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cloudtransprncy · 2 months ago

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Chaewon x Male Reader | 8k words Tags: manager x idol, secret relationship, pent up, semi-public, sneaking away, horny as fuck, chaewon is hot as fuck, I wish it was me

Chaewon looks too good in that dress. Three weeks without sex. How long before you snap?

Jus sumn quick for yall.

Chaewon [1:42 AM]: I've been touching myself thinking about you every night this week. It's not enough.

Chaewon [1:43 AM]: Good luck keeping it professional tomorrow when you see what they have me wearing for the HOT trailer shoot 😈

You stare at your phone, heat flooding through your body. Three weeks without her. The longest you've gone since you started dating a year ago.

Fuck, she knows exactly what she's doing to you.

Three weeks without her touch has made every message like this a form of exquisite torture. You can practically hear her voice in your head as you read her texts.

You're dating Kim Chaewon. LE SSERAFIM's leader. And you're one of their managers.

It started on a company retreat last spring—a late-night conversation about music that turned into coffee, then dinner a week later, then her pressed against your apartment door, whispering that she'd wanted this since the moment you'd been assigned to their team.

You'd both agreed it would be just once.

That agreement lasted approximately 8 hours.

No one knows. Not the company. Not the members.

Not even Jiyeon, the other manager who works with you handling the girls' schedules.

And right now, your girlfriend is driving you fucking crazy.

The comeback prep for "HOT" has been exactly that—hot, intense, and keeping you both so busy you can barely catch your breath, let alone sneak away to be alone together.

You've tried everything to deal with the frustration. Late-night FaceTiming while she touches herself in her dorm room, biting her pillow to stay quiet. Watching the videos you've made together—her riding you on your couch, her bent over your bathroom sink, her on her knees looking up at you with those eyes.

None of it is enough. You need her. You need to taste her, feel her skin against yours, be inside her.

The warehouse set is all sleek white surfaces and ribbed glass partitions. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in cold natural light that makes everything look clean, sterile, and expensive. The perfect contrast to the fire they're trying to create with this concept.

Staff members in black hurry around with clipboards and equipment, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. This "BORN FIRE" trailer shoot has to be perfect—it's launching LE SSERAFIM's most ambitious album "HOT" yet.

You check your own clipboard, making sure everything's on schedule while trying not to think about Chaewon and whatever outfit has her texting you at 2 AM.

The irony isn't lost on you. Here you are, supervising the filming of a teaser—literally called "BORN FIRE"—while Chaewon herself is the true teaser. She's igniting something in you that's becoming increasingly difficult to contain. The line between her performance for the video and her performance for you is blurring dangerously.

"Manager-oppa, the director wants to run through the toy car scene again," Eunchae says, bouncing up to you in her feathered white outfit. "Have you seen Chaewon unnie? She's next."

"Still in wardrobe," you answer, keeping your voice steady. Like you're not thinking about how Chaewon moaned your name in that hotel in Jeju last month, her body shaking beneath yours as she came for the third time that night.

Sakura walks past with her stylist, the long white dress trailing behind her. You spot Kazuha already positioned on one of the white block structures that fill the set. The whole group is scattered around the space in various stages of preparation.

"Jiyeon-ssi," you call to your fellow manager, "can you check if hair and makeup are done with Chaewon?"

Jiyeon nods and heads toward the dressing area. You turn your attention back to the monitor, where the director is reviewing footage.

Then it happens.

The quiet murmur of the set shifts. You feel it before you see it.

Chaewon walks onto set, and your entire body goes rigid.

Your throat goes dry instantly. God, you love her in white—the way it makes her skin glow, how it emphasizes every curve you've memorized with your hands, your mouth. You force yourself to breathe normally even as memories flood your mind unbidden. She knows what this does to you. She's counting on it.

The white strapless dress is even shorter than it looked in the concept sketches and fittings you'd seen last week. It hugs her body perfectly, showing off shoulders you've kissed a hundred times.

The black belt cinches her waist—the waist you've held in your hands while she rode you until you both saw stars. But it's the boots that kill you. Thigh-high, black, lace-up boots that make her legs look endless.

You force yourself to look away, back at your clipboard. Professional. You're a professional.

But memories flood your mind anyway:

Chaewon straddling you in the backseat of your car, hand pressed against your mouth to keep you quiet while security guards walked past.

Chaewon pressed against your kitchen counter, panties around one ankle, begging you not to stop as you dropped to your knees.

Chaewon in your bed, hair spread across your pillow, eyes locked with yours as you moved inside her, whispering that she loves you.

You still remember the first time she said those words—three months in, both of you sweaty and breathless, her eyes wide with something like surprise at her own admission. You'd felt it too, that terrifying, exhilarating free-fall into something neither of you had planned for.

"You good?" asks one of the camera assistants, noticing how you've been staring at nothing.

"Fine," you say, the word clipped.

On set, Chaewon takes her position. In one scene, she stands tall on a miniature white car, the contrast of the boots against the white making her look like some kind of goddess. In another setup, she holds a diagram against her bare shoulder, eyes focused directly at the camera.

She's perfect. Professional. The director loves every take.

But then, during a lighting adjustment, when everyone's attention is elsewhere, she looks directly at you.

It's quick—barely a second—but in that moment, her professional mask slips. Her eyes darken. The corner of her mouth quirks up.

It's the same look she gave you the first time you told her to get on her knees.

The director calls for the next setup. Chaewon moves into position with the other members, all of them in white, creating a visual that's both innocent and somehow sinful.

You take a deep breath. You've been so good. So professional.

But when she walks past you, she whispers, "Bet you want to take this off me so bad," so quietly only you can hear it, you know exactly how this day is going to end.

You are completely, totally fucked.

You're in hell.

Not the burning, fire-and-brimstone kind. The sleek, white, glass-walled kind.

A special kind of hell designed with surgical precision by Kim Chaewon—your weakness, your fucking undoing.

The "BORN FIRE" shoot continues. It's been three hours. You've managed to stay professional for exactly none of them.

"Cut! Five minute break," the director calls.

The set erupts into controlled chaos—stylists rushing to touch up makeup, lighting techs adjusting gear, Kazuha and Eunchae huddled near the white blocks watching practice videos on their phones.

You stare at your clipboard like it contains the secrets of the universe.

Chaewon moves through the space like she owns it, boots clicking against the polished concrete floor. The sound alone makes your pulse kick.

She stands by the glass partition, sunlight catching on her hair, making it glow against all the sterile white. Your eyes follow her despite your brain screaming not to.

"Manager-oppa," she calls, voice sweet and professional. The sound hits you low in your stomach—the same tone she uses right before she begs you to fuck her harder.

"Can you bring me some water?"

She knows exactly what she's doing. Every staff member sees a hardworking idol asking her manager for a simple favor.

You know better.

You grab a bottle and walk it over to her. That's when she strikes.

Her fingers brush yours as she takes the bottle—deliberate, electric—the touch lasting a half-second too long to be accidental.

"Had a dream about you last night," she murmurs, voice pitched for your ears only.

The cap of the water bottle clicks as she twists it open. She drinks slowly, throat working in a way that triggers a vivid flashback—her on her knees three weeks ago, swallowing around you, looking up with those same dark eyes. You'd gripped her hair so tight she'd moaned around you.

Her tongue darts out to catch a drop on her lower lip. Her eyes never leave yours.

You say nothing. Your grip on the clipboard turns your knuckles white.

Jiyeon passes by, checking her watch. "Chaewon-ah, wardrobe wants to check your outfit before the next shot."

Chaewon nods, all professional sweetness. "Coming!"

She brushes past you, close enough that you catch her scent—something floral and expensive that you've tasted on her skin a hundred times before.

The stylist adjusts something on the back of her dress while she stands in front of the monitor. You try to focus on the schedule, on anything but the curve of her shoulder blades, the way the belt cinches her waist.

"Everything good?" the stylist asks.

Chaewon nods, then turns slightly. Her eyes find yours in the reflection of the monitor. "Perfect."

The tech walks away. You're about to do the same when—

"Woke up so wet this morning."

The words hit you like a physical blow. Your body responds instantly, a rush of heat that makes you grit your teeth.

She doesn't even look at you. Just keeps checking her reflection, adjusting a strand of hair like she didn't just set you on fire.

You step closer, voice low. "Watch yourself."

She smiles—sweet, sharp, fucking dangerous. "Always do. That's why I look so good."

The director calls everyone back. You retreat to the safety of the production table.

You adjust your clipboard, grateful for its coverage. This is what she reduces you to—a professional with years of industry experience hiding an erection like a teenager. The thought should embarrass you, but instead, there's a twisted pride in how she still affects you this way, even after a year together.

For exactly twelve minutes, you breathe. Focus. Reset.

Then she slides into the chair next to you.

"Can I see the schedule?" she asks, loud enough for others to hear. Professional. Proper.

You hand her your tablet without looking up. Three staff members hover nearby, discussing lighting for the next scene.

Sakura sits across the table, focused on crocheting something delicate and blue, her fingers moving with practiced precision. The click of her crochet hook provides a steady rhythm to the chaos around you.

That's when you feel it—her hand on your thigh under the table. Casual. Like it belongs there.

Your entire body goes rigid.

"Chaewon," you warn, barely a whisper.

"Mmm?" She leans in, pretending to point at something on the screen. Her fingers start to move. Slow strokes up, then down. Teasing.

You inhale sharply, willing your face to stay neutral.

The staff members move away. But Sakura is still there, focused on her project, the hook moving in and out of the yarn.

Chaewon's hand inches higher, bolder than she's ever been. Her pinky grazes dangerously close to where you're already hardening against your will.

"Stop," you hiss.

She leans closer, her breath against your ear. "I'm ovulating, you know."

Your vision blurs. Blood rushes in your ears.

"You'd feel it the moment you were inside me—"

Sakura looks up suddenly, her eyes meeting yours across the table.

Your heart stops.

Chaewon doesn't move her hand. Instead, she laughs at something on the screen, all innocent charm. "Manager-oppa, the schedule looks too tight. Don't you think?"

Sakura tilts her head, then returns to her crocheting, seemingly oblivious to the fact that your girlfriend's hand is still on your thigh, still dangerously high.

You wrap your fingers around her wrist under the table, stopping her hand but not removing it. A dangerous compromise.

Her pupils dilate. That's when you see it—she's not just playing with you. She's affected too. Her cheeks flushed, her breathing just a little too quick.

She's as desperate as you are.

The realization hits you like a kick to the chest.

"Two minutes!" someone calls.

She extracts her hand slowly, deliberately. Stands up, smooths down her dress. The movement pulls the hem even higher on her thigh.

"Think you can last the rest of the day?" she asks, a challenge glinting in her eyes.

Before you can answer, Jiyeon approaches. "Chaewon-ah, they need you for the car shot."

Chaewon nods, all business again. But as she walks away, she glances back—just once. Just enough for you to see the hunger there, mirroring your own.

The next hour is psychological warfare.

Around you, the set buzzes with activity. Makeup artists touch up the members between shots. The director argues with the cinematographer about lighting. A production assistant nearly trips over a cable, sending everyone scrambling.

And through it all, Chaewon wages her private campaign against your sanity.

This is high-stakes chess played under fluorescent lights.

Every staff member represents a potential career-ending leak. The director who's worked with three generations of idol groups and has seen every possible scandal. The company photographer who reports directly to the CEO. The stylists who know every whispered secret in the industry.

One wrong move, one lingering glance held too long, and everything you've both worked for collapses.

She steps onto the miniature white car, boots planted wide, the dress riding up her thighs as she poses. The camera loves her. Every angle is perfection.

You remember the first time you took her for a drive, six months into your secret relationship. She'd climbed into your lap at a deserted scenic point, the gear shift digging into her leg as she rode you, both of you half-clothed, desperate, her breath fogging the windows as she came.

Now, as she stands on that toy car, her eyes find yours between every take.

During the group shot with the white blocks, she trails her fingers along the edge of the structure, the same way she's traced paths across your chest in the dark of your bedroom. Her fingernails scrape lightly against the white surface, and you swear you can feel phantom scratches down your back.

Each pose becomes more provocative. Each glance more daring.

When the stylist adjusts her dress between shots, Chaewon stretches her arms overhead, making the hem ride dangerously high. The movement fills your nostrils with the scent of her perfume—jasmine and something deeper—that clings to your sheets for days after she leaves.

In the solo shot with the diagram pressed against her bare shoulder, she turns just enough that only you can see how her teeth catch her bottom lip—the same way they do when you're deep inside her.

Your heart hammers against your ribs. Your skin feels too tight. Every minute is torture, and the fact that you're surrounded by people—Jiyeon checking the time, Eunchae asking you questions, staff members constantly brushing past—only makes it worse.

This isn't just teasing anymore. This is Chaewon pushing both of you to the edge.

Then comes the final blow.

During the last break, when the set is buzzing with activity, she passes by the narrow space between the equipment cases where you're checking inventory.

No one can see you here. Just a sliver of space hidden from the main floor.

She stops, just for a second. Leans in.

"Just fuck me in the changing room already."

The clipboard nearly snaps in your grip.

She walks away, satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

And something in you—the last thread of your control—finally snaps.

You count to ten. Wait until she's back in position on set.

Then you move through the space with purpose, face composed, steps measured.

Professional.

You reach her just as the director calls for a lighting check.

Your fingers wrap around her wrist—firm, decisive.

She looks up, triumph flashing in her eyes.

"Do you wanna get caught, you stupid bitch?" you whisper, the words harsh but your tone almost loving.

Her lips part. A small gasp that only you can hear.

"Manager-nim, is something wrong?" the director asks.

"Wardrobe issue," you say smoothly. "Won't take long."

