#really really enjoying him in this final stretch

[ja3yun]

Pillow Talk | L.HS

bf!heeseung x gf!reader warnings: fluff, smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, oral (m.rec), nipple play, mentions of alcohol and insecurities, pet names (baby), not proofread, lmk if i missed anything! w.c: 6.2k synopsis: after a night out with friends, heeseung's insecurities surface, making him question his worth as a boyfriend. with some reassuring pillow talk and a night spent wrapped in one another, he's determined to prove himself a/n: hi! happy valentine's day to my loves <33 i hope you spend the day surrounded by love - romantic or platonic. i love valentine's day more than anything so this is my gift to you! if you think you've read it before, it's because you have! this is a reupload that won the poll so enjoy!

“Baby?”

A soft, lazy groan vibrates through the stillness of the room. Your body which is still heavy with sleep feels the tender pressure of a hand shaking your arm gently, followed by the familiar brush of petal-soft lips against your shoulder. The gesture is soft but something about the way he calls for you feels different, slightly urgent even though there is no panic in his tone.

“Baby, can you wake up for a minute?”

There’s something off in Heeseung’s voice - something unsure and a tad bit unsteady. His breath catches, then leaves him in a long, heavy exhale, like he’s trying to let something go but can’t. Even with your eyes still closed, the sound of it tugs at your chest, finally stirring you from sleep. The last remnants of drowsiness fade, replaced by a quiet kind of worry.

You shift under the blankets, forcing your eyelids open. The world is still blurred at the edges, softened by sleep, but your focus lands on him immediately. From what you can make out thanks to the streetlight outside, his face looks drawn - tired, but more than that. Troubled.

A slow blink and rub of your eye clears the haze from your vision.

“Heeseung?” Your voice is quiet, thick with sleep but there’s an undercurrent of concern. “Are you okay, baby?”

The silence between you stretches and the silence of the midnight hour amplifies everything - the rustling of sheets, the hum of the city, the way his fingers twitch slightly against the fabric. 

He seems…nervous.

Last night, he’d gone out with friends. It was just supposed to be dinner, a break he’d needed after weeks of drowning in work and deadlines. But now, the faint flush on his cheeks and the pink along the bridge of his nose tell you he had more than just a couple - that much is obvious. What’s not obvious is why he’s still awake, sitting here like something’s eating away at him.

His hand drifts to your hair, sweeping a few strands away from your face, and for a brief second, his lips twitch, like he might smile. It’s something he does without thinking, a habit that’s settled into him over time. Even now, even like this, he pauses to take you in - soft, half-asleep, so stunningly beautiful.

Still, the weight in his eyes doesn’t lift.

“Hee,” you murmur, a little more awake now. “What’s wrong?”

His gaze drops. His lips part slightly, hesitation tightening his shoulders. Seconds drag by before he finally speaks.

“Do you think I’m a good boyfriend?”

The question makes you blink. Once. Then again.

“What?”

His eyes meet yours again, uncertain, searching for an answer without you having to utter a word. “Like…am I doing enough?”

That shakes the last bit of sleep from your mind. You sit up slowly, instinct guiding your hand to his chest, where his heartbeat is steady but tense under your palm. “Heeseung, of course you are. Why would you even ask that?”

The words even feel too simple for what you really mean. Because the truth is - he’s not just a good boyfriend. He’s everything.

Sure, there are hard days. Moments when life is messy, when you argue or when things feel overwhelming. But even when you test one another, he never makes you feel anything less than loved. It’s not just about grand gestures with him - it’s in the little things. The way he remembers details you don’t even remember telling him. The way he texts you just because. The way he looks at you when he thinks you won’t notice - like you’re irreplaceable.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most; seeing doubt where there should never be any.

Sitting here in the dim half-light, you can see the weight he’s carrying - the slight hunch of his shoulders, the way his lips press together like he’s holding something back. And yet, even through the uncertainty in his eyes, he’s still reaching for you. Not just for comfort, but to make sure you’re okay, too. Still scared he’s not the perfect boyfriend. 

That’s who Heeseung is. He loves deeply and gives even when he feels empty.

Your fingers trace gently along his jaw, warmth meeting warmth as you take him in. “Heeseung,” you murmur, steady, soft. “You’re the best boyfriend I could ever ask for. You know that, right?” A pause, letting the words sink into him, but they don’t reach where you need them to. You try again, a little more pointed. “What’s going on, baby? What’s making you feel like this?”

His gaze flickers, doubt clouding his eyes, but your words seem to seep into the cracks, softening the tension in his face. The quiet between you is tough and unfamiliar. The bedroom you lay in is usually brimming with laughter. It’s so strange to see him like this.

Although you don’t have all the answers as to why he’s so heavy, you’ll hold him through whatever storm is brewing in his mind - just as he’s done for you more times than you can count.

Heeseung exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes drift, landing somewhere in the soft glow of the room before he finally speaks. “At dinner…the girls were talking about their boyfriends. About how they don’t really pay attention to them, or like, they never ask about their day, or forget things that matter. Always late, always distracted, y’know?”

“And what has that got to do with you?” You ask slowly, genuinely not seeing the correlation.

His brows knit together, lost in thought, and you can see the spiral beginning - the way he’s already picking apart every moment in your relationship, analysing each time he might have been tired, distracted, or anything less than perfect. You know him too well. His heart is so full of care that the idea of falling short - of disappointing you - feels absolutely unbearable.

But where he sees gaps, you only see love. Commitment. A kind of attentiveness that most people can only dream of. Genuinely, people yearn for a man like Heeseung, so it hurts to see him like this.

Heeseung has never been that boyfriend. The one who forgets anniversaries, who doesn’t show up when it matters, who brushes off your feelings like they’re an afterthought. If anything, he’s the opposite.

You remember the countless nights he’s sat with you, listening, no matter how exhausted he was, his eyes never leaving yours. The way he never lets a single date slip by unnoticed, whether it’s a quiet dinner out or a handwritten note tucked beside your coffee cup before he heads out. The way he remembers things you don’t even remember telling him - your favourite parts of a book, a song you mentioned offhand weeks ago, the smallest details that make you feel seen in a way no one else ever has.

A breath of laughter escapes you - soft, incredulous, not mocking but disbelieving. “Baby,” you say gently, warmth laced in every word. “Those things? The things they were talking about? That’s just…what most guys do at some point.”

At that, Heeseung shrinks a little, his shoulders drawing in as though your words only confirm his worst fears. His face falls, vulnerability flickering across his expression. You see the downward spiral start again, but before he can fall too deep, you reach for him. Your palm finds his cheek, thumb brushing over his skin in slow, reassuring strokes.

You don’t let him sit in those thoughts for long.

“But you - you’re the rare 0.0000001% that isn’t like that,” you continue, your voice steady and confident in your own declaration. “Hee, you listen to me even when I’m rambling about the same thing for the hundredth time. You show up for me, no matter how tired or stressed you are. I don’t think you’ve ever missed a date, let alone forgotten one.”

His lips part slightly, like he wants to argue, but the words don’t come. His eyes meet yours, uncertainty still lingering, but something in the way you’re looking at him keeps him quiet.

“You’ve never turned up late to anything, not once,” you add, a small smile tugging at your lips as your hand drifts down, resting against his chest. Beneath your palm, his heartbeat is vibrating with love. “You’re thoughtful in ways those girls were probably wishing for when they were talking. And even when things get rough, you never make me feel like I’m alone in it. You’re always there, Heeseung. Always.”

Heeseung exhales, slow and deep, your words finally settling into him. There’s still hesitation in his eyes, but the pressure in his shoulders has shifted, loosened just a little. He shakes his head, the smallest of smiles ghosting across his lips. But you can tell - he’s still trying to let go of the doubt entirely.

“I just…” He pauses, glancing down as if searching for the right words. “I don’t ever want to take you for granted. I never want to be that guy who doesn’t pay attention. Who makes you feel like you’re not important.”

“You could never,” you whisper, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips, letting it linger just long enough to feel the warmth of him. “The fact that you want to be a good boyfriend already proves that you are one.”

Heeseung lets out a soft laugh, his breath warm against your lips as you peck his lips once more to punctuate your reassurances. He bites his lip, giving you that boyish, slightly embarrassed smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“You think so?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost like he’s seeking reassurance even though he knows he’s already got it.

You raise an eyebrow playfully, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “I know so,” you tease, letting your fingers trace gentle circles on his chest. “I mean, come on - how many boyfriends out there get worried in the middle of the night about whether they’re doing enough for their girlfriends? You’re basically setting the bar impossibly high for everyone else.”

Heeseung chuckles again, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Oh, so now I’m the standard, huh?”

“You’re more than the standard, you’re the dream.”

Grinning widely, your boyfriend leans in to kiss you once again, this time more confident and at ease. It’s not like Heeseung to be vulnerable like this, the mix of alcohol and the early hours playing a massive part in his sudden change in behaviour. But he is so thankful that you aren’t judging him or deflecting his concerns in a passive moment even though you could have. It speaks volumes of your love and adoration for him, and that makes him feel more loved than anything else in the world.

His pretty lips melt with yours, your love blooming through each passing breath and brush of his nose with yours. His palms find a place on your waist as he guides you to crawl onto his lap, the sheets that were keeping you warm in your cocoon of sleep now long gone, the heat from Heeseung’s love now flooding your bloodstream. 

His hands slide up your waist, fingers exploring the curve of your sides before resting at the small of your back. The heat of his touch burns through the thin fabric of your pyjamas, setting you alight under his fingertips. He pulls you closer, guiding you to straddle his lap with ease and you can feel the beat of his heart and the ridge of his cock all at once - lust and love both present.

The kiss deepens and you find yourselves in a rhythm, the kind where neither of you is in a rush, savouring the moment for all it’s worth. His lips move with yours in an intoxicating way, every caress from his tongue sends shivers along your spine. He tastes like something familiar, something safe and beautiful - like home.

“I love you so fucking much, baby,” he murmurs into the kiss, his voice dripping in longing, each word brushing against your lips like a secret meant only for you. His breath fans over your face and the way he speaks, the pure adoration in his tone, makes your chest swell with so much emotion you feel like you might physically combust. It’s a confession he’s made a thousand times yet each time it feels like the first because he means it just as heavily each time.

If there was ever a reason for your heart to exist, for your lungs to keep breathing, it is to love Heeseung. Your heart is to keep you alive, but if you can't love him like this, there's no reason for it to keep pumping.

Nodding at his confession, you smile against his lips, a sound of contentment escaping you as you press closer to his chest, wanting to feel every inch of him. You want to be as close as physically possible to this man. Your hands find their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you deepen the kiss, pouring all your love into it. 

“I love you too, Hee,” you whisper between kisses, your voice low, filled with a yearning ache that matches his. “Always.”

His hands tighten around you, holding you as though you might slip away, his kisses becoming more urgent, more desperate. It’s the last few worries working through his brain, finding an escape in your comforting embrace.

Hands roaming your now fully alert body, Heeseung grips and caresses every inch of you he can, his fingers dancing along your back as his nails drag down ever so gently, just enough for you to feel the bite. He needs you under his skin. He needs you part of him. He needs you full stop.

Every brush of his lips, every gentle tug of your lower lip, every graze of his teeth sends a thrill through you, making your skin hum with electricity. His hand moves up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze dark with emotion, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

“I know we just had a sappy moment and I don’t want this to take away from it, but I’m horny as fuck right now.”

A sharp laugh escapes you, breaking through the moment, and you shake your head at Heeseung's bluntness, though the heat in the room is unmistakable. His words might’ve caught you off guard, but they don’t surprise you - it’s just so him to switch from vulnerability to desire. One of the many, many, reasons you adore him.

You grin goofily at him, your hands still tangled in his hair. “Oh, really?” you tease, your voice light but laced with that same unspoken tension that’s been building between you. “I never would have guessed with your cock poking my thigh.”

You both look down and see Heeseung’s member semi-hard, concealed only by his boxers. It makes you bite your lip in lust as you reply moments that his thick cock has taken you to the stars, has made you arch your back as your heart tries to leap from your chest and shout how much you love his inches pounding into you.

Heeseung's cheeks flush a deep pink, only adding to the alcohol flush he still has blushing over his features, but that signature mischievous grin appears on his face, his embarrassment melting into amusement. He lets out a soft chuckle, his eyes flicking between your teasing gaze and the obvious evidence of his desire pressing against you.

"Well," he says, his voice dropping an octave, his hand tightening slightly on your waist, "you can’t blame me, can you? I mean, look at you." His tone is playful, but there’s no mistaking the hunger behind his words as his eyes drag over your body, drinking in every inch of you. His lips find their way to your neck, teeth working in tandem to nip at your skin before he speaks again. “Y’know, I guess I should prove that I’m a good boyfriend, not just say it.”

A part of you wants to tell him that he proves it every day, that he is even proving it right now, but you know what this will lead to and you’ll be damned if you don’t let him continue. So you play along, smirking as you feel his mouth move south, kissing over your collarbone.

“I think you should,” you giggle out in a moan as his teeth sink into you. The sound escapes your lips, a mixture of laughter and desire, and you feel his cock twitch at the sound, a primal response that only fuels the fire igniting between you both. 

Any noise you make is Heeseung’s favourite song.

With a swift motion, Heeseung peels your tank top off, revealing your breasts. He ogles at them, memorising every mark, line, and curve of them as if he doesn’t study them every day. If he was set the challenge to draw them from memory, he could pass with flying colours.

Attaching his mouth to your right nipple, he teasingly bites around the peak and flicks it with his tongue before wrapping his lips around it, sucking gently as though he’s savouring a fine wine; your body has the same effect as alcohol on him anyway. 

The sensation sends an electric jolt through you, arching your back and pushing your chest further into him, a silent plea for more. Heeseung's hands grab hold of your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive skin, heightening the atmosphere in the room.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he mumbles against your skin, punctuating each word with soft kisses. The way he admires you - like you’re a masterpiece and he’s not even worthy to be standing in the museum you decorate - fills you with a sense of pride. You never feel more beautiful or worthy than when you’re in your boyfriend’s arms. 

You can’t help but tilt your head back, surrendering to the desire-filled feeling crashing over you as he lavishes the skin on your body.

His mouth moves from your breast to your collarbone, trailing kisses that leave a path of fire in their wake. As he nips at your skin, you feel a rush of warmth pool low in your belly, the heady mix of desire and adoration overwhelming. Heeseung's fingers dig into your hips, anchoring you to him, and you can feel the way his body responds to yours - hard and insistent against your thigh. 

“Am I proving myself?” he asks playfully, pulling back to look into your eyes, his gaze dark with lust and mischief. His lips glisten slightly, and you can’t help but admire how he looks at this moment - wild and undone, completely lost in the taste of you.

“More than you know,” you breathe, a smile creeping onto your lips as you lean in closer, brushing your nose against his. The closeness feels intoxicating, every heartbeat syncing with his own. “But I think there’s a way you can really prove it to me.”

With a playful glint in your eye, you push him back gently, manoeuvring him to lie flat against the sheets of your shared bed. You straddle him, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips as you trap him. 

Leaning down, you place a teasing kiss on his lips before trailing your mouth lower, down his chest, relishing every inch of skin you encounter. He tastes like a mix of his body wash and perfume. You take your time, letting your lips brush against his abs, ghosting and teasing while feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingertips as you draw nearer to where you want to be.

“This doesn’t feel like me proving I’m a good boyfriend if you’re doing all the work,” he laughs, his voice rich with playful sarcasm.

“Just relax,” you murmur, looking up at him through your thick lashes, “I’ve got this.” With that, you grip the waistband of his boxers and edge them down, revealing him fully. The sight of his arousal makes your heart race even faster. Fuck, he’s so delicious. The air is thick with tension and anticipation, and as you wrap your fingers around him, the knowing of what’s to come sends shivers down your spine.

“Seriously, Y/N, why don’t I-”

You interrupt him, your voice playful yet sultry, “I’m literally in love with your cock, so if you want to ‘prove’ you’re a good boyfriend, you’ll let me suck it.” You smile innocently up at your boyfriend, and the mischievous glint in your eyes only heightens the intensity surrounding you.

 When you say you love his cock, that isn’t even enough to convey just how much you worship it.

For the past year, this single cock has taken you to heaven and back, lifting you past the clouds and into galaxies that haven’t even been explored yet. Heeseung has done more for your pleasure than any self-exploration or rose toy could ever hope to give you. If he wants to talk about women’s complaints about their boyfriends, unsatisfying sex is more common than not, and he has yet to disappoint you.

When you first started dating, the chemistry between you was so strong that you found yourselves lost in each other’s arms on the very first date. Even then, while you still had so much to learn about one another - your likes and dislikes, how you moved with one another - Heeseung somehow pressed every button inside you, fine-tuning spots you hadn’t even discovered. He is so attuned to your needs, both physically and mentally.

That is how you know he is a cut above the rest.

With a teasing grin, you peel his boxers down further, whisking them off and throwing them to the floor. You take a moment to admire him, the way his dick stands eager and glistening. It’s a sight that always sends a rush of heat straight to your cunt, making it purr and mewl out to be stuffed.

Leaning in closer, you let your breath ghost over the tip of his bell, watching as he shakes out a breath in response. The tension in his body is palpable and it fuels your desire even more. You love to see him wriggle beneath you - it makes you feel good. Probably a people-pleaser trait that you’ve developed. But if it’s Heeseung? You want to do your very most to please.

You give him a slow, teasing lick, starting from the base and moving up to the tip, taking your time to savour the taste of him. A low groan escapes his lips, and the sound makes your heart race, sending a thrill of pleasure coursing through you.

“Y/N,” he gasps, his voice thick with desire, “you really don’t have to-”

But you cut him off again, looking at him with pleading eyes. “I want to,” you assure him, your voice a whisper as you lean in, capturing his tip in your mouth. The warmth of you envelops him, and you hollow your cheeks, sucking gently as you begin to take him deeper.

Heeseung’s hands find their way to your hair, fingers threading through it as he guides you softly, his breaths turning into heavy pants. You love the way he watches you, eyes dark and filled with admiration and lust. As you take him deeper, you let your tongue swirl around the tip, teasing and tantalising him, every flick sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body.

Gathering your hair into a ponytail and threading his fingers through your strands to make sure he doesn’t miss a bit, he begins to tie your hair up. He does this; one, so he can see your pretty lips wrapping around him, and two, because he knows how annoyed you get when your hair is in your face. It’s partly the reason why he always carries a bobble on his wrist, for spontaneous times like this. 

The black bobble has come in handy more times than he can count; parties, work events, in the car, you name it. You love to suck his cock, there was no denying it, and you will take any opportunity, hence why he is always prepared.

With each slow movement, you can feel Heeseung tense. You watch him closely, revelling in the way his mouth falls open, struggling to find the words to express what he’s feeling - though, his face does enough explaining. His chest rises and falls, each breath coming faster than the last as you continue to work your mouth around him. 

“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, his voice shaky as he tries to keep control. You can sense his yearning and quite honestly, it makes you feel so powerful. With every moment that passes, you grow more determined to show him just how much he means to you.

You start to pick up the pace, your head moving faster as you slide him deeper into your mouth, allowing your lips to wrap around him snugly. You can feel the muscles in his thighs tense, his body urging you on as he struggles not to bust a load in your mouth right here and now. The raw desperation in his eyes only ignites your need for him, and you find yourself lost in the rhythm of it, moving in sync with the unspoken connection between you.

“Y/N, please, I’ll not last long,” he murmurs, his voice thick with the urge as he bites his lip, a look of pleasure painting his features. You can tell he’s holding back, wanting to let go but trying to let you take your time. The contrast of his restraint against your eagerness sends a rush of heat through you, and you can feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips as you squeeze his thighs.

Instead of slowing down, you push him fully down your throat, the bell of his cock sitting exactly where your voicebox is located, and you swallow. It’s something you know he loves more than anything and thanks to a lot of practice paired with patience from your boyfriend, you perfected it. 

Your throat gags at the intrusion of his cock as it tries to gulp down, Heeseung thrashes beneath you, holding in his breath and he tenses, toes curling in desperation. 

“Jesus, fuck,” he gasps out through gritted teeth, the intensity of the sensation overwhelming him. His fingers grip your hair tighter, a mix of pleasure and desperation coursing through him as he feels you take him deeper than ever. The warm heat enveloping him is almost too much to bear, and he can't help but thrust his hips slightly, seeking that delicious friction that drives him wild.

You can feel every shudder and quake of his body, the way he fights against the urge to let go. With each swallow, you tighten your throat around him, your body instinctively reacting to his need. The vibrations from your throat send delicious, torturous vibrations through his entire length, and you can tell he’s so fucking close.

“Y/N,” he moans, his voice laced with an intoxicating mix of desperation and awe. “You’re so fucking perfect.” The way he breathes your name is music to your ears, fueling your desire even more. The rasp in his tone along with the tiny giggle that pushes out, showcases the glee he is feeling within himself. It’s a beautiful contrast to how this rude awakening started.

Determined to push him over the edge, you pull back just slightly, letting the tip of him rest on your tongue as you swirl it around his knob, dipping it past his slit a few times before diving back down, taking him fully once more. Each movement is deliberate, each glide of your lips sending him further into the abyss of pleasure. The sound of your lips slurping and the wetness of your mouth fills the room, creating an intoxicating rhythm that both of you are losing yourself in.

“Please, stop,” he begs, his eyes squeezing shut as he loses himself in the moment. “I can’t hold back much longer.” You revel in the power you have over him, the way your actions leave him breathless and needy. It’s a perfect feeling, one that makes you want to do this forever, to draw out his pleasure as long as you can.

But just as you think he might tumble over the edge, Heeseung suddenly pulls you off of him, his chest heaving with short breaths as he fights to regain control. His gaze is dark, filled with desire and a hint of desperation, and it sends a thrill through you as he locks eyes with you.

With a swift motion, he pulls your face up to his, capturing your lips in a feverish kiss. It’s a clash of passion, sweetness and raw hunger as his mouth moves against yours. He can taste the remnants of your earlier actions on his tongue but he doesn’t care, he’s never been one to care about that, unlike some men.

Again, a reason why he’s a cut above the rest.

As you kiss, his fingers find home between your legs, feeling how wet you are just from sucking his cock. The feeling makes him smirk, his ego growing along with his arousal. He pushes your shorts and underwear to the side and you gasp into his mouth as you feel the heat of his member sliding against your pussy. 

“I need you so fucking bad,” Heeseung breathes between kisses. You can feel the urgency in his words, the way his body reacts to yours, the heat radiating off him, makes your heart race faster, and you instinctively press against him, seeking that sweet friction. “Let me fuck you, please, baby.” Heeseung is whiny and desperate, which means you know he’s close, seeking out that sweet release.

And you are more than happy to give him it.

You break the kiss just long enough to whisper, “Fuck me, please, Hee.” 

The invitation drives him over the edge, losing control completely, and you can see the flicker of determination in his eyes as he moves to claim you, each moment stretching out as you both surrender to the overwhelming connection that binds you together.

With pure greed, Heeseung captures your lips again, his mouth moving against yours with urgency. When his mouth finds your breasts again, he takes your right nipple into his mouth, sucking gently before nibbling around the peak, his tongue swirling and teasing as he sends waves of pleasure through you.

Slipping into your heat, Heeseung’s cock finally stretches you open, a gasp in harmony orchestrating around your bedroom. Your eyes roll back as he fills you to the hilt, the exquisite sensation sending electric pulses of pleasure coursing through every part of your body. Heeseung pauses for just a moment, letting you adjust to his size, his breath coming in heavy pants as he watches you. 

“God, you feel amazing,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need as he slowly pulls back, only to plunge deep again. Each thrust is a slow exploration at first as he seeks to bring you both to that blissful peak. The sensation of his cock sliding against your inner walls sends waves of pleasure through you. Heeseung's eyes never leave your face, drinking in the sight of you lost in ecstasy, each gasp and moan drawing him deeper into the moment.

Heeseung's hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he finds a steady rhythm, pushing deeper with each jerk of his hips, trying to prove to you just how great of a boyfriend he can be, how he will give you everything he has; mind, body, and spirit. 

Your body instinctively responds, arching into him, craving more as the world around you fades into the background. The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo in the quiet room, punctuated by the choir of your shared gasps and moans. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, his voice low and husky, thick with pleasure as he quickens his pace. It doesn’t matter how many times he fucks you, your walls will always welcome him in the most delicious way. 

You can feel the tension building within you with each thrust. The urgency in his movements builds, each movement charged with desperation and longing as he works hard to drive you both to the brink. He leans down, capturing your lips in another messy albeit loving kiss, stealing what little breath you have left.

As he kisses you, his hands roam down to your thighs, lifting your legs higher to allow him even deeper access. The shift in angle has you moaning like a pornstar as he hits that sweet spot inside you. You can feel the pressure building, the familiar tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter within you, urging you closer to release.

“Y/N,” he breathes against your lips, his voice low and breathy, filled with both desire and admiration. “You’re everything to me.” The words resonate deep within your chest, and they only serve to heighten the intensity of your love for him. “I want you to cum for me,” he murmurs, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in perfect time with his thrusts, his thumb pressing down on your sensitive bud.

The sensation of his fingers combined with the friction of his cock sends you spiralling toward the edge. With each stroke of his cock and each slow circle of his thumb, you can feel the heat pooling in your core, a delicious tension building that threatens to overflow.

“Hee, I’m so close,” you gasp, nails digging into his back as the sensations overwhelm you. Heeseung groans in response, his thrusts growing more frantic, his desire matching your own as he chases that high alongside you. “Just a little more, baby, you can take it,” he urges, his voice thick with need, every thrust a promise of the pleasure to come.

Your breaths come in sharp bursts as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, the world around you narrowing to just the two of you. With every movement, Heeseung brings you closer to the edge, the rhythm of his hips and the precision of his fingers drawing you nearer to bliss. Your body begins to tremble, the coil inside you winding tighter as Heeseung’s pace quickens, urgency fueling every thrust.

“Let go for me, baby,” he whispers, each word enveloped with need, and that simple command pushes you over the edge. With a shriek, your body explodes in pleasure, waves of ecstasy crashing over you as you shatter beneath him.

The sensation washes over you, and as you lose yourself to it, you can feel Heeseung following closely behind, his own release spilling into you as he groans your name, ropes of his cum painting your walls, the heat adding to your pleasure and making your cunt try and swallow each drop. 

As the waves of pleasure finally begin to subside, you find yourself still tangled together, your breaths mingling in the now warm air. Heeseung’s arms are wrapped securely around you, holding you close as his heartbeat gradually slows, though the lingering electricity between you remains palpable. You can feel the aftershocks of your climax coursing through you along with the final jumps of his cock, each pulse a gentle reminder of the ecstasy you just shared.

Heeseung gently pulls out, and a soft whimper escapes your lips at the loss, but he’s quick to pull you into his embrace, cradling you against his chest. His fingers brush through your hair, and you can’t help but smile, the afterglow of your connection illuminating your heart. 

“So...did I prove myself,” he breathes, a satisfied grin spreading across his face as he meets your gaze. There’s a playful glint in his eyes, his brows wiggling. You’re so happy to have this Heeseung back, the worries and doubts are long gone.

“You never had to prove anything, Hee. You prove yourself every single day.” Your voice is earnest and raw, meaning every word. Your hand comes up to cradle his cheek as you stroke his flushed face. “I love you so much, baby. Please never doubt yourself like that again.” 

Heeseung’s eyes soften at your words, a bashfulness coming over his features as he leans into your touch. The sincerity in your voice wraps around him like a comforting blanket, easing away any lingering insecurities. 

“You really mean that?”

“Of course, I do,” you assure him, the depth of your love for him echoing amongst each syllable. “You are everything I have ever wanted and more. I don’t just say it for the sake of it, you know. You really are perfect for me, Hee. Perfect in general.”

His heart swells at your declaration, a grin lighting his face the way the moon lights up the room. “Well, I guess that means I should keep doing what I’m doing, yeah?”

“Abso-fucking-luty, “ you giggle, kissing his chest before you settle your head there, listening to his heartbeat, the one that beats only for you. “Just keep being mine.”

“Always.”

[hsjazebel]

Meant to be

Summary: Y/N never expected a college party to change anything—until she met Harry. What starts as a quiet connection over books and movies slowly turns into something deeper, proving that some things are simply meant to be.

Wordcount: 32k+ (I have been carried away, sorry 😅)

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day! ♡ Here’s a little story about love finding you when you least expect it. Hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think!

Masterlist

— — —

The party was louder than she expected.

Y/N wasn’t sure why she had let Charlotte convince her to come. Maybe it was the way her roommate had pleaded, eyes wide with excitement, promising it would be “just for an hour.” Or maybe it was the fact that she had spent too many Friday nights curled up in bed while the rest of campus buzzed with energy.

She had thought, just for once, that maybe she should say yes.

But now, standing in the middle of the crowded living room, she regretted it.

The music thumped against the walls, the bass so deep she could feel it in her ribs. Laughter and voices blurred together in an endless hum, broken only by the occasional shout of someone calling out to a friend. The air was thick—too many people, too much perfume, too much heat.

She tugged at the hem of her sweater, suddenly self-conscious. She wasn’t dressed for this, not like the other girls in shimmering tops and short skirts. She had gone for comfort—jeans, a fitted top, her favorite oversized cardigan—but now she felt out of place, like she hadn’t read the unspoken dress code.

Charlotte had disappeared almost immediately, swallowed up by the crowd, probably off to find that guy she’d been texting. Y/N had tried to follow for a bit, but the sea of people made it impossible to keep up.

Now she was alone, pressed against the wall, holding a drink she hadn’t even sipped.

She exhaled, glancing toward the front door. Maybe she could just leave. Charlotte wouldn’t mind—she was too caught up in her own night.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted an open door leading to the balcony.

Without thinking, she headed for it, slipping outside and closing the door behind her.

Cool air washed over her, a welcome contrast to the stifling heat inside. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and leaned against the railing, her fingers wrapping around the cold metal. The city stretched out in front of her, distant lights flickering against the night sky. From here, the noise of the party was muffled, just a dull hum beneath the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle over her.

And then—

“You don’t look like you’re having fun.”

The voice was smooth, warm. British.

Her eyes snapped open.

Turning slightly, she found herself face to face with someone she recognized immediately.

Harry Styles.

Her breath hitched, just for a second.

She had seen him around before, of course. It was hard not to notice him. He wasn’t the typical loud, overly confident guy that thrived in these kinds of settings, but he had a presence that made people gravitate toward him anyway. Maybe it was the way he carried himself—calm, collected, always with an air of quiet amusement, like he was in on some inside joke no one else knew about.

Now, standing in front of her in the dim balcony light, he looked impossibly at ease.

His dark curls were pushed back messily, a few strands falling over his forehead. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, framing sharp green eyes that studied her with quiet interest. His loose button-up was unbuttoned at the top, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the intricate tattoos winding down his forearms.

He held a drink casually in one hand, the other tucked into his pocket, like he had all the time in the world.

She swallowed.

“I—uh—yeah,” she finally managed. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

His lips quirked, as if her answer didn’t surprise him at all. “Figured as much.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And how exactly did you figure that?”

