#preparing to find out that it’s just permanently like this

[spiderbeam]

and okay feel free to ignore this one because ive sent a bunch already buttt 🎧+max+7

🎧 — bugambilia by nasa histoires

Max is nervous. He hadn’t realized it until the bell dinged with his entrance, until you spoke your usual greeting, until your eyes met his and a smile spread over your lips. He’s a three time world champion, an icon of the world of motorsport, a celebrity—and yet he finds himself growing jittery at the sight of you.

Of course you’d be the type to fall for the one person in Europe who doesn’t know your name, Danny had teased.

He’d denied it. He didn’t have feelings for you. He had simply developed a fondness for flowers—and he just happened to like yours most.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you this soon.” You dust your hands on your overalls as you stand up to greet him. You look pretty in overalls, he finds. Prettier even with your hair held up by a bow—alongside that lovely smile that always makes his heart skip a beat in his chest. “Thought you said you were leaving the country for work.”

Max realizes then he’s stayed quiet for too long. “Um, yeah,” he starts awkwardly, hands tucked in his pockets before he takes them out soon after. What do people usually do with their hands? “I did. It was just for the weekend, though.”

“Did you have fun?” you ask, before meeting his gaze with a playful roll of your eyes. “I know, work is work, but…”

“It was fine,” Max clicks his tongue, hoping he doesn’t sound too dismissive. “Not great.”

“Sorry to hear that.” You purse your lips, thinking for a moment. “Maybe you can rant a little while I trim these?” You gesture at the newly arrived flowers.

Max chuckles a little. He’s done plenty of ranting. Mostly in front of a camera. “Actually, I was hoping to get to hear you talk about your flowers—maybe give me a hand?”

You straighten as you stand up, nodding. “What’s today’s purchase gonna be?”

“Another gift,” he says, even though he’s ran out of friends to gift bouquets to. Twice is two times too many before they start looking at him weird.

You nod your head, ponytail bobbing. “Alright.” You clasp your hands together, smiling up at him. “Wanna look around for something that catches your eye, or are you in search for anything in particular?”

Max tilts his head at you. “Which are your favorites this week?” He asked you the same question last time, and the time before that. But, as you told him before, you can’t make up your mind—not permanently, anyway. Each time he comes around, you have a different answer prepared for him.

This time, you’re grinning. “C’mon, I’ll show you.” And then your hand is in his as you steer him towards the very back of the shop—and Max can feel his breath stuttering. He blinks in rapid succession, hoping to get himself to snap out of it. Jesus Christ, you’re just holding her hand. Pull yourself together.

Finally, you stop beside a shelf with purple and fuchsia flowers with papery petals and tiny light yellow blossoms inside them. Max feels as you let go of him, prompting him to step closer to the flowers. He leans forward, hoping to catch some floral scent like the lilies and jasmines you gave him a few weeks back. He doesn’t smell anything.

“They don’t have a scent,” you tell him. “It’s bugambilia. Bougainvillea. It’s not usually used for bouquets, though, so people rarely buy any. Except for this one woman, Marisol—she says it reminds her of home. But she only takes a few branches, doesn’t really want them as a bouquet.” You’re smiling when he turns back to you. “They don’t grow around here—not naturally, anyway. It’s why I like them.”

“Bougainvillea,” Max repeats, committing the syllables to memory. “So you’ve never had to sell a bouquet of these?”

“Not yet.” You shrug. “It’s under appreciated, in my opinion. I mean—most people just buy roses. Maybe sunflowers.”

He remembers you ranting about that last week. How impersonal is it to give red roses to someone on a date? It’s like giving a gift card. No sentiment whatsoever.

And Max, surprisingly enough, agreed. He believes in personal gestures. Gifts that proof you’ve been listening, that you’ve been paying attention. And as he side-glances at you, he can see your stare still lingering on the purple and pink flowers. He doesn’t need to think it over before he’s saying: “I’ll take it.”

You nod in approval, reaching up to take a few flowers. “I knew you would,” you say proudly, nudging his shoulder playfully. “You’ve got good taste, Max.”

Max chuckles. “Not really,” he says, shaking his head. “I just happen to know someone who does.” He’s looking at you as he says it, scratching his cheek, but he can see your lovely smile falter slightly. His brows pinch together.

You haul your selected bougainvillea onto the counter, with Max trailing close behind. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who buys as many flowers as you do—not that I’m complaining.” You try to sneak a glance at him as you’re tying off his bouquet. Max relishes in the heat that crawls up your cheeks when he catches you.

This is his chance, he realizes. But then he’s running circles again because what if you think he’s creepy? That he’s been buying flowers from you in hopes of finally building up the courage to ask you out? It’s not only creepy, it’s pathetic. It’s been nearly a month since he first met you. It’s taken him a whole month to get to this. Stupid. And since when does he get nervous like this around girls? He’s Max Verstappen.

But you’re you.

“You okay?” you ask, peering at him. “You’ve been a little quiet today.”

“Yeah, sorry. Um, I just—” He means to ask you, he really does, but this one tiny detail doesn’t escape his attention as you leave the flowers on the counter, wrapped in pretty ribbons, ready for him to take home. He stares at you, dumbfounded. “I—I haven’t paid yet.”

Your expression sends butterflies fluttering around his stomach. “Consider it a gift. For keeping me company on a slow day.”

But Max is already pulling out his wallet out of his back pocket. “No, no, I can pay.”

“Max,” you say, voice caught somewhere between soft and stern. “It’s a gift. You don’t pay for gifts.”

He scratches his cheek again, a quirk of his you’ve come to find endearing. “Doesn’t this get taken out of your paycheck?”

You shrug nonchalantly. “No one buys bougainvillea. One of my coworkers would’ve probably ended up throwing them away.”

You’re dodging his question, and Max doesn’t know how to tell you that he can afford it without making it seem like he doesn’t appreciate the gesture.

You seem to decide for him when you grab the bouquet and hand it to him. Your fingertips graze his knuckles, shooting sparks beneath his skin. He should ask you now. You’re smiling like you don’t even know the effect you have on him.

“Your—”

“Would you—” Max clears his throat, pink on his cheeks. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

You smile again, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You laugh lightly, but it doesn’t sound as genuine. “Nothing—just that your girlfriend’s really lucky. I’d kill to have someone buy me as many flowers every week.”

“My—what?” Max blinks once. Twice. Three times before the words finally dislodge from his throat. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Oh, your boyfriend?” you amend, playing with your fingers.

“I’m not seeing anyone,” Max says bluntly. He’s still cradling his bougainvilleas as he watches realization wash over your face.

“Oh.” Heat is climbing up your cheeks, and for the first time all afternoon, you’re the one stumbling over your words. “O-Oh. I just thought that—I mean, since you’ve been coming around so much, and you’re like, handsome, and sweet, so I just assumed—”

“Do you wanna go out some time?” Max interrupts, ears tinted red. There’s a pretty blush spreading his face. A giddy nervousness building up in his gut. “With me, I mean. Do you want to go out with me?”

Your lips curl upward, heat radiating from your face. Max feels flowers growing in his chest. Hydrangeas, carnations, tulips, wisteria. Purple bougainvillea flowers.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

eve’s 1k celebration 🎧

this one was very loosely based on the song more on the vibes than the actual lyrics so i might revisit this song and make another more angstier drabble in the future….. for now i just recommend giving the song a listen <3 also i’m not used to writing for max AT ALL so hopefully it didn’t feel too ooc

[kiwriteswords]

hotchhotchhotch! it's like you write him extra hot - like sriracha hot - bc he's sososo perfect in your writing! can i request the "saying "i love you" for the first time" with shy!reader?

Hi!! Thank you so much!!! This one turned out to be a little longer than a drabble! Hope you like it!!

Drabble Prompts | Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Fem!Reader!

Summary: In the high-stakes world of the BAU, you and Aaron Hotchner have shared a quiet, unspoken connection that began as something casual, a way to find comfort amid the chaos. But when a routine case leaves you critically injured, Hotch is forced to confront the depth of his feelings. As he anxiously waits by your side, fearing the worst, Hotch realizes that losing you would break him in ways he never expected.

Word Count: 3.5k

Rating: Technically safe for work, but hints at an intimate relationship.

TW: Canon typical violence, hints at intimacy, angst

The Fear of Falling

You didn’t expect to get shot.

You were trained for it, prepared to face the worst every day, but no one really expects it. You were in the thick of it, chasing down a suspect with Hotch, when it all went wrong. One minute, you had your eyes on him, and the next, pain exploded through your side.

The world blurred around you as you hit the ground, blood seeping into your clothes, your hands, the dirt beneath you. Voices came through muffled, far-off. It wasn’t until Hotch’s voice cut through the haze that reality started to set back in.

The bullet tore through your side, the pain immediate and searing, but in the chaos of the moment, you didn’t have time to process it. Everything around you was a blur—Hotch’s voice barking orders into his radio, the flashing lights of the ambulance, the sound of footsteps pounding the ground around you.

But one thing was clear: Hotch never left your side.

That had always been his way—quiet, steady, dependable. From the beginning, when whatever this was between you had started, Hotch had been there. It hadn’t been some whirlwind romance, no grand gestures or confessions of love. Instead, it was late nights spent together after a long day in the field, where the lines between work and something more blurred. You’d sit close on the jet, your knees brushing under the table as you discussed case files, or spend hours in quiet conversation that had nothing to do with the cases you worked on but everything to do with understanding each other.

The "fling"—as you had quietly labeled it in your head—started as something small, something easy to dismiss. It had begun in the most unexpected way, during a night at a bar after a tough case. The team had gone home, but you and Hotch had stayed, finding some kind of strange comfort in the shared silence over a couple of drinks. It had been weeks of tension, the unspoken attraction between you simmering beneath the surface, and that night, it finally broke. A lingering glance. A brush of fingers. Then, without thinking, you had leaned in, and so had he.

It was never meant to be serious. Neither of you had said as much, but the understanding was there. Hotch had his demons, and you had yours. He was your superior. The weight of those unspoken boundaries hung between you, even as you’d find yourself alone together, the rest of the world falling away for brief moments. Kisses stolen in the shadows of hotel rooms when the team wasn’t looking. Conversations that lasted too long, with gazes that lingered just a bit more than they should have.

You had agreed to keep things casual. Nothing more than companionship in the midst of the chaos of your lives. Neither of you had the space for something deeper, something permanent. Or at least, that’s what you told yourselves. But as the months went on, the way Hotch looked at you began to shift. You noticed the way his eyes softened when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the way he checked on you after a particularly rough case, or how he lingered at your side just a little longer than necessary.

And somewhere along the way, you had begun to care about him more than you should have. You tried to push it down, to remind yourself that this wasn’t supposed to be anything. But the more time you spent with him, the harder it became to pretend--the more painful it became to pretend. The quiet moments, the subtle touches, the way he said your name—it all added up to something neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

“Stay with me.” He was beside you, his hands pressing against your wound, voice stern but shaking. His brows furrowed, eyes fixed on your injury, but his jaw clenched with something much deeper than concern. You could see it, even in your pain-addled state.

“I’m—” You tried to speak, but it was hard to get the words out. You were used to being quiet, used to keeping your thoughts to yourself. That never seemed to be a problem when you were with Hotch. Silence had become a part of the strange rhythm you had with him, this unspoken understanding between two people who couldn’t find the right words but always seemed to know.

Now, though, you felt the need to fill that silence, to say something, anything.

“It’s okay,” he muttered, “you’re going to be okay.”

The grip of his hands tightened, and in a rare moment, his walls seemed to crack. He wasn’t just your boss here. He wasn’t the stern, unflinching leader of the BAU. He was Aaron—someone who had been carrying something for a while, someone who hadn’t yet spoken all the things he needed to say. Someone you cared about more than you ever let on.

“I’m sorry,” you managed, wincing as a fresh wave of pain surged through you. You weren’t sure why you apologized—maybe for being hurt, maybe for all the times you’d kept quiet when you wanted to say more, or maybe for all the times you felt like you were asking too much of him, even when you hadn’t asked for anything at all.

“Why would you apologize?” His voice was tight, but there was a gentleness in it that you’d rarely heard. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You never do.”

Hotch rode with you in the ambulance, his hand gripping yours, his jaw clenched tight as he stared down at you, concern and fear etched into every hard line of his face. You could feel the tension radiating from him, the way he was barely keeping it together for your sake. Aaron Hotchner was always the one in control, always the one to keep a level head when everything else was falling apart. But right now, it felt like that control was slipping.

As the paramedics worked on you, you could hear the urgency in their voices. The blood loss, the need to stabilize you—it was all happening too fast for you to grasp. The only constant was Hotch’s presence, his voice grounding you, telling you to hold on.

By the time you reached the hospital, the world was fading in and out. The last thing you saw before you were wheeled into surgery was Hotch standing there, his eyes locked on yours, as if he was afraid to let you go.

Hours passed. Hotch didn’t move from the waiting room.

The sterile hospital air seemed suffocating, the hum of fluorescent lights above adding to the unbearable stillness. Time felt warped—minutes dragged into hours, each second stretching endlessly as he waited. His mind was stuck on one thing: you.

Reid was the first to arrive, his face pale as he walked into the waiting room. He wasn’t good with hospitals, and Hotch knew it. His hands fidgeted with the strap of his bag as he approached. “Hotch,” he said softly, “how is she?”

Hotch didn’t answer right away. He kept his eyes fixed on the swinging doors down the hall, the ones that led to the surgical ward. “She’s still in there.”

Reid sat down beside him, the silence between them heavy. Hotch could feel the younger man glancing at him occasionally, probably wanting to say more, but holding back. Reid wasn’t someone who pushed when others needed space. But even his quiet presence wasn’t enough to pierce the fog of worry clouding Hotch’s mind. After a few minutes, Reid left, muttering something about needing to call Garcia for an update.

Hotch barely registered it.

Morgan came next, his energy a stark contrast to the stillness that had settled over the room. He strode in, his expression serious but determined. “How’s she doing, man?”

Hotch shook his head, his fingers gripping the edge of the chair. “They haven’t told me anything yet.”

Morgan sat across from him, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward. “She’s tough. She’s gonna pull through.”

Hotch nodded, but the movement felt mechanical. Empty. His mind was spinning with worst-case scenarios, a constant replay of the moment you went down. The blood. The way your body crumpled. His heart clenched painfully in his chest at the memory. He could still feel the warmth of your blood on his hands as he tried to stop the bleeding.

“She’ll make it,” Morgan added quietly, his voice softer now. He was trying to comfort Hotch, trying to be there in the way he always was for the team. But Hotch didn’t have it in him to respond. He barely acknowledged the weight of Morgan’s words before he stood abruptly, pacing to the window.

He stared outside, seeing nothing but the reflection of the waiting room. His reflection. And behind it, Morgan, looking at him with quiet concern. But Morgan didn’t say anything else. After a few minutes, he got up, clapped Hotch on the shoulder, and left, probably to update the rest of the team.

Rossi arrived last. The older man walked in with the calm, steady air that he always carried, but even he couldn’t mask the worry etched into his features. He had been doing this job longer than any of them, and Hotch knew he had seen more than his share of teammates in the hospital. But that didn’t make this any easier.

“How’re you holding up?” Rossi asked, standing beside Hotch by the window.

Hotch didn’t answer right away. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, fingers clenched into tight fists. He stared out at the city below, his jaw working as he fought to keep his emotions in check. “I’m fine,” he finally muttered, his voice tight.

Rossi didn’t buy it, of course. “You’re not fine, Aaron. None of us are when someone we care about is lying on an operating table.”

Hotch flinched at that. Care. The word hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. He knew what Rossi was implying—what everyone had probably suspected for a while now. But this wasn’t the time to talk about it. Not now.

“I should’ve been faster,” Hotch muttered, his voice barely audible. “I should’ve seen it coming.”

Rossi shook his head. “You can’t think like that. We all know the risks. So does she.”

Hotch clenched his fists tighter, the anger and frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “She’s in there because of me. If I’d been quicker, more careful...”

“She’s in there because it’s the job. You did everything you could.” Rossi’s voice was firm, but it didn’t soothe the guilt gnawing at Hotch’s insides.

The silence stretched between them, and Rossi eventually gave him a small nod before heading out. He knew better than to push Hotch when he was like this. And Hotch knew that, deep down, Rossi was right. But that didn’t change the fact that you were in surgery, and he was standing here, helpless.

The minutes dragged on. He glanced at the clock. Then at the doors. His mind was racing—picturing every possible outcome, every scenario, from best to worst. He had never felt more useless in his life. Out in the field, he knew what to do. There was always a plan, always a course of action. But here? Here, he was just waiting.

And Hotch wasn’t someone who did well with waiting.

He leaned against the window, his hand rubbing his face as exhaustion tugged at him. The pressure in his chest was unbearable. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this. Not after everything you’d been through together—every quiet moment, every glance that spoke louder than words. He had never said it, never admitted how deeply he cared for you. Not to you, not to himself. But now... now he didn’t have a choice.

He loved you.

And if he lost you, he wasn’t sure how he would put himself back together again.

He paced the waiting room some more, his hands running through his hair in frustration. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He wasn’t supposed to lose it. But the image of you lying there, bleeding, the sound of your voice barely above a whisper, haunted him. He could still feel your hand slipping from his grasp as they took you into the operating room.

“Hotch,” Emily said softly, placing a hand on his arm to stop him mid-pace. “She’s strong. She’s going to make it.”

He nodded but didn’t trust himself to speak. What could he say? That he wasn’t strong enough for this? That, for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was falling apart?

When he finally sat down, it was with a heavy sigh. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this unhinged, this terrified of losing someone.--Not since Haley.

But you weren’t Haley. You were different.

Haley had been the love of his life—the mother of his child, the person who had seen him through some of his darkest moments. But his love for her had been rooted in something that had bloomed long before the BAU took over his life, before the job hardened him, before the tragedies that followed had changed him. Haley had seen him as a younger man, unburdened by the weight of the world. And even after everything, she had always held a place in his heart.

But you... you were different.

You had become a part of his life without him even realizing it, quietly slipping into the spaces Haley had left behind. At first, he had resisted it. After Haley, he had sworn that he wouldn’t let himself feel that deeply for someone again. The loss had been too great, too painful. He had told himself that he didn’t have time for it, that he didn’t deserve it. His job demanded too much, and he had already paid the price once.

But then there had been you.

Your presence had been subtle, almost imperceptible at first. There were the late-night debriefs after a long case, the quiet conversations in the jet, the moments of silence that somehow felt more comfortable than words. You never pushed, never demanded more than he was willing to give. You didn’t need to. You just were—steady, present, a constant in his life that had become more and more important without him even realizing it.

And now, sitting here, waiting for news on whether you’d pull through, he knew there was no going back. He couldn’t pretend anymore. Couldn’t push away what had been building between you.

Because somewhere along the way, you had become more than just another colleague, more than just another person he cared about. He wasn’t sure when it had happened—maybe it was during a quiet evening when you had shared a rare laugh, or maybe it was when you had listened to him without judgment after a particularly brutal case. Or maybe it had been a thousand little moments that had piled up until he couldn’t ignore them anymore.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t deny it now.

He was in love with you.

It wasn’t something he had planned, or something he had even wanted at first. But it had crept up on him, slowly and surely, until the thought of losing you terrified him more than he had ever been willing to admit.

He had tried to keep his distance, to keep things professional. After all, what business did a man like him have getting involved with someone like you? He was too old, too broken. You deserved someone who wasn’t carrying the kind of baggage he did. But every time he was near you, every time you smiled or laughed, or even just sat quietly with him in comfortable silence, it chipped away at the walls he had so carefully built.

And if something happened to you—if he lost you now—he wasn’t sure he could survive it.

It had been so easy to fall for you. Too easy.

Now, he was terrified that he’d never get the chance to tell you.

When you finally woke up, groggy from the anesthesia, the first thing you noticed was the stiffness in your side. The second was the sound of steady breathing beside you.

Turning your head slowly, you saw him. Hotch was sitting in the chair next to your bed, looking far more disheveled than you’d ever seen him. His tie was loose, his shirt wrinkled, and the exhaustion in his eyes was unmistakable. He hadn’t left.

“Hotch?” you murmured, your voice weak, but the relief of seeing him made your heart ache.

His head snapped up, and the relief that washed over his face was palpable. He stood immediately, leaning over you, his hand resting gently on your arm. “You’re awake,” he said softly, and you could hear the unspoken worry in his voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” you admitted, trying to give him a small smile, though the heaviness in your chest made it hard. You had been lucky, but the fact that it had come to this—lying in a hospital bed after being shot—felt like a wake-up call.

The bubbling of feelings in your chest out-ached the pain from the bullet. You couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t pretend that your feelings for him didn’t run deeper than you ever intended. And you couldn’t ask him to risk his heart again, not after everything he had been through.

“I think...” you started, your throat dry, “I think we should stop whatever this is.”

Hotch blinked, the words seeming to hit him like a physical blow. “What?” he asked, his voice low, like he hadn’t quite heard you correctly.

“I just—” You paused, unsure of how to explain the storm of emotions inside you. “I’ve caught feelings, Hotch. And I don’t think that’s fair. Not to you, not to me. It’s... too much.”

His face hardened, but not in anger. It was the mask he wore when he was trying to keep himself in check, to not let his emotions spill out.

“I don’t want to make things harder for you,” you continued, your heart aching with each word. “I don’t want to ask for more than you can give. I know you’ve already been through enough.”

“You think you’re asking too much of me?” His voice was quiet but firm, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your chest tighten. “You’re the one who just got shot, and you think you’re the problem here?”

You tried to sit up, but the pain made you wince, and he was immediately by your side, his hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you back down. “You don’t understand,” you whispered, the tears threatening to spill over now. “I’m in love with you, and I didn’t mean for it to happen. But it did, and now I don’t know what to do because I can’t keep pretending that I don’t care.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, suffocating. You expected him to walk away, to tell you that this was why he had always kept his distance, why he hadn’t let things get too deep. But instead, he surprised you.

“I love you too.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, his words hanging in the air between you. You weren’t sure you had heard him right.

“I’ve been in love with you for a while,” he continued, his voice rough, as if it hurt him to admit it. “I just... I didn’t think I could ask that of you. I’m not... I’m not the man I used to be, and I thought you deserved more than someone like me. Someone who’s been through what I have.”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You’re everything to me, Hotch. I don’t care about the rest.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His hand reached for yours, his grip firm but gentle, and the weight of everything unsaid between you seemed to settle. 

“You scared the hell out of me today,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “And I realized I can’t lose you. Not like this. Not ever.”

The tears came then, and you didn’t try to stop them. You had been holding back for so long, afraid of what it would mean to let yourself feel this way, to let yourself fall for him. But now, it didn’t matter. He was here. You were both here.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “And neither are you.”

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos

[starlightsuffered]

I would like something where Timothée is a fuckboy dominant asshole. While flying to Italy for the Venice Film Festival in first class he finds this very beautiful Italian stewardess. Something smut with a very selfish, asshole and self-centered Timothée and a very submissive reader. Thank you very much

Stewardess

Info - dom Timothée, pantie gag, unprotected sex, stewardess reader, potential breeding kink, dick Timothée, slight intox, mile high club, Italian sweat word, degrading, hair pulling, biting

“Stop whining you pathetic slut,” He whispered in my ear. The devil on my shoulder had been telling me to give into this charming man the whole flight, as immoral as it was. The angel on my other shoulder was even intrigued with how beautiful he was.

“Take this,” he growled as his cock plunged in and out of me. I was whimpering like a dog until his shoved my own panties into my mouth.

“Taste the fucking wet stains you left while thinking of me,” Timothée growled. I shuddered.

The bathroom was small so I was completely smashed against the wall as he fucked me from behind.

“Uh, uh, uh,” I moaned. He wrapped my hair around his hand and yanked my head to the side. His eager lips were marking my neck, sometimes teeth would rake against the soft flesh.

“You wanted this so bad,” he taunted me.

“Uh, huh,” I agreed, still gagged. I felt dazed from the sent and taste of my own slick.

“Wanted to be a cock drunk little whore. Joining the mile high club with the biggest dick on the plane. You walk around in that slutty outfit and thought I wouldn’t bend you over and take this cunt?” He was still slamming into me. His cock was thick and long and I nearly had tears in my eyes from the pleasure.

“Wanted my babies swimming around in side you huh? Wanted to feel cum swollen and trying to keep it all inside you as you walk around and serve your little drinks?” He crooned in my ear. He was panting, and his voice was gravelly. I didn’t know how he thrusted so deep in this small space. I was voraciously hungry for him.

“Please!” I cried in a muffled tone. He chuckled darkly.

“Take this,” he whispered, stopping his movements for a moment. He poured a small bottle of alcohol down my mouth. I felt the liquid settle in my belly. The warmth of the drink mixed with the warmth in my core.

I felt more pliable, more used with every moment. I adored it. I wanted my insides to permanently be the shape of him. I was just a fucked out little sex doll as I came. My desperate cunt was grabbing at his dick as if begging him never to pull out.

My eyes rolled back in my skull as he released inside me. He grunted and violently shoved his hips forward. Without even moving in the end, he’d shot his huge load inside me.

“We will soon be landing in Venice, Italy, please fasten your seat belts and prepare for landing,” said the over head voice.

I turned to the cocky actor. He was smirking at me as he pulled up his jeans and zipped them.

“C-can I have your number?” I asked in a breathless voice.

He stood, leaning against the wall. His eyes dragged up and down my body slowly. I could tell I was used and useless to him now. For some odd reason, I didn’t mind.

“Nah, got a whole week in Venice,” he said smugly. “Can’t go back to pussy I’ve already ruined.”

“See yah, Puttana,” he winked. He smirked at the way I closed my legs, desperately trying to keep his cum inside me. He blew me a kiss before leaving the bathroom.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming

[retrogradedreaming]

I am so so so tired of this body

[vampiricgf]

☆ FAVORITE GIRL

ᝰ you think he's just another frat boy with meaningless flirty words for the person he sits next to in a boring class (he's down horrendous)

frat boy satoru x f!reader, college au, somewhat established relationship you guys are classmates, sfw no smut, alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, just lots of him being an idiot with a massive huge earth shattering crush <3

"And how's my favorite girl?"

"Worse, thought you'd skip this class again and we'd have some peace." You roll your eyes as you slide the straps of your backpack over the back of your chair.

Satoru Gojo, nuance Sig Ep and unfortunately glued to your side since the first day of statistics for reasons unknown to you. You'd made an effort to avoid members of greek life on campus, not wanting to get involved in party culture or whatever new dramatics were unfolding with its subgroups. That only seemed to encourage him though, casually throwing his arm around you through the duration of lectures and begging in that whining tone of his for you to come by the house.

You never did, you also pointedly ignored most of his text messages and actively regretted ever having to give him your phone number after the one assignment you'd been paired up for. Outside the occasional drunk text where he'd plead for you to show up, which did make you feel both bad for ignoring him and a little high off the attention. Not that you'd ever admit to clicking your phone lock and grinning to yourself in bed on those nights.

"C'mon, I'm the highlight of your day!" He shoots you that signature megawatt smile and you stick out your tongue at him, scooting your chair in the opposite direction and creating a wide gap as you sit down.

You see him frown and for a half second it looks genuine, making a pang of guilt reverberate through you so you scoot back to where you were and he resumes pestering you with some latest escapade in the Eps house as you both wait for the stream of students to peter off and the lecture to begin.

"Hey so, why you been ignoring my texts?" He pulls a pout and god you wish it wasn't actually cute.

"You send me weird combinations of emojis Gojo, what can I say to that?"

"It's Satoru," he quips almost immediately, barely allowing you to finish.

"Alright, Satoru, it's because you send me weirdo shit. Say hi every once in a while and maybe I'll say it back." You shrug, opening your laptop and preparing yourself to block out his incessant whispering for the next hour while you take down notes.

~

"You actually came!"

The sheer volume in the cramped, would-be living room of the house made you wince in tandem with his shout as Satoru threw an arm around you.

"I'm just humoring you so you stop bugging me!" You shout back, accepting a cup of god knows what from his hands and already formulating a plan of when it would be polite to bow out for the night without a barrage of where'd you go texts.

He doesn't answer you, too busy immediately yelling at some other guy over the volume of the music but you don't miss the way his hand slides down your back to settle at the lower curve, just above your ass. It makes you smile a little, despite your own misgivings about the scene you're in.

But quickly it becomes too much, being jostled by a permanently sweaty and horny crowd in such a cramped space, and you find yourself drifting outside to a patio sparsely populated with only a handful of smokers. The alcohol buzzing inside your brain makes you crave one, a thick, acrid stream of smoke spreading like thick flower petals blossoming inside your lungs.

One girl catches your eye and slowly you meander over to where she's perched, away from the rest on a railing that's seen one too many coats of poor paint jobs.

"Could I bum one off you?"

"You got a dollar?"

Lamely you pat your hips, absentmindedly searching for one until she lets out a soft laugh and extends the pack in her hand out to you. Marlboro lights, the gold top of it shimmers faintly in the dim light as you slide one out and accept the lighter she passes you.

"I tell myself lights mean I'm working on quitting. What a load of shit." She huffs out a laugh to herself as you flick the lighter and it gives a few sparky coughs before the flame catches, burning the tip of the cigarette into a solid ember cherry.

"I'm Ieiri," she says cordially as you hand back the deep purple lighter.

You give her your name before taking a deep drag of the cigarette, enjoying the feeling of it settling in your chest.

"They should invent a kind of cigarette that doesn't kill you." You say absentmindedly and she cracks a smile.

"Too bad the "healthy " cigarettes of ye old days had asbestos in them."

That makes you laugh, enjoying the way it flows into the air with the breeze that plays against your skin, like a lover running fingers over it and giving you gooseflesh.

"Wait, you're the girl Satorus got statistics with right? Tuesdays and Thursdays?" She asks between puffs, flicking ash off into the dark.

"Yeah, the very same. I figured I should finally take him up on the offer to come over, I've blown him off so many times." Saying out loud makes you feel a little like an ass, he may get on your nerves but he's never been anything but sweet to you.

"You know he's like, obsessed with you, right?" She says with another laugh and it makes you raise a brow.

"Oh yeah?"

She shakes her head, another drag before continuing. "Oh yeah. Gets too drunk every weekend and cries in the bathroom because you didn't show, has a crisis every day because he doesn't know what to say to you in texts. I've never seen him excited about a math course before this semester either, usually it's any excuse to cut class until a prof bitches at him."

With every word a strange sense of giddiness grows in tandem with the alcohol drenching your brain, and you can't help but think about those devastating blue eyes. The opposite of rose colored glasses but it fits, a shade of comfortable blue that tints the world because of him and suddenly you're gripped by the urgent need to go back inside and find him.

"Hey, thanks for the cigarette but I'm gonna go find him. See you inside?" You crush the butt out with the toe of your shoe, grinding it down and giving Ieiri a wave goodbye as the wall of thumping bass and neon light swallows you back up.

