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notquitecanon · 12 days ago

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Familiarity & Whiskey // Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Simon and Johnny get in a fight, which is how Simon crosses your path. Thinking your an easy mark for quick comfort and a quick fuck, he's not aware you're in the UK to meet your estranged father. Your circles running tighter with his than he thinks...

(Unedited)

Poor Simon can't catch a fucking break. Let this man nut and smoke a cigarette.

CW: feminine descriptions and pronouns used, alcohol consumption, making out, heavy petting, allusions to oral (male receiving), Simon's lowkey highkey manipulative, absent father!John Price, don't think too hard about age gaps i gave up

Request by: @i-live-in-spite

NSFW 18+ MDNI

"Go to hell, Riley. ‘S where ye fuckin’ belong."

That had been Johnny’s direct words.

Which was the first and only time Johnny had addressed by just his last name. Usually it was some irritating nickname, his callsign, or his rank delivered with the Scotsman’s usual bright eyes and mirth that somehow made it less annoying to Simon. And when it was his real name, in serious times, it was his first name, with a sincere look and genuine inflection. Never just ‘Riley’.

But Johnny had spit his last name like it was a curse. Something that tasted bitter in his mouth, something poisonous.

Hell, maybe it fucking was. And it had him craving something volatile- destructive. Alcohol, sex, a pack of cigarettes… and if he couldn’t get one of those to self-medicate this poisonous streak, he’d settle for bloodying his fists before the end of the night.

A shit mission with a shit conclusion. A shit day. Fuck, a shit year. Culminating in a clash between Lieutenant and Sergeant, Simon’s icy seething clashing Johnny’s explosive rage about a bad call made worse by Simon’s version of coping- cold indifference and colder jokes. Actions had consequences, isn’t that what Simon always told his sergeant? Maybe that’s why Simon was stewing in the shitty pub close to base crawling with recruits after Gaz and Price had forcibly split up the confrontation right as it was about to get physical.

Price had all but shoved him off base while Gaz took Soap somewhere to cool off- probably the gym or some equally shitty pub on opposite ends of the city. So there he was, sulking in a corner, nursing the only bourbon this bar offered, stewing over whether or not he needed to apologize.

The thought of apologizing burned worse than the bottom shelf bourbon he was sipping. He was Ghost. The Ghost. He didn’t apologize. This was one of those times he would’ve actually appreciated Price’s usually unwarranted ’sage’ advice- but he was tied up, still on base and pissed off because he was trying to wrap up mission reports and now was cleaning up Simon’s mess.

—

"Excuse me? Would it be ok if I sat here? I’m waiting for someone but the guys at the bar won’t leave me alone." You were biting your lip a little, trying your best not to look too awkward as you asked the tall, dark, and you assumed handsome but you couldn’t tell around the mask he was wearing. You felt nervous, but not to be talking to you, you were nervous for a laundry list of other reasons. Including and limited to meeting your father for the first time since you were barely three years old.

When the pub had been suggested to you, you’d thought the closeness to his base was an advantage- casual, easy, public, nearby- what you hadn’t accounted for was the herds of young soldiers that would also be there. Trying to buy yourself a drink to calm your nerves while you waited had resulted in four heinous pick up lines, three cocktail napkins with phone numbers scrawled on them, two vulgar gestures, and one marriage proposal. Like the 12 days of Christmas song, but from hell. The only place that wasn’t buzzing with sloshed young soldiers was a dark corner with an absolute behemoth of a masked man, two empties and a half drank tumbler of whiskey. Despite (or perhaps because of) the nerves, jet lag, and shot of tequila you’d just took because of said nerves, you considered yourself something of a strategist.

After you asked, narrowed amber eyes flicked up to you appraisingly, pinning you to your spot. Even slightly slouched over his drink, he was huge. Not just tall, but built like a brick house. He wasn’t wearing an actual military uniform, but everything about him just read military. He stared at you for a second, then a minutes, stretching into two. To your credit, you kept your chin high and your eyes level on his. Right as you started to say, "Never mind, sorry to bother-"

" ’s fine." His voice was deep and kind of gravelly, low enough that his quiet tone was almost lost to the barroom chatter. His accent wasn’t one you’d heard before, a bit sharper and choppier than the accent John had on the phone. He scooted further into the booth, dragging his drink with him. As you turned back and slid into the corner booth, he scrutinized you again, like you were supposed to be familiar to him, "I know you?"

"Doubt it." You smiled, a tight lipped but warm thing. You knew you didn’t know him considering this was the first time you’d set foot in this country. Not to mention you’d undoubtedly remember a character like this. So instead, you offered him your name and an outstretched hand. He nodded, neither returning the exchange or shaking your hand, just grunting to show he heard you.

Still, he scanned you again. Simon was sure he’d never met you, but there was something about you that was eerily familiar. It was the feeling of someone’s name being on the tip of his tongue but slipping between thoughts before he could place it, or a song that as soon as he tried to think about it the melody slipped away. It wasn’t your physical features, as pretty of a bird as you were. That little smile, the way you carried yourself, the saunter in your walk, how your shoulder were held, the set of your jaw, you were young in the face but seemed older, the casual confidence so rare for someone your age… These were all things so familiar to him, but he couldn’t connect it to it’s match. Maybe it was the bourbon.

"Y’not from ‘round here." He stated, and it wasn’t a question. Simon knew it as a fact. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why someone not from here would patronize a piss-poor pub like this, especially a bird like you- pretty and warm and put together. He rose an eyebrow that shifted the brow of his mask, "What brings you?"

Blunt and to the point. Definitely military. You leaned back against the booth, your finger tracing the glass rim of the wine glass you’d set down in front of you. White wine from a shit hole like this was one of the many clues that you didn’t belong here.

"Meeting someone important." You answered vaguely with another one of those warm but tight smiles. Seriously, where did he know that from? "He’s late."

"A date?" He pressed further with eyes that were somehow intense and disinterested at the same time. You couldn’t decide if his bluntness was a military quirk or social dysfunction, or possibly both. Of course he couldn’t know that this was the furthest thing from a date you could be doing tonight, which made you laugh, loudly and suddenly. The noise took Simon off guard, but not for it’s spontaneity or for how bright and beautiful it was , but because it tugged at that feeling a familiarity, bordering on nostalgia.

"Oh, god no." You rushed, shaking your head and forming an X over your chest for good measure, still laughing a bit as you took a sip of wine. Still, you weren’t sure how you were supposed to describe John. "Not a date. I’m just meeting…. someone important."

Simon doesn't know why this pleased him. Something about you being available and talking to him as opposed to the damnably flashy and obnoxious grunts wearing their dress uniforms to the pub on a fuckin’ Tuesday… Simon’s mouth quirked into a subtle smirk as he lifted his mask enough to take a sip of his bourbon, not missing how your too-familiar eyes followed the movement, intrigued and keen, “Who then?"

"Nope, I’ve already answered, like, three questions. Your turn?" There was that casual confidence again as you turned the question on him with that little grin, legs cross under the table as your nails clicked against the sticky wood table, "What brings you here?"

Simon’s expression under the mask soured again, eyes fixing on the lipstick stain on your wine glass. Pretty color… He wondered how it’d look smeared along his mouth. Or his cock. He shook that thought out of his head, bringing his eyes back to yours. Maybe it was the bourbon that loosened his tongue, or maybe those eyes of yours, “Got in a fight with a mate o’ mine. It was… suggested that we give each other some space.”

‘Suggested' was nice was of saying Price manhandled him all the way to the guard station at the gate. Like a scolded dog being put outside.

“So you’ve put yourself in the corner? Are you in timeout?” You quirked an eyebrow in another frustratingly familiar gesture, something that made him chuckle instead of bristle as you gestured to the dark corner he’d been lurking in.

“Something like that.” He nodded, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

“What was the fight about?” You asked casually, taking another sip of your wine. Normally so private, Simon would’ve bitten a stranger’s head off for such a personal question. But coming from you, between his desire to keep your attention on him and the ever present nagging sense of familiarity, he just sighed.

“Hard week pushed some buttons. We’ve both got tempers. Mine’s worse.” He explanation was simple, both from characteristic standoffishness and the fact the mission that had provoked this fight had taken place in a country the British Military was not supposed to be. Another deep sigh like the confession took something wrenching from him, “He puts up with me usually, but I… said somethings’ I shouldn’t’ve.”

You nodded sagely, taking in the rather vague information with eyes settled on the far wall as if you were doing mental math, quiet deductions. He recognized this look from somewhere, this was the look of someone looking for answers and solutions. Your fingers tapped against the table again before your eyes slid back to him, “So you were both assholes to each other, but you were worse?”

“Yeah. That’s the gist of it.” Simon scoffed as you boiled down his already barebones explanation even further. You nodded again, looking at him quizzically.

“Have you thought about just apologizing?” You rose an eyebrow at him, your head cocking a little to the side. The most obvious answer in the world that for some reason he couldn’t wrap his hand around. He opened his mouth to protest, but you were quicker, voice chiding in way he’d heard before- but from where?, “No, let me guess, it’s not that simple, you can’t just apologize.”

For a moment you dropped your voice a little lower and attmepted a half imitation of his Mancunian accent which would’ve been offensive if it wasn’t exactly what he was about to say. You huffed a quiet lap before returning to your normal tone with a roll of your eyes, “Believe me, yes, it is that simple, and, yes, you can just apologize. And if you truly think it’s not something an apology would fix, let him get one good hit in and get it out of your systems. Problem solved.”

“Get it out of our systems?” Simon asked a little incredulously, despite the sampling of a sharp wit and the occasional hard glint to your eyes, he hadn’t expected someone as soft looking as you to jump to punching as a serious form of conflict resolution. Hell, you sounded more like his Captain Price than some random pretty thing in a pub, “that’s terrible advice.”

“You telling me you would’ve seriously taken my apologize and talk it out advice?” Your eyebrows raised again as you leaned forward on your elbows onto the table- another frustratingly familiar look that would’ve distracted him if your now exposed cleavage didn’t distract him further. He swallowed as he stared, feeling the growing need to get something out of his system, and his fight with Johnny was becoming less and less forefront in his mind.

“Not a chance.” He shook his head, sniper eyes locking in on the drop of wine that escaped your glass and slid between your breasts, quickly disappearing between skin and under your shirt. He could find it with his tongue, bet your skin made the wine sweeter…

“Yeah,” You laughed again, setting down the empty glass, finding this intriguing masked character to be a wonderful distraction from the anxiety of this upcoming meeting. And if John was running late, you’d take advantage of the distraction, “Figured as much.”

___

An hour and another glass of wine later, you’d continued to scoot closer to the masked man in the booth with you. He was first to initiate contact, throwing an arm over your shoulders in the pretense of keeping you close enough to hear over the rowdy group cheering on a rugby game, it was you who had leaned into his side. His hand had found your thigh first, but your nails were tracing little shapes and words against his forearm.

“Who was it you were meetin' 'ere, sweetheart?” Simon asked again, his mask still rolled over his nose again as he took another sip of his bourbon, lips grazing your earring as his breath fanned over your neck. He wondered how you would react if his teeth tugged one of the pretty little earrings you’d picked out. You were distracted noticing how his accent minced certain letters in syllables in a delectable way, “Only a fool’d keep you waitin’ this long.”

Two glasses of wine and jet lag had done away with your need for vague answers as you leaned into him, shivering as the smell of bourbon, cigarettes, and gunpowder started to overpower your perfume. You swallowed, eyes meeting his with a bit of nervousness he hadn’t been able to pick up on you until just now, “I’m meeting my father. We’ve been estranged most of my life. And he’s an hour and forty five late now.”

“Shit.” Simon muttered under his breath, not thinking you could’ve said anything that could really surprise him. Meeting your estranged father and yet you’d spent the last two hours coaching and comforting him through a fight with his friend. That level of self sacrifice should’ve clued him into your parentage almost immediately, but he was busy staring at how your wide eyes were staring up at him through your lashes, teeth toying with the seam of your lips that your tongue kept darting out to wet.

“I’m a little nervous.” You admitted, the nail that was tracing shapes on his forearm dropped down to his massive thigh to brace yourself. If you leaned any closer, you’d be all but in his lap- which wouldn’t be the worse thing, both of you mentally decided. You took a deep breath, sipping some of the water you’d ordered midway through your third glass of wine, "A lot nervous, actually.”

One thing about Simon, was that as a sniper, he was opportunistic. When he saw a shot, he took it. And you just lined him up to test his theory on how long it’d take to convince you to slip into the pub bathrooms with him.

His arm around your shoulder adjusted so he could gently brush some hair behind your ear, thumb purposely grazing your cheekbone before he tilted your face up to meet his, “Well, you know the best way to get over your nerves?”

The sudden closeness stunned any witty retort to silence as you hummed for him to continue, swallowing thickly in a way that brought those keenly sharp eyes to watch the bob of your throat. He chuckled lowly to himself, so sweet and perfect, he was about to absolutely ruin you. But he wasn’t evil, he’d put you back together again…

“Gotta… work... it outta your system. Just like you said, sweetheart.” His other hand was kneading into your thigh through the pretty satin of your skirt, such a good girl, with a skirt below your knees, and he looked forward to shredding those tights underneath with nothing but his teeth and bare hands. But… he wondered if he could make you cum through them before he ruined them, and with the way you tensed and then melted at his touch, he was betting the answer was a firm yes. “Gonna let me help you like you’ve been helping me?”

You thought he sure had a funny way of equating this heavy petting to the teasing and mild comfort you’d offered about his fight with this ‘Soap’ guy, but you nodded anyway. All the pent-up anxiety made it an eager motion as he chuckled, leaning forward and catching your mouth, so possessive and borderline aggressive at your compliance. He was a bit of a bully, using his bulk and his weight so you would bend underneath him like he was testing how hard he had to press for you to break, and when you whined at the feeling of him biting your lip, he only swallowed your sounds and laughed into your mouth.

Lips smearing your pretty makeup, one hand tangling your hair into his finger and the other fisting your skirt so it started hiking up your legs, and one of his boots nudging your ankles out of their polite cross so he could start prying your thighs apart. God, you were making out (bordering on hooking up) with a nameless, masked man with anger issues while you waited to meet your estranged father for basically the first time… What had your life come to?

Actually, the absent father bit explained the masked stranger bit if you thought about it for more than three seconds.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’ve gotta be taking the absolute piss, Simon.” A sudden and angry voice, familiar to both of you sounded from the front of your secluded little booth. You jumped back away from your paramour. Simon, apparently was his name, while he only turned in frustrated confusion at his captain interrupted him blowing off steam, just as he’d been instructed when Price all but kicked him off base for the night.

Your eyes went wide in absolute mortification, like you’d melt under the table and just die there. Standing there, watching you sloppily make out with someone he apparently knew, was your father. John Price. Who hadn’t seen you since you were three years old and compulsively carried around a Kermit the frog stuffie everywhere you went… He looked older compared to your hazy memories of him and the singular picture your mother hadn’t burned, and the interesting facial hair only made him look older. You suspected he was capable of looking warm and kind, your mother always said you got his soft eyes and smile, but right now he looked pissed.

“Price?” Simon questioned, yanking his mask back over his mouth to hide the smears of his lipstick, wondering if this temper had something to do with the mission or with his fight with the sergeant and if so, why it was urgent enough to interrupt him right now. He’d noted how you went rigid underneath him, batting his hand out of the balmy soft canyon between your spread thighs before they clamped shut again. Shit, that door was rapidly closing...

You spoke at the same time as Simon, your voice somewhere between hesitant questioning and caught teenager, “Dad?”

“Dad?” Simon immediately parroted, his respect for his Captain superseding the whiskey and lust as he peeled himself off of you quickly doing mental math Olympics to figure out genetics and age gaps, “Bloody Hell, John-“

You shrieked, as Simon didn’t get a chance to justify himself or even ask, how was I supposed to know the bird I was trying to fuck was your kid you’ve never told anyone about? Because your father’s face went red instantly, jumping across the booth and landing a scarily hard punch across Simon’s face, spilling wine and whiskey all over you in the process.

So it was going to be a bloody knuckles kind of night, after all.

____

Sorry I kinda changed up your request a little bit, I started writing and it kinda got away from me. I'm a slave to the little worm in my brain.

#call of duty modern warfare x reader #codmw x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #cod mwii x reader

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treasureyourfire · 2 months ago

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~ Where is my Soulmate? ~

Welcome Souls~

I am sending my new pick a pile reading for you.~

We often have to travel a long way to find our eternal, romantic soulmate/divine partner. The road leads through struggles, wounds, lessons and healing. We think about where they are, what they do, what their life is like, when we finally find eachother...

I think, "when" is malleable. The decisions we make, how we shape our lives and ourselves can influence it, and perhaps that's more important where we go with our own growth until we meet them. That's why I didn't get into that in the readings.

Choose the image(s) that attracts you the most. Accept from the messages what you can identify with, and let go of the rest~

Illustrations belongs to Jumo.Art (Facebook, Instagram, Etsy)

Reminder:

* These are not gender-specific readings, I use They/Them pronouns. * These are collective, timeless readings for entertaintment. * I am not a professional reader and readings that I do are a part of my learning process. * The tarot can provide guidance, but you manage your own life according to your free will. Feel free to keep what resonates, and let go of what doesn’t.~ * (English is not my mother language, sorry for the mistakes.)

To what extent are You ready to receive your soulmate? Four of Pentacles, Page of Wands, Sun, Four of Cups, Hierophant

Dear Soul! In this period of your life, you are/have been striving for security, balance, and stability. You plan for the long term, for durability. You focus on building your foundations: it can be your home, your financial situation or your physical body, your health. You are an honest, straightforward person, but cautious. In the past period, you may have closed yourself off a bit to protect everything that is important to you and that you fought for. Maybe you just settled somewhere. You cling to a secure foundation both on the earthly and spiritual planes. At first, under the surface, which may seem stoic and serious, lives a dreamy, enthusiastic, artistic soul with a rich world of emotions. You are ready to use your creativity to develop and enrich yourself with new experiences. Recently, you are starting to open up to the world and come out of your shell. You want to shine like the Sun, enjoy life obliviously, fulfill yourself in it, get the most out of yourself. I feel that your circumstances give you the opportunity to do so. Despite this, you still have moments of skepticism when you feel uncertain. Sometimes you still think about things that didn't go according to your plans. Your experiences and relationships so far have not satisfied your desires and needs, and you cannot really believe that something better than what you experienced in the past can awaits you. However, something that is pure, a sincere gift may appear to you, you just have to break down the barriers built around you and learn to trust again, to believe that the universe -or what you believe in- supports you and encourages you to look at the bigger picture. You are dedicated, you strive to create lasting values in your relationships as well. You would like to share your long-term goals and desires with the right partner to whom you would commit yourself for life. You are looking for a spiritual unity/bond that is solid, where you receive emotional security, mutual trust, intimacy, in which you support and inspire each other, and you can develop together, solving difficulties together.

To what extent are They ready to receive you? Ten of Cups, Eight of Pentacles

Fully! I smile and it fills me with joy when I look at your soulmate’s cards. They are full of love and enthusiasm, they long for a family, a happy home full of laughter and abundance, with you. They think of you as a team, in which they would support you in everything as an equal partner. Maybe lately they have been a little more immersed in their work or other personal projects, but if you find each other, they'll be just as dedicated to your relationship. Maybe they will feel that they have to work for your trust, but they don't mind. They have persistent, hardworking personality. Thoughtful, patient, humble, attentive to details, not intrusive. They will pay attention to you, your signals and what you need. Maybe they will shower you with gifts (if this is what you want), if they see that you like this way of expressing their emotions to you. Maybe they also have an artistic vein, like to create with their hands, and will surprise you with they self-made works. I sense that your soulmate is eager to welcome you into their life, but at the same time they are trying to wait patiently until you are ready to come to them of your own free will.

What symbols and signs will indicate to you that your soulmate is nearby? Knight of Cups

Helmet - It may sounds funny, but I mean a kind of Gallic helmet what the characters wearing in the Asterix stories. Wings (can even be a car emblem) Horse - winged pegasus or earth horse, may be in color white Silver and Blue colors could also dominate. Fish (including goldfish, koi), scales, scaly pattern, wave pattern, Japanese-style waves, which can often be seen in tattoos

When I saw the card, I felt as if my lungs were filled with fresh air. A clean, soothing feeling. I was relieved. Or as if a sip of cool, fresh, clean water had washed my throat. Maybe you will experience similar feelings when you meet them.

Where and under what circumstances will you meet? King of Swords, Tower, Three of Pentacles, Page of Swords

A situation where you need knowledge, wisdom, good judgment, clarity, rationality, good communication skills, clear communication, maybe leadership or organizational skills (you two don't necessarily have to be in a leadership role, but a person of this role can be present). Perhaps in circumstance where there is a sudden change, an unexpected task arises. It maybe include a light tower, but this is a bit special, of course this cannot apply to everyone, the image just flashed in front of me. Planning, re-planning/building (because of the Tower card), learning, discussion, consultation, teamwork, team building. Maybe, possible misunderstandings and doubts should be clarified, the fog should be dispelled with an objective view. Honest, open communication will be required.

Advice: What to focus your energy on in other areas of your life until you meet: Moon, Ace of Cups

Let yourself sink into the depths. The Moon gently asks you to examine your fears in the darkness surrounding you. It invites you to turn inward, do introspection and self-research. All feelings, traumas, ideas, picked-up or learned patterns that intimidate, unsettle and hold you back are hidden in this subconscious depth. Examine what is preventing you from welcoming love (back) into your life, be it romantic or of any kind. By uncovering these barriers in yourself, renewal and healing can begin, and you can open up again to the love that awaits you from both yourself, from the outside world, from your future soulmate. In the quiet retreat, you can prepare yourself for development, for moving on, rebuild your faith in a better future and fill your own cup before coming to the surface again.

To what extent are You ready to receive your soulmate? Reversed Six of Swords, Seven of Cups, Two of Swords, Temperance, The Fool

Dear Soul! You had to get yourself out of a difficult situation. You had a strong resistance to moving on. You may have been haunted by excessive caution, overburden, mistrust (even paranoia) in the past period. You lived in fear, and this internal struggle hindered your progress and development. There was confusion in you and around you. You were unsure of your possibilities, you couldn't determine what your true calling was, what would take you forward, what you could trust, and what was false or (self-)delusional. Maybe it only applies to a small percentage of you who chose the second picture, but maybe someone clouded your clarity with illusions and took away your confidence, maybe gaslighted you. You were confused and waiting for someone or something to rescue you from your hopelessness. You had to make a difficult decision. You needed to exclude all kinds of illusions and external influences, to silence the chaos and your fears in your thoughts in order to find your inner voice. You wanted to finally see clearly and continue your life more consciously. Over time, you overcame your difficulties, the hoped-for enlightenment arrived, you managed to make the decision and move on. The Sun is rising on the horizon for you, an ascension is coming in your life. You are relieved, you are on the road to recovery. Your outer and inner worlds are beginning to harmonize. After a thorough self-examination, you now see yourself more objectively and manage your emotions more consciously. In your bundle you carry your experiences and lessons with you, but you have left the past behind you, you do not let it continue to chain you down. The most important thing is that you are finally free. I wish that the new beginning fills your heart with hope and confidence, and that the knowledge of that you were able to overcome the difficulties gives you the strength to embark on the next, much happier phase of your life that awaits you.

To what extent are They ready to receive you? Four of Swords, Queen of Wands

It seems that your divine partner is resting after a difficult period too, consider things while they are healing (or just recently the healing phase is coming to an end for them). For them, the primary goal during this period is to regenerate and recharge their batteries. They must regain their strength and their love of life. First, they must warm up their own soul, so later, when your paths cross they can invigorate you with their pleasurable personality, and after that, as your relationship deepens, they can embrace you with their caring, devoted warmth. They need to gather courage and fix their self-confidence so that they can see the future more optimistically. It is necessary for them to turn inward now, they must process and understand their own emotions and what happened to them, so that later they can trust their intuition again, which will lead them to you.

What symbols and signs will indicate to you that your soulmate is nearby? King of Swords, Seven of Pentacles, Three of Pentacles

Sword, dagger Butterfly Crown Frog Flying bird(s) Pentagram, star a Ring (jewelry) what you maybe find in an unusual place or one that has one of the listed symbols on it Crescent moon Reaping hook Bunch of grapes Flowers for decoration/ornament/sticker, bouquet the color Blue can play a role

Where and under what circumstances will you meet? Ace of Cups

It seems like a place close to nature, near water, maybe next to a lake, where water lilies float on the water, or in a park, maybe by a fountain (perhaps with coins in it), in company of birds, where you can feed them. A sound of a small bell. I don't know where the jingle came from, but it has a nice, cheerful sound. Maybe you'll hear a similar sound when you meet eachother. You will meet at a time when you are both ready to accept new emotions, a new relationship, when you have reached the appropriate phase of self-care, practicing self-love, when you can give because you have taken care of filling your own cups.

Advice: What to focus your energy on in other areas of your life until you meet: Nine of Cups, Ace of Swords, Reversed Six of Cups, Strength

Take care of yourself, celebrate! Enjoy what you have achieved, reward yourself! Take advantage of the clearing of your thoughts. Let the new ideas and inspirations take you away. You can start to opening up to new communications, new acquaintances and opportunities. Sometimes you may even be filled with nostalgic feelings, which make you play with the idea: "Everything was good in the beginning." "Everything could be like that again." Please don't turn back! Avoid people with energy/vibe that reminds you of the old ones. Stay aware, leave the past in the past, don't nurture old things, ideas, relationships that you have already outgrown for your own benefit, that no longer serve you, they only drain your energy from your present and your future. Try to transform your experience into your strength. Nurture the inner strength to move forward, turn to yourself and your shadows with patience and understanding. Maybe you need to heal your inner child/teen, give yourself the care and love you need and desire. You have endless opportunities to grow and develop, you have the resources you need for further healing, and to tame and silence those shadow creatures that would encourage you to repeat old patterns. Hang in there for yourself, for your recovery.

To what extent are you ready to receive your soulmate? Queen of Wands, Reversed Hierophant, Ten of Cups, Reversed Eight of Wands, Reversed Moon

Dear Soul!

You are full of fire and passion. Confident, creative, intense, emotional, warm-hearted, devoted. You are aware of your values and you are looking for the king/queen in whom you can find an equal partner, who is strong enough to walk beside you, with whom you can create your own empire, like proud lions.

You long to experience all forms and heights of happiness, as well as the feeling of completeness and fulfillment, with a true, supportive partner.

You want this in such a form that you can keep your personal freedom and independence. You don't necessarily desire the bond of marriage in order to meet expected traditions and/or social expectations on paper. Perhaps you have already had a bad experience in the past, disappointment, breakup, divorce, a relationship that did not satisfy you spiritually and emotionally, where your soul could not soar.

Yet you would give your whole heart if you could find your soulmate, the ally with whom you could finally establish a home and live your life in abundance and overflowing love.

Yet there is something that holds you back, paralyzes you. There is an inner tension in you because you want to move forward, but you can't. Things around you are not going the way you want them to. Something always gets in the way, breaks your momentum, your sense of purpose. Whether there are obstacles in the physical world or internal obstacles that do not allow you to continue on the path to your soulmate, they also prevent you from fully opening up and becoming receptive to this attachment.

The voices of anxiety, fear, and uncertainty suppress your own inner voice, which would show you the way to your truer life. To unlock and release this inner barrier, you must turn inward, dive into the darkness, find the source of your fears, and examine it to see clearly. Just observe them in silence, if you let go of the struggle against them, accept their presence, the light of enlightenment may even reach you sooner. Maybe you need a quiet, meditative retreat to find your inner compass, the light of the Moon that illuminates the path you can follow.

To what extent are They ready to receive you? Eight of Cups, Reversed King of Wands, Reversed Three of Wands, Reversed Nine of Pentacles

Meanwhile, your soulmate also tries to move on with difficult feelings and to leave their past, everything that no longer serves them. A period ended for them, and they set out on a new path towards the unknown. There are several challenges ahead of them that they must overcome to reach the top of the mountain, but despite their doubts, a small inner flame drives them on.

For me, the Reversed King of Wands usually does not reveal excessive aggression, but rather a lack of self-confidence, battered confidence. I sense a restless energy from them, like from you.

They obsessively wants to accomplish, or stubbornly sticks to an idea, maybe that’s why they don't listen to their intuition. Maybe that's why it's hard for them to adapt to their changed circumstances.

A new world opened up to them, but they not very optimistic about it. They doubt and hesitate, even though they have all the potential to take control of their life, they just need to rediscover that ability and determination within themself. They really need commitment now to start over. They need to examine their options with foresight, carefully plan their journey and prepare for it before making further decisions. They should not make decisions out of haste or thoughtlessness, and they maybe unwilling, but have to accept the intentions of others to help.

They strives for financial independence and longs for abundance so that they can give the best to their loved ones. They want a stable life where they don't depend on anyone and can enjoy the fruits of their hard work.

What symbols and signs will indicate to you that your soulmate is nearby? Page of Pentacles, Reversed Four of Cups

Pentagram, star

A specific Coin or Jewelry (maybe with one of the listed symbols on it)

Object of longing/admiration - what you get for yourself, or you find something you've been looking for, something you wanted to deal with, something you wanted to know more about, something you admire

Palm tree – (Eggsecutor jumped in my mind, maybe you or them are in the Pokemon fandom but not necessarily)

Unexpected gift/opportunity - You will find a new opportunity/offer that will shake you out of your dullness

Where and under what circumstances will you meet? Reversed Eight of Pentacles

I feel like there is a forced break in this situation. Restrictive circumstances or financial difficulties may play a role in work or study.