He took a slow sip from his drink before answering. “Well, for one, you’ve been out here for at least five minutes and haven’t checked your phone once.” His eyes flickered toward the door. “And two… you look like you’re trying to disappear.”

She huffed out a quiet laugh. “That obvious?”

Harry smirked. “A little.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city lights flickered in the distance, and the air between them felt charged—not uncomfortable, but something else entirely.

Then, he shifted slightly, turning more toward her.

“I’m Harry, by the way.”

She let out a small breath, amused. As if she didn’t already know.

“I know,” she admitted, then immediately winced. “I mean—everyone knows who you are.”

Harry chuckled, the sound low and warm. “That’s fair.” He tilted his head slightly. “And you are…?”

“Y/N.”

He repeated it, softer this time, like he was testing the way it felt on his tongue. Then, with a small smile, he extended his hand. “Well, Y/N, it’s nice to officially meet you.”

She hesitated for just a second before slipping her hand into his.

His palm was warm, his grip gentle but firm.

“Nice to meet you too, Harry.”

His fingers lingered a second longer than necessary before he let go.

He leaned his elbow against the railing, glancing at her thoughtfully. “So, if parties aren’t your thing… what would you rather be doing right now?”

She bit her lip, thinking. “Watching a movie, probably.”

Harry’s brows lifted slightly. “Anything in particular?”

She hesitated, then decided to be honest. “A romcom.”

His lips curled into a slow smile. “You like romcoms?”

She nodded. “I grew up watching them. Notting Hill, 10 Things I Hate About You, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days… I know they’re cheesy, but I love them.”

He studied her for a second, then let out a soft chuckle. “Cheesy doesn’t mean bad. Those are classics.”

She tilted her head. “Wait… you actually like them too?”

Harry smirked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Course I do. I mean, have you seen When Harry Met Sally? It’s got my name in it. That’s a sign, don’t you think?”

She laughed—really laughed, for the first time that night.

Harry watched her, his expression softer now, like he was pleased to be the reason behind it.

The conversation flowed easier after that. They debated over the best romcom of all time, exchanged favorite scenes, and argued about which movie had the most unrealistic yet satisfying ending. Somewhere in between, Y/N forgot about the party altogether.

But eventually, her phone buzzed in her pocket—Charlotte, probably looking for her.

She sighed, realizing she had to go.

Harry noticed. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She hesitated, then, feeling unusually bold, added, “But… maybe next time, I’ll skip the party and just watch a romcom instead.”

His smile was slow, almost knowing. “Maybe next time, you won’t have to watch it alone.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

And as she stepped back inside, disappearing into the noise and the crowd, she couldn’t help but hope—just a little—that this was only the beginning.

———

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sound of Charlotte’s voice.

“Well, well, well,” her roommate drawled, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “Look who’s finally awake.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face into the pillow. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” Charlotte said, walking over and flopping down onto the bed beside her. “And you have some explaining to do.”

Y/N peeked at her through one eye. “Explaining?”

Charlotte grinned, far too awake for this early in the morning. “Don’t play innocent with me. You disappeared at the party. And when I finally found you again, you looked… different.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “So spill.”

Y/N sighed, rolling onto her back. “There’s nothing to spill.”

Charlotte gasped dramatically. “Lies! I saw you talking to Harry Styles.” She poked Y/N’s side. “You—quiet, book-loving, avoider of all social gatherings—somehow ended up alone on a balcony with the most intriguing guy on campus.”

Y/N felt her face heat up. “It wasn’t like that,” she muttered.

Charlotte smirked. “Then what was it like?”

Y/N hesitated. The truth was, she wasn’t exactly sure.

“It was… nice,” she admitted after a moment. “We just talked.”

Charlotte studied her, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Talked? That’s it?”

Y/N nodded.

Charlotte huffed, flopping back against the bed. “You’re impossible.”

Y/N smiled, sitting up and stretching. “Did you at least have fun?”

Charlotte let out a dreamy sigh. “Oh, absolutely. And I might have secured myself a coffee date with Mason.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Mason?”

“You know, Harry’s friend? Tall, kind of scruffy, ridiculously charming?” Charlotte waggled her fingers. “I think we have a connection.”

Y/N laughed softly. “I’m happy for you.”

Charlotte sat up again, her expression turning devious. “And speaking of coffee dates…”

Y/N’s stomach fluttered. “No.”

Charlotte pouted. “Come on! I think he likes you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “We talked for, like, twenty minutes.”

Charlotte shrugged. “That’s plenty of time to make an impression. And if he really likes you, you’ll see him again.”

Y/N didn’t answer. Because the thought had already crossed her mind.

Would she see him again?

———

She did.

Three days later.

At the campus café.

Y/N had been curled up in a corner booth, a warm cup of tea beside her as she flipped through a book for class. The café was quiet, filled mostly with students studying or catching up on assignments. The hum of conversation and the occasional clinking of cups created the kind of atmosphere she loved—calm, steady, familiar.

And then, a shadow fell over her table.

“Y/N.”

She looked up.

And there he was.

Harry Styles, standing beside her table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a curious tilt to his head. He wasn’t wearing his glasses today, but she still recognized the quiet amusement in his eyes.

“Hi,” she said, feeling her heart pick up speed.

His lips twitched. “Mind if I sit?”

She hesitated for only a second before shaking her head. “Go ahead.”

Harry slid into the seat across from her, setting his coffee down. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Alright, I might have hoped I would.”

Her stomach did an embarrassing little flip.

“What are you reading?” he asked, nodding toward the book in her hands.

She glanced down, suddenly self-conscious. “Uh, Wuthering Heights.”

His brows lifted, impressed. “Intense choice.”

She shrugged. “It’s for class, but I like it.”

Harry studied her for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, stretching out comfortably. “So, tell me—are you one of those people who think Heathcliff is romantic, or do you see him for the walking red flag that he is?”

Y/N blinked in surprise. “You’ve read it?”

He smirked. “I have.”

She bit her lip, eyeing him. “And?”

Harry sighed dramatically. “Look, I get the passion, the whole ‘soulmate across time and space’ thing, but let’s be honest—if Heathcliff were around today, he’d be sending late-night ‘u up?’ texts and brooding over his ex’s Instagram posts.”

Y/N let out a surprised laugh. “That is… disturbingly accurate.”

Harry grinned. “And you? Are you a Heathcliff apologist?”

She shook her head. “I think he and Cathy deserved each other—because no one else should have to deal with that level of drama.”

Harry chuckled. “Harsh, but fair.”

There was something about the way he looked at her—curious, amused, like he was genuinely interested in what she had to say. It made her stomach twist in a way she wasn’t used to.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then—

“So,” Harry said, breaking the moment, “you never told me your verdict.”

Y/N frowned. “My verdict?”

“The best romcom of all time.”

She smiled, relieved by the lighter topic. “That’s impossible to answer.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Alright. Then let’s make it simpler. What’s your go-to comfort movie?”

She thought for a second. “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.”

His eyes lit up. “Classic.”

She nodded. “It’s just fun, you know? The whole fake dating thing, the ridiculousness of it all. And Kate Hudson? Iconic.”

Harry smirked. “And the ‘You let it die!’ scene? A cinematic masterpiece.”

Y/N laughed. “Exactly.”

Harry studied her for a moment, then said, “I like that.”

Y/N suddenly felt warm under his gaze. She looked down, tracing the rim of her cup. “What about you?”

Harry pretended to think. “Mmm… Notting Hill.”

She grinned. “Oh, come on. You just like it because of the ‘I’m just a girl’ scene.”

He laughed. “Maybe. Or maybe I like the idea that two people from completely different worlds can still find their way to each other.”

Something about the way he said it made her stomach flutter.

The conversation drifted after that—talk of books, movies, little things that made them both feel at home. The more they spoke, the more Y/N felt that strange, unexpected ease settle between them.

And when she finally glanced at the time, she realized an hour had passed without her even noticing.

“I should probably get to class,” she murmured, closing her book.

Harry nodded, but didn’t look particularly eager to leave.

As she stood, sliding her bag over her shoulder, he tapped his fingers against the table. “So…”

She looked at him expectantly.

He smirked. “Movie night?”

Her heart skipped. “Are you asking me out, Harry Styles?”

His expression was all mischief. “Maybe.”

She bit her lip, pretending to consider. Then, feeling unusually bold, she said, “Okay.”

Harry’s smirk turned into something softer.

“Good,” he said.

And as she walked away, she could feel his eyes on her the whole time.

———

The library was quieter than usual.

Y/N liked it that way. She liked the solitude, the way the world seemed to shrink down to just her and the words on the page. It was calming—predictable.

What she didn’t expect, however, was a voice breaking through the silence.

“Didn’t peg you as the type to hide away in a library for fun.”

She looked up, already knowing who she would see.

Harry stood in front of her table, a familiar smirk on his lips, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He had a notebook tucked under his arm and a coffee in hand, looking completely at ease despite the way his presence sent her heart racing.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “And yet, here you are.”

Harry hummed, sliding into the chair across from her. “Touché.”

She watched as he set his coffee down and flipped open his notebook, as if he belonged there—like this was routine.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Are you actually here to study, or are you just bothering me for fun?”

Harry grinned. “Can it be both?”

She huffed, biting back a smile as she returned her gaze to her book. But she could still feel his eyes on her.

A beat passed before he spoke again. “Wuthering Heights, huh? Still brooding over Heathcliff?”

Y/N sighed, looking up. “You do realize I read more than one book, right?”

Harry’s smirk widened. “Do you, now?”

She rolled her eyes and turned the book so he could see the title.

His gaze flickered over the cover before he raised an eyebrow. “White Nights?”

Y/N tilted her head. “Surprised?”

Harry leaned back in his chair, studying her. “A little. Didn’t take you for a Dostoevsky kind of girl.”

“And what kind of girl did you take me for?” she challenged.

He smirked. “Jane Austen, maybe. Brontë sisters, definitely. But Russian literature? That’s a surprise.”

She shrugged. “I like stories about lonely people.”

Something flickered in his expression, but it was gone too fast for her to catch.

“Lonely people,” he repeated. “And here I thought you just liked tragic love stories.”

Y/N hesitated, then said softly, “Aren’t they the same thing?”

Harry studied her for a moment, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, in a voice quieter than before, he said, “I guess they are.”

Silence settled between them again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like something had shifted—like she had let him see a part of her she didn’t show to just anyone.

Then, after a moment, Harry’s lips twitched up into a smile. “So, is White Nights a re-read, or am I catching you in the middle of a first-time experience?”

She exhaled, grateful for the change in tone. “Re-read.”

His grin widened. “Interesting. That means you must really like it.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Are you about to judge my taste in books?”

Harry smirked. “Not at all. I was actually going to say… maybe I should let you convince me to read it.”

Y/N studied him. “You’ve never read it?”

“Not yet,” he admitted.

A small smile played on her lips. “Maybe you should.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled. “Maybe I will.”

———

That night, her phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number.

Unknown [9:07 PM]: So, lonely people, huh? Convince me why I should read White Nights.

Y/N frowned, staring at the screen. Who the hell—?

Y/N [9:08 PM]: Who is this?

A pause. Then—

Unknown [9:08 PM]: Wow. That hurts.

Her heart skipped.

She squinted at the message, then at the number, but it wasn’t saved in her contacts.

Y/N [9:09 PM]: Seriously. Who is this??

A few seconds passed before a reply popped up.

Unknown [9:09 PM]: It’s Harry.

She blinked.

Then—

Y/N [9:10 PM]: …How did you get my number?

Harry [9:11 PM]: Your lovely roommate gave it to me.

Y/N groaned out loud. “Charlotte!”

Across the room, Charlotte barely glanced up from her laptop. “Hmm?”

Y/N waved her phone in the air. “Did you seriously give Harry my number?”

Charlotte smirked. “Oh. So he finally texted you?”

“Charlotte.”

“What?” she said innocently. “He asked, and I figured it would take you forever to do it yourself.”

Y/N let out a long, dramatic sigh, turning her attention back to the screen.

Y/N [9:12 PM]: I hate you.

Harry [9:12 PM]: No, you don’t.

She rolled her eyes.

Y/N [9:13 PM]: Maybe you should read it and see for yourself.

Harry [9:14 PM]: Bold of you to assume I have time for Russian literature.

Y/N [9:15 PM]: Bold of you to assume I’d let you borrow my copy.

Harry [9:16 PM]: So possessive. I like it.

Y/N [9:17 PM]: You’re impossible.

Harry [9:17 PM]: And yet, here you are, still texting me.

She bit her lip, trying not to smile.

Harry [9:18 PM]: You still good for our not-date movie night?

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

Y/N [9:19 PM]: You mean the highly academic film screening of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?

Harry [9:20 PM]: Exactly. For research purposes.

She hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.

Y/N [9:21 PM]: Yeah. I’m still in.

His reply came almost instantly.

Harry [9:21 PM]: Good.

She stared at the word for a long time, ignoring the way her face felt impossibly warm.

———

“You’ve checked your phone three times in the last minute.”

Y/N shot Charlotte a glare from across the room. “I have not.”

Charlotte smirked, finishing the last touches of her makeup. “You so have.”

Y/N huffed, locking her phone and tossing it onto the bed like that would somehow make her friend drop the topic. “I’m just checking the time.”

“Mm-hmm.” Charlotte turned, arms crossed. “Because, of course, it has nothing to do with the fact that Harry is coming over.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her face felt warm. “It’s just a movie night.”

Charlotte grinned. “And yet, you’ve changed your sweater twice.”

Y/N groaned, flopping back onto her pillows. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Charlotte grabbed her bag, checking her reflection in the mirror. “I think it’s cute that you’re all flustered over him.”

“I’m not flustered.”

Charlotte raised a brow. “You are so flustered.”

Y/N groaned again, covering her face with a pillow.

A knock at the door made her sit up way too fast.

Charlotte smirked knowingly. “That’s my cue.”

Y/N watched as Charlotte opened the door, revealing Harry—standing there in his usual effortless way, glasses on, a bag of snacks in one hand.

“Oh, hey, Harry,” Charlotte greeted with a grin, throwing Y/N one last look. “I was just leaving.”

Harry glanced between them, looking mildly amused. “Leaving?”

“Yep.” Charlotte winked at Y/N. “Have fun.”

And before Y/N could even form a reply, she was gone.

Harry stepped inside, brow raised. “Did I just interrupt something?”

Y/N exhaled, shaking her head. “No. She’s just being Charlotte.”

Harry chuckled, setting the snacks down. “That explains a lot.”

Settling onto the couch, Y/N pressed play on 27 Dresses, tucking her legs under her.

Harry sat beside her, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. The space between them was small—too small—and she tried not to focus on the way his knee almost brushed hers.

“Have you seen this before?” he asked.

She scoffed. “Please. At least twenty times.”

Harry smiled. “Figures.”

For the first half hour, they made occasional comments about the movie—Harry teasing her about knowing all the lines, Y/N defending why it was a romcom classic.

But eventually, the room grew quieter. The soft glow of the screen cast shadows across Harry’s face, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the way his glasses slid down his nose.

And Y/N—despite her best efforts to stay focused on the film—felt her eyelids growing heavy.

She shifted slightly, trying to stay awake, but the warmth of the room, the steady sound of the dialogue, and the presence of Harry right beside her made it impossible.

At some point, she leaned just a little too far to the side—

And before she could stop herself, her head landed gently on his shoulder.

For a second, she almost panicked.

But Harry didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

If anything, he relaxed.

She felt him shift slightly, adjusting so that she fit more comfortably against him.

And just like that, sleep took over.

———

The next morning, the first thing Y/N registered was warmth.

A slow, steady warmth surrounding her, lulling her in a sleepy haze.

Then, she felt movement.

Her eyes fluttered open, and it took her a moment to realize:

She was curled into Harry’s side, his arm draped loosely around her shoulders.

The snack bag was on the floor. The TV screen had long since gone black. The early morning light was filtering through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the room.

And Harry—

Was still asleep.

His head rested against the back of the couch, lips slightly parted, curls falling across his forehead. His glasses were slightly askew, one arm still tucked around her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N barely breathed.

She should move. Should sit up, stretch, do anything to break the moment before he woke up.

But before she could, she felt him shift.

A slow inhale. A stretch.

And then, with a small frown, Harry’s eyes blinked open.

For a second, he looked confused. Disoriented.

Then, his gaze landed on her.

They both froze.

Silence.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

And then—

Harry’s lips twitched, still laced with sleep. “Morning.”

Y/N swallowed. “Morning.”

Another pause.

Then, realization dawned in Harry’s sleepy eyes. He glanced down at their position—her body still tucked into his side, his arm still loosely wrapped around her.

And yet—he didn’t move away.

Instead, his mouth curved into something softer.

“Didn’t mean to steal your couch,” he murmured.

Y/N huffed out a quiet laugh. “Didn’t mean to steal your shoulder.”

Harry smiled.

And for a moment, they just… sat there.

Close. Warm. Unmoving.

Y/N was still sitting on the couch, trying to process the fact that she’d just spent the night curled up against Harry Styles, when she heard him stretch beside her.

She glanced over. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, one hand running through his curls, the other adjusting his glasses.

And he looked… way too good for someone who had just woken up.

Before she could stop herself, she spoke.

“Do you—” She cleared her throat, trying to sound casual. “Do you want some coffee?”

Harry turned to her, blinking.

Then, the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Are you offering me coffee, Y/N?”

She rolled her eyes, standing up. “I regret it already.”

Harry chuckled, pushing himself up from the couch. “Too late.”

———

They ended up in the small dorm kitchen, Y/N fumbling with the coffee machine while Harry leaned against the counter, watching her with amusement.

“I didn’t peg you as the type to function without caffeine,” he said.

She scoffed. “Who says I function at all?”

Harry smirked. “Fair point.”

Once the coffee was ready, she handed him a mug, grabbing one for herself before hopping up onto the counter.

Harry took a slow sip, humming in approval. “Not bad.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Not bad?”

“Yeah.” He nudged her knee playfully. “Could be better.”

She gasped in mock offense. “You are such a snob.”

Harry grinned. “I have high standards.”

She shook her head, but she was smiling.

They fell into comfortable conversation, talking about everything from classes to 27 Dresses to how Harry apparently had a very strong opinion about the correct way to make tea.

And Y/N—despite the fact that she had woken up to a situation that should have been extremely awkward—found herself relaxing.

That was, of course, until Charlotte walked in.

She stopped in the doorway, taking in the sight before her—Harry standing in the kitchen, hair still tousled from sleep, drinking coffee from their mugs.

Y/N sitting on the counter, wearing the same clothes from last night.

Charlotte’s eyes widened.

Then, a slow smirk spread across her face.

“Oh,” she said, drawing out the word. “Good morning.”

Y/N groaned. “Charlotte—”

Charlotte ignored her, turning to Harry with an exaggerated expression of surprise. “Wow, Harry. You’re still here?”

Harry, to Y/N’s horror, grinned.

“Apparently, I make decent company, and your couch is not too bad” he said, sipping his coffee.

Charlotte gasped dramatically. “Did Y/N let you sleep on the couch? That is so rude.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Charlotte.”

Charlotte pressed a hand to her heart. “I mean, I was gone all night, you totally could’ve used my bed—”

Y/N almost choked on her coffee. “Oh my God, stop.”

Charlotte just smirked, eyes dancing between them. “I’m just saying…”

Y/N glared. “You’re the worst.”

Harry chuckled, setting down his mug. “I should probably get going before Mason starts wondering where I am.”

He turned to Y/N then, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he murmured.

She swallowed. “Yeah. Anytime.”

Charlotte wiggled her eyebrows.

Y/N shot her a warning look.

Harry—completely amused—grabbed his bag and made his way to the door.

“See you later, Y/N.”

And with that, he was gone.

Y/N barely had time to let out a breath before Charlotte pounced.

“So.”

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Don’t.”

Charlotte ignored her, flopping onto the couch with a wicked grin. “You slept together.”

“Oh my God—”

“Not like that,” Charlotte amended. “But still. You slept together.”

Y/N groaned. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Charlotte scoffed. “Oh, honey. It so was.”

———

Y/N had spent the entire morning convincing herself that nothing had changed.

That waking up next to Harry hadn’t felt different.

That the way he had smiled at her over coffee hadn’t made her stomach flip.

That she wasn’t replaying every second of their time together like some lovesick idiot.

But she was failing—miserably.

And Charlotte wasn’t helping.

“So,” her roommate drawled, flipping through a magazine on her bed, “are we just gonna pretend that last night never happened?”

Y/N, sitting at her desk, sighed. “Nothing happened.”

Charlotte scoffed. “You cuddled on the couch, made him coffee in the morning, and practically gazed at each other the whole time. That’s something.”

Y/N turned to glare at her. “I wasn’t gazing.”

Charlotte smirked. “Oh, honey. You were gazing.”

Y/N groaned, dropping her head onto her desk.

Charlotte laughed, tossing the magazine aside. “Look, all I’m saying is—he’s different, isn’t he?”

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean?”

Charlotte shrugged. “I mean, I’ve never seen you act like this over a guy. You usually keep your distance, but with Harry… I don’t know. You let him in.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest—but nothing came out.

Because, as much as she hated to admit it, Charlotte wasn’t wrong.

Harry was different.

And that was what scared her the most.

———

That afternoon, she tried to focus on studying.

Tried being the keyword.

She was in the library, sitting at her usual spot by the window, but the words on the page blurred together.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced at it, already knowing who it was.

Harry [3:27 PM]: You’re not skipping the library today, are you?

Y/N [3:28 PM]: I’m literally here right now.

Harry [3:29 PM]: Good. Would’ve had to question your commitment to academia otherwise.

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips.

A minute later, she heard a chair scrape against the floor.

She looked up.

Harry slid into the seat across from her, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Hi,” he said, smiling.

Y/N tried to ignore the way her heartbeat definitely sped up. “Hi.”

He set down his bag and pulled out a book. “What are we studying today?”

Y/N sighed. “I’m trying to get through this reading, but it’s not working.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Do you want me to quiz you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You just got here.”

He smirked. “And?”

She shook her head, amused. “Fine.”

And so, they studied. Or at least, they tried.

Every time Harry read a passage aloud, he did it with exaggerated dramatics, making Y/N laugh.

Whenever she got an answer right, he’d tap his fingers against the table like a drumroll.

At some point, he reached for her book, fingers grazing hers—and neither of them pulled away.

The touch was brief, but her skin tingled where it had been.

Harry didn’t say anything, but his gaze flickered to hers, something unspoken lingering between them.

For the first time, Y/N felt like she was on the edge of something.

And she didn’t know whether to step forward—or run.

———

An hour later, Y/N packed up her things.

“I should go,” she murmured.

Harry nodded, but there was something unreadable in his eyes. “Alright.”

She hesitated before speaking. “Thanks for—y’know. Keeping me sane.”

Harry’s lips quirked. “Anytime.”

As she turned to leave, he called after her

“Oh, Y/N?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

Harry reached into his bag, pulling out a book.

She frowned as he held it out to her.

“The Symposium?” she read aloud, eyebrows raised.

Harry smirked. “Figured you might like it.”

She stared at him. “Harry, this is your copy.”

He shrugged. “So?”

“So, I know you annotate all your books.” She flipped through the pages, confirming her suspicions—his familiar, neat handwriting filled the margins. “I can’t take this.”

“You can,” he said simply. “And you will.”

She glanced up at him, confused. “But… why?”

Harry held her gaze for a moment, then leaned in slightly.

“Because I think you’ll understand it,” he murmured.

Y/N’s breath caught.

Because there was weight behind his words—something deeper than just a casual book recommendation.

She swallowed, gripping the book a little tighter.

“…Thank you,” she said softly.

Harry smiled. “See you later, Y/N.”

And as she walked away, The Symposium pressed against her chest, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

That, maybe, she had just crossed a line she could never go back from.

———

The night wrapped around them like a quiet secret. The streets were nearly empty, the world softened by the golden glow of streetlamps.

Y/N and Harry walked side by side, their steps unhurried, as if neither of them wanted the night to end just yet.

She wasn’t sure how they ended up here—how a simple goodnight after studying turned into do you want to take a walk? But she didn’t regret saying yes.

It had been a week since that night at her apartment, since they’d woken up together on the couch, and things between them had shifted. Not in an obvious way—there were no declarations, no grand confessions—but something had changed.

Harry had always looked at her like he was intrigued. But now?

Now, he looked at her like he knew. Like he was just waiting for her to admit it, too.

“You’re quiet,” Harry murmured beside her.

She glanced at him. “So are you.”

He smiled, a little crooked. “Guess I don’t always have something to say.”

“Impossible.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Harsh.”

They walked a little further before she spoke again, a quiet admission in the stillness of the night.

“I read your notes.”

Harry turned his head slightly. “My notes?”

“In The Symposium.”

Realization flickered in his expression. “Right.”

She hesitated. “There was one part that stuck with me.”

His gaze softened. “Which one?”

Y/N swallowed.

“The part where you wrote that love is about recognizing something familiar in someone else.”

Harry didn’t speak right away.

Then, quietly, he said, “That’s my favorite part.”

Y/N stopped walking.

So did he.

The silence between them stretched, heavy with something.

She could feel her pulse thrumming in her wrists, in her throat, in the space between them that was growing smaller by the second.

Harry took a step closer. Slowly. Like he was giving her time to stop him.

She didn’t.

His gaze flickered to her lips, just for a second, before meeting her eyes again.

His voice was softer when he spoke next. “You realize I like you, don’t you?”

Y/N felt something tighten in her chest.

Because, of course, she did.

But hearing it—feeling it—was different.

She exhaled, barely a whisper. “I think I do now.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good.”

He didn’t move right away.

He just looked at her, taking her in, like he was memorizing the moment.

Then, so softly it was almost imperceptible, his fingers brushed against hers.

Y/N inhaled sharply.

And that was all it took.

Before she could second-guess it, before she could talk herself out of it, she closed the space between them.

She barely had time to process the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breath, before his hand came up, fingers grazing her jaw as he leaned in—slow, careful, waiting.

And then—

Then, he kissed her.

It was soft at first. Just a whisper of a touch, a silent question against her lips.

But the moment she kissed him back, the moment her fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater, it changed.

It deepened.

Harry let out a quiet sound—like he had been waiting for this longer than he cared to admit—and then his hands were on her waist, pulling her closer, closer, like the space between them was unbearable.

Her heart was racing.

She could feel the warmth of his palms, the faint scrape of his stubble against her skin, the way he kissed her like he was learning her—like he wanted to know exactly how she fit against him.

And she let him.

By the time they pulled apart, her head was spinning, her breath uneven.

Harry’s forehead rested against hers, and he let out a quiet laugh.

“What?” she asked, still breathless.

He shook his head, smiling. “Nothing. Just… glad I finally did that.”

She bit her lip, trying—and failing—not to smile.

“Me too.”

Harry’s thumb brushed against her waist absentmindedly.

“Can I walk you home?” he asked.

Y/N nodded.

But neither of them moved.

Not right away.

And when they finally started walking again, Harry’s fingers found hers, intertwining them effortlessly—like they had been waiting to do that, too.

———

It had only been a couple of weeks since that night—their first kiss under the dim glow of the streetlights—but things between them had changed so much.

Not in an overwhelming way. Not in a way that made Y/N feel rushed or pressured.

But in a way that made her soften.

In a way that made it impossible to ignore how utterly smitten Harry was.

It was in the way he always found a reason to touch her, even in the smallest ways—fingertips brushing against hers when they walked, absentmindedly tucking her hair behind her ear when she was focused on something, resting his chin on her shoulder just because he could.

It was in the way he remembered things, like how she liked her coffee and how she hated the sound of loud chewing. In the way he always waited for her outside class even when they had different schedules. In the way he looked at her, like he was always choosing to.

Like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Today was no different.

Y/N sat curled up on the library couch, actually trying to get some work done, while Harry sat beside her, flipping through a book he had absolutely no interest in.

At least, that’s what she assumed—because instead of reading, he was staring at her.

She sighed, setting her pen down. “Harry.”

“Hm?” He looked unbothered, too comfortable as he rested his head against the back of the couch.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

She shot him a pointed look.

He smirked, unfazed. “Looking at my girlfriend?”

Her stomach flipped.

Even after two weeks, the word still did something to her.

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were warm, and Harry knew it.

With a quiet chuckle, he reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers, absentmindedly running his thumb across the back of her palm.

“Should I be studying?” he murmured, lips twitching.

She nodded. “Yes.”

Harry pretended to consider it. Then, with zero hesitation, he squeezed her hand and dragged it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles.

“Too bad,” he murmured against her skin.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

This boy.

She was so doomed.

———

Y/N had tried to keep things subtle.

Not because she wanted to hide it, but because Charlotte was the biggest menace when it came to teasing her, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that just yet.

Too bad Charlotte noticed everything.

Like the way Y/N smiled at her phone when she thought no one was looking. The way she suspiciously left the dorm at night with an “I’ll be back later.” The way she got flustered when Harry’s name came up in conversation.

She had her suspicions, but she didn’t have proof.

Until now.

Because today, as Charlotte was walking toward the dorm, she saw them.

Saw Harry pressing a lingering kiss to Y/N’s forehead. Saw the way she leaned into him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And that was all she needed.

“I KNEW IT!”

Y/N jumped, turning to find Charlotte standing a few feet away with the biggest, most victorious grin on her face.

“Oh my God,” Y/N muttered.

Harry—who clearly wasn’t fazed at all—simply raised an eyebrow. “Did you, though?”

Charlotte turned to him, still grinning. “YES. I just didn’t have evidence.” She turned back to Y/N, wiggling her eyebrows. “But now I do.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Charlotte sing-songed.

Harry chuckled, amused, before leaning down and whispering into Y/N’s ear, “I’ll leave you to it, sweetheart.”

She sighed dramatically. “Coward.”

He smirked, kissed the side of her head one last time, and walked away, leaving her to deal with Charlotte’s relentless interrogation.

Y/N was so in trouble.

———

After an hour of being mercilessly teased, Y/N flopped onto her bed, groaning in frustration.

Charlotte smirked from across the room. “Oh, come on, you love me.”

“Debatable,” Y/N muttered, reaching for her phone.

She scrolled through her messages before typing.

Y/N [10:08 PM]: I officially hate you.

Harry [10:09 PM]: That’s unfortunate.

Y/N [10:09 PM]: Charlotte won’t stop teasing me. This is your fault.

Harry [10:10 PM]: Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you, won’t I?

Y/N froze, rereading the message at least three times.

Before she could even think of a response, there was a quiet knock on the door.

Charlotte and Y/N shared a look.

Y/N opened it—and there he was.

Harry stood there, a lazy smirk on his lips, holding a small pastry in a white paper bag.

“Hey,” he murmured.

Y/N blinked.

Charlotte—who was watching the whole thing unfold—snorted. “Oh, my God. You are so whipped.”

Harry didn’t even deny it.

He just shrugged, handed Y/N the bag, and kissed her temple like it was the most normal thing in the world.

When she looked inside, she found her favorite pastry, the one from the café across campus.

She looked back up at him, eyes soft. “You went all the way to—“

Harry simply shrugged. “Felt like it”

Y/N pressed her lips together, trying not to melt right then and there.

Charlotte, however, had no such restraint. “You two are disgusting”, she muttered, rolling her eyes before dramatically throwing a pillow over her head.