It strikes you as incredible how a house can turn into a labyrinth when filled to the brim with bodies and only offering the occasional flash of strobe or neon lights to guide you in the dark. After when feels like hours and checking nearly every room you come across for Satoru, without luck, you find Ierie once again leaning against a closed door with a particularly bored expression.

"Satoru she wasn't saying she was leaving she said she was coming to find you, dummy. Open the door."

As you sidled up beside her she shot you a conspiratorial glance before pulling you closer so you could hear her over the din.

"Can you tell him you're right here? He's such a whiny drunk." She rolls her eyes but you can tell it's playful, although you get the feeling this has happened more than once.

Hesitantly you put your palm against the door, feeling the distant bass thrumming through the wood. "Hey Satoru? I didn't leave, I'm right out here with Ierie!"

There's silence on the other side, making you frown in concern until the door is suddenly wrenched open and you nearly fall right against him. Despite clearly being drunk his hands come to grasp your upper arms gently to steady you before yanking you inside the hazy dark of what you assume was his bedroom.

"You're welcome!" You hear Shoko yell through the door as he sits down in a huff, still holding onto you, against a well worn futon.

You can't help but giggle at the way he almost curls around you, as if determined to attach to your side like some sort of sucker fish. With a bit of wiggling you manage to pull back, sweeping a few stray strands of hair from those baby blues as you do.

It's in that moment, when your fingertips brush his skin, that everything seems to pause. The noise outside seemingly vanishes, and it's like only the two of you exist in a comfortable bubble of silence. You never really noticed how his eyes looked almost crystalline before, too pretty to exist.

"Who gave you eyes like that?" You murmur, more to yourself but nevertheless he beams down at you.

"So you do like me, huh?"

The way he says it, so boyish, so... happy. You can't help but smile back, a shy thing that barely tugs at the corners of your lips.

"Duh, of course I do."

That makes him frown a bit, brows knitting in thought and somehow it made him look even cuter. No fair.

"Then how come you never showed up before? And you don't text me back?" A little pout forms on his lips as he finishes and you're struck with the overwhelming urge to kiss him.

With a superhuman effort you keep yourself focused on answering him. "You're, well... All this," you gesture broadly with your hands as you pull away slightly. "And I'm just a girl you have stats with. I thought maybe you were just yanking me around, being flirty in class but that's it, you know? I didn't wanna look stupid getting my hopes up."

"A girl I have stats with? You're joking, right? You're everything." He says incredulously, eyes wide as if more shocked than insulted that you could've looked at the situation that way.

Heat rushes beneath your skin at that, you're everything, and you know it's not the alcohol making you lightheaded. In your silence he continues.

"Y'know I'm not just messing around with you, I think about you all the time. Sometimes you're all I think about all day-"

With a surge of confidence you grab him by the front of his shirt, pulling him down and cutting him off with your lips pressed against his. It grips you like a fever, a crushing need to taste him. It's all sloppy teeth and tongues and spit but it feels perfectly serendipitous at the same time, an otherworldly calm that takes hold of your mind as your lips move against one another.

As you open your eyes into his you can't help the grin that now stretches wide across your mouth, giggling as you press kiss after kiss against his lips, his cheeks, his forehead and soon enough he's dissolved into a puddle of giggles and faux pouts in your arms.

"Will you tell me I'm your favorite girl again?"

"I'll tell you that forever."

[sanarsi]

Man’s Love

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel is your neighbor who doesn't hide his feelings for you and won't give up on winning your heart despite your rejections. Warnings: +18, MDNI, age gap (reader is 34, Joel is 40), smutttt with soft!dom!Joel (exactly how you like him), friends(?) to lovers trope, fingering, unprotected PIV Wordcount: 3,5k An: So again… I’m just a slut, you’re just a slut, we’re happy about it, enjoy bestie xx Music I worked with: OMG What’s Happening - Ava Max

Masterlist

You were happy.

You were fulfilled.

You lacked nothing.

A small house by the ocean, a stable job, friends.

But your neighbor thought differently.

Joel Miller would randomly run into you on his way home from the store at least once a week. Too bad the store was in a completely different direction. And at least once a week he invited you out for dinner, a glass of wine, a walk, and a million other things.

His intentions were clear. He never hid how much he liked you when he moved here. Oh man, he was crazy about you.

On the first day he came with a bottle of the best wine to get to know you. He was handsome, charming, funny and talkative. He definitely didn't miss anything. He even managed to steal one kiss from you. But he wanted something more. He wanted something permanent.

And you? You didn't need problems.

You thought you were too old for puppy love. Your previous relationships always gave you headaches. So why should it be any different with him?

That's why you refused him every time. Every time you told him that nothing would come of it. That you weren't what he was looking for.

But it didn't discourage him even for a moment.

Every few days you would find fresh flowers under your window, a basket of fruit that grew in his garden or colorful seashells. Every time you accepted his gifts with amusement.

Oh, he fucking fell for you. He was in love like a teenager. Even when you pushed him away he couldn't stop smiling. You looked beautiful when you tried to be mad at him because he came to you like a loyal dog again. But you couldn't and always ended up laughing, amused by his stubbornness.

He loved coming to your house and sitting on the wall watching you do ordinary things. How you hang laundry, how you care for your flowers, even how you read a stupid newspaper while ignoring him.

Despite his advances, your relationship was friendly. You sometimes went shopping together in the city. Joel sometimes fixed something in your house. You sometimes brought him sweet baked goods. You met at parties you organized for friends.

Yeah… Joel was a friend.

Even when he visited you just to convince you to like him more than just a friend. Like today. On Valentine's Day.

He stood before you with a bouquet of red lilies, a bottle of wine, and a small gift bag. He smiled broadly when he saw your surprise when you opened the door. Frowning, you looked at him carefully, scanning every inch of his body.

"Joel..." you started, sighing from exhaustion.

"Before you start saying you don't need a relationship," he interrupted you, holding up a dark bottle. "I brought your favorite wine," he said, smiling like an idiot. You blinked a few times, looking from him to the bottle of wine. He was so proud of himself that you couldn't help but roll your eyes and smile a little. "Come on, sweet girl. You can't say no to me," he encouraged you, and you just burst out laughing, shaking your head in amusement.

"Fine," you nodded and stepped aside. His smile only widened as he approached, pressing a bouquet of fragrant flowers into your hands and pressing a firm kiss to your cheek. With a quiet laugh, you closed the door behind him and followed him deeper into the house.

Joel felt at home here. He immediately started bustling around the kitchen, preparing everything he thought was necessary. Humming to himself the song that was playing quietly on the radio, he pulled out two glasses and began preparing snacks from what he found in the fridge. You put the bouquet in a vase and silently admired their intensely sweet scent. Joel always knew which flowers to choose to bring a smile to your face.

Or simply anything he did would bring a smile to your face.

Just like that.

You managed to put the vase on the table in the living room when he had already prepared everything on the terrace. You watched with amusement as he walked back and forth almost in a dance step.

He needed so little to be happy.

The sight of you was enough.

You went out onto the terrace and after a moment the music on the radio got louder. You shook your head and sat down at a small table. You grabbed one olive and popped it into your mouth the moment Joel left the house holding two glasses and an open bottle of wine.

"That thing you call a corkscrew should have ended up in the trash a long time ago" he said lightly and put everything on the table. You leaned back comfortably in the chair raising your eyebrows with a smile.

"Just because you don't know how to use it doesn't mean it's broken" you replied watching as he poured the golden alcohol into half of each glass.

"If you can use it then you're a witch" he said glancing at you before he put the bottle down and handed you one glass.

"You only noticed now?" you laughed under your breath. Joel plopped down in the chair across the table with a sigh. You took a sip of wine, looking out at the waves crashing against the stones.

“Yeah, that would explain why I am crazy about you,” he said, sipping his wine slowly. You raised an eyebrow at him in amusement. “You know, all those love spells and stuff,” he shrugged. You reached across the table and smacked his arm. Joel laughed under his breath, moving out of your reach.

“Idiot,” you muttered under your breath. You took a sip of wine and he bent down, reaching under the chair. You looked at him as he held out a small gift bag to you. You set your glass on the table and glanced suspiciously at the gift and back at him.

“Joel-“

“Yeah, I know. Just open it,” he interrupted you and nodded encouragingly at the bag.

You took the gift, still not convinced by the whole idea. You took out a small decorative box and your gaze immediately fell on Joel. He nodded again encouragingly and took a sip of wine, watching with a small smile. You rolled your eyes and continued until the glint of a thin bracelet made you stop. You stared at the thin chain with a pendant in the shape of your favorite flower. You felt a lump in your stomach as you tried to swallow. It was beautiful. Perfect for you.

You glanced at Joel who was watching you carefully as you took the bracelet out of the box. You looked at it closely, wondering how much money he had to spend on it. Fuckin’ idiot.

"Joel, I can't-"

"Yeah, I know. Let me put it on you," he interrupted you, already kneeling next to you. He took the jewelry from you and gently fastened it on your wrist. His warm touch sent a wave of shivers through your body. He grabbed your hand and looked at how the ornament looked on you before leaning down, placing a soft kiss on the back of your hand. “It’s bad luck to return gifts,” he said with a wink before returning to his seat. You looked at him, unable to say anything.

You looked at your wrist again with the new trinket and wanted to start cursing him for it. Why did he give you such gifts if you kept rejecting him? He didn't gain anything from it.

But you had to admit that you felt warmth in your heart.

A warmth you didn't want to feel.

You defended yourself from him as much as you could and yet somehow he broke through the walls around you. He made you feel like you were the center of his universe. You felt desired by someone. And you were just a human being with human needs and desires.

Fuckin’ Joel Miller.

"Do you like it?" he asked, breaking the silence that had been prolonged by your thoughts.

You smiled fondly and nodded. You finally looked at him. "Yes. Very much" you said which made butterflies flutter in his stomach.

He felt like a stupid teenager around you. And he wasn't going to let that feeling get lost because of your stubbornness.

Because Joel had already learned everything about you. And he knew that the only reason you refused him was fear. Fear that you would give him your time and end up with nothing.

The best way to avoid a broken heart?

Don't let anyone in.

But unfortunately you came across the most stubborn man in the world.

And it was with this stubborn man that you spent half the night, laughing, drinking another bottle of wine and talking about stupid things. It was with this stubborn man that you danced at sunset to radio songs. It was with this stubborn man that you felt like you were seventeen again.

Standing in his arms you let him lead the slow dance. His wide smile making you smile as he told you yet another stupid story.

"Yeah and then she looked at me like I was an idiot" he said and you threw your head back and started laughing. He loved watching you laugh. You looked so radiant then. His arm tightened around your waist.

"I'm not surprised" you said looking at him again. His gaze was so damn warm when he looked at you.

With love.

With love which you forbade him.

He stared at you like you were a work of art.

And only after a while you notice that you were just standing in the middle of the terrace. His arms wrapped around you and the calm music in the background. You gently tightened your fingers on his arm, feeling that he was walking on thin ice.

“Joel-“

"Have I told you how beautiful you look when you're happy?" he interrupted you. You blinked with your lips parted. But the damn wine made you snort under your breath.

"Yeah, three times this week," you said, amused.

"I like it when you're happy with me," he admitted, looking at you with a tender smile.

"You keep making me happy, so there's no other option," you laughed sweetly, and only when you noticed his gaze did you understand what came out of your mouth. You froze with your lips parted.

"I make you happy?" he raised an eyebrow, teasing you. He loved catching you by your words. In moments like these, he often got things he wanted out of you.

"Did you get me drunk on purpose?" you asked, frowning.

"Are you?" he asked with a smirk. You rolled your eyes with a wide smile.

"No, but that's not-"

"And you're still happy?" he interrupted you. You looked at him and your smile dimmed a bit. He was serious. And he was looking at you seriously. He waited for your answer. He waited for you to understand.

“Joel, we’ve talked about this so many times. Please.”

“Please for what? To stop making you happy?”

He hit the nail on the head.

You fell silent, realizing how hopeless this all seemed.

That you were the problem.

Not him. Not that he was pushing. Not that he was a pain in the ass.

You.

His hand found its way to your cheek, gently stroking your skin. You looked at him with those big, shiny eyes like a startled deer, and he couldn't help but want to finally cross the line.

"Baby, please," he said softly, sliding his fingers down your jaw to your chin. "I just need one chance." He stroked your chin with his thumb, leaning in a little closer. Your heart was pounding in your chest. "I won't ask for more." He ran his thumb over your bottom lip. Your hot breath bounced off his skin. "One chance," he whispered, nuzzling your nose. You could barely breathe as you watched him intently from so close. "I promise." His lips brushed against yours with every word and then you were gone.

Your eyelids fell and your body stopped resisting his closeness. And he felt it immediately. His lips were on yours in less than a second. He started slowly and gently not wanting to scare you away. His arms held tightly to him not allowing any space between you. But when your hands wrapped around his neck, he allowed his tongue to sneak into your mouth.

You didn't push him away.

So he started kissing you harder.

You gasped into his mouth as his tongue began to dominate yours. He kissed like he was hungry.

And he was.

He was hungry for you like a mad man.

You didn't even notice when he pressed you against the wall, his hands gripping your hips. You moaned into his mouth, tangling your fingers in his hair. You clenched your fingers around them, trying to return his intense kisses. But you failed.

So his lips moved to your neck. You threw your head back, panting heavily as his tongue left wet marks on your skin and his teeth, bites. His whole body pressed you against the cold wall as his hands began to slide down your thighs, squeezing every inch of your soft skin. He groaned thirstily into your neck as his hands began to roll up your dress so he could get to your underwear. You did nothing to stop it.

His lips collided with yours again, making you moan. His tongue immediately found yours, just like his fingers the elastic of your panties. And he couldn't wait when he finally had you so close.

His hand dove into your panties and his fingers immediately found your wet slit. You both moaned at the same time before his mouth attacked yours again. You dug your nails into the back of his neck as his fingers began to spread the wetness along the length of your pussy. Your knees trembled beneath you as he teased your clit with every movement.

You panted, trying to kiss him back, and you clung to him tighter as his fingers entered you. He rested his forehead against yours, letting you breathe. He watched you as you both panted against each other's mouths as he fucked you with his fingers.

"You're fucking beautiful," he breathed heavily. You looked up from his lips to his eyes, moaning louder as he curled his fingers inside you.

It had been so long since anyone had touched you that it didn't take much to feel your orgasm approaching. You tightened around his fingers and gripped his neck tighter. His lips began to place slow, wet kisses on yours. His cock was already painfully hard when he had you in front of him like this. Your moans sounded even better than in his dreams.

“Joel…”

Oh and his name on your lips made him shiver in his pants. Your fucking voice alone brought him pleasure. He was like a horny teenager who finally got into someone’s panties. But the difference was that now he knew how to take care of a woman.

That's why when you came on his fingers he felt so damn proud. He kissed every moan that escaped your lips before he pulled his fingers out of you, letting your orgasm begin to soak through your panties.

You were already drunk from his touch when he attacked your lips, starting to drag you into the house. You submitted to everything he did, moaning every time you hit each wall, too absorbed in each other. Joel managed to get rid of his shirt before he started unbuttoning your dress. You hungrily responded to his every kiss as your fingers worked to fasten his pants. Finally your dress fell to the floor.

Joel pressed you against the wall and his hands immediately began to explore your bare skin. He embraced your waist with one hand and his other hand found its way to your breast. You moaned into his mouth when he gently squeezed his fingers and his thumb ran over your nipple which immediately hardened under his touch.

You finally managed to unbutton his pants and you were about to plunge your hand into them but then Joel pushed you back and you landed on the soft mattress. You supported yourself on your elbows, panting heavily as he took off his pants and boxers in one move. You slid down his body thirstily.

You fell back onto the bed with a smile and slid your panties off and threw them at him. Joel laughed under his breath as they bounced off his chest and fell to the ground. You bit your lip in excitement as his body finally walled up above yours.

He hummed in satisfaction at the smile you were trying to hold back. He leaned down connecting your lips in a sweet kiss. You placed your hands on his cheeks holding him close to you. And you had to admit that it felt so damn good.

You felt his tip slide through your wet slit, making you gasp. And when he slowly entered you, you both broke the kiss, moaning into each other's mouths. Joel rested his forehead against yours, panting heavily as he buried his entire cock inside you. It took him a few seconds to wrap his head around the fact that he was finally inside you before he started moving his hips.

You tangled your fingers in his hair as he began to kiss your neck. His cock slowly rubbed against your sweet spot. He groaned as he thrust into you all the way over and over again. His hands slid down to your waist and hips and he gripped them tightly to hold you in place as he began to thrust into you with more energy.

Harder.

Deeper.

Until your legs began to tremble.

You closed your eyes, arching your back as his cock brought you closer to the edge with each thrust. He straightened up, panting heavily, and looked down at you as you arched in pleasure. He ran his eyes down your naked body, feeling like he'd won the fucking lottery. You looked like all of his fantasies came true.

Probably because you were his only fantasy.

His gaze fell on the spot where his cock disappeared inside you.

Oh fuck.

His hips slowed as he began to enjoy the sight of your wet pussy surrounding him perfectly. He growled throatily, stroking his hand over your thighs.

"You look amazing taking my cock like this," he said, making you moan. Not only was he a good fucker, but he also used dirty words. And who was perfect for who here?

His hands gripped your hips again as he sped up his thrusts into you. The air left your lungs and your ragged moans mixed with his soft growls. You clenched around him, feeling the pleasure too intense. And Joel continued to thrust into you like an animal.

“Oh baby I hope you’re close because I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold back,” he breathed, watching your face bathed in pleasure.

"Yes, yes" you almost squealed feeling like you were fighting for an orgasm with every movement he made. Joel smiled with satisfaction and leaned down to connect your lips. But the kiss quickly turned into an exchange of moans.

You dug your nails into his skin not knowing what to do with your hands as his cock hit the sensitive spot in your pussy every time. Until finally you felt a wave of orgasm take over your body. You moaned loudly clenching on him hard barely allowing him to move inside you.

"Oh fuck baby," he groaned feeling your orgasm perfectly along the entire length of his cock. And he didn't stop thrusting hard into you, prolonging your pleasure and chasing his own.

Your cunt creamed his cock so hard that the wet sounds could be heard in the room every time he entered you. Until he began thrusting slowly but so hard that the bed hit the wall as he came, moaning loudly. He thrust into you a few more times, coming deep inside you.

Your wet foreheads rested against each other as you both panted heavily. Your heart pounded in your chest as you felt your body relax from the weight of your orgasm. Joel leaned down connecting your lips in a soft and slow kiss and you wrapped your arms around him, tangling your fingers in his wet hair.

“One chance,” he whispered against your lips, glancing into your eyes. You fell silent, watching him and pursed your lips as a soft smile spread across yours.

“Okay,” you nodded quietly before his lips crushed yours again.

[gyuswhore]

Hits Different (...'cause it's you) (2)

«« I trace the evidence, make it make some sense Why the wound is still bleedin' »»

PAIRING: kim mingyu x reader

SYNOPSIS: Kim Mingyu was the first friend your brother had brought home for dinner. Fast forward a couple years, his toothy smile and pierced ears would wedge their way into a permanent place in your heart. Nail to a coffin, never to escape.

or;

in which you get rejected by the only boy you've ever loved; a rejection you can't quite shake off.

GENRES: based off of 'Hits Different' by Taylor Swift, brother's best friend!au, brother!seokmin, fluff, angst, smut (in part 2) [MINORS DNI], friends(?) to lovers, university!au.

PLAYLIST: right here!

WORD COUNT (full fic): 40k (im actually embarrassed)

Part 1: 20.2k | Part 2: 20k

masterlist

WARNINGS : slowburn, angst, fluff, mingyus a bit of an airhead and an ass, reader has a hard time managing her feelings, lots of frustrated tears, one sided pining, user toruro x minghao make an appearance, swearing, there's another woman (gasp,,,,,but shes cool so), Nayeon is a darling, Seungcheol is kinda annoying here but we love him, smut, making out, breast play, fingering (f. receiving), p in v sex (protected + unprotected), oral (f. receiving) uhhhh i think that's it lmk tho

[A/N]: Part 2 !! shit goes down in this one so be prepared ig lmao. thank you for the love on part 1, i hope you enjoy the finale too hehe

For the third time this week, you wish you could squeeze your brother’s brains with your own two hands and watch it explode like a grape without legal repercussions. Or parental ones. 

You slam your phone down on the counter after you end your conversation with him, frustrated as you watch the empty shelf where you left your dinner for today in the fridge last night, and the other green box that was actually your brothers. Refusing to eat the dry PB&J he usually packs for himself, you slam the fridge door shut, trudging out the door to leave for work, thoroughly annoyed at the prospect of needing to eat out. 

It’s gone forgotten for most of the day, that is until the clock hits eight and you feel your stomach grumble, immediately putting you in a sour mood as you remember you couldn’t enjoy your pasta because your brother was enjoying your pasta. You only had another hour left, supposing you could wait till you get home to make dinner yourself, not feeling the burger joint across the street in the slightest. Eating a moonpie to satiate yourself for the time being, you go back to stocking the shelves for the new LP shipment, making a vague mental note to ask Mingyu if Jia liked the gift he picked out a couple weeks ago. 

Your opportunity arises almost automatically as you walk over to greet whoever came in, abandoning the opened box of bubble wrapped LPs as you hear the bell chime softly at the front of the store.  

Mingyu was here (again), hands occupied with a bag, looking relieved to find you emerging from the shelves. 

“Oh, you’re here. I was afraid you left already,” he says, smiling slightly. 

“Would’ve been closed if I did.” You nudge your head towards the clearly unlocked door, donning the neon open sign. 

He looks a little dumb, turning to look at the door. “Oh. Right.”

You can’t help but smile a little. “Caught me at a good time though, I was just about to start wrapping up here.” 

He suddenly looks like he’s reminded of what he’s come here for, placing the bag on the desk next to him. “Seok told me to drop this off for you, he said it’s food.” 

Snorting, you take a look at the inside to find takeout from your favourite pasta place, which also happens to be your most expensive favourite pasta place. Seokmin felt bad enough to spend extra dollars on your dinner tonight, you guessed you could forgive him. 

You sigh as you speak. “And you strike as his errand boy yet again, sorry he’s been making you do all this.” 

“Did he piss you off?” Mingyu asks.

“Hm? He’s been pissing me off all week, this is him trying to get on my good side before I spit in his coffee.” 

He laughs at that, a toothy smile that has your stomach lurching. The flashback was brief but vivid all the same, his grin triggering a long forgotten memory. You could almost see the black studs in his ears again, his bangs falling in chunks on his forehead, his face turning into the boyish sixteen year old recollection on your kitchen counter, drinking cans of Monster and helping you lie to your mom. 

“Explains why he was ready to drop that much on a bowl of pasta.” 

“Hey, it’s good.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” He grins, “I’m gonna leave your pasta in your loving embrace, I have to feed my car now. Been putting it off till payday.”

“Oh, right. Thanks for dropping this off though, appreciate it.” You offer him a tight lipped smile. One that he returns, canines almost glinting in the light (but that’s just you). 

“No worries, I’ll see ya around.” You don’t remember what you were meant to ask him until he’s long jingled the glass door shut, walking to his parked car. You supposed it could wait, Jia would’ve liked anything he got her. You could ask him later, not wanting to have him turn around to answer the obvious question. 

The opportunity does not arise as easily as it did this time, a couple weeks passing in relative uneventful indifference, slow days at the store and nights in seven days a week. You were starting to wish you’d taken summer classes while you were stuck here anyway, the mundane days pushing you to believe you’d rather be busy than inexplicably bored. It’s not until your brother has a near mental breakdown from only having a sister as his main recreational contact that there’s a change. 

Mingyu sits on your couches in the dark, useless blanket thrown over his torso as both of his sock clad feet hang out in the air. To be fair, nobody’s looking at anybody as the eyes remain on yet another unnecessary explosion on the screen. You vaguely wonder how the ship hasn’t sunk yet. 

“What the fuck do you mean he’s been alive this whole time?” Seokmin utters, voice thick with the entire stick of butter he stuck into his bowl of popcorn. 

“Who funded this?” Mingyu mumbles from the other end, a deep frown etched on his face. 

“The people who funded the other three monstrosities.” You roll your eyes, inching your way into a sitting position, the ache making its way into the crick of your neck. 

“There’s more?!” The prospect had Mingyu hurtling into a sitting position, but not without his own set of winces as he feels the bones cracking and muscles aching. His hair is a mess, his hoodie nearly backwards, and you can’t help but laugh at the mildly confused and bewildered expression he has on. 

“Yeah, you wanna watch those too?” you ask through giggles.

Glancing at the final pub scene that’s playing on the TV, he's quick to mumble, “Fuck, no.” 

“I haven’t watched a real shitty movie in a while.” Seokmin groans as it’s his turn to stretch. “This was fun. Hollywood’s back.” 

Both you and Mingyu pointedly ignore his statement, your own mind debating whether you wanted to watch another movie. It’s not until you look up to see Mingyu doing something on his phone that you remember what you wanted to ask him. 

“Hey, Mingyu, did — Seokmin!” Your brother’s decided to begin his aerial stretches, touching his toes and cracking his back. You shift your head wildly to get a gap through his restless movements, eventually giving up finding Mingyu. He could hear you. “Did you – ugh – did you get to give Jia her present?” 

You aren’t sure what it is, but the way the question has Seok landing on his heels mid tip toe stretch and how Mingyu’s eyebrows shoot up, you don’t doubt you’ve touched on something sensitive. There’s a part of you that wonders if it’s too late to take it back when both boys make eye contact with each other, but your brother beats you to it. 

“I, uh…forgot to tell her,” he lowtones. 

You look to your brother and then to Mingyu. 

“We broke up.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Mingyu smiles a little awkwardly, and Seok makes a strangled sound that may have been a laugh of his own. Or a cough, you aren’t too sure. “But…she did like the present, when I gave it to her anyway.”

“Oh, that’s…that’s good,” you manage, not knowing what to say. “Sorry that happened though…sucks.” 

“She ended it–” that has your own brows shooting up in disbelief. Kim Mingyu got dumped? “–over the phone, she decided she wanted to stay home for a while to figure out what she wanted to do. Uni wasn’t cutting it for her here…” 

“I mean, good for her, I guess. Hope you’re doing okay, though.”

He blows air out of his cheeks, scratching his neck. “I mean, we’re fine. Ended it on good terms.” 

Seokmin’s still standing awkwardly staring at the still running ending credits for something to do. “Should we get food?” 

“I don’t know, are you hungry?” Mingyu asks.

“How is the heartburn not getting to you yet? You basically emptied the country’s dairy reserves in a single popcorn serving,” you grumble. 

“Don’t underestimate my ingestional abilities,” he retorts.

Mingyu stares for a moment. “Aren’t you lactose intoletrant or something?”

Seokmin turns to him, mouth open as he points his finger, “You know, I might be.” 

“No you aren’t, if you were lactose intolerant then I’d be lactose intolerant,” you shoot. 

“Explain the empty can of air freshener in the bathroom after queso and chips?” 

“Have you considered during queso and chips that queso is a dip and not an optional beverage?” 

Mingyu’s cutting between you two before you can go on with your bickering, afraid he’d have to physically peel you off of each other if it goes on, “Let’s just go to a drive thru, you can get your lactose or…non lactose options however you like.” 

That’s how you’re shoved into the backseat of Mingyu’s car, Seokmin fiddling with the GPS to find the nearest McDonalds. 

“How do you not know where the nearest McDonald’s is, you live here,” Mingyu hisses as he takes his fourth right turn in a row.

“We always just order in, who sits in a car and goes to McDonalds.”

“Us apparently,” you lowtone to Mingyu from the back, picking at a crusty flower that you found in between the seats. They ignore you. 

“Okay, I think it’s this one. Dude, get a new GPS, this one responds after fifty years, of course it’s gonna take this long.” 

Their own bickering is starting to zone out into a buzz in your ears as you stare at a patch of leather behind Mingyu’s seat. You vaguely considered that you’re falling asleep. 

The streetlight has other plans, however, when you sense something glinting in the sudden light underneath the seat. Your interest is piqued, moving forward to see what it was. Mingyu senses you shifting and asks you what you’re doing. 

You don’t answer him as you shuffle around to catch sight of it again. And then you see it, a tiny necklace on the slightly dirty mat, a circle charm with a single ‘J’ in the center. You aren’t sure why you froze at the sight, the gold glinting prettily even in the dark. Leaving it there, you emerge from under the seat, trying to seem nonchalant. 

“Nothing. Thought I saw something.”

Mingyu’s common occurrence in the bookstore is starting to concern you, never catching him as the type to read something other than the occasional bad riddles on the back of a cereal box. You stand corrected however, as you find yourself trying to find a hardcover for him on the computer system, mumbling incoherently.

“Never knew you read.” 

“Well, now you do. This one’s really good though, you should read it too.” He notes, motioning towards the paperback version he brought with him for the book he’s finding. 

You snort at his suggestion. “Have you realised this is one of the most popular books in its genre right now? Hard to find someone who hasn’t read it.”

He frowns at the revelation, “Oh. None of my friends read it.”

Seokmin hasn’t opened a book for recreational purposes since he was twelve. As for his other friends…they didn’t exactly seem like the smart type either. You get up to move to the shelf the computer’s indicated, trying to walk off your annoyance at a particular memory before it begins to show. Mingyu follows you in your pursuit to find his book, skimming the shelves himself as he strolled behind you. 

“Oh, right, how’s that exhibition thing going? Forgot to ask about it,” you ask as you spot the box of the hardcovers at the top of the shelf. You grab the ladder that rests near the wall as he answers.

“It’s going pretty good, nearly done. I just need to send the final pieces over – what’re you doing?” 

You grunt as you begin to climb up the metal ladder, trying to get to the box. “Getting your book, genius.”

“Wait–” He moves to grab the ladder at the base as he watches you step higher. “Get down! I’ll go up instead.” 

“You get cold feet at the bottom of an escalator, be serious, Mingyu,” you grunt as you pull the box towards yourself, the ladder shaking with the force it takes, and it has Mingyu gripping the metal tighter. You pull the familiar cover out before closing the box back up. “There.”

“Why would you keep supposed bestsellers there, isn’t this like, in demand?” He grumbles as he continues to hold the ladder as you climb back down. 

“Ran out. Need to restock them at the front, but I’ll do that tomorrow.” You huff as you jump the last step, earning a loud yelp from Mingyu. 

“Chill out,” you chuckle as he puts the ladder away. “Okay, do you want me to look at anything else for you?”

“What would you recommend for my next imaginary adventure?” he asks as he picks out a random book from the shelf, trying to find the blurb. 

“Not that one.” You scrunch your nose at the sight.

“This one I know is popular. What’s wrong with it?” He chuckles as he puts it back.

“Don’t believe everything you see on the internet,” you call out as you walk back to the front.

“And believe you instead?” 

Oh, you wish.

Picking up your current read from the front of the store, you wait for him to reach the end of the opening where you stand to hand it to him. 

