#scribbled this so quick in response

[bellandeano]

LETS FUCKING GOOOOO canon vampire minhkhoa khan. once again i experience what it is to win

[keeps-ache]

I AM SPEED

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

FIREFLIES NEVER CAME ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; your seat is close to the heater. that’s the only reason gojo comes there to warm up.

word count; 4.2k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, teen!satoru, set in a canon au, mutual pining, fluff, a little bittersweet (melancholic winter vibes <3), introvert/extrovert, reader is antisocial and dense as a brick (black cat vibes :3), also kind of self-deprecating, satoru is very shoujo manga coded, just lots of puppy love!! feat. wingman!suguru <3

a/n; this wasn’t meant to be a fic …… it was gonna be really short and sweet ……… (T_T) anyway i am very fond of this reader/character dynamic so i hope you enjoy reading abt my emotionally stunted kids 🫶 biggest mwah in the world dedicated to professor logan (@staryukis) for teaching me about physics so i could find a loophole in satoru’s infinity :3c all for the sake of lore-accurate (kinda) fluff <3

”what are you listening to?”

your seat is close to the heater. 

it was nothing but a lucky draw, on your part. yaga-sensei was organizing the desks on your first day, and so he gave you the first choice; one you had no trouble making, latching onto the chair in the very back, right by the window. right by the sole heater of the room. vital for surviving your chilly winter classes. 

so there you sit. warmth sneaks through your fuzzy socks, tends to your restless legs; your feet tap and tap on the cold floorboards, in rhythm with your never-ending thoughts, planets out of orbit.

through the fogged-up, frosted glass of the window to your left, you observe the world. headphones safe and snug and covering your ears, muffling all grating noise. you watch as snow falls, wholly entranced, eyes stuck on the icy snowflakes descending from the wool-gray sky — blanketing the frostbitten landscape of the courtyard. it’s pretty, all those skeletal trees, glittering and gleaming like they have something to say. sometimes they look like stars.

”… hey. did you hear me?”

gojo is being particularly chatty, today.

out of the corner of your eye, you see him wave his hand right in front of your face. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s rude; he must be used to all eyes being on him, from the moment he speaks.

with a flutter of your lashes, you lift your weary head. just to meet his gaze, the blurry shine of your own visage, reflected in his circle-frame glasses. a soft tilt of his head, and then his lips are twitching upwards, just barely, snowy strands gliding across his forehead and falling over his face. like an excited puppy.

”what are you listening to?”

you read the words off his lips, all sound muffled by your headphones. quick to lift one of your hands, pulling one of the heavy cushions away — letting all white noise in the room flood your senses. the snarls of the wind outside, ieiri’s laughter, the scribbling of geto’s pen against paper. monotone. loud.

it’s overwhelming, but a small price to pay. his voice is softer than usual, during moments like these; there’s a pleasant lull to it.

gojo tips his head to the right, still awaiting your response. all you can do is stare, watching your own reflection, fingers gripping onto the edge of your desk. as if seeking to ground yourself.

with a spoonful of hesitance, you part your lips.

”… do you like music?”

the words seep out into the air, a softly exhaled breath. gojo watches you, silently, for just a moment.

then he gives you a shrug.

”i guess?” he hums, shifting his weight from one foot to another — hand slipping into the pocket of his uniform. ”that’s more suguru’s thing.”

ah.

your mouth forms around the syllable, as if responding, but not making any sound. gaze fleeing from his glasses, crumbling under their weight, straying towards the frosted window to your left. safe, familiar, rotting trees and twitching branches. snow just as pure as the boy in front of you.

silence overtakes you both, once more. 

”... not gonna answer?” he asks, with another tilt of his head, absently rocking side to side as he lets out an exhale. ”is it a secret, or something?”

(it is, you think. but you can’t say it out loud.)

before you can part your lips again, the classroom door slides open — and you know it’s yaga-sensei just by the way his feet hit the floorboards, the decisive weight behind every step. you know even before he’s telling you to get back to your seats. 

on cue, gojo stands up straighter, shooting you another glance. bright-eyed, easy-going, every star in the sky leaping out from the glimpse you get of his eyes when he angles his body. two blue pools, flecked with white, like frozen puddles in the street. 

and then he’s strolling away.

gojo leaves, and you take off your headphones; stretching your legs underneath the desk. reaching for your ballpoint pencil, flipping open your textbook, and indulging in sleepy blinks, as yaga begins to drone on and on. you stifle a yawn with the sleeve of your blazer, resting your jaw on the heel of your palm. eyes inevitably straying towards a head of white hair.

but your name is called before you can get lost in your daydreams. 