You pull her away from the set, past curious eyes, past Jiyeon's raised eyebrow.

The changing room is too exposed. Too many people.

Five years in this industry has taught you one thing: discretion isn't just preferred, it's survival.

You've built your reputation on professionalism, on being the manager who anticipates problems before they happen.

Chaewon is the one variable you can never fully calculate, the one risk you can't mitigate. And God help you, you wouldn't have it any other way.

You spot it—a storage room door, slightly ajar. Dark. Empty.

Perfect.

Her breath catches as you change direction, leading her toward it.

"What are you—"

You push the door open. Pull her inside The storage room door closes with a soft click.

And finally—fucking finally—you're alone.

One second passes.

Two.

Then Chaewon launches herself at you.

Her hands grab your face with bruising intensity, fingernails digging into your scalp, your jaw, anywhere she can grip. The heat of her palms sears your skin as her mouth finds yours with desperate precision. The kiss is nuclear—all teeth and tongue and hunger. She bites your lower lip, hard enough to make you taste the metallic hint of blood, then soothes it with the velvety warmth of her tongue, exploring your mouth like she's trying to devour you whole.

Her body presses against yours, tits crushed against your chest, her hips grinding with shameless need. She grabs your hands and places them on her ass, demanding your touch without saying a word.

"Fuck, I missed your mouth," she gasps, her breath hot against your lips as she pulls at your clothes, fingers trembling and scrabbling at your belt, nails occasionally scraping against your abdomen. She can't seem to decide where to touch you—her hands moving from your chest to your shoulders to your neck, back to your belt, frantic and greedy. "Missed your hands. Missed your cock."

You slam her against the shelves, the metal rattling with a satisfying clang that echoes her gasp. Your hands are everywhere—her face, flushed and warm beneath your palms; her throat, pulse hammering wildly under your fingertips; the soft swell of her breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath; the dramatic curve of her waist that fits perfectly in your grip. Every touch relearns the terrain you've been starved of for three endless weeks.

She reaches behind and grabs your wrists, dragging your hands to her ass, forcing you to squeeze the firm flesh. "Touch me everywhere," she demands, voice thick with need. "I've been dying for it."

"You took too fucking long," she pants against your lips, her voice vibrating through you as her hands finally get your pants open, the sudden coolness of air a sharp contrast to the heat of her touch. Her fingers brush against your cock, a teasing touch that makes your jaw clench.

The storage room closes around you—metal shelves on one wall digging into her back, garment racks crowded with costumes exhaling the scent of fabric softener and makeup, cardboard boxes stacked in the corner threatening to topple with each movement. A single fluorescent light buzzes overhead, casting harsh shadows that carve her features into something almost feral with need, highlighting the sheen of sweat beginning to form at her temples, at the hollow of her throat.

She makes quick work of the black safety shorts beneath her dress, the fabric making a soft whisper as it slides down her legs before she kicks them away. The movement is so fluid, so urgent, that your mouth goes dry with anticipation. She grabs your hand, guiding it between her legs, letting you feel how ready she is. "See what you do to me?" she whispers, eyes locked on yours.

You spin her around, the quick motion making her gasp. For a moment, you just look at her—the elegant column of her neck where a few baby hairs escape her bob cut, curling with perspiration; the delicate slope of her shoulders, pale and perfect under the harsh light; the dramatic curve where her waist meets the swell of her ass, emphasized by the black belt that begs to be gripped. The white dress clings to every inch, revealing the heat she's generating beneath it. Your mouth waters just looking at her, tongue dragging across suddenly parched lips.

Your hand comes down on her ass with a sharp crack, the sound startlingly loud in the confined space. She jerks forward, a surprised gasp escaping her lips. The pale skin instantly flushes pink under your palm.

"Hurry up," she demands, looking back at you over her shoulder, eyes dark and glassy with impatience, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of brown remains. She arches her back, pushing her ass against your hand, silently begging for more.

You grip her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave impressions. "Shut the fuck up."

Her breath catches with an audible hitch. You know she loves it when you talk to her like this—can feel it in the goosebumps that rise under your touch, in the way her thighs tremble slightly.

You run your hands up her sides, feeling the heat radiating through the thin fabric, then down to the hem of her dress, bunching the material as you start to lift it. The fabric makes a soft rustling sound that seems obscenely loud in the small space. Your hands slide up her thighs, skin like silk beneath your calloused palms, finding the lace edge of her panties. Black, of course. The contrast against her pale skin is stark and mouthwatering.

Another smack lands on her ass, harder this time. You watch the flesh jiggle under the impact, the imprint of your hand blooming pink against her porcelain skin. "You like that?" you ask, already knowing the answer as she pushes back against you.

"Yes," she hisses, grinding back against your hand. "Again. Harder."

You comply, landing another sharp slap, watching the way her body jerks forward before pressing back, seeking more. "Look at you," you murmur, "So perfect for the cameras, but in here, you're just a dirty little slut who gets wet from being spanked."

She moans at your words, the sound vibrating through her entire body. "Only for you," she whispers, the admission hanging heavy in the air between you.

Spinning her back around, you claim her mouth again, tasting mint and desperation on her tongue as your hand slips between her legs, pressing the lace against her. The fabric is soaked through, warm and clinging to her folds. Her hands are everywhere—gripping your shoulders, sliding down your chest, grabbing at your ass to pull you closer, like she can't get enough of touching you.

"Goddamn," you mutter against her lips, the words a vibration between your connected mouths. "Your pussy's fucking drenched."

You hook your fingers into the lace and yank it aside, the elastic snapping against her thigh. Your middle finger slides through her folds, gathering her wetness, feeling how swollen and ready she is—hot and slick and perfect against your fingertips.

"Look how fucking wet you are," you murmur, watching her face contort with pleasure as you circle her clit, feeling it harden beneath your touch. "Been thinking about this all day, haven't you?"

She whimpers, a high, needy sound that goes straight to your cock as she grinds against your hand. "I told you I've been wet since I woke up," she pants, her breath coming in short, hot puffs against your face. "Thinking about you. About this. About you bending me over and fucking me until I can't remember my own name."

She tries to reach for you, but you catch her wrist with your free hand, her pulse jumping beneath your grip as you pin it above her head against the shelves. The metal is cold against her skin, making her hiss.

"Not yet," you tell her, voice dropping to a growl. "I want you desperate first."

"I'm already desperate," she hisses, trying to rock against your hand, the movement making her belt buckle clink against itself. Her free hand grabs at your shirt, your arm, anywhere she can reach. "Just fuck me already."

You turn her again, pressing her face-first against the metal shelving. The cold surface makes her gasp, back arching instinctively away from it. She braces herself, legs automatically spreading wider on the concrete floor, the heel of her boots making a sharp click as she repositions.

You grab her belt from behind, leather warm from her body heat, using it to arch her back, positioning her ass higher. The positioning makes the dress ride up further, exposing more of her thighs, making her stance more obscene, more perfect.

Another smack lands on her exposed ass, harder than before, the sound cracking through the small room. She jerks forward, a moan ripping from her throat.

"Fucking perfect," you mutter, kneading the flesh you just struck, watching the pink handprint fade and bloom again under your touch. You land another blow on the opposite cheek, evening her out, making her squirm.

The scent of her arousal hits you fully now—musky, sweet, unmistakable. Your mouth waters at the smell of her, cock throbbing painfully in response.

You reach up, fingers finding her hair, gripping the short strands of her bob at the nape of her neck. Not pulling, just holding, controlling. The sensation makes her moan, her head falling back into your grip.

"Please," she whispers, the word a broken, ragged thing as she tries to push back against you.

You keep her in place with your dual grip on her belt and hair. "Please what?"

"Please fuck me," she begs, all teasing gone from her voice, replaced with raw need. "I need your cock inside me. Now."

You release her hair to lean over her, your chest pressing against her back, trapping her heat between your bodies. Your mouth finds her ear, teeth grazing the sensitive lobe. "After all that teasing? All those filthy little comments with people right fucking there?"

You land another hard slap on her ass, watching the flesh redden under your palm. "This what you wanted? Getting your ass slapped while the whole crew is just outside?"

"Yes," she admits, voice small but sure. "Needed it so bad."

You drag the head of your cock through her slick folds, the sensation making both of you groan—her wetness hot and silky against you, making everything gloriously frictionless. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't make you wait longer."

"Because," she pants, voice vibrating with need, "you want this as bad as I do."

She's right, and you both know it.

You guide yourself to her entrance and thrust in with one brutal stroke, burying yourself to the hilt in her tight, clinging heat.

The sound she makes is primal—half gasp, half moan, pure fucking need. Your hand clamps over her mouth immediately, palm registering the warm wetness of her breath, the softness of her lips.

"Shhh," you warn even as you pull back and drive in again, the slick sound of your joining obscenely loud in the small space. "You want the whole fucking staff to hear how you take cock? How their perfect Kim Chaewon is just a dirty little whore in here?"

She shakes her head, but her pussy clenches around you at the words, a vice-like grip that sends stars exploding behind your eyelids. You know she loves the risk, the filth, the knowledge that just outside this door, she's Kim Chaewon of LE SSERAFIM, but in here, she's just yours to use.

"That's what gets you off, isn't it?" you growl against her ear, punctuating each word with a hard thrust. "Knowing they all think you're so sweet, so professional, when really you're in here letting me fuck you raw in a storage room."

Moving your hand from her mouth to her throat, you feel her swallow against your palm, her pulse racing beneath your fingers. You don't squeeze, just hold, feeling the vibrations of her moans traveling through her slender neck.

"That's right," you growl against her ear, teeth scraping the shell. "Remember who you belong to."

Her response is a full-body shudder, her inner walls clenching around you, making you groan at the sensation.

You fuck her hard, each thrust making her body jolt against the shelves. The metal creaks ominously, the sound mixing with the wet slap of skin on skin, the harsh sounds of your combined breathing. Your hand comes down on her ass again, the sting making her gasp, her pussy clenching around you in response.

"You love that, don't you?" you murmur, watching the red handprint bloom on her pale skin. "Love getting your ass slapped while your tight little pussy gets stretched around my cock."

"Yes," she admits, voice breaking around the word. "Love it. Love everything you do to me."

Without pulling out, you grab her left thigh and lift it, the smooth leather of her boot sliding against your palm as you plant her foot against a lower shelf. The new position opens her up, lets you sink even deeper into her molten core.

"Fuck," she whimpers, head falling forward against her braced arm, the tendons in her neck standing out in sharp relief.

"That's it," you growl, watching yourself disappear inside her over and over, mesmerized by the sight of her taking you, by the glistening evidence of her arousal coating you. "Take it deeper."

You grip her belt with one hand, bunching her dress even higher with the other until it's completely out of the way. The sight of her perfect ass jiggling with each impact makes your head swim, blood rushing in your ears. It's already pink from your earlier attention, the skin warm to the touch.

Your hand slides up her spine to grip her hair again, this time with purpose. You gather the short strands in your fist, tugging just enough to make her back arch further, to make her gasp, throat exposed and vulnerable.

"Look at you," you say, voice rough with exertion, the words punched out of you with each thrust. "LE SSERAFIM's perfect leader, taking cock in a storage room, being such a whore. Such a pretty little slut with your ass all red from my hands, your pussy dripping all over my cock."

She pushes back against you, taking you deeper, her body greedily swallowing every inch. "Harder," she demands, voice breaking on the word. "Fuck me harder. Make me feel it tomorrow."

You grip both her hips now, fingers digging into soft flesh, and pick up the pace. The new angle has you hitting that spot inside her that makes her whole body tremble, makes her walls flutter and clench around you. The wet sounds of her pussy taking your cock fill the small space—obscene, filthy, perfect.

"You're so fucking tight," you groan, feeling her walls grip you like a silken vice. "Squeezing my cock like you're trying to milk it dry."

You switch your grip, one hand finding her throat again, feeling her swallow against your palm as you apply the gentlest pressure. Just enough to remind her who's in control, to make her breath catch. Your other hand comes down hard on her ass again, the smack loud enough to make you both freeze for a second, worried it might have been heard outside.

"You've been a fucking menace all day," you growl, your pace relentless, the sound of your bodies coming together a wet percussion. "Strutting around in this dress, whispering that shit in my ear, touching me under the table."

Your grip on her throat tightens fractionally, making her pulse jump against your fingers. Her only response is to push back harder, taking you deeper, her body yielding and demanding all at once.

"You'd let me do anything to you, wouldn't you?" you ask, voice low and rough in her ear. "Slap your ass, pull your hair, fuck you where anyone could walk in and see you—see what a desperate little whore you really are."

"Yes," she admits, the confession barely audible. "Anything. Everything."

The tension builds between you, a tangible thing in the small, overheated room. The air is thick with the scent of sex, with the sounds of pleasure barely contained, with the electric certainty that this is exactly where you both need to be.

You change the angle again, leaning over her back to reach around to her front. The new position grinds your pelvis against her ass with each thrust, your cock hitting new spots inside her. Your fingers find her clit, circling it in tight, firm motions, feeling it swell and harden under your touch.

"Oh fuck," she gasps, her inner walls fluttering around you like wings. "Right there, don't stop."

You don't stop. You keep up the relentless pace, feeling her get wetter around you with each stroke, her arousal making everything slick and hot and perfect. Your fingers on her clit get slicker, the combination of her arousal and your spit making obscene wet sounds that mix with the slap of skin on skin.

"That's right, take it just like that," you encourage, voice strained. "Take it like the cock-hungry little slut you are."

Instead of being offended, she moans louder, her body responding to your words as much as to your touch. You know exactly what she likes to hear, exactly how far to push the fantasy of degradation that excites her so much.