“You can decide that for yourself. Haven’t finished it yet, but it looks super promising. Try it out if you want.” 

He barely looks over the glistening title before handing it back to you, and you nearly assume he didn’t want it. 

“Ring both of them up,” he says, and then with a pause he continues, “And anything else you think is good too, I don’t really care.” 

Deciding you’d test the waters with this first recommendation, you only cash him in for two. He doesn’t question it as you do your job behind the desk, making casual conversation as he waits for you to find the right barcode. 

“How far are you with that one?” 

“The one I gave you? Just touched chapter 20, I think.” 

He only hums in response as he pays, grabbing the bag that you push towards him. 

“Let me know how you like it,” you comment before he begins to turn to leave. 

“‘Course.” He grins, and you can't help but grin right back. He leaves you in the store with a slight heat coming up to your cheeks, and a wad of gum in your mouth to keep your stomach in check. 

By the time the next day rolls around, it’s been nearly 24 hours before you hear from him again, his contact seemingly only ever gracing you within the walls of the bookstore – except he isn’t physically here. Mingyu texts you, and you nearly fall out of your chair at the sight of his name on your phone. 

It’s near embarrassing how quickly you pick up your phone, passcode going wrong once, twice, thrice…you decide it’s the top five worst times your phone’s refused face ID. You’re slamming your fingers onto the screen harder than you should, watching the warp in the pixels at the pressure. By the time it does open its secrets for you, the annoyance has settled. Not at him though. 

[Mingyu]: hey [Mingyu]: i got to chap 20  [You]: what [You]: how [Mingyu]: started reading when i got home [Mingyu]: and then i got to 20 [Mingyu]: i think i pulled an all nighter [You]: you think? [You]: was it that good [Mingyu]: couldnt put it down [Mingyu]: i wanna talk about it but my eyes are closing  [You]: you know where to find me when you wake up

The typing ellipses don’t pop up after that, and you assume for the better that he’s succumbed to his afternoon drowsiness. If he was serious about that all nighter (which you don’t doubt, no way he could’ve plowed through twenty chapters and gotten any sleep), you assume he’ll be knocked out for at least the rest of the afternoon. 

Smiling to yourself at the thought of him wanting to text you about your matching achievements (and actively pushing your mind away from the blessed image of a napping Mingyu), you find yourself scrolling up the conversation, trying to remember the last time Mingyu had texted. That was easy to find out as the short scroll past the sparing details from your photography adventures landed you straight into late last year, a sparse conversation regarding your brother’s whereabouts when he wouldn’t answer his phone. 

You remembered the conversation. As mundane and ordinary as it was, it was difficult to forget the way your hands were shaking as you typed your one word replies, how your breathing was coming out uneven at a mere text back. You could argue there was less of that this time round, proud of yourself for learning to control your emotions better. 

There’s a train of thought that leads you to every recent interaction you’ve had with him. The conversations where you could look him in the eye, your relative indifference when he would show up unannounced, the disappearance of the wad of emotions in your stomach at the mere mention of his name. 

The latter may be slightly untrue, but you can't help but note how the ounces of fear within the concoction is gone. You were never quite sure what it was that you were so afraid of, perhaps the fateful night at Seungcheol’s party had answered that question for you, but still. 

“Seok’s not the type to beat me up if I dated his sister. And besides…” He sighs, halting his words.

“Besides what?” Somebody chimes in.

“I’m not interested in going after someone who’s chased my tail for the past fifteen years.”

Despite telling yourself it was the alcohol talking, maybe even a couple puffs of whatever — the mild disappointment remains. Thinking about the weeks following that, the moping and the hurt, you almost don’t blame Mika for acting the way that she did. 

Your brother had always been oblivious to all the frolicking in your heart that would ignite as Mingyu would enter the room, and for over a decade at that. And yet, it was during those weeks that he had noticed you acting like you had been dumped, asking you what on earth was wrong with you. 

“Did somebody say something to you?” he asks.

“Huh?” you frown, annoyed at the way he's planted himself directly in front of the cabinet that held your beloved moonpies. 

“You’re acting like you’ve been rejected by the love of your life. Nayeon’s not telling me anything and you’re being avoidant, what is up with you?” He huffs, hands on his hips. 

Oh, if only he knew how right he was. But you weren’t upset because the love of your life rejected you (anymore, at least), you were upset because he was a public asshole. 

It takes more coaxing from him to get you to start talking. It’s easier when he brings out the big guns: “D’you want me to tell mom?”

You tell him a little, not naming any names, much to his dismay. “Some guy was an ass, something about me being too easy or whatever.” 

“You’re upset because some drunk dude decided to run his mouth?” He scrunches his nose at the thought. “Ignore him, he’s stupid.”

“Thanks for the help, I’m cured,” you deadpan, pushing him aside to get to the gold inside the cabinets. 

“I could get Mingyu to help me beat him up, I just need a name.”

Oh. You briefly wonder how he'd feel if he had to beat up his best friend.

More than his attempts to sound like a cool older brother, the image of Mingyu beating himself up brings you more amusement than anything else. You crack a smile at the thought. 

That was months ago, yet you can’t seem to forget the hurt. Trying to shake off where your thoughts were taking you, you get up to take a walk around the store for something to do, fixing microscopic displacements on the shelves and wondering if you should restock something, only to realize you’d already done that when you came in, not wanting to whip out the ladder again to restock the ones you'd just landed from.  

Landing inevitably back behind the counter, you instinctively reach for the book wedged beside the computer. Your outstretched hand stops midway, thinking about how Mingyu’s reached as far as you in the story quite literally overnight. Retracting your hand, you decide you’d wait. 

The bell chimes signaling a customer, and you find yourself grateful for the distraction.

It’s nearing 8:30 when you decide you should close early. It was slower than usual today, the few walk-ins leaving without purchases too hefty, rendering you bored in your seat for most of the day. You’re locking the drawers of the main desk when Mingyu walks in with the familiar tune of the bell chiming, soft smile as he greets you quietly. 

“How was your nap?” you ask, trying not to giggle at his still dazed expression. 

“Pretty good, didn’t wanna wake up though.” His voice remains relatively coarse, and you don’t miss the light indent on his left cheek. It’s endearing, enough to have you wishing you could cup his face in a loving squish. 

But you don’t. 

“You don’t say,” you comment. Pointing at your own cheek as you continue, “You sure you don’t wanna take the night off too?” 

“Fuck,” he whispers as he looks down to fumble for his phone to see for himself in his front camera. The puffiness hasn’t gone away entirely, evident when he’s frowning and looking downwards, and the urge to squeeze comes hurtling back. 

“Did you drive like this?” 

“Uh, no, I walked.”

“Walked?” You try to comprehend if that was even more dangerous. He only nods. “Why?”

“Wanted to see you.”

It takes effort to not clutch your chest at the way your heart leaps. Kim Mingyu, you bastard. 

“Had to talk about the book.”

Your voice comes out a little more breathless than you’d like, but you hope his drowsiness skips over it. “You could’ve texted.”

He pauses as he mulls it over. “I mean, yeah…I don’t know. I just put my shoes on and came here.”

You decide you’d spare him the brain power and continue your remaining closing duties, talking to him as you move around the store. 

“We can take my car to my place, better than getting distracted here.”

He only nods in response. “Do you want any help?” 

“Nope, just need to turn off the lights and lock the doors. Let me grab my bag.” 

By the time you’re home, an XL pizza and drinks in your arms to satiate Mingyu’s post nap ravenous tendencies, you drop down on the couch with a huff. Seokmin hears the ruckus and appears from his room, not wasting time to break on the pizza with Mingyu as you leave to freshen up. By the time you settle with your own slice it seems as though Mingyu has roused himself significantly more than before. 

“Okay,” you huff as you land on the soft cushioning, “What did you think about the book?”

“Hard to believe this is her first book, it’s really good.” 

“Her world building is amazing, some of the best I’ve read.”

Your back and forth discussion grows increasingly passionate, forgetting the fact that your brother was also right there excluded from the conversation. His head shifts back and forth as the both of you converse, utterly lost. It would’ve been funny, except neither if you were actually looking at him. 

He manages to get a word in as one of you pauses for breath. “Since when do you read?” 

Mingyu gapes at the question, seemingly trying to find an answer. “Recently.”

“Why?” 

“What do you mean why? I just wanted to start reading,” he scoffs in a manner that could be described as exaggerated. If he’s trying to throw Seokmin off his scent, he’s succeeded, as he watches Seokmin get up and announce that he has work to do. That leaves the both of you alone. 

The conversation takes you into the late hours of the night, Mingyu’s prior nap releasing him from the chains of reasonable sleeping hours as he remains wide awake despite the 3 AM time on the dial. You manage to keep up with him, even when he follows you to the kitchen to brew a coffee. 

“Do you usually work this hard just to make coffee?” he asks as he watches you discard the used espresso puck. 

“We have a bottle of the instant stuff here somewhere for when I’m lazy,” you explain as you pour the fresh shots into the prepped ice and milk. “Doesn’t taste the same though.” 

“Coffee is coffee,” he says as he stirs the drink you push towards him. 

“Quite the contrary. Besides, the instant stuff fucks with my stomach, I’d rather not.” You take a sip of your coffee, glancing at the sink. “Will say, hate everything I have to wash afterwards.”

“I’ll do ‘em later, gotta pay you back for all the manual labour that went into this thing,” he refers to the latte he’s sipping on currently. 

“The appreciation is enough. We can make Seok do them in the morning for being a loser and going to bed early,” you snort. Mingyu laughs at that, the image of Seokmin doing dishes while the both of you sleep in. 

“You sure you don’t wanna call it a night?” he asks you as you place yourself on the kitchen counter. 

“I’m having fun, Mingyu, seriously. I’m off tomorrow too, I don’t have to wake up,” you reassure for the nth time. 

He doesn’t reply, only stares up at you from his leaned position. He’s chewing on his lip, and you find yourself unconsciously chewing at your own, the already raw skin stinging at the abrasion. Mingyu’s hands come up to your face slowly, like he knew it was hurting as he pulls your bottom lip to release it with his thumb. 

“You’re gonna bleed,” he whispers. His hand that grasps your chin doesn’t move, rough thumb continuing to graze at your lip lightly. 

“You never stopped picking at your lips, did you?” he wonders out loud, eyes trained on your mouth. 

Your own hand comes to lightly grip at his forearm. He remembers your habit, picking at the skin of your lips since near middle school, getting yelled at when you had to excuse yourself from the dinner table when they would bleed. 

“Old habits die hard.” Your voice is thick despite the gulp you had to take before opening your mouth. 

It was true, probably too much as you continue to look at his near perfect face. The oldest habit, the hardest to die. 

Mingyu drops his hand, landing it in your lap, your own hand still gripping his forearm. You aren’t sure what’s going through you as you trail your hand up further, to his wrists, to the dip of his palm, landing on his fingers. You grip his hand, tight this time. 

“I’m gonna jump,” you whisper, and you feel his grip tighten around yours as he braces to support you off the counter. 

You face him in silence, contemplating, “It’s hot in here, let’s go back out.”

He watches as you pick your cup off the counter and leave, not waiting for him to follow you. He finds himself trying to take deeper breaths, stalling, but not for long as he joins you back on the couch.

It probably came as a shock to both of you the first time Mingyu announced his leave much earlier in the night, when you stopped him, asking him to stay. It was silent for a few sparing moments as you both absorbed what had come out of your mouth, trying to make sense of it. You found yourself needing to coax him a little more to convince him he wasn’t overstaying his visit, that you were having fun. He sits back down, warning you that this was going to be a long night. 

You don’t think you could ever forget the absolute somersault your stomach performed, the after effects leaving you still as a plank. 

It was a long night indeed. And yet, when you found your eyes closing after a fight, much later on the couch with a large blanket shared between the both of you, Mingyu watches you doze off while leaning on the couch facing him, wishing the night was longer. 

If you were awake, you probably would’ve found yourself agreeing.

There’s a lot Mingyu has to learn about himself. He’s reminded of the fact nearly everyday. Especially right now as Seokmin runs his mouth sitting with him at a secluded booth in some bar. 

They had company, a couple guys joining them for dinner before leaving not too long after. That left him and a slightly tipsy Seokmin alone, who’s currently munching on a platter of crackers in front of him. He was bright enough, the energy from the others keeping him going as they played their drinking games and ate their obnoxious amounts of food. It was alot more somber with only the both of them left, his mood deflating as their friends slowly dwindled in number. That wasn’t about to stop him from ordering another beer though. 

“Summer’s so boring,” he grumbles in dejection, flicking a stray crumb off the table. 

“You chose to stay here,” Mingyu replies. 

Seokmin doesn’t answer him, but continues to look like a kicked puppy, a slight pout forming on his face. 

Mingyu fights the urge to scoff, “You can’t possibly be this upset about summer being depressing.” 

“It’s not about that.” 

Mingyu takes a swig of his own drink before sighing loudly, “What’s this about then?”

Seokmin says your name, and Mingyu is suddenly very interested. “She just seems to be doing a lot better since she started working at the bookstore.”

“Better?”

 “She told me about this guy a couple months ago.”

Mingyu’s trying really hard to not look visibly deflated, not that Seokmin would notice considering his state, but he attempts to sound nonchalant regardless. “Do we know him?”

“I – no, that’s not,” he huffs in exasperation, “She said she overheard him, basically calling her easy.”

“Easy?”

“I don’t know, something about her chasing his tail or whatever, she won’t tell me who it is. She hadn’t been doing too great recently and I’m pretty sure it was because of him.” 

It is dawning on Mingyu, embarrassingly slowly, that the guy Seokmin is talking about — may be him. 

His voice is hoarse, a little frantic. “And she’s doing better, you said?”

“Oh yeah, the bookstore’s been amazing for her. Not sure how though, ‘cause she just sits there doing nothing for hours.”

He can’t bring himself to meet Seokmin’s eyes, remnants of his memories flurrying around in his brain in an attempt to figure out what other bullshit he had spewed that day. He was sure you weren’t there, you couldn’t be.

“Maybe doing nothing was what she needed.” Mingyu’s reply is whatever came to him off the top of his head, mind still racing. 

“Hm, I guess. I was trying to get her to tell me, we could’ve chopped his dick off together,” Seokmin grumbles.

Mingyu winces slightly, eyes tight shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose. There’s a protective hand that subconsciously reaches his crotch area. “Yeah, yeah totally.” 

“Fucker got let off easy, he should be happy she’s doing good.” Seokmin continues to ramble, voice getting increasingly louder. 

“Yeah…”

“She’s not easy. My sister isn’t easy at all! Running after his tail, my ass! She doesn’t need some motherfucker with bad hair to be running his mouth, drunk as a bitch.” He stabs a single chopstick into the spare piece of meat on his plate, and the force has Mingyu flinching slightly. 

“How do you know he has bad hair?” Mingyu continues to stare at the impaled piece of beef that Seokmin brings to his mouth. 

“I don’t need to know a motherfucker to know he uses shitty hair gel.” 

Mingyu may try to run his hair gel past Seokmin at some point. But right now, he’s only trying to make it out of the bar with his sex organs intact.

“Hey, we’re past this, remember? She’s doing great right now and that’s all that matters.” Mingyu sounds overly flustered, but he can’t bring himself to care as he attempts to reign in an angry Seokmin. They were garnering looks, and the last thing he wanted was to get kicked out before they had paid. 

Seokmin is still huffing and puffing, but significantly less so as he finds reason in Mingyu’s words. “I’m gonna find out who he is.”

“You hate living in peace.”

“My sister’s hasn’t had any peace because of this dickwad, I’m—” 

“OKAY! Okay, got it. We’ll figure that out when you’re sober.” Mingyu rises from his own seat as he finds Seokmin lifting his own butt off his chair in a near war cry. 

He manages to fend him off, waving for the bill before he has to pull him back from aimlessly marching to whoever’s house he had in mind. He calms down as they wait for the check, finishing the remaining scraps on the table in silence. 

Seokmin seems nearly back to his regular self after a few minutes, forehead creases smoothing over during his cool down time. He speaks, except this time it’s in a more socially acceptable manner.

“Hey, I’ve been noticing, you and her have been getting pretty close lately. I don’t know, it’s just, I woke up and saw both on the couch and —” 

“Here’s your bill!” The waiter cuts him mid sentence, placing the check on the table. 

Mingyu knew what Seokmin was getting to, and he was thanking every star in the galaxy for bringing the waiter into their lives at that exact moment. He’s quick to fuss over the glossy piece of paper, humming and making comments at their purchases to fill in any silent opportunities to let Seokmin continue. Mingyu’s slips his card in the wallet.

“It’s on me,” he announces as he flashes a quick smile to the waiter. “You can cut a ten for yourself.” 

“Wait, what — let’s split, what’s wrong with you?” Seokmin jolts up as registers what’s happening a little too late. 

“It’s fine, you can pay for the next one.” He says as he shifts around the table to look for his phone. “You should probably go to bed too, it’s getting pretty late. Sleep off the beer and whatnot.” 

Seokmin is left speechless as Mingyu gets up, grabbing his stuff. 

“Wait, your card—” Seokmin starts. 

“Is here,” Mingyu spews a quick ‘thanks’ to the waiter, waving his card in front of Seokmin so he’d finally stand the fuck up.

“Do I need to drag you out of that chair, let’s go!” he says, grabbing Seok by the arm to lift him off his seat. It was nearly funny how he couldn’t get him to stay within the vicinity mere minutes ago and now is begging for him to get up. 

By the time Mingyu’s jamming Seok’s key into your apartment, he’s tired of his endless rambling. He can only appreciate his drunk brain for not bringing up the last question he tried asking him. He’s opening the door, urging Seokmin to walk inside, slapping him awake from his nap against the wall.

Mingyu deems it best to physically put him in bed for the furnitures’ sake, pushing him in front to lead him to his room. Mingyu’s spent by the time he’s done and Seokmin is snoring, his back cracking from the hunched position he’s kept from tucking him in and taking his shoes and jacket off. 

He tiptoes out (despite knowing it’d take a marching band to wake him up at that point), closing the door as quietly as possible. 

“What’re you doing here?” 

Mingyu nearly jumps out of his skin, landing a mile as he hears your voice in the dark hallway, hand coming up to his heart. “Jeez— announce yourself, would you?” 

“In my own house?” you raise an eyebrow. 

“Just—” he waves you off as he comes round, standing straight. “I was putting Seok to bed.”

You inhale sharply. “Did you drink?”

“Me? No, but he’s knocked out right now, he’s probably gonna need a pill in the morning,” he replies. 

“Hm, I’ll see to it in the morning, or whenever it is that he wakes up.” 

“Yeah.” Mingyu is standing awkwardly in front of you in the dark hall, not having anything else to say. “I’ll get going now.”

“Oh, right, yeah. Get some sleep,” you say as you let him move past you. 

“You too, don’t know why you’re awake,” he chuckles quietly. 

“Couldn’t sleep, I’ll go to bed now though.”

The awkwardness is painful, Mingyu can feel it in his chest. But what he’s feeling more is the way you look in your night shirt now that you’re in the light of the living room, legs shown farther up than you’d usually let them go. He wonders if you're wearing shorts underneath, but slaps himself out of it when he realises he’s been silent for too long. 

“Uh yeah, I’ll go now. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mingyu.”

Mingyu replays the last five minutes in his head the entire car ride home, when he’s changing out of his clothes, when he’s brushing his teeth, when he crawls under the warm covers to finally call it a night. Mingyu thinks about what he said all those months ago at a dumb party, how he’s hurt you more than he thought he had. There’s an ache that plunges into him, the thought of you going through that because of him while he stayed blissfully unaware. 

He doesn’t know what he’s gonna do to make it up to you, but right now, he’s happy. Happier than he’s been in a while, falling asleep to the thought of you. 

“Goodnight, Mingyu.”

You, on the other hand, are far from happy as you find yourself in yet another car related predicament. 

Having to run to work in the middle of July is never a preferred option, yet you find yourself needing to do it anyway when you walk out to your engine refusing to start. 

You really needed a new car. 

Abandoning the hunk of what was turning out to be just expensive scrap metal, you rile other options out in your head. 

Seokmin was long gone with his car. The bus was gonna take too long. No way in hell were you about to overpay a taxi to take you somewhere that was essentially just a 15 minute walk (read as run). 

So you find yourself slinging your bag as a crossbody, thanking the heavens that you at least didn’t need to change your shoes. You pray for your white sneakers as you run across town, blurting apologies to passerbys that would gape at your hurried form. As apologetic as you were, it didn’t compare to how sorry you felt for yourself, the heat pricking your skin in an agitated rise anytime you’d slow down. 

The AC is near heavenly as you gasp walking into the bookstore, red faced and hair sticking to your forehead. 

“Sorry,” you gulp frantically. “Sorry, I’m late.”

“Oh god,” you hear your boss comment as she sees you walk in. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just need a minute. Car broke down.”

She ushers you in front of the AC, waiting for you to collect yourself before taking her leave. 

“I think I’m okay now, sorry about that.” Your chuckle comes out a little choked. So much for being convincing. 

“You really should get a new car. I have a friend who’s daughter is selling hers, do you want me to ask them for you?” She’s patting your shoulder as she talks to you, and you recognize her courage to look past the sweat that’s accumulated there.  

“That’d be great actually, thank you.” 

Your second blow of the day comes right after you’ve finally gotten rid of the buckets of sweat on your body, seating yourself behind your desk to do some digging of your own.

You immediately wish you hadn’t as soon as you open the first second hand market site, the price tags landing you somewhere between never happening and impossible. Groaning, you place your head in your hands as you try to think of what to do. You pray your boss would come back with a quote that isn’t as outrageous as everything else you’ve cursed your eyes upon, seeing as that seemed the only viable option for you. 

Closing the windows off your computer, you decide this was a headache for another time. You reach for your bag to rummage through it, only to find yourself in your third predicament of the day. 

You had forgotten your book. 

It shouldn’t have been a worry, considering you were in a bookstore and had access to about 56 more of the same edition that you could borrow for the day. Except it was a worry, because your copy had been religiously tabbed and annotated as you would read, not a single thought left to be forgotten in your head as they would spring up. You can almost see the pink cover sitting on your desk and you nearly begin to cry. 

You wonder if you could break your ‘one book at a time’ streak for the sake of it, picking up another one off the shelf to start. The thought nearly makes you gag, the anxiety of losing interest in your current one leading you to sit aimlessly at your desk for the rest of the day. 

What’s even more anxiety inducing to you, however, was the promise you’d made with Mingyu the week prior, to be finished with the book by the end of today so you could finally decide whether the end was worth it or not. The thought has you nearly picking up a copy off the shelf anyway, annotations be damned. Force of habit, however, forbids you as you are shunned by yourself to play solitaire for the rest of the day. 

Things seem to look up for you though, as you find yourself reading a text from Mingyu nearly halfway through your day. 

You hadn’t spoken to Mingyu at all for the entire week, caving when you found an excuse to finally talk to him to ask where he’d left off on the book. It was even longer before that, reaching the near three week mark where you were virtually zero contact.  

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t bother you, his sudden absence raising a mild panic within you as your mind raced with the possibilities. 

Was he uncomfortable with you? 

Was he avoiding you? 

Were you less low key than you thought? Was he catching on to how you still weren’t over him? 

The wilder thoughts seemed to be laid to rest when you couldn’t take it anymore, texting under the guise of your mutual book topic. Your brain still couldn’t handle it, picking up minuscule details in his texting behavior. Perhaps his replies were choppy, perhaps they were shorter than usual, but it was enough to give your mind the rest it needed regardless of whatever the facts were. 

Needless to say, you were more than happy to receive a text from him first after weeks, immediately replying. 

[Mingyu]: hey  [Mingyu]: are you at work today?  [You]: yeah  [You]: i get off at 10 tho  [Mingyu]: can i see you today? 

You try to contain the growing flurry of excitement as you type. It was easier to stay casual over text, you find yourself appreciating. 

[You]: course [You]: are you coming to the store?  [Mingyu]: i’ll meet you at your place when you get off  [You]: okay!!! [You]: see you then 

There’s a ghost of a smile on your face as you switch to playing computer chess in celebration. Your day was going horribly, but perhaps it was to balance out the happiness you were feeling at the thought of seeing Mingyu in person after nearly a month. 

Were you being dramatic? Possibly. But you figured you’d been left waiting long enough. You let yourself have a spring in your step for the rest of the day, closing up nearly an hour early as you practically skipped back home, enjoying the significantly better nightly weather. Maybe you were abusing your employee privileges, but you couldn’t take the anticipation anymore. 

Humming to yourself, you're hopping into the shower as soon as you get home, wanting to freshen up as quickly as possible before he gets here. It was near heaven’s plan the way the day is unfolding for you. Perhaps the universe knew you needed the time to unwind today, bringing Mingyu to you despite the near four week gap. 

Grabbing your pens and your book, you settle on the kitchen counter to do something you’d been looking forward to all day, nearly giddy that Mingyu would be joining you to wind down with you soon enough. You’re invested by the time the doorbell rings, a simultaneous text from Mingyu, confirming that he was at the door. 

Opening the front door is probably the easiest thing you’ve done all day, grin at the ready as you greet him. 

“Hey,” you breathe out at the sight of him. 

“Hi,” he replies, slipping inside as you give him space to take off his shoes. 

Leading him into the kitchen, you comment lightheartedly, “Nice to see you’re still alive.” 

He chuckles slightly at that, “Yeah…sorry about that. I’ve been pretty caught up with…stuff.”

“The exhibition? Weren’t you nearly done with that?” you question as you pass him a glass of water. 

He takes a sip before setting it down again, both hands holding the cup on the counter. “It wasn’t that, I’ve been done for a while. Just waiting.” 

“It’s next week, isn’t it?” 

He hums in response, taking another minuscule sip of water.  

“What was it that was keeping you this occupied for so long then?” you continue with a slight snort, trying not to over analyze his slightly…off putting behavior. 

“Uh,” he starts, “Is Seokmin home?” 

“Seokmin?” you frown, confused. Was he here to see your brother? “He’s out. I thought you knew.”

“Yeah, I know. Just confirming.” 

“Oh.” You sit down on your own chair at the counter, trying to make sense of his mood. 

“Mingyu, are you okay—”

“I need to talk to you.” 

“O-okay.” 

It’s silent. Painfully so. 

“I don’t know how else to bring this up so I’m just gonna cut to the chase.” 

There’s no reply from your end as you simply stare at him in anticipation, wondering what on earth had him looking this serious as he faces you in his seat. 

“I know I’ve done a lot to hurt you. Never enough to match what you’ve felt, but I know you’ve been through the muck because of me, and it makes me feel horrible that I was the cause of something like that.” 

“Mingyu—“

“I want to apologize, before I say anything else. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. And I know an apology isn’t gonna take away what I did to you, but I just need you to know that I’m really, really sorry.”

His breathing is heavy as he talks, while yours is near nonexistent as you need to remind yourself to breathe manually. 

“I’ve done a lot of growing up in the past year. And I hate myself for making you a subject of that transition when you were the last person that deserved it. I’m happy to say that won’t happen again, because I’ve learned my lesson. For good.”

He pauses. 

“I’m not asking you to forgive me, because… because I don’t know if I’ll ever deserve it for what I’m about to say. I may be acting selfish right now but, I think you deserve to know after everything.”

“I love you. I love you so, so much it hurts. I…I’m sorry, I love you. I don’t know how else to say it but, I love you. And I might be hurting you even more with this but I swear I’m not lying. I love you.”

There’s tears now, heavy ones that drip down his face as he refuses to look back up at you, eyes screwed shut in a desperate attempt to halt the pure emotion that’s trailing down. 

You have your own wet cheeks, glossy, shaking eyes that don’t tear away from his hunched form. You’re listening. You’re listening to everything and it’s too much. 

“Mingyu,” you whisper. You give up on trying to talk as you let out a breath that sounds almost like a sob. 

It’s silent for a few more moments as you absorb everything that’s happening, mind running a hundred miles an hour yet, still as a rock. It’s too much. 

“Mingyu, I can’t believe you’re saying this to me.” Your voice is quivering, but you manage the words. “After everything. You’re standing in this very kitchen and saying this to me.”

The deja vu was overwhelming, and you’re projected back to last year when the both of you stood on these very tiles, as you poured your heart out to the man in front of you, only to be told you were an idiot to think he could ever love you like that. The words may not have been said, but the message was clear: you were not made for Kim Mingyu. 

And yet, you find yourself in front of an apologetic man, expressing his remorse. And oozing love for you, of all people. Why now? You want to scream. Where was this when you were ready to take him so willingly in your arms. 

You’re lying if you say you still don’t want to plant yourself in his hold to sob out your own wretched “I love you”’s. You wanted to go to him. To take what you’ve wanted for so, so long. 

But you can’t. You can’t do it. 

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m not asking you to do something about any of this. I’m not asking anything of you at all. I just need you to know.”

You bite back a remark, trying so hard to calm yourself down. 

“I think you should go.” Your voice breaks. “Please.”

Mingyu is gone. But his scent lingers. His cup remains on the counter, the same one he put his lips to. As he prepared to speak, and speak, and speak. 

You can’t stand to stay in the kitchen anymore. 

You were fourteen the first time Mingyu broke your heart. 

It was an accident, perhaps, considering you were willing to do absolutely anything to be around Mingyu when your brother would have him over. What you didn’t know this time, was that the both of them had company. 

Tiptoeing down the hall was easy the second you heard your brother's voice coming from the kitchen, announcing that he was getting drinks for them. The plan was simple; walk in under the guise of being annoyed at Seokmin for something and then relish when Mingyu would defend you from his inevitable rage — except this time you’d have a few extra minutes alone with him before your brother trudged back.  

Putting on the best annoyed face you could, you stalk past Seokmin’s room, immediately wishing you hadn’t. Mingyu was in your brother's room as expected, sitting on the floor, surrounded by papers with numbers and letters too complex. But he wasn’t alone. There was a girl that sat between his legs, turned over in his arms as they whisper to each other. They weren’t studying at all; the giggles and smiles were a dead giveaway. 

You halt in your tracks at the edge of the doorway in mild disbelief, brain computing the situation in front of you. They hadn’t noticed you yet, it was apparent with the way she leans into him to place her lips on his in a peck. 

There’s a yell of your name behind you as Seokmin sees you loitering around his room. You jump in surprise, not expecting him back so quickly. Your brother, too, isn’t alone, a girl of his own accompanying him with her arms full of cans, peeking over his shoulder to catch sight of your distressed form. 

“What’re you doing?”

Running was the worst thing you could do, and yet you found yourself doing just that in your cornered state. Catapulting face first into your pillows, the sobs coming before you could muffle them. It was humiliating, even more so when you feel your mother’s hand coming up to your shoulder in a stretch of comfort. 

“I yelled at him, he won’t do it again!” she attempted to reason with you, trying endlessly to get you to emerge from your cavern of comforters. 

“It’s not that!” you groan.

“What is it then? Darling, I won’t know if you won’t tell me.” 