Harry chuckled, then leaned down and whispered against Y/N’s skin, “Worth it.”

And just like that, Y/N knew—

She was so, so screwed.

[k1mbe3rly]

Can you post links.. to Nam-gyu or Sang-woo please.. or to Gi-hun prior to the squidgames. Or can you write Nam-gyu walking in on reader watching porn? Pleasee

Nam gyu walking in on you watching porn

warning; smut, degrading, roommates

You didn’t notice him at first as you were fingering yourself slowly and holding your phone in one hand, your bit your bottom lip a bit as all you could really hear were the moans from the phone and the sound of your hard breathing

Nam gyu enjoys the sight of this, he just smirks and watches for a bit before clearing his throat making you jump and drop your phone as you stared at him in this awkward position before quickly shutting your legs and, cover yourself up with a blanket as you finally sit up, “Umm what the fuck?? do you just not knock no more?!” you told him as he crosses his arms, “I was knocking for like 5 seconds. I guess you couldn’t hear me over those fake ass moans coming from that video.” he said

You were embarrassed as you flushed a bit, “Okay whatever just get the fuck out weirdo.” you spoke back, “Whattt, whyyy i was enjoying this pretty little sight of you” he said smirking, you frowned a bit as he spoke again, “Need some help?” he asked as he walked closer to your bed picking up your phone and closing out the tab than setting it on the nightstand, “Help? what i need is for you to get out!” you spoke again

“Come on don’t be like that” he told you as you pulled down your blankets, you didn’t bother trying to stop him because in reality you were thinking about him while watching those porn videos, the blankets were finally off as your legs were shut, “Open” he commanded as you huffed trying to act like you hated this, you slowly spread your legs as you felt his hands spread them wider, his fingers went to your pussy and rubbed on your folds

You let out a soft moan as he continues rubbing your pussy, his hands going to your clit and rubs on you as he bites his lip watching your reaction, he rubs your pussy and clit for about a minute, he pulls his hand away, “I could do so much better than that guy in the video..want me to prove it?” he spoke to you low and a bit raspy, you nodded at him as he smirks, he pulls down his pants along with his boxers, his cock was already hard as it hits right at his belly button

He crawled ontop of you and settles between your legs spreading your legs a bit wider, “Look at this wet fucking pussy. Hearing you and watching you finger yourself made me so fucking horny baby..” he said as he rubs his tip on your pussy, you arched your back a bit staring up at him, he finally pushes in his tip as you already moaned out a bit feeling your pussy get stretched a bit just by his tip, he groans a bit as he pushed in his whole cock into you with one motion

You whimpered and gasped as he chuckled, he gives you a moment to adjust and once you did everything around you disappeared.

he pounded into you harshly, he grips on your hips keeping you down as he growls and grunts feeling your tight walls clamp on his cock, each thrust slightly faster than the last, he watches your fucked out face, moaning and eyes already slightly teared up, he lifted your legs and threw them over his shoulders, he held onto your ankles as he angled himself deeper, you screamed out in pleasure as the bed creaks a bit

His hard length pounding into that sweet spot making your back arch, your moans got intensely louder, he throws his head back “Fuckk!! baby take this fucking dick..just like that.” he grunted out, your feet dangling over his shoulders as you moaned his name multiple times

Loud moans and skin slapping filled the room along with his grunts and growls

He leans over kissing your cheek multiple times and sucking on your neck as his hips kept slamming into you, he grips on the sheets next to your head as he bit his lip harshly, his hips never stopping as his cock twitched inside you, the knot in your stomach formed as you even felt your orgasm on the edge of leaking out

“N-nam gyu! i’m gonna cum!” you managed to form out as he grips on the sheets tighter, his teeth sinking deeper into his bottom lip, he somehow managed to go even harsher as you moaned even louder than you already were

It didn’t take long for him to cum as well as you also did, he accidentally let out a moan into your ear, he was too caught up in his high to realize what sound he made as he panted, you let out soft moans, both of your bodies covered in sweat, “Shit..are you alright? did i go too far huh?” he asked you his voice softening, you shaked your head “No..not at all that was perfect.” you told him panting as he formed a small smile and even cleaned both of you.

[acphengene]

Golden Hour

₊ ⁺ pairing: Jay x reader

₊ ⁺ genre: soulmate au, angst, slight miscommunication and teeth rotting fluff that’ll make your heart hurt because you’ve never been loved like this

₊ ⁺ wordcount: 3.9k

₊ ⁺ note: ugh i love these two so much as always let me know if you wanna be added to thr taglist

₊ ⁺ Jake ₊ ⁺ Jungwon ₊ ⁺ Jay ₊ ⁺ Sunoo ₊ ⁺ Heeseung ₊ ⁺ Niki ₊ ⁺ Sunghoon ₊ ⁺

When Jay discovered his mark, he didn’t even realize what it was at first. But by the stroke of midnight on his 13th birthday, his dream changed.

Instead of battling Pokémon’s he was suddenly in school. He had groaned and tried to go back, there was no way in hell he’d be staying in this class. He however quickly realized that he was indeed stuck here.

When he had looked around he noticed that the classroom wasn’t his, nor was his friends anywhere to be found and even the teacher was one he didn’t know. No one even acknowledged his existence, it was as if he was invisible. But most importantly of all, no one even spoke korean.

In his bones he knew what this meant, and the girl he was currently sitting right behind could only be one person. You.

He followed you throughout your day, learned your name, your likes and dislikes in the cafeteria, the name of your friends and teachers, and he clung to every bit of information.

And when he woke up, it was as if the most important parts had slipped his mind, and that unfortunately included both your face and your name.

He had with one of his pillows trying to force the information out by slamming it against his head. But after a conversation with his father, he was told that that was just how the mark worked. It couldn’t and shouldn't be that easy to find one’s other half.

The next couple of days he could’ve sworn someone was watching him, but whenever he looked over his shoulder, no one was there. He did however feel a presence there.

It took him a couple of days, or nights he supposed, of you to continuously looking over your own shoulder. Looking at him, but not really, until he realized that that presence was you, following him around while you slept.

He was happier than ever, and he swore that he would do all he could to be the best version of himself. He did his best to be a good friend, to listen and be kind to those around him. He started joining his parents in the kitchen, just as he had done when he was a child, wanting to be able to take care of you one day, by cooking you food.

It didn’t take more than a few weeks until the emotional maturity and overall kindness was second nature to the teenage boy, and you were so proud of him being yours.

Jay had always enjoyed dancing, and now he had an audience, and knowing you were watching along made him wanna be even better. He danced and he sang, and in the end that took him all the way to BigHit, a company you could never remember the name of when you woke up.

His overall passion inspired you, and even though you didn’t really have the voice for it, music had always been dear to you, so it seemed like the obvious thing to follow in that direction when it became your time to pick schools. Hopefully the love for music would bring the two of you together in the end.

One afternoon on your way home from your classes you had fallen asleep on the train, and as you slipped into the dreams that was his world, he never showed. All that was there was a mist of grey all around you.

You were in complete denial, and refused to accept that he was gone, but after a few minutes the constant flow of no’s you muttered to yourself became sobs and in the end you were nothing more than a ball on the ground as you screamed into the grey abyss.

Was this how it felt? To lose your soulmate before the bond was really sealed? An empty ever stretching room of nothingness?

When your breathing stilled and you finally removed your hands from your mouth, you heard an almost muffled sound coming from somewhere within the mist.

He had just like you panicked when everything around him had slowly disappeared, when he was no longer next to you. The train cart had become what to him almost looked like grey clouds.

Instead of panicking he tried easing his mind, his breath was faster, and all he heard was his heartbeat, but he knew he needed to calm for him to be in any kind of position to figure out what had happened.

A small voice inside his head told him to run, to hurry, to yell out for you, and he had nothing to lose so he listened.

No more than a few minutes later he heard you scream and he had thought he already ran as fast as humanly possible, he was wrong.

He called out for you, called your name because as long as he slept he could remember it.

In the distance he saw a figure and he knew in his heart it was you. “Darling!” He yelled out, breathless and tired, but it didn’t matter, you needed him, you thought he was gone.

“Jay?” You whispered in shock as he was finally close enough for you to see through your teary eyes.

He flew the last few steps and dropped to his knees without really stopping, and therefore crashed right into you. And for the first time, he was able to hold you.

His arms snaked around you, pulled you as close to him as humanly possible, all while he kept repeating two words “I’m here”

The two of you had cried together, finally able to touch and hold one another and to ask and answer questions. It didn’t matter to the two of you that you’d forget the most important parts, because he could finally take a walk with you through the grey clouds. He couldn’t care less about the lack of view, because to him you were the most beautiful view he had ever laid his eyes on.

His arm was snaked around the small of your back, always pulling you back to him in a polite but somehow possessive nature, and it made your heart flutter.

He was almost gone as quickly as he had arrived, and as you woke up in the train cart, you still felt him right there by your sides and your heart had never been fuller.

After having finally held you, Jay made it a part of his routine to nap whenever he could. It didn’t matter where he was, if it was possible he was asleep in seconds.

The two of you had started to talk out loud whenever you were alone, you both knew that the only person who really mattered was right there listening.

And every now and then you were lucky and fell asleep at the same time, and those minutes and sometimes hours were the most presious to you both.

When Jay joined I-land your interactions changed, you knew he was doing something different than usual, the background had changed from his usual training room, and instead of him training with the same few people, others had now joined.

You could feel how stressed he was, how afraid, and you hoped your presence helped him just a little.

You did your absolute best to scour the internet for whatever this place was, and then one day at twitter you stumbled upon it.

Kpop was nothing new to you, you had a few friends in your circle that were ARMY’s and when BTS joined for an episode on I-land, clips of those oh so familiar backgrounds were everywhere on your feed. And that’s when you found him.

You started the first episode and when he popped up on screen it was as if every memory you had forgotten whenever you woke came rushing back. It was almost as if you had opened a door in your mind that held the rest of information you knew about him.

He had told you about him being a trainee, of him wanting to debut, how he hoped it would lead you to him one way or another. He had sung to you in the grey clouds, and you had complimented him every time, you were in fact his biggest cheerleader and number one fan.

You cheered him on, voted for him and did your absolute best to make sure he succeeded with his dream.

That didn’t however stop you from having fun once in a while. You and your best friend had been wheezing when your presence was noticed not only by him but by the remaining boys, and you were suddenly not just his soulmate, but also the ghost of I-land.

After Jay debuted his whole world was turned on it’s head and he was from one day to another no longer just Jay, but Jay of Enhypen.

As proud as you were it also stung. You saw and heard how every woman around him talked about him, how people much more beautiful and successful than you all wished for him to be theirs.

He felt how you had distanced yourself, and he begged on his hands and knees that you would open up, but you never did.

There was a constant fear that he would find your jealousy and possessiveness of him off putting. But what you feared the most was that he would rather have you as a platonic friend instead of a romantic partner in his life.

You hated the feelings, hated that it all got to you. But how could it not? There was no guarantee with soulmates, you could choose to work on a relationship, but it wasn’t a given that it lasted. Some would turn out to be better friends with one another than they ever were partners.

Despite him showing you affection, despite him paying attention you couldn’t shut down those thoughts, they were all consuming.

What you didn’t know was that he too hated seeing how people around you reacted to your beauty and overall presence.

He knew you didn’t notice, you were just walking through the world blind to those who gawked after you on the street. Blind to the boys in the back of your classes as they fought one another to be the one to ask you as their date for a school dance.

There was no way in hell you would say yes if they asked, he had thought to himself.

So when one of them finally did muster up the courage, he smugly watched as you stumbled for the right words to let him down easy. Or so he thought.

You had looked over your shoulder and sighed, as you finally had said that one word: yes.

When Jay woke up he was fuming, and it was clear to everyone who lived with him that something had gone terribly wrong that night.

“Soooo…” Niki said as he took a sip of water in the kitchen, all while Jay was throwing around pots and pans, making enough noise to wake the entire block.

“Don’t poke the bear you idiot!” Sunghoon said before hiding behind a chair dramatically.

“What happened?” Sunoo asked as he gently rubbed his friends back in a soothing manner.

Jay had gone still at the motion, and they all watched him as his shoulders started to move. He was crying.

It lead to a chain reaction as they all formed a protective circle around him, a safe space for him to express his emotions.

“She’s going on a fucking date” he spat out the last word as if it had been poisonous.

“Wow, wow, wow… a date?” Heeseung said as he looked to the others for any kind of explanation. But they were all a mirrored image of his own surprise.

Jay took a deep breath. “Yeah, this low life of a so called ‘man’ asked her to a dance, and she said yes” he ran his hands through his hair a few times as he tried to steady his breathing.

“Dude that’s messed up” Jake said as he plopped down on a chair. Jay nodded in response.

“You have to talk to her” Jungwon said in that stern leader voice.

Jay smiled a sinister smile. “I honestly don’t even wanna see her”

Jungwon shrugged. “I don’t care, you’re not letting this misunderstanding ruin what the two of you have build”

“Who says it’s even a misunderstanding?” He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back on the kitchen counter.

“Uhhhh mom and dad are fighting” Niki said in an unserious and teasing tone. He was instantly shut up by the look his two hyungs sent his way. He raised his hands in surrender, earning a laugh from Sunghoon.

“The two of you have known each other for close to ten years, you know each other better than anyone. And from what you’ve told us about her, she is not one who hurts people for sport” Jungwon had too crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“He’s right Jay, you two are lucky you can even communicate, the rest of us have no idea who’s waiting for us, what they’re doing, if they’ve dated people or not. When it comes down to it, none of us have any claim on them” Heeseung echoed.

The rest of the boys both nodded and sighed at the oldest words. It was a harsh truth, one that hurt them all.

“Talk to her, stay up or take a nap or whatever it is that you do” Jake said with a somewhat reassuring smile.

Jay rolled his eyes. “Fine” he said before he skammer the door to his room.

He had stayed up all night until he felt you were finally there. He had been so tired he had fallen asleep within seconds.

“What the hell was that?!” He yelled as soon as you were in front of him.

You had stumbled back in shock. “W-what?” You asked with surprise over his anger.

“Why the hell did you agree to go out with that douche?”

He watched as you rolled your eyes in annoyance, and he had never been more annoyed, disappointed or mad at you.

“How are you surprised? We’re nothing to each other Jay! We’re basically stalkers appointed by the universe itself, we’re nowhere near one another for fuck sake!” You yelled at him, up until now you had never done that.

“I don’t understand any of this… how could…” he ran his hand over his face as he felt how his voice was close to breaking. He was heartbroken, and it was your fault.

“I know who you are okay, I’ve known since I-land. I follow you everywhere, I see the people who thirst over you, I see the young women who would die to be in my place, and honestly? I’m pretty sure you’d much rather be with one of them than with me…”

He saw your tears stream down your face as you admitted everything to him. He didn’t know you knew, he had seen no indicators whenever he was with you. But what he failed to understand was how you would think so little of yourself.

His hand grabbed yours and he pulled you into his chest. His other laid on your cheek as he forced your eyes to meet his.

“Listen to me carefully when I tell you this darling. I want no one, but you. Every moment I’m not here with you, a part of my soul, my heart, is missing. Don’t ever think that you’re not good enough, not beautiful enough. There is no one but you. I scan every crowd, every concert, every fanmeet for your face. It’s you or no one else”

You stared at him as the tears fell, he had managed to wipe away every insecurity in a matter of seconds.

He sent you a shy smile. “I love you darling, you and you alone . And trust me when I say I will continue to love you until the day I die”

You had pulled him into an embrace. “I love you too” you had whispered.

He still smiled when he woke up. You loved him, and he loved you.

“So, I’m taking everything went well?” Sunoo said as he stood in the door.

Jay sat up in the bed with a grin. “Yeah it did”

“Good” Sunoo said before he opened the door wide and his room was suddenly flooded with his brothers.

“She loves me” he said and was instantly knocked over as they all screamed and tackled him into the mattress.

“Of course she does” Jungwon said as he ruffled his hair.

“Thank you Won” he said as he pulled the younger one in for a hug.

“Any time”

“I’m coming” you said as your head was in his lap. You felt him freeze beneath you.

It had been almost a year since the two of you had said those three little words to one another, and hearing about both Jake and Jungwon finding their other half’s had been the last push you had needed to buy the plane ticket without a return date.

“Don’t lie to me” he whispered.

“I’m not, I’m currently on my way” you said with a small smile as your hand came into contact with his cheek.

“How am I going to find you?” Jay said as he leaned into your touch.

“I don’t know… I can’t tell you where to be, or even where I’ll be but don’t stay too much in the dorm or at work okay? Go out and search for me”

“Darling as I’ve said, I always search for you”

You smiled, you knew he was. Instead of telling him you had considered surprising him, and had he been any other man that might’ve been possible.

“I can’t wait” you said.

He took your hand and kissed your knuckles. “Me too”

Jay did exactly as he had promised, he walked around the city, ate every meal outside the comforts of his home. He even attended some of their own lucky draws just to see if you were there.

As the days went by he became more and more desperate. It helped that you were now on the same sleeping schedule, the two of you had never spent this much time together. But he wanted you with him.

He sat by the Han river on a bench, as he tried to calm himself. Usually bodies of water had that effect on him, but it seemed that that wasn’t the case today.

He ran a hand through his hair as he sighed. He closed his eyes as he let the sun warm his face. It was getting late, and soon it would be pitch black, but the golden hour was so beautiful from here.

In the corner of his eye he saw someone sit on the other end of the bench. Whoever they were, they too seemed smitten with the view and the golden colors.

“It’s beautiful” you said as you looked at him.

Jay gave you a small nod and polite smile in return, never taking the time to actually look your way. You laughed. “My love, look at me” you said and the sound of that laugh, of that voice finally made something click inside of his very soul.

He whipped his head your way so fast that he fell from the bench and onto the ground. You laughed, unable to figure out how to process all of these emotions.

“You… you’re here” he said in disbelief. Instead of pulling him up you sat down on the ground next to him.

His breaths were quick and shallow, his eyes were big in chok and despite the warm colors of the sun it almost looked like he had gone completely pale.

“Is this a dream?” He asked between breaths, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to hear your answer by the frantic beating of his own heart.

He saw you smile at him, that wonderful wonderful smile. He took you in, all of you, he knew every little part of your face, of your hands of your body. But up until this exact second it was as if he couldn’t remember, as if the precise details had been lost in his memory. But now everything came back to him.

You reached out with your hand and he hesitantly took it, almost as if he was afraid that you would disappear if he made any sudden moves.

“You’re actually here?” He asked, and you nodded in response.

“Yeah. I’m actually here”

“Oh darling” he said as he pulled you as close to him as he physically could. The interaction reminded him of that first time he had had you in his arms. When the two of you had finally met in those grey clouds that were your mind. But this time you were actually here.

He could smell your shampoo and that sweet scent of vanilla from your perfume, he felt the heat from your hands where there usually were none, and the fast beating of your heart that matched his own so beautifully.

“I love you” three words he kept repeating, three words you repeated back to him over and over again.

He had both of his hands in your hair pulling you away from him to really look at you. “Gosh you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. How did I get this lucky?”

“Just kiss me already you fool” you said with a flicker of your eye. God you would be the death of him.

He closed the distance between the two of you, and finally his lips met yours. He was gentle but you could feel the desperation, the need to claim you right then and there.

He groaned into your mouth as his hands snaked around your waist and pulled you into his lap. Your hands flew up into his hair as you combed through the soft locks, earning small whimpers from him.

You smiled at his reaction. Smiled into the kiss and felt how he did the same. “You’re never leaving my side ever again” he said before losing himself in you once more.

“Never” you echoed.

He rested his forehead against yours with closed eyes and you saw how a tear slid down his cheek. You made a little hum, and he looked at you with such love you thought you’d be able to write love songs about this, about him for the rest of your life.

You started to stand but he pulled you back to him. “Where do you think you’re going?” He said in a teasing tone.

“I was thinking now might be a good time to go home.”

Home, home with you. You did not have to tell him twice. The two of you stood and he pulled you close to him, a hand resting on the small of your back as you walked back to his car.

Everything around you looked as if it had been dipped in gold, even that bond inside your chest seemed to be the color that the sun painted the world in. It was singing, humming a tune more beautiful than anything you had ever heard, with exception of your soulmate's voice of course.

Your walk finally had a view, and you had never been happier than in this moment. But you knew there was much more happiness to come as the two of you embarked on this journey that would be the rest of your lives.

And when you fell asleep in each other's arms, only to meet each other in your dreams once more, the grey clouds had been substituted for golden ones. Just as they had been when you had met.

Taglist: @why4anne @juicygirl4life @azzy02 @bluxjun @why-did-i-just-do-this @elairah @ramyeonzwithspam @floating-moon-dust @skyearby @acourtofmoonlightandstars

[lostinlovingrevery]

Old man Logan with reader who is lonely, has no friends but is still a ray of sunshine with him, always trying to impress him and give him pretty gifts and getting all dolled up for him. She is sad inside though, apart from being his boyfriend, he is her only friend

My Ray Of Sunshine (Why Are You So Sad?)

Old Man Logan X F! Reader

A/N: I hope this is okay! Started angsty, but I wanted it to be happy for both reader and Logan in the end. Loneliness is an awful feeling (smth I'm all too familiar with) If anyone ever needs to talk, my inbox is always open!! I had a little trouble figuring out where to go with this, so I hope this satisfies you!

Plot: You and Logan have been dating for some time, but you still feel the intense loneliness that wraps it's arms around you, him being the only one in your life - and you feel like he's not honest with you.

Warnings: Angsty, slight depression, mention of loneliness, happy endings

Word Count: 2021

"Hi Lo," You cooed as you answered the phone, a smile stretching across your face.

"Hey sunshine," You heard his gruff voice on the other line, giving your heart a flutter. You always loved the sound of his voice, no matter how gruff and cranky he could sound - he never takes it out on you though.

"You still coming over tonight?" You ask as you walk across the room, your fingers tapping along the small box that sat on your desk. A present you decided to get Logan, a nice little silver watch he can wear. There was a moment of silence, "Lo?"

A small sigh,

"Sorry. I can't. I have to work."

Your face fell, but you took a deep breath. "Oh, that's alright!" You say, putting on your best happy-go-lucky voice. You didn't want him to feel bad, just by the tone of his voice you could tell he was having a bad day. "We'll plan for another night baby. You get a request?"

"Yeah, Bachelors party." He says. "Big payout."

"Oooh....Nice paycheck then huh? You can make it up to me later by taking me out somewhere nice then." You tease. You couldn't see the fond smile on his face, but you could picture it.

"Yeah. We'll plan on it. Promise." He says. You chewed on your lip, as you felt that swell of emptiness build up inside you.

Another night alone.

"Sunshine?"

"Huh?" You snapped out of your thoughts. "Sorry, sorry-" You laughed. "Zoned out again. What?"

"I gotta go, got a job. I'll call you later, or in the morning. That alright?"

"Yes, of course." You smiled. "Be safe, okay tough guy?"

You heard a warm chuckle, which made you relax. "Yeah, I will. See you doll."

You heard the phone beep and sighed. Alright.

You and Logan had been dating for a little bit. Meeting in a small little diner that you waitress at. It started as harmless flirting, but then you both managed to find yourself able to talk to each other so easily. Logan listened to you, seemed so openly accepting of you. How could you not be drawn to him?

You thought yourself a little ridiculous for gaining a crush on an older man like Logan, but then his weathered charm got to you - and you just couldn't help it. You'd slip him extra treats on the down-low, not charging him for them. An extra cup of coffee, a slice of apple pie, once you even managed to slip him a stack of pancakes. He'd smile at you and your antics as you slide the plate across the counter and give him a wink- his smile being something tired yet warm that made your knees weak and butterflies shoot through you.

You put more effort into your appearance, especially when you knew he was going to be there. Dolling yourself up - not your usual thing to do but when you got a man like Logan coming around...Well, it's hard not to want to look pretty for him.

It was you that finally convinced him to go on a date with you, and you surprised him by taking him to a gorgeous museum the next city over. You had wondered initially if he scoff at that- him being the gruff and older man he is, but he seemed to really enjoy it. He listened to you ramble on and on about Vincent Van Gogh, one of your favorite painters as you listed everything you knew about him, explaining the misconceptions about him as a painter and a person.

You took the charge of the relationship that formed between you. You planned dates, which seemed to make Logan happy- your infectious happiness- not rubbing off on him but more giving him some much needed relief in what you must believe is a very stressful life for him. He deemed you his sunshine, a pet-name you wore with pride.

You believe it's stressful- or rather assume. He never really told you about his personal life. You know he was a limo driver, you know he lived on the outskirts of town - you never been where he lived. He mentioned something about taking care of his father. He's shared a few stories- always seemingly missing information in them like he was purposely leaving out parts of them.

It made it worse by the fact that he really is the only person in your life right now. You adored Logan and did everything you could to make him happy because he was the only one to give your love to. You spend the time you can together, when he visits your work, or when he comes and stays with you for the night. He's busy though, so he's not really there as often as you wish he was.

Actually, you probably love him. You haven't told him that though. You always feel though that he's hiding something from you. It's disheartening really, he'll listen to you, he's heard your secrets but you never hear his. He refuses to bring you to his place, making some excuse that yours was nicer and maybe it was but you didn't care about that. It created a space between you, something you're not sure if Logan recognizes himself.

You moved to change out of the pretty yellow dress you had on to see Logan, wiping your makeup off and pulling your hair into a messy bun as you prepared to spiral into a night of anxiety, depression, and wine.

You settled on your couch, flipping the tv on, surfing through channel after channel. The night got darker and you got more and more tired. The shadows of your living room, seemingly your only company for tonight, closing in on you as the tv flickered over your curled up form.

Your eyelids grew heavy, as your felt the sinking feeling of your heart, reminding you that you were by yourself again. Inevitably wondering when will Logan leave?

Heavy knocks on your door startled you, as you sat up on the couch and confusion stretched across your face. Worry settled in you, as you had to wonder what shifty characters were knocking on your door at night?

You stood up and crossed the apartment, peeking through the peephole of your door, you're shocked to find Logan standing there. You gasped, stepping back to unlock your door and open it.

"Logan?"

"Hi sunshine." He greeted you, and smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling in the corners as his smile lines became more prominent. He held a bouquet of sunflowers in one hand.

"What are you...What are you doing here?"

"I missed ya." He says gently, a lingering gruff in his voice. "Can I come in?"

You bit your lip, and nodded. Still, your lingering feelings stuck in the back of your head. Stepping back, you forced a smile up at him as he stepped inside, holding the bouquet up.

"I figured you'd like them because...You know. That painter who- Are you okay?" He stopped, squinting at you, as he watched your eyes met with the bouquet, and tears filled your eyes. "Hey, hey sunshine, what's wrong?" He asks softly, bringing his hand up to your chin, tipping it upwards to look up at him. You bit your lip and shook your head.

"Sorry-" You say pulling away from him, wiping your eyes. "I'm just happy to see you..." You lied through your teeth. His eyes, he looked tired.

"Don't know about that sweetheart..." He mutters, examining your expression. "What is it? The flowers? You hate em?"

"No." You let out a small laugh, crossing your arms. He turned to shut the door behind him, locking it before setting the flowers on a nearby table, his hands coming to rest on your arms.

"Well?" He looks down at you, his face serious, but his eyes held concern. "You don't need to pretend with me darling."

You were caught off guard by him, showing up suddenly when you felt your worst. Your instinct screamed at you to push him away, to pretend that it was all okay. You didn't want to bring him down. Your anxiety peeked at the idea that he may be disappointed by this version of yourself, that he would see the lonely person you are, and leave because he wouldn't want to deal with you.

But they way he looked at you, you couldn't help it as the dam broke, and he pulled you tight to his chest, holding you as you cried.

"I'm sorry doll. I didn't mean to hurt you by canceling." He says softly, his hand petting your hair gently.

"No..No, it's not you." You sniffled, stepping away for a moment. "I...I just feel so alone sometimes. I like you a lot Lo, I love us spending time together but when you're not around I'm just by myself and it...It's just terrible."

Logan brows creased, as he brought a hand to cup your cheek. "I didn't know." He says gently. You let out a shaky sigh and looked back up at him.

"You're the only person in my life." You continue. "I don't feel like I don't completely know you though. Not like how you know me. I feel like you're keeping things from me or that you're...Only sticking around temporarily."

"That's not true." He says quickly, and firmly. "I care about you sunshine." His thumb wiped away a tear. "A lot. More than I have a right too. You're....Everything sweetheart. I count myself a damn lucky guy that I met you, that you let me be apart of your life. "

You swallowed and nodded, looking away as you let out a small sigh. You both stood there in silence.

"I..." He started. "I don't know how to stop you from feeling alone but...I get it. You're right. I haven't told you the whole truth."

He grabbed your hand, leading you over to the couch, as you both sat down.