Like:

Job interview, job searching, go to employment office, work break, any kind of break in education, forced leave, slow administration/work, long line, long waiting, enrolling in a course, suspended/cancelled/missed/postponed event/course/workshop, unfinished business.

Advice: What to focus your energy on in other areas of your life until you meet: Knight of Wands, Reversed Five of Wands, Reversed Queen of Pentacles

You probably would not like to hear this, but; Patience, dear Soul. You really want this person who can make a difference in your life. You are bubbling with action, you are thirsty for new, exciting experiences, but in order to move away from the dead end, you need to channel your energies into a healthy channel. "Great excitement can also result in a stressful situation that prevents a well-considered decision and correct action." If you get carried away by the intensity, you can get involved in conflicts that don't move you forward, they just eat up your vitality. You need patience, persistence and sanity. It's worth avoiding or not taking stressful situations too seriously, rather use the power of your inner fire to overcome your own internal battles to get closer to what you really want to create. During this period, it is important to sort out restless energies to avoid burnout. Ground yourself, let the flames subside, rest for a while, seek stability. It’s important to take care of your health. Take care of yourself, you need the right physical and mental nourishment to find your center. Think about what foods and nutrients you take in, pay attention to your body's signals. Try meditative activities/techniques that you like, seek contact with nature, be it a walk in the park or time spent with animals, do creative activities, anything what you feel that helps you to relax.

The reading is permeated by the energy of the number 888. A phase of both of your lives is coming to an end so that something much better can begin for you. Abundance and harmony is headed your way, just keep going. You have to prepare and go through some trials, but if you are committed and open to transformation, you will definitely get closer and closer to your desired goals and to each other.

#pick a pile #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a card reading #mine #tarot #tarot reading #tarot card reading #tarotblr #tarot journal #soulmate #divine partner #pac #pac tarot #pac reading

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buttercandy16 · 4 days ago

Text

The Bully

PAIRING(s): DarkStudent!Agatha Harkness x Student!Reader

SUMMARY: Agatha Harkness, a senior, takes pleasure in tormenting you, her shy junior. As the bullying escalates, you can’t shake the feeling that there's more to her cruelty than just power.

WARNING(s): Non-Con, Bullying, Obsession, Psychological Abuse, Manipulation, Violence, Harassment, Power Dynamics, Dark Themes.

A/N: Gotta admit this is twisted. Better not proceed if this is not your cup of tea.

The first day of junior year was supposed to be a fresh start. It was supposed to be a time for you to blend in with the crowd, get through the year unnoticed, and maybe—just maybe—feel like you belonged somewhere.

But that dream was shattered the moment Agatha Harkness laid her eyes on you.

Agatha was not the typical queen bee of the school—she didn’t just command attention; she demanded it. Beautiful in a way that made you feel invisible by comparison, her striking blue eyes had a chilling coldness to them, as if they could see right through you. She moved through the halls like a predator stalking its prey, her every step deliberate, her smile a weapon that made even the strongest students quake in their boots.

You? You were nothing special. You were shy, quiet, the kind of person who tried to stay out of the spotlight. But Agatha, in her twisted mind, saw you. From that moment, you became her target.

And Agatha was relentless.

At first, Agatha’s bullying was subtle. A misplaced book here, a whispered insult there. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that it was just part of the high school experience. But the problem was, Agatha didn’t stop. She enjoyed it.

You’d be walking down the hallway, and Agatha’s friends would bump into you on purpose, sending your books scattering across the floor. The laughter that followed was always louder than necessary. Her voice would ring out from behind you, sharp and mocking, “Watch where you’re going, loser.”

She’d whisper just loud enough for the people around you to hear during group assignments: “She doesn’t even belong here. Do you know how pathetic you look?” The others would laugh, and you would shrink in your seat, staring at your half-eaten meal, wishing for the earth to swallow you whole. The words stung, but the sneers from the others—the agreement in their faces—cut deeper.

On one memorable occasion, she ensured your diary ended up projected on the screen in homeroom. Every scribbled insecurity, every desperate wish for normalcy, displayed to the class as Agatha read from it aloud, her voice dripping with mockery.

"Oh, look! 'I hope someone notices me.' How sweet! Everyone's noticing you now."

You begged her to stop, choking back sobs as laughter roared around you. Agatha didn’t relent. She wasn’t just enjoying your misery; she was feeding on it.

But Agatha was only getting started.

By the time the second month of school rolled around, Agatha’s cruel games had become a daily torture. Every corner you turned, there she was—either waiting for you or making sure you felt her presence.

One day in the cafeteria, you sat with your tray, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in your stomach. As you picked up your fork, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Before you could react, Agatha’s voice pierced through the noise of the cafeteria. “Hey, loser, don’t forget your real place.”

Suddenly, her drink—what had to be an entire cup of soda—was poured over your head. The sticky liquid dripped down your face, soaking your hair and clothes, as the entire cafeteria erupted in laughter.

“Smile for me, sweetheart,” she purred as you cried, leaning in close enough for you to smell her faint lavender perfume. “You look so pretty when you break.”

Your throat burned with the urge to scream, but you couldn’t make a sound. The laughter of your classmates filled your ears, drowning out everything else.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, frozen, drenched in humiliation. All you could do was stare at your hands, your fingers trembling while you silently cried.

But what terrified you most wasn’t the public bullying or even the physical taunts. It was how she stared when no one was looking.

Agatha watched you.

Her blue eyes followed you down corridors, across the cafeteria, and into the deepest parts of your nightmares. Sometimes you’d catch her in the distance, leaning against a wall, smirking as you tripped under her latest setup. But sometimes, you’d find her lurking nearby, standing too close, leaning too near, the edge of her voice dropping into something soft and intimate.

“You’ll thank me one day,” she murmured once, brushing an invisible strand of hair from your shoulder as you flinched back. “When you realize I’m the only one who cares enough to notice you.”

Over the next few weeks, the bullying turned sadistic. It wasn’t just about humiliating you anymore; Agatha wanted to break you. She wanted to make you feel like you didn’t belong. She wanted you to feel the weight of her presence crushing you every single day.

Your clothes were slashed—deliberately, carefully, the marks too precise to be an accident.

Your locker was spray-painted with cruel words. “Ugly” was the least of them. “Slut,” “Worthless,” “No one will ever love you,” the words taunted as you opened it.

Every time you tried to stand up for yourself, Agatha was there, sneering. “What? You think you have any power here? Look around you. No one cares about you. You’re nothing.”

You felt broken. Every day you woke up, dreading the thought of facing her. But you couldn’t escape. You couldn’t run.

By mid-semester, you were unraveling. Your grades slipped, and you stopped attending events. The weight of constant ridicule hung over you like a storm cloud.

You stopped eating, stopped sleeping. You stared at the ceiling at night, wondering if it was worth getting up in the morning.

She had you exactly where she wanted you

When Clara transferred to your school, you thought you’d found salvation. Clara wasn’t afraid to sit with you, to stand between you and the others who Agatha had rallied to her side. For the first time, you felt seen in a way that didn’t break you.

But the price of Clara’s kindness was high. Agatha hated her with a fervor you’d never seen before.

Agatha was watching, always watching. The moment she saw you with Clara, a new kind of fire ignited in her cold eyes. She was jealous. Jealous of Clara’s ability to make you smile, to make you forget for just a second the hell you lived in.

Clara’s presence only intensified Agatha’s cruelty. She started targeting Clara, too, making her life as miserable as she made yours.

And Agatha enjoyed every second of it.

It started with petty taunts. Clara’s appearance, her laugh—nothing was off-limits. But Agatha’s rage simmered just under the surface.

Then Clara’s locker was defaced. “Homewrecker” was scrawled across it in angry red paint.

When Clara found her gym bag shredded and her phone destroyed in the cafeteria, Agatha’s smug grin was all you needed to see.

“Why can’t you just leave us alone?” Clara finally snapped one afternoon, shoving past Agatha in the hallway. You’d never seen her stand up to Agatha like that.

But that was the mistake.

Agatha didn’t respond. She simply stared, a storm brewing in her eyes.

The day it all shattered was an ordinary one—or so you thought. The cafeteria buzzed with its usual noise, students laughing, trading whispers, and tossing food across tables. You sat with Clara, your head low, desperate to avoid Agatha’s gaze.

But the room stilled the moment she walked in.

Agatha’s steps were slow, deliberate, every student shrinking back as she passed. You could feel the heat of her stare long before she reached your table.

“Move,” she snapped at Clara, her voice like steel.

Clara squared her shoulders, her hand trembling on the table. “I’m not going anywhere.”

What happened next was a blur. Agatha grabbed Clara by the hair, yanking her from her seat and dragging her to the center of the cafeteria. The screams echoed in your ears.

The students gathered in a horrified semi-circle as Agatha pulled out a blade. She pressed it to Clara’s neck, her voice eerily calm.

“She’s mine,” Agatha said, her eyes finding yours as she tightened her grip on Clara’s hair. “You’re mine. No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to love you.”

“Stop it!” you screamed, rushing to pull Agatha away.

There was no cruelty in her gaze—only desperation.

“You don’t understand,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. I had to make you see me.”

Her confession twisted something inside you—a sick, horrifying realization that the torment, the humiliation, all of it, had been her twisted way of keeping you close.

You choked on a sob, unable to respond, unable to comprehend the scene unfolding before you.

Then, with a deliberate motion, Agatha sliced a thin line across Clara’s cheek—not deep enough to do permanent damage but enough to draw blood. Clara screamed, struggling against her hold.

“Do you see now?” Agatha’s voice broke, her obsessive rage bleeding into desperation. “No one can have you but me!”

She threw Clara to the floor, letting the crowd scatter like flies as she advanced toward you. Blood smeared across her hand as she reached out, grabbing your wrist in a viselike grip.

“You don’t need anyone else,” she whispered, her eyes wild and glistening with something raw and unhinged. “Say it.”

The room seemed to spin as her breath brushed your ear. “Say you’re mine.”

Tears streamed down your face as the truth—her obsession—finally clicked into place. This wasn’t love. This wasn’t even hate. It was something darker, more consuming, and far more terrifying.

When you didn’t answer, Agatha’s grip tightened, her nails biting into your skin.

“You don’t have a choice,” she hissed. “You’ve always been mine.”

The cafeteria ringing with the chaotic noise around you, the violent energy from Agatha and the blood that painted the scene still pulsating in your veins. The sight of Clara’s blood streaking down her face mingled with the stares of students who had no idea whether to intervene or stare in utter terror. Some stared, captivated by the violent outburst, while others simply backed away, knowing better than to involve themselves.

Agatha’s pupils dilated in sheer madness, her smirk was full of an almost palpable hunger that gnawed at you, making you feel nauseous. Her fingers were still stained with Clara’s blood. "That was your fault, you know," she purred. "If you hadn’t pulled Clara into this, you would still be mine alone.”

The air felt thick with dread and something darker—a possessive heat, almost sexual in its intensity. Agatha's voice was lower now, dripping with an edge that made every word feel like a knife twisting into your heart.

“Isn’t that right?” she whispered.Her body pressed up against yours, no longer the cruel manipulator, but the woman possessed, desperate, and incapable of understanding love beyond her twisted perception of ownership.

You couldn’t breathe. Your throat felt like it was closing up as Agatha continued, undeterred, making the space between you feel suffocating.

“You think you can escape me?” Agatha’s hand caressed your cheek—deliberate, slow—and then, before you had a chance to react, she forced her lips onto yours in a searing, aggressive kiss. The cold edge of the blade still gleamed in her fingers, pressing against the soft, trembling skin of your neck. She was testing your limits, consuming you.

“You belong to me. You’ll always belong to me,” she whispered against your lips as you tried to pull back, your body repulsing the contact, but Agatha wasn’t giving you an escape. She was insistent. Every inch of her energy radiated possessiveness and torment. It was unbearable—her grip tightened on you, suffocating all sense of resistance you had.

The pain inside you deepened, like your very identity was being ripped apart.

Her teeth scraped against your bottom lip, drawing a whimper from you that only seemed to fuel her hunger. The blade pressed harder, a silent threat that kept you frozen in place as her other hand slid down your body, rough and possessive. She didn’t care that the entire cafeteria was watching, that Clara was bleeding on the floor, that you were trembling in her grasp. All that mattered was her need to dominate, to own you completely.

Her fingers found the hem of your shirt, yanking it up with a force that made you gasp. The cold air hit your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of her touch as she groped your chest, her nails digging into your flesh. “You think you can hide from me?” she sneered, her breath hot against your ear. “You think anyone else can touch you like this?”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you tried to push her away, but she was too strong. Her hand moved lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, and you froze, your breath catching in your throat. “No,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Please, Agatha, don’t—”

“Shut up,” she hissed, her fingers pressing against you, rough and unyielding. “You don’t get to say no to me. You’re mine, and I’ll take what’s mine whenever I want.”

Her touch was cruel, deliberate, designed to hurt as much as it was to claim. You bit your lip to stifle a cry, but she didn’t miss the way your body shuddered under her hand. “That’s it,” she purred, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “You can’t hide how much you want this. How much you need me.”

You wanted to scream, to fight back, but the blade at your throat kept you still, your body betraying you as she worked you with ruthless precision. The room spun around you, the sounds of the cafeteria fading into a distant hum as Agatha’s touch consumed you. Her breath was hot against your neck, her teeth grazing your skin as she whispered, “You’ll never escape me. Never.”

Her fingers moved faster, harder, and you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips, a sound that only seemed to fuel her frenzy. “That’s it,” she growled, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Let them all see how much you belong to me.”

You closed your eyes, trying to block out the world, but it was impossible. The feel of her, the smell of her, the sound of her voice—it was everywhere, consuming you, breaking you. And when she finally pulled her hand away, leaving you trembling and exposed, she leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “This is just the beginning. I’m not done with you yet.”

The blade disappeared from your neck, but the threat lingered, heavy and unspoken. Agatha stepped back, her eyes blazing with a dark, possessive hunger.

The weight of her command rolling off her tongue with the kind of authority that made the room shrink.

"All of you. Leave," she said, her voice low but biting. The onlookers flinched, uncertainty flickering in their wide eyes as they shifted nervously. "And let me make this clear—what you saw here today? You saw nothing. Speak of it, and I'll remind you why that blade was mine to wield."

The tension was suffocating. One by one, the witnesses filed out, not daring to meet her gaze. Some stumbled in their haste to flee, boots clattering against the stone floor, even Clara followed along but Agatha didn’t seem to care. Her focus remained fixed entirely on you.

When the last of them had gone and the room was swallowed by silence, she turned her full attention back to you. Her lips curled into something too satisfied to be called a smile, yet not quite sinister enough to be a smirk. It was the look of someone who had just claimed exactly what they wanted—someone who knew the gravity of what they’d done and reveled in it.

Her presence was all-consuming. She didn’t move closer, didn’t speak, but the air between you still bristled with the weight of unspoken things. The blade was gone, yet its absence almost felt worse—like the void it left was filled with something sharper, heavier.

Agatha tilted her head, studying you, as if relishing how small and cornered she’d made you feel. Then, finally, she broke the silence.

"You're mine now," she murmured, her voice silky and unyielding. "And you’ll come to understand—I always get what I want."

Her gaze lingered a moment longer, searing into yours, before she turned away, leaving the room heavy with the remnants of her presence.

_-_-_

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#agatha coven of chaos #dark fanfiction #agatha harkness x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness fanfic #kathryn hahn #marvel #agatha harkness x you #rio vidal #agathario #aubrey plaza #dark!agatha harkness

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muntitled · 11 months ago

Text

𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬

Pairings: Fratboy!Sungchan x Shy!reader

Warnings: Language, Enemies to Lovers, Manipulation, Bully!Sungchan, Smut +18 (Minors DNI), Hate sex, Non/Con, Choking, Fingering, Size Kink, Massive Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Breeding, Choking, Spitting, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Coercion

I needed bully smut, so I wrote bully smut. Also I'm ovulating so don't mind me.

To say you were tense was a grave understatement.

You were forced to sit through your lecture feeling absolutely haunted by the presence beside you. A class you would normally find yourself enjoying is suddenly marred by the stretch of shadow that is Sungchan.

Making comprehensive notes had proven to be difficult when you had to keep a peripheral gaze on the slouching figure seated on the shared desk beside you.

Everything about him vexed you absolutely: The stupid way he wore his snapback (reversed). How he slouched beside you, nearly dozing off on multiple occasions.

Most harrowing was the fact that Sungchan did not make any notes during the entire course of the lesson. In fact, his notebook remained closed. His laptop, untouched.

“Damn,” Sungchan croaks when the professor concludes the end of his incessant rant, “We done?” He asks, “already?”

You only hum in affirmation, keeping your head low as you gather your belongings.

Sungchan watches you scramble to pack up - scramble to get away from him - with unreadable expression.

“Hey, I need to ask you something.”

Your heart plummets when his hand makes contact with the notepad you were shoving into your backpack. You bite the inside of your cheek while your stomach plummets lower and lower.

“Actually, Sungchan… I kinda have somewhere to b-”

“Nah, you're good. It'll only take a few minutes,” he says, lightly tugging on the sleeve of your button-up to lower your butt back down to the chair. You watch with sullen eyes as the rest of your fellow students file out of the classroom.

Two of Sungchan's frat brothers eye you both suspiciously, but Sungchan only gives them a flick of the head in greeting as he leans in to whisper, “You know I don't bite, right?

You didn't care to calculate the validity of that statement because you knew everything this boy had to say was completely and wholeheartedly false. It was almost a marvel, the way he could aimlessly switch from terrorising you one moment to bathing you in unprovoked friendliness the next. It gave you a terrible case of whiplash. Before you're able to respond, however, your professor speaks up from the front of the class. The only other body in the room.

"I hope you plan on actually doing something about those grades this semester, Mr Jung.” Your professor says, eyeing you both through the windows of horn rimmed glasses, “I trust you understand the severity of your current predicament."

Sungchan leans back against his seat, regarding the teacher with a passiveness that made you sweat with nerves.

"Being suspended from basketball definitely sucked," Sungchan's jaw is tight when he speaks, so obviously vexed by the inquiries of your lecturer. "But I've got a secret weapon this semester, Prof," the boy says, slamming his basketball on the conjoined tables, enough to make you jump. "I'll be back on the court in no time."

The sound of your name slipping from your professor's mouth was enough to have you snapping your head up from the weathered pages of the book you had taken out a mere second ago. Sungchan watches, slyly enamoured by the way you sit up when addressing the teacher. The way you correct your spine and elongate your neck. Closing your book with a finger propped in between the pages so as not to lose your space while simultaneously lending the professor your optimal focus.

You were such a fucking prude.

"S-Sorry Sir?" You couldn't have heard him right.

There was absolutely no way.

"I assume you're the student Mr Jung is referring to?" Your professor seems oblivious to the way your face threatens to fall, but Sungchan catches it in the slight twitch of your left brow.

"Oh- I-" everything in you was screaming to send out an SOS signal. Your neck still hurt with the imprint of his palm from when he had terrorized you just a few hours ago... Willingly choosing to be put in a space with Jung Sungchan alone seemed like a viable death wish.

"She already agreed to help tutor me yesterday, actually?" Your heart plummets when the boy turns to face you. "Very admiral."

A wave of nausea washes over you and you try your damndest to just not fucking cry as he places a tentative hand on your thigh underneath the table. Everything in your being responseded negatively to this man. Everything perhaps except your eyes.

While you could not deny that he was the spawn of Satan, you couldn't deny that he had the biggest, most brightest, most kindest eyes you've ever seen.

And that was the fucked up part.

"You said it yourself," Sungchan shoots back at the professor as his nails sink into the sensitive, plush skin of your thighs, "She's the best of the best so I figured, only the best can get me back on that court,"

You wanted to cry. To break out into a blaze of uncontrollable hysteria. Anything at all that might convince your professor to get Jung Sungchan away from you. The tempest of emotions swirling inside, the humiliation, the vile, disgusting feelings that only make themselves known in the vulnerabilities of the AM's...

It all threatens to boil over like an abandoned pot left on an open stove.

Perhaps Sungchan notices the quiver in your lips.

"I trust you'll get started as soon as possible then?"

"We're getting started right now, actually," Sungchan says, peeling his eyes away from your bowed frame, just in time to catch your professor gathering his belongings by the desk, "Basketball season is just around the corner, so you know how it is,"

All his fingers are digging into you thigh now. You have to resort to biting down on the inside of your cheeks to avoid letting that torrid screech rip its way through your vocal cords.

"I'm very impressed by your work ethic, Mr Jung," your professor says, completely oblivious to the way your eyes widen at the sight of him filing his way out the classroom, "And a very special thank you to you, Miss L/N. This is incredibly admirable and something I most definitely will not forget,"

For the briefest moments, the sun peaks through the murky, heavy clouds and you're awash in not only the approval of your professor, but by the possibility that you were perhaps one step closer to making TA. It would undoubtedly look wonderful on your resume, and having a member of staff essentially vouch for you would be... fucking miraculous.

"Wipe the drool off your face, it's not very sexy," Sungchan's grumbles have you hurtling out of your daydreams and straight back down to earth where you're left abandoned in a lecture hall with the only person in the entire world you believed deserved death.

Sungchan's head is leaning back passively against the chair, his legs are spread and his hand has yet to leave your thigh.

You try to keep your voice remaining steady as you ask "How much work do you plan on putting in?" Your voice is dripping monotony and is ice cold, nothing at all like the lazy smile flitting across Sungchan's face as he watches you, still slouching like he couldn't give less of a shit.

"None." His words have you snapping your head towards him, eyes blazing with the signs of your very first tear growing pregnant in your tear ducts.

"Th-Thats impossible- you can't do that!"

"I can't do any of this shit," Sungchan snorts as he motions with his other hand towards the blackboard scribbled with details on Austomarixsm, your most recent study, and most daunting assignment.

"Sungchan I-" You exhale, completely and utterly dumbfounded, "Sungchan, I have my own work to do. I have school, a-and a part time job- I have my own assignments due- just the other day I fucking passed out from a stress migraine-"

The calluses of his palms rubbing against the inside of your thigh, momentarily bring you out of the reverie of your own self pity, “I'm sorry that happened to you, Angel,” he begins, in the most sickeningly sweet voice you've ever heard anyone utter to you, let alone a man you found so incredibly... attractive.

You're not immune to Sungchan's charms and that was perhaps, part of the problem. You feared that if it ever came down to it, you might fall on a fucking sword for him, “Just make sure you get my assignment done on time, yeah?”

Your eyes are focused on his hand. The size of it. The labyrinth of veins running the expanse of it. The way it's rubbing against your inner thigh with a dizzying mysticism.

All it takes is for the first tear to fall directly on his palm before you're lifting your head and murmering, “No.”

Sungchan's hand stops all movement on your thigh and for the first (but certainly not last) part of this evening, you're utterly, and completely filled with fear.

“Sorry?” he shakes his head, displaying that sunshine smile, “What did you say? I don't think I heard you right.”

“You heard me perfectly well,” you tip your head back in defiance, letting your nose raise higher than it's used to being. Finding that glimmer of confidence that lay wasting, like an old relic somehwere inside of you.

“I said n-”

His hand was encircled around your throat before you could even get the final word out and he is pushing your face down on the table with immense force. A dark shadow settles across him, only intensifying his glare.

You writhe underneath him but Sungchan's grip on the side of your face only doubles in force as he slowly rises from his chair, towering over your bent frame as he twitches his head a little to side.

“Come again?”

You're struggling to breath under the pressure of having your cheek pressed so completely against a flat surface and your limbs are shot with panic.

He's far bigger than you though, your movements mean absolutely nothing. “I couldn't hear you the first time, Angel, what did you say?” His shadow bleeds across your form, like an immense, horrible darkness and so you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping that whatever this is, whatever that was about to be inflicted on you would disappear.

“I know I didn't just hear you say no to me, baby,” your limbs stop their idle protests when Sungchan's hand slithers up your skirt, “You're too good an angel to ever say no to me, right?” Your mouth is trembling as his words wash over the side of your face, “You're too fucking pathetic to say no to anyone.”

“Sungchan- please-”

“Please?” He asks, swiping his fingers past your underwear, “Please stop or Please carry on?” Your mind is completely overrun with both panic and a second, more sinister second feeling that you truly did not want to confront in a moment like this. All you wanted to focus on was escaping the iron grip, keeping your cheeks pushed against the desk, where a small puddle of drool had accumulated from your open mouth.

You writhe underneath him, valiantly trying to get his fingers away from you, but your movements only cause the first bit delecrable of friction against your cunt.

“That's it,” He whispers, “That's a good little slut,” Sungchan watches as you continue to push your cunt back against his fingers, subsequently raking the first moan out of your clogged throat.

“Look at you…” He marvels at the sight of you. How easily you've gotten wet for him despite being completely and wholeheartedly defiant just a moment before. Sungcham doesn't know whether to look at your pussy desperately trying to pleasure itself with his fingers, or your face, and those pretty half lidded eyes rolling to back of your head.

“You can't so no to anything, can you?” He finally pushes two digits in, immediately causing you to gasp underneath him, “You'll let anyone fuck this pussy raw, hm? Even me?” His words are enough to have you writing even more underneath him.

“F-Fuck you-” Sungchan buries his fingers inside of you, all too pleased to watch you attempt to stave off the pleasure coursing through your body. His cock is fucking aching at the sight and it only has him fingering you harder and faster.

“You're gonna cum on my fingers, yeah? You're gonna cum like the sick fucking slut you are?” Your body is racked with unbearable spasms as you're forced into your first orgasm. The room goes white and all you're consumed by is the feeling of Sungchan's massive fingers inside of you and your head still pressed to the side of the table. You're fucking back against his fingers and he watches, completely enamored with his mouth hanging limply open. He is utterly taken with the sight.

“Fuck, you're so hot,” the room spins and it takes a few seconds to notice you're not pressed against the desk anymore.

Now you're being pulled up and pushed with your ass against the desk while Sungchan towers over you, hurriedly fiddling with his belt as he glares down at you with monotonous lust. He doesn't smile. He doesn't crack any incessant jokes, he only grabs you by your neck and forces his hand in your mouth.

“Spit,” you do more than that. You gag around his fingers, until Sungchan is finally satisfied with the string of saliva when he slips his hand out.

“Watch,” his forces you to bow your head and watch him coat his aching red cock with your spit. He jerks himself off right in front of you, loving the way your eyes stay glued on his dick.

“You're such a dirty fucking slut, you know that?” He is saying it to himself at this point. Words drenched in arousal and uttered through clenched teeth, “You’re such a pretty fucking slut, aren't you, Princess?”

You can't stop your eyes from watching how he fucks himself, you can't bare to look away.

“Are you gonna fuck me?” Your voice is hoarse and shaking,

“Are you asking me to fuck you?”

All it takes is one nod before he's pushing you backwards against the small table and forcing himself between your open legs. “Then I'll give you what you want,” he whispers before pushing himself inside of you, completely knocking the wind out of your lungs.

He's too big. Far too big, and you try to tell him this by pawing lamely at the lapels of his letterman.

“F-Fuck, this pussy is so fucking tight!” Sungchan rolls his head back and you stare up at him as if he were a God as he drags your hips towards his, fucking you completely dumb on his cock.

“Is this what you wanted, Angel? You wanted my dick inside you like a needy fucking slut.”

“Sungchan I'm c-cumming, FUCK-” Your orgasm quite literally sneaks up on you and it has you throwing your head back while Sungchan continues to fuck himself into you. He watches you writhe and scream and he feels you clench his dick impossibly tighter.

“F-Fuck you're gonna me me cum,” he whispers, causing the very familiar feeling of alarm to pour out of you. You struggle against him but Sungchan keeps his palm lpcked around your neck, keeping your body very much against his.

"S-Sungchan, please."

"Stop moving or im really gonna cum," you try to push him away but your movements only succeed in raking a broken moan out him.

"You can't cum inside! Fucking- Stop,"

Sungchan is completely caught in the throes of his own prgasm. You're not sure if he hears you at all through all his mumbling and moaning.

“Fuck, angel, you're gonna make me-” Sungchan's thrust grow incredibly sloppy and you nearly start crying until he guides himself out of you, spilling his seed all over your drenched cunt. "F-Fuck, I pulled put, see?" He's breathing heavily as he continues to milk out tye rest of his cum and your lips are quivering, "I pulled out, Angel, don't worry."

The palm across the side of your face is warm, almost disarming, "You'll help me out, right? You'll help me get back on the court." Your lips have yet to stop their horrible quivering, "I need your help, Angel. You know I do,"

#riize #riize x reader #riize x you #riize imagine #riize smut #sungchan x reader #sungchan x you #sungchan smut #sungchan fluff #sungchan #jung sungchan x reader #jung sungchan #jung sungchan smut

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r0-boat · 7 months ago

Note

🪶 anon here! Can I request NSFW headcanons for 5 WHB Kings finding their gn s/o masturbating while calling his name please?

Hello 🪶 anon! I will be happy to do these headcannons for you!

Whb Kings catching gn!S/o moaning their name while masturbating.

Satan

At first he would be trying to look for you. After Sitri told him that you seem to have stepped away somewhere, alone. Annoyance bubbling within him, melting into anger as he power walks down the pristine Halls. He swears if it's Leviathan or Mammon or Beelze-fucker he's going to-

A sound cuts him out of his thoughts. He knows that sound... It is you and it's familiar. Coming toward your room your door not fully closed all the way He takes a peek. His red eyes widen at the sight your fingers desperately trying to give yourself pleasure. Your muffled squeaks are adorable, the smell of your arousal heavily addicting. Yes he could barge into your room and pounce on you but. Why do that? He could fuck you any day he wants... But watching you like this? This will never happen again.

