being just a driver: journalist, something your boss commented during a quick meeting because fans kept shipping you with every driver. What you found weird is that most drivers you see as older brothers and some even uncles (don’t tell Nando). Plus most of them had girlfriends!

Nevertheless, your relationship with them seems to always end up with them hanging around your office at Sky, whenever they are free. Even the older drivers like Nando, Lewis and even Nico and Kevin use your office as an escape from the chaos of their motorhomes.

You didn’t mind hosting the older drivers in your room, as they were usually tame and kept to themselves as they read the books on your shelves in peace. They usually plop themselves down your couch and place the oversized plush you always bring on their lap. They always brought you snacks, so you looked forward to the times when their heads popped in your door and asked if they could come in.

But when the younger drivers visit your office? And if they came in groups — which they usually do. Oh boy, it was either a clusterfuck of them stealing snacks from your secret stash or your office becoming a den for hot gossip in the paddock usually led by the one and only Charles Leclerc.

Case in point. You now have Charles, Carlos, Max and to your surprise Checo in your office. The older Spanish-speaking driver was a rare visitor, but a welcome one nonetheless.

But considering the topic in discussion, you understood the presence of the two Red Bull drivers.

You were in the middle of typing away on your laptop when suddenly they barged in with ice cream tubs and spoons at hand then found a spot to sit and made themselves comfortable.

“Is Newey leaving Red Bull?” Charles asked Max and Checo, as he scooped a bite from his ice cream.

“We have no clue! Christian is saying nothing to us. Nothing” Max exclaimed exasperated as Checo nodded in agreement.

“So Adrian Newey is moving to Ferrari?” You questioned as you pointed your spoon at Charles

“Y/N, I love you like a sister and I know that you’re incredibly smart, but sometimes you are stupid. We’re clueless in Ferrari, hence my question ”

You threw your wooden spoon at the Monaco-born Ferrari driver. Which he easily avoided thanks to his fast reflexes. Freaking f1 reflexes!

“ I wasn't the person who got named for being stupid— HEY! Max give that back!! You don't even like salted caramel” You were trying to rebut Charles’ insult but were distracted when Max took your ice cream for himself.

Max just shrugged and placed his half-consumed chocolate brownie fudge ice cream in your hands — his spoon still in it. You didn’t complain further as you took his spoon and took a bite yourself. Yum! Brownie fudge is your favorite.

“Dude, what is even going on inside Red Bull? What was Horner under investigation for?” Carlos pressed on, trying to find answers. You were curious yourself

“Everyone is being weird. They’re keeping things from us. “ Checo added. You knew that they were truly left in the dark because if they knew they would’ve spilled instantly. NDAs be damned.

“Every interview, people keep asking if we know something! one more journalist and I swear I’ll run them over with my car! I hate each one of them” Max grumbled to himself.

You coughed. You knew that you were an exception but you couldn’t help but mess around with your friends.

“Don’t even, Y/N. You know you don’t count. “ Max waved you off.

“Wow! Thank you for that babe. Way to make a girl feel special” you said jokingly to the Dutch driver, as you winked dramatically. To which he only rolled his eyes — making you and the rest of the drivers laugh.

Max was immune to your flirting, unfortunately. It sucked especially when you had a tiny …. Ok big … HUGE crush on the 3 time world champion.

Max to you was like an Older brother’s best friend — Where you were the little sister crushing on him and you didn’t have a chance. You knew that like the other drivers, he just saw you as a little sister. But still you couldn’t help but fall the star driver of Red Bull.

Everything started when you brought your niece to the paddock because your sister had an emergency. You were scheduled to interview Checo in the RB motorhome and your niece was starting to feel fussy and you were slightly panicking on what to do— when Max suddenly came to your rescue and took your niece out to ice cream.

You admit you found Max attractive even before— like so damn attractive, but that was it— nothing more. But when you found Max carrying your niece in his arms as they played inside his garage, you knew that you were a goner to the charms of Max Verstappen.

You have been pinning for Max for a year now. You wished that you had the confidence and courage to just confess. But the fear of rejection freighted you, so you settled to just keep your friendship with the devastatingly handsome Red Bull champion.

As time went on, and nothing but friendship between you and Max developed — You’ve come to terms with the process of letting go of your feelings. Even when you’ve already met his mom and sister, hung out in his yacht and spent nights over his place when movie nights with Charles and his girlfriend went too late. You knew not to think anything of it.

And you were right to think nothing of it. Because not a week later, rumors had spread all over the paddock that Kelly Piquet had set her eyes on Max. You didn’t believe it at first, but when you saw with your own two eyes them engaged talking happily in his garage. The sparkle in Max’s eyes had solidified your will to move on.

A few weeks had passed and Kelly’s presence was constant in the paddock. Everyone had speculated that she had become Max’s girlfriend. But no one was sure, not even you — Max had been silent about it.

You tried to be happy for them you did. But you can’t blame yourself for wishing that it was you instead. Even to this day, you are still trying to forget and bury your feelings for Max.