Your mother gave up a little bit after that, and your brother had apologized for yelling at you; apologized for all the wrong reasons. You brushed him over.

There were worse things circling your mind in that moment, like the image of Mingyu in a liplock with another girl, the image of him holding her with all his limbs. 

You couldn’t imagine anything worse than that.

“What the fuck, is wrong with the both of you?” Your brother swoops in like a pesky seagull and snatches the book right out of your hands, eyes blown in exasperation. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! Give it back!” you yell, reaching for the book that he’s placed over his head. Climbing the couch does little when he simply moves away from you. 

“Not until you tell me what’s going on between you and Mingyu.” 

“Nothing is — ugh,” you drop back onto the couch in frustration. You take a deep breath. “Nothing is going on. Now can I have my fucking book back?” 

“No, you're avoiding each other.”

“He’s your friend, why would I hang out with him?” 

“Stop dodging the question!” he spits. 

“Stop dodging.” You exclaim as you jump for the book another time. 

“Why don’t you want to go to the exhibition?” He throws the book to the corner of the room. It takes every fiber in your body to stop yourself from plucking every strand of hair off his head. 

“Seokmin!” you scream. 

“Your book’s fine. Is this about the guy you told me about?” He asks, hands grabbing you by the upper arms, forcing you to look at him. 

“No, it’s not,” you grit. 

“Why don’t you want to go to the exhibition?” he repeats, making direct eye contact. 

“Because,” you start, exhaling deeply, “I’m tired.”

“It’s an exhibition for fucks sake, an exhibition with your face plastered all over it. You go in for five minutes and you’re out. Put something on and let’s go!” 

“I don’t want to go.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer. You’ve been doing nothing but go to work and stay home, you need air.”

“I need you out of my air,” you swat his hands away, thoroughly disgruntled. 

“I’m giving you twenty minutes.” 

He was serious, you realize as he begins to pound on your door with two minutes left to spare. You decided you weren’t about to be embarrassing and show up in your sweatpants, encasing the final shreds of dignity you had left. You couldn’t imagine being asked “who?” when the face on the walls doesn’t match with the one you brought to the place, not doubting the number of fancy scouters that’d be gracing the crowd tonight.

 Opting for a plain black dress and a coverup felt enough for you, your usual makeup and matching accessories helping you feel better about the bags under your eyes your concealer couldn’t quite erase. 

Seokmin says nothing for probable fear of having you landing back on the couch, choosing to ask you a simple, “Ready?” instead.

The drive is short and silent, the remnants of you and your brother's prior argument still hanging in the air. You weren’t about to apologize to each other, but you would let the hours cool you off before you’re back to your normal selves. For now, you’re glad to step out of the stuffy car, the anticipation having you needing to breathe in an elevated sense. 

The place is more crowded than you thought it would be, men and women in fancier than necessary clothes loitering the entrance carpeting. You suddenly feel underdressed. 

Catching Mingyu’s name is easy, the display at the front doing the most to highlight the star of the night, catching sight of him is proving a little more difficult. Not that you’re trying, but Seokmin’s embarrassing neck stretches are having you restraining yourself from pulling him down by the collar. 

Walking into the display is a strange experience, for you at least. The pictures are larger than you’d thought they would be, spanning the giant walls of the gallery. Your face is huge. 

There’s a few other one’s that scatter between the portraits, beautiful all the same. You find yourself wandering as you note the plaques next to the pieces, descriptions and words from the artist; Mingyu’s words. It’s easy to begin looking at the pictures through his eyes, the meticulous scanning you’re doing proving easier for you to zone out despite the crowd. 

You’ve gone through nearly every picture, approaching the last one, the one that looked a little more important than the rest as you take in its size. The steps you take towards the plaque are halted as you hear someone calling for you. You recognize his voice, how could you not?

Mingyu is weaving through the crowd to get to you, eyes locked as he tries to make way for himself. Your mouth is open by the time he’s here, mind frantic as you try to figure out what you should say. 

Congratulations.

You’ve worked hard on this. 

This looks great.

How’ve you been?

“You’re here,” he says, simple as that. 

“I’m here,” you breathe out, a nervous smile on your face as you look down at your shoes. 

“Seok told me you were here too.” 

Your head snaps up, “You were looking for me?” 

“I mean, it’s a bit difficult with the crowd—”

“Oh,” you cut him off before you could forget. “Congratulations, by the way. The turnout looks great.”

“Uh, yeah. It’s great.” His eyes skim around the large hall.

You hate how his craning is drawing your eyes to everything else. So to say the plain black button up and slacks he’s sporting, the thin chain he wears around the unbuttoned collar. You hate how he’s put in no effort, and you hate how it makes him look even better somehow. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks after he rounds back to you. 

Your reply is drowned in your throat as somebody calls for him across the hall, pointing at a mic in their hands. 

“I have to go address everyone, you’ll be here, right?” he asks, but he once again has no chance to listen to your answer when somebody physically drags him by the elbow and yanks him away from you. You lose sight of him in the crowd of people, his face disappearing.

It gives you enough opportunity to slowly turn around to go back to your plaque reading, exhaling loudly as you walk up to the final, biggest piece on the wall. It’s labeled as the focal point of the collection. It’s a picture of you, and for some reason, you can’t remember taking it, or posing for it at all. 

You recognize the mountain top, more so the grueling trek up the place for your last shoot with him. It’s a side profile, your arms folding over the railing, face tucked into your padded arms. A single ray of light illuminates your eyes, the background soft. 

The picture was an accident. A moment that may have gone forgotten, yet one that appeared right when it was meant to. A mistake made on purpose, one that manages to carry the weight of years. A slow accession of golden rays, dawn illuminating the subject in hues indescribable, except those that describe a feeling. A feeling in turn, indescribable.

Soft. Legible. New.

You take a step back. 

And another

Then another. 

You look at the picture, the picture of you. Taken the one time you weren’t actively posing for the camera, the one time he wasn’t meant to take a picture of you. It landed here, at the seemingly deserved position of a final piece. The piece that was meant to emulate all that the artist wanted to come out of his work. 

You crane your neck up higher, the name of the collection in bold block letters right above the picture that supposedly says it all. 

THE BEGINNING

There’s a ball forming in your throat, one that's cementing itself where it stays. 

There’s noise happening in your peripherals, somebody speaking into a mic on stage. You’re not paying attention until you hear his name. 

“I’m pleased to present to you the man of the hour, mister Kim Mingyu…” 

You watch with glossy eyes as he takes the stand, clearing his throat before he begins to speak. 

You needed to leave. 

Finding Seokmin is easy, and you thank every plane of heaven that it is, considering you’d rather be caught dead than be seen red nosed and teary eyed. 

“Let’s go home.”

“Huh? Right now? He just started talking.” Seokmin argues, tearing his eyes away from the stage to gape at you, only to note the expression on your face. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

“Seokmin, you said five minutes.” You grip his sleeve tight. “Please, either give me the keys, or I’ll get a cab.” 

He pauses for a moment, and you immediately hate yourself for making him choose between staying for his best friend or leaving for his sister. He slowly comes down to grip your hand, pulling you away. 

“Let me drop you off home.” 

You’ve calmed down a significant amount during the car ride home, managing to convince (fight) Seokmin into going back to the exhibition hall before Mingyu noticed that he was gone. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you made him miss something as important as this just because you couldn’t control your emotions.

He hugs you at the door, tight, and you hug back just as strong, holding back the river of tears that suddenly threaten to let loose. He presses his lips to your temple, muttering a little ‘I love you’ before he leaves. He knew nothing, yet was ready to comfort you like he did.

You let yourself sob after that, as wracking and strong as they’d come. It’s freeing, to fall to your knees and simply cry like a child. You aren’t sure what it is that you’re crying about, yet you know all the same. The thought of both those things make your head begin to spin, causing another fresh wave of tears to come rushing down. 

Remnants of the day Mingyu spoke his truth to you in your own kitchen come tumbling back; the shock, the anger, the hurt, and despite everything, the love.

You loved Mingyu, you weren’t going to sit here and deny it when you were a mess of jewels on the floor with only his face at the forefront of your mind. You’re a liar if you say you don’t love him. You’re a liar if you say you’ll ever stop. 

Years and years of pining and wishing and praying, to hope that one day, Mingyu would open his eyes with the realization that he loves you the same. 

The day came. Your prayers were granted, your wishes came true; you no longer had to sit on the sidelines as an ignored constant. And yet, you found yourself wanting to be anywhere but in his presence as the prayer unfolded. 

Were you too weak to handle reciprocation? Have you gotten comfortable pining by yourself? Or was it something completely else. Were you still hurt by his words? Were you aghast at his audacity to have the courage to speak his heart to you, when you went years without doing so? 

Were you protecting yourself? Or were you actively throwing the golden chance you’d received right out the window? 

You’re tired, it’s evident with the effort it takes you to simply reach your bedroom, heels thrown somewhere in the doorway as you made the trek barefooted. Hoping your muscles would release the pent up tension at the learnt feeling of the mattress, you find yourself closing your eyes awaiting the relief. 

Still clad in your dress and makeup, you attempt to find the solace of sleep, knowing you’d feel nothing if there was nothing to perceive. The universe doesn’t seem to want to give you that luxury, your eyes wide awake despite closed lids. The thoughts aren’t showing signs of slowing down either, every part of your mind alive as you remain still as a rock on your bed. 

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been in bed, but as you hear the distinct jingle of keys in a lock, you know Seokmin is home. The door of your room is opened very quietly, and closed just as quick when he sees your form in bed seemingly asleep. 

You open your eyes for the first time in hours, the darkness remaining as you slowly sit up against the cushions. Your movements are sluggish as you stare into the abyss, brain quiet for once as you swing your bare legs over the mattress, slowly trudging down the hall to your brother's bedroom. 

Knocking slowly, you hear a slight shuffle before the door is opened, the light from inside the room illuminating the dark hall and forcing you to squint. 

“Did I wake you?” Seokmin asks, sporting formal trousers with his dinosaur pajama shirt.

“Uh, no, I was awake.”

“Why haven’t you changed yet?” 

You ignore him, cutting straight to the chase, “Can I borrow your car?” 

There’s silence for nearly three seconds before Seokmin speaks, “What on earth do you need my car for this late at night?” 

“Nayeon’s” 

“Bullshit.”

You let out a loud, loud sigh, “Will you believe it for now?” 

Your brother looks at you with an expression you can’t really pinpoint, eyes like he’s scanning into your soul. “The keys are at the door.”

You walk back to your room to grab your phone and your cover up, not bothering to change as you grab Seokmin’s keys and leave. It probably wasn’t a good idea to leave the house so late at night, but your brain seems to have activated tunnel vision as you nearly stalk towards the car. You’re pulling up to where you need to be within minutes, the empty roads leading you on near autopilot. 

By the time you’re standing in front of the door, your desire to settle this once and for all turns pungent in your head. You needed to end this one way or another, you were tired of running in circles. 

Ringing the doorbell is easy, it’s just the realization that settles during those few moments of waiting that grab you by the throat. You were really doing this. 

Mingyu opens the door quicker than you’d anticipated, after briefly wondering if he’d already gone to sleep after the long day he’s probably had. His brows furrow as he registers you at his door, your name tumbling out of his lips in mild confusion. He’s still in the clothes you saw him last, and you doubt it’s been long since he got home too. 

“Promise me you mean it,” you say. 

“What?”

“Promise me you mean it.”

“Mean what?” The crease between his brows deepens as he tries to make sense of what you’re saying. 

“Whatever you said. Promise me you mean it. Promise me. On all the years we spent together, on every truth you've ever said to me. Promise on me that you mean it.”

The silence is deafening, yet you wait. You wait for him to respond. You wait for him to understand what you’re saying. 

Mingyu gulps before opening his door wider, expression neutralizing slightly as he invites you inside. “Why're you standing on the door? Come inside.”

“I’m not taking another step in your direction, Kim Mingyu, not until you answer me,” you snap. 

Letting his hand leave the grip on the door, he brings them both up to rub at his face, taking a simultaneous breath, deep and shaky. When he emerges his eyes are showing a hint of red as he licks his lips. 

Your grip on your own fingers tighten as Mingyu talks. 

“I want to rip my heart out for what it wants from you. I want to rip it out for what it did to yours. Believe me when I say I’ve forgotten how it felt to be this sincere. I love you. I don't deserve to say it, but I love you.”

There’s a beat that passes, one that you barely feel as you throw your bag on the floor of his entryway, grabbing him by the collar with both hands as you yank his face down to hover right in front of yours, nose touching, lips not quite. 

“If you’re lying to me,” you whisper, shaky voiced, “I’m gonna chop your balls off.”

Mingyu answers for you as he finally, finally closes the cursed gap between you, lips capturing yours in a long awaited kiss. You let him pull you inside as you move your lips against each other, the distinct click of the door signaling you were finally inside. 

His hands grip your hips and waist in a manner that’s near painful, yet you can’t find yourself complaining even as he pushes you against the now closed door, hard. His mouth leaves yours for what is barely a second, before your desperate hands move his face back in to continue what you’ve been wanting to do for years. 

His mouth is warm, the vaguest hint of champagne on his tongue. You wonder how many toasts he’s clinked and downed, how many times he thought of you as he celebrated. 

“I love you,” you mumble against his lips. 

Mingyu’s hands are pushing your body against his own, so flush and tight you can barely breathe. Like he’d rather die than bring space between the two of you in that moment. 

“I love you, too,” he mumbled back between kisses. “I love you so much.”

Both of your hands are beginning to roam, less innocent than the fingers tangled in his hair and digging into his shoulders, less innocent than the grips on your hips and neck. It isn’t until his hands are groping your ass that you begin to subconsciously tug at his shirt, wanting the wretched thing out of the way to finally feel him in full. 

There’s a warm hand that grips yours as he stops you, lips pulling away slightly as he rests his forehead against yours. There’s a wild moment of sobriety as you wonder if you’ve read the situation wrong, if you pushed too far. 

“You’re asking me for something I’m ready to give you.” He sounds breathless. “But I need to know if you really want it.”

He looks absolutely gorgeous with his swollen lips, your lipstick staining his own mouth, his messy hair from all the desperate fingers running through them. It takes one look into his bedroom eyes to have your yeses tumbling out your mouth. 

“I want it. I want it if you’ll give it to me. Mingyu, please.”

He leans in to give you a soft peck before pulling away slowly. “You can stop me whenever, just say the word.”

He’s facing you as he speaks, hands pulling you further into the house in slow and steady steps. “I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to, I promise.”

By the time you reach the four walls of his bedroom, you’re itching to have his hands on you again, something he senses as he presses his hot mouth to your awaiting lips. His touches become decreasingly respectful as his hands run up your sides, thumbs brushing against the sides of your clothed breasts as he moves his mouth further down. 

Kisses line your jaw, reaching the joint as he nips at your earlobe teasingly. Pushing the coverup off of your shoulders is easy, fingers tracing the exposed skin as his mouth moves down to your neck, nipping and sucking teasingly. Your breathing is embarrassingly heavy. 

“You’re gorgeous,” you hear him breathe out. 

His fingers fit under the zipper of your dress not too long after, pulling it down to reveal your back tantalizingly slow. His hands smooth over your waist once he reaches the bottom, bringing them up to your upper body as you feel his palms grab your breasts in a soft squeeze. The moan you let out is small, but enough to encourage him to bring his hands to the straps of your dress, pulling them down your shoulders one after the other. 

“Do you realize how good you looked in this today,” he says. “Was so happy you came, so, so happy to see you after so long.”

Mingyu kisses you again in a slow, passionate manner, hands pushing down the tight fabric of the bodice to let it fall off your body to a pile on the floor. It leaves you bare save for your bra and panties. 

Mingyu lets out a groan at the sight in the dimly lit room, the sound checking in as one of the hottest things you’ve ever heard, the vibrations leading straight to your core like they belonged there. The focus goes back to his hands that continue to roam your body, mouth traveling further south to leave hot, open mouthed kisses on your cleavage. 

Your own fingers come up to fiddle with the buttons of his dress shirt, managing to pull a couple loose as you whine, “Mingyu.”

“Patience, my love.” He moves you backwards slowly as his mouth leaves your chest, pushing you into the plush of his mattress as you feel the back of your knees bump into the edge. “Let me take my time with you.”

He brings a knee up to the bed as he keeps his gaze on you, beginning to unbutton the rest of his shirt as you prop yourself up on your elbows. For once, you’re allowed to stare at the sculpt of his chest and abdomen, letting your gaze take you to the dipped V before the cut off. The mere sight of his fingers working against his belt have you needing to close your thighs for the sake of your now throbbing core. 

Only clad in his dark boxers, you let him climb over you in a way you can only describe as a prowl, inserting himself between your legs as he pushes your head up to the headboard. The hand that splays out on your thigh is having the muscle twitch, the anticipation for what he might do next gripping you. 

“Let me get this off of you,” he says with his hands toying with the elastic of your bra, prompting you to arch your back so he could reach under to unclasp it in a way you can only call professional. 

There’s barely any time for you to feel a semblance of embarrassment when he flings the padding away, mouth coming in direct contact with your breast in a harsh suck. The feeling has you moaning his name into the dark room, only encouraging his wet tongue to circle around the bud before going back to suckling. He doesn’t forget your other breast as he brings his hand up to squeeze the mound and play with your nipples the same. 

The sensations are overwhelming already, your hands gripping his hair in desperation as you throw your head back at his ministrations. The ache in your underwear is becoming increasingly difficult to resist, the foreign feeling of his mound against your inner thigh only coursing more want into your awaiting heat. 

Your chest is a mess of redness and saliva but the time Mingyu’s had his fill, pulling away to admire the work he’s left. 

“Fuck, Mingyu, please,” his name is the only thing that comes out in your pleas, hoping he’d give you wanted before you lost your mind for good. 

“I love this lighting on you,” he says simply, moving to sit on his knees as he takes his eyes up and down your practically naked frame. 

Both hands come in to push your thighs further apart, giving him better access to the gold that sits right in between. “You’re beautiful.” 

You feel the pad of his thumb come in contact with your clit in the lightest pressure, slowly brushing over the muscle as he continues. “The most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.” 

He presses his thumb in further, pushing down to meet your hole, the source of the large wet patch on the fabric of panties. The whimpers the new feeling is having you let out are near embarrassing. Hooking his fingers around your panties, he asks, “Can I take these off?” 

“Yes!” you gasp out immediately, hip rising to let them slide the pesky fabric off and away. 

He wastes no time in bringing his fingers to your folds, gathering your arousal in his fingers as he spreads them across your throbbing clit. He’s rubbing the area in circular motions, the feeling having you wracking out sounds you never thought you could make. The sheets are bunched up in your grip as you throw your head back at the feeling that encases you, eyes screwed shut. 

“Oh, Mingyu,” 

That only encourages him as his other hand joins the party, a lone finger circling your entrance in preparation to plunge into you, slowly, all the way to the hilt of his finger. Zoning in on the feeling, the pump of his fingers into your core, the constant ministrations of his other thumb on your clit. Your hands leave his wrinkled sheets as they come in to grip his wrists and forearm, needing to feel his skin to anchor yourself into the present. Not being able to bring yourself to open your eyes, he takes it upon himself to insert another finger, encouraging your lids to fly open at the stretch and the loud moan that comes with it. 

“God, you’re so fucking wet, I’m barely pushing.” It may have embarrassed you a little if you weren’t so withdrawn from pleasure, the prospect only having you whimper his name even more. 

It isn’t when he curls his fingers inside you that you feel the need to stifle the sounds that come out of your throat, hand to mouth as the volume has you needing to shut yourself up. He brings his hand off your clit to grab you by the wrist, freeing your mouth of restraint. 

“Don’t,” his voice gravelly as he gets off his knees to hover over you, his other hand continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you in perfect motions. “I wanna hear your voice. I wanna hear all the pretty sounds you’re making.”

He leans in to place a chaste kiss on your mouth, fingers quickening their pace as your sounds grow louder, “Mingyu, I think I’m…I think I’m close.” 

“It’s okay, let go whenever, darling, it’s okay.” His other hand goes back to its rightful position on your clit, thumb circling the bud in quick motions as he encourages you to climax. 

And you do. The blissful release comes crashing into you hard, the feeling leaving nothing but white hot space in the expanse of your brain, letting the feeling take over as you melt into the sheets. “F-fuck…”

He doesn’t stop either hand till you physically have to push his fingers off of you, the overstimulation coming in hot. 

You don’t come around for a little bit, but feel every searing kiss he leaves on your skin in the aftermath. Pressed into your chest, your collarbones, you neck and your jaw. He makes his way up to your face slowly, pressing his lips onto your closed lids as you wait for your breathing to even out. His face is the first thing you see when you open your eyes, leaning forward to press your own lips against his. 

“How was that?” he asks slowly, and you don’t miss the hint of a smirk on his face. You can’t help but break into a smile of your own. 

“Great.”

“Great?”

“Amazing.” You lean in to kiss him again, palms coming in contact with the expanse of his back as you move your mouths together. It’s not long before your fingers reach the waistband of his boxers, hands coming up front to feel him through the fabric, palming him in the process. 

You feel him shudder in your hold, lips pulling away as he stares into your eyes. 

“What?” you ask in a whisper when he makes no other moves. 

“I’m trying to think if I have condoms or not,” he whispers back, and you can’t help but let out a laugh at his delivery. He begins to giggle with you, backing up as he reaches over to rummage through his nightstand. 

“Fuck yeah,” you hear him say as he comes round with the shiny pack. He’s giggling as he undoes the wrapper, the lighthearted nature of it all bringing a laugh to your own lips. 

Pulling his underwear down and off, you watch as he preps himself with the rubber, your own hand coming up in a trance to stroke his gorgeous length lightly, his palms ghosting over your hand at the feeling. Once he decides he can’t take it anymore he’s grabbing both your wrists to pin them beside your head in one swift motion, earning a gasp from you at the abruptness. 

“I’m gonna put the tip in first, let you adjust before I go in further,” he explains as he uses his knee to push your thighs apart to grant him more access. “I’m gonna listen to you throughout, okay? Just say so if you want me to stop, I’ll hear you.” 

When you don’t reply he continues, “I need to know you heard me, baby.” 

“I heard you,” you answer, and he finally lets go of one of your hands to guide his length to your entrance, gathering your remaining arousal. He’s sliding his tip across your folds, grinding onto your clit within his length and it has you nearly careening off the edge. 

“Mingyu, in, please!” you beg, and you hear him chuckle before he’s finally pressing the tip into your prepped hole. 

You almost breathe a sigh of relief as you feel him begin to push into your hot core, keeping his promise of only getting to the tip, before bringing himself out and going back in. He’s slow as he stretches you out, his hands coming up to the sides of your head as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck. Lifting one of your legs, you wrap them around his waist as you grant him further access into you, one of his hands coming up to keep your raised leg steady. 

He halts when he finally bottoms out, pausing for breath. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just,” you manage, arms wrapped around his shoulders tight. “Give me a second.” 

When you give him the green light and he begins to move out slowly, only to thrust back in, you find yourself settling into the sheets more consciously, ready to take what he was about to finally give you. You’re both a mess of whimpers and sounds, the feeling overtaking any shreds of restraint you had left. His hands are groping you everywhere, his fingers finding your breasts again as he begins to toy with your nipples, all while thrusting into you at a steady yet equally maddening pace.

He feels amazing, beyond just his dick. The feeling of his body pressed against yours is heavenly, the tears beginning to slowly prick at your eyes as you let yourself melt into his hold, a metaphorical layer away from morphing into his skin entirely. The sounds he’s making are pure melodies, the groans, grunts and heavy moans floating around in your otherwise empty head like they’d never ever leave. They do more when they encourage the building feeling in your abdomen, your moans growing increasingly erratic. 

If the bed is creaking from his incessant thrusting, you don’t hear it. The only thing ringing in your head being the near closure you’re about to receive from him. “Gyu, I’m…”

“Shit, me too.” he grunts, and you believe him as his movements begin to grow sloppier, his hips slamming into yours with more force than before. 

And then it’s bliss, the feeling dropping in on your body as you feel yourself begin to spasm in his hold, the loudest moan ripping from your throat at the sensation. You’re contracting around him so, so good, and it’s enough to have him moaning into your own ear as he feels his climax come over him as well. 

He’s shooting his load into the rubber, and for a wild moment you wish he’d rip it off and finish inside you instead, your blabbering brain wanting to take all of him in. The fever passes in a few heavy minutes, Mingyu’s body is dropped on top of you, his length remaining inside your warmth as you both relished in the post sex haze. 

He’s first to pick his sweltering body off of yours, the cool air hitting your skin as he pulls out of you slowly. You’re still trying to come to earth, even when you hear the water beginning to run in the attached bathroom, even when he walks out in a fresh pair of boxers, walking over to your form on the bed. 

His fingers run through your hair as he places soft kisses on your temple, coaxing you to open your eyes. “Come on babe. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

When you make no moves to get up despite opening your eyes, he’s physically pulling you up to grace your head on his chest in an effort to take a step back into the world. His fingers continue to thread through your hair, massaging your head lightly as you breathe in his scent. You do end up getting up and letting him lead you to the bathroom, but only after he threatens to carry you there over his shoulder. The bath is already drawn when you dip your feet into the warm water, planting yourself inside as you lean against the walls of the tub.

“Gyu, why is it warm?” you whine, wanting a cooler temperature to hit your sticky body. 

He chuckles as he sits by the tub, hands coming in to wet your hair for you, “I’m scared your body’s gonna go into shock if I chucked you into a cold bath. You’ll feel better in a minute, love.” 

You don’t argue as he does most of the work for you, shampooing, scrubbing and conditioning. He lets you sit in the tub for a little bit as he leaves to get you a towel and a shirt, coming back to continue coaxing you to leave the tub this time. You grab his outstretched hand, pulling him down to sit next to you again. 

“Sit with me for a little bit, right here,” you say as you lean over the edge of the tub. 

“I can sit with you in bed once you’re dried up,” he tries to reason. “Under the covers. Where it’s more comfortable than hard acrylic, remember?” 

Pouting a little, you let him wrap you in a towel as you admit defeat, too tired to argue much more than that. He continues to shrug one of shirts over your shoulders, going as far as drying your hair before finally letting you crawl back under the covers. He joins you soon after, wrapping his limbs around you in a tight embrace, breathing in the mix of his own shampoo and your scent. 

“Are you okay? Did I do too much?” he asks quietly.

“Mhm,” you hum into his chest. “I’m okay.”

There’s a deep vibration in his chest as he finds your lack of response amusing, looking at your face that looks about three seconds away from slipping into dreamland. Nearly, he realizes, as your eyes are suddenly pushed wide open, a gasp leaving your throat. 

“What? What?” Mingyu asks as you sit up all of a sudden scrambling to find your phone. 

“My phone, where is it?” you ask as you ruffle through the covers. 

“Did you bring it with you?” 

You suddenly remember your bag that you threw in his entryway a couple hours ago, your phone nestled inside. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you attempt to stand up to retrieve it, only to find out the universe wasn’t about to let you do that. You don’t miss Mingyu’s chortle as he watches you nearly fall over after wobbling around like a fawn, your arms trembling as you pull yourself up back on the bed. 

“What the fuck?” you breathe out. 

“Get back on, I’ll get your bag for you.” He’s still smiling when returns, throwing your purse on the bed. 

You immediately unlock your phone to find Nayeon’s contact, choosing to leave her a text considering the late hour.

“What is it?” Mingyu asks again as he watches you type, arms coming up from behind to engulf you in his hold again. 

“I told Seokmin I was at Nayeon’s. He didn’t believe me but I’m telling her to cover for me anyway.” 

“Oh.”

The thought comes to you later than it should have, realizing you’d have to involve Seokmin in…whatever this was, sooner or later. 

“Don’t,” you hear Mingyu say behind you.

“What?”

“Don’t. I know what you’re thinking about. We can deal with Seokmin when we need to, don’t think about it right now, that’s my job.” 

“I-”

“He needs to deal with me being serious about you,” he continues, giggling, “Even if I have to make you run away with me.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” 

He brings your wrist up to his mouth, placing a kiss there, “It won’t. I promise.” 

The sitting up thing doesn’t last for too long, both of you wanting nothing more than to lay down for the lack of energy. Limbs are a tangled mess as you both lay in silence, tired but not wanting to go to sleep just yet. It stays that way for a while, head on his chest as you take in the aftermath of everything that’s happened. 

You just had sex with Kim Mingyu. He loves you back. And you know he means it. This isn’t a hyperrealistic childhood fantasy, this is real life. You’re touching him, he’s holding you, you can hear his heart beat, you can feel his skin under the palm of your hand. 

You’re distracted from your thoughts as you sense Mingyu reaching over the edge of the bed to his nightstand as he looks for something, bringing his hand over to show you a very familiar pink cover in his hands. 

“Oh,” you let out as you recognize the title, snorting as you remember where the verdict for that ended, “We were supposed to talk about the ending.”

“We could do that right now.”

“Uh, about that,” you say. “I never actually got to finish it.”

“You were supposed to be done like two weeks ago,” he frowns.

“I didn’t get to finish it the day…the day you came over. Couldn’t bring it in myself to touch it after that.” you say as you note the little tabs sticking out the sides, wanting to address them. 

“You can use this one to finish it then, it’s yours.” 

You glance up at him as he talks, opening the book to skim through the pages. And then you see it, tiny scribbles on margins, sticky notes at chapter ends with his thoughts, colorful tabs sticking out of every highlighted line, everything complete with a color coded key in the front.

“I saw you do it with your other books, found out it’s not actually a crime to write in books and…I guess it became fun.” he explains as he watches you flick through the pages. “I was gonna give this to you at some point. Sounded like a thoughtful idea in my head.”

You don’t answer him, simply facing him in silence before continuing, “I would’ve been sucking your dick right now if I wasn’t so tired.”

He throws his head back in a loud laugh, the high pitched noise sounding across the room as he nearly curls up from the hilarity. You don’t think it was that funny, but maybe it’s because you were telling the truth. You’re pretty sure you’ve joked about wanting to do that to someone who’d do something like this for you, perhaps you could find the transcripts hidden in some text messages with Nayeon later to show Mingyu.

 His laughter is contagious regardless, giggles of your own coming out as you watch him practically lose it. 

“I think you need to go to sleep,” you comment through bouts of laughter. 

He sighs a vocal sigh as he calms down slowly, agreeing with your suggestion that the near morning delirium was getting to both of your heads. You rest your newly acquired, yet equally prized possession to the side, finally turning in for the night as he reaches to turn his night lamp off. 

Mingyu moves to press his forehead into yours, not before placing a tiny peck into your lips as he mumbles against them in the dark, “I love you.”

“I love you,” you hum back as you press your lips together one last time, finally letting his breathing lull you into sleep. 