The pleasure is so intense you have to grit your teeth to keep from coming too soon. Three weeks without this—without her tight heat squeezing you, without her desperate little sounds, without the feeling of being buried inside her—has left you balanced on a knife's edge of control.

"You close?" you ask, voice strained, the words feeling like they're being ripped from your chest.

"Yes," she pants, the word almost a sob. "So close."

You reach up with your free hand, tangling your fingers in her hair again, carefully pulling her head back to expose the elegant line of her neck, watching the muscles work beneath the skin as she swallows. You bend to press open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder, right where the dress leaves her skin bare, tasting salt and sweetness.

"Think about this tomorrow," you murmur against her skin, lips dragging over the goosebumps your breath creates. "When you're sitting in meetings, when you're in practice, when you're smiling for the cameras—remember how fucked you look right now. Remember how your ass felt getting spanked while my cock was inside you. Remember what a perfect little whore you are for me."

Her breath catches. Her pussy clenches around you. She's right on the edge, her body wound tight as a bowstring.

"Remember you're fucking mine," you growl, punctuating the words with a particularly deep thrust that makes her cry out before she can stop herself, the sound sharp and startling in the quiet room.

You cover her mouth again, palm feeling the heat of her breath, the wetness of her lips, but it's too late—the sound echoed in the small room. Both of you freeze, hearts pounding, listening for any reaction from outside.

Nothing. Just the continued sounds of the busy set.

The moment of fear transforms quickly back into desperate need. Your thrusts become harder, deeper, more deliberate. Her body responds with renewed hunger, pushing back to meet you stroke for stroke, the rhythm between you perfect and instinctive.

Your hand slips from her mouth to her throat, not squeezing, just feeling her pulse race under your palm, feeling the vibrations of her moans travel through your fingertips.

"You gonna come for me?" you ask, feeling your own orgasm building at the base of your spine, heat coiling tight and insistent. "Gonna come all over my cock like the needy little slut you are?"

She nods frantically, beyond words now. Her body tightens around you, clenching with each thrust, the pressure building visibly in the arch of her back, the tension in her thighs, the way her fingers curl against the metal shelf.

You can feel your own release building, the tight grip of her pussy dragging you toward the edge. You've been thinking about this for weeks—dreaming about it, jerking off to memories of it—and now you're finally here, buried inside her, both of you desperate and filthy and perfect.

Her breath hitches. Her pussy flutters around your cock. You know the signs—she's right there, teetering on the precipice.

One more hard slap on her ass, the sting making her gasp, her inner walls clenching around you in response.

You lower her leg from the shelf, repositioning her with both feet on the ground, but spread wide. You grip her belt again with one hand, keeping up the pressure on her clit with the other. The new angle has you grinding against that spot inside her that makes her go crazy, makes her whole body tremble.

"Come on," you urge, your own control slipping, voice rough and broken. "Come on my cock, Chaewon. Let me feel it. Let me feel what a fucking whore you are for me."

Her body responds instantly, like your words were the final trigger she needed. She buries her face against her arm to muffle the sound as her orgasm rips through her, her pussy clamping down on you in rhythmic pulses, a flood of warmth surrounding you. Her legs shake so hard you have to hold her up with the grip on her belt, feeling the tremors travel through her entire body.

The sight of her completely wrecked, the feel of her convulsing around you, the knowledge that you did this to her—it all sends you over the edge. You thrust deep one last time, grinding against her ass as you come, filling her up with pulse after pulse, the pleasure so intense it's almost pain, radiating from your core to the tips of your fingers, the backs of your knees, the top of your skull.

"Fuck, Chaewon, fuck," you chant, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades as you empty yourself inside her, feeling the way she milks every drop from you, her body greedy even in its exhaustion.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. Just the sound of ragged breathing, your heartbeats gradually slowing from their frantic pace, the distant muffled voices of the set filtering back into your awareness.

You're still inside her, softening but reluctant to break the connection. Her body occasionally trembles with aftershocks, her pussy giving your cock little squeezes that make you hiss with oversensitivity, the sensation bordering on too much.

You run your hand gently over her ass, soothing the skin you'd been striking moments ago. It's still warm to the touch, a faint pink that will fade before she has to be back on set. Your touch is gentle now, a stark contrast to the roughness from before.

"You okay?" you murmur against her ear, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck.

"Better than okay," she whispers back, voice wrecked but satisfied.

Eventually, you pull out slowly, both of you groaning at the sensation. You watch as a trickle of your come leaks from her, sliding down her inner thigh. The sight sends a possessive thrill through you, primal and satisfying.

She straightens, turning to face you. Her makeup is smeared, her lips swollen and red, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes have that dazed, satisfied look that only comes after she's been thoroughly fucked. A thin sheen of sweat makes her skin glow under the fluorescent light. Her short hair is disheveled where you'd gripped it, sticking up in places that you smooth down with gentle fingers.

You grab tissues from a box on the shelf, gently cleaning between her legs. She watches you, a soft smile playing on her lips—so different from the smirk she's been tormenting you with all day.

"Did I hurt you?" you ask, suddenly aware of how rough you were, eyes searching for marks on her throat, her wrists, her hips, ghosting your fingers over her ass where you'd struck her.

She shakes her head, running her fingers through your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp in a way that makes you shiver. "Babe, It was perfect."

You retrieve her safety shorts from the floor and help her back into them, then smooth down her dress. Your hands linger on her waist, not quite ready to let go, feeling the warmth of her through the fabric.

A smirk forms slowly on her face, eyes glittering with mischief as she leans in close, her breath warm against your ear. "Think they heard?"

You press a final kiss to her shoulder, lingering there, inhaling deeply—tasting salt and perfume and her, that essence that's uniquely Chaewon beneath the expensive fragrance. Your lips trace a path to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, feeling her pulse still racing beneath your mouth.

"Not if you keep your mouth shut next time," you murmur against her skin, unable to resist giving her one more gentle bite.

She hums, the sound vibrating against your lips. "But where's the fun in that?" she whispers, that familiar playful defiance in her voice.

As she attempts to take a step back, her legs buckle. She grabs your shoulders to steady herself, her usual composure completely absent, the bratty confidence from seconds ago vanishing.

"I can't move," she whispers, voice wrecked, blinking up at you with unfocused eyes. All the sharp edges of her personality momentarily dissolved, leaving her soft and vulnerable in a way no one else ever sees. "My legs won't work."

"Good," you murmur, unable to hide your satisfaction as you press a kiss to her forehead, supporting her weight. You hold her close for a moment, feeling the way she melts against you, completely undone.

After a moment, that familiar glint of mischief gradually returns to her eyes. The transformation is beginning; the desperate, wrecked woman slowly rebuilding herself into the polished idol.

In this moment, with her guard completely down, she looks younger, softer. The harsh fluorescent lighting should be unflattering, but somehow it just makes her look more real—smudged eyeshadow, faint red marks on her throat where your fingers were, her hair disheveled despite her attempts to smooth it. For a few seconds more, she's just yours.

She reaches up, her hand cupping your cheek with surprising tenderness. Her eyes, usually sharp and mischievous, soften as she looks at you. She leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips—so different from the desperate ones you shared minutes ago. This one is deliberate, unhurried.

"I love you," she whispers against your mouth, the words barely audible but unmistakable. It's not something she says often—both of you knowing how dangerous those words can be in your situation.

Your hand comes up to cover hers where it rests against your face, holding her there for a moment. "I love you too," you reply quietly, the words filling the small space between you. "Even when you're being a menace."

Her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Especially when I'm being a menace," she corrects, and you can't help but smile.

You glare at her playfully, and she giggles—the sound at complete odds with what just happened, with the filthy things you both just did, with the woman who was begging for your cock and calling herself your whore minutes ago. The contrast is jarring and perfect; this duality of hers that only you get to witness.

She leans in and kisses you deeply, but without the desperate edge from before. This kiss is softer, a promise.

When she pulls back, you can see the clock ticking in her head. Reality intruding.

"You go first," you say, checking your watch. "They'll be looking for you. The shoot needs to wrap in twenty minutes."

She nods, takes a deep breath, and you watch in fascination as she transforms back into LE SSERAFIM's leader right before your eyes. Her shoulders straighten, her chin lifts, her expression becomes more controlled. It's like watching an actress step into character—except you know both versions are equally real.

She checks her reflection in her phone, adjusts her belt, smooths her hair with practiced precision. Only you would notice the slight tremble in her fingers, the pink marks on her hips where your hands were, the satisfied glow in her eyes that the camera won't quite catch but you can see clearly.

"How do I look?" she asks, voice steady now, almost back to the professional tone she uses with everyone else.

Like she's just been thoroughly fucked. Like her thighs are still sticky with both of you. Like she's hiding a universe of secrets behind that poised expression. Like she's yours.

"Perfect," you say instead, swallowing the possessive thoughts.

She smiles—not the coy smirk from before, but something genuine that crinkles the corners of her eyes. Then it's gone, replaced by the polished mask she wears for everyone else.

Just as you think she's about to leave, she presses one last kiss to your jaw, her fingers trailing down your chest with deliberate slowness. Her lips move to your ear, breath hot against your skin.

"I'll be thinking about this all night," she whispers, voice dropping to that register that makes your pulse quicken despite your recent release. Then, even lower, just for you: "And touching myself the second I get back to the dorm."

Before you can respond, she's slipped out the door with a final squeeze of your hand, leaving you alone in the storage room with her promise echoing in your mind, the scent of sex still hanging in the air, mingling with her perfume.

You give it two minutes before following, clipboard held strategically in front of you, expression carefully neutral as you adjust your own mask—the efficient manager, all business.

By the time you return, Chaewon is already back on set, taking direction for the next shot, nodding professionally at the photographer's instructions. Her posture is immaculate, her expression perfectly calibrated—looking as composed and professional as if she'd just been touching up her makeup instead of being bent over a shelf with your hand prints on her ass.

No one looks at her twice. No one notices the way she stands slightly differently, favoring one leg. No one sees the slight darkening at the base of her throat where your mouth had been.

You watch from behind the monitor, maintaining a careful distance, occasionally checking your phone or making notes on your clipboard. The perfect picture of professionalism.

She gets into position, poised and beautiful under the lights, following direction flawlessly. The camera loves her—captures her elegance, her poise, but misses completely the woman you know.

Then she glances directly at the camera, and for just a second—

The look she gives—half-lidded eyes, the barest hint of teeth catching her lower lip, a fleeting microexpression of remembered pleasure—that's just for you.

And you know, watching her seamlessly return to her perfect idol persona, that you'll both be counting the minutes until you can be alone again.

...

AN: Yes I'm a certified CHAEWON simp. This is strike 3 chaewon from me with more coming.

#cloudtrnsprncy #cloudtsmut #malereader #kpop smut #chaewon x reader #kim chaewon #chaewon #chaewon x male reader #lesserafim #chaewon hot

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vanteguccir · 4 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSTURNIOLO TRIPLETS GO TO EUROPE * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N, Matt's girlfriend, participates in the 'STURNIOLO TRIPLETS GO TO EUROPE VLOG' video.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The first-class cabin was nothing short of a dream. The softly lit hallway stretched ahead of them, lined with elegant partitions that gave each seat its own private cabin. Y/N walked just behind Matt, his hand warm and firm around hers as they walked the narrow aisle. Nick was leading the way, already peeking into his assigned space, while Chris trailed behind them.

When they finally stopped at their row, Y/N’s jaw dropped. She took a tentative step into her cabin, her eyes wide as she looked around at the plush leather seat that reclined into a bed, the medium lit up screen in front of it, and the small touches of luxury like the pillow and blanket tucked neatly on the side.

"This is amazing." She breathed, turning back to the boys with a grin so bright it could’ve lit up the plane.

Chris, peering into his own cabin a few steps away, nodded enthusiastically.

"This is insane. It feels like a movie."

Matt sent the softest gaze at Y/N's way after watching her reaction, his expression gentle and boyish as he nodded, his eyes sparkling. He felt like a proud boyfriend for being able to give that experience for his girlfriend.

"It really is, huh?" He muttered, receiving a soft laugh from Y/N, who took her backpack off her back and handed it to him.

"Here, baby." She said, motioning to the space above them. "Can you put this up there for me? Please."

Matt took the bag, glancing up at the overhead compartment with a slight frown. It wasn’t immediately obvious how to open it, and he hesitated, looking around for guidance. Nick, already settled into his cabin beside Matt’s and recording the entire interaction on his phone, tilted his head toward the compartment.

"Matt, up." Nick said as he pointed.

Matt squinted, his confusion deepening.

"Where?"

Nick let out an exaggerated sigh, still recording.

"In the thing! Hold the handle and lift it, Matt."

Matt gave him a glare before following his directions. He tugged the compartment open and slid Y/N’s bag inside, muttering something about Nick always being a know-it-all, earning a quiet laugh from Y/N.

Finally, with everything in place, Matt stepped into his own cabin. It didn't take long before the hum of the plane filled the air, preparing to take off soon.

Y/N - who had been watching TikTok while it was still up - threw her phone inside her purse and looked around while trying to get comfortable on her seat, but sighing in frustation when she was unsuccessful.

She returned her feet to the ground and curved her upper body so she could see the hallway, biting her lip as she peeked at Matt's cabin. He had already settled in, reclining in the single "bed" with his hoodie draped loosely over his shoulders.

He felt eyes on him and was quick to look up, catching her hesitant gaze, a soft smile growing on his face, already knowing what she wanted, gently patting the small space beside him.

"Come here, sweetheart." He murmured, scooting closer to the window to make room.

Without hesitation, Y/N got up and crossed the small hall that put a distance between them, climbing in his bed, squeezing into the limited space. It was a tight fit, but neither of them minded.