"You ready for this?" He asks.

~~~~~~~~

You stood outside the hot desert sun, as you look around the barren horizon. Logan let out a small cough, as he puffed on the cigar that he was smoking.

"It's quiet." You say.

"Yeah." He nods, his eyes trailing over you as he tried to read your body language.

After an intense conversation last night, you both passed out on your couch. When you woke up in the morning, Logan had you get dressed, and brought you to his...well, where he lives. Can't really call it a home.

That was you.

He felt terrible when you admitted to him everything you struggled with. He adored the way you always seemed to be optimistic, the way you got yourself all dolled up for him, the way you tried to spoil him and every way possible. That's not why he liked you though. He liked your character, he liked the person you are. Not just for what you do for him. You were a fresh breath of air for him. His sunshine.

He wished you see yourself the way he does. You're always encouraging him, to look at himself and see himself as a good man. He didn't know how long he got but he'll spend every second with you to prove you are the most wonderful and loveable person.

You looked at him and smiled. The sunlight gleamed off his new watch that you gifted him. He finished the cigar, flicking it to the ground and stomping it out with the heel of his shoe, before putting an arm around your shoulders.

"You ready to meet the old man?"

"Uh Lo, you're right here." You tease, wrapping your arm around his waist. He chuckled warmly.

"Real cute." He mutters shaking his head, as he led you to the decrepit water tower. He went to the door, and slid it open, a harsh grunt escaping him as it rolled open, he stood to the side and waited as you walked in.

Inside you saw two men. One, sitting in a chair reading a comic book, looking up at you. He had white skin, and yellow eyes. That one must be Caliban.

"Hello dear-" The other man greets. An older gentleman, lying in a bed with a warm smile. You smiled back as he reached his hand out to you, and walked over and took it. "I've heard so much about you from Logan. It's nice to finally meet you. Tell me...Which of Van Goghs paintings is your favorite?"

[reidsgfbf]

sweet lips on mine || s. reid

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊ 

summary: after an incident with a hickey after spending the night, spencer decides to confront you about your nightly habits, only to get sidetracked warnings!: fem! reader!, unprotected p in v intercourse (wrap it before you tap it babes), hickeys, oral (f receiving), coming in pants (m), coming on stomach, the team tease spencer about the hickey, aftercare is implied but not outright mentioned i don't think a/n: ahh! my first smut fic, and just in time for valentines day too!! i hope you all enjoy!

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊ 

Spencer really should have known better than to stay at yours last night. But, alas, when the thunderstorm had started last night, and you had looked at him with those wide, innocent eyes of yours, begging him to stay the night, because ‘you know how many accidents there are during storms, Spence’, he had folded immediately. And now, here he was, late for work; with his shirt haphazardly tucked into his slacks, his tie loosened and his hair messy. He wasn’t even aware of the mark visible on his Adam’s apple that you had made whilst fast asleep. 

Though that lack of awareness did not last long, as the moment he walked into the bullpen, Morgan let out a loud whistle, attracting attention to him. JJ giggled, but tried to hide it behind her hand, though the way her blue eyes sparkled gave it away instantly. 

“Looks like someone had a good night.” Morgan wiggled his brows suggestively. 

“What? What do you mean?” Spencer furrowed his brows. 

“One, you’re late, two, your clothes are a mess, and three, you have a hickey the size of a cent on your neck.” Emily replied, and he turned bright red, the flush travelling up his neck to his hairline. 

After all, he could have sworn that he’d kept it chaste with you during the night. Nonetheless, he resolved himself to have a stern word with you when he got back to yours. 

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊ 

Finally, Spencer got home, (‘since when had he been calling your apartment home?’ a voice in the back of his mind wondered), and he found you in the bedroom, trying on some new clothes you’d bought, some discarded on the bed, some on the floor surrounding you. Well, clothes was a loose term. They were more like scraps of lacy fabric. You were currently modelling a pretty lilac bra, with tulle ruffles on the cups, and matching panties, that looked like they were made from ribbons. 

Spencer’s breath hitched, and all thoughts of reprimanding you for the hickey flew out of his mind, as blood began to rush down to his cock. You looked stunning, especially in the light of the fake candles you had compromised on when Spencer had panicked about you having actual candles burning whilst you slept. 

You turned around, and startled when you saw Spencer in the doorway, covering yourself up self-consciously. “Spencer! I didn’t hear you come in!” 

“Don’t cover yourself up, please, baby.” Spencer breathed, approaching you with a reverent look in his eyes, like you were an angel, sent down from the heavens to tempt foolish mortals like him. Once he was stood in front of you, he dropped to his knees, holding your hips as he stared up at you. Your cheeks flushed red, and a shy smile appeared on your face. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” you murmured, brushing a lock of his soft brown hair away from his face. The scent of honey wafted up, a reminder of his sweet shampoo. 

“Why?” he asked breathlessly, still gazing at you softly. 

A soft laugh bubbled from your lips. “It does things to me, Spen. So many things.” 

A smile stretched across Spencer’s lips and he laughed. “You do things to me, every day.” he admitted. “When you wake up in the morning, your hair all messy, when you find something you like and bring it home or take a photograph to show me, when you do so many little mundane things, that just make you look like an angel.” 

Heat rose up in your cheeks, and another laugh escaped you. “Spen-” 

“Let me worship you, please.” Spencer pleaded, cutting you off. “You deserve to be worshipped, baby. If you are an angel, then I am your most devout follower, worshipping the very ground you step on, and every breath you take, amazed that you even deign to breathe the same air as me.” 

Those words made you melt, and you let out a dreamy sigh. “Oh, Spencer.” 

“Can I make love to you, please?” he asked, his hazel eyes sparkling with adoration. How could you resist those pretty puppy dog eyes? Or the way his voice dropped to a whisper on the last word? 

“Darling, you don’t have to ask.” you replied, thumb tracing his lower lip as your fingers danced over his jawline. Spencer rose, and quickly cleared the bed, before grabbing your hips once more and laying you down on the plush duvet cover, and peppering soft kisses all over your face and neck. 

His hands wandered, finding their way to the fastener of your bra, waiting for your permission. You nodded, and he obeyed, his hands fumbling with the garment in his excitement. Once the garment was off, he chucked it over his shoulder and immediately began lavishing attention on your breasts, nibbling at the soft flesh, before latching his mouth onto a nipple, sucking and licking until it was hard, before doing the same to the other one. Then, he trailed kisses down your abdomen, until he reached the waistband of your panties. Without waiting for permission, he wormed them off you, and threw them behind him to join your bra, revealing your lower lips, glistening with your arousal. His cheeks flushed at the obscene sight, though the way his pupils dilated belied his true feelings. 

He spread your thighs gently with his hands, to reveal your pussy in all its glory; the swollen and throbbing nub that was your clitoris, the flushed look of your lips, and the slick arousal coming from your entrance. The sweet yet musky smell of your essence wafted up to his nose and he groaned, before hitching your legs up over his shoulders and diving into your pussy, beginning with a bold lick with the flat of his tongue, before settling on your clit, sucking and flicking the pearl with his tongue, eliciting a simply pornographic moan from you. He groaned against your pussy at the sound, feeling more blood rush down to his cock, which throbbed against the zipper of his trousers, making you moan again with the vibrations. He rutted slightly against the mattress as he ate you out, subconsciously craving relief. 

“Oh, Spencer!” you whined, hands reaching down to fist in Spencer’s hair. 

He continued his ministrations, slipping a finger into your entrance, seeking out the spongy tissue that consisted of your sweet spot. He curled his finger and was delighted to hear you whimper, tugging on his hair as a wave of pleasure washed over you. He inserted another finger and began pistoning them in and out as he suckled on your clit. 

Finally, your climax hit you with full force, and with a broken gasp, you came, arching your back and tightening your grip in Spencer’s hair as your arousal gushed over the lower half of his face. He continued to lick and suckle your clit through your orgasm, his hips stuttering as he spilled into his trousers. Once you came down from the high, he pulled away, pulling out his fingers and licking them clean, before wiping your fluids from his face with the back of his hand. You didn’t mention the wet spot on the front of his slacks, as he kissed you softly, letting you taste yourself on his lips. 

When he pulled away, that reverent expression was on his face once more. “Round two?” he asked, but you held up a hand, quickly grabbing your bottle of Pepsi and taking a swig to try and soothe your suddenly dry throat. Once you had recovered, you nodded. 

“Round two.” 

Spencer smiled and made quick work of his clothes, discarding them in the general direction of the lingerie you had been wearing. His cock was still hard, as if he hadn’t come only a few moments ago, the tip flushed a dusky pink, the veins crisscrossing the shaft throbbing with need. He wasn’t too big, perhaps a little above average, but his slimness made it seem bigger compared to the rest of him. A trimmed garden of curls surrounded the base of his cock, which meant sometimes his precome would drip into the curls. 

He rubbed the leaking head against your slit, moaning at the sensation, before lining himself up with your entrance. Slowly, but surely, he pushed in, sheathing himself inch by agonising inch. Once he was fully seated, he gave you a moment to adjust, before gently beginning to fuck you. No, fuck was too coarse of a word, it was more like making soft, sweet love. 

The pace was slow and gentle, as he nuzzled your neck and whispered sweet nothings in your ear, leaving little hickeys to bloom on your soft skin with each pass of his mouth. Perhaps this was his payback for the night before. 

Eventually, you were close once more to falling off the precipice into bliss. “Ah- Spencer, I’m gonna-” your words were cut off as your orgasm crashed over you, trailing off into a moan. Spencer was close too, and pulled out, his seed spurting out over your mound and stomach, painting it with lewd streaks of white. 

Once the two of you had cleaned up and recovered, you both snuggled up on the bed, ready for sleep to pull both of you into its warm embrace. It was then Spencer remembered what he had meant to talk to you about. 

“Oh yeah, where’d this hickey come from?” he pointed to the mark, and was surprised at how shy you looked. 

“I... bite in my sleep.” you admitted. “Sorry.” 

[iamhereforfunnzies]

Chapter 2:I wanna be pretty... CONFIDENT

Waking up at 5 a.m. for work—wait. You quit your job.

Huh. It’s weird—you’re free today.

Yawning loudly, you stretch in your My Melody pajamas as you walk down the halls. That’s when you see Damian.

"Disheveled as usual, (Name)," he remarks, his usual glare fixated on you.

God. Your younger brother has always been a thorn in your side, constantly reminding you of how little you contribute to the family. To him, you’re the dead weight—the one who needs to step up and prove their worth. He probably came from some weird cult where family bonding means fighting each other. Dick once told you that eight-year-old Damian tried to prove he was the superior offspring by attempting to immobilize you with a butter knife while you, at twelve, just wanted to give him snacks.

"Yeah, I just woke up," you reply, running a hand through your hair in an attempt to fix it. Then, an idea pops into your head. "Are you free today, Damian? I don’t really have—"

He cuts you off before you can finish. "Why would I waste my time? Honestly, (Name), me, hanging out with you? What would we even do? You can’t even—"

You tune out the rest of his words, staring at him blankly. Right. You still have that habit of asking them to hang out.

"Okay, you made your point." Sighing, you turn away as Damian rolls his eyes and walks in the opposite direction.

So much for that.

A notification pops up on your phone. Glancing at the screen, you see that your class Instagram page mentioned you in a story. "Congrats to (Name) for winning 2nd place in the live painting competition!"

Smiling, you repost it and thank them. Another notification appears—this time, from Bea, your close classmate.

Boba_Lover: Finally, you’re active, bitch! I know you’re gonna say no as usual, but can you skip work and come to Johnson St.? They’re selling figurines and Pop Marts for you to waste your money on. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

Seen

A rush of excitement fills your stomach. Oh my God. Thank you, thank you so much, Bea!

She’s always been persistent, never giving up on inviting you even when you constantly declined. Thank God for her determination.

You smile so hard that you literally jump in the middle of the hallway.

(Name): Okay. Seen

Immediately, your phone is flooded with excited messages—misspelled words, caps lock smashes, and even mentions in the class group chat.

LET'SGOCUTIES: "OMG FIRST TIME FULL ATTENDANCE JUST FOR A HANGOUT." "Academics? No. Overpriced coffee and Ren Fair? YESSS."

You giggle, but then a terrifying realization hits you.

I HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR.

Back in your room, you stare at your closet.

Oh my God. It’s all My Melody-themed.

Pajamas, home clothes, jackets, hats, skirts, pants, shirts—EVERYTHING.

They are so going to think you’re a huge weirdo. No one in your class has ever seen you in anything but the Gotham Prep uniform. This is a disaster.

But you have no choice.

You settle on a white, long, flowy skirt with a tiny, discreet My Melody logo near the hem, a blouse with ribbons inspired by My Melody’s bow, and a checkered My Melody cardigan. Your My Melody bag holds your matching wallet, tissues, hand sanitizer, medicine container, and powder compact.

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you take in your blushed cheeks, soft manga lashes, and glossy lips. Immediately, you start nitpicking—your foundation has too much texture, your concealer didn’t completely hide your eye bags, your glitter is too faint, and your gloss feels too sticky.

Maybe this is a mistake.

Your phone vibrates. Bea.

"(Nickname), I’m waiting at your bus stop! Let’s go together! Maya brought her digicam, Ella brought her camera, so we’re taking so many pics today! AAAHHH I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU! ARE YOU NEAR?"

Her high-pitched excitement instantly calms your nerves.

"I’m heading out. I’ll be there soon."

As your Mary Janes click against the marble floor, you notice Dick, Tim, Jason, Cass, Steph, and Damian sitting on the couch—bickering, laughing, enjoying their time together.

"Everyone here?" Bruce asks.

"Yup, even Jason is here!" Dick grins.

A lump catches in your throat.

You want to stay. You want to be part of this moment.

But no one calls for you. No one asks if you’re staying.

You don’t cry—your lashes will fall off.

With a heavy heart, you leave the manor.

At the bus stop, Bea waves at you.

"(Name), you are such a cutie!" she gushes.

She’s wearing a black tube top, leopard-print flared pants, signature red-bottom heels, and a simple Prada handbag.

"I like your hair," you say, admiring her Ariana Grande-style ponytail.

Her eyes shine. "I love your makeup! It’s so doll-like! Douyin style suits you so well! Love, love the bag! Wait—I have an extra hair tie! Let’s match!"

Before you can protest, she pulls out hair ties, a comb, and hair gel, determined to style you herself.

Johnson St. is lively and chaotic.

Your class is already arguing about something.

When they notice you and Bea, they stop.

"Wow, matching hairstyles but completely different aesthetics!"

People start complimenting you.

A girl you’ve never spoken to before, dressed head to toe in Kuromi-themed attire, smirks at you.

"Wow, you love Kuromi," you comment, eyeing her outfit.

She raises an eyebrow. "You’re one to talk."

Her name is Alex.

You have so much fun.

The day feels too short for this much joy.

At dinner, your classmate Marcus drops a fry.

"Motherfuck—"

"WE ARE AT A FINE DINING RESTAURANT, WATCH YOUR MOUTH!" Bea snaps.

The entire restaurant goes silent.

Then Ethan joins in, "Marcus, why are you even eating fries before the meal—"

"OI, Marcus is just hungry. Does he not have the right to eat?" another classmate argues.

Suddenly, the class is divided into two.

And, unfortunately, you’re caught in the middle.

"(Name), was Marcus in the wrong?" Ethan asks.

You blink. Why me?!

Taking a deep breath, you reply, "Eating before the food is served is acceptable since fries are appetizers."

Marcus fist-pumps.

"However."

He slumps back down.

"It’s rude to curse in a fine dining restaurant. So while I agree with you, Ethan, Marcus can still eat what he wants."

Silence.

Then, applause. THE HELL?!

"Correct, (Name)!"

"That’s the longest you’ve ever talked in front of us!"

"WE NEED MORE PEOPLE LIKE YOU!"

Your face burns with embarrassment. "Sit down! This isn’t something to applaud!"

You get kicked out of the restaurant.

Laughing, Bea pats your shoulder. "Come out more often. This was fun."

Smiling, you nod. "I will."

Looking through your phone in Instagram you can’t help but laugh at all the stories in your classmates account; you never felt so accepted , pretty , funny , wanted , and overall happy. Yeah, you were happy everytime you get your paycheck , when you win awards , when Alfred makes you cookies , when Dick promises of hangouts , when you buy my melody merch , and get your nails done but this is different.

“I feel like a puzzle piece that fits, a star apart of a constellation, an outfit that just makes sense, a question that was answered, I feel fulfilled.”

Tags: @asillysimp @leeiasure

(Name)’s Class:  PSST  PSST PSST

(Name): I am not a cat.

(Name)’s Class: OMGSHETALKECOMEHERECUTIE

If you are overthinking the intentions of the classmates (Name) is like the Muse of the classroom because she is the most nonchalant, no one really bothers her cause everyone assumes she is serious and mature (She is one of the only few people in the class to get a job even though they are in well off school); So many of her classmates admires her work school balanced. Behind (Name)’s back everyone calls her Cutie of the Classroom. If you ask why this class is so close it’s because I headcannoned Gotham Prep as an elite school so only a few students are in the school their year having 3 sections, and because of this they have been the same classmates since elementary. Damian is 12 so 6th grade but takes some advanced classes with (Name) as she is in 11th grade.

[goldfades]

Please more controversially young gf for sid🫶🏽🫶🏽

you ask, i deliver!! i hope u enjoy<3

You always joked about Sidney’s age.

Always chirped him about his back, his knees, the way he sometimes got up in the morning with a groan like he was a man twice his age. You teased him relentlessly, with little jabs like "Want me to grab your cane, Grandpa?" when he stretched too long after practice.

But when you saw him go down on the ice, nothing was funny.

Nothing at all.

You didn’t even register what had happened at first. One second, he was in the play, moving like he always did—fast, sharp, instinctual—and then the next, he was hit hard along the boards, his body crumbling in a way that was all wrong.

Your heart stopped. Literally stopped. Your breath caught somewhere in your throat, and suddenly, the crowd noise, the commentators, the sounds of skates slicing ice—it all faded into a dull, meaningless blur.

Because he wasn’t getting up.

Your hands clenched around the edge of your seat so tightly your knuckles ached. Time felt slow, unbearably so, like you were watching the worst moment of your life play out in slow motion. He was on his knees, then on his side, and there was a trainer already rushing out to him. But he wasn’t moving like he should be.

You felt sick. A tangible, horrible nausea that curled in your stomach and made your whole body feel cold.

Sidney was tough. Tougher than most. He had taken hits before, had gotten back up when no one else could. But this—this wasn’t right.

You barely noticed the people around you. Barely heard the fans murmuring, the worried whispers and sharp intakes of breath, the occasional muttered, "Shit, that looked bad."

All you knew was that your chest felt tight, too tight, like you couldn’t get a full breath in.

And then, finally, finally, he moved.

Slow. Careful. The kind of movement that told you it hurt like hell but he was too stubborn to let anyone see just how bad it was. He pressed his hand to the ice for support, his jaw clenched, his eyes set forward in that focused, determined way you knew so well.

It should have made you feel better. It didn’t.

Because you knew him.

You knew his pain tolerance was stupidly high, that if he wasn’t just popping up and skating back into the play, something was really, really wrong.

You didn’t even think before you moved. The second he was helped off the ice and down the tunnel, you were out of your seat, pushing through the rows, ignoring the way people turned to watch you. You didn’t care. Didn’t care that the cameras might catch you, didn’t care what social media would say, didn���t care about anything except getting to him.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you made your way through the winding hallways of the arena, the path to the medical room too familiar by now. You had done this before, more times than you wanted to admit. But it never got easier.

The second you reached the room, you barely hesitated before pushing the door open.

And there he was.

Sidney sat on the exam table, gear still on, one skate unlaced, his posture stiff like he was bracing for bad news. His head snapped up the moment he saw you, and something in his face softened.

"You’re not supposed to be back here," he said, his voice rough but steady.

"Yeah, well," you exhaled, still trying to calm the pounding in your chest, "try and stop me."

And just like that, whatever resolve you had left crumbled.

You crossed the room in seconds, standing between his knees, your hands finding his face, tilting it up, searching. His helmet had been removed, his hair damp with sweat, his brow creased in quiet frustration.

"You scared the shit out of me," you admitted, your voice quiet, your thumbs tracing lightly over his cheekbones.

His lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but the pain in his eyes dulled it. "Didn’t mean to."

"You weren’t moving," you whispered. "I thought—I thought—"

Your throat closed up, and Sidney—ever steady, ever calm, even when he was the one hurt—reached for your wrist, grounding you with a squeeze.

"I’m okay," he murmured. "Just sore."

You didn’t believe him, not entirely, but he was looking at you like he needed you to, like he needed you to be steady for him.

So you nodded, exhaling shakily. "I’ll be the judge of that."

He let out a breath of amusement, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "That right?"

"Damn right," you said, shifting so you could press your forehead against his. "Now let me have my dramatic, emotionally charged moment, please."

Sidney huffed a soft laugh, closing his eyes for a second, letting you linger in the quiet. And when he finally spoke again, his voice was low, just for you.

"I’m glad you’re here."

And just like that, the tightness in your chest eased.

Because yeah, the world could speculate all it wanted. People could talk about the age gap, the controversy, the noise. But right now, in this small, fluorescent-lit medical room, none of it mattered.

Because you loved him.

And he loved you.

And at the end of the day, that was the only thing that ever would.

Sidney was not a good patient.

This was something you learned very quickly.

The second the team doctors gave him strict orders to rest, you knew it was only a matter of time before he started pushing it. Because he was Sidney Crosby—one of the most disciplined, regimented, "tough it out and get back on the ice" people to ever exist. He didn’t do rest. Didn’t do sitting still, didn’t do taking it easy.

Which meant you had to be the one to make him.

Lucky for him, you had absolutely no problem being a pain in his ass.

"Sit. Down."

You stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, staring Sidney down as he very slowly tried to get up from the couch. He was still in sweats, fresh from a shower, his damp hair slightly messy in a way that would’ve been distracting if you weren’t so focused on keeping him immobile.

"I was just—"

"—going to sit your ass back down like the doctors told you," you finished for him. "Good call."

Sid exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "I’m fine."

"You have a bruised rib," you reminded him, walking toward him and shoving him back down with one finger on his chest. "Which means no skating, no lifting, no ‘I swear I’m just stretching’—and definitely no trying to prove how tough and manly you are by walking around like a fully functional human when we both know you are not."

He just looked at you, lips twitching, because he was definitely entertained by the way you were talking to him.

"You enjoy this, don’t you?" he asked, voice tinged with amusement.

You scoffed. "Oh, so much." You pointed at him again. "Now stay there while I get your meds."

Sid obeyed, but you could feel his eyes on you as you moved around the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and pulling his painkillers from the cabinet. You turned back to him, shaking two pills into your palm.

"Take these," you ordered, stepping back toward him.

He raised an eyebrow but took the pills from your hand. "I could do this myself, you know."

"Could you, though?" you mused, tilting your head. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re a very injured man who should probably stop arguing with his extremely generous, very beautiful, highly intelligent, and endlessly patient nurse."

Sid let out a slow, amused breath, shaking his head. "Highly patient, huh?"

You handed him the water, watching as he swallowed the meds, and then took the glass back when he was done. "Unbelievably patient," you confirmed. "Practically saintly."

Sid didn’t reply, just watched you with that look—the one where his lips curled slightly, his eyes softened, and you knew, knew, that if he weren’t injured, he’d be pulling you into his lap just to shut you up.

Instead, he settled for reaching out and grabbing your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Thanks for taking care of me."

You shrugged, sitting on the couch next to him, curling up so your legs tucked under you. "Someone has to make sure you don’t do anything stupid."

He hummed, shifting slightly to get comfortable. "Don’t I have trainers for that?"

"Yeah, but I’m meaner," you pointed out. "And I have better hair."

Sid chuckled, tilting his head toward you, his expression easy and fond. "Can’t argue with that."

You smirked, leaning your head against his shoulder, being careful not to press against the bruised side of his ribs. "Damn right you can’t."

And despite everything—despite his injury, despite the way you knew he hated being sidelined—Sidney relaxed. Because this? This was what made it all okay.

Even if you were bossy. Even if you were slightly unbearable in full nurse mode.

You were his. And that made every moment—every ridiculous, slightly bitchy, very loving moment—worth it.

[writingsfromhome]

Unspoken Signals

A/N: reaaaallly tried to get this out for v-day. It’s been a while, I’m a bit rusty, but this is a quick fic w Harry and you as coworkers and a casual something else. Hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

—————————————————————-

“Well this is different,” I comment.

Before me sits a dozen children and they’re all very quiet. It’s music to my ears after the last hour.

“I didn’t know kids could even do yoga.”

“You didn’t know kids could stretch?” I raise a brow.

“The meditating part,” Harry clarifies. “I didn’t know they could quiet their minds and their demon mouths.”

I laugh softly and turn back to the kids. A couple are starting to get restless, peeking one eye open or scratching their noses—picking them more like. But it’s nice for the few minutes.

Both Harry and I worked at an art museum that had recently lost some of its funding and had decided to open up revenue streams by introducing “kids fun weekends”. So despite having zero training in early education, staff at the museum found ourselves having to look after children and host workshops from time to time.

So far we’d been volun-told to help with a crafts day, a movie night, wellness day, and an upcoming museum sleepover.

And I was so not being paid enough to deal with hyperactive children.

“Why do kids even need a wellness workshop?” Harry continues to whisper back to me. “They’ve got stressful jobs or something? Bloody put me on one and let me go home.”

“Anyone can experience stress Har,” I roll my eyes. Harry was one of those people who didn’t care about being politically correct when he spoke. Which led to a lot of bickering between us that most of our coworkers had gotten used to.

“The stress of any of these kids does not bloody compare to the stress of an adult.”

“Don’t be such an ageist,” I reply.

“Ageist? What the fuck,” he swears. “Do you just put a word in front of -ist and create a new prejudice?”

I gasp and hold his shoulder, “prejudice? Where did you learn such a large word?”

“Now you’re just being a word-ist,” Harry says smugly.

I snort despite myself, “And you’ve always been a prick.”

“Piss off,” Harry whispers. “This is unfair.”

We stand in silence, forced to do our job of keeping watch over the kids. But as they grow more agitated and so does Harry, I realize I really didn’t want to be here either.

“Well have you seen the new fake-Monet collection?” I ask.

It wasn’t actually fake-Monet. It was a local artist we were hosting in our community gallery that showcased…local artists. The first piece we ever saw hung up looked like a Monet so we took to calling him that.

“No. Not after that first forgery.”

“Wanna ditch this and check it out?”

“Fuck yes.” Harry’s eyes finally draw some life to them.

We leave our two other coworkers to deal with freshly-meditated children and sneak away.

The art museum wasn’t a large building; the ground floor was taken up by the open lobby, offices, the gift shop, and some of the more permanent exhibits. The second floor had revolving galleries and the community gallery sat on the third floor.

“D’you think anyone’s actually going to buy the guy’s fakes?” Harry asks.

“Probably,” I jam the button for the lift. “I saw a couple more pieces and they were beautiful.”

“You find any piece of art beautiful.”

“Well they are! It’s easy to find beauty in a lot of things if you’re not a prick.”

The lift arrives and the doors open; the reflection inside show a tall curly-haired annoyed bloke. Walking in with him is a shorter girl, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not a prick.” He looks down at me. “I just have standards.”

Suddenly in the enclosed space of the lift we’re gravitating towards each other like we tended to do. I smile up at him sweetly and he tsks and pushes me away by my chin; a conversation taking place with just our eyes.

The thing with Harry and me—because it was just a thing we didn’t label, was simple: we liked being around each other (despite being able to get on each other’s nerves).

We kinda just orbited each other and we were comfortable with it; some days he would follow me home and we’d hang out, get dinner, sleep together, and other nights I’d show up at his and we’d fold right into one another.

It was fun, and it felt cool not to label it. It felt very adult, like Harry and I were mature enough to appreciate the other in every aspect without being possessive enough to need to label it. Like somehow we were proving just how secure we were by doing it like this.

“You just like being judgemental,” I say and as the doors open onto the third floor I turn to walk out. “Because you’re an idiot.”

Outside stand at older couple who’ve definitely heard the last bit. I apologize and pray they don’t complain to anyone about the staff.

“Very unprofessional,” Harry goads as he laughs. “Do you harass all the elderly at the museum.”

“Shut up!” I shove him against the wall and he stumbles down.

“Oi!” He calls out as I walk away. “Oi! Help me up!”

“Help yourself!” I finally turn. He’s sprawled on the ground like this was his bedroom—because I’d seen the inside of his bedroom I would know. But he stays for so long I hurry back, not wanting anyone to walk past and get us in trouble for laying in the middle of the hall.

“I knew you’d come,” he smiles sweetly, his large hand in the air ready for me to grip.

“C’mon—“

I see it coming too late and he’s already trapped me in. He pulls me forward and I stumble into him, nearly catching myself on the wall. Nearly. I tumble into him instead.

“Grow up!” I scramble off of him as quick as I could. Because the one unspoken rule in this thing between us was staying nothing but platonic coworkers at work.

And that was the other thing about us—this unlabelled situation we were in. That as casual as we appeared there was a lot of orchestrating going on behind the scenes in order to be this nonchalant.

For example, only touching outside of work, not asking about dates the other went out on the weekend before, like saying you’re funny and where’ve you been when it’s been a while so as not to say I really like you and I want to be around you more and when you’re not around I miss you more than an unlabelled half should. Like getting drunk when I spot him at a club with another girl so I can continue to convince myself I really didn’t care all that much.

It was just Harry. At most we were just friends.

“This is me grown up,” Harry catches up to me. He can sense I’m annoyed and maybe he’s crossed a line so he lingers slightly behind.

I ignore him as I push the glass door into the gallery. This was one of my favourite spaces because of the large windows and views of the garden below planted by friends of the museum.

But mostly I loved it because it was a revolving door of local artists and it reminded me that everyone had a story to tell. And every story was beautiful.

“Don’t cry this time,” Harry whispers to me as he walks down the gallery to the far end.

“It was one time,” I mumble. That I actually cried. Usually I just teared up.

I couldn’t help it though, there was so much meaning and time put into these pieces. So much love and grief and every emotions on the spectrum. And I felt it all.

I decide I’d stop calling the artist fake-Monet because with a few more paintings I began to recognize his own signature style. He paints about personal community and finding it in public spaces—pockets around London.

“Hey look at this one,” Harry says when I’m a few pieces away. I walk over.

It’s unmistakably Hampstead Heath, the park a half hour walk from here and 15 from Harry’s place. It’s where we spent a lazy summer day a month or so ago. We were both free on the Saturday, our calendars opening up. I met Harry at his and we’d trekked through the hazy city to feel the cool breeze of the sturdy trees and the splash of the water. Despite the stickiness, we’d tucked into each other and pretended the shade was enough to keep us cool—enough to be so close. We read our book, took a summer nap, ate our picnic, and chatted about the rest of our lives. Passerbys would see two friends, or maybe two something-mores.

It’s only when the sun slinked down towards the horizon did we pack up. We walked back to his flat, took a shower together. We had dinner with his friends. It had been such a beautiful day I had ached with it because I knew how temporary it was.

But how perfect it had been. It had felt bigger than us.

Harry pointing it out toes that line again; he remembered it too, as something to reference. As something to compare to the beautiful richness of the tapestry before us—lavenders and lilacs, pinks and blues, sage, and dusty hues.

“Beautiful,” I murmur. We’re standing shoulder to shoulder now, I can’t tell who’s leaning on who.

“It…actually is.” Harry says in a hushed voice back. “I’m sorry fake-Monet that I doubted you.”

I look up at him in surprise, Harry rarely changed his mind. “Actually?”

“Yeah.” He looks down at me. “I think I get it.”

The expression in his eyes as he says this, as they fill with meaning, I have to look away. But the painting doesn’t help. It’s too full of my own meaning. Our meaning.

But there was no our.

“Wow.” I straighten up and move closer. “Look at that blending. And the details those are actually people.”

“They’ve all got their own shadow too.” Harry moves closer towards me again. He points it out.

“I’m gonna go look for shadows in the others.” I chirp just so I can get away. So I can keep denying.