Mammon

So he watched you closely His breath low and heavy, His hand sliding into his pants to palm his erection. He even tries to follow your hand. However, he changed his mind when his name slipped from your lips, flinging open the door so hard it smashed off its hinges.

Before you can even react or even think he ripped off his own clothes grabbing you by the legs before putting it over his shoulders. He's going to make you scream his name evenn louder than your little cute whimpers.

Masturbating or not, he barges in; even as you cover yourself, it's already too late. He has seen everything. And he looks hurt? "Master, if you need me, you could have said so..." Is he not pleasuring you enough where you have to resort to your own hand? No, that will not do. He immediately climbs into your bed, taking your fingers stained with your juices and putting them into his mouth.

"how many times do I have to remind you that I'm yours to do as you please?" He gives you a smile. He's going to have to fuck you even better so good that you'll never have to use your hands again. Perhaps you would want more than just him? Maybe he should call Bimet, Eligos, and Valefor...

Leviathan

Your modesty is as annoying as it is cute. He shall beat it out of you with his dick if he has to. When will you learn that you deserve to be spoiled?

However, before he gives himself to you, He thought to give you a little punishment. In exchange for his cock you are going to tell him all the little lustful thoughts you were having when you were moaning his name. Desires that he will definitely make come true one day

He should be the only one fucking you. However a surge of satisfaction (and a raging boner) runs through him knowing that you were calling his name. And to his knowledge He is the only one watching... He is the only one who saw you like this!

A part of him wants to make himself known, as with each shutter and gasp of his name, Levi whimpers back, wondering what kind of filthy fantasies you could be having to make you react like that; he should be the only one touching you like that! Whatever your fictional version of him is doing, He could probably do that and more! It doesn't have to be a fantasy when you have him!

Beelzebub

But of course he can't just barge in, slap your hand away, and bring himself in between your plush thighs where he belongs. Because that would mean him admitting that he likes you or would want to do that. So he's just going to stand there and watch pathetically stroking his cock in jealousy and wanting.

He should forbid you to ever touch yourself when you're in Hades... He fell apart so quickly with his own hand just by watching you. He doesn't want a hand to go near your privates ever again if it's not his!

Seeing you touch yourself is already irresistible The smell of your arousal filling the air, already guiding him toward you. His mouth is drooling, hungry for the taste of you. And as your soft lips are out his name, He loses it. Hope you're prepared to not walk for the next few days.

"did you miss me that much that your little fingers are making you messy? Don't worry I'm here," He says with a sly smile. The first thing he does is put his mouth on, already messy and wet from your previous solo play. Nice and ready for him to taste. Eating you out after masturbation is probably going to have to be his favorite thing to do from now on. You smell of musk and sex And you taste so good.

Lucifer

He will fuck you silly and doggy while you watch one of his clones masturbate and call you out by your name. That's the clone's cock twitches and jumps as they whimper for you. Beel Go whisper things into your ear. "Do you like watching me get off to us? This is what you do to me"

Beelzebub will even have his clone sniff into your soiled underwear trying to chase his own orgasm. And he could feel and smell everything his clone was doing. He could even feel the arousal from his clone from you watching him.

He will come in straight-faced sit across from you and then say, "I didn't say you could stop."He urges you to continue where you left off. He watches you intently And you feel and nervous rush. "Be not afraid child of Adam do what you are doing before." If it makes you feel less nervous he takes off his own pants his own erection springing into the air.

He watches you intently as you continue taking note on how your fingers and hand play with yourself. As much as it is hot to see you defile yourself it's a great opportunity to learn how to pleasure you. He will take note on every small reaction, every time you clench or buck your hips up.

When the throbbing becomes too much to bear He touches himself now the both of you are masturbating watching each other. He tries to urge you to tell him what you're thinking about earlier when you moaned his name.

When Lucifer feels close he'll come closer, still stroking himself until he's practically over you, one hand still vigorously stroking. He hopes you watch, watch how he pleasures himself, how his hand squeezes and runs over the tip of his cock. Until his cum coats your hand and your bottom half. And that's when he'll touch you smearing his seed all over where you were touching.

#smut #whb #wihib #wihib x reader #whb x reader #what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb leviathan #whb lucifer #whb beelzebub #whb satan #whb mammon #whb smut

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seospicybin · 2 months ago

Text

BELONGING.

Bangchan x reader x Lee Know. (s,f)

Synopsis: Chan and Minho’s life together takes a surprising turn when an unexpected visitor arrives on the night of their anniversary. (14,2k words)

Author's note: Just a heartwarming read to sweeten your day ♡

Beep, beep, beep.

The keypad continuously beeping for a while after Chan entered the wrong passcode to unlock the door. His neighbor peeks through the door to check if someone is trying to break into the apartment next door but she sees Chan instead.

"Sorry for the noise," he apologizes with a courteous smile.

After knowing that Chan is simply struggling to get into his own apartment, his neighbor goes back inside and closes the door.

Chan tries another combination of numbers but it beeps again rather aggressively than before and it only aggravates him more. He groans out of frustration and immediately takes a deep breathe to calm himself down.

"Let's think, Chan!" He mutters to himself.

Just as he’s about to punch in another random sequence of numbers, the door swings open from the inside, and Minho stands there with his arms crossed, eyebrow raised.

“You know, if you actually came home at a decent hour, you'd remember the passcode,” Minho says, his tone somewhere between annoyance and playful teasing. He steps aside, holding the door open wide enough for Chan to step through.

Chan sighs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he slips off his shoes. “Minho, seriously, I’m sorry. Work made me come home late again. But…changing the passcode?”

Minho shrugs nonchalantly, but Chan can see the faint trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, you always said you like a good challenge, right?”

Chan gives him a weary smile and lets his bag slide off his shoulder, dropping it by the entrance. “I didn’t realize our front door would be one of them.”

Later that night, they’re lying side by side in bed, the room dimly lit by the streetlight filtering through the blinds. Minho has his back to Chan, his posture stiff as he scrolls through his phone, doing his best to ignore the presence hovering beside him.

Chan shifts closer, trying to bridge the distance. He knows Minho is still upset about him coming home late and made him wait.

“Minho,” he whispers, nudging him gently but there’s no response, only the silent, stubborn rise and fall of Minho’s shoulders.

So, Chan decides to up his game. He slides an arm around Minho’s waist, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. “I’m really sorry,” he murmurs, voice low and warm against Minho’s skin. “You know I’d come home sooner if I could.”

Minho sighs but doesn’t pull away, though his fingers still tap insistently on his phone screen. Taking this as a tiny victory, Chan smiles and leans in closer, kissing his way from Minho’s shoulder up to his jaw.

“I missed you,” Chan says softly, his lips grazing Minho’s cheek. “Every time I looked at the clock, I thought about you waiting here.”

Minho’s fingers finally still, though he tries to keep his composure. “You’re so dramatic,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of a smile in his voice.

Undeterred, Chan presses a series of playful, lingering kisses along Minho’s cheek, all the way to his temple.

“Is it working?” he whispers. “Are you caving?”

“Not even close,” Minho replies, but he rolls over to face Chan, his expression softened, eyes bright with the faintest glimmer of affection he’s trying to hide.

Chan’s grin widens. “Then I’ll keep trying,” he says, leaning down to plant a kiss on Minho’s forehead.

“And trying… and trying…” Each word is punctuated by a gentle kiss, until Minho finally breaks, laughter spilling from his lips as he pushes Chan’s face away.

“Fine! I get it, you’re forgiven!” Minho says, half-laughing, half-sighing, letting Chan’s arm wrapped around him.

Chan chuckles softly, pulling him in for a tight hug that Minho half-heartedly resists for a moment before melting into. They settle into each other, Minho finally letting himself relax against Chan’s warmth.

As their breathing syncs, Chan presses one last, tender kiss on Minho’s neck, a silent promise that he’ll be there, even on the late nights, and for a second, Chan thinks that maybe this is what makes every exhausting day worthwhile.

The bathroom is filled with the sound of running water as Chan stands in front of the mirror, toothbrush in hand, still half-asleep as he lazily brushes his teeth even though he's just showered. A towel hanging low around his hips, his curly hair is damp, and beads of water dotted the skin on his back yet a sleepy gaze is fixed on his reflection, half-lidded and unfocused.

Minho leans against the bathroom doorway, arms crossed, watching him with a small smirk.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he says, voice teasing. “Just a reminder, there's that dinner tonight and if you’re late, I swear, I’m serving you burnt beef Wellington.”

Chan freezes mid-brush, then meets Minho’s eyes in the mirror, a lazy smile spreading across his face. He spits out the toothpaste, rinsing his mouth as he chuckles.

“You’d actually burn dinner just to teach me a lesson?”

Minho raises an eyebrow, challenging him. “Try me.”

Stepping over to where Minho stands, Chan wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him close, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“Not this time,” he says, his voice soft but full of warmth. “I’ll be home early. Promise.”

Minho’s eyes soften, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks as he tries to keep up the tough act.

“Good. You’d better not leave me waiting,” he murmurs, trying to sound stern but failing as his gaze drifts to Chan’s bare chest.

Chan laughs, giving Minho a light squeeze. “Can’t wait to see what you’ve planned.”

As Chan finishes brushing his teeth and about to step out of the bathroom, he catches Minho’s eyes lingering on him, trying—and failing—to look completely unimpressed.

“Like what you see?” he teases, leaning down just enough to bring their faces close, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Maybe I should come home a little late… keep you waiting a bit longer, yeah?”

Minho crosses his arms, rolling his eyes as if entirely unfazed, though there’s a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Try it,” he says, tilting his chin defiantly. “See what you end up eating tonight.”

Chan chuckles, pretending to look hurt as he tries again. “Not even a little distracted?” he asks, his hand moving to Minho’s waist, pulling him in closer. “Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

But Minho’s having none of it. He reaches up and gently pushes Chan’s face back with one hand, his tone cool and unwavering.

“You’re not charming your way out of this one,” he says firmly, though there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You’re either on time tonight, or it’s burnt Wellington and instant noodles.”

Laughing, Chan lets his hands drop, backing off as he raises them in mock surrender. “Alright, alright,” he grins.

“Point taken. I’ll be on time.” He winks as he heads back to the bedroom to get dressed, throwing a playful look over his shoulder. “But you’ll have to admit I tried my best.”

Minho just rolls his eyes again, but he’s smiling this time, muttering under his breath, “You’re impossible.”

But as he watches Chan disappear down the hall, there’s a warmth lingering in his chest, the anticipation of their night together filling him with a quiet happiness.

Minho smooths down his shirt one last time, casting a quick glance at the clock. Just as the second hand ticks to the hour, there’s a knock on the door. He smiles to himself—right on time. Guess he really did take me seriously, he thinks.

He opens the door to find Chan standing there, a bouquet of flowers in his hand and a grin on his face.

Minho raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Flowers? Really?”

Chan laughs, holding them out at him. “Thought I’d do something classic. Happy anniversary!” he says, his tone softening.

Feigning disinterest, Minho takes the flowers, sniffing them briefly. “Hmm, not bad,” he says, pretending to inspect them critically. “You almost look like you know what you’re doing.”

Chan just shakes his head, smirking as he slips inside, brushing a quick kiss over Minho’s cheek. “Glad I could impress you… even just a little.”

As they settle into their anniversary dinner, Chan savors the first bite and lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“Alright, you’ve officially outdone yourself,” he says, beaming at Minho. “You should make beef Wellington every night.”

Minho rolls his eyes, but there’s a pleased flush to his cheeks. “Don’t get used to it,” he replies, lifting his glass with a faint smile. “Next time, it might actually be burnt.”

Chan chuckles, reaching over to squeeze Minho’s hand and decides to tease him more by saying cheesy things, he knows how much Minho hates it whenever he does that.

“I don’t care what it is, as long as I’m eating it with you.”

They eat and talk, laughter filling the cozy space as they share memories and jokes, their glances softening as the evening draws on. Finally, when most of the food is gone, Chan leans in across the table, his fingers brushing Minho’s as he says.

“Compliments to the chef are not enough so...” he lets his words trail off as he pulls Minho in for a lingering kiss.

As usual, Minho doesn't easily caves in, he makes Chan works harder to make him return the kiss and when he finally does, Chan triumphantly smiles against his lips.

After a while, Chan takes a second to breath and just as their lips about to meet again, a sudden ring of the doorbell interrupts the quiet warmth.

Minho groans, pulling back reluctantly and leans on his seat. “If that’s another surprise from you, I swear I’ll hate it,” he mutters.

Chan laughs, reluctantly letting Minho’s hand go as he gets up from his chair and heads toward the door.

“It’s not,” he calls over his shoulder, “unless it’s flowers that somehow reappear.”

Chan opens the door and freezes, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in the figure standing in the hallway. It’s you, your gaze lowered, fingers fidgeting nervously. You lift your eyes to meet his, offering a small, shy smile.

“Hi, Chan,” you say, your voice soft but steady. “I'm sorry I... I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

For a second, neither of you speaks, the silence filling the space between you. Finally, Chan steps aside, his surprise shifting into something gentler.

“Come on in,” he says, voice warm despite his initial shock.

As you step inside, you look over your shoulder and give a nod. A little girl emerges from behind you, clutching a small stuffed animal and looking up at Chan with wide, curious eyes. You rest a gentle hand on her shoulder, steadying yourself. “This is my daughter, Lucy.”

Chan’s eyes widen, glancing between you and the little girl by your side, his heart pounding as he tries to make sense of the unexpected reunion.

THREE YEARS AGO

Chan had been looking forward to this moment the entire week. After days away on a work trip, all he could think about was coming home, seeing your face light up when he walked through the door, wrapping his arms around you.

But when he finally stepped inside, there was no excited smile, no warmth rushing into his arms. You greeted him with a polite smile, a quiet “Welcome back,” before turning back to whatever you were doing, the energy between you strange and muted.

He blinked, pushing down the faint pang of disappointment, telling himself you were probably just tired. “Hey,” he murmured, walking over to you, trying to shake off the feeling. “Missed you.”

You glanced up at him, your expression softening for a moment, but something in your eyes seemed… distant, like you were holding something back.

“Missed you too,” you replied, but the words felt hollow, like they were coming from a place far away.

Chan hesitated, then shook it off with a chuckle, pulling you into his arms despite the subtle tension he felt between you. “I swear, if I had to be away from one more day, I was ready to quit,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

You managed a small smile, letting him hold you, but your arms didn’t wrap around him the way they usually did, your hold tentative, almost reluctant.

He couldn’t help himself from asking, he looked at you with a hint of worry in his eyes. “Is everything okay?” he asked gently. “You seem… different.”

You got a bit startled by the question, and for a moment, there was something in your eyes—fear, uncertainty—but you quickly looked away, forcing a smile.

“I’m fine. Just a little tired,” you replied, voice calm but distant.

“Now, what do you say we make up for lost time?” He asked as he tilted your head, forcing you to meet his gaze.

It somehow worked to get you to smile and soften around him, you melted into his arms as he held you close and then slowly, he pulled you for a long, lingering kiss that cures his longing for you.

Without letting go of the kiss, Chan hoisted you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to bed.

He gently lay you down on the bed and then stood at the foot of the bed just looking at you with admiration pooling in his eyes.

He crawled onto the bed and hovered above you, his face only inches away from yours as he cupped your cheek and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

"I missed you so much I think I'm going insane," he murmurs before crashing his lips against yours again.

He sensed hesitancy in the way you returning his kiss but he convinced himself that maybe you were tired, maybe his long absence put a little strain on this relationship and he wanted to fix it in any way he could.

"Do you know?" He buried his head in your neck, planting fluttering kisses that he knew would help to relax you. He knew it works from the way you softly giggled. "There’s not a night where I didn’t think of kissing you."

Chan began making a trail of kisses down your clothed body and when his mouth reached your thighs, he purposely slipped his head under the hem of your dress. You couldn't see what he was doing under but you gasped when his hot mouth made a contact with your clothed sex.

The flimsy fabric of your underwear didn't stop him from opening his mouth wider to take more of you and drenching it with a mix of his saliva and your essence.

After a while though, he craved more than feeling you through your underwear, he roughly pulled your underwear down and pushed the hem of your dress upward until it hunched around your waist.

Chan put his hands under you and slightly lifted your hips off the bed to provide him with the right angle to savor your wet cunt with his mouth. You knew what his mouth is capable of doing, you knew he would tirelessly please you with his plush lips and slick tongue and at the same time, enjoying it cause you knew he gets pleasure from doing it.

He licked, he sucked, he buried half of his face in your wetness and you continously moaned, but it wasn’t enough for him.

Soon, his fingers joined in, two digits pumping in and out of you while he gently sucked on your clit, syncing the two stimulations to give you the utmost of pleasure.

"Oh, God!" You moaned as you arched your back asking for more.

He detached his mouth but kept the motion of his fingers going, his lips were glistening wet as he said, "Yes, baby, moan for me."

Your hand flew to his hair and tugged at it as more moans spilling out of your parted mouth. "Chan... oh..."

Chan triumphantly smiled for succeeding on getting you out of whatever made you seem different and bringing you back to him. He landed a soft kiss on your clit and then another one on the little patch of hair.

"That’s it," he murmured as he saw the way you were writhing in pleasure, "That’s my girl."

There was only one left thing to do and that was to make sure you reach your high, Chan kept the stimulations going and added a little speed to it, bringing you toward your climax until you—

"Oh, I'm coming..." you cried as you clamped his hand between your legs.

Chan didn't pull away just yet, he kept his hand there and gave your clit gentle circles to help you slowly coming down your high. He lowered his mouth on you and kissed your open mouth, letting your satisfed moans spilled into his mouth.

Breaking the kiss, Chan sat up on the bed and took off his dark t-shirt, exposing his sculpted abs that glows under the silver moonlight. He slyly smiled at you, taking your hand in his and brought it close to his mouth to kiss it. He put your hand on his neck next, then slowly, he dragged it down his front. He whimpered as your fingertips trailing down his pale skin and not stopping until your hand meets the waistband of his jeans.

"And now, my question is..." He mutterd as he keeps your hand on his lower abdomen, "Do you think about me too?"

His other hand worked open his jeans, the sound of the zipper opening cutting through the silence in the room. He pulled his jeans along with boxer down just enough to let his erection sprang free.

"Did you also think of me?" He asked as he wrapped your hand around his cock, swollen and hot to the touch.

He made your hand stroking it along with him and his eyes were fluttering as he enjoyed feeling your hand pumping his cock.

"Or this cock?" He asked again as he made your other hand joined in on pumping his cock. He then let go of his hands and letting you touched his cock the way you pleased and propped them against the mattress next to your head.

He leaned in close enough and placed a brief kiss that barely lasted a second. "Did you think of me at all?"

You repeatedly nodded in answer. "Yeah."

"Yeah? Think of me what?"

"Being inside me," your voice low it was almost like a whisper.

He caressed your cheek and placed another brief kiss on your lips. "Is that what you want right now?"

"Yes," you nodded again.

His head went to the side of your head and planted a kiss on the sensitive skin behind your ear. "All you have to do is say it," he whispered to you.

You waited until he hovered above you again and looked him in the eyes as you said. "I want you inside me."

Chan fondly smiled as he held you by the way, "I'll give it to you, baby."

In the moment that followed, he fulfilled your wish, pushing his cock deep inside you and began thrusting at a steady pace. In each thrust, he lost a layer of his senses and gave himself in to desire. Raw groans and desperate calls for your name endlessly coming out of his mouth.

At one point, you pulled your legs and in this angle, you provided him with more depth. Your hands lingered on each side of his waist and at times, glanced down to see his cock slipped in and out of you.

"Oh, baby..." you moaned as you clung to his shoulders and pulled him close to kiss him. "You feel so good inside me."

He hastily kissed you and through his gritted teeth, he muttered, "You feel good around me too."

With that, Chan slowed down but added intensity to his thrust, making you feel every drag of his cock against your walls. He didn't feel pressure to hold back as you cum already but he chose to keep going, wanting to stretch this moment as long as possible.

He kissed you and then pressed his forehead against yours, his hands groped around the sheets until he found yours and clasped them together.

"Can I cum inside you, baby?" He sweetly asked with a soft kiss on your jaw. "Want to fill you with my love."

"Yes," you whined as you pulled him closer and wrapped your legs around him tighter.

Chan buried his head in your neck, kissing and sucking on the skin there as the pleasure got too overwhelming too him. He dragged his mouth lower and took your breast into his mouth, roughly biting at it as he sped up, thrusting into you relentlessly until he came to his release.

Instead of pulling away, he pushed himself deep into you as he released his seed, along with a deep kiss that takes all of your breath away.

When he settled next to you on the bed, he took your hand and didn't let go, he kissed your knuckle, your palm, your inner wrist, he shoved your index and middle fingers into his mouth and gently sucked on them before pulled them away. He rested your hand close to his chest then turned his head to look at you. He saw the same fondness in your eyes but in that moment, he saw something else, something that looked almost like sadness.

"I love you," he said because he didn't know what else to do but convinced you that he's there for you, both physically and emotionally. He cupped your face and he saw as you leaned to it, finding the comfort you seek in the warmth of his palm.

"I love you too," you said back with a faint smile and in a split moment, everything felt alright again.

However, as the night went on, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Usually, you’d be telling him everything he missed, filling the air with stories and laughter. He wanted to believe you and that you were just tired, to shrug it off as nothing, but that nagging feeling stayed with him, growing stronger with each passing day, until the night you broke his heart and walked away without another word.

A week after that night, Chan’s world felt like it was tilting, spinning in slow, unbearable circles as he looked at you, trying to process the words you’d just spoken.

“You want to… break up?” he managed, his voice rough with disbelief.

You stood across from him, your expression a carefully held mask. “I think it’s best for both of us,” you said softly, but there was a tremor to your voice that betrayed you.

He shook his head, stepping forward, hands reaching for yours, desperately searching your face for something—anything—that would make this make sense.

“But…why?” he stammered, his voice breaking slightly. “Is it because I’ve been so busy? Because of work? I know I haven’t been around enough, but I’ll do better, I swear. I’ll make more time for us.”

You gently pulled your hands from his grasp, looking down, avoiding his eyes. “It’s not that, Chan. I… I just think it’s better this way.” Your voice was firm, but he could see the conflict in your expression, a hint of pain flickering across your features before you forced it away.

“Better?” he echoed, voice barely above a whisper. “How could breaking up be better?”

He felt the familiar ache in his chest deepen, like a wound reopening, bleeding anew. “We’re good together,” he insisted, almost pleading. “I thought… I thought you felt that, too.”

You swallowed, looking away, pressing your lips together as if to keep something from spilling out. “Please, Chan. Don’t make this harder.”

Chan took a shaky breath, still trying to keep his composure. “Please, just tell me what I did wrong. Tell me what to fix, and I’ll fix it. I’ll do anything.”

Your shoulders stiffened, and for a fleeting second, he thought he saw something—a glint of sorrow, maybe even regret—but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

“It’s nothing you did, Chan,” you said finally, your voice a strained whisper. “But… this is something I need to do.”

With that, you turned away, your steps steady as you walked out the door, leaving him frozen in place, watching you leave, unable to find the words to bring you back.

In the months that followed, Chan tried to move on, throwing himself deeper into work, but everywhere he went, there were memories of you, reminders of a life he had thought would be forever.

It took him a long time, a painful journey through grief and self-doubt, before he could let himself heal, before he could feel whole again. It wasn’t until he met Minho—sharp, sarcastic, and somehow healing—that he began to find peace with what had happened.

Now, as Chan stands in the doorway, staring at you and the little girl by your side, the past seems to come rushing back, all the hurt, confusion, and lingering questions he’s tried so hard to leave behind.

As you step inside his home, you take a quick, nervous breath, your gaze shifting to your daughter, who’s still holding onto your hand, eyes wide as she takes in her new surroundings.

You look down at her, giving her a soft smile. “Lucy, this is Chan. Say hello.”

Lucy peers up at him, clutching her stuffed animal tightly. “Hi,” she says shyly, her voice barely a whisper.

Chan crouches down to her level, a warm, welcoming smile on his face. “Hey, Lucy. I’m Chan,” he says gently, offering her a small wave. “I’m a friend of your mom’s.”

She nods, a hint of curiosity lighting up her eyes as she glances up at you for reassurance.

Minho steps into the room, casting a curious look between you, Chan, and Lucy, but he only offers a polite nod and a soft “Hi” to Lucy, who gives him a timid smile in return.

You take a deep breath, then gently squeeze Lucy’s hand. “Lucy, could you stay here for a bit? Mommy just need to talk to Chan, okay?”

“I’ll show you around,” Minho kindly offers, his tone calm and welcoming.

Lucy looks from you to Minho, who nods with a warm, reassuring smile, and after one last glance at you, she lets go of your hand and follows Minho into the living room.

Once Lucy is out of earshot, you follow Chan into a nearby room, nerves tightening your stomach as he closes the door behind you. He turns to face you, his expression soft but concerned, waiting for you to speak.

“Chan,” you begin, voice barely above a whisper. You look down, struggling to find the right words.

“I… I’m in a bad situation right now. I got evicted and I don’t have anywhere else to go. I didn’t want to bother you, but…” You trail off, unable to finish the thought, the weight of your circumstances pressing down on you.

Chan’s face softens, a look of quiet understanding in his eyes as he steps closer. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says gently, reaching out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to explain everything right now. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

You look up, surprise flickering in your eyes. “Are you sure?” you ask, still hesitant. “I don’t want to be a burden. I just… I need a few days to figure things out.”

Chan shakes his head, his voice warm and reassuring. “You’re not a burden. You can stay as long as you need. Don’t worry about anything else. Just focus on what you need to do.”

The kindness in his words catches you off guard, a wave of relief washing over you. After everything that’s happened, the simple act of having a place to stay, a place where you’re welcome, feels like a gift.

You fight back your years and manage a faint smile, nodding. “Thank you, Chan. Really.”

Chan smiles back, his hand giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Anytime. Just know… you don’t have to go through this alone.”

The past month hasn't been kind to you and hearing those words from Chan is really comforting. There's a lump caught in your throat and it burns the more you hold yourself back from crying. You drop your head and begin crying, feeling like you can finally breathe after what felt like forever.

Attentively, Chan opens his arms and gently pulls you, he's holding you close, his hands land soothing rubs on your back.

"It’s okay, it's okay..." he repeatedly says, "You're here now."

Minho watches Lucy from his spot on the couch, noticing the way her eyes droop as she leans into the cushions. She’s small and quiet, with an unmistakable look of fatigue that tugs at something unexpectedly soft within him.

He glances toward the closed door where you and Chan are talking, catching snatches of the conversation as he sits with Lucy in the quiet of the living room. Words like “nowhere else to go” and “thank you” float through, hinting at the weight of the situation.

Minho’s fingers tap against his knee, mind racing as he pieces together fragments, but he quickly turns his attention back to Lucy as she shifts, curling up on the couch. Her little head nods, struggling to stay upright.

Seeing her like that, Minho gets up and slowly pushes the door open. He hears your cries and as the door swing further in ward, he catches you and Chan sharing an embrace.

Minho clears his throat to make his presence known and you quickly break away from Chan's hold, your back facing him.

“She’s looking pretty tired,” he keeps his voice low, gesturing to the couch and then glancing from Chan to you.

Chan looks at you and gives you a reassuring smile, then nods to Minho. “Yeah, I think we should get you and Lucy settled.”

Chan guides you and Lucy down the hall, showing you to a cozy guest room and making sure you have everything you need. You manage a grateful smile as you settle Lucy into bed, smoothing a blanket over her. With a final, gentle look, Chan closes the door, allowing you both some rest.

Later that night, as Minho and Chan lie side by side in the darkness, Chan wraps an arm around Minho’s waist, pulling him close. Minho can feel the tension in Chan’s hold, the way he hesitates before speaking.

“I’m sorry,” Chan whispers, his voice rough with sincerity. “I know this isn’t how I wanted our anniversary to go.”

Minho rests his hand over Chan’s, giving it a soft squeeze. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, trying to sound casual. “Plans change, right?”

Chan lets out a low sigh of relief, resting his head against Minho’s shoulder. “Are you… are you okay with them staying here?”

Minho hesitates, weighing his words. He can feel the questions bubbling up inside him, each one itching to be asked, but he swallows them down, forcing a calm smile instead.

“It’s fine, Chan,” he says, keeping his tone light. “It’s just a few days, right? I don’t mind.”

But as he lies there, his mind races with silent questions. Who is this little girl to Chan? Why did you show up now, after all this time? And what else might this mean for them?

He doesn’t voice any of it, though, just pulls Chan closer, letting him feel his support without pressing him for answers.

Minho stirs awake to the sound of soft clinking coming from the kitchen. He stretches, rubbing his eyes, and glances over to see Chan still fast asleep. Carefully slipping out of bed, he heads down the hallway, only to pause at the sight before him.

There you are, bustling around the kitchen, and at the dining table, Lucy sits munching on her breakfast, her legs swinging as she hums quietly to herself.

Minho can’t help but feel a pang of surprise—and unease. Usually, breakfast is his thing, the quiet, calming start to his morning. And now, someone else is filling that space.

You glance up from the stove and notice him, offering a warm smile. “Good morning! I made breakfast—I hope it’s okay.”

Minho nods politely, though he can’t shake the hint of awkwardness. “Morning,” he murmurs, glancing at the table as you set down a plate of food. “Thanks for, uh… taking care of it.”