Matt pulled the blanket over them, wrapping it snugly around her before slipping an arm around her waist, holding her close. Her head nestled against his shoulder, her breath warm and comforting against the skin of his neck.

Reaching for his headphones, Matt placed them back around his head, music already filling his ears. He stretched his free arm, fingers hovering over several titles across the small TV screen before settling on one of Y/N’s favorites, a light, cozy movie he knew she adored.

He pressed play and felt her shift slightly, her gaze flickering toward the screen as the opening scene began. She hummed in approval, though her eyelids were already drooping. Within minutes, she succumbed to the exhaustion of their long day, her arm draped around his chest as she snuggled closer. Matt rested his cheek against the top of her head, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles over her arm, his hoodie’s soft fabric gliding against her skin.

For the first time since their frenetic day began, he felt himself relax.

He glanced toward the small window beside him, catching a glimpse of the night sky dotted with stars and the lights of the airport shining in the darkness. He hummed faintly, the moment feeling both surreal and comforting.

Suddenly, Matt caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning slightly, he saw Nick approaching their cabin with his phone out, clearly recording. Matt shot him a glare, silently warning him to keep quiet.

Nick stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow at his brother’s protectiveness. He panned the phone camera toward them briefly, whispering something to the device while capturing Y/N tucked into Matt’s side and the faint glow of the screen in front of them before backing away with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

Matt let out a breath of relief, tightening his hold on Y/N just a fraction as she shifted in her sleep, her fingers curling into his hoodie.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the quiet luxury of the hotel hallway. Y/N trailed by Matt's side, while Nick and Chris followed, their rolling suitcases rattling faintly on the polished floor. The flight from Boston had been long, and exhaustion clung to all of them, but the excitement of finally arriving at their destination had them buzzing with energy.

"Alright, room 111." Matt said confidently, stopping in front of the door. He placed the card against the magnetic circle above the handle, and the lock beeped, signaling it was unlocked. With a grin, he grabbed the handle and gave it a sharp pull.

Nothing happened.

He frowned, pulling again, harder this time, but the door didn’t budge.

Nick’s laughter echoed down the hall.

"It’s a push door, genius."

"Is it?" Matt muttered, frowning harder as he pulled once more, just to make sure.

Y/N rolled her eyes, stepping forward.

"Move, Matt." She said with a teasing sigh, nudging Matt gently to the side. She took the card from his hand, placing it again against the magnetic circle, and waited for the soft beep. With one fluid motion, she pushed the door open, revealing their room. Turning back, she shot Matt an amused, bored look. "It's not because we're in a different country that the way to open doors changed, honey."

Matt opened his mouth to reply, but Chris cut in with a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder.

"That’s tough, bro."

Y/N stepped inside first, and her breath hitched as she took in the sight before her. The room was a perfect blend of elegance and comfort, screaming Italian luxury.

To her front was a small white round table paired with two armchairs, a bouquet of vibrant green and white flowers arranged in a glass vase on top. Two letters sat neatly against it, each embossed with the Prada logo and addressed to both her and Matt. The sweet, rich aroma of the flowers filled the air, mingling with a faint hint of fresh linen and polished wood.

Directly to her left was an oval center table in marble, elegantly decorated with fancy chocolates, juicy fruits, and another small floral arrangement, the delicate blooms adding a pop of color to the space. Behind it sat a medium terracotta couch with two tall shelves on each side and a painting that seemed to be worth a lot.

Beyond that was the plush king-sized bed that seemed to be the most comfortable bed in the world, dressed in crisp white linens and framed by soft, warm lighting.

The tall windows occupying the whole largest wall were framed by heavy creamy curtains, slightly parted to reveal a hint of the garden below.

Y/N moved further into the room, running her fingers lightly along the wall as she absorbed every detail.

"This is..." She paused, unable to find the right word.

"Insane? Yeah." Chris finished for her, stepping in behind her with his backpack in his hands. "This is like... next-level fancy."

Nick whistled low, setting his backpack near the round table.

"This room smells expensive." He said, sniffing the air exaggeratedly.

Matt closed the door behind him, his earlier mishap forgotten as he put his backpack on the short hallway floor, meeting Y/N in the way and wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her close.

"You like it?" He asked, his voice soft in her ear. She turned to look at him, her lips curving into a warm smile.

"I love it. Prada did amazing with this choice."

As the triplets wandered around, taking in the luxurious details and pointing out things to the phone Chris had whipped out, Y/N let herself enter the bathroom, pulling her skincare bag out of her purse to start organizing the main products across the sink.

Meanwhile, Matt was quick to throw himself on the plush king-sized bed, making sure to take out his shoes first - Y/N would kill him if he didn't, closing his eyes and feeling like he could fall asleep right away.

But he was quickly disturbed by a body crashing against his, his legs quickly pressing to his own chest in a way of protecting it while Nick jabbed his sides with fake punches, so soft that felt like he was tickling his skin.

"What the- get off me, Nick!" Matt yelled between fits of uncontrollable laughter, his voice muffled by his position.

Chris stood at the foot of the bed, phone in hand, recording the chaotic scene.

"This is gold." He said, laughing as Matt tried to wriggle free, his giggling echoing throughout the room.

Y/N emerged from the bathroom holding her, now, empty purse. She paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of the boys acting like overgrown kids. Rolling her eyes, she let out a small laugh and shook her head.

She was away for only 10 minutes.

"Boys." She said in a mock-scolding tone, her voice soft and affectionate. "Be careful, please." She walked past Chris, her lips quirking into a smile as she gave his phone camera a pointed glance.

The youngest triplet chuckled.

"Don't worry, they will survive."

Y/N moved to the small couch at the back of the room where Matt put her backpack, leaving the chaos to happen behind her back. She retrieved her phone and then turned to the center table, spotting the tray of fancy chocolates Prada had left for them.

Picking one up, she inhaled deeply, savoring the rich aroma of high-quality chocolate before taking a small bite of it, feeling the unique taste explode against her tongue.

"Good?" Chris called over, turning away from Nick and Matt after they finally stopped.

"Delicious." Y/N replied, her words muffled as she chewed.

She walked towards him while chewing, watching Nick and Matt get off the bed, her steps muffled by the carpet.

"Nick, get the real camera so I don't have to vlog on my phone anymore." Chris asked as soon as Nick got closer, lowering the device slightly.

Nick was quick to go to his backpack, taking the professional camera out of it. It didn't take long for him to turn it on, quickly spinning it around to make sure it was capturing the right angle.

Matt, who looked disheveled with his hoodie slightly wrinkled and his hair a chaotic mess after Nick's earlier wrestling match, stopped by Y/N's side, standing between her and Chris.

"Alright, this is Matt's and Y/N's room. They're in a different room than the one me and Chris are staying-"

"Cause' we’re special." Matt quipped, his tone dripping with mock superiority as he glanced at Chris with a playful smirk.

Chris rolled his eyes, leaning away from Matt slightly.

"Can you fix your hair?" He gestured at Matt’s wild hair, a grin tugging at his lips.

Matt immediately raised a hand to his head, running his fingers through the messy strands.

"My hair’s all messed up ‘cause I had a hood on during the plane, and then Nick decided to fucking kill me as soon as we got here." He shot a pointed look at Nick, who was laughing behind the camera. "I'm not trying to-"

"Okay, let me show you guys all the things in the room." Nick was quick to interrupt them, turning the camera toward the room to defuse the situation. "First of all, gorgeous..."

Meanwhile, Y/N was silent by their side, phone in hand, finishing up a text to both her and the triplets' parents to let them know they’d arrived at the hotel safely. With a small smile growing on her face after listening to the small fight starting between the brothers, she slid her phone into her back pocket.

"... and I'm so fucking hungry now." Chris kept talking, his tone sounding frustrated as Y/N walked closer to them, the sound of Nick's voice showing the details of the room to the camera echoing like background noise to her ears.

Without saying a word, she stood in front of Matt, her hands reaching up to his hair. Matt didn’t miss a beat, continuing his conversation with Chris about where they should eat later.

"We can maybe go somewhere close. I don’t feel like walking too far tonight." Matt said as Y/N gently smoothed down the mess on his head, her fingers combing through his hair with practiced ease.

"There. Now you don’t look like a trainwreck." Y/N smiled, stepping back to admire her work before patting Matt’s shoulder, stepping away to return to the back of the room, planning on getting another one of those wonderful chocolates.

"Thanks, babe." Matt said nonchalantly, flashing her a soft smile before turning back to Chris. "Okay, so what are the options?"

With another piece of chocolate in her hands, she wandered toward one of the tall windows at the far end of the room.

The elegant window door opened with a soft creak, and a gust of crisp winter air swept through the room, sending a slight chill up her spine. Y/N leaned against the frame, her gaze falling to the breathtaking garden below.

The perfectly trimmed hedges, circular topiary trees, and an array of greenery gave it a serene ambiance. Umbrella-covered tables and chairs were scattered around, surrounded by other buildings of the hotel.

"Wow." She murmured to herself, finishing the chocolate as she took in the sight. She turned her head slightly, calling out to the boys behind her. "Hey, guys, come look at this!"

Chris was the first to respond, bouncing across the room like an excited puppy, followed by Nick and Matt.

"What is it?" Nick asked as he reached her side, peering out over her shoulder.

"Look." Y/N said, gesturing to the garden below. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Chris opened the other half of the window, copying Y/N's position and looking below it.

"Can we go down there?" He asked as he squinted at the view.

"We have to figure it out." Nick affirmed, making sure the camera was recording the details.

Matt slid his arm around Y/N's waist, leaning over the window frame to get a better look. His cheek brushed against hers briefly as he turned his head, her hair tickling his skin.

"I'd love to go down there." He chimed in softly, his voice warm.

Y/N glanced at him, her smile widening at the way his eyes lit up as he looked down at all the green. He was living his dream, and she felt purely joy from it.

Her hand met his on her waist, intertwining their fingers against her covered skin, squeezing his hand lovingly.

"Can we go eat now?"

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The restaurant was tucked away down a cobblestone street, just a short walk from the magnificent Duomo. The golden light spilling from the windows reflected off the polished wooden tables and pristine white tablecloths. The tantalizing scent of fresh pasta, basil, and garlic wafted through the air as waiters bustled around, balancing plates piled high with creamy sauces and twirling spaghetti.

At a corner table by the window, the four of them sat, barely holding it together after being awake for more than 24 hours. Nick slouched in his chair, lazily twirling his fork in a bowl of spaghetti, his eyelids drooping every few seconds. Chris leaned against the backrest with his elbows on the table, his mouth occasionally opening in a massive yawn between bites of fettuccine Alfredo. Matt, seated beside Y/N, kept absently running a hand through his messy hair, trying to stay awake while cutting into his lasagna.

Y/N, however, was the first to cave. The warm pasta in front of her - ravioli, creamy and rich - was absolutely delicious, but exhaustion was screaming inside her far more than hunger. She managed to eat only half before resting her fork on her plate with a soft sigh.

Matt glanced over at her, his brows pulling together in concern.

"You’re not eating more?" He asked, his voice soft but tinged with worry. "We barely ate today, honey."

Y/N shook her head wordlessly, too tired to explain that she simply couldn’t eat another bite. Instead, she shifted closer to him, tucking herself above his right biceps and resting her head on his shoulder. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his waist, squeezing him in a sleepy hug as she snuggled into his warmth.

Matt froze for a moment, holding his fork mid-air.

"Careful, sweetheart." He murmured, glancing down at her arms as they brushed the edge of his plate. "Don’t burn yourself on the lasagna." His voice was tender, and his free hand came up to lightly guide her arm away from danger.

"Hmm." Y/N hummed softly in acknowledgment, but her eyes were already closed. She didn’t seem to care much about the logistics of arm placement as she burrowed further into his side, her body practically melting against his.

The faint chuckle that escaped Matt’s lips was filled with affection as he returned to his food, though his movements were slower now, not wanting to disturb her.

"Wow." Nick muttered, his voice barely audible through his drowsiness. He leaned his chin on his palm and smirked at the sight of Y/N clinging to Matt like a koala. "She’s really comfortable, huh?"

"Looks like it." Chris added with a teasing grin, his hand subtly moving to grab his phone from the table. He couldn’t resist recording the scene in front of him; his brother’s flushed face, Y/N’s sleepy frame wrapped around Matt like he was her personal pillow, and Matt’s barely-there attempts to keep a straight face.

"Shut up." Matt muttered, rolling his eyes at his brothers while trying to keep his voice quiet enough. His head lowered slightly to press a soft, awkward kiss to the top of Y/N’s head, the angle slightly off because of her position, but the sweetness in the gesture made up for it.

Chris snickered quietly, his phone still recording as he whispered.

"Two years, and you’re still whipped, dude."

Matt didn’t even bother denying it. Instead, he simply adjusted his arm to hold her a little closer, his hand resting lightly on the right side of her thighs, bringing her legs closer. The movement was protective and tender.

"At least I’m not about to fall asleep in my pasta." He shot back softly, motioning toward Nick’s plate, where his fork was dangerously close to slipping from his fingers as he nodded off.

They continued eating in hushed tones, with Chris occasionally pausing to stifle his laughter at Nick falling asleep while chewing. Meanwhile, Y/N remained blissfully unaware of all of it, her breathing slowing as the sound of the boys’ voices blended into a soothing hum. She was vaguely aware of Matt’s hand moving to eat, but she trusted him to be careful enough not to burn or drop it on her.

When the waiter eventually came by to clear the plates, Matt stopped him, pointing to Y/N’s unfinished plate.

"Can we get this to go?" He asked softly, his voice still gentle as if not to wake her. The waiter nodded, and Matt gave him a thankful smile before returning his attention to her.

Chris finally pocketed his phone and leaned back in his chair, a grin plastered on his face.