A few hours later, the day is giving to nightfall. I badge out with Harry and we walk down the steps towards the iron gates.

“See you tomorrow?” I ask.

“I’m not in tomorrow.” He reminds me.

“Oh yeah your parents are in town?”

“Yep,” he fidgets with his phone and we stand in silence for a beat.

“Well I should-“ I say just as he asks, “Would you want to-“

We pause, awkward laugh. We were never awkward.

“You first,” I urge, wanting to know what he was going to ask.

“No it’s nothing. I should go. Got to clean my flat before my parents see how I live.”

“Don’t forget to hide the rolling papers from your bedside,” I tease. “And the magazines under the bed.”

“Oi I haven’t got magazines under the bed,” he smiles. His dimples make a handsome appearance. “They’re loud and proud on the coffee table now.”

“Except you haven’t got a coffee table.”

“If you know so much about my flat how about you come home with me and help me clean it? You can stay over.”

Come home with me. Casual, so casual.

But I know how calculated it had to be. I’d been there. Somehow I knew this is what he’d been trying to ask in the first place.

“What time are your parents getting in?” I ask.

“They’re early birds. Probably after 8.”

“8? Holy hell.” I swear.

“They want to do breakfast and then take me to visit my grandparents.”

“Right. Yeah well, imagine I’m still not out by the time they show up. That’d be so awkward. And there’s no way in hell I’m getting up before 8.”

His cheeks take on a slight blush. “They’ve…it wouldn’t be the first time they came over to a girl in my bed YN. I’m not 16.”

“I know. But…still awkward.”

“So?”

“I…don’t want them to get the wrong idea. We’ll see each other the day after. You’re working then right?”

My heart squeezes a bit at his crushed look before it’s swapped for happy, for easygoing. “Yep. Can’t get rid of me that quick.”

We part ways, I go mine with a heavy heart.

***

“So,” I check in with Harry at lunch the day he’s back. It had been a hectic day yesterday with a new group of kids and a new workshop to facilitate. Plus someone was quitting after being yelled at and Harry had missed it all so I wanted to update him. “How was your day off.”

“Shite,” he says. We walk a few streets over to a Pret. “Mum and dad wouldn’t stop whinging about my future and about settling down like I’m a fucking balding man in my 50s losing all prospects. I’m only 25!”

“Yeah total bummer having a day off for that,” I comment even though I have a hard time getting my next breath in. I can’t imagine my own parents caring that much about my life to spend a whole day with me talking about it. And what if I had stayed the night and accidentally bumped into them—would they have approved?

Should I even care?

“Then my nan basically told them to piss off but they started filling her head with it and then she’s asking me about any girls I’ve taken on dates lately. Started giving me relationship advice!”

“What was that?” I tease. “Take her on a walk and buy her some flowers? Go star gazing? Movie for 2 quid?”

Harry glances at me and his seriousness throws me off balance a little.

“What?”

He opens his mouth, then shrugs and closes it. “Nothing.”

“Sorry did I offend you?” I try to think of why he might be reacting this way.

“No, she actually did say some pretty old-fashioned shite. But I can take it from her. It’s my parents that drive me nuts.”

“Well I wish you were at work. Want to hear what happened?”

So I change the subject and we talk about what he missed. He’s more subdued today and I don’t read into it. He wasn’t mine to read into, I have to remind myself.

We talk about the gallery sleepover in two weeks, whether we were actually going to come in our PJs. When we get back to work we’re on different floors and I try not to miss him again.

***

“I actually brought mine—the appropriate pair.” My coworker jokes. We’re in the staff kitchen making an afternoon tea. Tonight was the gallery sleepover and I was not looking forward to it. But because I was working it I had the day off tomorrow and at least that was something to look forward to.

“I just brought a ratty tee. I don’t think I’m sleeping anyway.” I say.

“I hate that we got picked for this,” she continues. “I actually don’t even like kids. Why do you think I have none?”

“Well tonight will just be birth-control.”

“Trust me I don’t need it.” She cackles and walks away. My phone buzzes with a text.

Harry: Might be late tonight. cover for me if anyone asks?

Y: ur not even working the day how are u gonna be late?

Harry: got a thing. Just cover pls?

Y: obv

I wonder what was going on with him.

We hadn’t had a lot of opportunities to hang out the last week and work had been too busy to properly catch up. Plus our manager had been putting us on conflicting projects so I really had been missing Harry.

Even though Harry and I were friends there was something about distance and fondness that was proving true lately. And I hated it. So I’d gone on a string of dates this week. Hence my busyness.

I’d gone out on a date a week ago and even though I ended up going back to his place all I wanted to do was text Harry. Ask him if he was up, what he was doing. I’d forced myself to shut my phone so I wouldn’t be tempted.

After we close the doors to the public that evening we begin setting up for the kids’ sleepover. It’s so hectic nobody notices Harry’s late but he slides right in helping me string the lights in our biggest gallery. We work on the projectors next, I yap to him for 10 minutes straight and he barely replies. He’d been quiet since he got here.

And for the next few hours Harry and I entertain and help children have fun, we put on a fancy puppet show loosely based on famous artists—art projections included.

We sneak away to the kitchen after we take our bow for a tea break.

“Wouldn’t happen to have a flask on ya?” Harry sighs as he strains his tea bag.

“God I wish,” I stare into the dark abyss of my earl gray. That performance had really taken it out of me. “Who d’you think’s most likely to have something stashed away?”

“Well,” Harry yawns like he hadn’t slept all week and points to an upper cabinet. “Behind the cleaning stuff.”

“What?!” I gasp. “Seriously?”

“Well last time I saw it was last Christmas. Probably got some alcoholics here. I dunno if the stash is still there.”

“Well this is naughty,” I find a couple travel-sized liquor bottles like the kind you get on planes. I take one so that somebody else can have the delight of the other.

Harry sticks his mug out and I empty half the bottle, doing the same to mine.

“Make sure it’s covered,” he advises when I throw it in the bin. I shake it around until I can’t see it.

“Much better,” I cheers my mug to his. He catches my eye and it feels like we’re co-conspirators again. I pass a smile that’s only half-returned. “So what’s the deal with you?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t look up from his drink.

“I’ve barely seen you all week. And you’re late tonight. And you look haggard as hell.”

He shrugs, “I’ve been helping one of my mates out with moving out of his girlfriend’s. They broke up. He’s a mess so…”

“Oh.” I wasn’t expecting that. “That’s kind of you.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Do I?” I widen my eyes.

“Piss off.”

He cracks with a smile—a full Harry smile and I feel my heart beaming just to soak it in.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?” I ask tentatively. I knew he had the day off too.

“Uhm,” cagey Harry returns. “Maybe. I’m not too sure right now.”

“Ah okay.”

We sip in silence that threatens to smother us. I get up as quickly as I can without wasting my precious drink.

“I’m gonna head back out.”

“Alright.”

I head back to the star-lit room where sleeping bags are laid out like mismatched brick throughout the floor. Some kids are cozied within, others sit on top. They’re all engrossed in the “bedtime story” being told by a local author.

It’s sweet, I think. This would become a core memory for a lot of these kids, drinking in the whole night through all their senses. I wish I had more memories like this. Maybe then I wouldn’t be so fragile all the time.

Adults staying overnight got their own gallery blankets and I drag one over to the far end, enough for any kid who needed assistance could find me but far away that I could be on my phone and not distract them.

Some time later another body joins me with his own blanket.

“Sorry,” Harry says as he sits.

“For what?” I play pretend. Just like these kids were doing tonight. What could you possibly be saying sorry for? What could I possibly feel entitled to you for? We’re just friends.

“For being weird earlier. I…well I have to tell you something and I’m being weird instead.”

My heart begins to thump in my chest.

“Tell me what?”

“So I’ve um…I’ve got a-“ Harry clears his throat. I glance up at him and he’s looking out towards the ceiling. “I have a girlfriend. I know we…we’re not…”

“Jeez Har,” even though ever atom inside of me is keeling over with something I can’t exactly examine yet, I play the joker. The friend. “If this is you telling me you’re getting serious with someone that’s all you have to say.”

“Really?” He turns to me and on the shiny hardwood floor so does half his body. I ignore how his knees feel pressing into mine. “You’re…okay?”

His voice is anything but casual.

“Yeah! It’s not like we’re a thing.”

Even still, I can’t say it. I die a little more.

“Yeah well I wasn’t expecting it. She’s the daughter of someone my dad knows? Pretty sure they orchestrated it but we went on a couple dates and then she asked…well she wanted to be exclusive I…”

“Well that’s good. For you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.”

“Thank god,” the air whooshes out of his lungs.

“I feel like I should be offended. You thought I was going to be mad or something?”

“No not mad…” he trails off. I look at his reaction and find him looking at me already. Even though it’s dark I can still see his eyes and they feel like they’re reading everything on my face. In a hushed tone he repeats himself, “not mad.”

I shrug, biting my lip hard to feel something other than the emotions threatening to overwhelm me. Emotions I never thought would surface this strongly.

“I’m good. Actually I’m not good. I think that bottle we found was rubbish I’ve got to go toilet—“ I use his knee to pull myself up. “Save my spot.”

I walk away without sparing a glance back because my act is crumbling. I’m crumbling. And I don’t understand it.

If you asked me two weeks ago I would have gone on how fun it was to be with Harry but how the idea of being with him seriously would be weird. Would throw off our balance. But now I want to puke my guts in the toilet at the idea of having to let him go. Because he’s the one who moved on.

And as hard as I try tears still escape my lashline and make trails down my cheeks as I study myself in the brightly lit mirror. How could I be mad when we were just casual? How could I hate him if all he did was look for something serious. Someone serious.

Suddenly what had felt fun and mature feels childish and disposable.

I was disposable fun.

“Get it the fuck together,” I tell myself. “You’ve got nothing to cry over. You could get yourself a boyfriend too. He’s not your soulmate or something jeez.”

I blow my nose and give myself another pep talk before exiting the toilets back to where Harry waits for me.

“You alright?” He asks. A loaded question.

“Yeah. Regret doing this for the whole night though.”

“You could sleep. I’ll take first shift.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“Who gives a shit,” Harry tugs me so that I fall against his shoulder and it’s the worst thing in the world.

I don’t curl my arm through his like I might’ve before. Or cozy into his chest. I stay there like a stiff robot until sleep takes me. Even then it’s not long enough.

—1 month later—

I’m heading home after an uneventful day, ready to sink into bed and turn my brain off. These days my brain talked too much and I really wish there was an on/off switch for it.

“Um hiya?” A soft voice says as I exit the turnstile in the lobby. I turn towards the voice and it belongs to a sweet looking girl about my age with harsh features softened by a layered bob. On me it would look ridiculous but she looks like she was born to rock the style she was in.

“Hi,” the rule of thumb was even though you were clocked out if you exited from the lobby in work clothes and somebody stopped you, you had to help them. I’d forgotten to tuck my badge away today damnit.

“I’m waiting for someone? He hasn’t been answering his texts I was just wondering if-“

“You could ask reception?” I point to the desk behind her. “They can page who you need.”

“They weren’t really helpful,” she shrugs. “I’m assuming you work with him? Harry?”

It’s the last name I’m expecting from her lips. I nearly stumble back trying to take her in again with the new knowledge of who she might be.

“H-Harry?”

I’d heard her the first time. I’m just trying to grasp at a second to collect myself.

This must be his girlfriend. The one who wanted to be exclusive. And I hated that I’d liked her in our two minute interaction.

He hadn’t spoken much about her since he told me a month ago but since half of our relationship before her was being intimate, we barely talked and when we did it was mostly just work and the relationship felt really fragile and rough.

I could see what Harry saw in her—she was attractive. And not pushy; she let Joey at reception push her around which was hard to do. And she was meeting Harry here, at work. It must be getting serious.

All these thoughts race through my mind in a millisecond.

“Oh! Harry yeah,” I nod when she confirms. “Of course I know him. I think he was in a meeting might be why…I can go back in and check if you-“

“Oh no! Sorry I’m not trying to be a bother. You’re probably going home I just wanted to make sure he was still in?”

“Yeah! Yeah he’s in. I’ll tell Joey—reception, to page him if he’s out. He’s nicer than he seems.”

“That’d be perf,” she beams. I die a little more, unsure why I was helping her this much. Unsure why it bothered me this much.

Ever since Harry had ended the thing we didn’t have, my life had felt haunted. The ghosts of every emotion I killed in the moments we’d been together began to surface and they were torture. Biggest of all was regret and shame. Regret over what could have been if I’d just admitted how deeply I felt months ago. Shame because I wasn’t supposed to feel this way for Harry. Because he obviously didn’t feel the same way, he never would, and it would be embarrassing to ever admit it.

Our actual relationship had gone like this after that night—avoidance -> awkward small talk -> light bantering -> finally, being able to talk semi-normally again.

We stopped hanging out outside of work however, so every day I got to see him was a day I was excited to go into work. My friends told me I had to do something about it—confess and see what he says, or move on.

And I’d tried to move on. But every guy I tried to date didn’t hold a candle to the flame that warmed my heart; to the idiot I had the misfortune of falling for after we ended things.

Or maybe I was just the idiot.

And here I was self-sabotaging by helping his girlfriend. There was definitely something wrong with me.

“Elsie!”

Both our heads turn to the voice.

“There he is,” I say but she’s already squeezing my arm and walking towards him. Harry doesn’t realize I’m standing there and I watch him smile at her in a way that sends a spike to my heart. Then he notices me.

“Oh YN,” his eyelids flutter a few times too many. “Uh-“

“YN god sorry I didn’t even get your name,” Elsie turns back to me. “YN was helping me.”

“Yeah? Thanks,” Harry looks visibly relieved and flashes me a grin. I raise my brows and smile back.

Home. I had to get home.

“Well I figured Har already had a hard time finding a girlfriend, I didn’t want him to lose her so quickly. This isn’t even a very big place.”

Harry’s expression is unreadable but Elsie laughs.

“Very funny,” Harry responds.

“I know.” I gear myself up to say bye. “Well I’ll see you tomorrow, let you get to wherever you’re going. It was nice-“

“Well we’re just hanging out with some friends,” Elsie says.

“YN knows a few of them,” Harry says. I watch his eyes bug a little as he realizes he’s stepped onto a minefield and watch him back away smoothly. “Some of the younger crew go out for drinks sometimes.”

“Ah,” Elsie says as Harry wraps his arm around her shoulder from behind. He was laying it on thick but I don’t think Elsie noticed his hiccup. “Well why doesn’t she come!? YN you should join us! One more friend!”

“Oh I don’t think she wants to-“

“I was honestly just gonna go ho-“

I stop talking the same time Harry does.

“No you should!” Elsie says. “Don’t listen to Harry.”

I catch his eye and they’re saying please don’t.

Don’t tell me what to do, mine say.

Don’t be stubborn.

Challenge accepted.

“Ok! Maybe one drink.” I say as Harry huffs. It felt dangerous, having a non-verbal conversation in front of his girlfriend.

I was an idiot, I confirm. An idiot making bad decisions.

“Yay! Let’s go.” Elsie takes Harry’s hand and drags him to the front door. I nearly laugh at his face as he’s dragged past me—he was mad.

And it comes out a couple hours later. By then I’d had more than a single drink, have befriended most of the people I don’t know at the table and have caught up with those I do know. Harry had been mostly attached by the hip to Elsie and I tried not to stare daggers at it.

They’re an interesting couple, you can tell Harry is distracted most of the night and she tries to accommodate by being around and talking to him. He leaves a hand on her at all times but she doesn’t wrap herself around him the way I used to. Maybe she wasn’t touchy.

Maybe I was being obsessive.

So I distract myself with everyone, with drink, with a particularly cute boy who introduced himself as Elsie’s uni friend. Who happened to be brother’s with Harry’s old flatmate. Small worlds.

“YN,” Harry tugs my sleeve as Grant and I talk—if you can call heavy flirting just talking.

“What?!” I snap after the tugging gets aggressive.

“I need to talk,” He points to himself and then me, “to you.”

I could see he was well past tipsy. It wasn’t often Harry drank to this point so I follow him to find out what was going on.

I follow him to a patio table that had just been vacated, empty glasses littering the surface. An untouched shot sits in the middle. The tableau tells a story—art was everywhere.

“What?” I ask.

“What’re you doing?”

“What am I?” I laugh. “What are you doing? I think you’ve had a few drinks too many mate.”

“You’ve got drinks,” he replies.

“Yeah…” I look back at the half finished drink I left at the bar. “I did have more than I thought. I feel like I drink a lot more when there’s a lot of people around? Otherwise I’m just nursing my drink-“

“Why did you decide to come out tonight? When you’ve met my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend.

“When I’ve…what?! Your girlfriend invited me no thanks to you.”

“Yeah but you never come out anymore. And suddenly you want to come out when Elsie asks?”

“What d’you mean I never come out anymore?”

Harry sighs. “You stopped hanging out.”

“Yeah because you got a girlfriend? You stopped inviting me out!”

“No what? No! You’re always…it’s an open invitation I don’t need to specifically invite you out I-“

“So why did you invite me specifically before?” I call him out, feeling more sober than I was a few minutes ago. “You stopped inviting me. We stopped hanging out. And so I stopped inviting you when I went out cuz I thought you had a girl and I didn’t want to make it complicated I-“

My voice catches on an unfiltered emotion and I want to die. I feel heat creep up my cheeks as I try to swallow it down and hope Harry doesn’t notice. Fuck!

“Anyway your girlfriend invited me so I came! It’s not a big deal.”

“I didn’t…” Harry scratches his nose and looks uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean to stop. I…it was complicated and I-“

“It’s fine. Whatever Har.”

“It’s not,” his brows come together. “Obviously s’not. I’m sorry? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel…”

I almost laugh at what he’s said and how it sounds: I didn’t mean to make you feel. Well, neither did I.

“Yeah whatever. I’m not mad about it.”

“Sorry.” He says instead.

“Thanks,” I clear my throat for good measure, not wanting to be too emotional. I want to tell him I missed him but I don’t think it would be appropriate.

“I thought-“ he breaks off with a laugh. “Nevermind.”

“What?” I push him lightly. “You know I hate when people don’t finish their thought. It’s going to drive me crazy—what?”

“No this one you won’t like. Nevermind.”

“Tell meee,” I poke his shoulder until he slaps my hand away.

“Stop that! I hate when you do that!”

“I know.” I say smugly. “So?”

“It’s stupid. I thought you came here to annoy me or something. And then you’re practically sitting in Grant’s lap…”

He’s right. I wouldn’t like it.

“Hold on,” I bring my hand down on the table. “You thought I was flirting with Grant to annoy you? Why would I-what!?”

“Like I said,” he doesn’t make eye contact. “It was stupid. Nevermind!”

“No it’s not nevermind. You don’t drive what decisions I make in my love life.” Lie. “Got that?”

“Jeez you can’t get angry after forcing me to say!”

“I can!”

“Can you quit bitching I don’t have time for this.”

“I’ll be as big of a bitch as I want to be.” I cross my arms.

“Unfortunately, I know.”

“That’s a completely stupid thought to have-“

“Surely not all your thoughts are winners. That’s why you don’t say all of them.” Harry says, then laughs. “Actually you do. And I always have the displeasure of hearing all of them.”

My jaw drops. “It’s like you’re purposely saying the stupidest shit right now. Like you want to be a prick.”

“C’mon you little shite,” Harry tugs my arm until they uncross. “I’m joking, remember jokes?”

I want to say something snippy, tell him off, but as my arms fall away his hand slides down until the tips of our fingers brush. It makes me feel touch-starved, like I’d been isolated in the woods for the last two months growing crazy for human touch.

Harry senses the shift and his smile dies down, his throat bobbing up and down.

How was it that Harry, out of every man I’ve ever met and continue to meet, has this effect on me? How can one touch quiet my mind so completely while pushing my heart into overdrive.

Why, I want to ask the universe. Why was it this man in front of me that made me feel so intensely?

“YN,” he says.

I should pull away. I should because his fingers creep further now pressing into my palm. I want them to slide higher until they’re tangled in my hair, pulling me closer. I wanted him closer.

“I missed you,” it comes stumbling out. And the shock of it pulls me out of whatever trance I just found myself in.

I pull my hand away and Harry straightens up, his gaze clearing too.

“Sorry.” My heart is in my throat now. “Sorry. I didn’t—that was inappropriate. I’m gonna go back now…”

“Wait,” he calls out as I head back to Grant knowing my heart wasn’t in it anymore. That I was going home.

“Hm?” I try to blink away the shame as I turn back towards him.

“D-do you…regret anything?”

I raise a brow and he flushes. I was making this torture for both of us but I wanted him to ask.

Stupidly, I wanted him to know.

“Between us. I know we never…we’re just friends. But did you ever regret…us?”

I shake my head. “No. No. Never. It was some of the best times.”

It’s like I’ve said the wrong thing. His face falls and I decide I had to go. Had to. I was afraid what else might be spilled out between us.

I don’t even remember what I tell Grant, just that I grab any of my belongings that I can spot, ask him to throw his number into my phone, and hightail it out. And I nearly make it to the tube when a warm hand grips my arm.

“Get off—oh!” I nearly whack Harry with my purse but he ducks anyway. “What the fuck Har!?”

“Sorry. Sorry sorry!” He lets me go and I miss his warmth. “I didn’t realize!”

“Yeah! You can’t just grab a woman at night like that!”

“Obviously! I wasn’t thinking! I was just trying to get to you-“

“Why?”

“Bloody hell you know why YN!”

I stare at him. His face doesn’t hide a single thought, a single emotion. It’s vulnerable, and terrifying.

“Don’t take the piss.” He grabs my arms and gives me a shake. “You know. You know.”

“I-don’t do this. Har, you have a girlfriend. I don’t want to be that girl ok?”

“Why?”

“Why? Because that’s awful and-“

“No! Why didn’t you say anything when we were together? Any time we were together? When I told you I had a girlfriend? Why were you always so…cool?”

“Me? Cool?” I laugh. “There’s nothing cool about me Har.”

“Well you’re hard to fucking read then! I dunno! I was always leaving hints and signals that I actually liked you. And you always ignored them!”

“Hints? Signals?” I gape. “When the—what the hell do you call hints?!”

“I…I wanted you to meet my fucking parents for god’s sake. Did you really never-“

“If I’m hard to read so are you mate,” I lean against the closest thing—a mailbox. My legs are jelly. “Was that when you vaguely suggested I wake up in your bed while your parents were down?!”

“Fine well I bought you chocolates that one time, I’ve even got some of your tees in my room! I-I tried to plan romantic dates for us—Hampstead! I tried to tell you-“

“What?” I’m not asking him anything. I’m just questioning everything; everything I avoided and played off had meaning. Of course it did. Everything had meaning, but I’d just thrown our dictionary out the window so it would mean nothing. Because I was afraid.

“Really?!” Harry sighs. He crouches down and runs his hands through his hair. “Am I that bad? I thought I was making it so clear but you always brushed it off. I felt like an idiot for falling for you when it was just s’pose to be casual. I thought I was being a bloody simp.”

I inch down to where he crouches.

“You fell for me?” I whisper.

When he looks at me it’s with eyes that look like broken seaglass. With a mouth curved down so low that I want to kiss into a smile. Into a laugh.

He cups my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. I give in to the sigh and his lips lift ever so slightly.

“How could I not?”

“I thought I drove you crazy?” I grasp his hand. “I thought I was just a fun distraction I-“

“I never said the second part.” He interrupts.

“You sure?”

“You were reading the wrong hints.”

I laugh and so does he. It almost turns into tears.

He stands and extends a hand that I take, his warm palm covering mine.

“Now’s when you return the confession,” he says without letting go. “So?”

“What? I’m not hiding any confessions!”

“Liar,” he tugs me close. “Your heart’s racing.”

“That’s from getting up so quickly.”

“You’re full of shite.”

We’re smiling so hard I’m sure we look like crazy people on the street.

But he had a girlfriend. Oh god. A sweet girl I’d just met today.

His expression grows confused as mine must turn to worry. I untangle myself.

“Harry…”

“I know.” He finally clues in.

“We can’t-“

“I know.”

We stare at each other for a heartbeat.

“I’m gonna go. Or else…”

“Just like that?” He asks.

“How else is it supposed to be?” I demand. “We can’t do this Har. And please…if you like her…respect her at all—don’t break up with her just to be with me. I wouldn’t be able to stomach it.”

“Then I’m just lying to her.”

“I…” I shrug. “I dunno. I just don’t want to be the reason for her heartbreak okay?”

“You’re being a sensitive snowflake. Breaking up with her is the right thi-“

“You can’t call people snowflakes-

“I can if that’s what they’re being-“

“I’m going home.” I tell him. It’s the last thing I want to do.

He opens his mouth with whatever quick retort he always had. But he must think twice about it. His face draws into a frown.

“Sort yourself out.” I instruct him. “Just sort it out. And then one day soon we can see…y’know.”

I half turn away, but can’t bear to leave without touching him one last time. Who knows when the next time will be. I flit to him so I can press my lips against the warmth of his cheek, so intoxicating. Like an addict only sniffing the alcohol in their cup. And when I feel his body loosening, about to hold my own, I flit away and rush into the tube without a glance back.

I don’t register anything on the ride home. I’m too shocked to even cry about it.

I wash the day away, the scent of him and the look on his face when he realizes we each had been trying to hold out own glaring neon signs to each other.

It’s late when there’s a knock on my door. I figure it’s my roommate forgetting her keys, and since I’d been laying on my bed in my towel after my shower too numb to sort myself out I end up opening the door basically naked.

It’s Harry.

His eyes roam over my terryclothed figure with a smile.

“What—what are you doing here!?” I grab the edge of my towel to keep it in place.

“Were you expecting someone else?” He asks.

“No-stop!” I push my hand into his chest as he crosses through the doorway. “Why are you here?”

His eyebrows draw together, hurt. “I…I didn’t think I was that drunk—we did just admit our feelings to each other a few hours ago right?”

“Yes but!” I put my hand down because his heart is beating fast under my hand and I don’t want to feel it a second longer. “You were also supposed to sort yourself out and-“

“Can you just let me in?”

I stare at him.

He stares back.

“Fine!” I give up and move aside. He closes the door behind him. That’s when I notice his hands. “What’s that?”

“For you.” He holds a bouquet up. “I know they’re shitty. I couldn’t find much at this time of night-“

“No hold on, I don’t understand.”

“We’ve wasted enough time throwing out shitty hints that apparently neither of us could read. We should never be detectives.”

I stay still, waiting for an explanation. Any bloody explanation as to why he’s here and not with his girlfriend!

“I went back to Elise. She knew something was wrong right away. I tried to deny it. She asked if something was going on between us-“

“God seriously Har! I said not to-“

“Did you want me to go back and pretend to be in love with her when I just had a fucking bomb go off in my life!? I know you don’t want to be that girl YN but I don’t want to be that shitty guy who stays with someone because he feels bad! What does that make me?”

I can picture Elise’s face in my mind. Oh god.

“She wasn’t mad-“

“You wish.” I snort.

“No she wasn’t. Well she was at first because she thought I was with you and her at the same time. I explained. I apologized. She got it. She…turns out she was still hung up over her ex. That she really liked me but she was mostly doing it to get her parents off her back. Because they never like who she dates. Which wasn’t a great thing to hear but…I’m pretty sure I saw her catching a cab as I was leaving. Maybe she went back to her ex.”

I’m dumbfounded with his retelling of what happened after I’d left.

“She’s okay. Are we?” He asks when I don’t reply.

The bouquet looks rough, like it was maybe clutched too hard and the flowers are nearing the end of their life. I imagine Harry rifling through a flower stand to find something for me. Coming here because he couldn’t wait.

I was kidding myself. I couldn’t wait either.

“Okay.”

“Okay??” He asks but he’s closing the distance because he’s reading me. He already knows me.

“Fine.” I say as he loops his arms around my waist. I stretch my arms up around his shoulders, clasping them at his neck. Something throbs deep in my chest. I missed him.

“I missed you,” he says. Always reading my mind.

“I didn’t know I could.” I say to him. His eyes are filled with a raw emotion that mirrors whatever’s aching in my chest.

“You’re like something from the gallery,” he cups my face. “Beautiful and original, breathtaking and you pass by it every opportunity you get just to get another glimpse. It makes you realize what you’ve been missing your whole life.”

“Aw Har,” my voice wobbles. If this was Harry when he was direct and not giving shitty hints I don’t know how I was going to survive us.

“What?” He whispers.

“You’ve got a soft side. You’re not actually a prick.”

His dimples make an appearance as he smiles. “I told you. I’ve just got standards don’t I.”

I wanted all of him—god how did I fool myself this whole time. I wanted all of him. He was just so lovely. “I think you’re going to ruin me,” I whisper back. His grin disappears and he tugs me ever closer.

“You’ve already ruined me.” He says. “I can’t look at any piece of art without thinking of you. I can’t go a day without wondering about you.”

“Is that healthy?” I murmur. My heart drums.

“Who the fuck cares about healthy?” He laughs.

We gaze at each other, the blood rushes through my body at high speeds.

“Mutual ruin?” I ask.

He responds with a kiss so passionate that I forget how to breath. I’m sure my towel was being held up by our bodies at this point.

“Mutual ruin. Or you can just ruin me.” His lips brush against my ear, feather down my neck. “I’m madly in love with you YN. There’s nobody but you.”

I don’t know whether to laugh from giddiness or cry from how my heart overflows.

“Har, I think I get the hint.” I say instead. He laughs.

“Fucking finally.”

💟💟💟💟

[after-witch]

Oh What a Birthday Surprise [wri0thesley’s OC Lucas x Reader

Title: Oh What a Birthday Surprise [@wri0thesley's OC Lucas x Reader]

Synopsis: You want to surprise Lucas on his birthday.

Word count: 2841

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, abuse

Lucas is not much for celebrating his birthday. 

You know this, not from experience but only because he mentioned it to you, when you’d finally asked--soft, tentative--when he was born. It wasn’t that you truly needed to know--but details were good, especially if you thought you wanted them.

Technically speaking, the question was asked out of that self-preserving politeness that you’ve begun to hone so keenly in order to keep yourself appealing; to keep yourself alive.

Still. Something about the way he mumbled it, the way he confessed that he never paid it no mind. It made something twist inside you. Some curdled bit of pity.

Your own birthdays… before… had been wonderful, delightful affairs. Filled with friends and noise and laughter.

Your friends would take you out shopping, to some excursion, and end with dinner. Sometimes they even planned overnight trips so everyone could squeeze every last ounce of fun from the event. The evenings would end with cake and candles and everyone drunkenly scream-singing “Happy Birthday!” before you all dug in.

Your last birthday had not been quite so grand, though you wouldn’t say Lucas didn’t do his best. He bought a cake in town, and got you some fresh notebooks that you’d asked for (completely new, from the drugstore--oh, to have a notebook without someone else’s scribbles inside it, someone else’s desperate scrawls for help-help-help!) and even some new books. 

Well, used. But new to the cabin, and that was all you wanted.

He let you watch one of the few movies he’d procured that weren’t Westerns. A romantic comedy  that you used to binge-watch on VHS during summer break from school. He was gentler, that night, in bed; more focused on your own pleasure than pounding inside you, as he sometimes did when he got overwhelmingly smitten.

It was a nice day, all things considered.

Maybe that’s why you decided to make his birthday as nice as you could. Within reason, within your severe limitations. Yet there was a nagging thought: what if he told you not to? What if he waved you away if you asked him what he wanted for his birthday?

What if, what if, what if. Maybe those little what-ifs were why some little impulsive imp in your head told you to make it a true-blue surprise. He might not make a fuss over his birthday, but he couldn’t object to you going the extra mile if he didn’t know about it.

There’d be no twisting in your gut if he waved away attempts to find out what he wanted, or sternly told you to leave his birthday alone. No sighs, no slamming of the door leading to the backyard, just a delightful smile and a pat on your head for being so sweet.

Right?

Right.

--

You have to be sneaky. But life with Lucas, by design, makes this difficult. When you stretch your arms and stand up from the sofa with the intent of going into the spare room to work on your gift, he wants to know where you’re going and why you don’t want him to follow and how long you’ll be good.

And you can’t tell him, exactly, that you’re going to work on the handmade scrapbook you’ve decided to give him. Sketches of the cabin, of the chickens, of nature outside the bedroom window. Of him, listening to his record player, a glass of whiskey in his hand. 

An almost serene expression on his face, caught before he turned and saw you staring, and stammered something about not staying up too late.

It’s really a ridiculous book. An overly cloying, sentimental thing that only a parent should enjoy (and even then, it would swiftly find itself relegated to the inside of a drawer once childhood faded); but you think Lucas won’t mind the saccharine, homemade nature of it all.

If you could just keep it a secret for two more weeks, anyway.

--

You’re hunched over the worn-out sitting chair in the spare room, adding some color to one of your birthday sketches, when a sudden heavy prickling presence crawls over your back--

Lucas clears his throat and you practically jump, colored pencil nearly stabbing the paper as you bring the book up to your chest.

“Lucas!” Your voice cracks. “I didn’t see you there. I thought--you said you’d be out with the chickens.” It was the perfect opportunity, you’d decided, to get some more work done on the book. With Lucas outside, there was less of a chance that he’d see--that he’d snoop.

So you thought.

It’s hard to make out his expression too clearly, from this distance. It had been two years now since your last eye exam, and you were sure you needed a new prescription. The thought of bringing up such a request with Lucas made you feel sick, so you didn’t. He’d just say no, wouldn’t he?