You nod, busying yourself with the final touches. “I have to leave early for work, but Lucy’s all set.” You look over at Lucy, smiling softly as you fuss over her hair, straightening her shirt.

Turning back to Minho, you give him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for asking this, but could you keep an eye on her today? I really appreciate it.”

Before Minho can respond, you’re already grabbing your bag and heading toward the door. You bend down, planting a quick kiss on Lucy’s cheek. “Bye, sweetheart. Be good, okay?

Lucy looks up at you, nodding earnestly. “Yes, Mommy.”

“Mommy will be back soon.” You add with another kiss on the top of her head and with a final wave, you slip out, leaving Minho alone with Lucy.

Minho sighs, looking over at Lucy, who’s now staring at him with wide, curious eyes. He tries to shake off the discomfort, making his way around the kitchen to tidy up after breakfast, but every time he turns, he notices Lucy quietly trailing behind him, her tiny footsteps padding across the floor.

When he goes to do the laundry, she follows him, watching as he loads clothes into the machine, fascinated by every button he presses. When he heads out to water the plants on the balcony, she’s there too, gazing up at him with her big, unblinking eyes.

Minho feels his patience wearing thin. It’s not that he dislikes kids, but he can’t shake the feeling that his routine, his space, has been thrown off balance. Finally, he decides he’s had enough. He heads back to the bedroom and shakes Chan’s shoulder lightly.

“Hey,” he murmurs, casting a glance at the door, where Lucy is still peeking in. “Time to wake up. You have… company.”

Chan opens his eyes slowly, blinking at Minho in confusion before he sits up, glancing at Lucy and then back at Minho, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“She can't stop following me,” Minho whispers at him.

Chan rubs the sleep off his eyes and mumbles, "She probably just wants to play with you."

Minho sighs, crossing his arms, trying to mask the faint flush of embarrassment. “She’s your guest. Maybe it’s time you take over the babysitting shift.”

Chan chuckles, reaching out to give Minho’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Alright, alright. I’ll take care of her.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed, giving Minho a playful grin. “Besides, she seems to like you.”

Minho rolls his eyes, the faintest smile breaking through. “Yeah, well… she’s all yours now.”

As Chan watches Minho retreat to the kitchen with a faintly flustered expression, he can’t help but chuckle to himself. It’s rare to see Minho even slightly unsettled, but here he is, almost looking threatened by the presence of a two-year-old.

“She’s just a kid, Minho,” Chan murmurs under his breath, shaking his head with a soft smile.

Recalling the message you left for him, Chan retrieves the bag of Lucy’s toys from where you’d placed it by the door. He brings it to the living room and kneels down on the carpeted floor, setting out a colorful array of blocks, stuffed animals, and dolls. Lucy’s face lights up instantly, her small hands reaching eagerly for the toys as she plops down beside him.

“Is it your favorite toy?” Chan gently asks as he lays out all of her toys in front of her.

“Yup!” Lucy adorably nods.

They fall into an easy rhythm, building towers of blocks, arranging tiny stuffed animals in a pretend tea party. Chan’s heart warms watching her giggle with delight each time a tower of blocks comes crashing down.

It’s during one of these rounds of playful destruction that Chan catches Minho’s figure hovering in the doorway, his arms crossed as he watches them with an unreadable expression. Minho’s gaze flickers between Chan and Lucy, his brow furrowing just slightly.

A mischievous thought crosses Chan’s mind as he gets up and strides over to Minho, grinning. “Don’t tell me you're jealous because she’s cuter than you,” he teases, his tone light and playful.

Minho scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Please. I’m not worried about some toddler stealing my spotlight,” he replies coolly, but Chan can see the faint blush creeping up his cheeks, the way his shoulders tense ever so slightly.

Chan steps closer, his voice softening as he reaches up to playfully scratches Minho’s ear. “Hey,” he murmurs, holding Minho’s gaze, “nothing’s changed, alright? Just because she’s here doesn’t mean there’s any less of me for you.”

With that, he leans in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to Minho’s lips. Minho’s posture softens, his hands sliding around Chan’s waist as he lets out a quiet sigh, leaning into the kiss.

When they pull apart, Minho gives him a small, begrudging smile. “Fine,” he mutters, attempting to sound unaffected. “But don’t expect me to join any tea parties anytime soon.”

Chan laughs, squeezing Minho’s hand. “Noted,” he says, casting a glance back at Lucy, who’s now absorbed in her toys, babbling happily to herself. With a playful nudge, Chan heads back to the carpet, leaving Minho watching with a half-smile as he sits down to continue playing with Lucy.

"Dinner's ready!" Minho announces from the kitchen but no one is answering him.

He turns his head toward the living room and sees that Chan and Lucy are still busy playing, her giggles echoing in the room for any of them to hear Minho’s call for dinner.

Minho sighs and raises his voice louder. "Dinner's ready!"

Chan abruptly stops lifting Lucy in the air and puts her down, offering his hand to walk hand in hand to the kitchen. He takes her to wash her hands first before settling her on her dining table.

As they sit down for dinner, Minho carefully plates the food, setting each dish on the table with his usual precision. He watches as Chan gives Lucy a warm smile, helping her settle in her seat and making sure she’s comfortable.

Throughout the meal, Minho notices Chan’s gentle attention on Lucy—wiping the sauce from her cheek, cutting her food into bite-sized pieces, and patiently coaxing her to eat each bite.

At one point, Chan looks up and catches Minho’s bitter expression. “Hm…” he sniffs the air dramatically, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Is it just me, or does something smell a little… burnt in here?”

Minho narrows his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitch in a faint smile. “Please, I’m not jealous,” he scoffs, trying to sound indifferent as he continues eating.

Chan laughs, giving Minho an affectionate nudge. “Whatever you say.”

After dinner, they all move to the living room, where Chan and Lucy settle in front of the TV to watch cartoons. Minho sits at the far end of the sofa, arms crossed, but his gaze keeps drifting toward the two of them cuddled up together.

Noticing Minho’s pout, Chan reaches out, giving him a playful tug. “Come here, Mr. Not Jealous,” he teases, wrapping an arm around him. “There’s room for all three of us.”

Minho sighs, pretending to resist, but eventually leans in, allowing Chan to pull him close. “Fine,” he mumbles, as Chan presses a soft kiss to his temple.

As they sit together, Chan tightens his hold, smiling at Minho. “See? Perfect little family moment,” he whispers, his tone both teasing and gentle.

Minho rolls his eyes but allows himself to relax, a reluctant smile finally breaking through as he nestles into Chan’s embrace, soothed by the warmth they share.

Menacingly, he puts away Lucy’s hand resting on Chan’s chest and replaces it with his while Chan can only chuckles witnessing it.

A moment later, there are beeping sounds coming from the front door and Chan rolls his eyes toward Minho in suspicion.

"You changed the passcode again, did you?" Chan asks with his eyes squinted.

With a smirk on his face, Minho nonchalantly shrugs and it's enough to tell Chan the answer.

"0-1-0-9."

You fumble with the numbers Chan had texted you, pressing them carefully into the keypad, but each time, the door refuses to unlock. After a few more tries, you’re about to give up when the door finally swings open, revealing a sheepish-looking Chan.

“Sorry about that,” he says, scratching the back of his neck.

“Minho changed the passcode and forgot to tell me.” He gives you a small, apologetic smile.

You shrug, offering a quick nod before stepping inside. “It’s fine,” you reply, smiling slightly as Lucy comes running toward you, arms outstretched.

“Mommy!” she squeals, hugging your legs. You scoop her up, brushing her hair back from her face as you carry her toward her room.

“And why are you still up?” You ask her.

Lucy sheepishly gestures toward the living room where the TV plays her favorite cartoons. “Watching cartoons,” she mumbles.

“It's past your bedtime, young lady,” you tell her with a playful glare. Pausing near Chan and Minho, you give her a gentle nudge. “Say goodnight, Lucy.”

She waves her tiny hand sleepily, mumbling, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, cutie Lucy,” Chan says back and gives her a soft pat on the head before letting you take her away.

A few minutes later, you’re settling Lucy under her blanket, humming a song while caressing her head to send her into sleep.

“Picture yourself in a boat on a river / With tangerine trees and marmalade skies / Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly / A girl with kaleidoscope eyes.”

Once she's fast asleep, you give her a soft kiss on the forehead, straightening as you spot Chan standing in the doorway, watching quietly with an unreadable expression.

“So... Lucy in the sky with diamonds, huh?” he says softly as he finally catches on why you named your daughter Lucy.

“You're finally catching up,” You playfully remark, taking the dirty clothes with you as you come out of the room and you head straight toward the laundry room. As you start sorting clothes, he leans against the doorframe, his tone casual yet curious.

“So… what do you think about all of this?” he asks, gesturing vaguely around, though his gaze lingers on you.

“About you dating... Minho?” you reply, glancing at him with a faint smile.

Chan seems to be taken aback by how accurate your first guess is. "Well... yeah," he sheepishly replies.

“It was a surprise, but then I remember our argument on who is the best Ryan,” you talk as you load your laundry into the washing machine. "And you passionately defended that Ryan Reynolds is hotter than Ryan Gosling."

"And I still stand by it," Chan chuckles, looking momentarily relieved, but his curiosity isn’t quite satisfied. “And… what do you think about Minho? I know it’s been… an adjustment, having you and Lucy here.”

You pause, folding one of Lucy’s shirts as you consider your words. “I haven’t really had a chance to talk to him. But the fact that he doesn’t mind us staying here says a lot. It means he’s a good person.”

Chan nods, seeming to take that in, a small smile touching his lips. “Yeah, he really is,” he murmurs, almost to himself. There’s a warmth in his voice that’s unmistakable, and you can’t help but feel a sense of relief, sensing that your presence here, however temporary, isn’t as disruptive as you’d feared.

With a gentle smile, you add, “I’m happy for you, Chan. You look… happy. It’s nice to see.”

He looks up, meeting your gaze with a quiet gratitude that speaks volumes. “Thanks,” he says softly.

For a moment, the two of you stand there in a comfortable silence, each lost in your own thoughts, both grateful to find this unexpected peace amidst everything.

As you both lean against the dryer, you slowly turn to face him and look him in the eyes as you say, "I know I'm three years late to this but Chan... I'm sorry."

His hand reaches for your arm and gently squeezes it. "There’s nothing to be sorry about," he assures you with a warm smile.

"We both know I wasn't a good girlfriend and the way I ended things..." you take a second to steady your voice. "I'm fully aware how brazen faced I am for coming here and asking for your help."

Chan’s gaze softens as he takes in your words, his hand lingering on your arm as if to anchor you. “You’re not. You’re just... human,” he replies gently. “I won’t pretend it didn’t hurt, but you did what you felt you needed to do. I get that.”

A faint smile touches your lips, relief mingling with lingering guilt. “Still, you’re here, helping me now after everything. I don’t know if I deserve it.”

“Hey,” he interrupts softly, his tone steady. “Don’t think like that. Everyone deserves help when they need it.”

For a moment, silence falls again between you, but this time, it’s heavier with the weight of unspoken questions. Then Chan finally speaks, his voice filled with a quiet sincerity. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could have told me and you wouldn't have gone through this alone.”

Your gaze drops, a little of the old hurt resurfacing and just like that, you break into tears. You cry into your hands, feeling embarrassed about everything.

Chan pulls you close, holding you close and letting you rest your head on his shoulder. He rubs his hand up and down your arm as he mutters. “You will always have me. I'm here.”

You nod, a warmth settling in your chest. It’s not easy letting go of the past, but standing here with Chan, it feels like maybe there’s a new beginning, after all.

Minho stretches, eyes blinking open to a peaceful morning. For a fleeting moment, everything feels blissfully normal—no guests, no interruptions, just him and Chan in their cozy space. He savors the silence, letting his eyes close again as he feels the warmth of the bed cocooning him. But then he hears Chan rustling beside him, yawning as he stretches.

“Morning,” Chan murmurs, planting a soft kiss on Minho’s cheek before slipping out of bed.

Minho hums in response, eyes still half-shut, enjoying the lingering quiet.

“Oh,” Chan says, his voice pulling Minho fully awake. “Just a heads up—she left early for a two-day work trip. Said she’d be back soon.”

Minho’s eyes open, the peaceful feeling beginning to fade as he realizes what this means. “Wait,” he says, voice still groggy, “so that means…”

“That means Lucy’s with us,” Chan finishes, a little too cheerfully, as if trying to soften the blow. “Come on, it won’t be that bad.”

Minho doesn't say anything but his pout is apparent so Chan tries another way to soften him. “I'll cook breakfast,” he announces with a quick kiss on his cheek.

Minho sighs, feeling a familiar knot tighten in his stomach. He watches as Chan goes to wake Lucy, who stretches sleepily in her little bed before reaching up for him with a giggle.

“Morning, sweet Lucy!” Chan talks in his baby voice at her and then scoops her up, effortlessly shifting gears into a gentle, playful mode as he carries her to the kitchen.

Dreading the chaos of the next two days, Minho reluctantly drags himself out of bed, following the sound of Chan and Lucy’s laughter down the hall. When he steps into the kitchen, he finds Lucy settled in her high chair, happily munching on a piece of toast while Chan fusses over the coffee maker. Minho watches them, a mix of apprehension and resignation settling in.

Chan glances back at him, a soft, reassuring smile on his face. “It’ll be fine,” he says, as if reading Minho’s thoughts. “We’ve got this, okay?”

Minho sighs but nods, taking a seat across from Lucy as she gives him a crumb-covered smile. As much as he dreads the unfamiliar routine, a small part of him feels… almost grateful for Chan’s confidence. With a reluctant smile of his own, he reaches for a piece of toast, bracing himself for the day ahead.

However, in the afternoon, Chan has to leave to take care of something at the studio. Minho watches as Chan pulls on his jacket, glancing back at him with a smirk.

“She just went down for her nap, so you’re in the clear for a little while,” Chan teases.

He comes up to him and plants a quick peck on his lips, “Just… keep her in one piece until I get back, alright?” he jokingly says.

Minho rolls his eyes, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “I'll try.”

With a final wink, Chan heads out, leaving Minho alone in the quiet apartment. The silence is welcome, if temporary, and he lets out a slow sigh, hoping the next few hours pass smoothly.

An hour later, Lucy stirs awake, her small footsteps padding down the hallway. Minho sets out a plate of snacks for her, guiding her to the couch.

“Stay here, alright?” he says, voice firm. “I’m just going out to the balcony.”

Lucy nods, munching on a cracker as she watches him. Satisfied, Minho heads outside to the small balcony, grabbing the broom as he starts clearing away the damp leaves from the rainy afternoon.

He’s only half-focused when he hears the light patter of tiny feet behind him. Before he can react, Lucy slips on the wet floor, falling to her knees with a small yelp.

Minho rushes to her side, instinctively pulling her up. “Lucy!” he scolds, his voice sharper than he intended. “I told you to stay put! Why can’t you just listen?”

Lucy’s big eyes fill with tears, her lower lip trembling as she starts to cry, her tiny voice breaking as she murmurs, “I want Mommy…”

At her words, Minho’s frustration melts into a pang of guilt. He looks at her, realizing how small and innocent she really is, just a little girl caught up in an unfamiliar world. He takes a deep breath, softening his tone as he gently wipes her tears.

“Hey… I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

Lucy sniffles, looking up at him with a mixture of hurt and confusion. Minho feels the weight of her gaze, a new understanding settling over him. She didn’t ask for any of this, and for the first time, he really sees how vulnerable she is.

“Come on, let’s clean those knees,” he murmurs softly, taking her small hand in his as he guides her back inside.

As he bandages her scraped knees, he silently resolves to be gentler, realizing she’s not the cause of his frustration—she’s just an innocent bystander who needs someone to care.

“Does it still hurt?” He asks in slight concerns after covering the scrape on her knee with a bandaid.

Instead of answering, Lucy looks at him with her teary eyes and whines, “I want my Mommy.”

Minho frowns, his phone pressed to his ear as he tries to call you, glancing over at Lucy who’s curled up on the couch, her eyes still red from crying. She clutches a stuffed animal tightly, her gaze flicking between him and the phone, hope evident in her little face.

But after a few rings, the call goes to voicemail. He lets out a quiet sigh, mentally running through other options. If she can’t talk to her mom, he has to figure out some way to cheer her up on his own.

He crouches down beside her, offering her a small, tentative smile. “Hey, Lucy,” he says gently. “How about we eat something? I think we have something special in the fridge.”

Her interest piques slightly, though her expression remains uncertain as she nods.

Minho takes her in his arms and heads to the kitchen, he sits her down on the kitchen island, opening the freezer and pulling out a small tub of ice cream.

“Ice cream?” He asks with a soft smile but deep down he's hoping it works to, at least, make her stop asking for you.

The little girl wipes her wet cheek with the back of her hand and mumbles, “I want strawberry ice cream.”

“Strawberry ice cream for Lucy coming right up!” He cheerfully says.

Minho scoops some into a bowl, topping it with a few sprinkles as Lucy requested. When he hands her the bowl, her eyes light up, the faintest smile breaking through. She takes a cautious spoonful, then another, and before long, her mood visibly brightens.

Minho can’t help but feel a small sense of relief as he watches her savor each bite. “Is it good?” he asks, smiling softly.

Lucy nods, looking up at him with genuine gratitude. “Thank you,” she says, her small voice filled with warmth as she flashes him a fond smile.

Minho’s heart softens at the sight. He hadn’t expected something as simple as ice cream to work so well, but seeing her smile makes him realize that maybe, just maybe, he’s not so bad at this. For the first time, he feels a small connection with her, and it surprises him just how much it means.

Chan steps into the apartment, his nerves already on edge. He’s been wondering all day what sort of situation he’ll find when he gets home, half-expecting chaos—or at least a sulking Minho in the aftermath of a toddler-tantrum-filled day. He silently hopes that Minho’s “keep her in one piece” promise has held true.

But as he closes the door, he’s met with… silence.

The calm feels almost suspicious, and he takes a cautious step forward, peeking into the kitchen. His brows lift in surprise when he sees Minho standing at the counter, prepping dinner. And beside him, Lucy is perched on a chair, carefully placing sliced vegetables into a bowl under Minho’s watchful eye.

Chan can’t help but chuckle softly at the sight, folding his arms as he leans against the doorframe. “Wow, I thought you might’ve sent her to the orphanage by now.”

Minho glances over his shoulder, rolling his eyes but unable to hide a small grin. “Trust me, the temptation was there.”

Lucy giggles, glancing up at Minho with a shy smile. Chan’s heart warms at the sight, surprised and a little proud of how well they seem to be getting along.

Chan steps into the kitchen, giving Minho a playful nudge. “Seems like you survived after all,” he teases.

Minho scoffs but gives a reluctant nod. “Barely,” he mutters, though there’s a glimmer of something softer in his eyes as he glances at Lucy. He ruffles her hair as she hands him another handful of vegetables, and for the first time, Chan sees a gentleness there that makes him smile.

“Well,” Chan says, grabbing an apron to join in, “looks like I came home just in time for dinner with my two favorite chefs.”

As the evening winds down and bed time comes, Lucy bounces up to Minho, wrapping her tiny arms around his legs. “Goodnight!” she chirps, looking up at him with a grin.

Minho blinks in surprise, and though he hesitates, he can’t help but smile as he pats her head gently. “Mmh... Goodnight!”

Chan chuckles, scooping her up. “Alright, let's go,” he says, carrying her down the hall to the bedroom. He helps her into her pajamas, tucking her in under the blankets as she nestles into the bed.

“Is Mommy coming home soon?” she asks, her voice small, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

Chan smiles softly, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “Mommu will be back before you know it. Just one more day, and you’ll see Mommy again.”

He draws hee closer to his side, suddenly feeling protective of her at the reminder that she has no one but you. “So, Lucy, do you like staying here with me?” he curiously asks.

Lucy innocently nods as she stares at his face.

“How about Minho? Did you have fun today with Minho?”

With her eyes getting heavier with each passing second, Lucy nods again. However, Chan can’t help but ask her one more question.

“Do you like me more or Minho more?”

After a while, Lucy confidently answers. "Chan!"

Even though the answer is as expected, Chan triumphantly smiles at that. He presses a soft kiss on the top of Lucy’s head and holds her close.

A yawn slipping out as she snuggles deeper into her pillow. Chan begins to hum her favorite lullaby, his voice soft and soothing as he sings until her eyes finally close and her breathing evens out.

When he looks up, he notices Minho leaning quietly in the doorway, watching them. There’s a gentleness in Minho’s gaze that makes Chan’s heart swell. Minho might not say it, but Chan can see that he’s slowly warming up to Lucy, and it brings a warmth to his heart.

Chan gives Lucy a soft kiss on the forehead, mouthing, “Goodnight,” before he stands and gently closes the door behind him.

As Chan steps out of Lucy’s room and joins Minho, Minho quirks an eyebrow, an amused glint in his eyes. “Look at you, playing the doting daddy,” he teases, crossing his arms.

Chan rolls his eyes, nudging him playfully. “You’re just jealous,” he replies, chuckling. “Admit it.”

Minho just shrugs with a smirk, but there’s no real irritation behind his words. They head to their own bedroom, slipping under the covers, and Chan reaches out to take Minho’s hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you, Minho,” he murmurs, his voice soft and sincere. “For… everything. For being understanding, for accepting Lucy without a second thought, and for being here with me through this.”

His gaze is warm, filled with gratitude as he looks into Minho’s eyes. “I don’t take it for granted, you know? I’m really grateful for you.”

Minho’s smirk softens into a small, genuine smile. He shifts closer, leaning his forehead against Chan’s. “You’re lucky I like you, Bang Chan,” he whispers, his voice playful but filled with warmth.

Chan chuckles, brushing his thumb over Minho’s hand. “I am lucky,” he replies, his voice gentle as he presses a soft kiss to Minho’s forehead, feeling a sense of peace settle over him. With Minho by his side, he knows he can face anything—even the unexpected challenges they’re now facing together.

The next day, Chan, Minho, and little Lucy head out to the grocery store together. As they walk in, they’re greeted by Halloween decorations lining the aisles—glowing pumpkins, skeletons, and eerie ghost dolls hanging from the ceiling. Lucy’s eyes grow wide, and she clings to Minho’s leg, hiding behind him as a particularly spooky skeleton’s jaw clatters with a creepy laugh.

Minho chuckles, glancing down at her. “They’re just dolls, Lucy,” he says reassuringly, giving one of the decorations a little poke on the eyes.

“See? Not scary at all.” He winks at her, trying to make her laugh by mimicking the skeleton’s spooky laugh.

Seeing Minho’s teasing brings a tiny smile to Lucy’s face, and she clutches his hand a bit less tightly, sticking close by his side as they continue down the aisle.

Meanwhile, Chan’s eyes light up as he spots a display of Halloween costumes.

“Oh! We should do matching costumes,” he exclaims, rifling through the racks with growing excitement. “What about pirates? Or superheroes?”

Minho raises an eyebrow, amused. “Are you really trying to dress us all up for Halloween?”

Chan grins, holding up a little cape and mask for Lucy. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Look, Lucy could be a little superhero,” he says, his enthusiasm contagious.

Lucy giggles, her earlier fright forgotten as she clutches the cape, trying to wrap it around herself.

Later that evening, after their grocery run, the three of them settle down in the living room for a cozy movie night. Lucy curls up on the couch between them, her eyes glued to the screen as the movie plays. Somewhere near the end, her little head begins to droop, and before long, she’s fast asleep, resting comfortably against Minho’s arm.

Chan chuckles, nudging Minho with a grin. “Look at you, Mr. Not Jealous. You’re practically her favorite pillow.”

Minho scoffs, rolling his eyes, but there’s a fond smile on his face as he glances down at the sleeping child in his arms. He carefully stands, lifting her in his arms as he heads to her room. He tucks her in gently, pulling the blankets up to her chin before quietly slipping out of the room.

When he returns to the living room, Chan’s waiting with a soft smile. “You’re really good with her, you know?” Chan says, wrapping an arm around him as they settle back on the couch.

Minho just shrugs, a bit flustered but warmed by Chan’s words. “Yeah, well… she’s not so bad,” he mutters, though there’s a softness in his voice that speaks volumes.

As Minho joins Chan in bed, Chan immediately pulls him into his arms, taking advantage of the rare alone time to shower him with gentle kisses. Minho smirks, leaning into Chan’s warmth as he presses fluttering kisses on his neck.

Not having enough, Chan hovers above him. Their lips make the first contact before the rest of their bodies become one on the bed. In a second, Minho’s hands going all over Chan’s body, trailing his broad shoulders, tracing the ridges of his abs, the muscles on his back and as soon as Chan lowers himself on him, Minho’s hands are gliding down his back and not stopping until his hands meet Chan’s ample ass.

Chan smiles against his lips as Minho starts fondling on his asscheek and Chan gets back at him by feeling Minho’s growing bulge inside his sweatpants.

With everything that happened, it feels like a long time since the last time they had sex. Chan needs this and with the way Minho easily giving in to what he wants, he knows Minho needs this just as much.

However, as things start to heat up— a quiet knock interrupts them.

With his hands resting on his chest, Minho slowly pushes Chan away and says, “Better luck next time!”

Chan sighs but quickly gets up, opening the door to find Lucy standing there, clutching her plushie with tears streaming down her cheeks. The soft rumble of thunder echoes outside, and she sniffles, looking up at him with frightened eyes.

“I'm scared,” she mumbles and gets startled at the sound of thunder.

“Hey, it’s alright, sweetheart,” Chan murmurs gently, crouching down to her level. He lifts her into his arms and brings her into the bedroom, letting her settle down on the bed between him and Minho.

As she clutches her plushie, Chan pats her back, softly humming her favorite lullaby, his voice a low and calming melody against the rumbling storm outside. Slowly, Lucy’s eyes flutter closed, and she drifts off, her breathing steady and peaceful.

Chan glances over at Minho, a mischievous smile on his face. “Hey, let's have one of these,” he whispers playfully.

Minho rolls his eyes but can’t hold back a grin. “Only if you’re the one carrying it,” he whispers back, nudging him.

Chan chuckles quietly, pulling Minho’s hand into his own under the covers. Despite all his initial worries, he feels this warm, comforting feeling settle over him. Having Lucy here, nestled safely between them, only seems to make his bond with Minho stronger. What he once thought might strain their relationship now feels like it’s brought them closer, and he realizes just how much Minho means to him.

They lie there together, hands intertwined, both feeling a quiet sense of peace as they watch over the sleeping child between them.

Minho wakes up to the soft sight of little Lucy nestled close to Chan’s arm, her tiny form making Chan look even broader and more protective beside her. Minho smiles, watching them for a moment before slipping out of bed, letting the two sleep in a little longer.

The sunlight spills into the kitchen, bright and warm, washing away any traces of the storm from the night before. As Minho pulls out ingredients from the fridge, he hears tiny footsteps padding across the floor. He turns to see Lucy, dragging her favorite plushie along, her eyes still a bit sleepy.

“Morning, Lucy,” he says softly, setting a plate on the table for her with a warm cheese omelet. Lucy climbs into her chair, her eyes lighting up as she takes a bite.

Minho smirks, watching her enjoy the food. “So,” he says with a playful grin, “who’s the better cook—me or Mommy?”

Lucy giggles, her cheeks puffed from her bite. “Mommy!” she replies without hesitation, her answer sweetly innocent.

Minho huffs in mock offense, rolling his eyes. “Biased,” he mutters under his breath, but he can’t help smiling as he watches her eat with such enthusiasm.

Before long, Chan shuffles into the kitchen, still a bit groggy but smiling at the sight of Lucy happily munching away and Minho standing over the stove. He slips an arm around Minho’s waist, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before taking a seat at the table.

“Morning,” Chan mumbles with another kiss pressed to his neck. He then turns to the little girl busy eating her breakfast and places a kiss on her head, “Morning, cutie Lucy,” he says with his high, saccharine voice.

Minho watches them, a warm feeling settling in his chest as he takes in the cozy scene. Just like Chan had joked, it really does feel like a little family. But as he watches Chan laugh with Lucy over breakfast, Minho realizes he doesn’t have to pretend—it truly feels like this is his family, too.

The late morning sunlight spills across the living room as the three of them lounge comfortably on the couch, watching Lucy’s favorite cartoon. She’s nestled between Chan and Minho, completely captivated, while Minho has his arm draped casually over the back of the sofa, feeling more at ease than he would have thought possible.

But the cozy moment is interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Minho groans, getting up to answer it, only to find you standing there, suitcase beside you. He blinks in mild surprise before his face softens, and you exchange a quick hug.

“I lost track of the new passcode,” you say with a chuckle, shrugging apologetically.

“No worries,” he replies, stepping aside to let you in.

Without hesitating, you come up to him for a quick hug, “How are you, Minho? I hope everything is well.”

Minho sheepishly smiles and closes the door behind him, “I hope so too,” he jokingly says.

The second you announce your arrival, little footsteps echo through the hallway as Lucy comes running, her face lighting up at the sight of you. She rushes over, throwing her arms around your legs, and you crouch down to hug her back.

As you greet Chan and settle in, the lively energy Lucy brings to the room returns with her laughter filling the space. Everything feels normal again—but as Minho looks around, he realizes this new rhythm, this new arrangement, is his normal now too.

It’s strange to think how far he’s come from his initial reluctance, but he can’t deny the warmth and quiet joy that fills him at the sight of this little makeshift family.

The kitchen is filled with the comforting sounds of chopping and simmering as you and Minho work together to prepare dinner. The faint laughter of Chan and Lucy playing in the living room drifts into the space, adding to the cozy warmth of the evening.