"Well." He said quietly, looking between the three of them. "I guess this counts as a successful first dinner in Milan."

Matt hummed in agreement, pressing his cheek against Y/N’s hair, turning his focus back to his brothers.

"Are you going to meet Laura, Nick?" He asked, looking at the oldest triplet, who nodded while pressing his fingers to his eyes. "Okay, we can go wait for you at the Du... Duo... that bright building."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The patio in front of the Duomo was vast and bustling, even late at night. The trio stood at the edge of the square, far enough from the chaos of tourists to have a quiet moment while they waited for Nick.

The cold nipped at their faces, the chill of the Milanese night seeping through their jackets. Y/N was wrapped snugly in Matt’s arms, her cheek pressed against his chest as she tried to stay warm - or at least that’s what it looked like. In truth, she was barely awake, her head lolling slightly every now and then. Matt’s oversized jacket was draped over her shoulders on top of her own, cocooning her as she clung to him.

Matt squinted at Chris’s camera, his breath visible in the cold as he began.

"Alright, I’m not going to embarrass myself by trying to say the name of this building again, but me, Chris, and Y/N are enjoying it from afar."

Chris snorted from behind the camera, tilting it slightly to frame the scene better.

"Well, me and you." He corrected, his voice dripping with humor. "Because Y/N is sleeping standing up."

Matt couldn’t hold back his laugh, the sound rumbling in his chest and vibrating against Y/N’s cheek. He looked down at her, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from her face, his fingers gentle.

"She really is." He said with a grin, glancing at the camera again.

"I’m not!" Y/N protested weakly, her voice muffled as she buried herself further into Matt’s chest. She tried to lift her head to prove them wrong but only managed to half-open her eyes, her words slurring slightly. "I’m... I’m seeing the church. It’s beautiful."

Her attempt at defiance only made Matt and Chris laugh harder.

"Yeah, sure." Chris teased, zooming in slightly on her face before panning back to Matt.

"Guys, we just went out to eat." Matt started to the camera, still chuckling. "And we were literally all falling asleep at the table."

Chris spun the device to face himself, nodding vigorously.

"We were all so tired because we’ve been up for over 24 hours. Like, we were just fading away."

"The only thing that kept me alive..." Matt added as Chris turned the camera back to him. "Was the ice cream."

Y/N stirred slightly in his arms, her voice a soft mutter.

"And me."

Both brothers froze for a moment before bursting into laughter.

"Oh my God." Chris shook his head, barely keeping the camera steady. "Did you hear that? She said 'and me'."

Matt grinned down at her, his heart melting at the sight of her sleepy pout.

"You’re not wrong, tho." He said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You do keep me alive."

Chris groaned jokingly, pretending to gag as he zoomed in on Matt’s face.

"Alright, let’s tone down the mushy stuff for the camera, you two. This is a vlog, you know?"

Matt rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. He tightened his grip on Y/N, letting her lean on him fully as her body relaxed even more against his. She was barely conscious at this point, her breaths slow and steady, but he didn’t mind. If anything, he was glad she felt comfortable enough to rest in his arms like this.

"Where’s Nick?" Chris asked after a moment, turning the camera to capture the Duomo behind them. "He’s been gone forever."

"He probably fell asleep somewhere." Matt joked, adjusting the jacket on Y/N’s shoulders.

They continued talking nonsense as the cold air swirled around them, Chris pointing out every biker that crossed their path, but Y/N didn’t stir again. She was too far gone, her exhaustion outweighing the chill of the night or the noise of the square. Matt kept her close, shielding her from the worst of the cold as they waited, his heart full despite the fatigue pulling at him.

When Nick finally returned, his steps hurried, and his face red from the chill, he found the trio exactly as he’d expected, glancing at Y/N with a small smile.

"Ready to go?" Nick asked after explanation about the guy who tried to make him buy roses for Laura.

"More than ready." Matt replied, his voice soft. He looked down at Y/N, brushing his fingers across her cheek to rouse her gently. "C’mon, sleepyhead. Time to get back to the hotel."

Y/N mumbled something incoherent, but her arms tightened around Matt’s waist as if to say she wasn’t ready to move. He laughed quietly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he glanced at his brothers.

"Sweetheart, you have to wake up so we can go to our warm room and sleep in our bed, yeah?"

The camera was already trained on them as Matt talked Y/N out of her sleep softly.

"And this..." Chris said with a dramatic tone. "Is why Matt gets the boyfriend of the year award."

The screen cut off with the sound of their laughter echoing into the night, the cathedral standing tall behind them.

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"... Goodnight Italy, goodnight moon, goodnight Prada-"

Nick, already giggling, interrupted with a laugh.

"Goodnight Prada is crazy." He said, shaking his head and pulling the covers up to his chin.

Chris, ignoring him, continued, his voice dripping with sleep as his words got a bit mixed up.

"Goodnight pasta, airport-"

Matt cut him off, too, straightening from his relaxed stance.

"Alright, I’m out. Say goodnight me, 'cause I’m leaving."

Chris stopped abruptly whatever he was trying to say, throwing an arm out from beneath the duvet as if reaching for him.

"No, no, no!" He protested, his voice filled with fake distress.

Nick rolled his eyes, his laughter subsiding into a fond grin.

"Let him go back to Y/N before she falls asleep in the shower or something." He teased, adjusting his pillow and settling more comfortably.

Chris groaned in defeat, sinking deeper into his blankets.

"Fine. But say goodnight to her." He said, pouting as Matt smirked and nodded.

"Will do." Matt replied, switching off the camera and leaving it at the marble oval table before slipping out the door. The hallway was quiet as Matt made his way to his room, his steps soft against the carpeted floor.

He pushed the door open softly, careful not to let it creak, stepping inside before closing it behind him, and was immediately greeted by the faint scent of Y/N’s lotion lingering in the air.

After walking through the short hallway that separated the entrance from the room itself, he paused in his tracks, the sight before him pulling a soft laugh from his lips.

Y/N was already tucked in bed, the duvet pulled up to her chin, leaving only her head peeking out. Her hair, still slightly damp from her shower, clung to her pillow in messy strands. Her eyes were closed, but her face twitched slightly, her brows furrowing at the sound of his laugh, as if she was caught between sleep and awake.

He shook his head fondly, leaning against the wall.

"You’re trying so hard, aren’t you?" He murmured quietly, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

The sound of his voice seemed to stir her. Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing her sleepy gaze, eyes slightly red from the tiredness. It took her a moment to focus on him, and when she did, a small, drowsy smile curved her lips.

"Hi, baby." She murmured, her voice thick with sleep. "You’re back."

Matt chuckled softly, stepping closer to the bed.

"Yeah." He said, crouching by her side. His hand reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face. "Chris said goodnight."

"Goodnight, Chris." She mumbled, her words slurred and barely audible, and her eyes began to drift closed again.

Matt’s chest ached with affection at the sight of her so vulnerable.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart." He whispered, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her temple. "I’ll be there in a second. Just need to change."

She hummed in response, barely acknowledging his words as she nestled further into the duvet, her breathing evening out.

Matt moved quickly, changing into a pair of sweatpants and a soft shirt, all the while keeping his movements quiet. When he finally slid into bed beside her, the warmth of her body immediately drew him in. She stirred slightly, instinctively shifting closer to him, her head finding its place on his chest as her arm draped over his waist.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her snugly against him and adjusting the duvet to create a cocoon of warmth around them both. His lips found the top of her head, and he kissed it softly, lingering for a moment.

"I love you." He whispered against her hair, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room, exhaling the comforting scent of fresh shampoo.

Y/N, her eyes still closed, raised her head slightly, her face tilting toward his. Her lips were pursed in a sleepy pout, and Matt couldn’t help but chuckle at how endearing she looked. He leaned down, meeting her lips in a lazy, intimate kiss. It was slow and messy, the sleep messing with their minds, but it was full of love.

Her head dropped back to his chest after pulling away, sighing softly.

"Thank you." She whispered.

Matt’s brow furrowed slightly as he looked down at her.

"For what?"

Her voice was soft and muffled against his shirt.

"For this. I’m only here because of you."

He shook his head, pressing another kiss to her hair.

"Even if Prada hadn’t invited us, I’d take you on a trip around all of Europe if you wanted to. Just say the word, baby."

Her lips curved into a small smile against his chest.

"I love you." She whispered.

"I love you more." He replied, his voice filled with certainty.

She hummed softly in response, her body relaxing completely against his as sleep overtook her. Matt stayed awake a little longer, his hand gently stroking her back as he watched her sleep, feeling like the luckiest man alive.

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fairuzfan · 2 years ago

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This post is for the anon who sent me that video asking me to debunk it's claims so they can be better equipped against accusations of antisemitism.

Sorry, I won't post the video since I refuse to have that man on my blog but I can give you common Zionist talking points and the illogicality behind it.

To preface: most of the questions Zionists will ask you are a trap, and will make you fall into a "rabbit hole" (as I was once told when I was younger), as we try to apply their reasoning. My advice is to ALWAYS center the humanity of Palestinians. For example, when a Zionist says:

"Don't Jews deserve a homeland to be safe?"

It fundamentally ignores the core issue: Palestinians are being raped, murdered, and expelled from their homes so that the establishment of this so called "homeland" may exist. When people ask this to you, I personally advise saying something like:

Why must Palestinians suffer for the establishment of this homeland?

Always recenter to the issue at hand—the inhumane removal and treatment of Palestinians.

"Palestine belongs to the Jews and Not Muslims"

The whole premise of this claim is flawed—there is a weird tendency to equate Arab/Palestinian=Muslim when it just is like. Completely untrue. There are Palestinian Christians, Bethlehem is famously a Christian city, who have been there for centuries. There are Palestinian Jews, who have been there for centuries. There are Palestinian Muslims, who have been there for centuries. My grandpa told me stories of how he would turn on lamps for his Jewish neighbors in Al-Khalil (or Hebron) during Shabbat.

To claim that Palestine is EITHER Islamic or Jewish doesn't make any sense and completely neglects the fact that dissemination of culture has occurred for centuries, as well as the intermingling of people throughout generations. To somehow assert that for some reason, Jews and Muslims did not have ANYTHING to do with each other—did not create together, did not build families together, did not build culture together, all while being PALESTINIAN—is incredibly racist and nonsensical. "Palestinian" is not a religious identity—it's a cultural and ethnic one.

Also, it does not negate the core issue—Palestinians are being killed, removed, and tortured so that others can live on that land.

"Well what about [something about partitioning land]?"

Honestly like, who cares about the partitioning throughout the 1900 and early 2000s. Sorry, I'm not going to list the whole "partitioning" history nonsense. The whole reason "Israel" exists is because of a Mass Exodus, murder, and rape of Palestinians. Everything after that is rendered obsolete.

"Well, I heard Palestinians allied with Hitler"

I don't know how to tell you this but Palestine was under British Control. No they didn't.

"Israel withdrew from the Gaza and left them to themselves and they put Hammas in charge"

Oh yeah, Israel totally left Gaza, that's why Gazans' water, electricity, internet, and food is completely controlled by Israel (this is sarcasm, Israel still controls basic life in Gaza).

Go back to centering the idea that no human deserves to be shoved into an open-air prison, starved, and controlled. Did you know that the Zionist Entity controls the amount of water Gazans receive, as well as counting their calories to ensure they don't have enough energy on a day to day basis?

"I heard Israel asked Arabs to stay"

Show them these papers and videos when they say this:

youtube

If you can't show them these videos, check in the next point what to say.

"Well the Palestinians left of their own will in 1948"

Palestinians in 1948 didn't "leave." They had heard of how the Zionist Entity was slaughtering Palestinians en masse. Women especially heard stories of rape and sexual violence. They fled from *violence*. Again, from an earlier post, that this was a calculated effort on the Zionist Entity's part to try and get them to "leave" on their own and "abandon" their houses so that they can come in and say "hey, they left on their own so, we can come in and take their houses now."

Anyways, the idea that once you leave your house you can't ever come back to it is incredibly odd to me as an argument on Zionists' part. Like if you leave your house right now to go to the grocery store and you come back and see someone in your house and they're like "sorry dude, this is my house now, you left so that means you can't come back," you'd be like, "what the hell!" It would be even weirder if everyone agreed with the guy who took your house, which is what happened to Palestinians.

In Al-Khalil, or Hebron, Palestinians always have to have someone stay in their house or else a Settler will come in and take it from them. So it still goes on today as well.

This is not a point, but when that one person in the video said "Arabs lived under Israeli rule" and showed a clip of a bustling city with mountains, I'm pretty sure that was Amman, Jordan, not Palestine lol. Those buildings in the mountains look like how downtown Amman builds the residential areas. Could be wrong tho.

"There are no Jews living under Palestinian rule in Palestine"

What is this, some sort of gotcha argument? What are they trying to prove, the racist (obviously false) notion that Palestinians hate Jews as a whole? How do they know no Palestinian Jew lives in Gaza? Also, Settlers in Palestinian Territory exist??? I had never heard this claim before, its incredibly stupid lol. You're automatically a citizen of "Israel" if you're Jewish, whether or not you live in or outside of Palestinian Territories. So of course technically they don't live under Palestinian rule, they're granted full rights as an "Israeli" citizen automatically!

Go back to talking about the inhumane treatment of Palestinians, I wouldn't bring up the above counterpoint unless they really won't let it go since the main point is mistreatment.

"Why are Christians supporting Israel then, if it's a secular issue rather than a religious one?"

Well actually for a couple reasons:

Oil interests and regional control of goods (White People Supporting White People).

Weird fundamentalist ideology where they want to enact the second coming of Christ.