The mattress is foreign, so is the pillow, and so are the scents that linger in the room. It’s colder than you’d usually have it and the blankets feel different on your skin. And despite the most foreign thing in the room, the one that has his arms and legs wrapped around you, the one that whispered his love for you into your skin before drifting off, you find yourself falling into a sleep that’s more blissful than any you’ve had in a very, very long time. 

The sun is doing nothing to help itself against the tide of annoyance tht rises in your sleepy state. You’d get up and yank the curtains but can’t bring yourself to have the motivation to leave the soft mattress, simply bunching the blanket up to your face to block out the remnants of sun rays that invade the room. You’ve nearly lulled yourself back to sleep when you start registering noises coming from outside the bedroom walls, muffled yet familiar. 

Your brother is talking about something you can’t make out, Seokmin’s voice is undeniable despite passing through the folded layers of comforters around your head. You don’t doubt the presence of the sweat that’s probably already accumulated on your scalp. 

 There’s nothing that alarms you in the moment despite Seokmin’s yapping — that is until you hear a second voice.

You recognize it immediately as the sound of Mingyu’s talking, the words equally as muffled yet the intonation clear all the same. 

Kicking the sheets off of your overheating body, you squint as you open your eyes in a desperate attempt to reign yourself back to earth, recollections of the past twenty four hours hurtling back to you like a constant line of K.O’s. 

The gallery, the picture, the drive up to Mingyu’s place,the sex, the falling asleep in his arms. You sit up in Mingyu’s bed, clad in nothing but his own T-shirt as you realize your brother is downstairs talking to Mingyu, and you have no idea if he knows you're here. 

You realize very quickly that you’re trapped, being left with no other option than to remain in Mingyu’s bedroom until he comes back up to give you the clear, despite wanting to walk out to take the tiniest peek. You’re not sure what’s worse, getting caught or sitting in the growing pool of anxiety before Mingyu gets back. 

It’s a long, long twenty minutes, in which you’ve done just about everything to get to hear their conversation a bit better; or to distract yourself from the fact that it’s happening at all. Pressing your ear to the door before going back to make the bed. Freshening up in the bathroom before going back to jamming your eye into the keyhole (you aren’t sure why considering door faces a plain wall). You even hijacked a spare cup Mingyu had lying around the room to stick into the wall, hoping all those Mr. Bean cartoons hadn’t been lying to you. 

They were simply talking in a tone too low for your ears to catch (despite the Mr. Bean hack), and you resorted to scrolling on your phone to pass the remaining time. It’s catastrophic to say the least, when you’re met with a string of frantic messages from Nayeon as well as a couple missed calls from your brother. 

[Nayeon]: fuck [Nayeon]: i didnt see this [Nayeon]: he called this morning asking about you  [Nayeon]: i accidentally told him you werent here [Nayeon]: im so sorry where are you  [You]: its okay its my fault for texting so late [You]: i was at mingyus place [You]: ill tell you more later [Nayeon]: WHAT???

By the time Mingyu walks in, he’s mildly surprised to see you awake, pausing at the door as he takes in your huddled form. You sit up immediately, noting his still messy hair and the backwards sweatshirt he’s thrown on over his boxers. The question tumbles out of your lips before you can help it, “Was that Seokmin?”

“Good morning to you too,” he grumbles sarcastically, coming up on the bed to join you in your huddle fest. You’re a little embarrassed at the way you’ve greeted him first thing when he sees you, but his expression when he continues replaces it with something akin to fear. “And yeah, it was him.”

You want to ask him a follow up question, but you aren’t sure what to say, simply staring at him, hoping he’d get the hint and continue by himself. He does. 

“The idiot has a spare key so he just…” He trails off, rubbing his hands on his face,  “he just walked in straight to the room. Got the shock of his life, I suppose, ‘cause it woke me up while you kept snoring.” 

“He walked into the room?!” you nearly screech, hand clamped over mouth, horrified. “What did he say to you?”

Mingyu has the audacity to laugh, simply tugging you back down on the bed to hold you. You briefly wonder how he’s so casual about this. “There’s not really an expected reaction from someone when they find you half naked in bed with their sister.” 

The haphazardly shoved sweatshirt and no pants look was starting to make sense. “I heard you talking downstairs, what were you talking about?” 

“Nothing you have to worry your pretty little head about,” his lips graze the shell of your ear as he snuggles further into you. “He wants you home by seven though.” 

You throw your head back in a whine, “God, what am I gonna do?” 

“You’ll be fine, he didn’t smack me, he can’t possibly be that mad at you.” 

“What was he then, ecstatic?” you retort. 

“I mean,” his energy shifts a little. “I think he’s just a little hurt that he wasn’t told.” 

“So you’ve done your damage control and now I need to pray he doesn’t disown me.” 

“God, you’re being so negative,” he comments and you can’t help but round up on him.

“And you’re acting like you don’t care!”

He’s planting a fat kiss on your cheek at your outburst, coming in to coddle you even more. “I’m kidding, I just want you to relax, don’t be upset.” 

“Has he given you his verdict yet?” you ask quietly.

He sighs at the question and you can’t imagine his answer being any good. “Not yet, pretty up in the air about it.” 

When he sees you deflate even more in his arms, he continues, “I’m sure he’s gonna come around, he loves you too much to not. It’s just a matter of time while he gets to make sense of the situation, don’t worry about it.” 

“I hope so,” you reply.

“We might have wash his socks for the next five years once he does, but it’s okay.” 

You can’t help but snort at the prospect, “His feet are stinkier than the regular human’s, are you sure about that?”

He grins, “I’d do it for you.”

You push his face away, rolling your eyes at his attempt to be sappy. “You’re gonna keep me for five years?” 

His smile drops as you feel the atmosphere shift in the slightest, his presence moving impossibly closer to you. “I’m gonna keep you forever.”

Hearing it is enough to have you lurching forward, closing the final gap between you so you can give in to the urge to kiss him. He’s enthusiastic to give back, pulling your body to face him entirely as you mumble between kisses, “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

The rest of the day (once your anxiety’s calmed down, at least) is spent loitering around each other as you migrate around the house in random excess. He makes you breakfast, and you need to physically restrain him to stop feeding you every bite of pancake and bacon. You let him make your favourite for lunch though, after you finally admitted how much you truly liked his Chow Mein, going as far as to run to the store to grab the stuff he was missing. He returns with a bag of groceries, not missing an abnormal amount of moonpie value packs that he stashes in his cabinets because “you’re gonna be around all the time”. 

6:30 rolls around quicker than either of you would have liked, needing to wiggle out of Mingyu’s hold on his couch to change out of your half naked state. He continues to delay you another ten minutes as he refuses to open his car door to let you walk into the apartment building, leaning over the console to continue mumbling whines between your own consoling kisses. 

By the time you’re making the walk of shame up to your door, the pit of anxiety that began to brew this morning returns from its dormancy, no Mingyu here to help ease your nerves, Gripping your key tight in your hands, you brace yourself to jam and twist to finally end this matter once and for all (at least you hope you can). 

Seokmin is waiting on the couch for arrival like a parent waiting to catch their child in the act. He briefly glances over at you as you whisper a tame “Hi”, slipping off your shoes. He doesn’t reply as he merely grabs the remote to pause his show, casting a heightened awkward atmosphere at the silence that’s now engulfing the room. You tread carefully over to the couch, where Seokmin sits with his arms crossed. 

It takes one look at his face for you to suddenly want to get on your knees and beg for forgiveness. He didn’t look angry, and perhaps you would’ve preferred his aggression if it didn’t mean having to look at a hurt Seokmin. You sit in silence for a couple dramatic minutes, hoping he would start talking so you wouldn’t have to. Yet, when you realize you might have to say something anyway for fear of crushing under the pressure, you find yourself opening your mouth. 

“Are you upset?” Of course, he’s upset, you idiot.

“I just–” he starts, before sighing. “I just wish one of you would’ve told me what was going on.” 

“I know, I’m sorry,” you reply. “I didn’t want either of you to have an excuse to be upset with each other, so I just…”

“I get that it was a recent thing but I think I deserved as much to know what was happening when I wasn’t around.”

You wince as speaks, realizing he hasn’t caught on to the fact that this isn’t recent at all — for you at least. “Um, about that…”

“What? There’s more?” he scoffs. 

“I, uh…I’ve liked him since like fifth grade—” He’s immediately jaw dropped, eyes bulged, taking a sharp breath. “But! In my defense, it was really obvious—it’s honestly your fault for not noticing.”

‘My–My fault?!” he sputters. “That’s like, forever, and you told me nothing? Mingyu told me this was recent, why did he lie?” 

“He didn’t, nothing happened till last night, I swear.” You cringe at what you’re entailing. “It was just me that liked him for that long, he figured it out pretty early on but…”

“He’s finally reciprocating now?” he suggests, almost sarcastically. 

“Yeah,” you breathe out lightly. 

“This is insane,” he blows out a breath of air, massaging his temples. 

“I’m not being stupid about him,” you mutter lowly, “This isn’t some puppy dog crush, especially not after so long.” 

He’s silent. 

“I’m telling you this because I don’t want you to think I’m jumping into this blind, especially for what it means for you too.” 

No response. 

“I’m sorry that you had to find out like this, it’s really not how I wanted it to go.” And when you’re met with even more silence, you find yourself continuing. “Please, talk to me. Cuss me out if you want, I’d honestly rather you yell at me.”

Seokmin sighs for the near hundredth time, finally looking like he might say something. “I want you to listen to me very carefully.”  

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, mind immediately going to the worst. Was he going to ask you to break up with him?

“I’m gonna choose to trust the both of you on this,” he starts, and you nearly melt into the cushions, “It’s your life, you can date whoever you want. And…I guess Mingyu is better than someone else. Probably uses bad hair gel though.” 

You’re catapulting yourself off the couch at the sound of that, throwing yourself onto an unassuming Seokmin. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

“OW! Okay! Geez, get off,” he grumbles as he finally stops wrestling you to let go of him, hugging you back as you squeeze his shoulders tight. 

“I promise I won’t keep anything like this from you again.” 

“You better not,” he huffs as you let go of him, “Don’t think this means you’re forgiven. You still have a lot to tell me.” 

“I promise I won’t leave out a thing.”

The following weeks are near bliss, following your very loud confrontation with Nayeon when she gets back from her summer vacation, her screams at every plot turn having you praying for her neighbors. You doubt she believed you despite everything, not until she physically sees Mingyu come in one day, making a beeline to peck you on the lips before greeting anyone else. Her dropped jaw was very telling. 

Even now, as Mingyu sports the title of the lame alumnus that still hangs around campus as he grips your hand, walking through the grass, the double takes you’re receiving seem to be traveling quite fast. You wouldn’t necessarily blame them considering the trickier than usual dynamic you sport due to your brother (and you guess due to his reputation as well). 

But you also knew they’d be quick to die out as the newer batches of students come flying in — Mingyu will soon become a very well kept secret, in one way if not the other. 

His neighbors, however, must be wishing he had the same sentiment as well, considering the absolutely foul noises that are coming from his apartment. 

You’re learning very quickly that Mingyu’s innocent touchiness can turn into something of the opposite at any given time, exhibit A being now as you try your damn hardest to muffle the sounds coming out of your mouth as Mingyu works his own mouth on your cunt. The knees over his shoulders are shivering from the expense, fingers pumping into your hole as he rubbed a particular spot with his tongue that had you gripping onto his hair tight. 

As much as Mingyu loves to hear you, you find his other hand being brought up to place two fingers in your mouth for you as the perfect pacifier, sounds limiting extensively. 

By the time you’re coming undone, sprawled on his couch like you just ran a marathon, you’re quick to realize that he has no intention of letting you have a breather. It takes one shove for him to pull his pulsing length out of his pants, tip pushing into your still sopping hole as he invited all of him inside you. 

You’ll never forget the first time Mingyu fucked you raw, right after you told him he had the green light after taking your birth control pills. It was magic, you’ve never seen him this vocal as he finished inside you nearly four times in a single night. His moans remain loud even still, as he brings your thighs to press over your chest, basically folding you in half. The mere sound of your wetness as he pumps in and out of you is enough to have you nearly careening over the edge, especially when you feel a desperate hand reach out to rub fast circles on your clit. 

You throw your head back as you cum for the second time, pulsing around him in a grip Mingyu can’t believe has the ability to become tighter. It’s enough for him though, as he leans his forehead against your chest as he releases himself inside you. 

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of it, watching you filled to the brim with his cum, even as it drips onto the blankets you’ve laid down below. He has half a mind to stuff the liquid back inside you, but fears you’re tired enough, the overstimulation too much for you. 

By the time you’ve cleaned up and resumed the movie you should’ve been done with hours ago, cuddled impossibly close to him, you find yourself remembering something quite out of the blue.

“Hey, not that I really care anymore,” you start, “But who were the guys you were talking to that day? From the party.”

“Stopped hanging out with them ages ago,” Mingyu scoffs, face souring at the mention of them. “I mean, it was me who said all that bullshit, but they weren’t exactly good influences either. Learned that pretty quick.”

“Oh,” you reply simply, letting your head fall back onto his chest.

He doesn’t seem to be having any of it, grabbing your chin to have you face him. “I’m still really sorry about that. I don’t care if you chase my tail for another fifty years, it’ll always be adorable.”

“Forgave you a long time ago, but I think I have a condition now.” 

He quirks a brow at your words. “What does her Highness ask of me?”

“That you chase my tail for another fifteen to make up for all the running I’ve done.” 

He’s laughing at that, agreeing to your condition as places loving smooches all over your face. “Consider it done.”

It’s later on in the night, both of you huddled in ratty hoodies and mismatched slippers, plastic bag crinkling along Mingyu’s arm as you giggle about something he said. You’re enjoying your fudgsicle in the peace and serenity of the 1 AM hour, making your trek home after raiding the corner store down the block. Mingyu suddenly halts in his tracks as he sees a particularly pretty set of flowers, illuminated by the fluorescent street lights. 

“Babe, babe, stand here let me take a picture of you.”

“What?” you frown, holding up your stick of iced chocolate. “I’m not done yet.”

You watch as he grabs the melting popsicle from your hand downing the entire thing in one go as you watch him, hand still outstretched and jaw dropped. “Mingyu, you bitch!”

He only smiles as he mulls the chocolate in his mouth, words basically gibberish, “‘ere’s more in the ba’, now go stan'!” 

You huff as you trudge to where he was asking you to pose, throwing a couple peace signs to satiate the home video urges in him so you could rip open your second fudgsicle. 

“Wait! You got a little chocolate on your mouth.” he announces, and you stick your tongue out to lick past the remnants of the sweetness. “No— wait.”

He walks over to you as your still trying to find the spot you missed, unassuming as he swings into your face to kiss the remaining off. “Oh, nevermind, it was nothing.” 

You push him off as heat crawls up your face, feigning annoyance at his antics. You decide to forgive him when rips open another fudgsicle for you, offering it with both hands, promising to not steal a single lick. You believe him, snatching the stick from him as you continue your trek home. 

It’s not until he’s attempting to send you the pictures he just took to your phone so you could post them (which, with the way you looked, fat chance) that he notices something in your albums. 

“Oh, are these grad photos?” he asks as he clicks the album open.

“Mhm,” you hum not paying too much attention as you walked and ate. 

“Why’s there only one picture here?” he asks as he pulls up to find nothing more left to load. 

It’s only then that you bring your full attention to your phone in his hand as you realize what picture he’s talking about, “Oh god, don’t look at that one.”

He does the obvious thing and opens it anyway, a louder than necessary “aw” coming out his mouth. “Why do you look like I’m about to eat you?” 

“It felt like it!” you whine, remembering the moment clear as day. “They kept pestering me to take a picture with you too, I was tryna book it out of there at first chance.” 

He giggles as he zooms into the photo, “I’m sending this to myself.”

You groan loudly at the thought, “God, just delete it, leave it alone.”

He tucks the phone into himself further, not letting you grab it. “No, you’re not deleting it. Why do you have it tucked into a separate folder if you hate it so much.”

He’s got you there, you realize quickly, and he reigns in his victory as he watches you grimace at the phone slightly, adding on, “it has a lot of feelings attached to it, I get it. But look, we can attach new feelings to it, now you’ll think about right now the next time you see it.”

“Think about you hijacking my fudgsicles? I think I prefer heartbreak,” you say, bringing your half eaten pop closer to your body in case he tries anything. 

You’re deemed correct when he replies, motioning towards your concealed treat, “Careful, I can still pounce when you’re not looking.” 

Shoving your hands into the swinging bag hanging on Mingyu’s arm, you bring out a thing of sausage and shove it towards him, “You leave me and my fudgsicle alone, go be lousy and suck on this or whatever.”

“You’d know alot about that, wouldn’t you?” he notes casually, grabbing the sausage anyway as he unwraps it to take a bite. 

It takes you a second to realize what he’s talking about while he stares at you with a mischievous expression, coming to shove him when the innuendo finally registers in your head. You do the opposite this time, pointing the melting chocolate toward him instead, threatening to smear it all over his white hoodie. 

He laughs at the sight, disarming you by simply moving your wrist away, coming to kiss you on the mouth hard regardless of your annoyed expression. 

“Love ya’” he giggles. 

“Hm.”

“What, hm? Say it back.”

You pretend to wonder, “I don’t think so.”

“Say it!” he groans, “Say it, say it!” 

You manage to wriggle out of his hold, booking it before he realises what’s happening. 

“Hey!” 

Your both probably waking up the entire neighborhood with how loud you’re yelling and laughing, and even when he manages to tackle you down on somebody’s lawn, coaxing the words out of you with borderline violence, you still manage to smile, thanking your lucky stars that you got what you wanted after all. 

“What’re you thinking about?” he asks with an undertone. 

“Thanking my stars they led me to you,” you reply. 

“More like the other way around. Needed the fattest fucking star to realize what was in front of me all along,” he jests himself. 

It sparks a laugh out of you. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

[astraystayyh]

In my dreams

Seungmin x reader. (fake) enemies to lovers. my interpretation of in my dreams by tearliner, love X stereo.

Seungmin has never liked you. You never understood why, but you were slowly coming to terms with it. However, you gradually come to learn that there is more to his feelings than what meets the eye.

skz song series

cw: reader has anxiety and deals with lots of self-doubt and insecurities.

a.n: the end of our skz song series!! and a pretty personal final fic, this one is based on my own experience with anxiety, so it might differ for everyone :) thank you for reading as always <3

You watch, a soft smile on your face as two little girls play with one another in the playground. It reminds you of simpler times, when you could just walk up to another human and become friends with them instantly.

But reality is much more challenging, especially for someone like you, constantly plagued by their anxious thoughts.

Anxiety didn't tiptoe into your life, one drop at a time so you'd get accustomed to its overwhelming presence. Instead, you woke up one day and it barged into you, through cracks and dents you didn't even know existed in your being, and then it made itself a permanent home within the confines of your heart.

You never truly learned how to live with this parasite feeding off your soul, draining you completely until you became a mere shell of who you once were. You never fully adjusted to the invisible hands choking you from within, to the voice nagging you in the back of your mind, telling you that something horrible was bound to happen.

Because nothing ever went wrong, day after day, nothing bad happened. And yet, the feeling of dread persisted and lingered until you started to believe that the problem was you.

And once you opened the door to self-doubt, you could never fully close it again.

You're too overwhelmed, too nervous, too much of everything bad. Your conversations are scrutinized, down to every syllable you uttered, to the way you smiled and how you laughed. The interactions might differ but the regret that haunts you after is the same.

So, you diluted your being, in an effort to be more acceptable, easier in the lives of the people around you. You believed that if you pleased everyone you ever encoutered then at the end you must satisfy yourself too.

You sigh softly, drumming your fingers along your knee. You’re starting a new year in college tomorrow. Your first one wasn't exceptional by any means. Aileen, the girl who sat beside you from time to time was nice, and you grabbed coffee sometimes as you prepared for your exams together. But she had other friends, ones she's much closer to, ones she invited to her birthday party, ones who she didn't simply fill her free time with.

You shake your head, putting a stop to the thoughts in your head before they get too much once again, pushing you over an edge you don't want to be in right now. 

You'll try harder this year. You'll be okay, for once.

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

Your professor Lee is scribbling something on the large whiteboard, as he waits for the class to fill up. Someone sits next to you, and the smell of their cologne wafts to your nose- hints of vanilla and wood seemingly calming down your nerves. You quickly take a glance at them, to find a guy with long brown hair and freckles dusting his cheeks. He's taking out his notepad from his bag, and you smile at the chick keychain he has on it. He catches you looking and you quickly avert your gaze, heat creeping up your cheeks. 

"Hi, I'm Felix," he greets enthusiastically, and you turn your head slowly to be met with his wide grin. It softens his features, making his eyes turn into moon crescents. You envy his ability to smile without overthinking how he looks. 

"Yn," you introduce back, and he nods, the grin still etched on his face. "You were in my Economics class last year, no?" he asks and you tilt your head to the side, as you mull over his question.

"I was but I don't remember seeing you," you admit sheepishly and he waves a hand in the air, not bothered the least by your words. 

"It's okay, I just remembered your presentation on Inflation. I finally understood why we can't just print more money," he admits with a chuckle, and you giggle against your will. 

"I don't blame you, it sounds like an easy solution," you agree, and his eyes widen. 

"Right! when I tell my friends they just stare at me in disappointment."

You laugh at his adorable pout, an unfamiliar warmth stirring within your chest. He's nice. 

"I'm glad I helped you then, I was so nervous presenting it," you clear your throat as he smiles impressively at you. "Really? I couldn’t tell at all." 

Mr. Lee calls for your attention and you both turn your heads back to the board. You couldn’t really focus, Felix’s words echoing in your head like a broken mantra- he couldn’t tell you were nervous. A sudden relief dawns on you at the possibility that, maybe, not everyone is aware of the neverending storm raging within you, threatening to drown you at any giving moment.

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

"Movie night at my dorm?" Felix proposes as he packs up his bag, your two hours long class finally done.

"Will Seungmin be there?" you ask, a slight edge to your voice and Felix pauses, shaking his head at you.

"Yn, you're overreacting. I promise he doesn't hate you."

"Have you ever seen him smiling at me?" you ask, arching your eyebrow expectantly at him. He stays silent and you wiggle your finger in the air. "Exactly! Please tell me he won't be there."

"About that... He's helping me bake the cookies," Felix smiles sheepishly and you groan, falling dramatically on your seat.

"I’m not coming."

"But the cookies," Felix pouts, and the promise of the chewy baked goods is so enticing it makes you second-guess your decision.

"The cookies...," you whine, and Felix giggles grabbing your hand to pull you up.

"I’ll see you at 5?"

"Yes," you concede, a small smile on your lips. You wait until Felix bids you goodbye for it to finally slip from your face.

Seungmin has never liked you, from the moment Felix introduced you to him. You still remember it clear as day, the way his eyes slightly widened when they fell on you, before narrowing down. How he didn't utter a single word when Felix left you both alone to get your drinks. Your panic grew as an uncomfortable silence reigned on the both of you, and you racked your brain for something to say to cut through that eerie quiet.  

"Seungmin, right?" you asked, a bit too cheerfully, and you winced inwardly at your tone. He didn't reply, only humming back. It was so faint you wouldn't have caught it had you not been staring at him intently.

"What's your major?" Your voice cracked.

"Computer science." He replied curtly, and you waited patiently, expecting him to return the question. He didn't. And you shifted awkwardly from one foot to another. Maybe he just didn't do well with strangers. Maybe he wasn't a chatty person, to complement Felix's extroverted nature.

But you were wrong. You watched in complete astonishment as he teased Felix relentlessly, a wide smile on his face. It made his eyes soften, a newfound fondness itching itself on his expressions. He laughed and he joked and you felt yourself shrink more and more, this way he wouldn't notice you anymore, wouldn't glare at you as if you did something horribly wrong to him.

Felix tried to include you as best as he could in their conversation, but you tuned it out. It was hard to focus on their talk when there was a tumultuous one ongoing in your mind. Seungmin's behavior just further cemented every horrible idea you held about yourself. There is something wrong about you, and he can see it. You may have fooled Felix but you didn't fool Seungmin. If you were him you wouldn't talk to you either.

Every encounter with Seungmin since then left you feeling fifteen years old again, in a classroom full of unkind eyes zeroed on you. You tried to talk about his interests, to string along a normal conversation, one that would reassure that your first encounter was a wrongful impression.

But he did not like talking to you, only offering short replies in response. It’s as if his tongue was tied in your response, and in return it only magnified the knot in your stomach. You went through every conversation with him a million times in your head, trying to pinpoint what exactly went wrong. What warranted him to be so silent in your presence, and yours only, as if you weren’t worthy of a simple conversation. And the answer always tied back to you.

So, you’ve been avoiding him like the plague for the past month, sparing him the chore that is existing near you. It was particularly hard since Felix was his best friend and roommate, and surprisingly he actually enjoyed spending time with you. Still, you couldn’t help but think that it was only a matter of time before Felix started to hate you too.  

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

"You're moving too much," Seungmin chastises and you freeze in your place at his words. You are sitting on the couch of Felix’s dorm later on that day, a horror movie playing in the small TV before you. Felix decided to lay on the floor, buried in a pool of yellow blankets, and a long pillow that weirdly had the picture of one of their friends printed on it. "It's my safety net," he explained and you didn't question him any further.

For some reason, Seungmin decided to sit next to you, instead of the opposing couch. Granted, he can see the TV more clearly from here, still this is the first time he willingly went somewhere near you, let alone talked to you.

You decide to ignore him, too focused on predicting the next jump scare, your feet tapping the floor furiously. But still, it happens so abruptly, eliciting a startled gasp from you, anf you clutch the edge of the couch even tighter.  

"Close your eyes," Seungmin speaks suddenly and you raise an eyebrow at him, confused. 

"There is a jump scare coming soon," he clears his throat, "just... close your eyes if you don't want to see it." 

You comply without much thought and soon enough, you can hear a shrill scream coming from the screen. He was right. 

"It passed," he says softly, and you tentatively open your eyes once again. There is a foreign expression on Seungmin's face, one you haven't seen before, but it passes as quickly as it came, like a dream slipping between your fingers as soon as you wake up. 

"How did you know?" you ask, hugging your knees tightly to your chest. 

"I already watched this movie."

"Really? Why are you watching it again?"

"Because. I had nothing better to do," he says, almost defensively, his hand now covering his mouth as if he had to physically stop the words from spilling out. 

You don't reply, turning back to look at the screen. Seungmin doesn't tell you when a jump scare is coming next, he simply taps your arm, and you close your eyes on cue. 

His hand brushing against your bare skin feels weird, not uncomfortable by any means, but it still is a foreign sensation. You didn't know he had such soft hands, and you always imagined them to be cold. But they are warm, and you wonder what other things about Seungmin you've been wrong about.

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

"I'm so tired," Felix groans, laying his head on your shoulder and you giggle, patting his head in mock sympathy. It's been three months since the start of your year, which means that the assignments are starting to pile up on you all.

"Me too," you sigh, and Seungmin stays silent next to you. Felix dragged you both to this coffeeshop, a little outing to recharge his spirit, as he texted you. You're slowly getting used to Seungmin's brooding presence. He talks to you a little more, even cracking a few jokes here and there. But you’re still wary of him. You keep your guard up just in case he forcefully brings a mirror to your face once again, reminding you of everything you despise about yourself.

"I'll go order, it's my treat. Pick a place for us?" Felix says and you nod, walking ahead of Seungmin towards a table near the back.

You sit down first, and Seungmin follows second, sitting right across from you. You quickly bring out your phone, scrolling mindlessly through the apps to distract yourself from the man in front of you.

"You have a presentation tomorrow, right?" Seungmin speaks up, startling you, and you slowly put your phone down.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Felix told me that it makes up 25% of your grade. Are you nervous?"

"A little," you admit, even though ‘a little’ didn't even begin to cover it.

"Don't be. You'll do well," he says, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You almost feel as if you've imagined it before it dissipates.

"Thank you," you nod, as Felix brings the tray down your table.

"Is this for me?" you ask tentatively, pointing to the strawberry milkshake, a sore thumb sticking out between the iced americano, and the hazelnut Frappuccino, Seungmin’s and Felix’s respective go to orders.

"They got the order wrong. I got you an iced matcha," Felix pouts, double checking his receipt.

"It's okay," you smile slightly. There was nothing you despised more than having to change up your order.

"You don't want to drink this," Seungmin says, staring at you expectantly and you wave your hand in the air dismissively. "I don't mind."

Seungmin stands up, grabbing the drink from your hand before taking the receipt from the table. He goes to the counter and you watch in astonishment as he comes back, a green drink in hand this time.

"Here," he hands you your cup, before grabbing his own and sipping from it. Your drink is cold, but the warm tingles spreading through your being at his sweet gesture outweigh any other feeling.

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

Talking in front of 267 people never gets easier.

You memorized your presentation; you rehearsed it so much you could probably recite it with your eyes closed. Yet, the nerves still found a way to weave themselves inside you. Your hands were shaking, so much you couldn't even stare at the notes you prepared. Your palms were sweaty, blood rushing rapidly to your ears, tuning out your voice as you spoke.

You can’t even recall what you said exactly, it’s as if your body had a mind of its own, your mouth moving itself without you commanding it. You aren’t sure how it was, but someone smiled at you reassuringly from the first row, and the professor clapped, so you assume you did okay.

The class finally ends, your nerves slowly dissipating and leaving in their trail an excruciating exhaustion. You rub your eyes tiredly, as you slowly walk out of the door, before stopping in your tracks when you notice Seungmin leaning against the wall, hands buried in his varsity jacket.

His eyes are closed, a pair of earphones dangling across his chest. But then, as if he feels you looking at him, he opens his eyes, locking his gaze on you. You stay put in your place as he walks to you, his bag loosely hanging from his shoulder. He hooks his thumb underneath the strap, keeping it in place

"How was it?" he questions, and it takes you a few seconds to register what he was asking about. Your presentation. Was he waiting for you?

"I think I did well?" you reply, but it comes out more of a question to which he giggles softly.

"Are you asking me?" he teases and you roll your eyes playfully. "I did well," you repeat and he smiles, nodding a bit. "I’m sure you did. Here." He opens his bag, taking out your favorite chocolate bar from it- it had bits of caramelized pistachio and almonds in it. Seungmin doesn’t like it, he prefers plain milk chocolate, as Felix told you one day.

"Eat this, I ended up buying two by mistake, I still have an extra one at the dorm." You grab it from his hands, and he quickly leaves before you could properly thank him.

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

You always dread the days you'd wake up with a heavy weight crushing your chest.

You try to distract yourself, try to focus in class and take notes. You try to laugh at Felix's jokes and savor the brownies he just brought you. But you can't. It feels as if you're a cup filled to the brim, each passing second bringing you closer to when that fateful drop would finally make you overflow. And you could do nothing but watch yourself unravel.

Seungmin's eyes never leave you, and it only makes your anxiety spike. It feels as if he's peering inside your soul, witnessing how a cord ties itself around your throat, making it impossible for you to breathe. You can't speak anymore, every word you say threatening to make tears spill out of your eyes. You aren't sure you can make them stop if they ever start falling.