“You really should be resting after your trip,” Minho says, glancing at you as he chops vegetables with practiced ease.

You shake your head, a small smile on your lips. “I need to feel useful after being away. Besides, I wanted to thank you properly—for taking care of Lucy while I was gone.”

Minho shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, but a hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “She’s not so bad… keeps things interesting around here.”

Taking a deep breath, you seize the quiet moment between the two of you. “Minho… there’s something I need to tell you. I didn’t come here to interfere or… to try to win Chan back.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking as he places the knife down and looks at you. “Good to know. I mean, I would hope you aren’t here to take him away from me. I’d miss the guy.”

A light laugh escapes you, and you feel the tension ease, if only a little. “Honestly, I wanted to be up-front. Lucy isn’t Chan’s child. She… I had her with someone else, after I made a mistake while I was still with Chan.”

You pause, struggling to hold back the guilt that still lingers. “I never told him. I was too ashamed, and I thought it would be better if he didn’t know.”

Minho’s expression softens as he takes in your words. He understands why you did what you did. He picks his words carefully before saying them out loud.

“For what it’s worth, you don’t have to carry that guilt here. Chan’s treating Lucy like she’s his own because, well, that’s just who he is. And… she’s lucky to have him in her life. We both are.”

You've been carrying it for a long while and your heart lifts at his words. For that, you offer a sincere smile and gratitude. “Thank you, Minho. For understanding, and for... letting us stay here.”

Minho gives a small nod, and his usual teasing smile returns. “Well, you’re lucky Lucy’s cute. She’s winning me over. Just don’t go telling her that.”

You’re silent for a moment, gathering your thoughts. As you continue slicing vegetables, you glance at Minho, hesitating, then finally let out a gentle sigh.

“Chan… he looks so happy with you,” you say, voice soft. “I can see it. He really loves you. I hope you know that.”

Minho pauses, clearly caught off guard by your words. “Yeah?” he asks, almost shyly, though he tries to play it off with a small smile.

You nod, your gaze shifting to where Chan is with Lucy, his laughter filling the living room. “He deserves to be with someone who makes him this happy. I couldn’t give him that but you do. And I really, really hope things work out for you both.”

Minho’s expression softens, a hint of gratitude flickering in his eyes that he doesn’t know how to react to that. “Thank you. That means… well, more than you might think.”

You both fall silent, the sound of your movements in the kitchen blending with the distant laughter of Chan and Lucy. In that moment, you feel a quiet sense of relief, knowing that Chan has found someone who truly cares for him, and that you’ve left him in good hands.

Dinner is lively, filled with light chatter and laughter as everyone enjoys the meal. Between bites, Chan glances over at Lucy, attentively wipes her slobbering mouth with a napkin. He beams when he remembers something.

“Hey, would it be alright if I took Lucy to the park tomorrow? I know a spot she’d love.”

You swallow your food and put your spoon down to answer him. “I plan on begin looking for an apartment anyway, so that would be perfect.”

Without missing a beat, Minho clears his throat and injects himself into the conversation.“Well, you’re in luck—I just so happen to have a cozy apartment that I keep meaning to rent out. Figured I might sell it eventually, but,” he shrugs playfully and glances over at Chan, “I keep it around in case I need an escape from Chan.”

The table erupts into laughter, and you look at him, surprised but grateful. “Are you serious? I’d be so thankful. Really.”

Minho nods with a grin and casually shrugs again, “Consider it yours, then.”

Chan catches Minho’s eye, a quiet look of gratitude passing between them. He feels a surge of pride, but more than that, a sense of certainty that Minho is truly the one he’s meant to be with.

Later that night, as they lay side by side in bed, Chan gently pulls Minho close, wrapping an arm around him. He presses a long kiss on his neck before deeply looking into his eyes to tell him his feelings.

“You know, I’ve never felt this sure about anyone before,” he murmurs. “I feel like… you’re the one I’ve been waiting for, Minho.”

Minho rolls his eyes but can’t hide the blush creeping across his face. “You’re getting sappy again, Chan.”

Chan chuckles softly, then leans in, his lips brushing Minho’s in a tender, lingering kiss. “I mean it,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

Unexpectedly, Minho melts right away from Chan's confession, his usual sarcasm fading, and after a moment, he cups Chan’s face, a small smile playing at his lips. “I love you too.”

In this perfect, quiet moment, Chan knows that he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

Moving into Minho’s apartment has felt like starting fresh—a safe, cozy space for you and Lucy, free from the burdens you once carried. It’s peaceful, even comforting, though sometimes it’s hard to shake the feeling of gratitude toward Chan and Minho for being there when you needed it most. They’ve become part of your life in a way you never anticipated, like family.

The apartment is still a mess and you struggle to find your makeup pouch from the unpacked boxes. When you finally found what you're looking for, you run back to the living room and squat down to be on the same level with Lucy. You carefully draw thin, delicate whiskers on Lucy's cheeks, stepping back to admire her in her little mouse costume. She giggles, wriggling with excitement as you look at her with a big smile on your face.

“Look at you, you cute little mouse!” you grin, smoothing down her costume.

Just then, the doorbell rings, and Lucy’s eyes light up as she dashes for the door. Her little tail wagging amd drags across the hardwood floor as she runs.

“Who do you think it is?” you ask playfully, following her.

She’s practically bouncing as you open the door, and there stand Chan and Minho, beaming.

“Oh?! I can see it now,” You gasp and chuckle when you finally recognize where they got the reference for their costumes. It's from Lucy’s favorite movie, Ratatouille.

Chan’s dressed in a chef’s outfit, his red wig comically tousled like Linguini’s, while Minho, wearing a sharp black suit and a deep scowl, plays the perfect Anton Ego.

Chan immediately crouches down, holding out his arms. “There’s my little Remy!” he cheers, and Lucy runs into his arms, giggling as he lifts her up.

Minho nods, raising a brow and it’s rather dramatic with the dark eye makeup. “Impeccable taste in costume, I must say,” he says with mock seriousness, giving Lucy an approving look.

“Wow, you all really went with the theme,” you laugh, impressed. “You even got the scowl right, Minho.”

Minho smirks, crossing his arms. “Of course. It’s a role I was born to play,” he says dryly, earning a playful nudge from Chan.

They line up in front of the camera, Lucy perched proudly on Chan’s shoulders, clutching his chef’s hat, with Minho standing beside them, a half-smile tugging at his lips. You help direct their poses, snapping a few photos as they make silly faces, then switch to a few “serious” ones with Minho scowling dramatically.

The three of them are laughing together, looking so natural and happy, and as you watch through the lens, your heart swells with warmth. This little found family has its own kind of magic, and it feels like something that might just last.

As Chan and Lucy head out for trick-or-treating, the apartment feels a little quieter, but comfortably so. You and Minho settle into the kitchen, rolling up your sleeves and preparing ingredients to bake cookies. There’s a sense of ease between you, both of you slipping into a relaxed rhythm of mixing, sifting, and rolling dough, laughter and chatter filling the room.

“So, how are you settling in here?” Minho asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.

“Actually, it’s been good. Lucy’s adapting well, and I have you to thank for that.” You glance around the apartment, an appreciative gleam in your eyes. “It already feels like a home.”

Minho chuckles, looking a little proud as he dusted the dough with more flour. “I’m glad to hear that. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if this place would be what you needed, but you’re making it work.”

A moment passes in silence as you consider whether it's appropiate or not for you to ask something personal with him. After a while though, you glance at him thoughtfully and decide to take a shot.

“So... you and Chan,” you say, a gentle nudge in your tone. “Are you thinking about... taking things to the next level?”

Minho chuckles at first, lifting a brow at you and he stays quiet, you take it that he doesn’t want to answer until he turns to face you.

“The next level? What, like adopting a cat?” he teases, though you can see the thought truly crosses his mind as he softens a bit. “But honestly... I know Chan. He’s always had this dream, you know? That picture-perfect life with a family, a house with a white fence, a dog… all of it.”

He pauses, looking down as he carefully arranges the cookie dough on the sheet. “Sometimes I wonder if I can give him that,” he admits quietly, his voice just above a whisper. “It’s not like I’m against it… I just don’t know if I’m enough to be his whole dream.”

You nod, understanding the weight of his thoughts and take a moment to assess it. “I think that dream matters to him, sure. But I also know that Chan loves you, and that’s the part that matters most.”

You give him a reassuring look and a warm smile. “If there’s anyone who can make him happy, it’s you. And honestly? What you two have—it's special. I’d be heartbroken if anything ever changed that.”

Minho looks at you, a slight smile pulling at his lips. He seems more at ease, even if only a little, as he nods in quiet appreciation.

“Thanks,” he says, voice soft. “It’s nice to hear that.”

He carefully slides the cookie tray into the oven, letting the warmth of your words and the baking cookies fill the space.

Chan and Lucy return from trick-or-treating just as the smell of freshly baked cookies are out of the oven. The moment they step inside, Lucy’s eyes light up at the sight of the cookies on the counter, and she eagerly scrambles onto the couch, settling in with her treat.

Everyone gathers in the cozy living room, laughing, sipping milk, and munching on warm cookies as a Halloween movie plays on the TV. But the true entertainment comes from you and Minho playfully teasing Chan, trading stories and memories like a friendly roast.

“Oh, he’s still as bad at drinking as he was back then,” you laugh, nudging Chan as he shakes his head, looking mildly embarrassed.

“Not to mention the spice thing,” Minho chimes in, smirking. “Can’t handle anything remotely spicy, huh?”

Chan groans, holding up his hands in defeat. “What can I say? Some things never change,” he grins, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

“Oh! Grow up, Chan!” You tease him with a mocking grin.

As the night gets late, Lucy falls asleep on Chan’s lap, her face calm and content from the night’s excitement. Gently, Chan scoops her up and carries her to bed, laying her down and carefully tucking her in. You join him, and together, you watch her peaceful expression, a feeling of warmth settling over the room.

“Thank you, Chan,” you say softly, watching your daughter sleep. “I’ve never seen Lucy this happy. She really, really likes you.”

Chan smiles, his gaze softening as he endearingly putting away the haie covering Lucy’s face. “She’s a great girl. Makes it easy.”

For a moment, Chan simply watches Lucy sleeping, endearingly putting the hair away from her face and then, he looks at you. With a gentle tone, he asks, “Can I… Can I be Lucy’s godfather?”

Your heart skips at the suddenness of his wish and how unexpected it is. Before you can respond, you feel the urge to tell him the truth, wanting him to understand everything.

“Chan, I know I should have told you sooner that Lucy is—”

Before you get to finish your sentence, Chan shakes his head and stopping you. “Despite it all, I want to be there for her, and for you.”

Overwhelmed by his words, you nod, a genuine smile breaking through. “I would love to, Chan. Besides, I can't trust Lucy to anyone else but you.”

Chan laughs lightly, his voice a warm whisper. “Not even Minho?” he teases with an eyebrow raised.

You laugh, nudging him playfully and lower your voice as you say, “Especially Minho.”

A gentle quiet fills the room as you both stand there, and for a moment, it feels like everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be.

Chan stands by the door, lingering a moment longer than he intended as you walk up to him with a gentle, knowing smile. “Thank you for everything, Chan,” you say, pulling him into a warm hug. He holds you close, feeling the quiet gratitude that flows between you.

When you pull away, there’s a slight shimmer in your eyes, and he gives you a reassuring nod, as if to say he’ll always be there, no matter what. “If you ever need anything,” he says quietly, “don’t hesitate, alright?”

You nod, laughing softly as Minho steps forward, offering a half-smirk. “Maybe not from me, though,” he quips, rolling his eyes with a small grin.

But when you hug him too, he softens, returning your thanks with a quiet sincerity that he doesn’t often show.

As you release Minho from the warm hug, you take a steady breath, your gaze softening as you look at the two of them.

“Thank you,” you say, voice thick with emotion. “For the first time in so long, I feel like I belong somewhere—like Lucy and I finally have a place and people we can call ours. I’m grateful for both of you.”

Chan smiles, squeezing your hand gently. “That’s what family’s for,” he says, his tone warm and steady. Minho offers a half-smile, trying to brush off the emotion, but there’s a glint of understanding in his eyes.

“Goodnight,” Chan says to you before stepping out of the apartment with Minho.

“Goodnight,” you say back as you linger in the doorway and watching them disappear into the elevator.

As Chan and Minho walk together, hand in hand under the soft glow of the city lights, Chan takes a deep breath, letting the cool night air fill his lungs. This—right here, right now—feels like home in a way he’s never known before.

He glances over at Minho, who’s watching the path ahead, his profile softened by the moonlight. Chan gives his hand a gentle squeeze, feeling a swell of gratitude for everything they’ve come through to reach this moment. For all the unexpected turns, the people they’ve grown to love, and the bonds they’ve forged. Somehow, everything led him here—to the love he’s waited for, the family he’s built, and the life he never thought he’d find.

“You know,” he says quietly, a tenderness in his voice, “I think I finally understand what it means to be whole. It’s not about finding pieces you think you’re missing. It’s about realizing that what you have is exactly enough.”

Minho looks over at him, a hint of something deep and unspoken in his eyes. “Then let’s keep it this way,” he murmurs, “for as long as we can.”

And as they continue down the quiet streets together, Chan knows that even if life shifts and changes again, he’ll always have this—the kind of love and contentment that makes every struggle worth it. Because they’re not just walking home tonight; they’re building one, with each other, step by step.

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redvexillum · 3 months ago

Text

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, assistant!reader, established relationship, whipped!vox, romantic!vox, soft!vox, p in v, teasing, couple's spat, vox is a simp for reader, reader is equally a simp for vox, tooth rotting fluff, soft s♡x/lovemaking, love confessions

WORD COUNT: 9.7K~

SPECIAL MENTION: @nyx91 (my wife and fellow VoxTek Server cult member), your request has been heard. This is set in Mandatory Overtime Universe, but it's not necessary to read to enjoy this.

The steady hum of your computer filled the quiet room, accompanied only by the relentless clatter of your fingers against the keyboard. For the last two weeks, this had been your soundtrack–a constant rhythm of work fuelled by the rash decision of your boss. Vox, the “TV-headed idiot” as you had come to call him in your mind recently, had once again made a public promise he had no intention of planning for.

His latest brainchild?

The VPhone 78, with a supposedly revolutionary features that would allow the phone to fly and follow its users like his countless drones buzzing throughout Hell.

Of course, the moment he’d announced this absurd concept during an interview, VoxTek’s stocks had soared by 112%. But now, it was your problem. As his top – well, only – personal assistant with your soul still belonging to you, you were stuck trying to work out how on Earth (or Hell, rather) you’d manage to make this ridiculous idea of his both cost-effective and functional.

You leaned back in your chair, eyes unfocused as numbers swirled around in your mind like tormenting demons. The paperwork was starting to blur together. You sighed heavily, tipping your head back to stare at the ceiling, fingers massaging the bridge of your nose.

“Vox, you idiot,” you muttered under your breath.

Publicly, you were nothing more than his right-hand assistant. But behind closed door…that was a different story. Vox took you on what he called “business dinners,” though they were anything but professional. Somewhere along the way, those dinners had turned into more. One heated night led to countless others, and now, 66 years later, the two of you were still locked in this strange, undefined relationship. A weekly ritual of casual intimacy, wrapped in secrecy and masked by your professional titles.

It had started as a way to blow off steam, and you would never admit to yourself that your feelings for Vox had been anything but carnal. But now, the years had piled up, and you were still tangled up in each other. Your ambition to climb the corporate ladder had gotten complicated; it was messy, with unspoken emotions lurking beneath the surface.

You groaned, still staring at the ceiling when a soft knock at the door broke through your thoughts.

“Come in,” you croaked, your voice hoarse from lack of sleep.

The door creaked open to reveal Papermint, one of Vox’s many errand boys – slender, nervous, and constantly fidgeting. His blue hair and one cyan eye reflected the neon lights of the company, a clear sign that his soul was tethered to Vox’s control. You gave him a tired smile as he shuffled in, looking uncomfortable as always.

“Papermint,” you said, leaning forward, elbows propped on the mess of papers on your desk. “What does he want now?”

Papermint adjusted his thin glasses, looking anywhere but at you. “Well, boss wanted–”

You cut him off with a raised hand. “Let me guess. I’m supposed to put on my VWatch because Vox has something extremely important to tell me, but it’s confidential, so he won’t bother telling you?” You threw in a mocking air quotes around the word “confidential.”

Papermint’s face lit up with relief as he nodded eagerly. “Yeah, that’s exactly it! He’s been on edge…kind of…” he quickly looked around your room, looking for any cameras as Vox always made sure he was watching and listening in everywhere, “you know…” Papermint mumbled, unwilling to take a chance of getting killed for badmouthing the boss.

You snorted. Typical. Vox’s moods were as volatile as Hell’s weather, and apparently, he had been taking it out on his employees. You were the only one left who could handle him, and even that was debatable. Most, if not all, of his staff had their souls bound to his contracts, but not you. You had sighed a regular employment contract, meaning if you wanted to walk out of this building, you could do so without losing a single shred of your soul.

You shuffled the papers on your desk, trying to look busy. “I failed to see how that’s my problem, Papermint.”

His face fell, the colour draining from his cheeks. “Please, Sunshine–”

You narrowed your eyes. “Not my name.”

Papermint blinked. “Oh, sorry! I thought that’s what boss called you.”

“He calls me a lot of things,” you said, rising from your chair. “None of them are relevant.”

Without another word, you strode past Papermint, your steps purposeful as you left your office. The nickname sunshinehas recently irked you, though lately, you noticed your anger toward it had started to wane. Maybe it was the fact that despite everything, your heart still softened every time you thought of his stupid TV head.

You found yourself standing outside Vox’s office door without even realizing how quickly you’d gotten there. You cursed under your breath. You were supposed to be angry at him. Frustrated, really. Instead, warmth was blooming in your chest, softening the hard lines of your frown.

Damn it. Why were you such a softie?

Without knocking, you pushed open the door and entered his office. The long bridge to his desk, surrounded by a dizzying drop into nothingness, stretched before you like a stage, a visual testament to his need for drama. Vox sat in his grand chair, spinning lazily toward you. His grin was wide, but strained.

“Ah, Sunshine!” He greeted, his voice edged with nervousness. “Finally decided to show up after, what, twelve days? But hey, who’s counting?”

You crossed your arms, not dignifying his teasing with a response. Instead, you stared at him, waiting.

Vox stood up from his desk, his sharp grin widening as his arms stretched out for a hug, his usual smoothness faltering as he made his attempt. You stood unmoving, watching his hands hover awkwardly before he dropped them, clearing his throat with forced nonchalance.

“Sunshine, I know I said I’d talk to Val about your department store debacle, but–” Vox’s eyes darted toward the corner of the room, hands making small circles as if searching for the right words. “Val can be a bit…tricky.”

Your jaw tightened. That department store had been your baby – your crown jewel, meant to cement your name in Hell’s ruthless business world. Nine years of gruelling work, settling deals, managing turf wars, negotiating with gangs. Nine years of sacrifice to finally build what was supposed to be yours – with Vox having a mere 25% stake. But that vision had turned into ash and rubble when Valentino decided to “celebrate” your grand opening day with hookers, drugs, and a sleazy entourage. In less than three hours, your hard-earned dream was trashed, half of the building collapsing under the weight of his destructive party.

And Vox’s response? A dismissive, “That’s just Val being Val.”

You crossed your arms tightly across your chest, one hip jutting out in defiance. “Oh, don’t worry about it, boss,” you spat, the word dripping with sarcasm. “It only took me nine years, eight months, and thirteen days, plus half a billion dollars of my own savings, to build that dream. And it was all blow to hell in three hours! But hey–who’s counting?”

The muscles in Vox’s neck twitched as his shoulders hiked higher. You could see the tension in his rigid frame, but it wasn’t enough to quell the rage simmering inside you. Time meant little in Hell. Rebuilding wasn’t a big issue either now that the Princess of Hell put an end to the bi-yearly exterminations. And sure, Vox had reimbursed your expenses and offered to buy you a new property to rebuild, but that wasn’t what you wanted.

What you really wanted was for Vox to finally stand up to Valentino. To sever ties, cut him out of the alliance, and show some backbone for once.

But it was never that simple.

Hell’s power structure was a delicate balance, and the Vees were stronger united. Valentino brought numbers, influence, and raw power to the table, attributes too valuable for Vox to dismiss. And what did you bring?

Competence as his personal assistant.

A warm body to cuddle with when he felt like it.

The room buzzed with tension, both of you fully aware that this issue was one of many knots in your tangled relationship. You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to let go of some of the anger bubbling beneath your skin. It wasn’t worth a blow-up–not now.

“So, what did you call me up here for, Vox?” You asked, your tone softer than before, though you hated how much his name on your lips seemed to brighten his eyes.

Vox’s smile returned, wider this time, though you could still see the underlying tension in his expression. “Well, it’s our annual company trip, and…” he hesitated, his grin becoming strained as his brows knitted slightly. “It’s mandatory for you to attend!” His tone was too chipper, a veil over the fact that he feared your refusal.

You rolled your eyes, a huff escaping your lips. “You mean the annual company trip where it’s just the two of us, and we end up fucking?”

As you talked, Vox took that time to finally circle his arms around you. You felt your resolve crumble and your anger melting away. You cursed inwardly at how easily your body responded to him, your head naturally finding its place against his shoulder as he swayed you gently in his embrace. It was ridiculous, really – how he could have you melting with just a touch, even after all the frustration, all the fights.

“What?” He laughed nervously, his voice a little higher than usual. “I told you, everyone always cancels last minute! I mean, I do dock their pay, but still–” His words trailed off as his fingers tensed against your body.

The lie was as obvious as the flickering pixels on Vox’s face, and you couldn’t help but giggle. It was the kind of silliness that made your chest light, your laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. Pressing your lips against his shoulder, you tried to muffle the sound, but your body shook with mirth anyway.

Vox sighed softly above you, the rumble of it felt through his chest as he held you tightly. He never made it a secret how much he loved hearing your laughter, the sound always brightening the static on his face and smoothing his sharp edges.

You felt the faint warmth of his screen pressed against the top of your head as he leaned down to place a light kiss there, his grip tightening ever so slightly around you. And at that moment, you knew undoubtedly that you were going to attend his annual company trip, regardless of how mandatory it was. After all, you attended all the previous so-called company trips.

“So, is it tomorrow?” You asked, voice softened with the quiet acceptance of his unspoken plea.

“Tomorrow,” he confirmed, his fingers tracing a slow, deliberate line down the centre of your spine. The touch was comforting, intimate, making you sigh in a way that spoke of years of familiarity. His fingers lingered at your lower back as he let out a wistful breath, as if savouring the moment.

“Are you going to let me go?” You teased, your lips quirking into a smile as you glanced up at him. “I still need to figure out how to implement your so-called flying technology onto all the latest VPhones,” you added with a roll of your eyes, knowing you were slipping back into work mode.

“Just make our drones into cellphones and call it a day,” he remarked casually, his tone almost lazy.

You jerked away from him, eyes wide in disbelief. “Excuse me?” You screeched, shifting instantly from playful lover to his professional assistant. “Do tell me how you think that’s remotely possible with all the–“

The words spilled out of you in a sharp, impassioned rant. Vox’s gaze never left yours, but his gentle smile and softness in his eyes betrayed his true thoughts. He wasn’t listening to the words. He was listening to you, and that subtle, almost imperceptible affection made your heart squeeze in ways you tried not to think about.

The next day, you stood outside VoxTek Aquarium, the warm hellish air brushing against your legs as your loose white dress swayed gently with the breeze. The plunging v-neckline gave the soft fabric an elegant flow, but the empty street surrounding the aquarium was unsettling. The eerie silence was in stark contrast to the usual bustle, the crowds that typically lined up for hours on end nowhere to be seen.

As you approached the doors, a small sign with different shades of blue balloons swaying side by side caught your eyes.

The sign read: Our 66th Anniversary, with a giant heart drawn right below it.

A giggle escaped your lips before you could stop it. Vox was nothing if not sentimental in his own peculiar way. Every year, without fail, he celebrated your work anniversary with him, marking the occasion as if it were something sacred. You never fully understood it, but there was something about his dedication to it that made you feel warm inside, giddy even. He made you feel seen–like your time, your presence, mattered in a way no one else had ever made you feel.

As you stepped inside the aquarium, your eyes widened in awe. The large cylindrical tank at the centre dominated the room, a towering presence that rose as tall as a seven-story building. Inside, Vox’s prized hammerhead shark swam lazily, its glowing blue patterns casting an eerie light through the water. The sheer size of it made your stomach flip with unease.

“Sunshine!” Vox’s voice rang out, cutting through the silence.

You turned to see him approaching in navy-blue swim trunks, his grin wide and boyish despite his usual cool exterior. Before you could say a word, he closed the distance between you and capture your lips with his own. The kiss was soft at first, tender, but soon his tongue teased the seam of your lips, asking for entrance.

You hummed appreciatively, parting your mouth and letting him explore. His hips pressed against you, a faint grind that had heat pooling low in your belly as his cock strained against the fabric of his swim trunks.

When he finally pulled away, his breath came in short gasps, his grin widening just slightly. His chest rose and fell, and your eyes drifted downward to the obvious tenting in his trunks. A sultry smile curved your lips as you reached down, fingers grazing his swollen balls through the thin material. A sharp hiss escaped his lips, his body trembling at your touch.

“Want me to take care of you?” You whispered, your breath ghosting over his neck. “A little preview of what’s to come tonight?”

A shudder passed through him, micro-glitches cracking across his face as his control slipped for just a moment. “Yes,” he rasped, before quickly pulling back, his eyes wide. “Wait, no. I mean, yes, I want you, but – no?” His sheepish laugh filled the space between you, his words tripping over themselves in his embarrassment.

Vox cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting his hardened length to lie flat against his stomach, the cyan-blue tip of his cock barely peeking above the waistband of his swim trunks. It was a curious sight – normally, Vox was quick to pull you into bed the moment the mood struck. But today, something about his hesitation had you intrigued. With a cocky grin, you tugged your dress over your head, letting the fabric fall at your feet.

The moment Vox’s gaze locked onto you, a sense of triumph swelled inside. His eyes roamed your figure, darkening with unmistakable hunger. You’d worn his favourite styled swimwear – a scandalous string bikini that left nothing to the imagination. The thin strip of cloth barely covered your front, your ass completely bare, while the triangles barely held your breasts, your nipples perked and straining against the fabric.

You knew exactly what kind of effect this would have on him, especially since one of the triangles sported the VoxTek logo, a personal touch that always drove him wild.

“O-oh wow,” Vox croaked, his voice hoarse with desire. “You look–”

“Well then,” you interrupted with a playful smirk, “shall we get started on the itinerary of our company trip, Mr. Vox?” You emphasized his title with a cheeky grin, pretending to fall into your role as his dutiful assistant. “I was this close to derailing your whole plan with a blowjob. But luckily, you, the ever-dutiful CEO, will keep us on track, right?” You batted your eyelashes.

Vox’s pixels flickered, and a cascade of blue sparks arced down his body, his circuits clearly struggling to keep up with the sight before him. His head jerked slightly to the side as he attempted to regain control, the telltale glitch that always happened when you managed to short-circuit him.

You gave him a moment to compose himself, but the growing bulge in his trunks told you everything you needed to know. He was far from calm, and a mischievous spark lit in your chest. Today was going to be fun – a day of teasing, of pushing him until he finally snapped, losing control the way he always did before bending you over and fucking you raw. The thought alone sent heat pooling low in your belly, your thighs pressing together as your arousal stirred.

Vox cleared his throat again, his hand moving to cover the obvious bulge straining against his swim trunks. “Ri-right,” he stammered, swallowing thickly. “I-I may take you up on that offer…later, if you don’t mind,” he added with a sheepish grin, his words still tripping over themselves. “But first, I want to start our annual event with this.”

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a navy blue velvet box. The sight of it made your breath hitch, but you quickly covered it with a teasing smile.

“Please don’t tell me it’s the latest VWatch,” you joked, shaking your head. Your lips stretched into a wide grin, though your pulse quickened with curiosity. Vox had made a habit of calling these little trips “company events,” a roundabout way of spending the day with you outside of work without having to define your relationship as more than colleagues. Still, you humoured him, always indulging in the fiction he created to spend more time with you…because deep down, you enjoyed these moments too.

You opened the box, expecting something practical or silly, but what you saw instead made you freeze. Inside was a delicate ring, the centrepiece a clear gem with a crackle of blue electricity coursing through it. It shimmered in the low light, casting a faint glow that danced across your skin.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for it. “Wh-what is this?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper, your mind swirling with unspoken thoughts.

Vox rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his usual confidence faltering. “It’s…kind of an inside joke?” He began, his tone uncertain. “You’re practically married to me–well, to your work, which is my company, and everyone already calls you my wife – I mean work wife. So, I figured…why not give my work wife a ring?”

Your head spun as his words sank in. Vox had never been good at hiding his feelings when it came to you. He could sugarcoat it all he wanted, categorize it as a joke, but the truth was clear. This wasn’t just about work anymore. He wanted more, something real, something official. And for someone like him – one of the most powerful Overlords – the implications were monumental.

“Here, let me do the honours,” he whispered, his voice soft, almost reverent. He gently took the ring from your hand and slid it onto your left ring finger with a surprising amount of tenderness. His touch sent a jolt of warmth up your arm, the electricity from the ring almost pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

Your cheeks heated, a rush of emotions making your heart flutter wildly in your chest. You weren’t stupid – you knew exactly what this gesture meant, even if Vox tried to play it off as something less. You’d been at his side for so long, spending nearly every waking moment with him, in and out of work. He’d given you his time, his attention, his affection, and even a miniature shark that now lived in his tank, a shared responsibility between the two of you. In every way that mattered, you had already given him your heart and soul, figuratively speaking.