And finally because they are racist and don't think Arab Christians deserve to live. They literally bombed a 1500+ year church the other day. Why would (White) Christians cosign that.

Anyways, its a stupid argument again, because it forgets the core issue of Palestinians dying and being displaced.

In summary, always go back to the point of centering the Palestinians being displaced, tortured, and murdered, no matter the argument a Zionist gives you.

#palestine #gaza #info post #maybe i should do a masterpost with links to palestine education #maybe later #Youtube

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moonchildstyles · 5 months ago

Text

strawberry

pomegranate part three: y/n goes on a date and harry has a migraine. but she comes back.

wordcount: 9k

—————

"H? Where are you?"

Harry, with his eyes reading the label on a can of enchilada sauce, called over the partition of the aisle, "Over here, (Y/N)."

Just as quickly, he heard pattering footsteps rounding the endcap and heading right towards him. When she had wandered off for laundry detergent and a new book, she had left him with empty hands. Now, she had returned with no laundry detergent, but two books, a bag of chocolate covered fruit, and a jar of honey with the comb floating through the amber.

"Look, look," she chattered, racing towards him with the jar of honey extended, "It's the kind with the honeycomb in it, look."

A soft smile touched Harry's lips. He took the jar as if receiving a gracious gift, replacing all of his attention on the label instead of the dinner list he had been working on.

He hummed a pleased noise at the sight of the honey. "'S like the ones in the video—with the fancy cheese and all."

"That's what I was thinking!"

While Harry was interested in making one of the recipes (Y/N) had sent him many videos of, seeing the smile on her face when he dropped the jar in the basket was worth much more. Even when they started down the aisle, (Y/N)'s face in her phone looking up recipes they could try out with her new find, Harry couldn't get that smile out of his head.

Though it was a delusion he wasn't fond of letting himself live in, he swore something had changed after that kiss a couple of weeks earlier. He couldn't be sure if he was just searching for something special to be growing between them, but it was hard to recall moments that she had smiled at him like that before they had kissed.

He swore she'd never looked at him with moony eyes like that. That she'd never stretched her grin that wide before. That every time she reached out to him, felt his skin under her palms, that something sparkled in her eyes.

Harry was inclined to assume those details were things he only saw because he wanted to see them, but she had kissed him back just as intensely. More often than not, sleepovers were shared either in his bedroom or out in the living room of their home, (Y/N) always finding her way into his space, just short of wrapping her limbs around him. Kisses on his cheek was the norm, something shared any time they were to be apart for longer than a few hours. Even their television nights on the couch were dotted with thighs pressed together, legs draped over his lap, her head on his shoulder. She wasn't even soft and sleepy when she started melting all over him, she just wanted to be close to him.

But, much like the first time they'd done anything more, they hadn't discussed a single moment of that night on the couch. Not when she had been on her knees before him, how he'd confessed to building a home for her right in the forefront of his mind, or the loss of control he had when he pressed his lips to hers just after he'd cum in her mouth.

Every pining affection he held for her was now turned up to max volume. His nights were plagued by the idea of her climbing into the bed right with him, whether to give into more of his fantasies or just to rest her head on his chest. She was slowly but surely backing him into a corner where there was nowhere for him to run. The space in his heart was becoming cramped the more of her she was able to sneak inside. Harry worried just how much longer he was going to be able to keep his head on straight and react like a normal roommate before he was going to explode and spill all his guts out for her to see.

"H, look!" (Y/N)'s chirping voice brought Harry back to the middle of the supermarket, her phone being shoved in his face. On the screen was a bubbling wheel of cheese with sweet honey and crisped prosciutto, crusty bread dipped into the paste. "Do you think we could do this?! Is there brie here?"

Peering at her over the top of her phone, a small smile curled the corners of his mouth. He was going to do anything she asked of him, even something as simple as finding a cheese for her.

Because Harry loved her. He doubted there was ever a time he didn't.

"'M sure we can find something."

Her rewarding smile was enough for him. He'd pretend it was just for him.

—————

Harry groaned, rolling in his sheets with his pillow fluffed under his head. Despite the curtains drawn, his eyes pinched shut and noise cancelling headphones over his ears, his bedroom needed to be darker and quieter. If not, he feared his brain was going to squeeze itself out of his ears.

Work wasn't even that stressful today, especially since he'd worked remotely for the day. There was no real reason that there should be any kind of pressure building behind his eyes.

He just wanted to sleep. Hopefully, when he woke up this migraine would be over.

A gentle hand landing on his shoulder, pinched that hope out of his mind. Muffled through the silence of his headphones, he heard the syllables of his name.

Taking in a balancing deep breath, Harry forced his eyes to crack open. He twisted in his sheets, finding (Y/N) hovering above him. Concern swam in her eyes, her lips set in a thin line.

As he figured, her makeup was swept in pretty pinks and mauves over her skin. Her eyes shimmered with flecks of glitter, lashes fluttering wisps. Her hair was done, twisted out of her face with stray strands framing her face. The heart-shaped locket around her neck dangled down above him.

He didn't have to scan over her to know the dress she had picked out for the night. She had asked him a million times yesterday which one of the outfits she had in her closet would work best for her date tonight.

For her fancy date. Her first with some blonde-haired man she met on an app.

The reminder was enough to have another surge of pressure bubbling inside his skull.

Inching one of the cups of his headphones off of his ear, Harry quietly hummed in question.

"How are you? Are you feeling any better?" (Y/N) whispered, her voice low enough to not trigger any extra pain in his head.

"Not really," he muttered, his voice graveled from disuse.

Her lips puffed into a pout. "H," she murmured, her voice drawling in a croon, "Is there anything you need? Anything I can grab before I go?"

A dull throb pounded against his skull.

"'M alright."

(Y/N) looked far from convinced. He watched as she pinched her lips between her teeth.

She didn't say much before she climbed into bed beside him. Her hair piled against his pillow, her breath fanning across his skin as she settled in.

"Can I stay here before I leave?"

Her eyes met his with clear intensity. Everything was soft as she gazed at him, brows downturned in concern with her iris melting before him.

He only nodded, eyes fluttering closed.

Harry felt her arms wrap around him only a moment later. Her forehead gently rested on his when she pulled him closer, the very tips of their noses grazing one another. For the first time all afternoon, his splitting headache dulled just enough.

The pile of blankets around his hips felt cold in comparison to her hold. Her fingers driving through the curls on the back of his neck had his muscles melting, his bones loosening after being wound so tight for so long.

A soft sigh fell from his lips.

With his eyes still closed, Harry could only feel the heat of her skin as she drew closer. The tip of her nose brushed the bridge of his own just before the touch disappeared, replaced with the soft of her glossed lips landing in the same spot. She dotted kisses down his nose, to the apple of his cheek, to the very corner of his mouth.

He couldn't help but lean into her affection. He'd missed this—despite only having her kiss once, he missed it like he'd left behind a childhood comfort. Her touch was a balm to his nerves, soothing even his migraine.

One hand on the back of his neck slid around until she had his cheek cupped in her palm. She thumbed away the sparkling kiss marks she no doubt made in her wake.

"I'm going to miss you tonight, H."

Then stay.

His heart ached more than his head when he choked back the instinctive words. Even with the sweet press of her lips and graze of her hands over his skin, she was going on a date tonight.

This was just how she expressed her care for him now, with all of these barriers of touchy-affection broken down.

Forcing himself to pull back, Harry cracked his eyes open. He looked at her, sparkling eyes and frowning lips.

"I'll miss you, too," he confessed, unsure if she felt the weight he attached to his words, "What time do y'have to leave?"

It was her turn to sigh, the exhale pushing her perfume towards him in a vanilla plume. "Probably now."

He gave her a smile that he hoped didn't give away just how sad he was. "Excited?"

(Y/N) nodded, only a lopsided smile touching her mouth. "I'll be home soon, though. Call me if you need me to pick anything up for you, okay?"

It was Harry's turn to tip his chin in a nod.

With only the sound of the sheets rustling around their bodies, (Y/N) gave him one last hug before peeling away. She crawled out of his bed with Harry's eyes following her.

She crossed his room with her dress flaring around her hips. Stopping in the threshold, she turned to look at him once more.

"I made some spaghetti noodles for you if you're hungry, but if you want something from the restaurant, let me know." Her lips bloomed into a soft smile, though Harry didn't see the same warmth light her eyes. "I'll see you soon."

"Have fun, (Y/N)."

She didn't offer any cheeky promise the way she would have only weeks ago when embarking on a date. (Y/N)'s smile lingered on him for a passing moment before she left him be.

Absently, while lying amongst his sheets, Harry heard her movements through the home. He didn’t have to see her to know that she was tracking down her shoes, spritzing a final spray of perfume, fluffing her hair and reapplying her lip gloss. Usually, he enjoyed watching these finishing touches, he thought it was cute how much effort she put into nights like these—even if he wasn't really a fan of the fact she was out meeting someone else.

But, tonight, he almost wanted to rise from his bed like a zombie and catch her mid-haste. Stop her and force her to come back to his crypt to keep her forever.

Nonetheless, the sound of the door swinging open only to be clicked shut a moment later filled the house.

A throb rang through his head.

He just needed to sleep.

—————

Slouched under a pile of blankets on the sofa, Harry almost wished he still had his migraine. That way he would have at least been distracted from watching the ticking time on his phone, the minutes pushing the night on later and later.

And, (Y/N) still wasn't home.

While he wasn't apt to admit it aloud, Harry knew tonight was the trigger for his migraine. The idea of (Y/N) all dressed up, sitting across from another over candlelight, flirting and playing footsie under the table, had his stomach roiling. He couldn't get himself to regret any moment spent with (Y/N), especially between the sheets or with her on her knees before him, but it definitely had to be the catalyst that was pushing him to take this first date so personal.

That's what he deserved, messing around with his roommate who only thought of him as such.

The pint of ice cream he plucked from the freezer was beginning to form a soup in the cardboard confines, unable to stomach any more of the comfort treat. It was nine p.m. and she still wasn't home.

She would have texted him if she was planning on spending the night elsewhere, though. That was something she always did. She wouldn't have forgotten about him. Right?

Like an answer to unspoken prayers, the sound of the garage door lifting shuddered through the house. Twisting in his spot, he watched as she swept inside, her hair loose from its earlier constraints and her mouth in a thin line.

(Y/N) didn't spot him at first, most likely figuring he was still holed up in his room. He watched as she dropped her bag from her shoulder, her jaw in a stern line. She definitely didn't have that shy, pleased expression he usually did after a first date gone well. No sheepish smile as she plucked her phone from her purse, no dreamy run of her hand through her hair. No smear of lipstick over the corner of her mouth, kissed away from another.

He didn't interrupt her as she unhooked her shoes by the front door, the heels creating a mess he would later take care of. Only when she started, bare feet barely stomping against the floor, Harry piped up.

"(Y/N)?"

Practically jumping out of her skin, she let out an airy gasp. Her hand fluttered to the base of her throat, eyes wide as she spun on her toes.

"H? I didn't think you'd be awake."

Harry didn't want to get ahead of himself, but he swore he saw the tight lines on her face loosen. Her expression folded into curved lines and rounded edges. Eyes lighting as they met his.

"Sorry," he muttered, a single dimple denting his cheek as a soft smile pulled his lips, "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," she immediately waved off, half heartedly tossing her bag into her room before rushing towards his cocoon on the sofa, "How are you feeling? Does your head still hurt?"

"'M alright," he shared, unfolding the edges of his many blankets to allow her underneath, "It went away a little while ago. After I ate." He gave her a pointed glance, nudging her shoulder with his to pull a small smile out of her. "Thank you for that."

She shook her head. "Of course. I felt bad leaving you, but I'm happy you're better. What have you been doing?"

Harry felt the presence of the half melted ice cream behind him like a confession. "Nothing really. Jus' watching some movies," he smiled, adjusting his position to keep her from spotting the confection on the side table behind him, "How was your date?"

Just like that, her expression dropped. A familiar roll of her eyes had her features pinching.

"He was the worst, H," she shared, melting into the cocoon of blankets he offered her, laying her head back on the cushions of the couch, "The worst."

There was a traitorous spark of joy that fluttered in his chest. What kind of friend was happy to hear that someone they cared about had a bad night?

"What happened?"

With an exasperated shake of her head, she started listing off on her fingers, "Didn't let me talk for more than a sentence. Ordered my food for me without asking. Told me my lipstick reminded him of his mom—but he still thought it was hot, I guess. Asked me how many people I've slept with. And, if I thought he was hotter in person or in his pictures."

Harry blinked. His jaw fell open.

"And thats just what I can remember," (Y/N) pressed, "I'm scared more happened and I just blocked it out."

"(Y/N)," Harry started, total awe painting his features, "I... I don't think y'should use that app anymore."

A breathy laugh fell from her lips. "Tell me about it. I just don't get it, H. I know it's not all men, but why are all men like this?!" Her contradictory question pulled a plume of laughter from his own lungs. "Truly, I don't get it," she went on, "Is it me? Or do they all really think that the best way to get me to sleep with them is to pretend that it's already a done deal? And why do so many of them have something going on with their mom, and don't think it's weird?

"And on top of that," she continued, raising a finger as if to make the point that much more potent, "if they even get past dinner, it's never as good as they think it'll be! Sometimes, it's fine enough, but most of the time I feel like it's such a waste of my time and I end up coming back here and taking care of myself anyway. Am I crazy or something? Like, are my standards too high?"

When she looked at him, blinking her fluttery lashes, Harry realized she was actually asking him.

He was quick to shake his head, attempting to get the image of her tucked away in her bedroom taking care of herself wiped from his brain.

"'S not you," he cemented, "Definitely not. 'M sorry so many people waste your time like that—and are so disrespectful."