“Darlin,” he begins, voice low, almost hesitant. “What’re you doin’ in here? Thought I said you should tidy up the living room for me.”

“I did--” You stammer out the lie, stupidly, then correct yourself. “I mean--I was going to, after. I just had to do… something… and then…” The words curl up with your tongue, lying limp as you even from here, you can see his eyebrows start to furrow.

“You know I don’t like lyin’. Ain’t ladylike.” The admonition makes your stomach flip, and you claw desperately to steer everything in a more acceptable direction.

Setting your book away, sketch-side down so he doesn’t see, you stand up and fold your hands prettily together in front of you.

“I’m sorry, Lucas,” you begin, voice quieter, more mousey. “I should have tidied up like you said. I just got… too eager to draw, and--” Your mind fights for what he might want you to say, and comes up with little else than contrition. “I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.”

Lucas frowns. You can see that, even from here. Can feel it, really, in the air. 

Eventually, the tension in him loosens. Enough for the knot in your stomach to unwind a little, at least.

“Mind you don’t, darlin’,” is all he says, an edge at the tip of his words, before he gestures for you to follow--no doubt to tidy up the living room like you should have done in the first place.

Working on the book will have to wait until you can get him in a better mood.

--

Two days.

There are only two days left until Lucas’ birthday, and you’re quietly thanking God (if he really exists–you’re torn on that idea, now) for that because: one, there is a small sense of pleasurable curiosity at imagining how Lucas will react to your gift and two, two being the most important of these two factors: your nerves are just about shot. 

Lucas can tell something is up. You’ve been skimping on chores, running to the spare room before bed instead of waiting in the bedroom or living room while he finished up some outdoor evening chores, throwing out excuses when he catches you and asks what you were doing and why you didn’t tell him you were going to be in here. 

Each time seems to stretch something harder between you–some awful sort of tension that you hope will melt away as soon as he gets the book. 

Dinner was quiet, but not the comfortable, homey kind that Lucas sometimes enjoys. There was a thin string plucking against your chest the entire meal, as you placed forkful after forkful of food in your mouth. Meat, vegetables, the usual style of homespun dinner he enjoys and you’ve learned to eat without question.

All that is left tonight is dessert, a slice of blueberry pie you made with a heaping spoonful of ice cream on top, the edges of it melting against your plate as you try to discern if Lucas is angry with you or merely tired from splitting wood in preparation for the upcoming fall.

“Darlin.” 

 Your spoon trembles against the edge of the ice cream, and you set it down.

“Yes?”

When you flutter your lashes and look up at him, Lucas has his face set. Firm. Unyielding. You wonder if you did something truly awful and run a checklist through your mind–you kissed him good morning without a reminder, let him dress you without getting huffy about it, did your chores, set the table, chewed with your mouth closed, ate everything on your plate–and nothing stands out too much.

It’s worse, actually, to not have something to hold yourself accountable for in the face of his apparent irritation.

“You’ve been… quiet lately,” he says, finally, slow, picking his words carefully. “Like you got a secret.”

The food in your stomach feels as hard as a rock, and a low stomach cramp makes sweat bead on the back of your neck. 

You could tell him. Confess it all, right here, right now. Yes, you’ve been quiet and sneaky and weird–because you’re working on a stupid little gift and you thought it would be a good idea because you’re a great big moron.

But… the surprise would be ruined and there’s something awful about being so close to his birthday and giving up on the idea. You can make it through two more days, can’t you? The book is technically done, anyway. You’ve only got to wrap it, and you’re sure you saw some gift wrap in the back of the closet in the spare room. 

So you, divine actress you sometimes imagine you are, swallow hard and try to look demure and apologetic and weak. (You are, in truth, in the face of Lucas and axes and freezers of meat, one of these things.)

“I’ve… I’ve been really tired lately.” You flutter your lashes. “I haven’t been falling asleep right away and… I just didn’t want to worry you. I’m sorry.” 

Sorry, sorry, sorry, a word that flies from your lips so often nowadays, and Lucas seems to eat it up as heartily as he does his meals.

His voice is still gruff, though, and he still frowns despite the slight edge of a worried coo in his voice.

“You need an earlier bedtime, then. And no more extra sugar, least ‘till you start sleepin’ better.” His hand pulls away your pie plate, ice cream uneaten, and he sets about covering the plate with plastic to set in the freezer for some undetermined later date when dessert will be returned to you.

A shame–you really wouldn’t have minded eating ice cream tonight. 

--

Normally, Lucas’ grip on you is as tight as a vice. It was something you worried about, the last few nights, as you debated on how you were going to surprise Lucas with his gift. Ideally, you’d grab it before he woke up, so you could surprise him in bed. It would be more fun that way, more like something they do in the movies.

On this morning though, the morning of his birthday, his arm is not squeezing you like a particularly well-loved teddy bear but simply sprawled loosely across your chest; so loose that you can wiggle out from underneath it.

Which you do, slowly, one eye on him, sure that he’ll wake up with every inch you get. He doesn’t. His eyes stay closed and his mouth stays slack and eventually you reach the end of the bed, thrilled at your blessings, and silently step onto the floor in triumph.

Even then, you keep an eye on him as you creep as quietly as you can–homemade floorboards do love to creak–to the bedroom door. It opens too loudly, and you cringe; but Lucas stays asleep and your stomach flips with excitement as you make it into the hallway and down to the spare room.

You almost want to hum by the time you’re rifling through the closet, but catch yourself before you make too much noise. The book is right where you left it, hidden away in the closet underneath the faded lilac of a jaggedly unfinished crochet blanket.

The wrapping paper is shiny and smooth as you clutch the gift in your hands, a soft, almost stupid little smile on your face, and you turn to–

To find Lucas standing in the doorway, a hulking form, an axe slung over his shoulder, his expression a slightly blurred mask of betrayal and rage. 

There are thoughts in your head. Oh, yes there are. Short, simple.

Oh, you think. It’s Lucas.

Oh, you think. He has an axe.

And “Oh,” is what you say as it all clicks together, as there is an imaginative flash of him bringing the axe down on your skull, as you realize that he is going to kill you and it’s going to really, really fucking hurt. Your stomach clenches and there’s something warm running down your leg and your thoughts spin, desperate to think about something nice before it all ends–

And maybe.

Maybe there is a God after all, or just sheer dumb luck, because Lucas does not spring forward and bring the axe down in the middle of your face. Instead he seems to flinch, seeing the colorful purple-and-gold wrapping paper shimmering in the morning light creeping through the window, a shiny package clutched in your trembling hands.

It’s his turn, now, for “Oh.” His mouth forms a circle over the words, savoring them like cake. “Oh, darlin.’” The snarl turns into a trembling smile, something soft and intimate and almost new to his expression. “You… for my birthday?”

You’re not dead, you realize, eyes still frozen on the axe he’s holding. You’re not dead, because you can still speak. “Yes,” you said, wheezing. “I-I wanted to surprise you. For your birthday. I thought… thought that might be okay.”

“Darlin,” he says, softly, almost unbelieving. “‘Course it’d be okay. You think I’d say no to anything you make me? To you thinking ‘bout me so sweetly?” 

You don’t answer, and his gaze finally follows your own–the axe still slung against his shoulder, the handle gripped in his palm–and he looks almost sheepish as he steps back into the hall, hefts the axe back onto the wall, and comes back in the room with an almost shy smile on his face. 

There is even, just visible in the morning light, a blush deepening the color on his cheeks.

Like he’s pleased and embarrassed and like he didn’t intend to just bash in your face with the sharp end of an axe, like he wasn’t going to grind you into hamburger for a Friday night dinner, like he wasn’t about to end your life.

He steps forward, and it takes everything inside you, every bit of strength you’ve tried to build over your captivity, to not flinch as he embraces you, present squishing against your chest.

“You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever known. No one’s ever made such a fuss for me on my birthday. ‘Cept you. You know that, honey?”

It is a testament to your carefully constructed layers, mud and slime hardened to protect you, that you do not let the internal scream pass your lips. You shove it down with the other reactions where it belongs--where it must be, if you want to live.

Still, you can’t speak. Not yet. You whimper something–in fear, in agreement, all mixing together in the moment. 

Lucas pets the back of your head, smiling down at you. He almost looks lost in love, in wonder. “Wouldn’t hurt you, sweetheart,” he continues, just as kindly. “Not as long as you never give me a reason to. You know that, don’tcha?” 

You nod, obedient spouse that you are, through the prickling tears that make him coo and wipe his thumb near your eyes.

He presses himself against you, and murmurs.

“If you ever left me, darlin’, why--I just couldn’t take it. Just couldn’t take it,” he repeats, holding you tighter. Kisses are pressed against the top of your head, and you feel him breathing through his nose, slower and slower. Like he’s the one who just had the fright of his life. 

Eventually, he pulls away, not before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. He’s got morning breath and so do you, but at least he didn’t kill you, so there’s no point in complaining. 

If Lucas feels any particular way about the damp patch against your nightgown, about the small puddle of urine on the cabin floor, by-products of seeing your own death in the doorway, he says nothing about it.

He’s kind enough to simply put his arm around your shoulder, your own arms still clutching the gift, and begin guiding you out of the room. 

“Thank you for thinking of me, honey. Let’s just… get ourselves cleaned up and I’ll open my present. I bet it’s something real special.”

He doesn’t stop smiling as he leads you into the bathroom–he won’t stop smiling all morning, in fact. 

Next year, you will simply ask him what he’d like for his birthday instead. 

[octaneink]

Not just you, not just me. Us.

Harry Lewis x Reader

Summary : The Reader and Harry go golfing on Valentines, even though the Reader has never gone and isn't really enjoy it but it ends on a high when they get some food and watch a film Warnings: None Notes: Happy (late) Valentines Day All 😚💕Also I hope this was alright!

You woke up to the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the curtains, the warmth of the blankets cocooning you in a sleepy haze. Your phone buzzed on the night stand, and you reached for it, squinting at the screen. A text from Harry lit up the display: “Good morning, love! Happy Valentine’s Day! Wear something comfy—we’re going golfing!”

Golfing? You blinked, trying to process the words. You’d never played golf in your life. The closest you’d ever gotten to a golf course was watching Happy Gilmore on a lazy Sunday afternoon. But Harry sounded so excited in his text, his enthusiasm practically radiating through the screen. You didn’t want to disappoint him, so you dragged yourself out of bed, showered and threw on some comfortable clothes, and texted back, “Can’t wait!”

When Harry picked you up, he was practically bouncing with energy. He had a big grin on his face, his golf bag slung over his shoulder, and a thermos of coffee in his hand. “For you,” he said, handing it to you with a kiss on the cheek. “I know you’re not a morning person, so I thought you might need this.”

You smiled, taking the thermos gratefully. The coffee was perfect—just the way you liked it—and you felt a little flutter in your chest at how thoughtful he was. “Thank you,” you said, sipping it as he drove. “So, golfing, huh? What made you decide on that?”

He glanced at you, his eyes sparkling. “I just thought it’d be fun to do something different for Valentine's Day, I’ve never heard about it being a date. Which is a big missed opportunity. Plus, I’ve been wanting to teach you how to play. It’ll be a blast, I promise.”

You nodded, trying to match his enthusiasm, but a tiny knot of anxiety formed in your stomach. What if you were terrible at it? What if you embarrassed yourself? But Harry was so happy, and you didn’t want to ruin his plans. So, you pushed your worries aside and let him lead the way.

The golf course was breathtaking, a sprawling expanse of rolling green hills that seemed to stretch endlessly under the vast, open sky. The sun hung high, casting a golden glow over the perfectly manicured fairways, and a crisp, refreshing breeze carried the faint scent of freshly cut grass. The sky was a flawless shade of blue—which was surprising for the UK—dotted with a few wispy clouds that drifted lazily overhead. It was the kind of day that made you want to stop and just breathe it all in—the beauty, the peace, the quiet.

Harry was practically vibrating with excitement as he led you to the first tee, his golf bag slung over one shoulder and a wide grin on his face. He handed you a club, his eyes sparkling as he began to explain the basics. “Okay, so first things first,” he said, positioning himself behind you. “You want to hold the club like this.” He gently adjusted your grip, his hands warm and steady against yours. “And stand with your feet shoulder-width apart. Keep your knees slightly bent. Yeah, just like that.”

You nodded along, trying to absorb everything he was saying, but your mind was racing. Golf seemed so complicated—so many rules, so many tiny adjustments. When it was finally your turn to take a shot, you took a deep breath, swung the club, and… the ball barely moved. It rolled a few feet and then stopped, pathetically short of the hole.

Harry chuckled, the sound warm and light. “It’s okay!” he said, stepping closer. “You’ll get the hang of it. Here, let me show you again.” He demonstrated the swing, his movements smooth and effortless, and then handed the club back to you. “Try it like that.”

You tried again and again, but no matter how hard you focused, your shots were either too weak or veered wildly off course. One particularly bad swing sent the ball flying sideways, straight into a cluster of trees. You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I’m hopeless,” you muttered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

But Harry just laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re not hopeless,” he said, walking over to you. “You’re learning. And honestly, you’re doing way better than I did my first time. I think I whiffed—like, completely missed the ball—at least five times.”

You peeked at him from behind your hands. “Really?”

“Really?” he said, grinning. “It’s all part of the process. You’re supposed to be bad at it at first. That’s what makes it fun.”

By the time you reached the third hole, your arms were already starting to ache. The sun felt hotter now, and the breeze that had been so refreshing earlier did little to cool you down. Harry, on the other hand, was in his element. He was practically glowing with enthusiasm, his laughter ringing out across the course as he effortlessly sank one shot after another. At one point, he made a particularly difficult putt and celebrated with a little victory dance, spinning around and pumping his fist in the air. You couldn’t help but laugh, despite your growing frustration.

“Show-off,” you teased, shaking your head.

He grinned, walking over to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Hey, I’m just trying to impress you,” he said, his voice warm and playful. “Admit it—you’re a little impressed.”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, leaning into him. “But I’m still terrible at this.”

“Nah, you’re doing great,” he said, squeezing your shoulder. “It’s your first time. You’re supposed to be bad at it. That’s part of the fun.”

You wanted to believe him, but as the hours passed, your frustration grew. Your arms ached from swinging the club, your feet hurt from walking the course, and you were pretty sure you’d developed a blister on your hand. Meanwhile, Harry was still in his element, laughing and joking as he effortlessly sank one shot after another. At one point, he even started narrating his swings in a dramatic commentator’s voice, making you laugh despite yourself.

By the sixth hole, you were starting to feel the strain. Your hands were sore, your back was stiff, and the blister on your hand had definitely gotten worse. You tried to hide your discomfort, forcing a smile every time Harry looked your way, but it was getting harder and harder to keep up the act. When you completely missed the ball on your next swing, sending the club flying out of your hands and into the grass, you let out a frustrated sigh.

Harry rushed over, his expression concerned. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, picking up the club and handing it back to you.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… clumsy, I guess.”

He studied your face for a moment, his brow furrowing. “You sure? You seem a little… off.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, your voice a little sharper than you intended. “Really. Let’s just keep going.”

Harry hesitated but then nodded, his smile returning. “Alright, if you say so. But if you need a break, just let me know, okay?”

“I will,” you said, though you had no intention of doing so. You didn’t want to ruin his fun, not when he was so clearly enjoying himself.

By the time you reached the ninth hole, you were exhausted. Your arms felt like jelly, your feet were throbbing, and the blister on your hand was now a full-blown annoyance. But Harry was still grinning, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he slung an arm around your shoulders. “This is so much fun, isn’t it?” he said, his voice full of enthusiasm.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “So much fun.”

You wanted to mean it, you really did. But as you walked back to the clubhouse, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, you couldn’t help but feel a little relieved that the day was almost over. You loved Harry, and you loved seeing him so happy, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t how Valentine’s Day was supposed to feel. It wasn’t until you were sitting in the clubhouse, sipping a drink and staring out at the sunset, that Harry finally noticed something was off.

Harry tilted his head, studying your face with a soft, concerned expression. “Hey,” he said gently, reaching over to take your hand. His touch was warm, grounding. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet for a while.”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around his. You didn’t want to ruin his mood—he’d been so happy all day, so full of energy and joy. But the way he was looking at you, his eyes searching yours with such genuine care, made it impossible to keep it all in. “I’m just… not really a golf person,” you admitted, your voice quiet. “I’ve never played before, and I’m not very good at it. I didn’t want to say anything because you were having such a great time, but… it’s not really my thing.”

Harry’s face fell, his brows knitting together in concern. “Oh no,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about that. I just got so excited about sharing something I love with you that I didn’t stop to consider whether you’d enjoy it too.”

You shook your head quickly, not wanting him to feel bad. “No, no, it’s not that I didn’t enjoy it at all,” you said, your words tumbling out in a rush. “I mean, I loved spending the day with you, and watching you have so much fun made me happy. It’s just… I think I would’ve enjoyed it more if it wasn’t Valentine’s Day, you know? Like, maybe if we’d done this on a random weekend, it would’ve felt different. But today felt like it was supposed to be… I don’t know, more us, you know? Something we both love equally.”

Harry’s expression softened, and he squeezed your hand. “I get that,” he said, his voice gentle. “I really do. I guess I got so caught up in the idea of doing something different that I didn’t think about how it might feel for you. I’m sorry if it felt like I wasn’t considering what you wanted.”

You looked down at your hands, feeling guilty for bringing it up. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier because you were so into it,” you admitted. “You were laughing and smiling, and I didn’t want to ruin that. I thought maybe if I just pushed through, it would get better. But by the end of it, I was just so tired and frustrated, and I couldn’t keep pretending.”

Harry’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, his touch soothing. “You don’t ever have to pretend with me,” he said, his voice firm but kind. “I want you to tell me when something’s not working for you. I never want you to feel like you have to suck it up just to make me happy. Your happiness matters just as much as mine, okay?”

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Okay,” you whispered. “I just… I didn’t want to disappoint you. You seemed so excited about today.”

“I was excited because I was with you,” he said, his tone earnest. “Not because of the golf. I mean, yeah, I love golf, but I love you more. And if you’re not having a good time, then I’m not having a good time either. Not really.”

You smiled faintly, your heart swelling at his words. “I did have fun, though,” you said. “Just… not the way I thought I would. I loved seeing you so happy, and I loved being outside with you. It was beautiful out there. I just think maybe golf isn’t my thing. Or at least, not for Valentine’s Day.”

Harry chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Noted,” he said. “No more golf on Valentine’s Day. Got it.” He paused, then grinned. “How about we make it up to you? Let’s grab some food—your favourite—and then we can go home and watch a movie. Something you pick. No golf, I promise.”

You laughed, the sound light and relieved. “That sounds perfect.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “And next year,” he said, “we’ll do something we love. Deal?”

“Deal,” you said, leaning into him. And as the two of you sat there, hand in hand, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the hills, you realised that even though the day hadn’t gone exactly as planned, it had still been pretty perfect. Harry’s arm was warm around your shoulders, his presence steady and comforting, and you couldn’t help but smile as the tension of the day melted away.

“Come on,” Harry said, standing up and pulling you gently to your feet. “Let’s get out of here. I think we’ve both had enough of golf for one day.”

You laughed, the sound light and relieved. “I think you mean I’ve had enough of golf for one day. You looked like you were having the time of your life.”

He grinned, slinging his golf bag over his shoulder and taking your hand. “Yeah, well, even I have my limits. And right now, my limit is how hungry I am. Let’s get some food.”

The two of you walked to the car, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. The sky was now a deep shade of indigo, dotted with the first few stars of the night. Harry opened the car door for you, his hand lingering on yours for a moment as you slid into the seat. “So,” he said, leaning against the door frame, “what are you in the mood for? Takeaway? Something greasy and delicious?”

You pretended to think about it for a moment, tapping your chin dramatically. “Hmm… greasy and delicious sounds perfect. How about that little Indian place we love? The one with the amazing samosas?”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “Yes. A thousand times yes. And we’re getting extra naan. No arguments.”

“Deal,” you said, laughing as he closed the door and jogged around to the driver’s side.

The drive to the takeaway was short, the streets quiet as the evening settled in. Harry kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your knee, his thumb tracing little circles as he hummed along to the radio. When you arrived, he insisted on going in to pick up the food while you waited in the car. “You’ve had a long day,” he said, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Just relax. I’ll be right back.”

You watched him disappear into the restaurant, a soft smile on your face. Despite the chaos of the day, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. Harry had a way of making everything feel right, even when it wasn’t.

When he returned, he was carrying two large paper bags, the smell of spices and warm bread wafting through the car. “I may have gone a little overboard,” he admitted, setting the bags on your lap. “But I figured we deserve it.”

You peeked inside, your stomach growling at the sight of samosas, butter chicken, biryani, and, of course, an absurd amount of naan. “This is definitely overboard,” you said, laughing. “But I’m not complaining.”

Back at Harry’s place, the two of you spread out on the couch, the coffee table piled high with food. You insisted on putting on Four Lions, one of the films that the both of you can enjoy without complaints, and the opening credits were just starting as you dug into the food.

“You know,” Harry said, tearing off a piece of naan and dipping it into the butter chicken, “I think this might be the best Valentine’s Day ever.”

You raised an eyebrow, popping a samosa into your mouth. “Really? Even after the golf?”

He laughed, leaning back against the cushions. “Especially after the golf. I mean, yeah, it wasn’t exactly what you’d call romantic, but it was… us. And now we’re here, eating amazing food and watching an amazing movie. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “You’re such a dork.”

“Your dork,” he corrected, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. His grin was wide and playful, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your cheek. But as he pulled back, you noticed a faint smear of butter chicken sauce on his lips—and now, unfortunately, on your cheek.

“Harry,” you said, trying to stifle a laugh, “you’ve got sauce on your lips. And now I’ve got sauce on my face.”

He blinked, then glanced at the naan in his hand, which was dripping with the rich, orange sauce. “Oh,” he said, his tone mock-serious. “Well, that’s just a bonus. Now you smell delicious.”

You groaned, eyes rolling in mock annoyance and shaking your head as you reached for a napkin. “You’re actually so annoying.”

But before you could wipe it off, he stopped you, his hand gently catching your wrist. “Wait, wait,” he said, his voice teasing. “I think I missed a spot.” He leaned in again, this time deliberately pressing a sloppy, exaggerated kiss to the same spot on your cheek, leaving an even bigger smear of sauce.

“Harry!” You squealed, half-laughing, half-trying to push him away. “You’re the worst!”

“No, I’m the best,” he said, grinning as he pulled back, his own cheek now slightly smeared with sauce from where it had brushed against yours. “Now we match. Couple goals, right?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you grabbed a napkin and started wiping your cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he shot back, his tone dripping with exaggerated cheesiness. He even winked, which made you groan and throw a small piece of naan at him.

“You’re impossible,” you said, shaking your head, but you were smiling so wide your cheeks hurt.

“Impossibly charming,” he corrected, catching the naan midair and taking a triumphant bite. “Admit it. You love me.”

“I do,” you said, leaning into him and resting your head on his shoulder. “Even when you’re covered in butter chicken sauce.”

He laughed, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere. Sauce and all.”

As the movie played, the two of you laughed until your sides hurt, the stress of the day completely forgotten. Harry kept stealing bites of your food, pretending to be offended when you did the same, and by the time the credits rolled, you were both stuffed and happy. The room was warm and cosy, the soft glow of the TV casting a gentle light over the two of you as you lounged on the couch, tangled up in each other.

Harry shifted slightly, turning to face you with a mischievous grin. “So,” he said, his voice playful but with a hint of seriousness, “next year, no golf. What do you want to do instead?”

You pretended to think about it, tapping your chin dramatically. “Hmm… how about a spa day? Massages, facials, the works. Just pure relaxation.”

He groaned, but his eyes were sparkling with amusement. “Fine. But only if I get a massage too. And maybe one of those cucumber things on my eyes. I’ve always wanted to try that.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, no, don’t worry, I’m only joking. We need to think of something we both want to do. Not just me, not just you. Something that’s… us. You know, like, our thing.”

Harry tilted his head, his expression softening as he considered your words. “Okay, fair point. So, what’s something we both love? Something that feels like us?”

You paused, letting the question linger in the air for a moment. The two of you had shared so many moments together—some big, some small—but you wanted next year to be something special, something that reflected both of your personalities and passions. Then it hit you.

“How about a weekend away?” You suggested, growing more excited as the idea took shape. “Somewhere cosy, with a fireplace and a big bathtub. We could go hiking during the day—you know, explore some trails, take in the views—and then come back and relax in the evening. No golf, no spa, no pressure. Just us.”

Harry’s face lit up, his smile widening as he leaned in closer. “That sounds perfect,” he said, his voice warm and full of enthusiasm. “A little adventure, a little relaxation. Best of both worlds. And I love the idea of being somewhere quiet, just the two of us. No distractions, no schedules. Just us.”

“Exactly,” you said, feeling a rush of excitement as the plan began to take shape. “We could find a cute little cabin in the woods or maybe a cottage by the lake. Somewhere peaceful, where we can just… be.”

Harry’s eyes softened, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “I love that idea,” he said, his voice low and tender. “And I love that you’re thinking about us—about what we both want. That means a lot to me.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. “It means a lot to me too,” you said softly. “I want next year to be about us. Not just you, not just me. Us.”

He nodded, his hand resting gently on your cheek. “Us,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “I like the sound of that.”

You leaned into his touch, your heart swelling with affection. “And we can take turns planning the details,” you added, your voice light and playful again. “You pick the hikes, I’ll pick the cosy cabin. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said, sealing it with a kiss. His lips were soft and warm against yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away. When he pulled back, his eyes were shining with a mix of love and excitement. “Next year, it’s all about us. Just you, me, and a lot of adventure—and relaxation.”

You laughed, resting your forehead against his. “I can’t wait.”

“Me neither,” he said, his voice filled with warmth. “But you know what? I don’t need a fancy weekend or a perfect plan to know that I’m already exactly where I want to be. Right here, with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you felt a lump form in your throat. “Harry,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I mean it,” he said. “Today wasn’t perfect, but it was still one of the best days I’ve had because I got to spend it with you. And next year, no matter what we do, it’ll be the same. Because it’s you. And you’re my favourite person.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you blinked them away, laughing softly. “You’re such a romantic,” you said, your voice teasing but filled with affection.

“Only for you,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. “Always for you.”

And as the two of you sat there, wrapped up in each other and the warmth of the evening, you realised that Valentine’s Day didn’t have to be perfect to be special. It just had to be with him. And next year, it would be exactly what you both wanted—a day that was truly, completely yours.

What do we think? This story was inspired by a couple I was serving while working as a waitress. They were out for Valentine’s Day, and it was clear the woman wasn’t enjoying her meal. I overheard her saying she was allergic to seafood, which was wild because the restaurant’s whole gimic was seafood.

It got me thinking about how couples navigate moments like that—where one person’s idea of a perfect day doesn’t quite align with the other’s. I hope the way I wrote their conversation came across as realistic and reasonable. Let me know your thoughts!

[musingsofmajesty]

𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 | 𝐬𝐡𝐲 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 [𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 → 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬] 𝐯𝐨𝐥. 𝐈𝐕

summary it’s valentines’s day 1986, and for the first time ever, Eddie’s got himself a true valentine. And when he runs out of words to say, he’s grateful to have his guitar | fluff, mildly suggestive | wc 1.8k

PREVIOUS | NEXT

[best enjoyed in order, but not required! ♡]

.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．

Eddie’s palms are warm where they rest over your eyes. Getting through the door of his trailer is an awkward, giggly shuffle, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. The small teddy bear he’d gifted you at school earlier that morning is hugged to your chest like a prize. 

In another life, he would’ve trusted you to keep your eyes closed as he led you inside, but not this one. Someway, somehow, you would’ve found a reason to peek, then flash him a sweet smile as a means of asking for forgiveness. 

So he took matters into his own hands. 

After you’ve managed to make it inside, he huffs out a relieved breath and your smile grows even wider. 

“Alright, you ready?” he asks, voice soft near your ear. 

“Yes,” you insist, bouncing on the balls of your feet. 

“Three…two…one…” 

He lowers his hands from your eyes. 

You blink a few times to orient yourself. After that, a surge of warmth is quick to travel through you. The Munson living room is tidier than you’ve ever seen it. Two heart shaped balloons grace the ceiling. Rose petals are sprinkled around the pink gift bag that rests on the coffee table. 

You take a few steps forward, but can’t help but turn around to look back at him where he stands. He’s chewing on his lower lip, hands shoved into his pockets. Nobody had gone through such an effort on Valentine’s Day for you since you were a little girl. He blinks at you with soft, anticipating eyes. 

“All this for me?” you ask. It’s the only way you can think to voice your initial surprise. 

He chuckles as if there could possibly be anybody else. 

“I’m just making sure,” you lightly defend before walking over to sit down on the couch. Eddie follows and sits down beside you. 

Your cheeks warm as he watches, fondness radiating from his gaze. “You’re making me all nervous, watching me like that.”  The pleasant, fluttery type of nervousness. Your eyes flick to him after pulling the bag closer to yourself. 

“Don’t be,” he says with a sincere shrug of his shoulder. “It’s just me.” 

“That’s the problem,” you murmur, almost petulantly. “You’re everything.”

Eddie huffs out a breath that’s caught somewhere between amusement and denial. But he doesn’t say anything as his own cheeks prickle, shaking his head. 

A smile stretches across your face as you finally reach into the gift bag. 

The first thing your fingers grasp are the drawstrings of a small velvet bag. It’s a deep, forest green. Upon pulling it open, your mouth falls open at the sight of two dainty steel rings inside. One has a small pearl accent and the other is shaped like a snake. You all but gush as you slip them onto your fingers. 

Eddie’s shoulders finally relax. 

“Now I’m more like you.” You make it sound like a good thing as you show him your hand and wiggle excitedly. Your nails are a pretty cherry red. “These are perfect, Eddie,” you sigh. 

Then you add lightly, “You really pay attention, huh?”

Of course he does. He always did—was glad to.

Naturally, when you began fawning over his rings one evening, he made a mental note to get you some of your own from the place he liked shopping at. They specialized in more intricate designs that contrasted the simple ones you gravitated towards before him.

This came, of course, came after you’ve already managed to bum a couple from his own collection. He could never say no when you batted your eyelashes and gave him sweet kisses to soothe over the fact that you were taking his belongings. 

“There’s one more thing,” he says, nodding to the bag.

This time, you pull out a cassette tape. A mixtape, rather. There’s a list of songs written out in his blocky handwriting along with little doodles. Most of them are titles he’s gathered are some of your favorites—What a Feeling, Open Your Heart, When Doves Cry, Manic Monday, Rock With You, Don’t Stop Believin’…—But the last track brings a wistful smile to your face. 