Yet, there was no official label for what you were. And the thought of finally defining it –finally putting a name to what you had– suddenly felt terrifying.

“It’s pretty,” you mumbled, unsure of what else to say.

Vox’s throat clearing pulled you from your thoughts. You glanced up, drawn by the sight of him lifting his hand, showing off a silver band wrapped snugly around his finger. A thin streak of blue lightening shimmered though it, alive and pulsating like electricity caught in time. The realization hit you harder than expected, like a ripple expanding through your chest.

“You really took this ‘work wife’ thing seriously, huh?” You joked, though your voice came out softer than intended. You wanted to brush it off, make it seem like this was just another playful gesture between the two of you, but the warmth flooding your cheeks betrayed you. The ring on your own finger caught your eye again, the delicate glow of the blue crackling electricity inside it casting soft shadows on your skin. Your thumb traced the cool surface absentmindedly, a silly grin tugging at your lips.

It was beautiful. Far more than a simple token or inside joke, and best of all, the way it sat on your finger felt…right.

'It wouldn’t hurt to wear it a little longer,' you thought, trying to reason with yourself. The soft thrum of excitement beneath your skin told you that you weren’t fooling anyone, least of all yourself.

“Take it as a…a…” Vox’s voice pulled your focus back to him. His eyes flickered around the room, clearly searching for the right words. “A party favour?”

“A party favour?” You repeated, raising an eyebrow at the absurdity of the idea.

“You know, like when you go to a party, and they give guests gifts.” His words hung awkwardly in the air, but there was something endearing about his uncertainty.

Laughter burst from your lips, breaking the tension. The idea that the two of you could continue dancing around the deeper meaning behind this moment was almost too much. Before you could stop yourself, you wrapped your arms around him, pressing your body to his and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. The faint static of his skin sent a pleasant tingle across your lips, making them buzz.

“Thank you for the…party favour,” you teased, arching a brown in amusement.

Vox’s expression shifted, his lips parting as if to say more, something important, but instead, he blurted, “Swimming!”

“Swimming?” You repeated, thrown by the sudden shift.

“Remember?” His hands settled firmly on your hips, warm and steady. “You told me last month that you missed swimming in the ocean, back when you were alive.” His voice softened with a touch of excitement. “So, why not swim with the sharks! They’re remarkable – such sweethearts! You can even ride them if you'd like!” He grinned, twirling you around to face the massive tank behind you, where a shadowy figure swam lazily, its sleek form curving through the water.

Your breath caught in your throat as the shark’s jagged teeth flashed, even with its mouth barely parted. The sheer size of it, the raw power, sent a nervous shiver down your spine. You instinctively pressed your back against Vox’s solid chest, trying to ease your growing apprehension.

“Are you sure they won’t…eat me?” You glanced back at him, voice a little higher than usual. “I mean, don’t you feed them sinners?”

Vox chuckled, the sound rumbling pleasantly through you as he grabbed your hands, guiding you toward a different section of the building. “Oh, doll, don’t worry. I’ve got you,” he promised, his voice low and reassuring. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re going to love it. In fact, you’ll be begging me to do this every year.”

His enthusiasm was contagious. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to stifle the giggle that bubbled up. Vox, with his wide-eyed excitement, reminded you of a kid in a candy store, his usual Overlord bravado replaced with something innocent, almost boyish. It was…cute.

Vox was cute in your eyes. The thought warmed you from within, spreading like a gentle heat through your chest.

When he finally opened a door at the far end of the west wing, the familiar scent of salt water filled your nose, and your eyes widened in disbelief. The room was bathed in soft blue light, the walls painted to resemble the sky, with fluffy clouds hovering lazily in each corner. A layer of fine, tan sand stretched across the floor, inviting and warm beneath your feet. You could hear the rhythmic sound of waves crashing from speakers hidden away, and though it was artificial, it tugged something deep within you, a nostalgic ache for the ocean.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, stepping slowly into the room. You kicked off your sandals, your toes sinking into the warm sand. It was soft, like velvet, slipping between your toes in a way that made your heart flutter with joy. “How did you–where did you…?”

“Connections, baby!” Vox’s voice was filled with pride, his grin wide and playful as he watched you marvel at the scene. He stood there, his head tilted slightly upward as if basking in your approval, and it made you want to laugh all over again.

The water before you was crystal clear, so transparent you could see every detail of the sharks circling lazily beneath the surface. Despite their fearsome appearance, they glided through the water with an almost serene grace, their bodies cutting through the waves like shadows.

“Here you go,” Vox’s voice was warm, almost playful, as he stood beside you, handing over a snorkeling set. His rectangular goggles gleamed with neon blue around the edges, clunky and absurd on his face, especially given that they included a space for a nose, which he quite literally didn’t have.

You bit back a laugh as you took the goggles from him. “Do you seriously need goggles?” You asked, snapping the rubber band behind your head as you put yours on. The cool plastic of the mask pressed against your skin, the sensation slightly jarring as it sealed itself. Your fingers traced the strange snorkel setup, noticing the hole at the end of the tube was sealed off, and instead, a tiny device was attached to the mouthpiece.

Vox, apparently catching the confusion in your expression, gestured grandly. “First of all, these goggles look fantastic on me,” he said with a wide grin. “Second, this snorkel is VoxTek’s latest innovation! Oxygen is stored in that tiny little case – no need for bulky tanks!”

You hummed in mild surprise, examining the sleek design. “They why do we need this part?” You asked, pointing to the unnecessary tube extending from the mouthpiece.

With a casual shrug, he replied, “Purely for the aesthetic. People love snapping pictures while they swim with the fishes, and nothing says ‘authentic’ like classic snorkel.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling up easily as Vox took your hand, pulling you closer to the edge of the water. His grin widened, a mischievous spark lighting up in his eyes. “Ready for a great family fun adventures?” He declared, his tone almost too polished.

Bursting into laughter again, you teased, “Vox, are you using one of your pre-recorded lines on me?”

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Ugh, you caught me. I had to rehearse that line like, 800 times. I’m still deleting the voice clips from my main database,” his blue talon clacked against the side of his head.

Your laughter softened into a chuckle, but the smile faded slightly as your gaze shifted toward the water. Two massive sharks glided slowly just beneath the surface. You squeezed Vox’s hand instinctively. “You’re sure I’m not going to end up shark bait, right? I’d really rather not wake up in the Badlands once my body reforms.”

Vox tutted, his grin turning wicked as his right eye flickered with a spiralling hypnotic circles. “You have so little faith,” he purred, his voice a low electric hum. “They wouldn’t dare attack their master – or his guests.” His eyes sparked with electricity, crackling with a dangerous gleam. “They’d regret it very much.”

You raised a brow, lips twitching with amusement. “I thought you liked these guys.”

“I do,” he said, his face shifting back to that cherub-like smile you found oddly endearing. “Now come on, trust me – you won’t regret it!” With a playful tug, he pulled you toward the water’s edge.

As you took a hesitant step closer, you glanced up at him. “Can you even swim? You’re not going to short-circuit on me, are you?”

Vox shot a smug, shit-eating grin, his hand firm on your wrist as he dragged you in. “I’m waterproof, sunshine.” Before you could react, he yanked you into the water.

You hit the surface with a splash, salt water flooding your mouth as you gasped in surprise. The cold shock of it stung your skin, the salty taste lingering on your tongue as you coughed, trying to clear your lungs. “Vox!” You sputtered, your voice cracking as you shivered from the sudden chill. But even in the cold, his arms wrapped around your waist, his body warm and solid against yours as he treaded water for the both of you. Droplets ran down his monitor-like face, glistening in the faint light, and you couldn’t help but think, well, I’ll be damned. He really is waterproof.

“Come on!” Vox’s grin remained unshaken as he gestured toward the snorkel. “Put it on, and I’ll give you the grand tour!”

Rolling your eyes, but unable to resist the infectious energy in his voice, you placed the mouthpiece between your lips. The soft rush of oxygen flowed in, steady and calming. With a surprisingly graceful dive, Vox plunged into the water, still gripping your hand. You followed, the water closing over your head as you descended into the aquarium depths.

True to his word, the sharks swam around you like silent sentinels, their movements smooth and controlled. They didn’t open their jaws, just glided alongside you as if you were one of them. Their skin, slick and smooth, brushed against you now and again, almost like the nudge of a curious cat. Their gills shimmered with a faint blue glow, and their eyes, deep crimson, glinted like rubies of sunken treasures.

Vox, with the grace of a dolphin – albeit a dolphin with a television for a head – gently ran his hand along the hammerhead shark’s back, his fingers trailing against its smooth surface as it swam in slow circles around you. He shot you a grin, his eyes glowing with that familiar red swirl, and tilted his head toward the shark, encouraging you to touch it.

Gulping, you hesitantly reached out. To your surprise, the shark swam closer, allowing your fingers to graze its skin. It felt almost velvety, smooth in a way you didn’t expect. You ran your hand along its side, marvelling at the control Vox had over these creatures – Hell sharks, of all things.

With a quick tug, Vox pulled you against him, his grip firm on your waist. His eyes gleamed red again, and you noticed the same hypnotic swirl reflected in the sharks’ eyes. He was controlling them, his power threading through the water, binding them to his will.

The hammerhead drifted near, and Vox grabbed onto its dorsal fin with one hand, the other keeping you close. As the shark began to swim with purpose, you felt the rush of water against your body, the pressure building as you held on to Vox. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and together, you glided through a series of underwater tubes, each segment revealing different themes – lost treasure, pirate ships, tropical islands.

The aquarium was vast, much larger than you’d imagined, and with every twist and turn, you found yourself more amazed. The sea creatures scattered as you passed, their forms darting away in colourful flashes, leaving trails of bubbles in your wake.

Vox hadn’t been lying. As the thrill of the ride continued, you began to think that you’d want to do this again next year.

Eventually, the shark slowed, the water warming around you. Vox released the shark, and it swam away, its massive body blending into the shadows. He pulled you toward the surface, and as you broke through the water, your eyes widened in astonishment.

The soft glow of aquamarine light bathed the small enclosure, making the water shimmer like liquid gemstones. The rocky cave walls were draped with delicate strings of fairy lights, casting a soft, ethereal glow, like stars twinkling in the midnight sky. It felt secluded, intimate, as though the world outside had vanished, leaving only the two of you in this perfect, private paradise.

“Come here, baby doll,” Vox’s voice was a low murmur, filled with warmth and a tenderness that never failed to make your heart flutter. He began to swim toward the shore, the water rippling gently around him as he moved. The sandy floor beneath sloped gradually, mimicking a beach, and you followed him, shivering from the cool air as the water dripped down from your body.

You removed your goggles and snorkel, setting them aside before wrapping your arms around yourself, trying to preserve whatever warmth you had left. Before you could process the chill, a soft fluffy towel enveloped you, and Vox’s arm circled around your shoulders, pulling you against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, a comforting contrast to the cold. Your face nestled into the crook of his neck, breathing in the subtle mix of sea salt and remnants of his sharp cologne. His hand rested gently on the back of your head, holding you close, as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

The sound of the artificial waves lapping at the shore echoed softly in the cave, blending with the quiet rhythm of your heartbeat. Neither of you spoke, content in the silence, your bodies pressed close as you shared this perfect moment. It struck you just how romantic Vox had always been during these company trips. Every year, he found new ways to make you feel cherished, loved in a way that filled your heart with warmth.

You sighed softly, wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him tighter. His presence, his warmth, his scent – if all filled you with a deep sense of peace. You breathed him in, the familiar smell wrapping around you like a blanket, and you couldn’t help but smile.

Every year, he never failed to make you feel like the most important person in his world.

“Want me to order you a drink?” Vox whispered, his breaths warm against your scalp.

You nuzzled closer to him, unwilling to break the moment. “Mhm, but I don’t mind staying like this,” you mumbled, your voice soft and content. “S’nice.”

His chest rumbled with a deep chuckle, the sound vibrating through you. Vox had always said he loved your laughter, but you felt the same about his. It was rich, full of life, and it always made you smile.

Reluctantly, he guided you over to a small round wooden table, pulling out a chair for you. You sank into it, the heavy blue towel still wrapped snugly around your shoulders. The scene was almost too picturesque – the shimmering water, the soft glow of the cave lights, the peaceful solitude of this hidden beach. “Are there any workers here?” You asked, your eyes scanning the serene beauty of the space.

Vox smirked as he sat across from you, his monitor face lighting up as he pulled up a browser with a drink menu from Veebucks. “If you count my drones as workers, then yes,” he said with a shrug. “They’re the cheapest labour, after all.”

“You mean free,” you quipped, watching with amusement as he tapped on the screen, ordering yours and his drink from the menu.

“Same thing,” he muttered, his face returning to its usual charming grin.

Silence fell over you again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You soaked in the atmosphere, appreciating the care and thought he’d put into every detail. Vox reached across the table, his thumb brushing tenderly against the top of your hand, side to side in a slow affectionate gesture. “Happy anniversary, my brightest sunshine,” he murmured, his voice soft and sincere, his smile gentle.

Before you could respond, a drone swooped overhead, placing two cups on the table. The rich, nutty aroma of hazelnut and coffee filled the air, and your heart swelled with a sudden, overwhelming warmth. It was the drink you’d been ordering almost every day lately, and you realized he’d been paying attention to even the smallest details about you.

Reaching for the cup, you took a sip, closing your eyes as the familiar taste of chocolate and coffee spread across your tongue. The warmth of the drink seeped into your body, chasing away the last of the cold. You sighed in contentment. Vox took a sip from his own cup, and you couldn’t help but smile, amused still to this day how he managed to drink despite having a TV head.

He scooted his chair closer to yours, and the proximity made your heart flutter. “After this, we could check out some of the restaurants,” Vox suggested, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “Then we can walk through the different sections of the aquarium and maybe–”

You listened, his voice washing over you like a soothing wave. Everything he planned revolved around spending time together, making sure you both enjoyed each other’s company. As you gazed down at the drink in your hands, your eyes drifted to the delicate ring on your left finger. It suddenly struck you – this wasn’t just any anniversary. It was your 66th work anniversary.

For sixty-six years, he’d celebrated this day with you. Every single year, without fail.

“Vox,” you interrupted softly, placing your cup down. “You know you don’t have to go to all this trouble for me.” A smile tugged at your lips. “Showing this much favouritism for a worker isn’t exactly great for morale – or your image.”

Vox furrowed his brows, genuine confusion crossing his face. “What are you talking about?” He asked, tilting his head slightly.

Now it was your turn to be confused. “I mean you don’t have to celebrate my work anniversary every year,” you said matter-of-factory. “Especially when you don’t even acknowledge your other worker’s anniversary.”

Vox blinked once, then twice, before bursting into laughter. The sound was deep and raucous, filling the cave as he threw his head back. His chest shook, and his monitor flickered as he struggled to contain himself. “Oh, sunshine,” he said between laughs, “you thought we're celebrating your work anniversary all this tie?”

In one smooth motion, he grabbed both your wrists, pulling you forward until you straddled his lap. His voice dropped to a low, dark whisper as his hands slid down your waist, pulling you closer. “My love,” he breathed, his eyes glinting with mischief, “I’ve been celebrating the day we first made love – every year.”

Your muscles locked as your mind raced to catch up with his words. The truth hit you like a roaring tidal wave – you had slept with Vox, your boss, just before your contract was set to expire. That night had felt like the end, a one-time indulgence, but here you were, years later, warming his bed at least on a weekly basis.

In hindsight, it wasn’t just your work anniversary you’d been celebrating each year with him. It was something much deeper, something more profound than a mere fling.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you pieced it all together – every company trip, every time you ended up in his bed, his touch was always gentle, reverent, almost as if he were afraid you’d slip away. You had dismissed it as passion, fleeting and temporary. But for Vox, for him…it had been love. He saw it as making love to you.

Slowly, your hand drifted down the side of his head, your new ring clinking softly against the hard surface. Each year, after every quiet, tender night together, Vox always whispered the same words.

He always said…

Vox’s smile softened, his claws grazing the back of your scalp before pulling you close, close enough that your breaths mingled. His voice was barely a whisper, and yet, it was all you could hear. “I love you, my brightest sunshine,” he murmured, before pressing a soft, chaste kiss to your lips.

Your throat tightened, and you cursed the tears stinging the corners of your eyes. Damn it. You hadn’t expected to cry, hadn’t expected to feel this sudden rush of vulnerability. You blinked rapidly, hoping he’d chalk it up to the water from earlier, but when he pulled back, his eyes widened as he saw the tears spill freely.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” Vox’s voice cracked, his panic clear, as though he couldn’t bear to see you hurting.

And at that moment, you realized – it had always been you who assumed he couldn’t love you. That he wouldn’t.

Without thinking, you pressed your forehead against his, your breath dancing with his. Then you kissed him –softly at first, a gentle peck, but the need, the desperation in your chest grew, and the next kiss was deeper.

And the next one, longer.

More urgent.

Every kiss was a wordless apology for doubting him, for not seeing the depth of what had been right in front of you for all these years.

You had always assumed this was nothing but a fleeting affair, a passion that would cool and fade with time. But the way Vox’s breath hitched in between your kisses, the way he groaned in response to your touch – it told you otherwise. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, needing more of you, as if he could never get enough.

“I wanted to –“ he began, voice low and hoarse, but you silenced him with another kiss, swallowing his words.

He managed to gasp out, “–to show you the master suite…I decorated the bed for–”

“Or,” you interrupted with a wicked smile, your voice a soft purr against his lips, “you could let me have a taste now.”

You felt the answering throb of his cock, already hard and pressing insistently against your core, and your grin widened. “Looks like the other half agrees,” you teased, wiping the stray tears with your towel before letting it drop to the floor. Your skin felt feverish, flushed and burning with desire, every nerve alive with the need for him.

“I even wore this,” you whispered, your voice dropping to a sultry murmur as you leaned in, “just for you, today.” Your words elicited another eager throb from his cock, and your breath hitched as the sensation sent shivers down your spine.

“Ah, fuck,” Vox groaned, his hand slipping under the thin fabric of your bikini, fingers finding your hardened nipples. His touch was hot, electric, sending jolts of pleasure through you as he rolled your nipples between his fingers, slow and purposeful. You hissed, arching into him as he ground his clothed, wet, cock against your core, his eyes squeezed shut in pure, unfiltered bliss.

“A taste,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire. “You want a taste now?” His breath came quicker as he lifted you effortlessly, laying you across the table in one swift motion. The drink clattered to the floor, the sound distant, irrelevant as his gaze darkened, locked onto you like a predator ready to devour its prey.

Your hips teetered at the edge of the table, legs dangling loosely, toes barely brushing the sandy floor beneath. You heard the slick sound of Vox sliding off his bathing suit, the wet fabric hitting the ground in a damp heap. And then, there he was — his dark, navy shaft, gleaming with a faint blue glow at the tip, standing at full attention.

“Oh, fuck, look at you,” he groaned, voice thick with desire. His hand gripped the base of his cock, a sharp gasp leaving his lips as he slapped the tip against your still-covered clit, sending jolts of pleasure radiating through you. “You know how much I fucking missed you when you didn’t come over last weekend,” he huffed, frustration laced in his voice as he hastily wrapped your legs around his waist. “My hands are nothing compared to yours,” he moaned, his hips lazily rolling against you, teasing, tormenting.

You let out a soft, needy whimper as the swollen head of his cock nudged against your engorged clit. God, the sensation left you aching for more, desperate for the feel of him – bare, hard, and slick – sliding inside you. “More,” you moaned, voice trembling. As your hips shifted, chasing the pleasure that rippled through your body like a tidal wave.

“I know, baby doll, I know,” Vox sighed, his voice deep and strained as his fingers skilfully tugged your bikini top aside. His eyes darkened with lust as he took in the sight of your nipples, stiff and begging for his touch. “Ah, fuck, yeah,” he muttered, and his long sinuous tongue slipped out, lapping eagerly at your left nipple. The broad, wet surface of his tongue dragged across the sensitive peak, nudging it up before it snapped back into place.

A deep moan rumbled from him, long and lewd, as he finally pulled your bottoms free, the cool air kissing your bare skin for a brief moment before his thick, hot shaft pressed against your soaked folds. “Oh fuck, look how wet you are. Is that all for me?” he rasped, dragging the length of his cock through your slick folds, spreading your arousal along your lips as he teased your entrance.

“Vox,” you whimpered, arching your back against the hard surface of the table. The pressure sent a delicious ache through you, but it was nothing compared to the way he lapped at your nipples, his tongue working over them like a man starved, desperate for every taste of you.

With one hand, Vox steadied himself against the table, the weight of his and your body making the wood creak beneath you. The air between you sizzled with heat, your mingled breaths and the soft rhythmic sound of the waves filling the cave like music. His eyes locked onto yours, pupils turning into sharp slits with lust, and the heat of his cock at your entrance made your thighs tremble.

Slowly, agonizingly slow, he pushed the tip of his cock inside you, stretching your entrance, inch by inch. You writhed beneath him, your body instinctively pulling him in deeper, the slick, tight walls of your cunt gripping him greedily.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered, the stretch so deliciously deep that it made your toes curl, your back continued to arch off the table as he sank further inside. His thick cock filled you completely, stretching you open, reclaiming the space that had always been his. You whimpered as he inched closer to your favourite spot, so damn close you could almost feel the sparks waiting to ignite. “More, more,” You whined, the desperation in your voice palpable.

“That’s right, doll,” he whispered, his other hand finding your nipple, now cool from his saliva. He pinched it, sending sharp jolts of pleasure and pain shooting straight to your core. The sensation spiralled through your body, tingling, buzzing, settling deep in your belly as he sank fully into you, his hips flush against yours.

He groaned, low and deep, his cock twitching inside you as he paused, his heavy balls resting against you. He didn’t move, didn’t thrust, just held you there, making sure you felt every inch of him, every throb, every pulse of how hard he was for you.

Your legs trembled as you tried to keep them wrapped around his hips, your body humming with need as his fingers toyed with your nipple, tugging, pulling and twisting. You were both on the edge, the tension taut yet brittle, waiting to snap apart.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time, for an entirely different reason. The longer Vox stayed deep inside you, the more you found yourself unravelling, desperate for him to take you completely, to fuck you until you lost all sense of self. His dark chuckle vibrated through the air, low and sinful. “Restless little thing, aren’t you,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement.

Finally – finally – he pulled back, your walls clinging to him, unwilling to let him go. Vox moaned, deep and primal, as he dragged his cock out until just the tip remained inside, then pushed back in slowly, the feel of him parting you making you quiver.

“Oh, god, Vox,” you gasped, your body trembling, arms reaching out for him to come closer to you. You wanted more, needed more, the slow, tantalizing build was driving you mad. Tears blurred your vision, but they weren’t from pain. The pleasure was mounting, and you craved its climax, growing impatient for the rush.

Vox leaned in, allowing your arms to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. His rhythm was steady, deliberate, his hips circling in slow teasing motions. Your own hips moved in sync, grinding against him, showing him how soaked you were, how much you wanted him, how your body screamed for him.

“If you could only see what I see,” he whispered, his voice filled with tender and care. His eyes stayed locked on yours. “If you could only see, sunshine,” he murmured again before pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. His hips pushed harder against you, the friction of his pubic bone rubbing against your sensitive clit, sending sparks through your core.

It was the combination of his sweet words and the way he knew your body, how he understood every secret it kept, that had you completely losing control. Your legs fell open wider, your lips parted, breaths coming out in ragged pants as your eyes silently pleaded for more.

He was hitting that spot inside you, the one that made stars burst behind your eyelids, and you could feel the pressure building deep within you. The cool air had long since dried your bodies, leaving only the heat – the unbearable, searing heat of desire that radiated between you. His chest pressed firmly against yours, your nipples rubbing against his now slick skin, the friction driving you wild.

You could hear his uneven breath, could feel the tension thrumming through his muscles as he held himself back, trying not to lose control. He wanted to make this last, wanted this moment to be special. You could tell how much today meant to him, how different this time was. He wasn’t just fucking you – he was making love to you. And you surrendered to it, letting him take what he needed because you knew there was a different kind of pleasure in giving.

And you knew exactly what he wanted to hear.

“I love you,” you whispered, voice soft but clear. His hips faltered, a shudder running through him, his eyes wide with disbelief as they met yours. He blinked, lips parting as though to say something, but you brought his head down to rest against your forehead, strands of your hair reaching out to him, charged with the static. “I love you,” you repeated, feeling his cock twitched, harder, deeper inside of you. For a moment, you wondered if he could just come from hearing those words.

You didn’t say it often. Those three words. Vox had always said them enough for the both of you.

But now, seeing the joy, the pure ecstasy in his eyes, you thought maybe you should say it more often. He looked so incredibly happy, like your words had unlocked something sacred within him.

“One more time, sunshine,” he trembled, his voice thick with emotion. “Please.” He clutched you tighter, your legs wrapping around him, pulling him closer as your lips ghosted over his, and you whispered it again, letting those three words sink into him, into both of you.

“I love you.”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and when they opened again, they were filled with something raw, something powerful. His pace shifted, faster now, his thrusts deeper, more urgent. The table rocked beneath you, the sound of wood creaking barely audible over the wet, rhythmic slap of skin against skin and your voices of ecstasy. His cock plunged in and out of you, filling you, stretching you, the sound of your slick arousal filling the space.

His eyes never left yours as he ravaged you, each thrust more desperate than the last. His balls slapped against you, his breath coming out in hot, ragged bursts, but his focus remained on you. His fingers slid down between your bodies, finding your clit, and your sharp gasp was your only warning before he rubbed them in time with his thrusts. He knew exactly how to touch you, the tempo, the pressure that made you lose your mind.

A coil tightened in your belly, the peak so close your body could only tremble as the pleasure built to an unbearable height. “Oh, fuck,” Vox groaned, his voice low and wrecked. “Fuck, you feel so good. Faster? Slower?” He panted, his skin hot and slick with sweat, his nipples grazing yours with every thrust.

“Ah–mm,” you moaned, eyes fluttering shut. “Keep going like this, Vox, ah–don’t stop,” you pleaded, your walls tightening around him, your body on the edge of release. The wet sound of his cock sliding in and out, the wet friction of his fingers on your clit – it was too much, too intense, and yet exactly what you needed.

Vox’s thrusts grew more deliberate, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through you as your body clenched tightly around him. He groaned deeply, feeling your walls squeeze him, signalling just how close you were to falling over the edge. “That’s right, baby doll,” He panted, his voice raw with need. “That’s right…that’s right.” Every word was punctuated by the rhythmic slap of his hips against you, his fingers flicking over your swollen, oversensitive clit. The sharp sting from his touch melted instantly into a wave of pleasure, your breath hitching, ragged, desperate for him to keep going, to push you that last step.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, the words barely audible as your body quivered beneath him. His cock filled you completely, plunging deep, the friction making your lips fall open as he drove into you again and again. Your muscles tightened, like a drawn bowstring ready to snap, and you pressed your heel into his back, grinding against him.

With a whimper, your head fell back, eyes squeezing shut as that searing, white-hot rush of orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. “Oh, fuck…fuck,” you cried out, your entire body shuddering, pleasure rolling through you in heavy crashing waves. The intensity wracked your senses, and you barely registered the way Vox pried your legs open wider, gripped your ankles as he kept thrusting into you, chasing his own release.

His pace quickened, the table creaking and groaning under the force of his movement. Your gasping breaths and the slick, erotic rhythm of his cock pounding into you was all you could focus on. Vox moaned sharply above you, his head falling back, his hips jerking forward as he reached his peak. His cock pulsed inside you, spilling hot streams of his release, and you could feel every throb and every twitch as he filled you completely.

“Oh…yea, baby,” he panted, his voice thick with pleasure. He slowed his movements, thrusting lazily as he milked every last drop of his release, his hips roiling in slow circles. “Fuck, you take me so well,” he murmured, his breathing heavy as he pushed deep one last time, burying himself to the hilt.

Your legs, trembling from the aftermath of your orgasm, fell limply from his grasp, your body still buzzing with the sensation of him inside you. The hard edge of the table dug into your back, but you didn’t care. Not when he finally leaned forward, bracing his arms on the side of your head, his face hovering just above yours. His breath fanned across your skin as he gave you a relaxed, satisfied grin.

As his cock softened, he slowly slid out of you, and you felt the rush of his release spill out from you, the proof of your shared union dripping onto the tan, hot sand.

“Happy anniversary, love,” Vox murmured, his voice soft, intimate. He reached out, cradling your face in his large hands, his thumb brushing tenderly along your cheek. “To another year together,” his smile was gentle but behind it, there was a flash of something vulnerable, something raw that made your chest tighten.

And then it hit you, all at once.

For Vox, this wasn’t just about sex or a casual fling. He was celebrating something much deeper, something that went beyond the physical.

He was celebrating the fact that, year after year...

You stayed with him.

You chose him.

You were the only one who had ever remained by his side, who had loved him long enough, steadfastly enough, to make him feel... worthy.

What he was truly celebrating was each year that you chose to stay with him, every single time. And you could see it now, in the way his eyes softened, in the way he touched you like you were his lifeline, like you were the one thing that grounded him in this Hell.

And perhaps, that was worth something to celebrate every year.