She rolled in her spot, moving closer to him for comfort. "It's not fair," she pouted, exhaling with exhaustion, "I hope this isn't weird to say, but I'm bored of having to look after myself, you know? I'm putting myself out there, giving people chances, and I still end up taking myself home and finishing the job. They don't make me feel good—about myself, or otherwise. It's exhausting being my own boyfriend."

Harry's throat ran dry.

What was he supposed to say to this? He supposed they didn't have the same boundaries they started their friendship with years ago, but he wondered if he was even really supposed to hear these things? It felt like a diary entry, not something (Y/N) shared after a date gone wrong.

It broke his heart to hear her blaming herself. To hear so candidly how exhausted she was having to be the one that took care of her needs, to make herself feel beautiful in the ways that she needed. He hadn't been taking care of her as well as he thought he had been.

Her words made him realize just how easily he could be dropped into that same category. The pile of selfish men who took advantage of her giving nature and pretty eyes.

She had made him cum at her hand twice, and not once had Harry even attempted to return to favor. He wasn't much better than a man on an app, was he?

"'M sorry, (Y/N)."

She waved him off without a second thought. "It's okay, it's not your fault—"

"It is," he cut her off, meeting her gaze steadfast, "I haven't been good t'you, like I thought. 'M not any better than any of them."

(Y/N) stayed quiet as she took in his words, mouth in a small gape.

"I... I haven't been trying m'best to make y'feel good—in any way y'want. I don't take care of you like I should." He hoped so badly she could spot the points he was trying to make; that he could be those things she wanted, as long as she let him try. He'd promise to never make any comparisons to his mom at least.

"Harry," she started cautiously, "If you mean about the stuff we've done, it's not a big deal. I offer so—"

"But it is," he said, swallowing around the clog in his throat, "'S not fair. I... I don't know much, but I can try. I'll be—or do—anything y'want, jus' might have to teach me a little."

She blinked at him.

Her pretty, pretty eyes glimmered as she took in the honesty in his features. A soft pout has her lips in a gape, exhales fanning between them. Looking at her like this, cheek smushed against the back sofa, Harry wondered how anyone could see her—have the privilege of being on a date with her—and not want to hear any and everything she had to say. He would have groveled on his knees just for a chance to impress her.

Though, a large, selfish part of him was grateful that the others before him had fumbled their chances. Even if Harry never had a real chance himself, this was going to have to be enough, he decided. These moments tucked away in the privacy of their home were going to have to be enough.

"Are you serious?" she whispered, eyes dropping to the shape of his lips before skittering back up to match his own.

He could only nod, his mouth bone-dry.

She shuffled closer to him, the blankets shifting around her form. Her words were tentative, "You know you don't have to, right? I'm okay with just doing things for you."

"I know," he murmured, "But I want you. I-It's something new, you know."

A soft smile decorated her features. "I guess so. All about the learning experience, you are."

"Something like that," he played along, loosening up at her light-hearted attitude.

Her hadn't reached through the folds of the blanket cocoon to wrap around his. Her palm was soft, just as the remembered, warm and inviting. Her thumb worked a comforting circuit on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.

"Is there something specific you wanted to try?" she broached, her foot gently brushing against his calf under the quilt.

"Anything y'like."

Her lips curled. "Okay," she started, beginning to stand with her grip on his hand tightening to pull him along. "I have an idea then, but only if it sounds fun to you too."

Harry's heart bumped against his ribs. It took an immense amount of effort to keep his eyes from drifting down her body. "What is it?"

It was (Y/N)'s turn to grow sheepish, turning away to start leading him towards her bedroom. "You've never... like, eaten anyone out before, right?"

Was it a bit pathetic that his cock stirred at her words alone? But that was just what it was like being around (Y/N), he supposed.

"Never," he choked out, quickening his pace to push them along to her bedroom that much faster. His skin already felt heated at even the possibility of seeing what she had under her dress.

A breathy laugh fell from her lips as she led him into her bedroom. It was a space Harry never really breached, not unless (Y/N) expressly called him in. Maybe that was why the wall of her scent seemingly slapped him in the face, the warm, sugary fragrance intoxicating him like a whiskey neat.

It brought him right back to the morning between his sheets, nose tucked into her hair as she slid her hand down the length of his body. A shiver ran up his spine at the memory, hand pulsing around her own.

(Y/N) kicked her thrown bag out of the way, tipping her head to look up at him. "You can relax, you know."

"'M fine, 'm fine," he muttered as she drew him closer to the plush mess of her bed.

Rumpled sheets and the thrown back comforter called to him, leaving him to imagine—a bit too vividly—what she looked like when she woke up wrapped up in the silky fabrics. Her satin eye mask was thrown haphazardly over the fluffed pillows, a golden kitten face sparkling in the overhead lighting.

Before he could move any closer, she rounded in front of him, blocking his path to the mattress. "No really," she said, gazing at him through her lashes, "We don't have to do anything. You take care of me just fine without getting me off too, H."

He was sure she intended her words to be a passing joke, something lighthearted to ease him into the uncharted territory, but Harry felt his heart do the exact opposite. The muscles of his abdomen tightened, chest stuttering.

"I want to," he said, rushing out the words without much thought. His throat bobbed as she swallowed around the dry lump. "I just... I want it to be good for you. That's all."

Her teasing smile turned affectionate. Reaching her free hand up to his face, she cupped Harry's cheek in her palm. The pad of her thumb skated over the soft skin under his eye.

"You're going to do just fine, H," she crooned, tipping her head back in a way that would make it so, so easy to catch her in a kiss. "Relax and have fun, and you'll do fine."

Relax and have fun, she said. As if he were going away to summer camp and not about to push her dress up and put his face between her legs.

She must have caught the expression on his features as a huff of laughter fanning from her lips. Rising to her toes, she pressed her lips to his cheek. It was a familiar affection, one she had shared with him much for the last couple of weeks, but the peck felt decidedly different at the moment. It was more, he thought. Especially in the way she lingers, lips brushing the very corner of his mouth as they had earlier in the evening, when she seemed so hesitant to leave him behind for her date.

It took every effort not to turn his head and line his lips to hers, stealing a kiss. He reminded himself: if she wanted to kiss him, she would have.

Instead, he fluttered his eyes to a close, leaning into the flush of her touch.

When she finally drew away, (Y/N) looked at him with her bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Without having to say a word, he would have followed her whoever she wanted him.

Which, for tonight, appears to be her sage and bubblegum colored bed.

She fell backwards atop the plush bedding, bringing him down with her as her hand was still twined in his. He fell atop her, already breathless as he gazed down at her.

His mouth ran dry as his eyes met hers. She was entirely too pretty, too perfect, so out of his league. What was she thinking letting him even touch her, let alone inviting him to do more? Was she going to come to his senses and realize who he was?

Harry hoped not.

Bringing her hands to the nape of his neck, she curled the baby strands around the tips of her fingers. "Don't look so scared, H," she laughed, eyes searching his own, "You're making me feel bad—like I'm corrupting you or something."

He shook his head. "Sorry, that's not—I don't... Don't feel bad," he insisted, "You're jus' so pretty, (Y/N). Don't know why you're even letting me be here, with you."

A blooming smile appeared on her mouth. "Because I trust you, remember," she said, taking him back to those moments between his sheets, when he had confessed so much to her. "And, you're pretty too, you know. Your eyelashes are so unfair."

A sheepish grin tilted his lips. "Thanks."

"Just relax," (Y/N) repeated, her smile warming him, "Do whatever feels right, and if I want you to do something different, I'll tell you."

Harry swallowed, nodding his head. He supposed that was going to be the only way he was going to learn. She couldn't exactly draw him a diagram and what exactly, movement by movement that she wanted out of him. (Or at least, not in a way that wouldn't kill the mood).

Do whatever felt right, he thought as he dropped his head to the crook of her neck. He pecked his lips against the soft skin. His nose skimmed the column of her throat as he slowly moved, deposited kisses in his wake. His confidence grew as she craned her head back, lengthening her neck and giving him more space to make his mark.

Though he wasn't planning on being quite as crude (not tonight, anyway), he tried to think of the videos he'd seen or the pages in books he's read. When he'd imagined himself in a moment like this, what had he craved to do?

A light scrape of his teeth against the sensitive skin was the first in an experimental move. A soft sigh left (Y/N)'s lungs, goosebumps raising around his kiss. Spurred on by her reaction, Harry attempted a small bite to the same space. It was a nibble, barely holding onto the skin for more than a second before he released her to soothe with a lingering kiss.

Her legs around his hips moved to close around him, caging him right where he was. A good sign, he decided.

He gained confidence, letting his mouth linger on her throat, the kisses long and leaving small marks or glistening prints behind. A part of him was waiting for (Y/N) to correct him, tell him to do more, or do less. She never did, only holding the baby curls on the back of his neck and giving him the prettiest sounds.

Even when he dared to dip his head lower and approach the neckline of her dress. The swells of her breasts heaved as she took in lingering breaths. Harry dared to peek up at her through his lashes as he kissed down to the top of her dress, the scalloped edge tickling his chin. He swore he could feel the beat of her heart rattling underneath her sternum.

(Y/N) laid with her eyes closed, lips parted. She looked entirely at peace as he kissed her body, micro twitches of her lips, the soft flutter of her already closed eyes, being the only giveaways to the fact that she was just as present in this moment as he was.

A slight scrape of his teeth over the top of her breast had goosebumps reaching over her décolletage. A slight shift of her hips occurred underneath his own.

"H?" she breathed, feeling her chest move under his mouth as much as he heard the call of his name.

"Hm?" he hummed, soothing the soft nip with a kiss of his saliva-slicked lips.

"Um," she started, finding her voice, "Are you... Do you want to do more? Or just this?"

"More," he answered automatically, "Yeah, more."

Her smile was dreamy this time as he raised her head to look at him. "Okay," she started, a bit breathless compared to just moments before, "Are you alright with being on your knees? Or do you want me to move?"

Harry didn't have to think before he was shaking his head. She wasn't adjusting a single part of herself, unless it was for her comfort or it fit her wants. Otherwise, he planned on taking on everything. If she wanted him on his knees, then that was what he was going to do.

"'M alright," he said, already sinking to rest on his knees before her.

Her thighs hesitantly unlocked from around his hips, letting him rest with the cuffs of his knees on the fluffy rug underneath her bed. The hem of her dress dangled before him, temptingly innocent with that same scalloped edging that had just grazed his chin.

(Y/N) shifted where she laid. Her legs spread wide enough to allow him between, tightening the material of her dress around her thighs. Scooting closer to the edge, her hips were just barely situated amongst the bedding, the apex of her thighs just that much closer to his face. Harry grew incredibly antsy where he sat, hands restless in his lap and bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

She moved so comfortably, reaching for him as if he wasn't one of the most monumental moments of his life.

"Okay?" she asked, craning her neck to look down at him.

Harry jerked his head in a nod, decidedly a bit too frantic to match the nonchalant air of her. Though, (Y/N) only laughed, affection twined within the sound.

"Um," he started, feeling his cheeks heat, "How do y'want me to start?"

Laying back, she ran her fingers through his hair. "However you want. I'm ready whenever you are—really ready."

Not allowing himself to process the implication of her words lest she completely burst into flames, Harry braced himself as he placed his hands gently on her knees. Absently, her legs parted that much more, leaving more room for him to make his home.

"Okay," he shakily answered.

It was easier said than done to just relax and have fun like she wanted him to. Instinctively, he wanted to pick apart every action, every touch, every breath. But, Harry knew he couldn't do that. If there was one thing—other than his lack of experience, of course—that would make this not pleasurable for (Y/N), it would be any hesitation or fear he had bleeding into his treatment of her.

Even if he wasn't sure of himself, he was going to have to pretend for the time being. He had to trust that if something wasn't right, (Y/N) would tell him and give him the chance to fix it.

He muttered a quiet Okay to himself before sliding his hands over the cuffs of her knees. Her skin was soft under his palms, every bump, mark and scar that made up her story glided under his touch. Reaching the hem of her dress, he held his breath as he slid his fingertips under the material.

Carefully, Harry pushed her dress up. As more and more of her skin was revealed, he could feel his own begin to heat. The warmth crawled up his throat the same way his hands moved up to the plush of her thighs. When his thumb grazed the soft inside of her thigh, he released the breath he'd been holding. The air fanned across her skin, drawing a layer of goosebumps to rise over her thighs.

Harry could hear her breathing stutter, the reaction spurring him on.

Pulling her dress up until his fingertips met the edge of her underwear, Harry paused.

"Um," he started, suddenly breathless compared to just moments before, "Tell me if you want me to stop."

Her hands coasted through his hair, affectionate and warm even when she pulled him that much closer. "Okay, just... hurry."

It wasn't a command, harsh and unforgiving, but Harry acted as if she gave him no choice. Hearing that small, breathy plea was enough to have him working quickly. Any and everything she wanted, she was going to get. Even if Harry did it with sweaty palms and flushed cheeks.

As per her request, he surged on. Taking the plunge and pushing her dress up the rest of the way, he left the material to pool at her waist, revealing her panties. They weren't lacy and extravagant, full of glittering thread or intricate beading. It was only a simple pair, covering her modesty in pink-dyed cotton, a red rosette stitched at the center of the waist.

Nonetheless, the sight took Harry's breath away. No wonder there were people in the world addicted to this act.

His hands shook as he set them on the bones of her hips. He knew she wanted him to hurry, but he wasn't sure if he was ready to move on from this. Not when he could see the fabric of her underwear clinging to the shape of her core underneath. The folds and lines of her pussy were clear, a small dot of wetness had collected on the gusset, darkening the material to a mauve tone. Just like the blush on her cheeks.