Nothing happened, nothing's happening, you try to remind yourself. But you are scratching your hand incessantly, and you feel an overwhelming need to flee. To run away, somewhere where only you would witness the display of your broken soul. So you sputter a meek excuse, and then you stand up and head to your dorm.

It's raining outside, and you don't have an umbrella. But you are grateful for it, since the rain mingles with your salty tears, shielding them from the curious eyes of the people passing by. You need to get home, you need to hide somewhere and you need to remember how to breathe-

"Yn," a hand grabs your forearm and you startle, instinctively taking two hurried steps back. It's Seungmin. He removed his blue hoodie and he's now placing it over both of your heads.

"What are you doing? You'll get sick," he sounds mad, and you can't take his disappointed tone anymore.

"I'm having a bad day and I don't need you to make it worse," you say, startling yourself with the raw emotion in your voice.

He physically recoils from your words, his arms faltering as he gazes at you, a wounded look in his eyes. "I make your days worse?" he asks quietly and his voice sounds so small, you can't help the regret that courses through you.

"Come on, Seungmin," you chuckle warily, "don't you hate me?"

"No?"

"Hate is a strong word, okay. You dislike me."

"I don't. Why would you think that?"

"Because you never wanted to talk to me, from the moment we met. And it wouldn't matter if you were this way with everyone, but it's only me. And you make me feel so small each time I'm around you," you ramble angrily, as Seungmin's eyes widen with each passing second.

"Yn, yn, I don't- I didn't know you felt this way, but I don't hate you. I truly don't, I promise you," he's panicking, voice growing higher with each word, and you feel a sudden embarrassment flood your being for lashing out at him.

You don't know what to say and he sighs, looking up at the cloudy sky before meeting your eyes once again.

"This is embarrassing, God, um..." he places his hoodie on top of your head before running a hand through his face. "I don't talk to you because you make me nervous." 

"I do?"

"Yes. A lot," he chuckles, a pink hue tinting his cheeks. "I just... I find you very interesting, and funny, and I like watching you, not in a creepy way, my God what am I saying," he whines, hiding his face in his hands and you can't help the giggle that escapes your mouth.

"Don't laugh," he pouts and you nod, willing the smile to disappear from your face. 

"I like watching you exist. Just laugh and smile and talk. You look very pretty doing it. I just don't know how to deal with it. That's on me."

This time the smile is effectively gone from your face. The weight of his confession distracting you from the turmoil of emotions that swirled within you.

"I'm sorry, for making you feel that way. I never meant to. For what it's worth, you make me feel like a small kid again, as if I'm having a crush for the first time." 

A fresh wave of tears brims in your waterline, and Seungmin's eyes soften at the sight.

"Please don't cry," he says, gently wiping the rain droplets from your cheeks. "I don't hate you, I think I like you too much and that's the problem." 

I'm sorry I misjudged you, until you wiped my tears off away

"Okay," you say quietly, your mind not yet registering what he said, too busy focusing on his hands on your face. You can't believe you've ever felt invisible because of Seungmin, when he's looking at you like you're the most precious being in the world. 

"You had a bad day?" he asks, his knuckles brushing against your cheek tenderly, and you nod, silently. 

"Would you like a hug?" he asks, and you nod again. A hug sounded nice. 

He steps forward, wrapping his arms around you. His t-shirt is cold, clinging to his now wet skin. But a surprising warmth emanates from his chest, shielding you from the pouring rain- it travels from his body to yours, as if it's a familiar path, one it underwent a million times before. His hand finds your back, and he pats it gently, following a soothing rhythm, one you try to sync your breathing to. "You did well," he whispers, "you always do well," and his words feel like a patch of shade on a scorching day.

You exhale softly, tightening your arms around his waist. You think you can stay here, for a while. You could rest in Seungmin, now and tomorrow, and maybe for the following months. If he still likes you this much. 

Bonus 

"I'm ready," Seungmin says, his soft hair tickling your bare skin. He's laying on top of your stomach, black tie undone, a piece of crumpled paper in his hands. You can tell he's nervous, with the way he looks up at the ceiling, avoiding your gaze. You lean down, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of his head. He closes his eyes, his hold on the yellowed paper slightly faltering.

"I'm all ears," you whisper, and he smiles softly at you, before looking at his written vows- the ones you decided to read to each other after your wedding ceremony, just the two of you, in your personal bubble. It feels much more intimate this way, they are words meant for you only to hear, after all.

"My love," he starts, and he can already feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He blinks repeatedly, in a desperate attempt to keep them at bay. "If I'm reading this it means I finally married you, which is probably the best thing I've ever done in my life." You giggle and he can't help but smile at the sound of your laugh.

"I am writing these vows one year into our relationship, I haven't proposed yet, but I just know you're the one I want to marry. And I suppose I don't want to forget everything I want to say to you, when that day comes." His words make your breath hitch in your throat as realization dawns on you- he wrote this three years ago, and he kept it safe, till this day.

"I still remember when I saw you for the first time. I couldn't talk because you looked so pretty, and you were smiling at Felix and I felt an overwhelming need to be the one you were smiling at. I think you cast a spell on me because I couldn't even ask you about your major back, I couldn't believe how awestruck I was. But you already know this, don't you?" He looks up at you, pressing a quick kiss to your stomach and you smile widely. You still remember when Seungmin recounted the first time you met, from his perspective. Rosy cheeks and fumbling words as he explained how much he felt for you in that instant, and how little he could express it.

"But there are still things I haven't told you," he clears his throat. "Like how Felix told me what horror movie he was planning to watch with you, and I looked it up the night before, to memorize all the jump scares just in case you were afraid. And you were, and I'm glad I did. I don't even like horror movies, but it was worth watching it three times in a row, just for you."

"Also, how I had to run out of my class to yours, so I'd catch you after the end of your presentation. I bought that chocolate only for you. I kept a stack of fifteen bars hidden in my desk, just in case you were feeling down, and you ended up needing it. I kept asking Felix about everything you liked, and disliked, and he was probably sick of me at that time," he chuckles, as memories of begging his roommate for any bit of information about you flooded his mind.

"I don't know how far into the future it'll be when I'll finally read this to you. I don't know how I'll be, or where I'll be, but as long as you're with me then I must be okay. I used to overthink everything, plan every part of my life so it'd run smoothly. That is until you came into my life, so suddenly, and you flipped it upside down. I didn't care to plan my life anymore, all that mattered is that it revolved around you," he pauses, sucking in a deep breath.

"I knew I wanted to marry you when you took me stargazing. You talked about the stars and galaxies so excitedly. And then you brought up Saturn; how it was unique among the planets, adorned with thousands of ringlets. And I remember thinking that you're my saturn, you're the dazzling planet that everyone admires and I'm the ring spinning around you, the one you're keeping afloat. And as long as you're here, I have a purpose and I'm okay. So please..." his voice wavers, as silent tears slip out of his eyes.

"Don't leave me. I know we're married now, but still, don't leave me. I love you. I feel like I've loved you in different lifetimes, in different earths and timelines. Everything can come crashing down around us, but one thing that'll forever remain the same is my love for you. I was made to love you, after all. My eyes were made to look at you, and my hands to graze your cheeks. And my heart... My heart was made to beat for you. And I love you. I feel like I don't say it enough but I truly love you. As long as I'm breathing then I'm yours."

[goldsbitch]

I'm not sure if your requests are open but what about the whole fire situation at McLaren, Lando can't find the reader and he's freaking out and he cares more about finding her than putting shoes on - obv she's be OK and just stand there with oscar or sth 😭

-omg I love this request! added a bit here and there, so hope you'll like it...thank you!!

Fire.

Rick was a 23 year old McLaren assistant who, by sheer luck, managed to land a job with the racing team. This being his first season and immediately being thrown into following the team on the road. It was an exciting life, but a little fast and hard to follow in the beginning. He was just trying to blend it and feel out what is it that is actually required from him.

It was few hours after the fire was put down and if he knew one thing it was that corporate is expecting a quick short report asap, before the long report from health and safety people follows. He'd been sitting there, in Pirelli hospitality, stressed out as if his life depended on this - and honestly, it probably did a little bit. It was quite baffling to him why was it that the team elected him to be in charge or reports to corporate. On a normal day, it was fairly easy - reporting minor injuries, heatstrokes and collecting reports from the mechanics and resending them. And now, he was to do a full on fire report? He hasn't even seen one before!

He tried to ignore his inner panic and put together few pages of text, trying to tune into the confusing language corporate sometimes required. The part he dreaded the most was "describing how the drivers were evacuated" part of the form.

Oscar Piastri (driver 81) had not been at the premise when the fire was detected, therefore there was no need to evacuate him.

Lando Norris (driver 4) had been running around like a panic filled duck making the evacuation way more difficult for everyone.

Nope, this was not even an option, no matter how much would Rick like to send this out and watch the world burn, again.

Lando Norris (driver 4) was in his driver room when the evacuation started, definitely not blasting his music into unhealthy levels and certainly did not miss the first warning because of it.

Nope.

Lando Norris (driver 4) used his unique ability to be as extra as possible at any given moment that we can thank him for creating yet another viral moment, the image of him, standing outside the mobile hospitality building with no shoes, gaining a permanent place on the internet.

This was going to be a difficult decision for poor Rick.

//

Lando was excited about the Barcelona race, this being only the second time he was on pole. And all of that happening on the weekend he and his new girlfriend decided to make their relationship official, hard launch around the paddock.

But he also understood he needed his alone time to get prepared and Y/N supported that completely, not wanting him to babysit her constantly.

He was full on enjoying his pre-race ritual. Chilling on his couch and blasting music loudly and proudly, flicking his toes to the rhythm of the latest bops and getting lost in his strategy, going over the plan they had for that race.

All was good and well - until the smoke coming from the stairs started to spread, together along with panic.

"Lando!" a voice said while barging unapologetically through his door. "We need to evacuate!"

He nearly had a heart attack and fell of the sofa, as he did not expect anything to happen on that nice Sunday morning.

"What?" he said, putting his music on mute and only now hearing the general mayhem happening outside his door, dark milky smoke rolling in.

"We need to evacuate you!" his assistant said once again, rushing to him and getting him up.

"Lando!" said another voice that marched in with the same intention. "How come you're still here, we need to move out!"

"What the fuck is happening outside?" confused Lando asked, not really used to people storming into his room right before the race. His eyes flashed between the two assistants, both out of breath because they were probably not used to running.

"Em, fire...down at the staircase, so we gotta go that way," one of them said, gesturing somewhere towards his left.

"Wait, so near the canteen?" Lando asked. Shit, that was where he left Y/N. Oh god. Both of them nodded, trying to gesture him to move outside, which he did not.

"Has anyone seen my girlfriend?" he continued with the questions firmly.

"Um, Y/N?" one of the assistants asked, not expecting this question.

"Yes, who else?" Lando responded impatiently, panic growing in.

"I don't know, I never want to assume anything..."started rambling the one who marched in first.

Lando couldn't help but roll his eyes, where we all the competent people when he needed them? Once again, these two were gesturing him to start evacuating.

"I need to call her first," he said, taking his phone out and dialing her number. It was a very bizarre scenery to watch, the three of them just standing there while everyone was rushing around.

One, two, three, four very long dials. Two pairs of eyes shooting arrows at Lando, who stood firmly, hoping she'll pick up. Nothing. Was that actual panic he was starting to feel?

"Ok, I gotta go check out the canteen and find her, you two can go and tell everyone I'm ok," he said and brushed past them and went to the hallway.

He overhead someone trying to give orders, but based on the scene ahead of him, people rushing back and forth without clear direction, nobody seemed to pay that much attention. "Please, make your orderly exit, follow the signs, this is not a drill, this is not a drill. Breathe through your nose."

The driver was making his way through flocks of people going the other direction while the smoke and acrid smell grew on intensity that even Lando, with his cough and blocked nose, could actually smell it. He managed to avoid everyone, leaving the two poor assistants who came to search for him behind, until he bumped into another rushing person most likely giving him a black eye.

"Ouch! Lando! Everyone is looking for you, we gotta evacuate," stated the another new member of the team, who Lando vaguely recalled as Rick, while he held his puffing eye. And finally, fire alarm started to produce its signature deafening sound.

"Sorry! Sorry!" he apologized loudly, not wanting to cause more trouble, which was failing quite miserably. "I know, you're all looking for me, but is anyone looking for Y/N?" Lando asked, his priorities being very clear.

Rick was slightly confused, trying to recall if she had already evacuated or not.

"Did you see her going outside?" Lando demanded answers from anyone present and poor Rick was on the frontline.

"I don't know, I was over there-" he pointed to a room, where Y/N would definitely not be - the men's room.

"Fuckin' shit," Lando cursed and left Rick standing and marched over to where the smoke was coming from, trying to remember to breathe through his nose.

It was the first time she visited him in the paddock, which was already stressful enough, as he imagined. This was his home, he knew every corner and secret this place held - but she didn't! And also - he was Lando Norris, people would go out and search for him, but it was his job to make sure that his girlfriend is ok. And he was doing a very shit job at that, at least in his mind. Actual firefighters started to appear at the scene and finally the evacuation started to resemble orderly departure, rather than an obscure rave. He finally arrived near to the canteen when he got stopped by one of the firemen.

"Sir, you have to leave now, the other way!" he ordered, not interested in anyone's bullshit.

"I know, I just gotta check my girlfriend is not there, nobody is looking for her-"

"We are looking for everyone and you are making our job harder, please evacuate and let us work."

Lando was starting to understand that his actions might be creating more chaos than good, so he nodded and turned around, only to see the entourage of three assistant walking towards him, trying to get through the firefighters.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going," he shouted and gestured them to turn around, which they only did once they saw his actually going the right way and following evacuation orders.

The strange quartet finally rolled outside, three of them finally being able to relax as they got the driver out, while he was on the verge of losing it. Frantically started looking around, losing his cool again. Only once he stepped outside to the hot Spanish June afternoon, he noticed he wasn't wearing any shoes, the asphalt giving him a lot of information about the potential track temperature. Hot.

He didn't care. He had to find her, otherwise he was going back in and this time nobody would stop him.

Not her, not her, not her - wait, that was her! Standing safely far away from curious crowd that observed the scene and chatting it out, was Y/N and Oscar. Safe and sound, maybe a little too relaxed given the situation. Lando rushed to her, almost tripping over his own feet.

"Hey...I called you," he said, his own athleticism saving him from being unable to breathe.

She smiled when she saw him, like she always did. Innocent eyes and lush lips creating and angel-like picture. "Oh, did you? Sorry, I couldn't hear, there was so much noise everywhere," she said and gave him a little peck on his cheek before turning her attention to the McLaren building.

Lando was trying to look cool, not saying anything and tried to process his own reaction, maybe potentially overreaction - something, he'd never admit.

"We are recreating the scene from The Office," Oscar said, as if there weren't people around them running in panic. Lando just stared at him and his girlfriend, both standing in pure calmness and doing what could only be described as "vibing it out".

"I'm sorry?" he replied, not yet tuned into their wave-lenght.

"We were playing Desert Island while everyone was evacuating themselves," Oscar explained to Lando. Y/N laughed, but decided to change the topic when she saw how clueless her boyfriend looked.

"Never thought I'd date a millennial," she said out of the blue.

Lando was once again not comprehending, still coming down from his shock. "What?"

She giggled. "Look at your socks man. So low one would think it's 2014 again."

"Good year," Oscar said, sounding like he was 80 years old.

Only then Lando looked down now to truly fathom that he forgot to put his shoes on. He had to chuckle. He was used to adrenaline highs and lows, but apparently not as much as he though so.

"You ok?" Y/N asked, starting to become concerned when Lando did not follow up on their joke. She examined him and noticed the drops of stress sweat, his uneven breathing and eyes wide as the sun.

There was not much of a hesitation before he uttered the next sentence.

"I love you," he stated, no regrets or uncertainty. This was the first time either of them said this sentence. They were sort of tip toying around for few weeks now, but both of them feared it would freak the other one out. Not anymore, Lando had to get it out at that moment and nothing would stop him.

Now it was Y/N who was completely taken back, not expecting that. Funny how a fire did nothing to her reactions and this had her nearly melting. Melting with shock. No, it did not make sense to her either.

Lando was standing there, not expecting or demanding a reaction from her. He was coming to terms with his own realization, and stood there as proudly as someone who's not wearing any shoes can.

"Yes, it is true. I love you. You don't have to say anything, but I am more than sure now."

She bit her lower lip, unable to contain herself. "No, I want to say something. I love you too, more every day. So much it's getting scary."

Lando smiled, ear to ear, the events of the day passing him by. This was what mattered.

"This is so cool," Lando replied and went to kiss her on the cheek.

"Cool? That's your reaction?" she gasped, astonished and slightly amused.

"Yes, exactly that," he smiled once again, smitten over the moon.

The three of them stood there, Y/N and Lando watching each other, Oscar trying not to listen at first and observing the fire situation with new found interest. But it was nearly impossible.

"This is all very cute, but if you don't stop and leave this for when you're alone, I'm going to personally throw myself into the fire," he stated, teasing the fuck out of Lando.

"Have fun burning, mate!" Lando replied immediately and pulled Y/N into an unhinged hug.

Y/N never felt better in someone's embrace. "I love someone who's not even wearing shoes outside," she proclaimed after a moment. "Thank god mom's not here."

//

Lando Norris (driver 4) obeyed the evacuation procedure, followed directions and cooperated at full capacity. Due to the nature of the situation, the team decided to pull Lando out of the premise as quickly as possible, which resulted in him evacuating barefoot. No injury detected.

After several drafts, this was what Rick decided to go with, while icing his black eye.

[moremaybank]

࿐ ࿔:･ﾟstepbro!rafe who sneaks into your bed in the middle of the night ࿐ ࿔:･ﾟ

warnings (18+), humping, thigh-fucking, unprotected sex (oopsies), dirty talk/language

the floorboards moan under his feet as he walks over to you, slipping under the covers carefully. he instantly recognizes the fragrance of your shampoo.

how, you ask?

because he's jerked himself off in the shower while clutching that same bottle in his hand. he'd squeeze it, just enough to get the scent out and into his system, picturing you there, standing in front of him with that innocent look you always give him.

in a perfect world, you'd be in there with him, your hand wrapped around his girth, pouring your heart out to him and expressing how badly you want to be the one to make him feel good. how badly you want to get on your knees for him and take his cum down your throat. how badly you need him to wreck your cunt and teach you that no one will ever fuck you like he will.

but then he's brought back to reality when you shift slightly in your sleep, onto your side so your ass is poking at his crotch.

it's innocent.

you're sleeping, after all.

but he can tell that you aren't wearing any panties when the crease of your ass is so prominent against him. and all he finds himself thinking is that he could nudge that big sleep shirt you're wearing up just a tad, and rub his hard cock against you.

he can also smell that sweet lotion and lavish body oil you use, a concoction that works harmoniously to give you skin softer than the finest silk. he'd only trailed his fingers against your flesh in fleeting moments, but even that small of a touch was enough to show him that he needed to run his palms all over every inch of you. to savour you and engrave you into his mind permanently.

his hand smooths over your hip, thick fingers pushing the cotton up and over it. he stares at the swell of your ass, bare and exposed to him in the dark.

before he can stop himself, he kneads at your flesh, clutching at the skin like he'll die if he doesn't.

you rouse from your sleep slowly, his warm touch a comfort as you wake.

"rafe?"

"shh," he coos lowly into your ear. "jus' need a 'lil touch. that's okay, yeah?"

you know you should say no. he's your stepbrother, after all. you're supposed to be family. and family members definitely don't grope each other like this. but then you remembered how you felt when you first saw him. cool blue eyes. a smirk playing on his rosy lips. hands that you knew would look perfect wrapped around your throat. strong pecs peeking through his golf shirt, a slutty waist, and an admittedly perfect ass. his raspy voice, and the way his teeth sank into his plump bottom lip when he looked you up and down.

how on earth are you expected to deny a man who was so clearly sculpted by some sort of god?

"y-yeah. s'okay."

his lips drop a kiss onto the back of your shoulder. "thought so," he speaks against your skin. his hips move on their own accord, thrusting gently against your bum, and he bites back a moan.

"know you stole my panties," you note, thinking back to when you realized one of your favourite pairs were missing. you'd seen rafe eye them once when you were putting away your laundry, and when they suddenly vanished, it was no mystery who the culprit was.

"yeah? why didn't you come lookin' for 'em?"

you shrug lazily, letting your hand find and rest on top of his. "liked the thought of you cumming on them."

he hums, letting you know he heard you. "such a dirty girl. bet that pussy's already wet for me."

"you should touch me 'n find out."

"yeah?"

"yeah," you breathe, fingers curling around his hand and leading him to your cunt. "you should."

your legs part when his hand slips between them, stroking over the sensitive skin of your folds. you let out a hushed moan, biting your lip in attempt to silence yourself. no matter how much you've dreamt of the possibilities, you know that you aren't prepared for whatever is coming. what you do know was that rafe was about to make your dreams come true.

he's touching you. that's all you care about.

his fingers run through your wet folds, and his cock throbs. a few little touches and you're already soaking for him.

you really are his dream girl.

his fingers start to rub your clit in circles slowly. tauntingly, as if he knows it won't be enough and you'll be left begging for more.

"what's got you so wet, huh? thinkin' bout cummin' f'me?"

"yeah," you speak breathlessly.

"yeah? wanna cream all over my cock? that what you dream about?"

you remain silent, all too focused on the pleasure when his fingers press against your bud with more pressure. but you realize you should've answered him when his hand starts to pull away from you and retreat.

"asked you somethin', sweetheart." you know you've been caught. you can hear it in his voice. "think i don't hear you through the walls? beggin' for my cock inside you?"

"i was hoping you'd come take care of me," you admit. "want you so bad. all the time, rafey."

you can't see the evil grin stretching his lips. his hand slips past the bands of his shorts and boxers, giving his hardening cock a few leisure strokes. "then i guess i should help you out a bit, yeah?"

he draws his cock out of its confinement, spitting onto his palm to get himself nice and wet. he then grips himself at the base firmly, nudging his cock between your thighs. he lets himself run over your wet folds, his hand finding solace at your hip once again. he starts to thrust, feeling your thighs clench around him as you seek more pressure on your clit.

"oh, fuck. if your thighs are squeezin' me this good, can't imagine how tight that little pussy must be."

your hole can't help but flutter at his words. you're not even sure you can think. all that's consuming your mind is him. you can feel how big he is, how thick he is while he fucks your thighs. you can feel the veins protruding from his length, and how he's throbbing for you. your pussy drools more and more as he continues to rub himself against you, and you feel that ache start to become unbearable.

"want you inside, rafey," you plead. your hand travels backward, clutching over his as it did earlier. you give him a squeeze, hoping it'll convince him to push inside you.

"yeah? pretty girl wants my cock stuffin' her?"

"mhm. please."

"please? aw, you're so good for me already, baby." he kisses the back of your neck, taking note of how the hairs on the back of it rise when his breath brushes against your skin. you want him so bad to the point where you'll be grateful for anything he gives. and that just makes him want to ruin you even more. "open those legs for me."

you do as he instructs, spreading your thighs so he could press into you. anticipation bubbles deep in your belly when you felt his tip graze your entrance. he pushes his way inside, and your face buries itself into your pillow so you can make as much noise as you want to, with a lesser chance of getting caught.

it's not long before he starts to rock into you, his hand travelling to and curling around the back of your knee to keep you open for him. his hips hit your ass, the flesh jiggling due to his force.

"s'up with that pretty head of yours, huh? don't know the difference between right 'n wrong?" all you can do is let out a whine for him, murmuring a fuck, rafe. feels so good when he slides into you even deeper. "or maybe you do, 'n you don't care. just need your big brother's cock in you."

his words and his touch work wonders on you, your pussy so creamy and wet that he's slipping in and out of you with no resistance. your walls tighten violently around him, and his teeth sink into your shoulder as he groans into you.

"should be ashamed, lettin' your stepbro tear this pussy apart. but you aren't, are you? you like being a dirty slut f'me."

and yeah, you should be ashamed. but when he's fucking you this good, and his hands are all over you, leading you to cloud nine, how bad could it really be?

concepts ; concepts (ii)

[scary-grace]

hands-off, hands-on - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

This was inspired by this art and a comment left on it about the risks of trying to jerk off with a quirk like Decay. It was also inspired by @obsessedtomone and @scarlettcryptid, who encouraged me to write it and then to post it. The pun in the title was my idea and not their fault.

Shigaraki's quirk makes life difficult in a lot of ways, but there's only one he can't find a way around, and since you joined the League of Villains, it's gotten even worse. When the truth comes out at last, he's expecting it to be a disaster and nothing else. He definitely isn't expecting you to offer to help. (cross-posted to Ao3) Canonverse, one-shot, smut.

Shigaraki Tomura’s quirk is everything to him. It’s how he found himself alone in the world as a five-year-old, even if he can’t remember the details. It’s why Sensei took an interest in him, why Sensei took him in, why Sensei chose him to carry on his work. It’s the perfect tool for someone like Shigaraki, who hates everything, who wants nothing more than to destroy everything he doesn’t like. Decay is the best thing that’s ever happened to Shigaraki. And at the same time, it absolutely, categorically sucks.

Shigaraki might hate everything, but he doesn’t hate it all the time, and the times when he doesn’t hate it are times when he’d love to be able to just have whatever it is without being one wrong move away from ruining it. Name a thing he likes, and his quirk is ready and waiting to fuck it up – gaming, eating, sleeping, even reading the fucking newspaper. He can do all those things four-fingered, if he stays focused. It’s the stuff he can’t stay focused on that’s impossible.

He can’t stay focused when he’s horny, at least not enough to keep from potentially Decaying his dick off. Shigaraki doesn’t actually know if his quirk works on himself, and he’s not interested in finding out. And that means that no matter how horny Shigaraki gets or how many poorly timed boners he pops, jerking off is permanently off the table.

That’s not to say Shigaraki’s never finished. He has. He’s spent so much time humping pillows that he had to learn to do his own laundry. But there’s something really pathetic about being twenty years old with two working hands and still be stuck grinding on a pillow to make himself come, and it always takes so stupidly long. Now that Shigaraki’s got the League of Villains, now that he’s got plans to make and Sensei’s legacy to fulfill, he doesn’t have that kind of time. When he wakes up with the world’s worst morning wood after a dream he doesn’t remember clearly, there’s nothing he can do but wait for it to go away.

It fades – enough – but the feeling doesn’t, and eventually Shigaraki doesn’t have a choice but to drag himself out of bed. He slinks from his room to the bar, hoping it’ll be empty, with the rest of the League out and about preparing for the mission and Kurogiri somewhere nearby if Shigaraki needs him but not actually right there to ask him what’s bothering him. Shigaraki can pour his own drinks. Maybe he can get out of this if he gives himself whiskey dick on purpose. Kurogiri’s not in the bar, just like he was hoping, but it’s not empty, either. You’re there, sprawled out over the bar with a sweating glass of water on a coaster in front of you.

Shigaraki’s jaw clenches at the sight. “What are you doing here?” he demands, and you look up. “Don’t you have something to do?”

“I did it already.” You yawn. “Using my quirk tires me out.”

“Really?” Shigaraki can’t keep the irritation out of his voice. “Making people stupid is that exhausting?”

Your quirk is a weird one. It lets you increase or decrease a target’s ability to plan, reason, problem-solve, remember things, and learn – in other words, their intelligence. “From this distance, for as many people as you need me to hit?” You yawn again and drop your head back down to the bar. “Yeah. Remember, I have to keep them all being stupid the same way, right up until it’s too late. Or your plan won’t work.”

Shigaraki had the pieces of the plan before he made you use your quirk on him, but once you used the quirk on him, he did some fine-tuning on the strategy, and he came up with the idea of using your quirk the opposite way, too. While the rest of the League is planning to make the attack on UA’s summer training camp a success, you’re using your quirk every day on the heroes in charge of planning the camp itself. Shigaraki’s not actually going to know if it works until after the attack, and that pisses him off. “Go nap somewhere else, then.”

“I’m not going to bother you,” you say. “Where else am I supposed to go, anyway? Your room?”

Shigaraki’s this close to saying yes, just to get you to leave, before he remembers what his room looks like – and remembers that he spent a while trying to see if grinding one out would work this time. He can’t kick you out of the hideout. You look like shit, and you’ll attract a lot of attention. “Fine. Shut up.”

“Yep.” You fold your arms on the bar and rest your head on them, shutting your eyes.

Even when you aren’t looking at him or talking, your presence bothers Shigaraki. It’s bothered him since the beginning – as much as he’s bothered by the others, in a different way than he’s bothered by the others. While the others can at least manage to avoid pissing Shigaraki off, there’s nothing you do that doesn’t cause some kind of problem. If you’re talking to him too much, he’s annoyed because he doesn’t know why you’re talking to him. If you’re not talking to him, he’s pissed about that, too. If you’re not around, he’s mad that you’re avoiding him, and if you are around, he wishes you weren’t. The fact that you’re here was a big problem for him even before he started having the dreams.

Shigaraki can’t remember the details of last night’s dream, but he knows you were in it. He pours himself a drink, takes the bottle with him, and sits down at the far end of the bar from you. You don’t look up again, and Shigaraki finishes his first drink, then half of his second, with no improvement on the situation. He shifts on the barstool, trying to get more comfortable. He needs to find something else to do. Something that will distract him from how stupidly horny he is.

You’re right there, and being irritated with you for doing anything at all is as good a distraction as anything else. “If all you’re doing is making a couple of heroes slightly dumber, you’re not really pulling your weight, are you?”

You don’t stir, but Shigaraki sees your shoulders stiffen. “What else should I be doing?”

“More,” Shigaraki says. You lift your head to look at him dead on, and Shigaraki hates that so much that he loses his train of thought for a second. “I don’t want them slightly dumber. I want them so stupid they can’t walk in a straight line. You have to get closer to them for that? So get closer. Get out of here and –”

“If I make them that stupid, the heroes will know that something’s wrong,” you interrupt. “My quirk’s in the government databases. If I do anything too obvious, they’ll know I’m working with you, and they’ll change their plans. Or they’ll change who they’re using to execute those plans. For my quirk to work on someone, I need to know who they are.”

Shigaraki knows how your quirk works. He’s not stupid. “I could do what you want me to do, but it would ruin your plans,” you say. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I wanted to take a nap,” you say. You sit up straight on your stool, get to your feet and start towards Shigaraki. “Now I want to know what I did to piss you off.”

You’re coming closer. Shigaraki feels a surge of panic. “Get away from me.”

“No.” You sit down one barstool away from Shigaraki, but still way too close for comfort. Shigaraki’s skin feels hot, and in spite of the fact that he left his room wearing sweatpants, they’re getting tight. “You let me join the League, but ever since I got here, I can’t do anything right. You’re mad at me all the time, and today you’re even madder than usual.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” you say. You keep staring. Shigaraki looks away, and you say the first thing he’s ever heard you say that makes you sound like a villain. “Either you can tell me the truth, or I’ll use my quirk on myself and figure it out.”