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

An excerpt from my post when I first announced I was going to do Kinktober/Flufftober:

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

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Dead Man Walking || LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader Summary: A night out with your best friend ends in her brother's bed. For my sweet, @morgan108 and the nonnie who introduced me to the song Dead Man Walking by Jon Bellion Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, fingering smutish, fluff, angst WC: 2.3k F1 Masterlist || One || Two

You were halfway into the strapless dress you had chosen for the night out when the door swung open and Lando stepped inside with a package in his hands.

“Flo, can you please stop ordering shit off my Amazo-”

You gasped as you dropped the material to cover your boobs but the thin satin just fluttered to your feet, baring even more to him. The lace thong did little to hide anything and his eyes drifted down over your body, down to the heels you wore and back up again before he realised he was checking you out.

The package fell from his hands and he covered his eyes as you both winced at the sound of something shattering inside. “I didn’t see anything.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Norris,” you stated as you swiped the dress up and covered yourself properly.

“I swear,” he cleared his throat and peeked between his fingers to see you were dressed before his hands slipped into his pockets and he rocked on the balls of his feet with a smirk. “I absolutely did not see the cute little tattoo on your hip.”

You turned around and closed your eyes so you didn't have to see the hungry look in his. He was your best friend's brother, you had known him since you were three years old. You shouldn’t even hazard to think about him the way you did, and you definitely shouldn’t enjoy the way he looked at you. Well, the way he looked at you these past few years at least.

Somewhere along the way he stopped seeing you as the annoying little girl who would steal his snacks on movie nights and started seeing you as…something more.

“Unless you want your sister to strangle you, I suggest you get out of here now.”

He threw his hands up at the idea. “It’s my house.”

You cocked a hand on your hip and he bit his lip at the memory of the dainty little constellation inked into the skin that lay beneath. He hadn't been close enough to see it in detail but he was certain it was your star sign. “It’ll be an estate sale if she catches you in here.”

With a sigh he backed up, murmuring under his breath as he left, “Last time I let her hide out here for the holidays.”

Every surface of the house was littered with Flo’s belongings. She had spent the last two weeks in Monte Carlo with Lando and you were joining her for the last weekend before summer break was over and it was back to university. You were going to make the most of the trip and planned on seeing just how wild the nightlife could get in the small city.

It was only moments after Lando left the room that Flo swept in and she stumbled to a stop. “Holy shit, babes, you look gorgeous! Don’t let Lando see you in that.”

“Why not?” you asked as you grabbed your perfume, the same one he had once commented smelt good on you.

Flo crossed the room with a peculiar look on her face and she stepped right into your personal space so she wouldn’t be overheard. “I haven’t seen him with a girl the entire time I have been here, like not even on the phone. That's weird right?”

You pursed your lips and pressed a hand to her forehead. “Do you have sun stroke?”

She brushed your hand aside with a roll of her blue eyes that matched her brothers perfectly. “The horndog hasn’t been horndogging.”

“Okay, that doesn’t sound how you think it does,” you said as you grabbed her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake so she could refocus her thoughts. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Because you’re stunning and, most importantly, you’re the only female in this house that is not related to him. I know you would never betray me like that but I know that horndog would totally try it on with you.”

“Seriously, Flo, I think you need a drink more than me,” you laughed, shaking your head as you grabbed your clutch and started to tow her out of the room. “I’m sure your brother’s not desperate enough to risk death. Plus, he could open his front door, throw a rock and hit ten supermodels in this place. I think I’m safe.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you compare yourself to supermodels when you are literally the most beautiful person I know - inside and out.”

“I’m not wearing waterproof eyeliner so can we please go before you make me cry?” You looped your arms together before descending the stairs where Lando was waiting with Max, the two watching some video on Lando’s phone before the tap of your heels caught their attention.

“Oh boy, you’re going to be busy tonight. Good luck keeping the guys away from them,” Max laughed as he slapped his best friend's chest. “Ladies, looking lovely as always.”

“Not so bad yourself, Fewtrell,” you said with a wink, abandoning Flo’s arm for his. “Now what’s this I hear about you playing Counter Strike? Who am I supposed to shit talk with in the COD chat room now?”

“Counter Strike isn’t too bad,” he teased as he led the way to the Jolly and pulled the front seat forward for you to climb in the back, “maybe you could come to the dark side.”

“Who kicked your puppy?” Flo asked quietly and you looked away from Max to see Lando looking angry as he ignored his sister’s question.

“You, upfront,” he said with a nod of his head your way.

“I’m fine here.”

“Flo doesn’t need the leg room,” he countered as he snapped his finger, making your brow lift at the action.

“Bro, you're stressing,” Max laughed, reaching for the chair and pulling it back into place so Flo could sit down. “Let’s just get to the club.”

You could feel his eyes on you in the rearview mirror the entire time and it would have been a lie if you said you didn’t enjoy teasing him. The pair of blue eyes narrowed when you shifted closer to Max, leaning across him to point at random shops and monuments, asking him pointless questions about them until you nearly flew forward with the heavy break Lando made. It was only Max’s quick reflexes that saved you, his arms catching you around the middle and tugging you back into his arms.

“Dude, where did you get your licence?” he complained as he kicked the seat in front of him, earning a glare from Lando.

“Fucking Mario Kart,” you muttered as you settled back in the seat.

As soon as you got to the club you ditched the guys and found your way to the bar.

“What was up with your brother?” you asked after ordering some shots. “He was being a bit of a twat.”

“I have no idea, he’s just like Mila - if he doesn’t get a nap he’s a nightmare to deal with.” The drinks were put down and talk of Lando was forgotten. “Bottoms up, babe.”

You groaned as you slowly came to consciousness thanks to the uncomfortable, hard pillow. You knew if you opened your eyes you wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep so you tried to fluff it out with a whack of your fist, only for a pained groan to jolt your senses.

“What the fuck was that for?”

You bolted upright as your eyes flew open and saw the smooth expanse of Lando’s chest, small outlines of your ear shaped into his skin from laying there all night. Your eyes drifted down his body and you held the memory of feeling every inch of it last night.

“What did you do?” you whispered as you covered your mouth only to drop your hands to your body when you found you were equally as naked as he was. “Oh, fuck. Lando…”

“Yeah, you said that last night,” he chuckled as he sat up, his abs hardening with the movement and distracting you from what he was saying. “Though it was a little more breathless and a bit higher pitched.” Grabbing your waist, he pulled you over his lap and tipped your head back so you could see the little smirk on his face. “As for what I did, well, it was everything you asked for, no, begged me for.”

Your skin was too warm against his, the replay in your mind making your eyes shut as you tried to block it out. You had begged him, and he had been more than willing to give you everything you asked for.

“This was a mistake. You are a dead man walking if Flo ever finds out.” You covered your face as you shook your head. “Oh, god, she was right, you were desperate. That’s the only reason this happened, why it was me and not some other chick who would blabber to the press. You knew I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“You’re wrong, about everything. I’m not desperate, you muppet,” Lando breathed across your skin and you peeked through the gap in your fingers as he kissed your shoulder. “How could I want anyone else when you’re all I ever think about?”

You could see Flo getting lost in the crowd as she danced with a handsome monegasque, the sway of her hips translating despite not being able to speak the same language. It was a side profile from the corner of your eye that pulled your attention away from her and you spotted Lando making a direct line her way.

“Shit,” you swore as you did what any best friend would do and ran interference. “Hey Lan, I don’t think I thanked you for letting me stay at your place this weekend. It’s really nice of you.”

He looked torn as his eyes darted between you and the space where Flo had been before disappearing deeper into the night club. Without the distraction of the punk trying to grind on his sister he was able to give all his attention to you and you saw the switch as his face relaxed, the hard lines easing and a playful smile gracing his lips.

“I would say anytime, but I think you would get me in trouble,” he teased, dipping his head closer to yours to make conversation easier, at least that's what you told yourself.

“You get yourself into trouble,” you pointed out as his hands found your waist and he pulled your body closer. “This is what I mean.”

His lips brushed your cheek and the gravel in his voice sent goosebumps prickling over your skin. “We’re just dancing, love.”

Your bodies had moved closer and closer with each beat of the song until there wasn’t an iota of space between you. His palms had glided down the satin material to rest on the swell of your ass and your arms had draped around his neck. You could feel his breath on your skin when he buried his face in your neck and grazed his lips lightly over your racing pulse.

“Do you know that you drive me crazy?” he asked with a nip of his teeth and you shook your head. “You do. Seeing you flirt with other guys, seeing the way they look at you…”

You pulled back to see the hard lines return to his jaw as he clenched his teeth and you twirled your fingers around the short curls at his nape. “How do they look at me?”

“The same way I do,” he answered quickly before stepping out of your embrace. “But they have a chance that I never will.”

He started to walk away and you knew you should have let him because he was right. You loved Flo, and she had made it clear from the moment you realised that boys didn’t have cooties that Lando was off limits, just like your group of friends were off limits to him. You should have let him walk away.

“She cannot find out,” you whispered as your body started to respond to the small lines he traced down your spine and over your hip.

He chuckled as his hand reached your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he guided them apart. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Your lips parted with a soft gasp as his fingers reached the juncture of your thighs and you combed your fingers into his hair as he teased your entrance. “Kiss me,” you begged, your voice quiet with the knowledge his sister, your best friend, was asleep on the other side of the wall. “Please, Lando.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he tortured you with slow circles until he sealed his lips with yours and stole the cry of pleasure when he finally curled two fingers into you. “Shh, love,” he chuckled as he brought you the edge of bliss on his lap, his eyes devouring the sight of your undoing right in front of him. “Been wanting this since we played Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

Your ears were ringing as your heart beat erratically and your body flushed with fever. Your legs began to tremble and your toes curled into his mattress as he pinned you to his lap with one arm curled around your waist and the other kept you dancing on the knife's edge.

“You were my first kiss,” he confessed against your lips as the tension in your body snapped and he used his lips to smother the whimpers and moans he swore were the sweetest sounds he had ever heard.

“You were mine too.” Collapsing weakly in his arms, your head rolled into the crook of his neck where it fit perfectly. “I wanted you to be my first everything.”

Click here for part two.

#lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 smut #lando norris smut

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ploffskinpluffskin · 10 months ago

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idk why i ended up with otp thoughts tonight

i'm thinking a lot about the both of them feeling some kind of potent regret that it took so long to Become A Thing tonight. it didn't have to. the feelings were there long before retirement. if only one of them or both of them had acted on them, they'd have had more time. they'd have more time now. they could have been making so many memories before now

(they Have, actually, tho. they have so many memories together. it's just every now and then one of them will overthink)

and with the Dilemma for haru and baron i often see in fics where baron is reluctant to engage bc of their disparate lifespans and like. forcing haru to give up a more normal life i just. kinda think having this particular interpretation of the king and natori in the background might be kinda poignant

they're Old. there's only so much time they can make up for. idk

#i'm not really the person to ask about haru and baron tho rip #i'm the black sheep that doesn't ship them that hard orz #BUT like the potential is there. i get it #on a pure logical level but not an emotional one. u know #s;; you belong somewhere close to me

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capquinn · 1 month ago

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eek dad quinn when his wife is pregnant at the lake house or with a baby at the lake house during the summer 🥹

dad!quinn at the lake house during the summer? an absolute dreamboat

There’s just something about Quinn in this setting — like he’s been waiting all year to step into this version of himself. The way the air feels softer here, the mornings slower, the evenings stretching long past sunset without a single deadline in sight. It suits him, this pace, like it was made for him. He’s completely at ease, the weight of the season, of the baby on the way, resting gently on his shoulders instead of pressing down.

For you and Quinn, it’s the perfect place to just be — to sink into the rhythm of each other and let the anticipation of what’s coming linger in the background, soft and unspoken.

You’re stretched out on a lounge chair on the dock, a book open in your lap, though your focus on the words comes and goes. Your bump catches the light, glistening from the sunscreen Quinn insisted on slathering over you before you even stepped outside.

“You’ll fry out here,” he’d said earlier, his voice soft but firm, his hands careful and thorough as he worked the lotion over your skin.

From the water, you hear the splash and laughter of Jack and Luke, their banter carrying across the stillness. Quinn’s voice threads through, low and easy, teasing one of them for losing balance on the paddleboard. You peek up over the top of your sunglasses just in time to see him dive off the dock, his form cutting cleanly into the water before surfacing, shaking his hair out with a grin that makes your chest ache. He belongs here, you think — not just to this place but to this version of himself. Easy, happy, home.

You lose yourself in your book again, the rhythm of the day lulling you into a haze. The sunlight feels heavier on your skin, the warmth almost coaxing you into sleep. You barely register the sound of footsteps on the dock, the creak of the boards under his weight and then —

“Comfy?” His voice is low, teasing, and impossibly close.

You blink, startled, only to find Quinn leaning over you, dripping water all over your legs and the edge of your chair. His hair is soaked, beads of water clinging to his shoulders and dripping down his chest, his shorts clinging to his hips. He’s grinning, his cheeks pink from the sun, his eyes bright.

“Quinn,” you say, your tone caught somewhere between amused and exasperated as you push your sunglasses up your nose. “You’re dripping.”

“Yeah,” he says, unbothered, leaning closer so the shadow of him blocks the sun. “You didn’t hear me call you.”

“I was reading,” you counter, though the grin tugging at your lips betrays you.

He hums, one hand bracing against the back of your chair, the other finding the armrest beside you. His gaze dips briefly to your belly, his smile softening before flicking back to your face.

“You’re gonna burn,” he murmurs, brushing a finger lightly against your shoulder, where the strap of your dress has slipped just slightly.

“Am not,” you argue, though you don’t stop him as he adjusts the strap, his knuckles skimming your skin.

His gaze lingers for a moment, his finger tracing a path along your shoulder with a tenderness that feels like second nature. And then his hand shifts, settling gently on the curve of your belly.

“How’s she doing?” he asks softly, his voice barely louder than the sound of the waves lapping against the dock.

“She’s good,” you say with a small smile, covering his hand with yours. “Kicking a lot earlier. I think she likes it here.”

His thumb brushes against your belly in slow, absent circles, a habit he’s picked up in the past few months — like he’s already memorising the feeling of her. His lips tug into a quiet, lovesick smile, and for a second, he’s lost in the thought of her, of you, of everything waiting just around the corner.

“She’s gonna love it here,” he says, almost to himself, his eyes faraway. “Next summer, we’ll bring her down to the water. Show her the sand, maybe dip her toes in the lake.”

“And what if she hates it?” you tease, your voice light, though your heart races at the image he’s painting.

He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head like the very idea is impossible.

“She won’t. She’s ours. She’ll love it because we do.”

His grin widens, soft and lopsided, and before you can think of a reply, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s warm and lingering, carrying the faint taste of the lake.

“Love you,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing lightly against yours for a moment before he pulls back, the sun catching the drops of water sliding down his shoulders.

You laugh softly, shaking your head as he straightens, dripping wet and unapologetic, the soles of his feet leaving faint prints on the dock. He’s already turning back toward the edge, Luke’s shout drawing his attention. But just before he dives back in, he pauses, glancing over his shoulder at you.

His smile, soft and sure, holds something unspoken — like he’s anchoring the moment, holding it in his heart for safekeeping. It’s the kind of look that makes your chest tighten, the kind that makes you feel seen, loved, completely his.

As he disappears back into the water, you stay there, fingers brushing absently over your bump. The sun warms your skin, the sound of his laughter mixing with the waves lapping against the dock. For a moment, it feels like everything — the lake house, your baby, the way he looked at you just now — is part of some beautiful, endless dream you never want to wake up from.

#someone stop me (but also don't)#dad!quinn #quinn hughes x reader #capquinn’s requests

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ohbueckers · 2 months ago

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HEART OF A WOMAN. we ain’t spoke in so long, probably put me in the past. i can still get you wet, and i can still make you laugh.

01, CHAPTER ONE. OLD SPARKS.

ju speaks. who’s catching my word play for this chapter ooouuu.. i’m having so much fun writing them already and yes, maya’s gonna be a problem (i am just so predictable). pairing. wnba!paige bueckers x fem!oc. warnings. sexual innuendos. kinda content too? idk this fic feeds you all.

present day, may, 2025.

los angeles still doesn’t feel real.

it’s like a whole new game out here, and i’ve been telling myself i can handle it. going first in the draft was wild—i’d dreamt of that moment since i was a kid, but hearing my name called, realizing it was real, felt different. la’s been something else too, this city that’s both too big and somehow feels small once you’re in it. i’ve got an apartment with this insane view too. floor to ceiling windows, sunlight flooding in every morning, palm trees out front like something off a postcard, but it doesn’t quite feel like home yet. i guess i thought maybe it would by now.

the team’s been great, though. down to the vets, the coaching staff, the media team… every single one of them welcomed me like i’ve always belonged here, and that makes things easier. cam threw this party tonight to really celebrate me being here, not just another pr event, but like… i don’t know, like they actually wanted to get to know me better. her backyard’s all polished up. the gates hold up some fairy lights, and the smell of barbecue just tops it all off.

maya’s been around since day one, practically the second i landed here. she’s one of our coordinators—smart, organized, and just enough older than me. stanford grad, of course, which she’s mentioned just enough times that i know she’s proud of it. there’s something good about her. yeah, she’s good. she knows how to handle herself, that’s for sure.

nailea hasn’t been around. i thought i’d see her by now, maybe even catch lurking during one of my practices or just… run into her somewhere. i mean, i’m sure she wouldn’t quit her job because of me. she’s been quiet, out of sight. which is fine. we haven’t really talked since before the draft—if that’s what you’d call it. it’s probably for the best. i don’t think she really wants to talk anyway.

i’m mid-sentence, talking to rae and rickea about their pregame rituals when maya steps up, her manicured hand resting casually on my slouched shoulder like it belongs there. she laughs at something rae says, smiling, and i feel myself ease into the conversation a little more.

rae’s all animated, talking about how she won’t step onto the court without this neon scrunchie she swears by. i’m leaning in to give her grief for it when i catch something in my periphery—someone, actually.

nailea’s here. at my welcome to the league party, maybe just coming by to say she showed up. i’m sure cam would kill her if she didn’t, they got pretty close last year. she looks like she just stepped out of my memories, if you think about that memory everyday.

i suck in, turning in attempt to not make myself seen. then, rae, three jell-o shots deep and definitely feeling it, pats my thigh in excitement and grins wide. “nai! c’mere!” she calls her over, completely missing how i’m trying not to look too invested.

i bite my lip, turning my head back over. i see how she hesitates, and then she looks at me. there’s no emotion, not a single ounce of longing or surprise. she looks at me like i’m nothing. it hurts more than i’d ever admit, but at the same time, i get it. i don’t exactly have the right to expect anything else.

her eyes shift to the others, weighing her options, probably playing out how the entire encounter would go in her head, but rae’s insistence doesn’t really give her much of a choice. she flashes us a grin, though i’m sure it isn’t for me, before she slowly waltzes over.

my eyes follow her like some unconscious habit until she’s almost in reach. as she comes closer, i find myself sizing her up, cataloging the way her hair falls just right, how her shirt hangs off her shoulders. then, out of nowhere, rickea shoves a finger into my ear from my left, and i flinch, turning to see her arched eyebrows silently demanding that i lock in. i don’t question it—i do. a little bit.

“nai handles a good chunk of our pr. she’s doing game day operations this year too,” rae cuts through. she was on some paid internship last year, testing out every role the sparks had to offer to see what she liked. she moved up. got the job.

i don’t know why it stings that she’s doing good without me.

“we know each—“ i begin.

“we went to high school to—“ nai says at the same time as me, and i look at her. rickea is stifling back a laugh beside me, and nai finishes her sentence.

“paige and i went to high school together.” she says, and i stay silent. high school? is that all i am now? a high school buddy?

rae’s grin grows wider, and she’s so excited about it i can barely make out her words. “she’s so great, and basically our backbone now,” she says, nudging nailea’s shoulder. “if it weren’t for her, i’d be late to half my interviews, right?” she laughs, a little too loud.

“guess you owe her then,” i say simply, forcing a grin. nai’s eyes flash to mine, but they’re off me just as quick. i let mine stay, squinting as maya begins to ramble.

“and she makes my job way easier.” maya’s fingers tap against my shoulder, almost like she’s staking a claim. “you ever need someone to keep you in line, paige, she’s your girl,” she adds, smiling at nai, though there’s some unfamiliarity to it. i can tell that they know each other, just not well enough i’m assuming.

nai’s eyes drop to maya’s hand, just a quick glance, but it’s enough to make me hyper-aware of the touch. her gaze returns to my face, a single eyebrow raised in that subtle way that’s more telling than words. like she’s already put it all together, and she doesn’t need to say a thing. instinctively, i shift, shrugging maya’s hand off with a casual roll of my shoulder, trying to mask it as if i’m just adjusting my posture.

nai doesn’t react, but her mouth twitches, a hint of a smirk, there and gone.

she lets out a soft laugh as i lean more against the table now, and i caught the way maya dropped her hand to her side. “i think paige has got it handled.”

i raise an eyebrow, leaning back just a little. “could always use the backup.”

nai’s eyes flash with a quick, knowing glint as she tilts her head, that slight smirk of hers appearing like she’s been waiting for an opening. “backup?” she repeats, nearly cheerful. i hated her tone. “thought you were more into… side options than backups, paige.”

it’s subtle, just low enough that only i catch the full weight of it, but it lands. i let out a low chuckle, stroking my chin and licking my lips. “aight,” i say, swallowing down any reaction, “i set myself up for that.”

maya gives me a sidelong look, sensing the tension but probably not quite getting it. nai laughs softly, a quick, dismissive sound that shouldn’t hit as hard as it does. it’s almost like she’s proud of getting that dig in. i cross my arms over my chest, and for some reason, i can’t contain my own smile.

rickea jumps in then, catching the vibe—or maybe just rescuing me. “anyway!” she says, her voice bright, easing into some story about some mascot switch-up from last year nai had to handle. i nod along, pretending i’m invested, though every part of me is still reeling from nai’s words, her laugh, the way she looked at me like she had me all figured out.

but maybe that’s what she wants me to think.

the backyard’s emptied out now, save for a few stray bottles and a couple of plastic jello cups scattered across the tables. i slide the glass door open and step inside, the house now filled with some low music from a record player. i was planning to find cam, to thank her for throwing this whole thing together. but when i come into the kitchen, it’s nai i see, her sleeves rolled up, forearms wet, scrubbing out a vase under the sink.

she’s focused, eyebrows furrowed just slightly, and i catch myself looking just a second too long before she looks up herself, catching me in the act. she pauses for a moment, her hands stilled under the water before she continues.

“didn’t take you for the clean up crew,” she mumbles, a little low that i almost don’t hear it over the running water.

i shrug, poking my bottom lip out. “figured i owed cam for putting this together,” i say, eyes still fixed on her. “nothin’ like a little gratitude, right?”

she lets out a little scoff, eyes still on the vase, fingers working over the smooth glass, rinsing it under the stream. “cam’s got enough gratitude coming her way,” she murmurs, and i can’t really read the implication. “she doesn’t need more from you.”

the words are light, almost casual, but they land with an edge that sticks. i take a slow step closer, letting the sliding door click shut behind me as i stand by it, almost like i’m stuck.

“well,” i start, beginning to stroll closer with my hands tucked in my pockets, “maybe i’m here because i wanted to check in. see how you’re doing.”

her eyes cut to me briefly, unimpressed. “i’m good, paige,” she says, letting the vase drip dry on a towel, and turning her attention to the next one. “never been better, actually.”

“great,” i say, not breaking eye contact, even as she keeps hers on the dishes, hands slowing just slightly. “then you won’t mind the company.”

she lifts an eyebrow, smirking, and i feel my pulse spike. “company?” she repeats, cocking her head as she pauses, hands resting on the edge of the sink, she says, “i think i’ve had enough of yours for a lifetime.”

i wiggle my eyebrows at her. “aw, don’t be like that, nai.” i can’t help the laugh that slips out, soft and a little cocky. “where’d you pick up all this lil’ attitude at?” i manage to get a little closer with each word until i’m rounding the island. she knows i’m there, close, and trying to ignore it probably.

she sighs, setting the vase down with a clink that sounds just a little too deliberate before picking up the last one. “life has a way of teaching you things. people, too.” she cuts her eyes my way, just barely, still trying to act like i’m not right in her space.

“oh, so now i’m a life lesson?” i murmur, stepping so that i’m almost right beside her, leaning on the counter. “but you’re still here. helpin’ clean up my party.”

she hesitates, and i can see her jaw tense just slightly. “i’m here for cam.”

“cam, huh?” i murmur, my eyes never leaving her. “and what about me?”

she laughs, a little breathless, and it’s the first real sign of her softening. i’ll take whatever i can get. “you’re somethin’ else. you know that?”

of course i know that. she knows i know that, she used to tell me it all the time. she reaches to cut the water off, flipping the vase over on the counter to dry. “good somethin’ or bad somethin’?” i ask, inching just a little closer as i tuck my bottom lip between my teeth.

“depends on the day,” she replies simply, and i can tell she’s trying to occupy herself as she rearranges the glasses.

i smile, facing her as i lean an arm on the counter. “that a challenge?” i lick my lips. “you know i love a good challenge.”

she scoffs lightly, rolling her eyes but staying put nonetheless. “don’t think you’re up for this one, bueckers.”

“oh, i’m up for it,” i counter, following her every move. “in fact, i thrive on it.” i’ve managed to get so close now that i can smell the scent of her shampoo mingling with the faint floral notes of soap. i can’t help but notice the newfound lightness to it too, and i realize she must’ve switched out some old with some new.

“mhm?” she asks, that smirk returning as she finally looks at me. i love when she hums like that, like i’ve got her at loss for words or something. her gaze flicks down to my lips for just a heartbeat, but i catch it.

“yeah,” i whisper, testing the waters. “and i’m pretty good at winning.”

i can see the shift in her expression—the way her breath hitches just a bit. “and what do you think you’re gonna win?” it’s like it took everything in her to say that as she exhales.

i lean back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes fully, but my focus has found her lips again. “you know what i want,” i say, and my voice is almost a whisper. “i think you know exactly what i want.”

there’s a faint smirk on her face as she grips the counter. “no.” she says, seemingly very aware of my intentions as she shakes her head, but doesn’t move an inch.

i let my tongue swarm my mouth hungrily. “just one.” i practically beg.

she leans in, leaving a soft, fast peck on my lips, and i’m afraid it isn’t enough for satisfaction. she’s back staring, and before i get the chance to say anything about it, it’s like she already fought the doubts in her mind as she throws herself into me, lips crashing.

my lips press against hers in that familiar, heady rush that i’d almost convinced myself i’d forgotten. she doesn’t pull away—instead, her hand slips up to my shoulder, the same one maya had her paws on just a couple hours ago, and fuck i can barely bring myself to think about that.

my hand finds her waist, gripping just enough to feel her press against me, her breaths shallow, matching mine. i want to rip her clothes off and take her here, no matter how uncordial that may be, but the universe seems to have other plans.

she tastes like everything i’ve had time to reflect on, every memory i know she tried to bury. i’m rough, hands squeezing her waist so tight like i’m scared she’ll slip away if i let go.

but just as i’m getting lost in her, we’re interrupted by the sound of footsteps. we break apart instantly, spinning toward the door just in time to see cam step in, her eyes widening as she stops short, eyebrows lifting as she takes in the scene.

my tongue darts to the corner of my mouth as i place my hands behind my back awkwardly, as if to keep them from wandering. nai is smoothing out her shirt (the most obvious thing you could do in a situation like this), that guarded look slipping right back into place as she clears her throat.

“paige was just leaving.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers uconn #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x fem #lgbtq fanfiction #lgbtqia #wlw fanfic #wlw fiction #wlw smut #wlw blog #wlw yearning #paige bueckers blog

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thebadboyfanclub · 10 months ago

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Together As One (Daemon x Reader)

So this is more a twisted love type of hype, I hope you guys like the way I portrayed this request cause I wanted to give it more of a dark edge since Daemon is definitely a gray character. Hope you enjoy!

Mothers love their children, everyone could agree upon the unconditional love mothers held for their kind with no doubt in their hearts, songs, poems, plays, and any type of art one can think of have attempted to portray such devotion. None, however, could predict that some mothers have a certain type of fear for their child, like some whisper in the back of their heads warning them about the little glimpse in their eyes that was not like the stars but more of a scorching fire threading to burn everything.

That was the exact feeling Rhaenys had for her beloved daughter, the twin sister of Laenor, it would often baffle her how her husband could not see what was clearly there, (y/n) was always in competition with everyone about everything, the finest clothes belonged to her, she had to ride a dragon first, learn Valyrian faster.

Whilst Rhaenys prayed for her daughter's thirst to settle, the others praised her for her bravery, her determination, and her intellect, something that made (y/n) yearn for more.

“I would like to raise a toast to my dear brother, a married man to our future queen, may your wedlock be blessed with numerous children and a road paved with nothing but joy and success, Prince Daemon, hopefully you are next”

(Y/n) stood with a smile of triumph dancing on her lips before she raised her cup to gently take a sip, as she sat down Daemon's eyes followed her, he was well aware of her game, though he seemed unfazed and almost amused by her comment the truth laid somewhere deeper than the surface, not a single soul in this room would have been able to guess that the delighted twin of now future king consort was playing a game of cat and mouse with none other than prince daemon behind closed doors.

(Y/n) had been relentless in her ways to seduce Daemon, sneaking out at all hours of the night, sending people after him so she could know his whereabouts just so she could magically appear, the combination of sweet wine and her alluring voice was enough for Daemon to stumble and fall right on top of her, taking her for a ride to the addictive roads of lust.