”page 27, from the top.”

your chair scrapes against the floorboards, as you sluggishly stand up. holding onto your textbook, flipping the pages until you land on the correct passage. with shaky hands, not enough to notice, you read out loud; voice controlled, almost monotone. all you can think is that you feel his frost-clad eyes on you, from the row straight ahead.

but you continue to speak. you speak until you reach the end of the page, until you’re allowed to take your seat again, happy to feel the warmth of the heater radiate against your legs. it’s this warmth that’s important, the most important thing of all.

without it, gojo wouldn’t bother to stop by your desk.

nearly every recess, as soon as yaga leaves the classroom, he’s waltzing over — leaning against the wall, stretching his arms out, purring contentedly as heat spreads throughout his body. you think he must run cold. chatting with you, just to pass the time, just until your teacher comes back. just to warm up.

then he’s leaving, again.

that’s all it is. a cold boy, and a heater by your desk — a conversation that otherwise wouldn’t have occured. even the strongest is vulnerable to changes in temperature, you suppose.

though if warmth is all that binds him to you, it’s bound to dwindle away.

(you’re sure he’ll stop as soon as spring comes.)

the next day, gojo is nowhere to be seen. you saw yaga-sensei drag him out of the classroom this morning; something about a clan meeting, something you weren’t paying attention to.

but now you wish you had.

(it’s quiet, without him around. eerily so.)

with nothing to lose, and nothing else to do — you push your chair away from your desk, and walk up to your classmate, a question on your mind.

”… music? are you looking for recommendations?”

you nod. 

geto blinks. caught off guard, you’re sure, surprised that you’d approach him without any prior coaxing. he’s usually the one striking up a conversation with you, like a responsible class president, making sure the weird kid doesn’t feel left out. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s patronizing.

”hmm... well, that depends.” he gives you a smile, soft around the edges. it never feels as genuine as gojo’s, but it’s calming. ”what kind of music do you usually listen to?”

…

you glance down at the floor. bundling up the cuffs of your uniform, fingers clawing softly at the fabric, bottom lip trapped between two sets of teeth.

”… what kind of music does gojo like?”

silence. your words are barely spoken, just above a whisper, just like always, but geto picks up on them anyway. you can tell he does, can feel the weight of his keen eyes on your face. analytical.

then he parts his lips.

”… ohhh.” a low hum, ripe with meaning, buzzing at the bottom of his throat. the corners of his lips quirk up into a knowing smile. ”i see.”

heat rushes to your cheeks, blossoms under your skin. if he notices, he’s even more composed than you thought he was, because he doesn’t mention it. only continues to speak, in that soothing voice, crossing his arms in silent thought.

”hmm…” you follow his gaze, out towards the window, the same webs of frost as always. it’s not snowing, but you still can’t see the blue of the sky. ”i’ve never seen him listen to music before, so i wouldn’t know.”

you can’t help but deflate, at that.

geto only smiles. exhaling, through his nose, mildly humoured — though he’s good at hiding his amusement. ”… what do you think that means?”

a blink. your lashes flutter, as you gaze up at him. 

”… huh?”

”satoru doesn’t listen to music, but he wants to know what you’re listening to.” he says the words almost coachingly, like he’s listing off a string of numbers. you realize he must have been listening in on your conversation, but it doesn’t bother you nearly as much as his tone. ”what do you think that means?”

…

(you haven’t got a clue.)

geto lets out a chuckle, laced with mirth, no longer trying to hide it. paired with a soft shake of his head, a crinkle to the corners of his eyes. ”why do you want to know about his taste in music, then?”

(… that’s a good question.)

he seems to notice your hesitance, your apprehension, the way your teeth seek to trap your bottom lip; always the victim of your muddled mind. you know the answer, of course you do — but it isn’t something you want others knowing. 

thankfully, geto breaks the silence for you.