“Master of Puppets is on here too…” 

It’s the song he was listening to the day you worked up the courage to go sit with him at lunch. He’d taken off his headphones, only for you to promptly slip them on. His soul had left his body at the idea of you gaining further insight into his heavy music taste, but after a few seconds, you’d smiled at at him and begun bobbing your head. 

Now you know all the lyrics. 

You’re not exactly sure why tears spring to your eyes, but they do. And they slip down your cheeks before you know it. You chuckle despite yourself, and wipe them away with your thumbs. Eddie’s heart drops a little even though he knows you aren’t sad. 

He scoots closer and drapes an arm over your shoulder. “You okay?” he asks. 

You nod and nuzzle into his shoulder. “Thank you,” you murmur. 

“Of course.”

Later that night, after going out to eat at the diner, you find yourself sitting on Eddie’s bedroom floor and combing through a small box of his guitar picks. They’re all different colors. Some have fun patterns and designs.

You eventually pluck out a light yellow one that reminds you of springtime. You hold it up to Eddie, where he sits on the foot of his bed with his acoustic guitar in his lap. 

“Nice choice,” he says as he strums a pretty, nonchalant series of notes. 

“Thanks,” you chirp through a yawn. 

He hums and continues strumming. At first, you think he’s still warming up, but a proper melody emerges soon enough. It’s a soulful, almost folky sound. Nothing like he’s ever played at the Hideout, and you don’t recognize it as being a cover of any song you know.

His eyes remain on the fingerboard as he plays, and when he chances a glance down at you, there’s a certain weight to his gaze. As if the notes are saying everything he has yet to say.  

Suddenly, you’re wide awake. You can feel him in the notes. You can feel yourself too. 

You’re entranced and awed as you sit and listen. You watch his fingers and the concentrated furrow between his brows until the song eventually slows to a close. Just like that, his Bambi eyes drift steadily back to you. He holds your gaze for a few seconds until you feel compelled to stand on your knees and move into space to the space between his legs. 

Without so much as thinking, he brings a hand to your cheek and leans forward to press his lips to yours, ignoring the way his guitar gently digs into his chest. It’s a tender, weighted kiss. Eddie feels like he’s floating. 

“Did you write that?” you whisper against his lips after pulling back some. 

He nods. “What’d you think?” 

You’re quiet as you run your fingertips along the stubble on his jaw. “I might need to hear it again,” you say, but a smile plays in your voice. “And again, and again, and again…” you kiss him again, with more intention and eagerness. 

A small sound rises up Eddie’s throat, and he doesn’t have time to feel embarrassed. Because you part from him and stand, pressing a gentle hand to his chest in a silent request for him to lay back. After setting his guitar aside, he listens, scooting further up on the mattress so the lower half of his body is more supported.

His mind is so fuzzy that he doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but you crawl onto the bed and straddle yourself over his lap. It’s a bold move, even for you. But it feels like the next sensible thing to do. You’ve never felt so safe or drawn to another person.

“Is this okay?” you ask as you look down at him. 

Eddie surprises himself with a flustered laugh. You’re a pretty girl straddling him in your pretty Valentine’s Day outfit, and even he’s not immune to the warmth stir in his gut. And he keeps laughing. Because there’s a newer sense of intimacy to it all.

His hands buzz because he wants to touch you so bad, but he doesn’t know where. How much pressure to apply. Whether or not you’ll take it the wrong way. 

Lucky for you, he’s got just about the sweetest laugh of any guy you’ve ever heard. You can’t help but smile, even though you wish you could pout at him for laughing at a time like this. But something about the sound, as it rumbles through his chest, puts you at ease. 

“See, now I’m starting to second guess myself ‘cause of you.” You’re teasing, but Eddie’s eyes go a bit wide. 

“I’m not laughing at you,” he starts. “I promise. Never.” 

“No, it’s okay. I see how it is.”  You pretend like you’re about to move off of him. 

But his hands shoot out to rest on your waist. His hold isn’t harsh, but it’s firm and steady enough to let you know he wants you to stay. Butterflies flutter in your stomach. When a tell-tale smirk stretches across your face, Eddie lets out a helpless sigh.  

“I’m starting to think you get a rise out driving me crazy,” he says. 

“If it’s taken you this long to figure that out—”

A squeal escapes you when he gently squeezes your waist a couple times. You grip onto his wrists with an anxious grin on your face, and he brushes his thumbs over your shirt to let you know you can relax. When you let go, he lets his hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt so they can settle on your skin. You’re soft and warm. It feels like you’ve known his touch for a lifetime. 

You note the way he starts blinking slower, as if his eyelids have grown heavier. The way his breaths grow a bit deeper, steadier. His curls look beautiful splayed around his head. The cut of his jawline is handsome even as he’s lying down. You can’t help but think you lucked out with this quiet, charming, handsome boy. 

When you shift over top of him, he shifts as well. As if to counter whatever feeling you’ve caused to stir within him. But it doesn’t quite work out. Not really. His cheeks have flushed a rosy shade of pink at the intoxicating weight of you overtop of him. 

“Sorry,” you lilt coyly. 

Eddie shakes his head because, as new as this all is, he’d never trade it. Never in a million years. And as he smooths his hands back down your thighs, he swears he’ll handle you with care for all the days of his life, if you let him. 

“Don’t be,” he assures. 

Thank you so much for reading! And Happy Valentine's Day. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated ♡

PREVIOUS | NEXT

[iamhereinthebg]

Heya Anon!

Tbh I don't really know, Akane is a character who has been dealing with a thousand death flags leading to nothing since his most serious appareance in the manga. And this new timeline is not an exception.

Especially since we know that Kako and Mirai gave him 'You have to try to stay alive' rule as one of his duties

Implying that it is dangerous to altern the past and be the Clock Keeper of the Present, that they have to stay alive to make sure everything goes according to plan.

It also ties to my theory that Akane is the first human clock keeper of the present; Because after all if Kako and Mirai have been asleep since they changed the past in this new timeline, they couldn't have chosen anyone during 1968 and the current events in the manga (2015).

Akane is the only person who is directly coming from a different timeline even compared to Nene and Teru who just remember the stuff from the previous one, being on a time limit before their memories are erased. Akane brought along with him the fact that he is a clock keepers and mystery n°1, something he couldn't be in this new timeline in the first place since both of them don't exist.

But I digress.

Akane has been a little bit different since they came back from the boundary closest to the far shore. It's not that surprising with how much the previous arc must have taken a toll on him. Understanding that Aoi wanted to die, losing her, being impaled, having Teru confirming that he will lose years of his lifespan by turning back human too soon, being beaten up twice by number 6, etc...

Akane is like Kou and Nene on this point, a character who wants to do a lot, but is always a step behind when it comes to supernaturals. And like the other two, it is starting to show in his attitude.

Akane has been shown more unsure of his choices and of his opinions when it's something that never posed him a problem before. He is more scared of Teru (when he knows the exorcist by now) and of being hurt in general,. Something he hasn't showed as much before, liking and enjoying life of course, but never being afraid to be in the first line even if it meant being hurt; Now he acts like he is truly scared of dying.

And he lets things involving Aoi not being his first priority. Refusing to listen to Natsuhiko plan to even try to heal her. Akane has always been showed to be really proactive anyways, that's one of his main character trait. So seeing that he is putting something for a later date and it involves Aoi can be seen as a little bit strange. Akane still loves her deeply and all but he seems to have other plans now, which we learn later in the clock keeper arc. He is not even looking at her directly, having an air of melancholy when he announces he will heal her but not now

That's more of a stretch now, but I think it's pretty safe to assume that Akane has known since a long time what it meant to be the clock keeper of the present, that they had the power to change the timeline. But nothing special has been happening to make the clock keepers take this drastic decision, especially since we know that nothing has been ever changed since the Yugi Twins 4th birthday at least. Which is why he probably never thought about it before. But now that he knows the school mysteries are more important, not just dangerous supernaturals but are protecting the land, and that Hanako has been destroying the yorishiros (which to me, seem to be the seals to keep away the God from the pit/the God Sumire was supposed to marry) he seems to be more aware of this duty in general.

Or if he was made aware of it recently anyways, it's something that the clock keepers must have brought up before the fall festival, being something that even someone as 'Carpe Diem, it is what it is' Aoi Akane may not be able to entirely ignore.

He has been forced A LOT in his role lately too and he clearly doesn't really like it, even if he is good at it.

He finally say 'we' when talking about the clock keepers, and consider even himself as the biggest threat of the school. He doesn't know what to think directly of the supernaturals or seven mysteries now. Knowing that they have an important role to fulfill but still not trusting them at all, knowing of their dangerous tendencies to hurt humans. He can't even look Teru in the eyes when he asks him if the clock keepers are planning to change the timeline over and over again. His feelings for the clock keepers being clearly a difficult case for him to tackle down even if he pretends it's not.

I always said this kinda as a joke, that Akane had the role of a Chosen One but went 'fck no' with it. But I think that it really is this kind of stuff now. Like for Nene who is 'the Kannagi' of the current time and get to make choices and stuff she doesn't want to do. Akane is the same with his role as the clock keeper of the present. Because no matter what he says, he kinda has accepted this fate now, preferring to know what is happening (since he realizes how ignorant he was in the "to the far shore" arc), and having a way to be able to change things. Sacrifying his chance to be 'a normal student'.

But he is not happy with any of it, being the one on the front row to endure all of the supernaturals choices, even knowing that if they don't change back the timeline, he will be the last one to remember. And as said previously, he is now a part of it! He is of course still more human than supernatural but he still acknowledges his role way more than before. Akane hates the way supernaturals work and now what he is doing? Being one of the reason the world is in this state. Of course it's taking a toll on him.

Of course, he doesn't accept everything right away, like Aoi's engagement, it's at first played for jokes but even then, it's understandable with how far their relationship evolved in the previous timeline. He is now thrown into the role of 'the childhood friend who never stood a chance in the first place'. I do think he has a right to be a little bit upset

But after understanding that technically, it's not that much of a big deals in the current events of everything else, since at first most people seems okay, he goes right away to do what the clock keepers asked him to do. Even going to go ask for Teru's help when he knows how much he destroyed his trust.

To finish this long stuff, I think the real big ''death flags' for what is happening right now is of course the fact that he got cursed by the red house (which is a supernatural who has already tried to fool him in the og timeline btw) .

And that there is a chance, like said earlier, that there is only one Akane like him for now, and that he could get stuck here or at least not coming back entirely as the Aoi Akane we knew in the manga (a chance for him to become a full supernatural for example, to be forever now the clock keeper of the present) But for this tbh we don't know a lot it's really more speculation because we know nothing of what could happen to him particulary.

My fav 'suspicious af thing he said' for now in the new timeline is this.

The official translation goes " .. And will love my whole life to the day I die and even beyond that."

When he starts the manga with this.

With the same belief than Hanako that 'death is the end' and now he is considering the After Death, with everything he saw of course, but specifically for him in this case.

Bonus: a thing that is apparently confirmed to be a lie, or he can bend the rules, but he didn't say this in front of Teru and Nene the first time.

And something that I truly think he doesn't know anything about too (my brain truly think Kako and Mirai choose him, and I have some delulu proofs but I digress) Akane do not know sht about the clock keepers and especially doesn't see when people show clear interest in him

[aphoticarachne]

What is this feeling?

Tom Riddle x Reader

Chapter IV

chapter iii

wherein the potion brewing begins

a/n: i really like this chapter, i enjoyed writing Tom's perspective in this entire thing.

Tom wanted to tear the wretched thing beating inside his chest clean out, had it not been for the Horcrux shackling it in place.

Sleep was a distant, taunting phantom that refused to grace him. His thoughts churned like a violent sea, each wave dragging him under. After your confrontation in the Prefects’ bathroom, he had returned to Slughorn’s gathering with a mask of indifference, only to be assailed by questions that gnawed at his patience.

"She wasn’t feeling well,” he’d said flatly, the excuse sliding off his tongue before anyone could ask too much.

The responses were insufferable.

“Oh dear, poor thing. I hope she rests.”

“Should someone check on her this evening?”

“Has she visited Madam Pomfrey yet?”

Their nauseating concern coiled around him like a noose, tightening with every pitying remark. It wasn’t their sympathy that irritated him—it was the fact that it was directed toward you.

He had excused himself from the gathering entirely, leaving the warmth of the room for the cold solace of solitude.

The night stretched on interminably. When dawn finally arrived, he stood before the mirror, his reflection staring back at him with disdain. He combed his hair with brutal precision, fastening his robes until they sat perfectly on his frame, as though an impeccable appearance might restore order to his chaotic mind.

Unable to linger within the walls of the castle, he ventured outside, the crisp morning air biting at his skin. His feet carried him to the Whomping Willow, its gnarled branches clawing at the sky like cursed hands.

He halted.

There you stood, your figure framed by the skeletal silhouette of the tree. The wind toyed with your hair, and for a moment, it seemed as though the storm had birthed you—a force untamed, defiant in the face of all it touched.

Tom’s lips pressed into a thin line as his hands slid into his pockets, his posture stiffening. Even in the stillness of morning, you were an intrusion, a disruption he couldn’t ignore. You were chaos incarnate, and for reasons he loathed to admit, you had taken root in the darkest corners of his mind.

As much as he detested you—loathed you—he stayed rooted in his spot, his dark eyes fixed on your every movement. He told himself he was merely studying you, calculating your next irritating display, yet his gaze lingered far longer than it should have.

Your infuriatingly elegant hair swayed with the morning wind, each strand catching the golden light as though it was designed to mock him. You stood there, still as a statue, gazing up at the Whomping Willow as though it were some grand monument.

Tom frowned, his jaw tightening. There was a peculiar tightness in his chest, a gnawing sensation that slithered through him like poison. Whenever he saw you, something foreign stirred within him—something unnamed. And that was what unsettled him the most.

Surely, it had to be hatred. Yes, pure, unfiltered hatred. What else could explain the way his stomach twisted at the sound of your name? Or the way his hands clenched into fists whenever he saw others vying for your attention? Hatred was logical. Hatred was safe.

But the sight of Archibald Fawley striding toward you disrupted his careful rationalization.

The boy was already grinning, that irritatingly cocky smirk plastered on his face as though he owned the very ground he walked on. His light brown hair tousled in the wind, his uniform pressed to perfection. He stopped in front of you, speaking in that jovial, self-satisfied tone that Tom despised.

From his vantage point, Tom’s lips curled into a sneer. Fawley—a boy so arrogant, so transparently hollow—had the audacity to stand so close to you, to make you laugh, to bask in the light of your attention.

His throat tightened. His wand hand twitched in his pocket, the desire to cast something sharp and cruel simmering beneath his calm exterior. A simple hex—nothing too conspicuous. Just enough to knock Fawley down a few pegs, to remind him of his place.

And yet, before Tom could utter a single syllable, you turned away. Without so much as a backward glance, you left Fawley standing there alone, your figure retreating toward the castle with an elegance that made his blood boil.

Tom exhaled sharply, forcing his grip on his wand to loosen.

It wasn’t possessiveness, he assured himself. No, this was something else entirely. He hated you, hated how you drew people to you with such ease, hated how you existed in spaces that should have belonged to him alone. That was all it was.

And yet, even as the wind carried Fawley’s laughter to his ears, Tom couldn’t shake the lingering thought that the boy’s proximity to you felt like an offense—an encroachment on something that was his.

Tom followed you without thought, as though tethered to your steps by some unseen force. It was a habit he hated acknowledging, an instinct he resented. Yet here he was, his movements silent and calculated, like a shadow that only he noticed. He was terrifyingly good at it, though he’d never admit it.

He trailed you at a careful distance, his sharp eyes fixed on the path ahead. A flick of his wand sent a quiet jinx toward Fawley, who had yet to leave the courtyard. Tom smirked to himself as the boy stumbled on the stairs, his usual cocky composure cracking as he fumbled to regain balance.

Satisfied, Tom stepped into the castle.

Ahead, he watched your figure retreat down the corridor. The sharp click of your heels echoed in the quiet halls, a sound that set his teeth on edge. Those ridiculous boots. He recalled, unbidden, how you’d written to your parents after your school-issued shoes had given out, demanding something better—something elegant and entirely impractical. It had annoyed him then, how indulgent your family was, how you seemed to get whatever you wanted. Yet now, the sound of those heels was unmistakably you, and he hated that he could recognize it.

That detail stuck in his mind. Why, he couldn’t say.

His jaw tightened as you passed into the glow of the early morning sunlight streaming through the high castle windows. The way the light played against your hair, catching in soft waves, made his chest constrict—just for a moment. It wasn’t admiration, he told himself. It couldn’t be. It was irritation, pure and simple.

You rounded the corner toward the Great Hall, your robes flowing behind you like black silk. Tom slowed his pace, his lips pressing into a thin line. There was something infuriating about the way you moved, like you were untouchable, perfectly composed, and entirely oblivious to the chaos you caused in others.

Your steps purposeful, likely in search of an early breakfast.

Tom lingered in the hallway for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. There was something maddening about the way you carried yourself, a grace that felt infuriatingly deliberate, as though you knew precisely how to provoke him without ever saying a word.

And still, despite every ounce of loathing he could muster, he followed. Always.

Tom told himself he would leave, that he would stop this absurdity.

And yet, as always, he stayed. Hidden in plain sight, observing, watching, waiting—for what, even he couldn’t say.

Ever since your prolonged conversation with Archibald Fawley at the Slug Club dinner, He had taken it personally. Unreasonably. Almost manically.

The morning after, he had somehow found you near the Whomping Willow. He had somehow decided that it was his duty to escort you to your classes. He had somehow taken the liberty of sitting beside you and Zelda at lunch, his presence an unspoken imposition.

It was possessive in a way that wasn’t possessive—because Archibald Fawley didn’t form attachments, didn’t care about anyone but himself. Not really. That much, you knew.

But whatever this was—the way his eyes lingered on you, the way his patience frayed when others dared to take up your attention—it wasn’t nothing, either.

The hours blurred together, and before long, the clock struck four. Time to brew the potion.

You hadn’t forgotten last night. Of course you hadn’t.

The way his fingers had curled around your throat—long and cold and far too comfortable in their cruelty—had lingered in your mind all day. Made your stomach knot. Made your hands clench into fists.

He didn’t get to do that.

Your pace was measured, steady, as you made your way toward the Potions classroom, knowing full well that Tom abhorred lateness. You turned the last corridor, spotting the door ahead—only to halt in your tracks.

Because there, standing directly in your path, was Archie.

Wonderful.

"Hey!"

He greeted you with an easy grin, calling you by a nickname that made something unpleasant coil in your chest. That was reserved for friends. For people who actually mattered.

"Archie," you said, smoothing the irritation from your tone, "what are you doing here?"

"Just walking about." He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Thought you had somewhere to be." The cheer in his voice faltered ever so slightly. He remembered your excuse from earlier—that you had a project.

"I do. Potions," you replied, gaze sweeping over him.

"Oh, well—"

Whatever he was about to say was abruptly cut off by the slow, deliberate creak of the classroom door.

A sharp gust of air brushed against the back of your legs. A shadow stretched across the floor, swallowing yours whole.

"Fawley."

Tom’s voice was smooth, but entirely devoid of warmth. He didn’t acknowledge you. Didn’t even look at you. His eyes were locked onto Archie, glacial and calculating, stripping him down to nothing.

"She and I have a project to complete," Tom said, his tone clipped, final. "If you don’t mind."

Before you could so much as react, he reached for your wrist and pulled you inside, the door slamming shut behind you with a resounding thud.

You staggered slightly but quickly regained your balance, whipping around to glare at him.

"Why do you insist on surrounding yourself with people like him?" he asked, voice quiet, as if speaking more to himself than to you. He exhaled sharply and strode toward the cauldron, sleeves still neatly rolled up from earlier.

"You don’t get to dictate who I associate with," you snapped, arms folding as your gaze followed him.

"You’re late."

He still didn’t look at you, already focused on arranging the ingredients before him. "I said four o’clock sharp. Or is punctuality just as difficult for you as basic comprehension?"

You smirked. "Funny. I don’t recall being the one bested on last year’s report cards."

He stilled. His jaw ticked.

You could feel the irritation rolling off him as he double-checked the ingredients—until, finally, his expression shifted.

"You forgot the Valerian root."

Your voice cut through the thick, silent tension like a scalpel. You watched as the realization dawned on him, as his fingers curled ever so slightly around the table’s edge.

"It appears I have," he admitted after a moment, his voice quiet. Then, without so much as a glance in your direction—

"Well, be a good girl and fetch it for me, won’t you?"

A command. An expectation. A statement so dismissive it may as well have been patronizing.

He shrugged off his robe, draping it over the chair, before rolling up his sleeves further, unbothered. Unconcerned.

"I’m not your pet, Riddle."

"I never said you were. We are partners, aren’t we?"

You exhaled sharply, spinning on your heel toward the supply cabinet, muttering under your breath—

"Smug bastard."

You despised it—the condescension in his voice, the way he always seemed one step ahead, as if he knew your thoughts before you did.

Still, you held your tongue, retrieving the jar of Valerian Root and placing it precisely among the other ingredients.

With a sigh, you shrugged off your robe, draping it haphazardly over a chair. You had barely turned when Tom’s voice rang out behind you.

"Remove your jewelry." A warning, not a suggestion.

You exhaled sharply, already reaching for your rings. "How considerate of you," you drawled, casting him a sideways glance.

His expression didn’t shift, but something cold flickered in his gaze. "I’d rather not die in an explosion because of your incompetence."

You rolled your eyes, but before you could muster a biting retort, his voice pierced through the silence.

“Turn around.”

Tom’s words were sharp, and he stood before you, looming with that same unrelenting gaze that had unsettled you since your first year.

A frown creased your brow in confusion.

Reluctantly, you complied, pivoting to face away from him. His hands, cold as ice, swept your hair aside with surprising delicacy before grazing your skin. A sharp tremor cascaded through you, the touch sending an electric shiver down your spine.

He deftly unclasped your golden locket, the fine chain slipping from his fingers before he extended it to you with a quiet command.

You met his unwavering gaze as you accepted the necklace, heart inexplicably pounding.

It was… unexpectedly intimate.

As you both set to work, Tom immediately took it upon himself to direct the proceedings. “Powdered Asphodel Root,” he demanded, his hand extended toward you, waiting for the jar.

“I’m not your servant,” you shot back, your voice laced with contempt at his presumptuous tone.

“You’re not my servant. We’re partners,” Tom clarified, his teeth clenched in frustration, clearly irritated by your refusal to follow his instructions.

“You seem to conflate partners with subordinates,” you quipped, your voice dripping with derision. “Though, I suppose it makes sense—everyone around you seems conditioned to worship at your feet.”

Tom’s retort was cut short as you interrupted him. “The cauldron’s boiling.”

Tom muttered something under his breath, his annoyance palpable as he snatched the jar of Powdered Asphodel Root and added it to the cauldron.

You, having already committed the potion's brewing process to memory, moved with precision. Grasping the wooden spoon, you began to stir the contents, watching as the Asphodel Root dissolved seamlessly into the liquid, transforming it into a rich, dark purple hue.

"Where is the Stewed Mandrake Root?" you inquired, your hands moving skillfully as you stirred the potion with unwavering precision.

Tom, standing just beside you, glanced at the cauldron before his hand reached over to yours, grabbing the ingredient and dropping it carefully into the mixture.

You immediately noticed the potion's texture shift, growing more opaque and thicker, demanding you to stir with greater force to maintain the flow.

An overpowering, earthy stench filled the air, almost suffocating. You recoiled, gagging slightly as the smell hit your nostrils. "Merlin..." You grimaced, shaking your head to rid yourself of the foulness, before steeling yourself and continuing to stir the potion, determined to finish what had been started.

Your gaze swept over the cluttered workstation, irritation sparking as you noticed a conspicuous absence among the ingredients.

"Where is the Fluxweed?" you inquired, voice edged with impatience.

Tom's piercing stare landed on you, cold and unyielding. "Did you not retrieve it from the pantry?"

"You only instructed me to fetch the Valerian Root," you countered.

With a measured sigh, Tom strode toward the supply room, his movements deliberate. He scanned the shelves, fingers trailing over the labeled jars before turning back to you with a displeased expression.

"It hasn't been harvested yet," he stated flatly.

Annoyance flared within you. "And you didn’t think to confirm that before we started brewing?"

Unruffled, he replied, "We can preserve what we’ve already concocted. The deadline isn’t until next week."

Exhaling sharply, you conceded with a curt nod.

"When is the next full moon?"

"Tonight," you answered without hesitation, your tone matter-of-fact.

Tom regarded you with suspicion. "And how exactly do you know that?"

You tilted your head, a smirk tugging at your lips. "I take Divination."

He scoffed, shaking his head slightly. "Naturally."

Suppressing a surge of irritation, you slammed the wooden spoon onto the table with an audible thud and extinguished the flame beneath the cauldron.

"We’ll gather the Fluxweed after dinner. Professor Diggory’s garden should suffice," he declared, stepping past you to scrutinize the potion with unnerving intensity.

Your arms folded across your chest as you fixed him with a skeptical stare.

"And what exactly makes you think we’re allowed to just stroll into a professor’s private garden?"

Merlin, why did harvesting Fluxweed have to be such an ordeal? The timing had to be precise—plucked under the full moon or else it would wither into something entirely unusable, even toxic.

"You ask for permission, obviously," Tom replied smoothly, as if the solution were self-evident.

"Why me?" You arched a brow.

"Professor Diggory has a penchant for favoring his female students over his male ones." His voice was laced with dry amusement. "I’m certain he finds your . . . personality quite endearing and won’t hesitate to indulge your request."

A shudder ran down your spine at the implication. Professor Diggory had a well-known tendency to be overly accommodating toward his female students, his favoritism skirting the edge of discomfort. The mere thought made your skin crawl.

"Have you no shame?" You stood rigid, voice low, eyes fixed on Tom. He had orchestrated this so easily, as if it were nothing—as if you were nothing. Another pawn to be moved at his leisure, another piece in his carefully constructed game.

Tom tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching, as if he were amused by the question. "I wonder that myself sometimes."

You exhaled sharply, rolling your eyes, and reached for your cloak, your rings clinking as you pulled them onto your fingers. Tom raised his wand, murmured something under his breath, and just like that, the remnants of your work—scattered jars, a half-emptied vial of asphodel, the stained spoon—vanished into neat, sterile order.

"I'm leaving," you said. The words came out clipped, precise. You didn’t wait for his permission.

Tom's eyes followed you, calculating, lingering. "Running back to Fawley, then?"

Your fingers hesitated on the clasp of your cloak.

"What is your problem with Archie and I?"

"I don't have one."

"Could’ve fooled me."

His expression darkened, the usual effortless mockery replaced with something colder, something that sat between disdain and something else—something unreadable. He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. "Are you truly so blind? You, of all people, should know what Fawley is like—how he treats people, especially women like you."

A strange, creeping unease curled in your stomach.

"What are you implying?"

He regarded you for a long moment, as if considering something. Then, a blink, and the mask was back in place—cool, impassive. "Nothing."

Something in his voice sent a chill down your spine. Did he know something you didn’t? As Head Boy, Tom had the unfortunate privilege of knowing every scrap of gossip that circulated in the Slytherin common room.

You scoffed, pushing past him toward the door. Your fingers curled around the handle, but for some reason, you hesitated. The candlelight flickered, shadows stretching across the stone floor. You could feel him still watching you, his presence pressing against your spine like an invisible weight.

"After dinner," Tom reminded, his voice smooth, deliberate. "Don't be late."

You turned slightly, just enough to glimpse the sharp profile of his face, the way the low light caught in the waves of his slicked-back hair. There was something unnerving about him—something you couldn’t name.

And for some reason, as you stepped into the corridor, the chill in the air felt a little sharper than before.

Deena speaks .ᐟ

Oh my god I am so sorry this took so long to publish a lot has happened in my life.

Firstly, we had our annual prom last week Friday and my crush gave me a bouquet of roses and danced with me thrice.

He and I are talking as of now.

Also happy valentines day to all those who celebrate ! Love you all & thank you for the support you've been giving me, mwa!

[waynes-multiverse]

Lover – Part 3

Series Summary: Free from his past, Ben’s trying to move on and find a little drop of happiness in this new world. But when he finally holds everything he ever wanted in his hands, it threatens to slip through the cracks, and he has to fight one final time with everything he’s got to keep it.

🫡 Catch up here! Sequel to Rehab & Video Games.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female!Reader

Warnings: 18+ due to language & mature themes, established relationship, Soldier Boy x wife!reader, human!Soldier Boy, the fluffiest of fluff, the smuttiest of smut (watch out for the breeding kink lol) 😉

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day to you all, loves! 💕 Thank you so much for all your wonderful comments over the last few days. I've seen and appreciate them all and will catch up with you guys over the weekend 🥰 For now, excuse this poor mama, 'cause she is fucking beat 😂

Enjoy the happy end 🩵

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Part 3: Lovestruck

Three fucking days he had waited in front of that goddamn door.

He slept in front of that door, ate in front of that door, and he silently panicked in front of that door. He hated that fucking door, had raging murder fantasies about it, but he never, ever opened said fucking door, no matter how much his fingers were twitching. Mostly because every time his hand did wrap around the knob, she’d yell at him to ‘stay the fuck out.’

Ben only unwillingly complied.

But when the quiet came and all other noises stopped, he finally dared to set a foot inside. The bedroom looked normal, even if disarrayed – but the bathroom surely needed a fucking remodel.

All that remained of their bathtub was a solidified puddle of acrylic. There was also a hole in the floor – burned right through the tiles. He’d wondered why it’d been so cold in there till he'd noticed the giant hole in the wall too that gave a perfect view of their backyard. But he found Y/N resting and curled up on the cool, white tiles – alive.

His heart might have fucking soared higher than an eagle.

When Ben asked her how she felt, she only replied with “Like I fucking survived D-Day.”

At that, Ben had snorted and said, “At least one of us did.”

And when they were both sure the worst was over and she wouldn’t turn the car into bubbling liquid as well, Ben finally drove her to a hospital. She was still weak, mostly from not eating a thing in four days. The doctors thought she must’ve had a severe case of the flu, gave her an IV drip with plenty of nutrients, and then released her after a few tests.

She’s been exhausted since then, drifting in and out of dreamland as he holds her in his embrace. She begins to stir again, and soon enough, she glances tiredly up at him through her eyelashes and gives him a lazy smile when she realizes he’s still here, exactly where he was hours ago when she last woke up.

“How late is it?” she asks and stretches a little in his arms but only ends up snuggling closer to him.

“Close to three,” he replies, and judging by the darkness outside their bedroom window, she guesses he doesn’t mean in the afternoon. “How are you feeling?”

Y/N almost breaks a smile. She can’t remember if he had ever asked this much about her well-being before. Her little brush with death might have shaken his steeled core more than she’d initially figured, and her heart swells slightly at the thought.

Sometimes, she still thinks he only keeps her around because he doesn’t know any better. It’s like getting an abused dog from the shelter – you never know if they really love you or if they only tolerate you because you’re nice enough to feed them.

He’s a creature of habit, after all.

But the affection and genuine worry gleaming in his pine green eyes tells her he might see more in her than that – whatever the hell that is.