Shigaraki’s stomach lurches. “I thought you were too tired to use your quirk.”

“Not on myself,” you say. Shigaraki glances back at you. You’re almost smiling. He’s seen you smile before, talking to Toga or Magne, but not like that. “You can tell me, or I’ll find out on my own. Your choice.”

You’re not screwing around. Shigaraki thinks fast. He could Decay you, but – Shigaraki writes off the thought before he can even complete it. He has to tell you something, and it has to be convincing. But he doesn’t have to tell you everything to keep you from using your quirk. It’s going to be humiliating, but nowhere close to as humiliating as the whole truth, and he opens his mouth and spits it out. “I’m horny.”

You blink. “So jerk off.”

“I can’t.” Shigaraki sees your eyebrows lift, skeptical as hell, and loses patience, even as his face heats up. “My quirk. Anything I touch with five fingers –”

“And you can’t jerk off without –” You break off mid-question, looking just as uncomfortable as Shigaraki feels. “So you’ve never –”

“No, I have, I just –” This is way more information than you need to know. Shigaraki grits his teeth. “You wanted an answer. There’s your answer. Leave me alone.”

You don’t leave Shigaraki alone. You actually move over onto the stool next to his. “So you’re just going to be a dick to me any time you’re horny.”

It’s your fault Shigaraki’s horny. Before you showed up, he could deal with things on his own, but now instead of videos and games to fixate on he has fantasies – because he can imagine about what you’d look like under him, what you’d sound like, what you’d feel like. All of which are the worst possible things for Shigaraki to be thinking about right now. He’s completely hard, again. Maybe you can tell, or maybe you’re using your quirk on him after all, because you’re making a really weird face. “If you’re going to be a dick any time you’re horny –”

You break off. Shigaraki thinks, fleetingly, about Decaying you. At this point he’d rather Decay himself, because if even he kills you, he’ll still have to remember that this happened. You take a deep breath, let it go. “Do you want help?”

Shigaraki’s mind blue-screens for a second. “What?”

“If this is why you’re like this, then it’s easy to fix,” you repeat. Your hands are clenched into fists on your thighs, and you slowly uncurl them. “Do you want me to help?”

“Help with what?”

“Jerking off,” you say. You make an awkward gesture, and every muscle in Shigaraki’s body goes tense as he imagines your hands around his cock. You have to be messing with him. There’s no way you’re actually offering – that. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Shigaraki finishes his drink and stands up before he can think any more about it. He grimaces as his cock strains against the fabric of his pants, and feels a surge of embarrassment when he realizes you’re looking at it – but it’ll be over soon. In the face of getting some, and getting it from you, nothing else matters. “Let’s go.”

Shigaraki’s nerves kick in on the walk back to his room. Not enough to make the hard-on he’s coping with fade even slightly, but enough to remind him that this is probably a bad idea. But you’re following him, and you haven’t changed your mind. Shigaraki’s not chickening out first. The nerves get worse when he opens the door to his room and realizes what a mess it is. “Uh –”

“Where do you usually sit?” You don’t look impressed – or disgusted, now that Shigaraki thinks about it. “On the bed?”

Shigaraki sits down on the bed – which he didn’t make, because he never makes it – and you sit down next to him. You don’t do anything. “I thought you were going to help me.”

“Show me what you do,” you say. Shigaraki stares at you. His heart is racing, his pulse hammering so hard that he feels it everywhere. “Go as far as you can, and then I’ll keep doing what you do.”

That makes sense, probably. Shigaraki’s mind is startling to scramble. He decides to think about it later and catches the hem of his shirt, hiking it up and out of the way. He knows from experience that it’ll slide back, so he pins it between his teeth and reaches down to his waistband, shoving at it until his pants are down around his thighs and his cock is free.

His hard-on looks like it feels. Uncomfortable, leaking, hot to the touch when he wraps three fingers and his thumb around his shaft. Shigaraki tries a few of the same insufficient strokes as always and feels the muscles in his abdomen and thighs clench. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. A frustrated sound edges out around the fabric in Shigaraki’s mouth. Aren’t you supposed to help him? He looks at you. You’re looking away.

“Hey,” Shigaraki says, the hem of the shirt falling from his mouth, and you look at him. “You wanted to help. Pay attention.”

Your face is flushed. You nod, and you reach out – but only so you can grasp the hem of Shigaraki’s shirt and pull it out of the way again, your knuckles brushing over his abdomen in a way that makes him twitch. You’re sitting closer to him now than you were before, close enough that he can almost feel the heat of your body, and imagine how it would feel to have you pressed against him. One of your hands is holding his shirt up. The other comes to rest on his lower abdomen, fingertips brushing through his hair, centimeters away from the base of his cock.

Shigaraki squirms involuntarily, trying to move your hand lower and jeopardizing his own strokes at the same time. Even when he lifts his hips to meet his own hand, he can’t lose control the way he wants to, can’t chase the feeling he needs. He needs it. He needs it and he’s never come even close to having it, until now. Shigaraki tries to focus. You’re only going to help once he’s gone as far as he can, so he’d better get there as fast as possible.

He shouldn’t have told you to pay attention. Now you’re watching everything, your face still flushed and your eyes glued to Shigaraki’s every move, taking everything in. Do you like this? Do you like watching Shigaraki’s pathetic attempts to get himself off? Whether you like it or not, you’re still touching him when you don’t have to. Shigaraki’s fingers tighten involuntarily around his cock, his fourth finger almost coming down, and he loosens up in a hurry. But that’s no good, either. He tries again.

It’s the same as always. Shigaraki makes it one or two strokes before it gets dangerous, enough to show him what he could have and not enough to get him there. He’s sweaty and his heart is beating too hard and the same frustrated tears as always are stinging his eyes. He curses, lets go – and a warm hand slides between his legs to replace his.

Shigaraki almost comes on the spot. It takes every ounce of willpower he has, and he almost blows it again as he watches you adjust your hold on him, shaping your hand more closely around his cock. You’re slow about it, but you sure as hell aren’t hesitant. Shigaraki can’t look for longer than a few strokes. It’s too humiliating to see the intensity of his own reaction, precum oozing from the tip of his cock and his hips jerking upwards into your hand. He clenches his jaw and shuts his eyes.

“Hey. Pay attention.” Are you making fun of him? Shigaraki opens his eyes and finds you looking at him. “I need to know if I’m doing it right.”

“What do you think?” Shigaraki forces the words out through gritted teeth. “Do you need me to tell you you’re doing a good job or something?”

“That might be nice,” you muse. Your hold on him loosens slightly – not enough to complain about, more than enough to read as a threat. “Since I can’t do anything else right around here, I at least want to be good at getting you off.”

Your grip tightens again, and you run your thumb lightly over the tip of Shigaraki’s cock at the end of the next stroke. Shigaraki couldn’t pull a move like that if his fucking life depended on it, which it would. He was going to tell you not to ask stupid questions, like if you’re good at getting him off when he’s two seconds away from blowing his load all over himself, but instead he moans, so loudly that people can probably hear it two streets away. You replay the same stroke, slower this time, pulling Shigaraki’s back into an arch to match the upward motion of your hand, and then you spend a few seconds just toying with his tip, barely touching him at all.

Are you trying to make him squirm? Shigaraki hates that it’s working, hates that you won’t just give him what he needs – but then you’re back to stroking his cock again, and Shigaraki relaxes, as much as it’s possible to relax. It feels good, even better than he thought it would. And even better than that, because he doesn’t have to do anything. All he has to do is sit back and enjoy it.

“Hold your shirt up,” you say, and Shigaraki grabs it clumsily. Your now-free hand traces quickly down Shigaraki’s chest, along his stomach, skidding sideways over his hip before sliding between his legs. There’s not room for both of your hands. Shigaraki spreads his legs without thinking twice.

You make a weird sound – maybe a gasp. “Stop that,” you say, but now you’re cradling his balls in addition to stroking his cock, so Shigaraki’s not interested in stopping much of anything. “It’s working.”

No shit it’s working. Shigaraki’s entire body is wound tight, so much that he can’t even twitch or thrust or squirm – all he can do is strain, agonizingly tense, every atom of his body focused on the motion of your hands. Shigaraki squeezes his eyes shut. His shirt crumbles away as he claws at it, the sheets on his bed going the same way a second later as he fights to ground himself. He needs more. Shigaraki needs to come right now, before he grabs onto something he can’t replace.

The word struggles out of his mouth sideways, twisted and strained just like the rest of him. “Please –”

You don’t answer him, but Shigaraki feels you shift closer to him. He opens his eyes and you’re right there, close enough that he can feel your breath against his skin. You’re watching him, head tilted, lips parted, so close. Shigaraki’s so close, and he needs more from you. He seizes the front of your shirt to pull you down to him, only for it to Decay when you’re halfway there. But Shigaraki gets lucky. You lean in the rest of the way and press your lips against his.

It’s not because of that. Shigaraki’s coming hard enough to see stars, hard enough that he blacks out for a second, but it’s not because you’re kissing him. His cum spills everywhere, onto his sweatpants and his stomach and over your fingers, and you keep stroking him with slick hands. You don’t pull away until Shigaraki’s whining against your mouth and you’ve drawn out every drop of cum he has to give.

And then you sit back, and let go, and look away. “I need a new shirt.”

You’re sitting next to him, on his bed, in just your bra. The sight would get Shigaraki hard again in an instant if you hadn’t just made him come hard enough to disconnect his spine. He raises a shaky hand and points to his hoodie, slung over the back of his computer chair, but you don’t go for it. Instead you get up and head to the bathroom to wash your hands.

Shigaraki needs to wash everything. His sweatpants, himself – the stupid mattress, since he was dumb enough to Decay the sheets off it right before he blew what feels like the biggest load in history. What else was he supposed to do, though? No way was he going to be able to control himself while you worked him over. No way is he going to be able to think about anything else the next time he sees you do anything with your hands. Or with your mouth.

It occurs to Shigaraki vaguely that while he’s solved the initial problem of being too horny to function, he’s set himself up for something even worse – more dreams, made all the more vivid because he’s got experience to back them up. He might be good to go for now. Probably for the rest of the day, since it’ll be a miracle if he can do anything other than clean up and take a nap. But he’ll be right back where he started the next time he wakes up from another dream about you.

The water from the sink shuts off, and a moment later you come back out, snagging Shigaraki’s hoodie off the chair and pulling it on over your bra. Shigaraki feels a faint twinge of foreboding at the sight, but it fades fast. Sure, he could wake up tomorrow morning with the boner from hell and it’ll be all your fault. But now he’s got a way out of it, and the way out of it is so good that what it takes to get there barely even matters. And he’s in a good enough mood to admit to himself that you do things right a lot more than you do things wrong.

Which reminds him – “Hey,” Shigaraki says, still humiliatingly breathless, and you pause in the act of pulling the hood up. “You did a good job.”

He might still be out of breath, but your face is still flushed. “Good,” you say, and you turn to leave. Shigaraki doesn’t hear you speak again until you’re already out the door. “Next time I’ll do better.”

Better might kill him. Next time. Shigaraki pulls up his sweatpants so his dick isn’t hanging out, makes no other effort at cleaning up, and falls asleep with something that feels like a smile on his face.

[euthymiya]

for you, i’d do it all again — ft. alhaitham

the story of how you replace the acting grand sage as the permanent one. alternatively: three times alhaitham wanted to say i love you and one time he finally does

before you read: 6.2k word count ; fem reader ; friends to lovers ; former bimarstan nurse to grand sage reader (girlboss hours) ; reader is ambiguous but from the desert ; themes of prejudice against desert folks ; lovesick alhaitham ; nahida appearance (she’s very sweet) ; mentions of blood and injuries ; reader sits on his lap ; fingering ; semi public sex/office sex (the door is locked) ; slight hand jobs ; unprotected vaginal sex ; pulling out ; soft linguist alhaitham :(

His head is pounding. Hard.

Alhaitham fights mercenaries often—far too many of them are easy to run into deep into the desert. They tend to get territorial over ruins, too, not too keen on rainforest folk. Their teeth always grit, and their eyes always glare at him like he’s more than just an intruder.

He supposes he is.

For far too long, the desert population of Sumeru has been an afterthought. For far too long, they’ve fought tooth and nail for an opportunity—any opportunity. The desert ruins and their secrets are the few things that they have, the few things that they can cling to. The ruins are one of the rare things that are theirs to control.

Alhaitham doesn’t blame them for being hostile when he approaches. They scoff bitterly when he offers up his Akademiya-approved stamp on a paper to be there.

Get out, they grit, in their mother tongue.

It’s a language Alhaitham recognizes. Something entirely different from anything people speak in the rainforest. People in the city. But he knows what they say—he learned this particular tongue some years ago from a book in his father’s collection. This version is vaguely different, though, something of a dialect, he assumes.

I don’t mean harm, he says quietly, hand held up in surrender.

They pause. One of them, the leader, he deduces, steps up and chuckles.

“Fancy fer a little ‘ol scholar, ain’t ya?” He asks gruffly, “so ya know ta speak a few other languages. So what?”

His grammar is slightly off, Alhaitham notes. He must have picked up what he knows from traveling to and from Caravan Rivat. It’s impressive, Alhaitham thinks.

Only a sharp mind could pick up a language so easily just from hearing bits and pieces in a bustling place like the trading hub between the two borders. He imagines with proper education, this man could put even him to shame with how easily he picks up new tongues.

“I mean no harm,” he repeats. “I’m just here to explore these ruins for research.”

The words seem to do little to ease their minds. Instead, they draw their swords, and just like that, he prepares himself for another grueling fight.

As usual, Alhaitham wins in the end. Not without a good few hits landed on him, though—this particular bunch was a rough fight even for him. The blunt head of a sword handle hitting his head is particularly rough, hence why he lays in the bimarstan, eyes closed as he holds an ice pack to his temple.

“You don’t have to fight every person who picks one with your first,” you chastise, rolling bandages around his bicep where a small gash is littered on his skin.

He grunts, fighting through every pounding thump in his skull as he says hoarsely, “I don’t particularly have a choice. It’s either fight back or be killed.”

“You could always seduce them,” you tease, giggling when he opens a weary eye and gives you an unimpressed stare.

“I have my doubts about that plan,” he says dryly.

“They don’t mean any harm,” you hum quietly, tossing away the dirtied rags you’d used to clean his blood. “The desert folks aren’t exactly the happiest with Akademiya ones, you know.”

“I’d appreciate it if such grievances didn’t have to end with knife fights,” he says tiredly.

Alhaitham, no matter how bloodied or bruised he could show up to you in the hospital, finds that you always have a soft spot for those of the desert. It makes sense, he supposes, seeing as you come from there yourself—still, he’d really appreciate it if you could acknowledge that he’s been a victim of unwarranted violence.

It’s not that he particularly blames them for their actions. Researchers are quite pushy—too pushy, in fact. They take up room in villages they’re unwelcome in often times. They build institutions they’re not permitted to build. They claim ownership of ruins that aren’t theirs to claim.

Researchers like Alhaitham, who intend to observe and do nothing else, aren’t trusted, regardless of their intentions. The mercenaries have taken to force if that’s what it requires to keep the desert rightfully theirs.

“Akademiya-approved exploration permits mean little to them,” you shrug, “the only person I’m sure they’d make an exception for is Cyno—only because he’s one of them. But a lot of people have much to say about him too for leaving nowadays, anyway.”

“How would you know?”

“My mother writes to me,” you say, wrapping up the bandage around his bicep before pulling away. He misses the heat of your fingertips almost instantly, fighting back the urge to grab at your retreating hands.

“Lord Kusanali sent me,” he says quietly. “She…she was looking for something.”

You don’t press for more, thankfully. His vagueness is enough to tell you he probably can’t share much of what he was sent for, and you don’t seem offended even the slightest.

Alhaitham appreciates that. Not many of his friends (if he can call most of them that, anyway) are ever too pleased by his curt, dry answers. Perhaps Cyno is the exception, but the General Mahamatra is equally as curt as the scribe on most days. Kaveh is too nosey for his own good, Dehya is just as pushy for details, and the traveler wouldn’t be so bad if not for that irritating little pixie friend that floats by her head, always demanding for more information.

You never ask for more, though. He likes that about you.

He likes a lot about you. Alhaitham, as emotionally stunted as most people assume him to be, is aware of most of his feelings. Perhaps expressing them is a different story, but recognizing them for what they are is an easy enough step.

He knows early on that he’s deeply enamored by you. Later, he’s not too shocked to come to the realization he’s in love with you, either.

He comes close to saying it sometimes. It’s a dangerous, slippery slope to tread—sometimes whispering I love you feels as natural as saying thank you when you patch him up.

Probably because he says it so many times in his head.

I love you, he says in his mind when you laugh.

I love you, he thinks, when you worry over him.

I love you, he realizes, when you attach yourself to his side and accompany him to Puspa Cafe.

“Speaking of the Archon,” you perk up, excitedly putting away the medical equipment in a rush as you turn to him and add, “did you hear? Sumeru is finally expanding the Akademiya’s education to the desert!”

Alhaitham wants to tell you he’s one of the first to know. He was part of the operation that resolved conflicts and led to this evolvement, after all, but he doesn’t tell you that.

Instead, he nods and smiles softly at you. “I did, yes.”

“It’s wonderful,” you beam excitedly, “I’ve always felt guilty for leaving the desert. Not too many get the opportunities I had—it’ll be wonderful if the children there are granted the same ones, don’t you think?”

I love you, he wants to say when you’re so happy and thrilled by changes he had a hand in.

Pride swells itself into his chest at the look on your face. Alhaitham doesn’t help people for this sense of pride or self-fulfillment—it’s simply the right thing to do, and the course of action that leads to less catastrophe.

The lesser the catastrophe, the easier his life will be.

But for once, he’s proud to have done something for the greater good if it means painting a smile on your face like that.

“It’s great news, yes,” he confirms.

“You’ll have to tell me how you and the others pulled off such a grand scheme sometime,” you say casually, fighting off a knowing smile when he shoots his head up to look at you.

He groans at the sharp pain in his head at the action, rubbing his temple as you laugh.

“How—how did you—”

“I may be out of the loop, but I’m not clueless,” you snort.

You hand him a pill and a glass of water, making him stare up at you before he mumbles, “they’ve asked me to be acting grand sage. Just for the time being.”

“Will you accept?”

He swallows the pill down with a long sip of water before handing you the half-empty glass. With a slow nod, he sighs, “I don’t have too many options on this matter.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re more than capable, Haitham.”

I love you, he thinks, when you make it so apparent that you believe him like you breathe. So easy, so natural. So involuntary.

—————

Alhaitham is tired of being the acting grand sage. He doesn’t mind stepping up and doing something for the sake of his nation—especially when he’s one of the only seemingly capable individuals, too.

Lesser Lord Kusanali requests him to temporarily take the role until she finds someone suitable to take his place. Alhaitham is not one to put his faith blindly into divinity—he doesn’t care much for the divine as it is.

But Sumeru’s archon is one who loves her people. He can admire that much.

So, with a slightly mournful goodbye to his free time, he accepts.

“I’m tired of paperwork,” he grumbles. You giggle, earning a more sour look from him. “Glad you’re amused.”

“Sorry,” you clasp a hand over your mouth as you apologize through your fit of laughter, “it’s just funny to hear from the scribe of all people that paperwork is the main trouble of grand sage duty.”

“It’s an entirely separate realm of paperwork,” he scoffs. “It’s quite tiring.”

Alhaitham, on a normal day, would not accept an offer to stargaze in place of going home, taking a hot shower, and going to bed. Not before reading a few chapters of his book, of course, but that’s beside the point.

It’s a little different when the offer comes from you, though. If it’s you, he has a hard time declining. You don’t seem to notice that yet, which is a good sign, but it leaves him a bit painfully aware of just how much control you hold over his mind.

“I’d love to be grand sage one day,” you sigh, looking up at the stars as you admire them.

They’re not as nice here as they are in the desert, you’d told him one night. In the city, the lights make the stars hard to see. In the rainforest, the thick layer of leaves from the trees makes them nearly disappear. In the desert, however, where there’s nothing to block out the darkness and the fluorescence of the stars, you can see them clearly.

He grunts, hand itching to run a finger over your cheek as he stares at the shadow of your lashes against the swell of them.

“You would?” He raises a brow.

“Yeah,” you nod, humming as you let out a soft exhale. “It’s about time we get a grand sage that doesn’t just care about the rainforest, don’t you think?”

“It’s not easy work,” he responds flatly, “being a sage.”

“So?” You turn to him with furrowed brows, “I don’t mind.”

“Having the power isn’t as great as you might think.”

“I don’t want to be grand sage for the power,” you say through a clipped tone, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, “I want to be sage for the opportunity to make a decision. Not a lot of desert folks have that chance, you know.”

Alhaitham is silent.

Not many people can say they’ve left him with no retort or smart comment to throw back. It’s easy, he thinks, for someone like him to think of Akademiya work as a chore. So many rules and regulations to remember, so many demands people make that he has to keep up with. Request after request. Proposal after proposal. Decision after decision. This type of work seems like too much trouble than he can be bothered with.

Not for you, though. Someone like you has never had a chance to find a chore out of a job you’ve never been granted. Someone like you would never complain over an opportunity you’ve always dreamed of.

He’s quiet for a while longer before he finally murmurs, “you’d make an excellent grand sage. Better than me.”

“You think so?” You beam instantly—he’d chuckle at how easily a little praise brightens your earlier mood, but he’s too busy eyeing the dimple at the corner of your mouth. He aches to trace it with his thumb.

“Yes,” he says simply, “the Akademiya is extending opportunities and developments into the desert. You’d make an appropriate individual to oversee that.”

“Maybe one day,” you whisper, “for now, as long as we get some books for the kids out there, I’ll be happy.”

He loves you, he thinks. He loves you and your kindness, and your ambitions, and your dreams. They’re crystal clear, always so tangible, even if they used to be so far out of reach. He doesn’t think he’s ever had that.

When was the last time he dared to let himself dream? He’s never had any long-term goals that really mattered.

Graduate.

Get a stable job.

Live a peaceful life.

His goals have always been so dull compared to yours. Important things to achieve, nonetheless, but nothing worth remembering.

I love you, he wants to say.

Instead, he mumbles, “there are six libraries approved for construction as of now across a few villages.”

“Did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Approve of them. As grand sage.”

He doesn’t look over to meet your eyes; just nods before swallowing thickly as you grin. You reach over and give his hand a tight squeeze.

The words bubble up his throat once more before dying down from another heavy swallow.

—————

Lesser Lord Kusanali thinks it to be a great idea to allow people to apply to be grand sage instead of appointing someone. Something about getting to see the enthusiasm of the Akademiya and its scholars! as she says.

Alhaitham thinks it’s silly. Naturally, many people apply just for the ambitions of a high paying and largely powerful position. He couldn’t be bothered to glance through most of the applications. He declines half of them as they come—he recognizes enough names to know that none of these individuals have a place in the mechanics of running a nation.

Still, Lesser Lord Kusanali is hopeful. She’s certain there will be a promising applicant who can be relied on to carry the responsibility of leading a nation and its government on deft shoulders.

The only good thing about this system, however, is that Alhaitham gets to make his own suggestion for someone to take his place from the pool of applicants, seeing as he is, of course, the current grand sage. This means he can suggest you through your application—unsurprisingly, you do apply.

The Dendro Archon offers him this as a means of a truce.

He sifts through applications, and she considers his suggestion. It’s a fair trade, he thinks—especially because he can reject everyone who’s not you.

The only trouble is that he has to formally submit his proposal to the sages, too. Should all six approve of his recommendation, Lord Kusanali will accept his decision without any further action.

Should even one decline, you are to meet with the Archon herself alongside Alhaitham so he can defend his position.

That’s a problem—Alhaitham knows you won’t be too pleased to know your position was achieved through his influence, and even more, he doesn’t exactly want to explain all the reasons he admires you in front of not just you but the Archon herself.

He’d rather let a couple of mercenaries in the desert draw their blades on him again than go through that humiliating exchange.

For their own sakes, Alhaitham hopes the sages have accepted his proposition.

And then he sees it—your name on the paper. He stills, carefully plucking out the page and glazing his eyes over the words over and over again before he quickly stands and leaves his office.

“Grand sage Alhaitham, there’s a formal request submitted here for—”

“Not now,” he walks through the doors of the Akademiya in long strides, leaving the poor man to follow after him as best as he can.

“B-but it’s rather important—”

“Leave it on my desk for my return. I’ll look then.”

“It’s rather urgent, you see. We must—”

“I said not now.” He halts to a stop, eyeing the man with deadly, narrowed eyes as his voice comes out in something just short of a growl.

Alhaitham is known across the Akademiya for being dry. Blunt. Painfully stripped of any and all emotion. This sudden show of not just emotion, but pure rage has the man stunned to stiffness as he nods tensely and quickly walks away. He lets out a fuming sigh as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Three out of six sages have declined.

Three. Out of six.

Alhaitham knows that at least two of them have made their decisions simply based on the fact that you come from the desert. He’s never been more certain of something in his life—the sages have yet to all be replaced themselves, and there are two that still remain from the original appointees from Azar himself.

There is no denying Azar’s distaste for those of the desert, and Alhaitham is certain the sages he once appointed years ago would be no different. How else would he hold onto such power all these years if they did not share similar views?

There’s a burning, unsettling rage simmering in his ribcage, pounding into his heart and pumping adrenaline into his veins.

With the power granted to him by the Dendro Archon herself, he’ll take matters into his own hands. (And no, this doesn’t mean his power as the grand sage. This means the much more powerful authority he holds as a vision wielder. A power that none of the sages seem to have acquired yet).

—————

“Lord Kusanali,” Alhaitham greets, bowing slightly as he walks up, noting as you fidget when he joins you to stand in front of the Archon herself. “You’ve summoned me?”

“Grand sage Alhaitham—”

“Acting grand sage—ow,” he hisses, glancing at you as you elbow him.

“Don’t correct the Archon,” you scold quietly. “Apologies, Lady Kusanali. Alhaitham tends to be…stubborn.”

The Archon smiles—it’s hard to think that someone as small and innocent-looking is meant to be the embodiment of wisdom. Divinity that is all-knowing.

Does she know that Alhaitham has made his decision solely based on his heart alone and nothing else? Sure, he thinks you’re very capable for the job—more capable than himself, in fact. And as much as he dislikes this position, Alhaitham will not deny that he does it quite well.

But this decision is based on his feelings. Not his logic. Something he doesn’t do often—if ever at all.

“The scribe and all of the sages have confirmed you to be a suitable candidate for the grand sage of Sumeru,” Lesser Lord Kusanali begins, “as such, I’ve summoned you both here to discuss this possibility.”

“I…oh,” you breathe, voice practically an inaudible gasp. “Me?”

You turn to Alhaitham, as if the idea of him accepting your application seems as something unlikely. He itches to poke your forehead and reprimand you for doubting yourself.

As thought she knows, like she can read his mind, Lord Kusanali eyes him with what almost seems like an amused stare.

“You’re very capable,” he nods, ignoring the Archon’s gaze, “your answers in the application, as well as your ideas, have merit to them. It would be wise for the benefit of all of Sumeru to put them into action.”

“All six of the sages? Approved of me?”

Something bitter bubbles in his chest at the sound of pure shock in your voice.

“Well,” the Dendro Archon hums, “interestingly enough, three of the six sages have decided to resign—it seems we have our work cut out for us to replace them, too. As it stands, we only have three sages—all three have approved of your application.”

“Looks like I’ll be demoting you of your job,” you glance over at Alhaitham. He smiles slightly, humming as he pulls out a book and opens it to his marked spot.

“My pay will remain the same, so I have no complaints. I much prefer the simplicity of the scribe’s role.”

“Oh, I don’t plan on making the scribe’s job too easy once I’m in office,” you tease.

I love you, he thinks, as you sit in awed shock, still processing your achievement.

Alhaitham is almost certain the Archon’s mouth twitches into a slightly wider grin as soon as the words materialize in his head, aching to exist between his lips as well.

———————

Sumeru, the nation of wisdom, is a land where the people are proud of who they are. It’s a nation rich in culture and heritage. There are so many traditions, that Alhaitham himself could never hope to learn of them all from his many, many books on history.

Still, in its surplus of years of being a proud, standing nation, it has never thrived like this before.

You are the answer to this recent development. Many older scholars in the Akademiya are unhappy with your presence at first. Slowly, one by one, they are relieved of their duties by the Dendro Archon herself.

Not many people give you trouble after that.

The first order of business you handle is allowing the Akademiya to grant new students. A good number of desert children and adults have been offered places to study here—more in the last few weeks than there have been in the last few decades. The children are bright, too. You’ve taken to scouting the most brilliant of minds. 

A number of them have even disproven the theses and dissertations of seasoned scholars regarding studies of desert ruins. (Alhaitham finds this slightly amusing, as do you. The irony is not lost on most that the same people who have been treated as lesser for decades have contributed more in just a few short weeks than some at the Akademiya have in years. The two of you have shared a good few laughs over the shame that one too many scholars must be facing right now).

Alhaitham has happily returned to being the scribe (with an added pay raise, of course). He’s back to his much smaller, much quieter office that is less akin to the door being knocked on (or being burst open) and intruding on his peace.

Except today. 

Today, the door is burst open in the middle of him examining files, making him look up unimpressed with an unsavory insult ready on his tongue. He quickly bites it back when he realizes it’s you. 

“Scribe,” you say simply.

“Grand sage,” he responds, raising a brow.

“A word, please,” you shuffle in, closing the door behind you before clicking it locked. If his eyebrow could raise any higher, it would—you’ve never needed to lock him in his own office to have a word with him before, no matter how private the matter. 

“Yes?” He asks smoothly, leaning back in his chair. 

“I’ve been looking to appoint new sages for the three we are missing,” you begin carefully. He stiffens slightly at the topics—he’s sure it doesn’t go unnoticed by you. It seems to be the confirmation you need. “I’ve heard a funny rumor.”

“And what would that be?” He shuffles his papers to seem uncaring, not meeting your eyes. “I don’t typically partake in Akademiya gossip. It’s a waste of my time.”

“Well this particular rumor is interesting—it might interest even you. There’s word that someone of a dendro vision user from the Akademiya has threatened the former sages to leave their positions. There is worry such events could repeat amongst potential candidates.”

“Interesting,” he says plainly as he nods. 

“There aren’t many dendro vision users I know of here,” you sigh. “Haitham, I’m not dense. I earned this position by having the approval of the only three remaining sages. After the other three quit. It wouldn’t take a particularly genius individual to assume what took place here.”

He swallows, taking a slow breath before he quietly murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

You furrow your brows. “What are you apologizing for?”

“You’re upset, are you not?” Alhaitham blinks at you in confusion. It’s one of the rare times you get to see him unsure, so unlike the usual know-it-all self he always is. “That I interfered with your application?”