She was stunning, flawless, a true Targaryen that screamed opulence and elegance with a face sculpted by the gods, the common folk would gush over the “oceans Angel” a nickname given by the realm for her angelic features, how would they know how dark her mind could get in order to make everyone yield before her?

“Mother”

“Dearest, how are you on this fine morrow?”

“I am well, the little one finally decided to let me get some rest”

“When I was pregnant with you I remember thinking you would kick your way out of my belly, the Apple does not fall far from the tree”

(Y/n)s daughter, Leora, leaned as much as she could to kiss her mother's cheek before she sat down next to her to break her fast, queen Alicent had already taken her seat along with her daughter Heleana and (y/n)s other son Elion, Alicent and (y/n) enjoyed each others presence, a mutual bond based on respect had been build over the years that was sealed by marrying Leora with Aegon and Elion with Heleana.

“The maester said you should drink more orange juice, it will help with the fatigue”

“As well as eat more meat, pregnancy is no easy task, you must be as strong as ever”

Alicent chimed, the birth of her second grandchild was one of the most important events, Alicent adored her first grandchild, beautiful Hael, a strong boy who was just now starting to learn how to walk, still, he had everyone wrapped around his finger.

“I appreciate your concerns but I am fine, healthy as a horse”

“It wouldn’t hurt, let us not risk it dearest”

“I thought once I get older I wouldn’t have to listen to my mother”

“Well I am sorry but that will never happen, drink”

(Y/n) had stepped up and appeared as the perfect mother, loving, kind, and caring, she did love her children, however, what she loved most was the things they could do for her, her firstborn daughter was now the wife of the king first born son, and her son was a strong, skill full knight that served the realm and came back in triumph, how could she not adore her perfect creations?

“How is the king?”

“I am afraid his health is decreasing, the maesters advise him to remain abed for the day”

“Rhaenyra will be questioned, he won’t sit this one out I am afraid”

“Ugh the precious Rhaenyra, I wish I could stay in my chambers until those god-forsaken days pass”

(Y/n)s smile was wiped from her face and in an instant it was replaced with an angry scowl, in a split second her hand had grasped her daughter, Leoras' eyes went wide with fear when they met the angry hues of her mothers.

“You mustn’t speak in such a way, I’ve taught you better”

Leora only nodded frantically, (y/n) had her own opinions over Rhaenyra, she however, knew better than to voice them, not even in such a secluded area of the palace, (y/n)s hold turned from forceful to a caress before she directed her eyes back to her friend and queen Alicent.

“Besides, the king will do as he wishes and if the gods bless him with the strength to stand he should be there, isn’t it right Alicent?”

“I couldn’t have phrased it better, my dear”

(Y/n) and Alicent were each other's shadows, one compelled the other and in the end one way or the other the result was one of their favor, (y/n) was disciplined and had mastered the act of a gracious and lovely princess, Alicent was strict and slipped under everyone’s nose as she cloaked herself with the act of a pious queen, the two of them had years up on the horse of being able to maneuver their way around the kingdom so the men would not suspect a damn thing.

Viserys had seemed to get worst which made him unable to attend even when Daemon and (y/n) went to his room to assist him, the king could not even sit up let alone walk, Daemon was disheartened, thankfully for him his dutiful and beautiful wife let him rest on her shoulder and like a soothing salve her encouraging words went over his wound of his beloved older brother nearing his end.

“My Love”

“(Y/n)? What- what has happened?”

“I apologize for waking you up my dear, it is your brother”

“Viserys? What about- no”

“My dear husband, you must be strong, I am so sorry”

(Y/n) grasped Daemon's hands tightly before she brought them up to her lips to kiss his knuckles, of course, she was one of the first to know, Alicent had rushed to her chamber and delivered the news herself, she had waited patiently as the king took his last breath, Alicent told no one, not even the maester, (y/n) had to know before anyone.

“Viserys”

Daemon had been taken over by his thoughts, they’ve always had their differences but at the end of the day, they shared the same mother and father, a bond that could never be broken, no matter how many times Daemon has run off he always ended up by Viserys side.

“My love, I understand that this is too much for you, however, we must prepare our daughter”

“What does Elora have to do with this?”

“She is to be queen, she needs her father”

“Queen? Have you gone mad?”

(Y/n) bit her bottom lip in combination with her head tilting to the side, as if nothing but a mere candle lit her face Daemon could still identify the features that he so adored but now he could not wrap his head around what was his wife suggesting.

“My lord husband, King Viserys has left us, it is only natural for his son to succeed him”

“It is expected for his firstborn, Rhaenyra, to do so, not Aegon”

“Where is the princess? But in a place where she could have visited if she wished, when has she even attempted to come and visit her beloved father who was in agony all these years? She only came when her privilege was at risk and then blamed Alicent who has served by the king's side for his illness”

“This is not a matter to discuss”

“But it is, the gods know I loved Viserys and he had been good to me, but let us not forget he killed his first wife in his desperate attempt for a male heir, he remarried and Alicent gave him an heir and a spare and still it was not good enough, he passed by you and his sons to bury his guilt by calling Rhaenyra the heir, it wasn’t because he trusted her or because he saw something in her, he passed the title on to her because he did not trust you and then because he wanted to wash the blood of queen Aemmas from his hands”

Silence fell upon them, (y/n) pulled away from her husband and headed towards the door, as his hand rested upon the handle she turned her head back to lord husband who was visibly shaken, (y/n) might appear disheartened but she could detect that her monologue had started to creep on to Daemons heart.

“I love you with all my heart, that is why I shall leave you to grieve, if you wish to run to her I will…. Understand, it is not like I ever doubted the unconditional love you have for the realm delight, now might be your chance to pursue it”

Her tone was drowning in sorrow leaving Daemon with an unwavering sense of guilt in a dark room as his wife had disappeared to place her hand over a war of fire and blood, (y/n) was correct, Daemon did love Rhaenyra, still, he did not place his flame for her over what he had built with his wife over the years.

(Y/n) walked away with a smile of triumph, she had done her part flawlessly and now she was certain that Daemon would be by her side before the crown was placed on Aegons head, however, she did not have time to waste, Alicent and (y/n) were the ones to wake the new king and queen, preparing them for what they had destined to be.

“You may enter”

“Prince Daemon is asking to see his daughter and wife, alone”

(Y/n) stopped brushing her daughter's head, carefully placing the golden brush down before she looked down at her daughter who nodded in approval.

“Let him in, do not allow anyone to disturb us”

“Right away”

The girl curtsied as quickly as possible before she disappeared only to be replaced by none other than Daemon. (Y/n) took a sharp inhale through her nose once he entered the room, preparing herself for a mental battle, surprisingly when her eyes scanned for his she was met with a certain lightness, an ease to him that caught her by a pleasant surprise.

Instinctively a small smile played on her lips, her Daemon was dressed in his black attire, leather suited him, and his hair was pulled away from his face the way she always told him to do it.

(Y/n) was not made of stone, she might play like she is though her heart skipped a beat every time she was near her lord husband, Daemon was one of the very few people that (y/n) would throw herself in the fire, even though their love felt like the flames licked her back, that sweet pain of admiration and devotion that the poets would sing and the common folk would go mad.

“My dearest loves”

Daemon declared, that their daughter rose from her chair and ran to her father, she was always the one known to succumb to emotions and this time (y/n) could not scold her over it, Leora was her father's daughter, (y/n) might not have spoken over the matter only to allow the young girl the solidarity of her feelings, inside Leora was always waiting for her father to walk through this door.

“You look beautiful, a perfect gown for the queen”

“Father I-“

“Before I handed you over to Aegon I made you a promise, do you remember it?”

“I will do anything to see you happy”

“I will put myself through war if you tell me that this is what you want, all you have to do is say it”

Daemon was no fool, he was certain that the second that crown graced his daughter's head a war would nip their heels, Rhaenyra would not go down without a fight and that meant that Daemon would have to face her in battle, a battle he was willing to put for his lovely Leora.

“I want to be queen, I want Aegon to be our king”

“Very well, I wish you a fruitful reign, may the Gods smile down upon you”

‘May the Gods have mercy on us’ he thought, with a smile he brushed away those dark thoughts only to place a kiss on his daughter's forehead, a small part of him screamed that this was the right thing, his brother never thought he was good enough, now his brother was on the ground and his daughter was crowned queen and would carry on the legacy of the Targaryen name.

“Go on now, I want to have a word with your mother”

“I will be waiting for you”

Leora informed them before she gave them the privacy Daemon desired. (Y/n) stood as still as a statue, her heart pounding on her chest as her throat grew dry and scratchy, she was the master of composure up until now, faced with the only person who could make her waver.

“My beautiful, sweet lady wife, you spoke harshly last night”

“I spoke nothing but the truth”

She threw back in a cold tone. Daemon only smirked as he started to approach her, she did not dare to move, (y/n) was comforted by his light-hearted manner though there was an underlying mischief, Daemon was playing something, and (y/n) was left trying to catch up before it is too late.

Daemon stood before her, his arm finding her forearms and giving them a gentle squeeze, his eyes gazing back at hers with a glimmer that (y/n) had grown to yearn for, she despised the fact that she had to manipulate him like this, she was left with no other choice but to do this, a side of hers cursed the day Rhaenyras and Daemons fates met, this would have been so much easier had (y/n) been the only women Daemon loved.

“You are so bright, I am almost disappointed that you didn’t foresee this”

“The war?”

“No, me, you think I have not caught wind of all the scheming against Rhaenyra? The upbringing of my daughter to become the wife of my brother's firstborn son, putting our son on the sea the minute he was born to have better knowledge of anything driftmark related to gain the favor of your father, every step you so amazingly calculated with Alicent so you can get our family here”

“You have gone mad”

“I saw behind the facade and that makes you nervous, I was there with you every step of the way you mustn’t be frightened, I let you do all this for only one reason”

“Alright, let us entertain this absurd claim of yours, what is the reason?”

“Because I love you”

(Y/n) mouth slightly parted in shock, Daemon had professed his love for her on multiple occasions but the weight on this one was different, he had pulled what she thought was the perfect cover, leaving her bare in front of him, uncovering her thirst that she had kept away from everyone.

“I love you so much that I will let my daughter become the target on Rhaenyras mind, I will go against the woman that you think threatens your position in my heart, I will put myself in the sword before I let her even get one strand of your hair because you and our daughter want this”

“And you don’t? You always held a grudge over the fact that Viserys never declared you as his heir”

“My brother is dead now and because of you our child wishes to be a queen, I picked you as my second wife because I saw your strength, your determination, you need to come on top, that is the Targaryen fire through and through”

“You truly mean all this?”

“You are my lady wife, you gave me a home, now it is time to show the realm that we are the rightful heirs of the throne, together as one”

(Y/n) reached daemons lips for a passionate kiss, his hands slid down to her waist and pulled her as close as humanly possible, sharing this moment meant everything to (y/n), she had him devotedly by her side, he saw her true nature and walked straight into her fire, surrendering in her and even shielding her and her family.

“Let us find out daughter, I want us to be the ones to place the crown on her head”

“I wouldn’t dare let anyone else have that honor”

Requests are open!

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softspiderling · 11 months ago

Text

think you're a genius (you drive me up the wall) | r.c.

summary: it wouldn't be an outer banks party if there wasn't at least one fist fight. also, rafe is trying to turn over a new leaf.

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

word count: 3,8k

warning: mention of blood, violence (reader gets punched in the face, but there are no graphic details), shitty topper (sorry top)

author's note: long awaited (at least by me) rafe fic, whoop whoop!!! no usage of Y/N, happy reading, don't forget to reblog!!! also tagging @sunderlust bc i borrowed some of our conversation in this fic😘love you sol

☆⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄

“Since when do you drink beer?”

Barely pausing at the words, you continued to stack cold beer cans in your arms, the condensation dripping onto your skin. You didn’t have to turn around to know who the voice belonged to, having heard it so many times. And this was his house after all.

“Wasn’t aware you kept track of my drink of choice,” you retorted, turning around to face him, while simultaneously trying to balance the cans.

Rafe raised an eyebrow at you before his gaze lowered to the beer in your arms. “… You trying to tell me that all that beer’s for you?”

“You calling me a lightweight?”

The corner of Rafe’s mouth ticked up and he took a sip from his drink, the ice clinking in the glass.

“I think we both know I’m not.”

If someone had told you that one day you’d be standing in the parlor of Tannyhill, having a mostly civil conversation with Rafe you’d have them institutionalized. But things have changed. When Sarah returned with the news that Ward has died protecting Sarah, Rafe imploded at first. Blaming her for his death, the downfall of their family and generally being ungrateful for Ward’s love for her.

Everyone avoided the Cameron estate for a while, hearing stuff crash and yells from a mile away. No one dared to step close. A few days after, the disturbances stopped, being replaced with complete silence.

It was so silent, you actually grew concerned until Rafe turned up at Heyward’s setting up a weekly grocery delivery. Pope had dumped the stuff he was holding as soon as Rafe had stepped into the store, storming outside, with Cleo hot on his heels, leaving you to set up the standing order.

“Can you tell Sarah I’m sorry?”

“What?”

You looked up from the register and Rafe clenched his jaw, giving you a look.

“You really gon’ make me say it again?”

“How about you call her yourself instead of making me deliver your message like a post boy?”

Rafe exhaled deeply, knitting his eyebrows together like he was really trying not to explode and honestly, you had to respect him for that. You know how impatient he could be.

“I tried, okay? Don’t you think I’ve tried? I’ve tried to call her, she’s not picking up. Fuck, I don’t even know if she still has the same phone number,” he said, like the words physically pained him. “I don’t even know where she’s staying. Is it at John B’s new place?”

Somewhere between his words, Rafe had started pacing up and down the stairs, making you antsy.

“Hey,” you said, coming around to slowly, carefully - like you were trying to pet a stray cat - curl your hand around his wrist. Rafe immediately stopped, eyeing his wrist where you were touching him.

“Sorry, I’ll take my hand off,” you quickly said, but before you could, Rafe stopped you.

“’s fine,” he muttered, meeting your eyes for a second before looking away again. “Physical touch grounds me… Y’know… When my thoughts get too… Much.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding at him and staying in place, for god knew how long, until Rafe had seemed to calm down.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

You drew your hand back, crossing your arms over your chest and leaned against the counter to put some distance between you and him, wildly overwhelmed with this situation. Rafe didn’t seem like he knew what to do either, turning his ring on his finger, his eyes cast on the floor.

“If you really want to apologize to Sarah,” you started, making him look up. “Maybe I can talk to her. Ask her if she’s willing to meet up with you.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow at you, clearly surprised. “You’d do that for me?”

“Don’t let it get to your head. I’m mostly doing it for Sarah,” you scoffed and Rafe only smirked, shaking his head.

“Sure, tough girl. Gonna ring me up now or what?”

Rolling your eyes at him, you returned to the cash register, finishing up his order. You still felt his eyes on you as you worked away.

“Thanks,” he finally said, and you lifted your head, briefly meeting his eyes.

“Don’t mention it.”

And he never did.

Miraculously, you had managed to get Sarah to agree to talk to Rafe and while you had accompanied her to the beach, where she had met up with Rafe, you stayed behind to give them privacy. You weren’t sure what they had talked about, but you didn’t press her about it either when she came stomping back to you with tearstained cheeks. Whatever they have talked about must have helped though, because even though Sarah still stayed with John B of the the times, she went home every odd night, returning with sandwiches and drinks the next day like a soccer mom. It went unsaid that Rafe had provided her with everything and Sarah avoided talking about him, mostly because Pope still got that distant look in his eyes whenever she mentioned her brother. Which is why you were surprised that he was the first one to agree to go to a party Rafe had invited Sarah to, forwarding the invite to her friends.

“What?” Pope had said everyone gave him an odd look. “He stole a family heirloom of mine. The least he can do is invite us to a party of his.”

“Okay then,” JJ jeered, beating on Pope’s back with his opens palms. “Let’s go to a Kook party.”

You had to admit that it was nice to see that the two tribes of the island coming together. The fact that Pogues were invited to a party on Figure 8 was huge. Granted, it was just you and your friends, but still. It was a start.

Loud cheering from outside brought you out of your thoughts, you and Rafe both looking towards the dimly lit backyard, where the main attraction of the party took place.

“JJ and John B are destroying a group of Kooks at Rage Cage right now,” you then explained, lifting the beer in your arms. “Hence... You know.”

“Right right, I was starting the wonder what all that yelling was about,” Rafe mused.

“So how come you’re not out there?”

Rafe shrugged. “Needed some quiet.”

“What, you having your private party in here?” you teased and Rafe smirked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Why? You jealous?”

You rolled your eyes, shifting the beer cans in your arms, the weight slowly getting to you.

“In your dreams, Rafe,” you scoffed. “I got to go, get these beers to the boys before they’ll get warm. You should come down, when you’re done brooding and shit.”

Throwing your last words over your shoulder, you returned to your friends, being welcomed with loud cheers as the empty cups get filled rather quickly. You dropped down into your empty chair, taking your drink from Kiara who had been holding onto it during your absence.

“Pope was about to send a search party because you were taking so long,” she said and you gave Pope a look over the brim of your cup.

“You’re such a mother hen. I was talking to Rafe.”

“Why the hell were you talking to Rafe?”

“You talked to Rafe?”

“Jesus, guys relax,” you groaned, leaning your head back. “He’s fine. He didn’t even do anything. We just talked.”

“It’s never just anything with Rafe,” Pope muttered.

“I get that,” Sarah started, rolling her empty cup in her hand. “But he’s different.Like… He regrets a lot of the thing’s he’s done and trying really hard to make up for his mistakes,” she paused, pressing her lips together tightly. “I’d be the last person to defend him, but I feel like he’s trying to turn over a new leaf.”

Before Pope was able to list all of the bad things that Rafe has done in the past, your conversation was interrupted, angry yells ringing over the music.

“So now you’re just all buddy buddy hanging out here, huh?”

The new voice wasn’t really new and everyone looked at Sarah, who paled, slowly pushing herself up from her chair, looking towards the disturbance, the rest of the group following her.

“Shit. What the hell is Topper doing here?”

The sudden intrusion of a rather inebriated Topper had immediately tanked the relaxed and laid back atmosphere; suddenly, everyone was tense, not daring to make a move in fear of making the wrong one.

“What? Aren’t we here to party?” Topper cajoled, waving a half empty bottle of whiskey around. “Let’s get rid of these Pogues and party!”

The rest of the Kooks looked between themselves, not really wanting to follow Topper’s request but also not wanting to defend your friends. Even if they just had fun together, the Kooks wouldn't go as far as openly defend Pogues, you knew that.

“You should leave, Topper,” John B said, his hands curling at his sides, which was fair, honestly. Even though you had rebuilt the Chateau, bigger, better and most importantly more fire resistant, Topper burnt down John B’s home. His safe space. Topper only widened his eyes at John B comically, snorting.

“Who are you to tell me to leave?”

Sarah pushed herself to the front, pressing herself to John B’s side, which was probably not the smartest thing she could have done, as it only aggravated Topper even more to see her next to John B. You and the others stood right behind her, ready to step in as soon as it escalated.

“Leave, Topper,” Sarah snapped at him. “Nobody invited you.”

“Yeah, as far as I know, you don’t even live here anymore, Sarah,” Topper said, spitting out her name like it was venom in his mouth.

“I didn’t invite you.”

You hadn’t even noticed Rafe having joined you, not really standing on your side, but not on Topper's side either. Suddenly, the tension had grown even thicker and by now, you realized this could go wrong in about a 100 ways.

Topper stared at his friend, mouth agape, before he collected himself, pulling a face.

“Seriously, Rafe? Weren’t you the one who told me that I’m better off without your bitch of a sister and now you’re taking her side?”

“Watch it, Top,” Rafe only said, not even moving an inch.

Not that he had to. Everyone knew what Rafe was capable of, if he was angry enough. Topper only narrowed his eyes at his friend, weighing his options.

“Topper, just go,” Sarah yelled, walking towards him for good measure, trying to offer some sort of olive branch, but Topper only pushed Sarah roughly, causing her to stumble to the ground.

“Jesus, fuck, Topper,” you snapped, rushing to get Sarah back on her feet again, making the fatal mistake of getting between him and John B, as you received a sickening punch to the side of your face.

“Fuck!”

“Holy shit, Topper are you insane?”

You had toppled over your feet to the grass, not having expected the punch at all. Disoriented, you touched your throbbing cheek, your fingers stained red when you looked at them.

“Fuck,” you moaned, feeling like you were about to pass out. Your friends quickly crowded around you, helping you up.

“Shit, girl, you alright?” Cleo asked, carefully pushing your hair to the side to assess the damage.

“Is Sarah okay?” you only asked, pausing to spit out some blood, leaning on Cleo, your legs still shaking.

“Dude, I’m fine!” Sarah said, wrapping an arm around you, still shaking herself.

Your vision was still dizzy, and the voices were not helping, but it seemed like most of the party goers had dissipated as the argument had started. As your eyes adjusted, you could just see Rafe holding Topper by the collar of his shirt and saying something you couldn’t quite understand, before he tossed his friend on the ground. Topper didn’t take long to get back to his feet, fleeing from the scene.

Rafe turned around, his eyes scanning over you before turning to Sarah.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a bruise,” Sarah said, her eyes fixated on you. “But you should definitely get checked out. I can't believe Topper punched you."

“Come on, I got a first aid kit upstairs and some ice for the swelling.”

Rafe reached out to grab you under the arms, but Cleo was reluctant to let you go.

“Maybe I should help.”

“Seriously?” Rafe asked, incredulously and you only watched with narrowed eyes, your reaction time still limited.

“We should just take her home,” Pope chimed in, grabbing you by the shoulder gently, jostling you around.

“Guys, I’m gonna be sick if you keep handing me around like a joint,” you groaned, shutting your eyes, in the hopes of making the dizziness better.

“Pope, it’s fine. Rafe’s not going to hurt her. And he knows a thing or two about patching up wounds,” Sarah said, Pope’s grip on you loosening.

“Fine. But you even look at our girl funny, and you got another thing coming, you hear me, Rafe?”

“Yeah yeah, I got it,” Rafe grunted.

You peeked an eye open, when your friends let go of you, Rafe looping his arm around your shoulder, pausing to look at John B. “You got Sarah, right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about her.”

Rafe nodded his head in thanks, before leading you towards the house.

"Hey, just call if you need anything!" Kiara called after you, which you only replied with a weak "Okay!", your focus on putting one foot after the other. Rafe had his arm around your waist, taking most of your weight.

“Can you walk alright or do you need me to carry you?”

“If you pick me up right now, I will vomit on you,” you moaned and Rafe snorted.

“Right, and neither of us want that.”

It took you guys an embarrassing amount of time until you reached the house, since you kept making Rafe stop because you thought you were going to throw up. When you finally walked inside, Rafe lead you upstairs, instead of steering you towards the living room.

“Where are you taking me?”

“First aid kit is in my bathroom,” Rafe replied, mostly supporting your weight as you climbed the stairs.

“Ugh, your bathroom? Am I gonna get infected with herpes or something?”

“Is it the smartest idea to insult me in your position right now?” he asked dryly, and you almost sighed in relief when you reached the second floor.

“Just take me to your bedroom Rafe.”

“Alright, Princess,” Rafe sighed, a hint of exasperation in his voice as he guided you to his bedroom, carefully depositing you on the bed. While he went to the bathroom to fetch the first aid kit, you took a second to catch your breath, hoping the world would stop spinning.

Rafe returned with the first aid kit, moving slowly so as not to startle you. He set it down on the bed and then looked at you, concern flickering in his eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you mumbled, pressing a hand to your throbbing cheek. "Just a little dizzy."

"Right." Rafe opened the kit and began to rifle through it, pulling out a bottle of disinfectant and some cotton pads. “This is probably gonna sting,” he warned you.

“Do your worst.”

You managed to flinch only slightly as the cool, yet burning liquid hit your skin, with Rafe’s surprising gentle touch as he cleaned your wound. He put a small bandage on the cut, before sitting back to inspect his handiwork.

“I’ll go grab you some ice for the swelling,” Rafe then said, standing up. “No dozing off, though, a’ight?”

Without waiting for an answer, Rafe left the room, leaving you by yourself yet again. Even though he explicitly told you not to doze off, you laid down on the bed, figuring that it might make the pain a little less bad. As soon as your head hit the pillow, Rafe’s scent engulfed you, and you weren’t sure if you lying down in his bed was too... Intimate? Then again, he was the one who had left you in his bedroom by himself. Before you could sit up again, Rafe reappeared in the room, holding a bag of in his hand, an unreadable expression on his face as he took you in on his bed.

“Sure, go ahead and make yourself at home,” he huffed, but you could see the frown on his face. Rafe sat down on the bed next to you, carefully wrapping the ice bag in a small towel and pressing it against your bruise, his other hand cradling your face. Despite the ice on your skin, you felt your cheeks heating up.

It was odd. You’d never have expected that Rafe could be able to be so gentle, so caring, and you suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him.

“What’d you say to Topper?” you blurted out instead, breaking the silence. You reached up to hold the ice bag, and Rafe pulled his hands back, raising an eyebrow at you.

“What?”

“After he hit me. What did you tell him to make you leave?”

Rafe sighed, leaning back a bit, staring at the wall as his eyes hardened. “I reminded him of what he did to me when I… Hurt Sarah. Asked him if he was willing to beat me to a pulp for my sister, what he thought I’d do to him for hurting her.”

His eyes flickered back to you.

And you.

You let out a breath at the pregnant pause, scared he’d say something he couldn’t take back. Something real. Maye you had been flirting with him, but so what? There was no harm, they were just words. Right? But admitting something real? That was a whole other story.

“Who would’ve thought Rafe Cameron could be so nice?” You said instead, a teasing lilt in your voice.

Rafe snorted, shaking his head with a laugh, the moment dissipating. “Yeah yeah, don’t get used to it. It was a one time thing.”

“Right, right, we wouldn’t want people to think that Rafe the Kook prince actually has a heart.”

“Does that make you the Pogue Princess then?”

“What?” you asked, flushing. “Where’d you get that idea? That’s obviously Kie.”

“Come on,” Rafe huffed, rolling his eyes. “Kie’s half Kook. And don't even start with my sister. Sarah’s… Half and half, at least.”

You eyed him in amusement. It was clear that he’d spent a good amount of time on that analogy.

“What about Cleo?” you asked, humoring him.

“Ehh. She would’ve made a good Pogue princess, too bad you’ve already taken the spot,” Rafe said with a shrug. “Pogue Princess. Flirts with everyone, heart of gold, never hesitates to get right between a brawl to help out a friend and to call people out on their bullshit…. Should I continue?”

“Please don’t,” you laughed, pressing the ice bag to your cheek. “You’re talking shit out of your ass right now.”

“I’m talking shit out of my ass? You’re the one saying everything that comes to your mind to stop yourself from kissing me right now.”

What?

“What?”

You never thought he’d actually say it out loud. Mention the elephant in the room. The tension you had been trying to ignore all this time. The silence that followed was deafening as you tried to find the right words, your heart beating in your chest.

“In your dreams,” you muttered hotly, repeating your words from earlier in the evening, looking everywhere but at him. It didn’t take long for Rafe to grab you by the chin gently, forcing you to look at him, his eyes piercing yours.

“In my dreams, yes,” he said quietly, inching so close that his warm breath was fanning across your face. “What about yours, princess?”

Gaping at him, speechless, you knew you didn’t have long until Rafe would take your silence as rejection. Your mind was racing, but ultimately, you leaned in, closing the gap and finally kissed him. Rafe let out a soft grunt, dropping his hand from your chin and cupping the back of your head instead to press even closer to you. The kiss deepened, becoming more passionate, as you finally admitted the attraction you felt to another, but you pulled away, when you felt a tad too dizzy.

“Right, shit,” Rafe cursed, knitting his brows together, examining your cheek. “Got too carried away.”

You flushed, handing him the small ice bag, that was more or less a bag of water now. Rafe dumped it in the trash next to the nightstand, before turning back to you with a smirk.

“Took you long enough.”

“Shut up,” you huffed and Rafe only grinned, pushing your hair out of your face, where it stuck to your wet cheek. You leaned in for another kiss, only for Rafe to stop you, holding you back.

“Nuh-uh. You get better first. Next time, I want you to get dizzy because of my mouth and not because you just got punched in the face.”

“You sound real confident there will be a next time,” you pointed out.

Rafe sighed, faux-exasperation. “Princess, don’t act dumb, it doesn’t suit you. You really think I’ll let you go after you’ve professed your love for me?”

“After I did what?” you shrieked in laughter, and Rafe only laughed. It was nice seeing him laugh for real for once, not the smarmy, smirk he used to do. After your laughter subsided, your pursed your lips, serious.

“You know my friends won’t take this well, right? Especially Pope.”

Rafe ran his hand over his buzzed hair, exhaling softly. “I know. But I won you over, didn’t I? Rest will be a piece of cake.”

“I’m serious, Rafe.”

You gave him a look and he leaned down, clasping his hands in his. “So am I. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have been trying to make things up to him, to Sarah. To everyone. It might take a while… And I don’t blame him.”

“As long as you’re aware…. Now, can we get back to kissing?”

“Didn’t you just hear what I said?”

Pushing your lower lip forward, you pouted at him. “One kiss.”

Rafe stared at you for a hot second, frowning. “Fine. One.”

But when he leaned down to give you a chaste kiss true to his words, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of you.

"Jesus, are you trying to kill yourself?" Rafe hissed, but you only cackled, almost taking your bandage off in the process.

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author's note: pls leave a comment/reblog/like if you liked it🥹

#rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #drew starkey #obx #outer banks

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