”i don’t think you need to try so hard, when it comes to him.” his voice is soft, almost sincere, something warmer than usual. glancing away when you meet his eyes. ”… he isn’t worth the effort, anyway.”

but that’s where he’s wrong.

satoru gojo is a special case. a special person. in the orbit of your life, there’s no star you’d rather keep — no one quite as ripe with colour. 

geto couldn’t possibly understand, because gojo is always with him — always orbiting around him. he always will, until you graduate, probably even beyond that. geto has him. they’re the strongest, a pair, always matching their steps to one another. but you only have these quiet days, these chilly classes in between never-ending missions — and that’s all.

when the frost outside the window thaws, gojo will surely stop visiting your desk. your lonely little world. 

that’s exactly why — you need to find a song. if you just teach him about something wonderful enough, if you can give him something other than warmth…

(… maybe he’ll stay with you even after spring comes.)

”next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?” 

geto’s suggestion breaks you out of your thoughts. when you raise your head, to meet the warm pools of amber in his eyes, he gives you a smile. there’s nothing patronizing about the way he’s looking at you now — if anything, you think it may even be slightly fond, but you can never tell what he’s actually feeling. he’s frightening, like that, always a mirror to his circumstances. a chameleon, tilting his head at you.

… though you can’t help but fall victim to the kindness in his eyes. the velveteen purr of his voice.

”i’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

a nervous pit opens up in your chest, an empty space that gnaws incessantly at your heart. will he?, you want to ask, but it feels like the words are made out of lead. you can’t get them out of your throat.

”… okay,” is all you end up whispering, a soft lull of your tongue. ”i’ll try… thank you.”

geto rewards you with a full smile.

”don’t mention it.”

spring is closer than you thought.

it’s all you can think, when you step onto the pavement, when you feel the morning air gnaw at your frostbitten cheeks. it’s freezing, it’s winter, but the signs of changing seasons are still there — a lonesome snowdrop, the crackle of an icy puddle beneath your feet. the frost is beginning to thaw. 

in a month or so, spring will be here — there’s no stopping it.

”did you bring your card?”

your headphones rest around your neck, allowing you to listen in on your classmates' conversation. all four of you are together, for once, all first-years, walking towards the nearest konbini — at gojo’s insistence. 

it’s been a week since you had that talk with geto, but you still haven’t made any progress with him.

”huh? was i supposed to?”

”… are you kidding me?”

you glance up at the pair. always walking just a little bit ahead, their tall statures obscuring the view in front of you; shoko lags behind, with lazy steps, a trail of tobacco drifting out into the crispy air. all while snowflakes fall from the sky, gently, landing in your hair, on your shoulders, melting on the inside of your palm when you hold it out to catch them. watching as they turn into droplets of water, slip through the gaps between your fingers. 

someone taps your shoulder.

geto has snowflakes stuck in his hair. they’re melting, in the strands of ink-black framing his face, matching the colour of the thick polo jacket he’s wearing. a bright red scarf is tied around his throat, and there’s a weighty look in his eyes — something telling.

a silent cue.

he falls back, slowly but surely, into ieiri’s lazy pace. not before murmuring something unintelligible to gojo, and shooting you a wink — one that makes you frown, confused, a low heat blooming at the base of your spine and crawling up your neck.

and then you realize what he’s done.

gojo is looking right at you, through the black glass of his specs. only wearing a baseball jacket, no gloves or scarves to keep him warm, despite the harsh bite of the open air. for a guy who runs cold, he must not put much thought into his clothing. 

more importantly…

it’s just the two of you, now.

you blink at him, silent as a mouse. it only takes a moment for him to start moving, for you to follow, taking your place beside him while staring right ahead. if he’s bothered by geto slinking away, he doesn’t show it — only continues to walk.

”… that’s so unfair.”

gojo’s voice breaks the silence. you turn your head to gaze at him, the way his lips wrap around the vowels, haphazardly hanging onto every word he speaks.

”just ’cause i have clan money,” he kicks at a pebble on the side of the road, wisps of white hair swaying with a shake of his head, ”suguru thinks i should pay for our snacks. isn’t that unfair?”

you hesitate. then you nod along, absently.

he seems to take that as a yes, because it makes him brighten — as if gleaming with your approval, standing a little straighter, puffing out his chest with an exhale that turns into white smoke.

”right? they only give it to me because they want me to come back to kyoto, anyway…” he trails off, holding the tip of his tongue between his lips. ”… not that it matters. anyway, i just think he’s oppressive.”