He curled his fingers into the waist of her underwear, but didn't make any move to pull them down. He moved instinctively, dropping a kiss to the joint of her knee. He didn't linger there long, dragging his lips over her skin. He explored the expanse of her thighs though he kept his gaze trained on her core through the fan of his lashes. The very tip of his nose skimmed over her skin with peeks of his tongue appearing to connect the trail of his kisses the higher he moved up her leg.

Harry stopped when he reached the leg of her panties, hesitating for only a moment before he surged forward and pressed his lips to the middle of her underwear. Her legs on either side of him tensed and made a move to close, turning him into a wedge between them. He could feel the outline of her beneath his kiss, complete with the bud of her clit pressing into his nose.

(Y/N) let out an audible beneath at the touch. It was shaking and delicate, just barely loud enough for him to catch, but enough to let him know he was doing something right.

The single peck he gave turned into a string of open-mouthed kisses, giving into his own desire to earn more of her essence. It was a teasing game, he thought, a game he was playing against himself. His cock stirred in his lap, a pinch appearing between his brows the more he forced himself to restrain.

The material of her underwear was growing sodden from his affection, something that only furthered when he placed the flat of his tongue against her and gave a lingering lick. Despite being through her underwear, it was still enough to get a taste of her on his buds.

"Harry," she breathed, voice watery, "I need more, please."

Hearing the sound of his name wrapped up in her voice, spoken on her breathless tongue, was more than any fantasy could ever hope to be. He felt his eyes roll to the back of his head as he gave a punishing kiss to the bump of her clit. He lingered for only a moment, attempting to crew his head on straight before drawing away.

"Okay, okay," he started, "I can do that, love."

She spread her legs in response, fingers tightening in his hair.

He didn't think before he pulled her underwear down. (Y/N) assisted as she lifted her hips and angled her legs to help him pull them down. Once she settled again, she pulled her legs apart without a care. As if Harry wasn't witnessing the most beautiful thing he could imagine ever existing.

Before him, she was laid bare. Her folds were glistening, parted just enough to show her pulsing opening. The bud of her clit was puffy at the top of her pussy, just where he could imagine his nose going when he dug his tongue inside her hole. Just like the rest of her, she was too pretty, too alluring.

It was the tug on his hair that reminded him of the real world going on around him. "H," was her quiet whine.

"I know, sorry," he breathed, shuffling on his knees towards her, his neck craning to be level with her core, "Jus'... You're perfect, (Y/N)."

He could hear the quiet smile in her voice as she spoke, "Thanks, honey."

It was enough to have his own puffy lips growing into a lopsided grin, a single dimple on his cheek. Honey. How sweet was she?

Mimicking his actions from before, he pressed his lips to the top of her slit. His chin pressed lightly into her seeping wetness, warm and sticky against his skin. A breathless sigh left her lungs in gentle relief.

Shuffling on his knees, he hooked his hands around her hips. Instead of drawing away and giving himself a chance to become distracted by her once more, Harry dragged his mouth down the length of her. His breath fanned across her slick skin as he pressed his lips directly to her clit. It was a gentle kiss, though he didn't pull away when her legs tensed around him, thighs moving to attempt to wrap around his head.

"Right there, hold on," she breathed, her first direction.

Harry did as she requested, turning his single peck into a string of soft pulling kisses. Parting his mouth just enough, he fit her bud between his lips. He delivered a gentle suck to the pearl, getting his first real taste of her wetness on his tongue. Everything was heady and warm, a previously undiscovered delicacy. He could see himself sitting right where he was for hours on end, attempting to learn every intricacy of her taste.

Laving his tongue over her clit seemed to be just enough for (Y/N) to peel more noises from her. She tensed against his touch, her opening pulsing against the point of his chin, muscles bunching in her abdomen. A quiet whine dripped from her throat.

"Fuck, H," she whimpered, filling her messy room with something so pretty as her whining for him. "I-I—More, please. Inside, inside."

It was a treat alone to get to taste her, but nothing was like the whipped cream, and cherry on top that was her begging him for more, broken sentences stringing together.

Following along, he drifted away from her clit and dragged his tongue through her parted lips. Her slick collected on his tongue, washing over him and down his throat. It was his turn to let out a rumbling groan. His own pleasure bundled in his middle, urging his muscles to tense and bunch with his cock rising to the occasion.

But this was all about (Y/N), as far as he was concerned. She was going to come first—in both ways.

He took his time to taste her. He felt the pulses of her opening urging him to do as she requested and plunge his tongue inside, but he wanted a selfish moment to get every taste of her he could. More and more slick seeped out of her as he cleaned her, matching the stuttering of her breathing and the trickling stream of quiet moans she let out above him.

With his chin wet and nose pressed to her clit, Harry dipped lower on her pussy until his mouth was level with her hole. The tip of his tongue danced around the shuddering entrance, (Y/N)'s fingers curling in his hair, the roots beginning to burn just enough under her grip.

"H," she cried, a pleading note to her voice.

He knew what she needed, and he wasn't planning on making her work hard for her pleasure.

With that, he pressed his tongue inside her. Her walls shuttered and pulsed around him, sucking him inside. He could feel the ridges of her as he writhed his tongue inside, feeling the spongey give just beside her opening. (Y/N) let out a shuddering sigh.

Harry pressed his face harshly against her, eager to taste more and more of her. His breathing came out heavily, fanning over her glistening skin and pearling bud. Slick noise filled the room as he began making tentative strokes of his tongue through her, pulling back just enough before plunging through once more.

"Oh my god, Harry," she breathed, plush thighs becoming earmuffs around his head. She pulled his head towards her core with her grip on his hair, nose scrunching against her clit. "Y-You—You're so good, so good."

If not for his busy mouth, Harry was sure a prideful grin would have decorated his face. But he was much too engrossed in tasting her praise. He could feel the sticky wetness dripping over his chin, beginning to river down his jaw.

Focusing on the movements of his tongue in hopes of drawing more praise of her, Harry barely noticed the way the grip on his hair changed. (Y/N), with her renewed leverage, moved his head against her, wagging his chin over her slick. She shook his head against her core, a grumbling moan leaving his throat as he felt her walls pulsing around his tongue, her clit throb against the tip of his nose.

A string of curses fell from (Y/N)'s lips, her plush thighs tight around his head. He could feel her toes curling around his back as she hooked her ankles underneath his shoulder blades. A broken whine croaked from her throat.

"Harry, I-I'm sorry, I think I'm gonna cum," she bubbled, apparently delusional if she thought she needed to apologize.

Unwilling to pull away from her, he could do nothing other than commit to tasting her to show her that he didn't mind. He wanted to feel her pleasure wash over him, to taste every bit of her release. She had quit her pulling of his hair, her bones going lax, leaving Harry to take over what he was learning she liked.

He wagged his head against her core, digging his tongue inside her. Shifting his hand over her wriggling hip, he dared to meet the pad of his thumb to her budding clit. She practically jumped out of her skin, her insides snug around his tongue.

Despite the slight tremor to his hands, he circled his thumb around her clit. There was so much to keep track of, so much he wanted to make sure was perfect and worth it for her. But, he knew everything was a bit messy, a bit off-kilter, not the pristine experience he wanted to give her. Though (Y/N) didn't seem to mind; she appeared to like the messy, clumsy way he was eager to get her off. Even if that meant she was going to end the night with puffy lips and slick thighs.

"H, honey," she cried, a crackle entering the syllables of the pet name, "I-I'm gonna—"

He nodded his head against her. Do it, please. I want to taste, please, please, please.

As if she could hear his thoughts, it took only another circuit of his thumb over her clit and a plunge of his tongue through her pussy that he felt everything tighten.

Every muscle in her bunched and warmed while her bones went loose. She came around his tongue with her legs wrapping around his head, trapping him just where he wanted to be. He writhed his tongue inside of her, working her through the pulsing, shaking orgasm he was lucky enough to serve to her.

Every moan and bubble of his name was a fire to Harry's blood, warming him from the inside out. His cock was full and hard in his lap, aching to feel what it would be like to truly be inside her. Despite the distracting fantasy, he stitched his attention solely on her, working her through the pleasure.

Harry could have sat there on his knees for hours, helping her come down, but eventually, (Y/N) appeared to start floating back down to earth. Her thighs around his head loosened first, her toes uncurling. She cringed away from him once the feel of him was too much, her nerves too sensitive to allow him to keep going.

The grip she had used on his hair that kept him pinned to her now became the force pushing him away. It took a bit of effort before Harry realized she was wanting him to stop, too caught up in the taste, and feel, and absolute wonder at knowing that he had this effect on her.

Pulling his head away, Harry looked up at her with swollen, slick lips. From where he sat on his knees, he was granted an angle of her face. He saw her puffy lips parted, slight marks within the pillow of the bottom one where her teeth had sunk in. He swore her skin held a new radiance—the kind he'd never seen on her before, but wouldn't be able to get out of his head for a while. Or ever, really.

All at once, a wave of something overwhelming washed over him. Here he sat, with the taste of her on his tongue, his heart beating wildly in his chest and skin warm. All while his dream girl sat above him, fanning lashes and pretty lip gloss on her mouth. He didn't have to check to know that her own heart was hammering in her chest. He could feel the heat pouring off of her skin already. She had his mark, however faint and fading, on her neck.

This was (Y/N). And she was here, with him. She had a beating heart, and stilted lungs. He had a working list of all the things he loved about her, but it all boiled down to the brain in her head and her heart in her chest. The idea that she had thought about him at all, let alone enough to be here with him tonight when there was a world outside waiting for her, had a different kind of bliss blooming inside him.

He loved her, he loved her, he loved her.

Rising on shaky legs (it appeared the fluffy rug wasn't enough to cushion his knees like he thought), Harry moved on autopilot as he fell atop her. Instead of kissing down her neck, his lips met her cheek. His arms wrapped around her middle, her dress shifting down her waist to make room for the cage of his forearms.

(Y/N) didn't hesitate before she looped her arms around his neck.

"H," she crooned, energy depleted, "That was—You're... perfect."

It was breathless the way she spoke. In Harry's heart, he wanted to believe it was from the same awe that he felt.

"You," he countered, refusing to draw too far from her skin, "You're perfect, (Y/N). You're... everything."

It was cheesy and cliche, but his overwhelmed brain couldn't think of anything better. She was everything. She was every bright morning made for easy breakfast, and chilled night made for cuddling. She was the fulfilling nights spent under blankets with only the most comforting movie on the television. She was the best dinner money could buy. She was the feeling of a sweet animal choosing you as its person. She was a rainy afternoon with a new favorite book. She was everything.

Everything led back to her.

It was (Y/N) that had paused for a moment before turning her head just enough to match her lips to his. He all but melted into her.

A moment he had been waiting for. He'd missed kissing her as if he'd been doing it his whole life. Oxygen didn't sound appealing when there was the option of pressing his mouth to hers. Slotting his lips to hers felt like second nature, allowing a soft taste of her mouth, uncaring of the lipstick painted over her pout.

Lips smearing against one another, Harry felt his brows pinch. While it wasn't his ecstasy that had filled the room, the high tension from wanting, aching to give her pleasure was beginning to crash down on him. His arms around her waist tightened, his hands cupping the curve of her waist with denting fingers.

How was he to go on after this? This night was a turning page, spurring him on before he could have a second thought.

"I'd do anything for you," he murmured, blurting out his thoughts without hesitation. He didn't even lift his lips from her own, his affections wafting over her mouth. "Not-Not jus' this—I'd do anything for you, (Y/N)."

"I know, H," (Y/N) smiled, smoothing his hair back, "You're the best friend I—"

"No," he cut her off, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead on her own. He didn't dare open his eyes, lest the courage bubbling behind his ribs be doused. "'S more than that," he confessed, breathless, "I... I care about you s'much. I want to make y'happy, and I don't want y'to have to use your apps anymore. I... I can do the hard work for you—y'don't have to be on your own."

He clung to her the way he clung to the hope that she was understanding what he was saying. That she was on the same page. Or even reading the same book as him.

It was (Y/N) that made the move to draw away from him, even when he chased after her mouth. She stopped him with a hand cupping his cheek.

Her eyes were downturned, lips parted and swollen. "You care about me?"

He wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do at the moment, but Harry couldn't stop himself before the words tumbled out of him: "I love you."

Her expression softened before his eyes. Something melted swam in her eyes, swirling and glistening. Her skin was warm, plump with simmering blood. Just barely, he caught the very edge of her mouth up turning into a small smile.

"You love me?"

"More than anything."

She tugged him down for another kiss. It was messy and clumsy, off center, but still incredibly perfect.

"I thought you just like being friends with me," she laughed against his kiss, "I didn't want to freak you out in case you just... you know. Oh my god, you love me."

"I love you," he repeated, unsure of how she could ever have a doubt over his feelings but determined to wipe them away. "Love being friends with you, but it would be kind of nice to be more."

Another laugh, this one giddy came from (Y/N). "It would be really nice, huh. Oh, H, I love you too."

His heart soared, taking over the space at the base of his throat. If he thought he was overwhelmed before, that was nothing compared to the swirling mass of everything brewing inside him.

She loved him. She loved him like he loved her.

Harry could only kiss her, could only hug her tight. (Y/N) clung to him just as tightly.

He could have laid atop her for hours on end, kissing her and keeping her snug against his heart—right where she belonged. But, (Y/N) once again had the clearer brain.

She nudged her nose against his, knocking him to smear his lips over her cheek instead.

"Do you think we could have a sleepover again tonight?"

It was his turn to let out a bubbling laugh. As if he was planning on leaving her to sleep by herself tonight.

"Anything y'want, love."

—————

strawberries represent perfection; the sweetest at the end of june

thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please sned n any fun ideas you have!

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