“I’m upset,” you confirm, stepping closer as you inspect him. He feels oddly seen under your gaze. “But not because you interfered. Because that was risky—you shouldn’t go that far for me, Haitham. Why in the gods’ names would you attempt such a ridiculous thing?”

It’s easy, he thinks. Because he loves you. Enough that it’s easy to risk his career and credibility at this institution if it means he can help your dreams become something more than just dreams. He’s come so close to saying it so many times—this time, it falls from his lips before he can stop himself.

He’s not so sure he wants to stop himself anymore. You should know—even if you don’t feel the same, even if you do, you should know.

“Because I love you,” he murmurs. “I’d go even further for you. I can’t help it.”

Your eyes soften. They don't widen in shock or recoil in distaste. Instead, they well with glossy, wet tears that alarm him slightly as he sits up straighter. You let out a light, watery laugh before he can apologize for unintentionally upsetting you with his confession.

“Oh, you fool,” you shake your head, “only you would sooner risk your entire livelihood before you simply admit your feelings.”

“I—”

He’s silenced by the touch of your palm on his cheek. Any words he’d like to say get cut off from his tongue. (He has none, really—as embarrassing as that is to admit for someone of linguist such as himself.) 

“Haitham,” you say gently.

“Yeah?” He croaks.

“Don’t risk your reputation for me again.”

“I don’t know if I can promise that,” he mumbles, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer. You follow his tug, carefully seating yourself on his lap before you frown, opening your mouth to protest—but he cuts you off before you can. “But, lucky for me, the grand sage has a soft spot for the scribe. I think that’ll be helpful for any predicaments I might find myself in.”

“Are you saying you want to have the grand sage use her power for corrupted reasons?” You gasp, making him grin as he chuckles. “And after all the trouble you went through to overthrow a corrupt government, too.”

“Is it really corrupt if it’s the only two logical individuals of the nation? I’d say it’s simply an executive decision.”

“That’s not how that works,” you giggle fondly. And then you’re kissing him—Alhaitham has wondered how your lips would feel many times before, but he’s never been fully prepared to truly know. They’re softer, warmer, gentler than he imagined. “I love you too, by the way,” you murmur as you pull away for a moment.

That confession makes him desperately close the gap again, tugging you closer on his lap as he kisses you harder. Deeper. Alhaitham has always admired your goals, your dreams and ambitions. He realizes that maybe he has never given himself enough credit until now. 

His goals, his dreams and ambitions, have always been you. There has never been a more beautiful dream, he thinks—nothing is worthy of comparing to you. He thinks, by default, that makes his ambitions admirable, too. 

“Those sages could not know wisdom, talent, nor brilliance even if the Archon herself presented it before them. Otherwise,” he kisses down your neck, “otherwise they’d have understood it was you. They would have approved of your application. I did this nation yet another favor by ridding the Akademiya of them.”

“I suppose all of Sumeru owes you twice, then,” you hum, breathlessly gasping as he sucks lightly on your skin, right over your pulse point. 

Your hands travel to untuck his shirt from his pants, letting them wander under the fabric to feel over the hard planes of his abs. They’re as defined as they look through the skin-tight shirt he always wears. He groans into your neck as your touch sears into him, just as you gasp when his fingers slip past your waistband and tug down slightly. 

He stops before he can expose anything, however, pausing through a labored breath as he murmurs, “can I?”

“Yes,” you plead, lifting your hips slightly so he can pull the fabric down your thighs, your panties following before he pulls you back down to be seated on his lap. Your fingers tug at his hair when his fingers prod at your entrance. An exchange of sorts—a touch for a touch. 

You whine when his thumb circles your clit as his middle and ring fingers pump into your tight cunt, burying past your folds and finding a sensitive, spongy spot in your walls that makes you bite your lips and stifle a sob. 

“Well,” he says amusedly, “I suppose neither of us are very good models for grand sages if this is the sort of activity we partake in while in office.”

“It’s your fault,” you pant, rocking your hips to meet his fingers as they thrust into you, searching for more, for a deeper, harder pace. 

“Oh?” He laughs, a low chuckle that he sears into your skin with a kiss, working his way up your jaw, “I wasn’t the one who locked the door when I came in. I wonder if you had motives of your own when you came in.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Haitham,” you huff, “I just didn’t want someone to walk in when I yelled at you. I was doing your ego a favor.”

“Do my ego one more favor and cum for me,” he murmurs, pulling you into a kiss as you whine into his mouth and shiver. Your belly erupts with a warmth of pleasure, snapping the coil that sends shockwaves through your whole body. An ache that was building in your core seems to have reached the tipping point, making you quiver on his lap as you shatter from his touch.

He groans, just from the squeeze of your walls around his fingers alone—only Archons know how much he’s itching to feel you on his cock. (He hopes Lesser Lord Kusanali’s seemingly all-knowing wisdom doesn’t extend to this. Sometimes, it feels like she can read his mind—he sincerely hopes she doesn’t have the ability to read just what goes on in his head when he thinks of you.)

He’s hard—it almost hurts from just how much so. You’re kind enough to reach over and slowly work him free from the confinements, letting his erection breathe from the strain of his pants. He tries not to let out a shaky breath when you slowly trace a vein along the underside and study his cock. 

“It’s pretty,” you murmur, “you’re so pretty, Haitham.”

“Stop,” he pleads hoarsely, blush dusting over his cheeks, “don’t stare.”

“Shy?” You giggle, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “C’mon, baby. It’s just me.”

And oh—he could cum from just that affectionate drawl of that pet name and that lingering sweet touch. He twitches in your delicate hold, making you hum in approval before you slowly stroke him, fist gliding up and down the thick girth of him. 

“F-fuck,” he hisses, bumping his forehead against yours gently. 

Finally, when your eyes meet, and you both seem to understand just what the other wants without an exchange of words, you lift your hips slightly, guiding him to your entrance. His hands settle on your waist, slowly helping you sink down on his length as you both gasp at the way he intrudes into your sweet, dripping cunt. 

You’re as tight as he is deep—it makes for a good connection. You squeeze around him the same way he rubs against you. Everything about both of your bodies joining feels like it’s meant to be this way. Him in you and you around him. 

“Fuck me, Haitham,” you whisper, cradling his face in your hands by his jaw. You feel it clench under your palms as he stifles a groan at your words.

“As you wish,” he murmurs. 

The first thrust of his hips upwards makes you collapse against his chest. The second makes you whimper as you cling to his muscled body. By the third and fourth, you’ve adjusted enough that you can slowly roll your own hips to match his rhythm and meet his pace. It makes him sink in even deeper, hit the right spots, and drag along every ridge. 

“S-so big,” you marvel, moaning as the fat tip of his cock brushes against that sweet, sensitive spot in your walls. “You fit me so well, Haitham.”

“And you take me so well,” he groans back, “so tight and wet. What if they’re looking for you right now? I wouldn’t be surprised if they were—imagine how surprised they’d be if they knew the grand sage was falling apart on the scribe’s cock. What would they say?”

“They’d think the scribe has some nerve distracting such an important figure for the nation,” you huff, biting your lip and whining his name when he sends a particularly sharp thrust into your walls. 

He chuckles, panting as he kisses your forehead. “Then I suppose it will be our secret. For the sake of peace.”

“Good idea,” you giggle breathlessly, pulling him into a passionate kiss. 

His hips drill into you, bullying his thick length into your tight cunt—splitting you open on him like you’re his to spread. You are. And he’s yours to have, too, as you pull on his hair and bring him closer, hands wandering over his body as you feel every tight, defined muscle. 

You breathe his name. He breathes yours. Somewhere in the mix, your thumb brushes over his nipples from under his shirt, and his finds your clit to rub teasing circles over. 

“I-I’ll cum,” you admit first, “again, Haitham.”

“Go ahead,” he groans, letting out a soft whine when you squeeze around him at the sound of his low, pleasure-hazed voice. “Cum for me, again. Cum around me so I can feel you this time.”

So you do, giving him what he wants. How could you not when he’s gone to such lengths to make sure you’ve gotten everything you want? You spasm around his throbbing length, squeezing around him and making it harder and harder to roll his hips and fuck into you. 

“Haitham,” you whine, a quiet, high-pitched sound that makes his eyes flutter shut, and his mouth hang open as he lets out a low moan. The sounds you make could be enough to send him over the edge. The soft “I love you,” that you whisper is what ends up really doing it, though.

He quickly grabs your hips, roughly lifting you up before he wraps his fist around his cock and strokes himself, pumping his aching length as thick, hot ropes of cum leak from his tip and drip onto your thighs. He groans, strangled and low, as he makes an effort not to be too loud. 

Your lips map along his jaw and cheeks, kissing soothingly as your fingers stroke through his sweaty hair, helping him work himself through his orgasm as he fucks his own fist. “F-fuck—I…I love you, too. I love you. I’ve always loved you.” 

He can’t stop saying it now that he finally can. So many times, the words have almost escaped from the safety of his mouth. So many times, he’s risked them out in the open air. Now that he knows it’s safe, he wants the words to permanently reside between your bodies, in the atmosphere between you and him, in the middle ground where your skin is separated from his. 

If there is space between the two of you, he only wants it to exist to house all the words he never had the nerve to say to you. All the words he’ll admit to you now. 

“I love you, too,” you whisper, “so much. So, so much, Haitham.”

He pants as he calms down, uncaring of the mess for now. With his good hand, he grabs your hand, lacing his fingers with yours before he pulls them both up. His lips press a delicate kiss to the back of your hand. You melt over him. 

“There is no brilliance like you, neither in the rainforest nor desert. I have searched everywhere.” 

Your eyes tear up, a breathy, watery laugh dancing from your wobbly lips as you whisper, “you’re incredibly cheesy for a Haravatat scholar, you know.”

He laughs brightly into your shoulder as he buries into the crook of your neck. 

I love you. He’s always wanted to say it. It feels good to finally be able to. Alhaitham will never take for granted the chance he now gets to say it as often as he wants. 

I would like my man who’s not really my man to defend my honor by threatening violence using power granted to him by divinity on a random Tuesday. That would be nice.

[sdv-roseglass-farm]

NSFW Elliott headcannons

'Hi, um could I request Elliott nsfw headcanons with a female reader? Please and thank you!' - Anonymous

Hello! Thank you for the request, sorry it took me so long :) I hope you enjoy them! I wrote for both him alone, gender neutral, female and male readers :)

Word count: 1386

Masturbation headcannons:

He is 100% a virgin before meeting you, but he definitely isn't completely lost about sex or what he enjoys

He may be one of the older bachelors but he has rather poor social skills so he has not gotten far with anyone

With getting stressed about writing, he enjoys edging himself to encourage himself to get a certain amount write before cumming

With edging himself so much, especially in a writing block, he often ends up in tears out of desperation

With living alone on the beach he doesn't have to worry about people hearing him so he is very noisy, especially with dirty talk

He enjoys reading sexual romance novels and not letting himself touch himself until he finishes the book

Sex toys are all kept under his bed in a box, where he has different things including different types of vibrators and dildos.

He uses the vibrators and dildos as different ways to edge and tease himself

He loves watching porn where the participants are overstimulated and covered in cum

Watching someone using a fuck machine and become super messy is one of his favourite types of videos to get off to

With gen!reader:

Dirty talk is his specialty to the point that half the time he doesn't even realise it - and terms of endearment fall out his mouth with so much ease you would think he has forgotten your name

He sounds rather proper due to his large vocabulary from spending all of his time reading since he was young, but watching him fall apart due to it is the best thing

He is always willing to experiment, but doesn't like much physical pain, finding it too distracting.

He prefers to use soft material to be tied or to tie you up with rather than handcuffs or rough rope

He loves being able to hear the person he is with, being able to hear the become more of a mess due to him

Cockwarming when he is writing is something he loves, though he loses track of what he is meant to be writing so easily as the sight and feel of you on him makes his mind blank

He prefers watching you go down on him mostly, just because the sight of drool, his cum and your tears all over your face can cause him to cum without being touched

You cockwarming him with your mouth under his desk makes him feel as though he is permanently on the brink of orgasm

He does sometimes lose control with grabbing your hair and face-fucking you, but he is never rough with it and is always careful to not hurt you too badly

No matter the gender of his partner or their genitals, he will keep a hair tie on his wrist in preparation if he does end up having oral sex that day, as he prides himself on his hair and likes to keep it out of the way when being so intimate

While he is down for a lot of things, he does become very flustered for your first few times and doesn't fully open up to experimenting until after becoming more comfortable

You are his number one priority and will all be checking in with you throughout no matter what you do to make sure that you are okay and enjoying yourself

He will make sure you have deep discussions before trying anything new and your plans, such as if you want him to come inside you he will talk about protection for stds (and pregnancies for people with a uterus)

he firmly believes that you can tell a lot from someone's eyes and prefers positions where you can see one another

If he is writing erotica, even just to practice his writing skills, he will experiment with you to make sure the things are possible such as the positions or the look someone gets

With fem!reader:

He enjoys eating you out, watching his mouth cause you so much pleasure but with his unconscious habit of dirty talk he accidentally breaks away from your cunt a lot

Sitting on his face and being in control is the best way to make sure this doesn't happen, and he sure won't be complaining as he loves the sight of you on top of him

He loves making you wet and watching your wetness drip from your cunt

Filling you up with his cum and watching it leak from your pussy is honestly heaven to him, and he will use his fingers to spread it around and over your clit to cause you cum again and push more of his cum out

He uses it as an excuse to fill you up again, loving the feeling of your walls milking his cock

While he will use lube with you, he prefers using your own wetness and his cum to make you messy

The best position in his mind is against his desk or on the kitchen counter, where he can watch your face as you come undone and watch your tits bounce with every movement

Overstimulation is definitely expected with him as your partner, as he will love continuously going and watching your cunt become red from the amount of attention it is receiving and from the impact of his thrusts

With his love for watching you become wet and messy, he will sometimes nick some of your underwear and become instantly turned on at any dampness on them, especially if there is any slickness in them

He will keep your underwear for a couple of days, getting off on the smell of them before returning them to your laundry

He is fully on board if you ever want to peg him, with having used dildos on himself and has offered to let you watch him ride one

With male!reader:

He enjoys giving you a blowjob, watching you lose yourself to pleasure from his mouth alone is a massive turn on

You fucking his face is definitely a turn on for him, with your cock being shoved down his throat at a pace he doesn't control causing his eyes to roll to the back of his head

He has offered to let you watch him ride one of his dildos before, and is more than willing to take either role when it comes to anal sex

He uses an excess amount of lube, loving how messy it makes you and uses your precum to help make you messier

He will make you cum multiple times, preferring you to come on him or on your body rather than on the desk or bed

He will use his fingers to push any of your cum that has spilt out of him back inside of him

He is more than willing to lick up any cum off of you, whether you scoop some up with your fingers or if it is off your stomach

He will use a desk or bed to help make sure you can both face one another still during anal sex

He is more than willing to ride you or let you ride him, with it definitely causing him to talk a lot more

He will consistently overstimulate you and milk your cock - loving the mixture of pleasure and pain and the look in your eyes with how blank your mind goes from the amount of times he made you cum

Aftercare:

He will clean you off and make sure you are okay

He will make sure you are comfortable, wrapping you up in his duvet cover while fetching you both some water and something to eat

After making sure you have eaten and drank something he will help you to the bathroom to pee and to also make sure you are fully cleaned up

He will then help you back and pull you to his chest, and have a discussion about what you enjoyed, didn't enjoy etc.

Your enjoyment is his number one priority and he is the king at communication

If you need something he will run off to grab it for you, making sure that you are not hurt physically or emotionally

He will hold you to his chest for however long you want, while making sure you know his own feelings on what happened

[positivelyholland]

"That explains a lot"

pairing: luke castellan x reader, percy jackson x half sister!reader

genre: fluff

summary: a short little blurb where percy finds his older sister in comprising situation with his friend/mentor

warnings: kissing, persassy

~~~~~~~~~

A warm summer evening at Camp Half-Blood finds you and Luke Castellan stealing a quiet moment by the lake, in your hidden spot that the two of you have reserved for moments like this one, where your lips are attached. 

Hidden by the shadows of the trees, you and Luke share an intimate embrace, lost in the magic of the moment. Unbeknownst to both of you, Percy Jackson, your younger half-brother, approaches the lakeside, unaware of your relationship.

As the moonlight dances on the water, Luke leans in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. The world fades away, and for a brief moment, it's just the two of you. However, your stolen moment is abruptly interrupted when Percy, with a playful grin, stumbles upon the scene.

His eyes widened in surprise,  the unexpected sight before him. Luke, realizing is slightly taken aback, releases you from the kiss, and the air becomes thick with a mixture of awkwardness and surprise. As you and Luke catch your breaths after being so unaware of the time, Percy blinks in disbelief. He stands there processing the scene before him as a thousand thoughts race through his mind.

After an awkward pause, you and Luke exchange sheepish glances, realizing the need for an explanation. Percy may technically only be your half brother, but as forbidden children with only each other’s presence in cabin 3, the two of you share an incredibly close bond. Due to this fact, Luke was preparing himself to deal with the anger of his girlfriend’s younger brother. 

Percy, breaking the silence, manages a grin, "Well, I guess that explains a few things." Despite the initial shock, Percy's acceptance surprises you, and he adds, "Just try not to make out in every secret spot at camp, okay?"

Laughter erupts, breaking the tension, and the three of you share a moment of camaraderie. Percy, though caught off guard, proves to be more understanding than expected.

That night as you and Percy were walking back to the Poseidon cabin, your younger brother decides to tease you about your newly-revealed relationship with the son of Hermes.

"Other than the fact that the sight of my sister locking lips with my mentor is permanently engraved in my brain, I'm happy for you y/n/n" he sincerely says with a teasing chuckle.

"What can I say, he's a really good kisser-" you say ruffling his curly blonde hair.

"STOP I don't want to hear any more of those details!!" Percy frantically interrupts.

 As you and Luke navigate the complexities of your relationship, Percy, the mischievous half-brother, becomes an unexpected source of support.

[blueberrycig]

olympics!au patrick zweig ft. olympic village sauna sex lets go 18+ i'm so sorry y'all i know it stank in there :(

it’s everything you’ve dreamed of and more since you could walk. every room you enter, training area, sleeping quarter is bustling with athletes from places you’ve never heard of. you’re a first-time olympian, shooting up the ranks to represent your country, something that no one had forecasted. the past few years for you have been overwhelming, from competing for your small college to now being surrounded by the world’s greatest athletes and thrusted into a world of sponsorships and media.

despite the stories of instant camaraderie, you can’t help but find it extremely daunting. since you received the call, your parents have been warning you against the out of control parties and debauchery that take place at the olympic village.

you decide to focus on your sport and keep your distance from the boisterous gatherings that form once competitions end for the day. your chats feel limited to your country folk, only leaving room to maintain your training routine and confer with your coaches. you feel safest in the arena when everyone else empties the space. 

it’s clear the more seasoned athletes are thriving, taking chances to laugh into the night. 

among the whirlwind, someone keeps popping up. patrick zweig, a young and arrogant tennis player representing the usa. patrick is a familiar face. no, not because you particularly like it or you seek him out. he just seems to be everywhere you turn. with the ease of his walk and permanent smirk, he quickly becomes the embodiment of the village that your parents warned you about. he travels tall in a pack, surrounded by admirers and team-mates, obviously enjoying every second. 

patrick sniffs out your olympic virginity from the first encounter, “lost, newbie?” although his tone is light, the words sting. it isn’t uncommon to prove yourself when the whistle blares, but patrick’s consistent teasing feels extra challenging, and something you’re not prepared for. 

despite your attempts to avoid him, he has a talent other than tennis which is teleporting to where you exactly are. his laugh haunts you in the dining room, eyes loom over you during training camp and he seems to only enjoy the ice bath next to you out of the plethora of metal tubs. your heart rate races upon every encounter, unsure if it’s the pure anxiety that he sends coursing through your body or the show of strength that precedes him, an athlete at the prime of his sport. 

your eyes glaze over patrick’s body as you watch him among the sea of shirtless olympians, beads of sweat illuminating his abdominal muscles. his arms flex and ripple as he hoists himself up on the pull-up bar, using his body strength to pull himself up and down, up and down. beads of moisture cling to his black curls, dragging locks of hair down his forehead. he laughs with a boxer to the left of him, suddenly pushing his body to beat the new-found opponent, letting out a breathy “ah” with each pull up. he grins playfully at his competitor, maybe as a means to intimidate him or present how completely unbothered he is by the situation. you notice he likes doing that. 

the boxer eventually taps out, clapping patrick on the back as a show of respect and hunching over to recollect his breath. patrick does ten more for fun, locking eyes with you as you continue to jog on the treadmill. for once, you don’t break his gaze, refusing to be intimidated by some random, handsome american the night before the biggest event of your life. you watch as he trails up your bare legs and lands sight on your chest while it rocks with the motion of your feet. 

no distractions. you turn up the speed on the treadmill and convince yourself that your climbing heart-race has nothing to do with the cheeky lingering gaze patrick has on you and all to do with your exercise. his stupid smile widens, bathing in the attention while he grabs a mini-towel to wipe the sweat from his face and rub it through his hair. he saunters over, slinging the towel over his shoulder, reeking of insufferable confidence. 

“enjoying the view?” he prods. “or studying your competition?” 

you scoff, keeping your pace, “you’re not my competition, patrick. you’re a distraction.” 

patrick leans on the treadmill handle, his body radiating a fresh cologne mixed with sweat as he comes close to your face, “i don’t know, you seem pretty focused on me.” 

“in your dreams.” 

he laughs, his eyes twinkling that little bit extra, “hmm. yeah, you’re definitely in them.”

you glance at him, caught off guard by the overt flirtation, your parents warnings ringing in your ears. he can sense the slight embarrassment that’s taken over your expression, an innocence that he’s not encountered in a while. 

the moment stretches as you lock in on each other, a thick tension hanging between you before he finally steps back and allows you some space. 

“good luck tomorrow,” he says sincerely. “i’ll be watching.” 

you nod, battling away the fluttering in your stomach as he returns to his workout. you curse him internally as you hop off the treadmill and to the sauna for some relaxation, frustrated at how he’s gotten under your skin in more ways than one. 

the sauna you’ve chosen, the furthest away to be exact, is quiet and the perfect escape from the olympic village. you lie back with your knees up, peeling your bikini straps down to lie against your breasts. your eyes close, letting the heat wash over your muscles. 

just as you begin to unwind, the door creaks open and through the squint of your eyes, in walks patrick. he’s wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and a provoking smirk plastered on his face.

"oh, fuck off." you mutter to yourself, half-annoyed.

he lets out a pleased laugh, sitting down next to your head, eyes gleaming with mischief, "has to be fate, huh?"

you roll your eyes, though a small part of you can't help but smile, "or just terrible luck."

patrick leans back right next to you, stretching his arms over the bench. you can’t help but stare up at his muscled arm as it looms over you. his voice is drowning in humour,  "i feel like we should start over. be friends."

you raise a skeptical brow,  "friends?"

he nods.

you snort, "and why would i want to be friends with someone who spends all his time annoying me?"

he grins, leaning forward so his face is above yours. his voice drops to a low, almost intimate tone. "because deep down, you enjoy it. just like i enjoy getting under your skin."

you feel the heat of the sauna creeping up your neck and settling on your cheeks. before you can think of words, patrick’s eyes send a look that invites a shiver down your body. the kiss is inevitable as he leans his body down and lowers his lips to meet yours, not asking for permission. 

your body reacts as soon as he offers the first move. you pull up off the wood to meet him at his sitting height. his hand grabs the back of your neck, pulling you closer, breaking through the pent-up yearning that both of you have built up. you swing your leg over his towel, and melt into him. your hands find their way to his strong chest, feeling the thud of his heart under your fingertips. he groans softly, deepening the kiss, his tongue massaging yours. 

patrick pulls from the kiss first, leaning back to admire you and roam his hands all over the shape that he’s been fantasising about for days. your innocence, dedication to your sport, how sweet you look and act around the athletes to try learn from them. the way you’re always in the tiniest little designer costumes, the material sticking to your curves and abs peeking through. 

he’s watched your come-up from afar, you’re the perfect story: small town girl thrust into the spotlight and already projected to win. like every person, he’s spent hours stalking your painfully alluring instagram, and now he’s got you straddling him. 

he’s never wanted to fuck anyone so bad. 

he runs a finger gently over the white tick embossed on your bikini top, following the shape of the swoosh and gliding over the bump of your sensitive nipple, “i saw your nike ad.” 

the towel slips slightly, and you feel his hard cock, which is desperate to burrow into you, rub against your thong, “hmm, yeah? what did you think?” 

“i thought it was the hottest thing i’ve ever fucking seen.” 

a moan escapes your lips as he presses his dick against your core and his tongue finds yours again. your whimpers are muffled into patrick’s mouth, his grip tightening. the room feels like it’s spinning. the heat from the sauna and the blood rushing to your head sends you into a haze that makes it hard to think. 

it’s you who pauses the kiss this time, taking in a long breath of air. patrick rests his forehead against yours, his breath heavy as he rolls you back and forwards on his throbbing cock. “this isn’t a good idea,” you whisper breathily, though your hands are still tangled in his dark hair and pulling him closer as you say it.

“no, it’s not.” he agrees, his voice low but not entirely present. 

his fingers find your bottoms and there’s no hesitation in pulling them aside, hopelessly massaging your pulsing clit. his tongue is everywhere, licking in and around your mouth, finding it’s way to the back of your ear. he’s making sure to taste every inch of the salt on your skin. 

you can hardly respond, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the strength beneath his skin, “patrick, p- mmm.”

“hmm?” 

the sauna’s heat is becoming suffocating, but neither of you seem willing to stop although your bodies glisten with sweat. his lips leave a trail of fire down your neck, and you tilt your head back.

“please fuck me before someone comes.” 

he doesn’t stall, hoisting you up by the waist slightly with one arm and discarding his towel to the side. his cock springs forward, strong as the person who carries it. 

since you don’t have time for boys in your routine, the last time you were fucked was by your equally-innocent high school boyfriend. your mouth goes slightly dry, you’re nervous yet so so desperate for patrick zweig to ruin you. 

he gently lays you back down on the wood of the sauna, lining himself up with your weeping hole. his eyes are locked onto you, sporting a familiar smile which you haven’t seen in a while and for once, it brings you a sense of comfort. you can’t help but laugh back, allowing him to meet you with a sweet kiss as he begins nudging past your wanting entrance. 

there’s a pleasant burn as he takes his time to bury himself inside you. he’s patient with you, pushing in little by little till he’s balls deep. patrick hangs his head over you as you both let out a satisfied moan in unison. when he’s at the hilt and can’t get any deeper, he pulls out suddenly and slams back in against you. 

the temperature in the room is so hot, and you’re burning from the inside out. he’s relentless now, sliding in and out of you as if you were going to melt between his fingers at any second. 

“fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he praises. “so much better than i imagined.” 

the air is thick and you’re both making filthy noises, the slaps of patrick drilling into you filling the box-room completely. he hugs you around the waist and forces you back onto his lap, holding you tight against body. he bruises fingers into your hips, rocking you back and forward. 

you’re dripping so sweetly around his cock, head falling into the swell of his shoulder as he pulls your bikini top down to your waist and eagerly attacks your pebbled nipples with his hot mouth. you find a soft rhythm with him, flowing up and down, up and down, up and down. god, you feel so full, consumed by desire and burning wildly from the heat of the sauna that you’re now beginning to lose tempo. 

patrick notices that you’re completely falling apart around his thick cock and decides to take the work off your plate before you pass out on him. he picks up speed, tucking an arm around your waist and pounding into you. you’re sloppily colliding as the wetness beading on your skin slips between you both, but patrick is sure to keep you steady and alert, 

“you gonna win for me tomorrow?” 

what the fuck, you can hardly think about tomorrow but patrick zweig has casted a fucking spell on you as you melt around his cock like molasses, “uh-huh, ah- ah- ah, y-yeah,” 

“you gonna let me fuck you silly wearing your gold medal?” 

the thought is enough to send you over the edge. you’re cumming, reaching your crescendo through a medley of: “yes, yes, yes. oh my god, yes.” 

patrick can’t take it anymore as your sweet pussy contracts all around his dick, your eyes shutting as he drives into you. you moan into each other’s mouths as he spurts his silky, hot cum into your dripping hole, claiming you as his. 

you’re so dazed and light-headed, falling forward on his chest as he groans, laying his head back against the wood of the sauna.

“c’mon let’s get the new star back before your coaches tackle me, eh?” he breathes, squeezing your waist gently. guys would patrick's ass even qualify i'm serious,,,,,

[beenbaanbuun]

riding w/ jongho

riding jongho would be an experience. he’d have his hands on your thighs, lazily running them up and down your soft flesh. he loves the way it feels beneath his fingertips, digging them in every once in a while just to feel the way your flesh feels in his grasp. occasionally, he’d let them make their way up to your hips, gripping onto the fat of your love handles because he loves how pliant it makes you. when he’s holding you like that, he knows he has the power; your pace is his to control, and you’re more than happy to relinquish that to him.

he doesn’t really care about what pace you’re going though—anything feels good when your walls are squeezing tightly around him. he just likes to remind himself of how easily you’re willing to pass the baton to him. it’s amazing how you fold with just one single touch, and he can’t help but be in awe of it every single time it happens. it means you trust him, after all, and nothing is more beautiful to him than that.

well, other than the way you look when you’re on top of him, of course. hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, eyes screwed shut with pleasure, mouth hanging open in a perfect O. it all paints such a wonderfully lewd picture; one that he could stare at for years and never get tired. monet wishes he could capture something so beautiful. van gogh could only dream of capturing such raw emotion. it truly is a sight to behold, especially when you find yourself growing closer and closer to that all important edge. nothing could top the way you look in that moment.

and then it hits you like a train that jongho could see coming from a mile away. the way you tighten around him, your hands screwing into fists atop his chest. it’s clear that you’re there, and jongho makes sure that he’s prepared to catch you when you inevitably fall to his chest. strong arms wrap around you, a large hand coming so sit at the back of your head. he secures you in place before he sets his own hips to work, making sure to work you through your own orgasm, as well as chasing his own.

he thrusts up into you, hips going at a much gentler pace than your own. it’s only fair, with how tired you seem to be. his precious girl, all fucked out on his chest, laying perfectly still as he uses her spent pussy to chase his own high. he can’t help the praises that so naturally fall from his lips. “such a good girl for me,” he whispers into your ear, cutting himself off with a groan, “letting me use you when you’re so tired, hm? you’re doing so well for me baby, i’m almost there.”

and he isn’t lying. just a few more seconds pass before he’s releasing his load into you, a strained groan falling from his lips as he presses his pelvis to as tight as humanly possible. it’s an emotional thing; a desire to be close to you whilst he pumps his cum into you. fuck, he always wants to be this close to you, but it’s not like he can permanently have his dick tucked inside of you, right?

but maybe just for a little while longer…