”… mm.”

from this angle, you can see a sliver of his eyes. can see the way he steals a glance at you, without even turning his head — hands slipping into his pockets. there’s a moment of silence, until he’s parting his lips again. 

”… i can buy some for you, though.” 

(you barely pick up on the words, spoken almost in a whisper — as if an afterthought.)

he clears his throat.

”… if you don’t have the money, i mean.”

you can’t help but blink, at that — lashes fluttering in rapid succession, wondering if you heard him correctly. he doesn’t seem keen on elaborating, though. walking on, ignoring all snowflakes descending from the sky, eager to nuzzle in between his locks. his infinity keeps them out. 

”… why?”

it’s all you can say. all you can verbalize.

(in a story like this, why would the brightest star of all orbit around someone like you?)

gojo gives you another glance. his iris cuts into your skin, observes you on what you’re sure must be a molecular level. he lets silence linger, for a moment, tipping his head back to look up at the sky.

gray, and more gray. flecks of white. you’d see the same thing he does. 

”hmm…” he lets out a breath, head falling forward again, snowy strands ghosting against the skin of his forehead. ”let’s call it a trade.”

another series of blinks. 

gojo turns towards you, then — a fresh grin blooming on his lips. white teeth, pink gums. it makes him look boyish, innocent, just another city boy with too much time on his hands.

”i buy you snacks — and you tell me what music you’re always listening to.” he bends his body forward, tilts his head at the same time, all lanky and charming, like a big cat. ”deal?”

you stay silent.

he’s looking at your headphones, still left neglected around your neck. your gaze falls down to the icy concrete, the thin layer of frost, waiting to be melted by the first sunrays of spring. whenever that will be. 

geto and shoko are still behind you — you can hear their low, muffled chatter, smell the remnants of tobacco in the air. and you swear you can practically hear geto’s words, echoing through your head.

(why do you think that is?)

gojo is still looking at you. expectantly, lips curled up into a lazy smile. he’s waiting, you know he is, and you also know he isn’t very good at that. you know a lot of things — what you don’t know is what to say. you don’t know if you can believe in whatever geto was insinuating, don’t know if you can grapple with your own longing to do so. 

(next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?)

geto doesn’t get it. he doesn’t know what your feelings towards gojo truly look like. doesn’t know that what’s on your mind when he’s around is always something horrifically embarrassing. something like, i want to know more about you, or maybe i wish i could tell you more about me. something awfully cheesy, like — i’m jealous of how bright you shine, but i can’t help but like you anyway. 

if i become your friend, would it be okay to say i understand your loneliness? that i notice it, even just by a fraction?

would that be okay with you?

(words that should be left unspoken.)

”… well, it’s not like you have to.” gojo exhales, again, the words a heavy weight seeping past his throat. his shoulders slump, as he turns forward, fingers trailing up to scratch at the back of his neck. 

all you can think is that he’s getting ready to leave. that nothing will change, at this rate, that spring will wash winter away. that geto should be more direct with his advice, and that if it’s not the music itself that gojo is interested in knowing more about, then surely —

” — i don’t listen to anything.”

gojo stills. the words have flown past your lips before you can reach out and grasp them, slicing through the open air.

he spins around, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose at the sudden motion, exposing his widened eyes. those white lashes, fluttering softly, like a pair of doves eager to get above ground. you grip onto the insides of your pockets, warm and cozy against your freezing hands — it grounds you, keeps you tethered down to earth, down to him. 

”music,” you continue, sputtering slightly, as if your lungs don’t quite know how to work under pressure. winter air seeps into your windpipe, cuts the skin there. ”i don’t listen to music.”

you lift your hands, fingers curling around the soft earmuffs wrapped around your neck, hesitantly meeting gojo’s gaze — an overlapping sequence, blanketing his view. then you’re gazing down. 

”it’s just… comforting,” you try to explain, speaking softly. ”to wear them. white noise.. tires me out, so…”

the sentence trails off, unfinished. you feel silly. silly for saying anything at all, for building it up so much. silly for being the way that you are.

but when you look up at gojo, he’s brightened like a star.

white teeth, pink gums, that breathtakingly boyish grin. his blue eyes gleam with colour, almost spilling over the corners, like watercolour paint on a too-small canvas. he tilts his head, looking at you carefully, as if truly seeing you for the first time; absently swaying side to side. 

if he had a tail, you’re sure it’d be wagging.  