“Better.” She nods, letting her fingers trace patterns around the golden freckles on his chest. Much better, she thinks as she feels the familiar heat pool between her legs. She bites down on her lower lip and presses herself closer to his perfectly toned and muscular body. It’s been too long since she’s worshipped every fucking glorious inch of him. “I think the fried chicken and noodles helped,” she adds with a small grin.

He chuckles – but not at her words. He can feel how she’s rubbing her thighs together now to get a little friction.

“Oh, I’m sure the burger, fries, sushi, and tacos helped, too,” he teases her. He came this close to entering her in one of those eating competitions as he watched her empty take-out container after container.

“Don’t forget the churros.” She giggles, and on cue, she rolls fully on top of him and straddles his waist, spreading featherlight kisses along the paths her fingers trailed.

“Not surprising. I already know how much you can stuff in that fucking mouth, doll.” Ben’s wide smirk is full of pride, and it causes her to giggle.

To make his point even clearer, his massive hands smooth down her sides and grip the globes of her ass, grinding her core against his proudly standing member. She mewls into the crook of his neck when she feels how fucking hard he is already. He lets out a grunt that carries the same desperate need to be inside of her as two of his thick fingers delve into her tight channel without much of a warning.

“Fucking drenched,” he mutters appreciatively as she arches her back with another moan on top of him. His free hand winds itself in her hair, giving it a slight tug that parts her lips with a pleasurable hiss as he drags her closer to his face. His amusement doesn’t fade, though, nor do his fingers in her pussy as he works her into a frenzy. “Sure you’re ready enough for the big guns, baby girl?”

She giggles breathily at his relentless teasing. “I’m literally about to come any second now,” she replies, soon followed by a harsh bite of her lip when his calloused thumb finds her clit. “Fuck…”

“Oh, I don’t think you fucking are.” Ben smirks and withdraws his fingers from her heat in the same breath. He laughs a little when she falls against his chest with a whimper of real loss.

Her hand finds his length between their burning bodies and wraps around it, already dragging his tip through her dripping folds. But Ben only entertains her plans for a second before snatching her wrist and pulling her away from him.

She whines this time and looks up at him. “Dear God, what do you want?” A laugh rumbles through his chest at the exasperation on her face. “I’ll do anything you want, anywhere you want. Just tell me. What’s Soldier Boy’s deepest, darkest fantasy, huh?”

Ben knows she’s teasing him, and a smile of amusement twitches on his lips, but a part of him actually seriously considers her question.

“What?” Her brow knits curiously as she observes the contemplative purse of his pillowy lips. “It’s okay. You can tell me,” she assures him and grins cheekily. “How fucking dirty is it?”

Ben swipes his tongue over his teeth and subtly swallows the lump in the back of his throat. He doesn’t reply instantly, however, pulling her ear to his lips as he whispers his little wish.

When he’s done, she blinks at him in surprise (and a hint of amusement). She certainly hasn’t expected that, but she places a loving kiss on his lips. The asshole can be charmingly sweet once in a blue moon.

“You sure about that?” she checks, but her tone is more than a little teasing. “There’s a lot of kinks to pick from.”

“Why does your generation always have to label fucking everything? It’s fucking sex. That’s it.” He huffs a bit too defensively, and she tries her best to muzzle her laugh. “What’s fucking wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” she assures him, giggling, and tries to soothe the furious lines of offense on his brow with little kisses. “It’s just surprising. It’s usually what super-old, married couples do.”

“Well, there you go,” he retorts. “I’m super fucking old and married. You’re gonna keep fucking chit-chatting or are you gonna do it now?”

“Fine, I’ll make love to you,” she relents with a smirk as she voices his little secret out loud.

“Jesus fuck!” He throws his head back into the pillow with a theatric eye roll.

His patience has run out. He grabs her fast and rough and flips them both over in a blink of an eye, her back landing in the plush mattress with a bubble of giggles. His weight presses down on her and deliciously threatens to squeeze the air from her lungs.

“Let me show you how it’s fucking done, my love,” Ben says with a cocky smile and begins to ravage a path of destruction down her throat. She’s sure she’ll be more colorful than a rainbow in the morning.

His teeth nib on her skin, hands pawing at the only clothing item that still covers her body from him, soon tearing the shirt over her head. His mouth stops attacking her clavicle then, green eyes focusing on her tits with a rising smirk.

“There’s my girls. Daddy’s home…”

Before she can even reply with a laugh at his comment, his mouth is swallowing her left tit, tongue roughly swirling over her nipple till it peaks against his wet muscle. She moans and arches off the mattress when his other hand massages, palms, and squeezes her other breast with the same fervent hunger.

Her hands find purchase on his strong upper arms, bicep flexing underneath her pads. His mouth devoutly licks lower and lower down her belly. She can feel his smirk rise against her skin the further he travels before his tongue dives straight into her folds.

“Fuck!” Her hips instantly buck forward, everything below her belly button clenching at the welcome intrusion.

And God, that man is skilled when it comes to sex. If he takes nothing else in his life seriously, this is his goddamn Olympics. He always gives it his all, just aiming for that gold medal over and over again.

It’s why she honestly forgives him for most of the shit he does or says, and she’s pretty sure he knows it, too.

His arms wrap around her thighs and pull her even closer against his sinful mouth. Her ankles cross behind his head, calves resting on those broad shoulders that seem to be made just for that purpose. Her toes tease his scalp, scratch the back of his head that cause little groans of his against her center that sound both submissive and primal, as if it's the most natural thing to give his everything to her.

His nose deliciously rubs her clit, and then the bastard fucking inhales and sucks the air right out of her when his lips seal around her bundle of nerves. She cries out his name, her cunt clenching with aching emptiness.

“Don’t worry. I know what you need,” Ben hums against her mound and shoves two thick fingers into her wet channel. “So fucking tight. You think you can take three? It’s been a while. Gotta get you into shape again…”

Fucking Olympics.

His digits then pump her so purposefully, mouth sucking her so religiously, she soon soars so fucking high she can see fucking Cupid himself. Her head falls back into the clouds when that fucking arrow hits, and she falls apart under his binding spell.

She thinks she might have passed out there for a second or two. When she steals a glance south, he still works her zealously through her glorious high as her pussy grips his fingers so tight she’s baffled they don’t break.

If she still had been a supe, they would’ve have.

And my God, she knows Ben’s never wasteful, not with his drugs nor with her arousal, but the way his tongue cleans her and licks his own fingers reaches a new level of obscenity she hasn’t witnessed before.

He acts like he’s been fucking parched for decades, and her juices are the elixir of life.

Then, when there's not a drop left to drink, and only then, does he decide to resurface with the laziest and proudest fucking smirk she’s ever seen. He leans so close to her face their foreheads touch, and she can smell her own scent in his glistening beard before he makes her taste herself, too.

“You’re still the same shithead.” She smirks breathlessly, her tits heaving as she breaks from the kiss. His chuckles fill her soul. She cards her fingers through his beard and brushes the hair back that falls into his mesmerizingly green eyes. “You’re gonna make love to me now?”

A smile widens on his plump and swollen lips, even at the hint of teasing in her voice, but he doesn’t respond with words, only nods and claims her lips in a blazing kiss. He angles his hips between her thighs then and spreads her legs further apart as they secure around his middle.

His lips leave hers and force her eyes open, staring straight into his. There’s an abundance of devotion and love in the lush greens that fill her heart. He makes her fucking feel it – every goddamn thing she is to him.

She feels his love when their fingers interlace and he pins them above her head. She feels his dedication with every thick, long inch he pushes inside of her. And she feels his fucking loyalty with each deliberate stroke.

He doesn’t rush, even keeps the dirty talk to a minimum. This is just for her.

It’s his fucking Olympics.

But most of all, she sees their vows shimmering in his eyes and knows he’ll never fucking break them.

“I love you,” she moans breathily into his ear, wounding herself tighter around him. She’s fucking close, ready for that next arrow with his name on it to pierce right through her heart.

He smirks a little in response, like he’s been waiting to hear it first. “Trust me. I fucking love you more,” he says, voice husky and thick with love. He emphasizes his promise with a snap of his hips, driving his cock right against her cervix. “Gonna pump a full fucking load deep into that little pussy till you’re fucking knocked up with a whole litter.”

Fucking shit. That should not turn her on as much as it does, but it’s hard to goddamn deny it when she comes right then and there as soon as he’s finished that filthy sentence.

“That’s it. Fucking milk my cock,” Ben rasps into her ear and feels his balls tighten when her pussy quakes around his shaft. “Like a fucking faucet,” he murmurs appreciatively and sucks marks into her neck. He’s missed making her his work of art, too.

When he spills his seed into her, hot and raw, he ensures their eye contact never breaks. He wants her to see what she’s fucking doing to him, how he falls apart just for her, too.

Two months later…

“What the fuck is taking you so long?” Ben stretches his neck and tries to peer into the kitchen. He begrudgingly eyes the green, glittery party hat on the dining table in front of him. “‘M not putting the fucking hat on, by the way.”

“Dude, you think it’s fucking easy lighting 108 candles on a fucking cake?” she retorts from the kitchen with a bit of bite before she strolls out with a sort of wonky buttercream cake, but the smile on her face is even brighter than the million candles.

“There’s no fucking way you put 108 candles on there,” Ben scoffs and grumpily crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back with a creak in his chair.

He’s been a bit of a party pooper all day. It also didn’t help when their son pointed that out at breakfast.

However, Ben probably shouldn’t have replied with: “Yeah, you would be too if your wife said no to blow.”

And yup, you bet your ass he woke her up bright and early in the morning, requesting she’d lick the snow off his dick. He’d termed it a super blow job and was rather disappointed when she'd declined.

“No, but I managed to get 53 on there, so it’s an A for effort,” she replies patiently. God, she needs so much fucking patience every day, but especially today.

“What fucking hippie school did you go to, huh?” Ben huffs and only encounters an annoyed frown when he looks at her.

“Blow out your fucking candles and make your wish, caveman,” she orders him dryly.

With a pissy eye roll, he does, puffing the life out of each little flame. “Are we fucking done with this now?”

Just then, the oven timer goes off, and Y/N straightens in the seat across from him.

“Uh, almost,” she says. “Got something in the oven. Can you check?”

“It’s my fucking birthday. How about you check yourself?” he retorts like a fucking princess.

“Ben, c’mon, I just spent six hours in the kitchen, baking you that cake,” she argues.

“Surprising it took six hours for this fucking thing,” Ben mutters, and she’s about to goddamn choke him.

Patience is a virtue, patience is a virtue…

“Baby, please, my feet hurt really bad.” She pouts, and he finally gets up with a deep sigh. She smiles wickedly.

“The oven isn’t even fucking on!” Ben yells soon from the kitchen. “And there’s nothing fucking inside!”

“Are you sure?” she acts as best as she can. “I thought I put something on the baking sheet.”

She listens to the clattering metal before a beat of silence follows. She’s sure his brows are densely knit in confusion (and frustration) at this point.

“What the fuck is this? Why would you put a fucking plastic stick in there?” The question finishes when he returns to the dining room, a small, white stick still in hand. He then holds it to his nose. “Why the fuck does it smell like piss?”

“Because I fucking peed on it,” she responds but sees he’s still not fully catching on.

“Ew! Why the fuck would you put that in the fucking oven?!” His brow furrows so comically she tries her hardest to stifle her laughter.

God, she hopes the kid gets her brains.

“Why is there a fucking smiley on it?”

“Because you’re supposed to be fucking happy, you moron,” she says.

“Why would I be fucking happy over a piss stick? Not exactly the fucking Rolex I wanted, is it?”

“Ben.”

His green eyes narrow at her and then blink. “Wait…”

“Yup.”

“Are you–“

“Yup.”

The stick in his hand drops to the floor before he scoops her up into his arms so fast she feels slightly dizzy from the motion. Happily, her legs wrap around his waist and arms lock behind his neck. She kisses him deeply, and he kisses her back with the same passionate devotion.

He squeezes his eyes shut a little tighter, forcing the tears to stay in, but she can still see the remnants of them when she draws back from his lips.

“I’m pregnant,” she says in case he still needed the verbal confirmation.

“Best fucking birthday ever,” he replies, swallowing the fucking lump in his dry throat.

She grins mischievously. “Told you it would be a good one, but no super blow jobs for a while.”

He snorts a chuckle. “Got it. I’ll take the regular ones, too.”

Ben once used to hate everything, his heart, much like the Grinch’s, a few sizes too small for anything else. But now, there’s barely enough space in his chest to contain it all. These days, he certainly considers himself a lover of all things life has to fucking offer.

The End 💕

Didn't I fucking say I would fix it?! Well, there ya go! Sid and Nancy got a happy end 🌅❣️

Do you guys think Ben wished for a baby or a fucking Rolex when he blew out those candles? 😂

(@zepskies 💜 – Not sure you remember this, but you sent me this ask for Dirty Drabbles about a year ago lol: What if Ben's girlfriend/wife/partner agrees to help fulfill one of his dirty fantasies. She's fully prepared for it to be insane (a la Ben), but what he requests is actually something surprisingly sweet (in its own way lol) And I immediately had this for this miniseries in mind! It fit those two perfectly!! 🥰🫶)

🩵 Tag List

☕️ Ko-Fi

💭 Talk Dirty to Me

TAGS:

Forevers: @alwaystiredandconfused @lyarr24 @supernotnatural2005 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@thebiggerbear @star-yawnznn @thej2report @misatxox @spnaquakindgdom

@americanvenom13 @lamentationsofalonelypotato

Soldier Boy: @deans-baby-momma @snowayumi

Rehab Series: @nancymcl @sparkydonugh

[seungisms]

🖇️📁 𝐒𝐊𝐙 … 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐔𝐌

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, do not interact if you’re under 18

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, degradation, semi-public sex, car sex, somnophilia, overstimulation, sub!hyunjin

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this was completely self indulgent btw, just wanted an excuse to write about how big changbin and jisung have gotten lately 😮‍💨 also it’s 4k words so if this flops i’ll probably rope it. reblog for a kiss, feedback much appreciated! 

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍 / 방찬 ★ 

gets such a huge kick out of making you cum while simultaneously refusing to give you his dick - you can beg, plead, throw all the tantrums you want, he won’t give in. he just wants to see you get all cute and desperate and greedy for his cock before he gives you it :( absolutely loves how easy it is to get you off when you’re in this state and will have you drooling on him like a bitch in heat in no time with simply just his fingers and pretty praises, curling deep against your snug walls while cooing down at you, “you’re already so fucked out honey, haven’t even given you a taste of cock yet. think you can handle it?” all you can manage is a stupid little nod and whimper, hips grinding down to meet the thrusts of his fingers, cunt hungrily sucking them in and he just wishes it was his dick instead. chan truly loves to take his sweet time with you and can’t help but think you look soso pretty after he’s fucked you dumb on his fingers, pussy all sticky and stretched and just begging for him to bully his fat cock in. but he can be a tad cruel sometimes and honestly thinks its the funniest thing ever to ignore your gasped begs, a mean grin on his otherwise gentle face as his digits continue to spread you open, hardly giving his neglected dick a second thought. 

calls you all the pretty names in the book - angel, sweetheart, honey - and they all sound a little too sweet falling from his lips when he’s abusing your little nub. really enjoys watching you work for your orgasm too, its no fun if he’s just gonna hand it to you!! lays between your legs and rubs his fat cockhead up and down your folds, drenching it in your warmth before accidentally fucking it in just an inch then pulling back again, eating up all the frustrated whines you let slip. but god, when he finally does push in and rips one last orgasm out of you its so worth it, and you can barely find it in yourself to care about the way he tormented your poor pussy earlier when he’s stretching you out real good, cock pumping into you so deep it has you slack jawed and teary eyed. fucks you through your orgasm, the familiar heat in your body traveling down in warm spurts of slick cum coating his dick. and he just can’t stop running his mouth when you’re clamping down on him, “that’s it baby, cum on my cock…god, this tight little pussy will be the death of me,” and, “pretty girl, you did so well for me.” he’s so pussy whipped. might even get nasty with it and bury his face between your thighs after, lapping up the mess of cum and sweat pooling onto your thighs. good luck prying him away <333

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐎 / 리노 ★

a true menace at heart. his favourite way to make you cum is when you’re not even aware that it’s happening - you’ll be knocked out cold and you still won’t be safe from this sick, sick man. you couldn’t even count the amount of times you’ve woken up to him pumping into your cunt in the dead of night, shushing you back to sleep cause, “you’re okay sweetheart, just couldn’t stop thinking about your pretty pussy all night. just go back to sleep.” just can’t help himself. especially when he wakes up before you and you’re beside him looking all vulnerable and cute wrapped up in his sheets, legs looking so empty without his head between them and what’s a man to do? doesn’t even give it a second thought before he’s working his mouth against your cunt, testing how many orgasms he can pull from you before you catch on and finally wake up. can only bury his face further into the messy heaven that is your pussy when your sleepy whimpers perk his ears, brows furrowing in pleasure and pretty face all screwed up, mind toting on the line between sleep and the slick tongue working you up. such a tease and will pull away just to watch in amusement as your back arches slightly off the bed, hips subconsciously rutting up to chase after his mouth, missing the warmth and practically begging him to fuck his tongue deeper into your inviting pussy. and he’s so fucking mean to you that he’ll fucking laugh to himself, mumbling something about how much of a cock whore you are even when you’re deep asleep. 

minho is a messy eater, spit and drool mixed with your arousal dripping from his chin - not letting up his abuse until your nub is raw and pulsing against his tongue. he’s quick to rest a hand on your tummy when you start to come around, legs closing in around his head and eyes blinking sleepily down at him and he would’ve thought you were so cute if he wasn’t so busy making out with your pussy. doesn’t even give you a second to figure out what tf is going on before he’s trying to coax more of those adorable gasps out of you, teeth tugging on your folds and fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, keeping them spread wide open for him until you’re complaining that your muscles are sore and tired, but he still won’t let up - continuing to eat you out like a starved animal. likes when you just can’t help yourself from tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging his face even closer to your dripping cunt to the point all he can see, feel, taste is you. and you’re grinding down on him like a desperate little pup, nose bumping against your clit in the most delicious obscene way, all sloppy and messy with your cum and you’re just left wondering why your boyfriend is so mean to you at 8 in the goddamn morning. he won’t stop until you’re begging him to either, pussy left raw and swollen before he’s leaving one last spit fuelled kiss against it. forces you to kiss him after too, shoving his tongue down your throat so you can taste how sweet you really are.

“morning sweetheart.”

𝐒𝐄𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆����𝐈𝐍 / 창빈 ★

likes showing off his strength to you, especially in public when you can do nothing but drool over him - his eyes going straight to the way you press your pretty thighs together when he wears a tight fitting shirt or has his arms on show and he can practically smell the arousal dripping off you. pretends to be surprised when he finally corners you into an empty dressing room, flipping up your skirt and getting a good look at your damp panties and you can hardly stand the embarrassed flush that takes over when he swipes a fat finger over the drenched fabric. makes some sarcastic quip like, “jesus baby, did watching me work out make you this wet? i haven’t even done anything yet.” and nearly loses his goddamn mind when he feels you gush even more at his words, wetness starting to drip past the seams and he can almost taste it. but you don’t even have time to apologise for being the cock hungry whore he always likes to tease you are before he’s nudging your stupid frilly underwear to the side and bumping his digits past your folds, pumping and stretching them so deep inside you it has your toes curling and nails breaking the skin of his biceps, looking for something, anything, to hold onto. and he’ll have you creaming on his cock in a matter of minutes, muscles tensing in his back and jaw straining as he fucks you full. 

you best believe he’s gonna put those muscles to good use, he’s big and strong, strong enough to put you into any position he wants. loves seeing that dumb look on your cute little face the second he gets his hands on you. with the strength comes the stamina, he can go until you’ve completely milked him dry - having fucked you until you were empty headed hours ago but he’s still determined to force just one more out of you. as soon as he feels you go limp on him he’s all over you, tangling a hand in your hair to tug your head back, sweaty chest pressed tightly against your back as he pumps into you from behind, buried so deeply it’s no wonder he has you cumming on his dick again and again. loves the way you lazily clench around him despite tapping out long ago, his strong arms holding you to fuck up into you like you’re nothing more than a hole to him. istg one of the main factors this man works out so much is to see you lose your absolute mind the bigger he gets. 

𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍 / 현진 ★

despite being such a brat, he knows how much you get off on having him sub for you. so he might just let you take control now and then if you’re being extra good for him. and he expects you to take full advantage of the opportunity cause he can go back to being a brat in a matter of seconds if you’re not careful. nothing quite gets you going like reducing this man to a blubbering mess of cute tears and whimpers, cock all swollen and neglected and just itching to finally sink into your inviting pussy. he sometimes hates how nasty you can get when he’s in such a state, edging him towards orgasm again and again and he can’t miss the way your pussy dampens at the sounds of his whiney groans. tries to hold himself back a lot for your sake, veins in his neck almost popping while his fingers twist and curl into the bedsheets, resisting the urge to fuck his hips up when you’re smothering his dick with your glossy lips. nearly loses all sense of control when you take his fat tip between them, tongue pressing down around him and he can hardly focus on anything but the mess of drool and precum slipping down your chin, it’s such a pretty sight. he’s so fucked out that he almost misses the way your fingers dip into your pussy, fucking your fingers into your hot cunt in time with the bobs of your head and he has half a mind to force you off him and replace them with his cock.

hyunjin swears he wants to be good for you, he really does, but he’s so greedy and soso close to cumming that he can’t help but think with his dick and buck his hips up slightly to force himself further down your throat, the lewd sounds of your choked gasps only spiralling him closer. he can only let out a series of pathetic apologies that don’t really mean anything cause he’s still humping your mouth like a dog. post nut regret is real cause as soon as he empties himself down your throat he’s letting out a series of excuses, “but baby, you just feel so good!! how am i meant to help myself 🥺” and nearly crashes tf out when you don’t buy it for a single second - he can only beg, hope, pray you’ll go easy on him. but then you’re grabbing his jaw in your hand, spitting something vile about how much of a selfish bastard he is, sinking your slippery pussy down onto his softening cock and sitting all pretty. making him watch as you get yourself off over and over without offering him the slightest bit of relief - he almost believes your biting words that he’s good for nothing but a dick for you to pleasure yourself with, trying to ignore the fact that deep, deep down he loves when you use him like this. 

𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐉𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆 / 한 ★ 

sometimes he likes not giving you what you want. he’s normally all over you to the point it was pathetic, not able to keep his hands to himself for even a second and you just love teasing him about how well trained and pussy-whipped you have him. he hates it. so now and again he likes to remind you how much you relay on him to keep you sane by dicking you down almost daily. makes you suffer for a few days just to see you slowly lose your mind, and he thrives on how desperate you are to have him buried inside you. he knows you’re apprehensive, especially when he starts making up some excuse you clearly don’t buy when you reach for his underwear, or when he pushes you away and whispers “later baby” when you grind down onto his cock but later never comes, and whenever you finally do coax him to fuck you he’ll pull out just as you’re about to cum, claiming he was just too tired. he’ll have to keep himself busy, late nights in the studio so he doesn’t have time to think about how much he’d rather be buried balls deep in your warm pussy, canceling your plans to spend it at the dorms just begging to some god, whatever god, that you’ll finally break and just force him to fuck you. and when you finally do, it’ll almost be worth blue balling himself the whole week. 

jisung just knows you’re planning something when you so sweetly offer him a ride when he’s running late to practice, your doe eyes hiding a mean glint and the obnoxiously tiny skirt you’re donning not fooling him in the slightest. doesn’t even question it when five minutes into the ride you take a wrong turn into an empty street, stalling the engine and clambering into his lap from where he sat in the passenger seat - so desperate that you don’t waste any time, nudging your flimsy panties to the side to sink down onto his fat dick, he has to hold everything inside of himself back from busting a load just from the feeling alone. and he’s been so pussy depraved the past week that he can do nothing but give in, letting you ride him like he was nothing more than a cock for you to use. he just HAS to keep his mouth busy when he’s fucking up into you, anything to keep him from losing himself in the hold your cunt has on him. “you’re so needy, you know that baby? almost worse than me. what? you don’t like being told the truth? you were losing your mind without my dick inside you, it was cute.” and he just can’t ignore the way you seem to wrap even tighter around him, he didn’t even know it was possible with how you were suffocating his cock already. he gets you there in seconds, the stench of sex and sweat fogging up the windows and he swears your cum has never tasted sweeter than when he has you reduced to the mess you are now. 

𝐋𝐄�� 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗 / 필릭스 ★

felix is usually so sweet and gentle with you during sex, spoiling you with pretty praises and the stretch of his cock fucking you so lovingly it’d make you feel embarrassed sometimes. but he just can’t stand it when you take advantage of that and act like a brat, it makes him want to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you in front of everyone whenever you give him the slightest bit of lip in public, forcing you to apologise on his dick for being such a little bitch. he won’t go that far though. no, he’ll just sit back and watch as you get yourself off, every passing second making your need for his cock even more obvious - might not be your favourite way to get off, but its definitely his. ignores your meek apologies when you know you’ve went too far, deep voice cutting you off and telling you to strip as he sits comfortably against your headboard, hands undoing his belt and you’re practically dripping in arousal - foolishly thinking he’s gonna give in and fuck the attitude out of you. but he can be so nasty when he wants to be, cock leaking and red and you suddenly feel so empty looking at it. fucking laughs at how eager you are when you rush to sit on his lap and just when you’re about to sink down onto him he’s stopping you, a mean glint in his pretty eyes. “grind on it.” loves wiping that hopeful look on your face and if you even think for a second about complaining he’ll just make you sit in the corner and watch as he gets himself off over and over again. 

he likes to see you work for it, leaning his head back and gazing at your through bored eyes, acting like the warmth of your pussy dragging against the length of his cock wasn’t driving him absolutely insane. he’ll try his hardest to not give in, at least until he sees those cute tears line your lashes. and you never thought your sweet little boyfriend could be so mean with how he just refuses to fuck you. normally he’s wrapped around you pretty little finger, and god do you know it. deliberately bumping your pussy against his tip with every rut of your hips, hands clawing at his chest just begging for even an ounce of pity. but he wants to watch you make a mess out of yourself for just a bit longer, your whines going straight to his cock as spurts of warm precum spill out of his swollen tip, nudging it just an inch past your pussy to rub his stickiness against you. probably cums along with you when you finally do, and it’s so unsatisfying that you’re sobbing and sniffling into his chest, gasping out how much you need him inside you and he’s so proud you’ve finally let go of that bratty attitude of yours.

“that’s it pretty girl, let it all out.”

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 / 승민 ★

when he’s so pussy whipped that he’s completely consumed by you. the only thing he can think, taste, feel is you. to the point that nothing else matters and his only goal is to make you cum. nothing quite gets you off like it. he notices it first when he’s fucking you like he usually does, like he hates your guts, the stretch of his cock almost painful with how deep he was pumping into you, sweat dripping from his hairline and his pretty lips tainted with vile words. but the moment you hear a little pathetic whine leaving them instead you’re clamping down around him so snugly it has him letting a few more out without even thinking. he’ll try to ignore it, tells you to shut the fuck up or he’ll stop. but he won’t be able to shake the feeling of you spilling onto him in floods the second you registered the noise and the slight stutter of his hips, his usual harsh demeanour slipping for just a second. he’ll lose himself in the feeling of your warm cunt just see how you’d react, being a little pathetic in the way he talks you through it, mean words turning to pretty begs and he loves the way you gush around him from the complete 180. sometimes, only when you’ve been extra good for him, he’ll let you use his cock until you’ve completely milked him dry, just to coax more of those pretty whimpers out of him but he’ll genuinely break up with you if you dare bring it up to anyone :( LOVES eating you out when he’s in this space, stuffing his face so far between your thighs he’s almost being suffocated with your pussy, letting out the greediest little moans just from the taste alone, making you cum again and again until he’s covered and dripping in your cum. 

seungmin eats you out like a man starved, spit lubing up your cunt and your sore nub relentlessly abused by his tongue - nose nudging your clit a few times, only adding to the sloppy way he was kissing your pussy. but you just don’t have the heart to tell him to back off when he’s subtly humping the bed for some kind of release and his eyes are rolling into the back of his head, wet groans of, “tell me how good i’m making you feel, please,” being breathed out against your cunt everytime he reluctantly pulls away for a gulp of air, almost as if he’d be happier dying with his mouth on your cunt right then and there instead of pulling away. he’ll make himself cum just from eating you out, his name falling off your lips like it’s a prayer and back arching to fuck your pussy up into his mouth has his heavy cock twitching, warm spurts of cum leaking past his tip and leaving a sticky, wet patch on the bedsheets. has to overcompensate when the post-nut regret hits him though and will probably push your head into it, telling you to clean it up or some shit. gets soso cocky when you can’t get enough and start feeling up his softened cock, tutting something about, “just made you cum, you really are a greedy girl.” acting as if he hasn’t just spent the last hour eating you out like a animal. 

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍 / 아이엔 ★

likes to get you off by riling you up. he just thinks it’s so funny - especially when he’s performing. he’ll play into it  when he knows you’re backstage watching on one of the monitors, just itching to get your hands on him and fuck the tease out of him. loves the thought of you drenching through your panties while watching him work the crowd, sweat dripping down his body and smiling all cocky when the audience goes wild for him, just knowing you’re right there along with them. he’ll make you wait a bit when he finally meets you in his dressing room, claiming he’s too tired but really he just wants to see you beg a little. and as soon as everyone clears out and it’s just you and him, you’re on him in instant - wanting so desperately to slap that smug grin on his face when your hands reach for his belt but also needing nothing more than to feel his thick cock breaking you open. and before you know it he has you bent over the armrest of the little shitty sofa he shares with the members, nails breaking the skin of your hips and ass as he loses himself in the snug walls of your fluttering pussy.

jeongin loves being needed, and he especially loves when you tell him how much you need him. but he doesn’t necessarily appreciate when you’re moaning like a whore with his members standing right outside the door. constantly hisses through clenched teeth for you to be quiet, slowing the grind of his cock down until he’s completely still inside you, hips snug against your ass and chest pressed tightly against your back to whisper in your ear, “you better shut the fuck up baby, what are you gonna do if chan hyung walks in and sees you getting railed like the little slut you are?” and he really can’t bring himself to ignore the way you clench around him at the thought, almost laughing at how much of cock whore you really are if he wasn’t so focused on filling you up with his cum until you could practically taste it. he’ll settle for a hand muffling your sounds, cause you just seem to get even louder the second he slams his dick back inside you, muffling your slutty whimpers when he hears faint voices carry through the thin walls. and he’s so desperate to make you cum before someone walks in, telling you to take it like a good girl when he’s filling you up and before you know you’re making a mess of the sofa and his cock. he’s so mean to you that he’ll make you explain to his hyungs what the weird stain left on the couch was just to embarrass you even more.

© 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐬 — 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.