“Y/N? Y/N? Oi Y/N” You suddenly were startled out of your thoughts. You forgot that you were still with the drivers in your office.

“What? Sorry, I just remembered something. What did you say?” You asked Charles as he was the one who called you.

“I asked if you had an interview today” Upon hearing the words of the Monegasque, your eyes grew wide as you remembered that you did have a job to do and you were indeed almost late.

“SHIT! I DO I’m late! “ You suddenly sprang up from your seat and quickly gathered the things you needed — while the 4 drivers looked at you with amusement.

“Who’s scheduled for you today, Y/N?” Max had also sat up from his seat and gave you an opened bottle of water.

You received the bottle from Max. You didn’t have to thank the driver — just one look from you and he knew.

The other drivers looked amongst themselves as they saw your exchange with Max. Everyone had a knowing look on their faces.

“I'm going to Mclaren today! I have the whole day with Lando. “ You said as you closed your once abandoned laptop and placed it in your bag — the one Max gave you on your birthday.

“What have you planned for Lando, Y/N?” Checo asked curiously. He still remembered his interview where you both made bracelets and stuffed toys for his daughters — his daughters loved it and went to sleep with it every single day.

“Oh! I’m taking Lando to a rage room, then drive-thru for food.” You explained happily to the older Mexican driver.

“Which part of that is the interview?” Charles had interjected

“While we eat the food in the parking lot, duh,” You said as if they should’ve already known. Well, they should by now.

“You know Y/N, Lando likes you right? ” Carlos had suddenly dropped a bomb on you. You didn’t expect it at all.

“What?” Max had suddenly said — catching all of you off guard. You didn’t understand, why Max had reacted so suddenly. But you pushed that aside for now as you continued to stuff everything you need in the bag

“What do you mean, Lando likes me?” You asked Carlos, with your eyebrows scrunched together.

“He likes you. Like you know? Take you out on dates and all that” Carlos replied as he gauged your reaction.

“Ohhhh, that’s cute! how did you even know about it, Carlos” you asked not taking any of it seriously.

“Cute?” You heard Max muttered under his breath.

“He told me. I won’t spoil anything else. I’m not even supposed to say that he likes you, but oh well.” Carlos shrugged as he finished off his ice cream.

“What do you think about Lando?” Charles suddenly asked you. The Ferrari driver leaned forward

“Will you date him if he asks you ?” Checo then joined the conversation.

“ You should say yes, I mean you two are the same-“ Charles had suddenly grown excited.

“Ok whoa, calm down dads. He hasn’t asked anything yet! “ you exclaimed

“But will you say yes if he asked?” Max then asked you, his eyes piercing your soul. After all of the other questions, Max was the one to Catch you off guard.

“Uh yes, I guess? I mean, why not? Lando is fun And he is single right … ” You were panicking so you said yes, even when you knew that you weren’t ready for anything like that since you still held feelings for Max.

“ YES! I thought that you-“ Charles wasn't able to finish his sentence when you cut him off.

“OK, bye guys! See you later. I need to go!” And just like that you were gone, leaving the four drivers in your office — not letting them question you further.

“I swear, that kid is weird.” Charles shakes his head from side to side at your actions.

“Lando likes Y/N?” Max had asked again just to make sure that he had heard the Spaniard correctly.

“ Lando is a good kid. They’ll make a good couple, no?” Checo asked no one in particular, as Max was not moving from where you left him.

“Wait, wait… since when did Lando like Y/N?” Max asked confused, looking green with jealousy. Fingers tingling as they clenched on itself

“Well he was interested in Y/N since the beginning but he backed off since everyone thought that you two had a thing” Carlos explained as he stood up and went to raid your snack stash.

“Yeah, but now you’re with the daughter of Piquet. what’s her name again? KELLY! yes, kelly. So Lando is taking his shot” Charles added

“You knew? Charles, you knew about Lando?” Max was aghast at the knowledge that was just receiving now.

“Well yeah? I was the one to encourage him to ask Y/N out. ” Charles shrugged nonchalantly. He knew about your feelings for the Red Bull driver, but he also saw how hurt you were when Max started seeing Kelly out of nowhere. Charles wanted to help his friends — specially the ones that he grew to love like his own sibling in any way that he could. Plus it was time for Y/N to have fun, and Lando Norris is exactly that.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Max was conflicted. His emotions growing uncontrollably by the second.

“ Mate, we haven’t seen you for how many weeks! You were always out with your new girlfriend. Even Y/N had no contact with you “ Carlos explained to Max.

silence filled the room, when suddenly pings of notifications sounded all over the rooms.

And Charles couldn’t help but whistle.

“Well he sure does move past” he had added.

Your story

As Max looked at his phone. Your Ig story flashed. His heart had started to hurt and the feeling of a pit in his stomach grew. it was as if someone punched him right in the gut.

And another notification ping had popped . And it only made Max’s stomach churn even further.

landonorris