”i see!”

a silent breath spills into the air. your lips part, but no sound comes out, only vapour; heart pumping blood through your writhing veins, warming you up from the inside, a co-conspirator to the heat blooming in your cheeks. gojo continues to speak.

”i guess that counts,” he nods, crossing his arms with a satisfied hum. ”alright. i’ll get you any snacks you want! you can be greedy, it’s okay.”

a murmur of thanks escapes you, although you’d like to tell him there’s no need. something tells you denying him this would be like taking another step backwards, in this budding connection between you.

(… if you can even call it that.)

geto and ieiri catch up to your unmoving figures, finally, and only then does gojo spin on his heel and pick up his previous pace. calling back to you over his shoulder, a smile you can’t see but still hear.

”just don’t give any of it to those two, yeah?”

”cheapskate,” ieiri calls back, lone cigarette hanging between her lips. geto lets out something like a chuckle, his shoulder brushing up against yours.

you watch gojo’s back as he moves forward. unbothered, untethered. you think of him a snowflake in the breeze.

spring is almost here, now. it’s a bittersweet feeling, to know your conversations during recess will surely dwindle out — but at least you’ll have had this. one normal conversation, the knowledge that he was curious about you, even if you may just be the classmate by the heater in his eyes.

you’re too cold to keep him warm all on your own, so there’s no helping it. you’re willing to accept that some stars only show from the surface during winter. 

you’re willing to accept this. it aches, a little, but you’ll be okay. 

”i’ll take it things went well, then?”

geto is wearing his signature smile, when you look up at him. an expression of carefully concealed composure, lips curled up, but a knowing look in his eyes — something that borders on teasing.

you give him a nod, a bow of your head, to silently convey your appreciation. chameleon or not, you don’t really mind his ways. it’s hard to fake the warmth in his voice, when he speaks.

”i’m glad.”

the two of you watch gojo’s back, like birds gazing out at a body of water. silence lingers.

”won’t that moron get cold?”

ieiri’s voice cuts through the mold of your mind, low and gravelly, right beside you. she’s pointing towards gojo — the flimsy jacket he’s wearing. 

you’re wondering the same thing.

geto casts her a glance over your head, before gazing down at you, seemingly noticing your curiosity. he lets out a low hum; reaching a hand out to brush away the snowflakes on his shoulders. 

”temperature,” he begins, slipping his hands into his pockets; that familiar coaching tone to his voice, purposefully slow. ”is just a measure of atoms in rapid motion.”

you tilt your head, in tandem with ieiri — looking to your classmate for further elaboration. he seems to enjoy your confusion, lips curling up just a bit. gojo calls out to you, in the distance, waving both his hands, and geto returns it with a wave of his own.

an amber eye flicks towards you, an explanation on his tongue. ”his infinity can regulate that motion.”

… another tilt of your head.

geto lets out an amused breath. it scatters out into the air, a cloud of smoke, almost a chuckle.

”basically…” he sighs. ”he does just fine, in the cold. don’t worry about it. he’ll keep himself warm.”

ieiri mutters something, beneath her breath, something like you could have just said no, but you don’t really hear it. you think your heart must have climbed up, somehow; got caught in your windpipe. 

ah.

gojo can keep himself warm.

the thought spins inside your mind, over and over, a realization that makes your inner palms feel clammy. stupid, silly, this pitter-patter of your heartbeat. but what else could it mean? if the cold doesn’t bother him, if he doesn’t run cold, then…

(he wouldn’t need it. he wouldn’t need it here, wouldn’t need it during recess, within the chilly walls of your classroom. he wouldn’t need it to stay warm.

gojo isn’t after your heater. if that’s true, then…)

…

you bury your nose in the soft wool of your scarf. breathing in the fading scent, vanilla and cinnamon, grounding you to earth, lingering in your nostrils. distracting you from the rush of warmth, that blooms in the frostbitten apples of your cheeks. 

as if sensing your thoughts, or maybe just noticing your embarrassed expression, geto laughs — soft and breathy, shoulders shaking to your left. you hear it, only nuzzling deeper into the comfort of your scarf. feeling your heartbeat spin out of orbit.

in the distance, gojo continues to wave, yelling out something unintelligible. you could mistake him for a star.

spring is almost here, now. in just a month or so, it’ll be at your doorstep — waltzing right in. 

(but you aren’t worried.)

[sturnioz]

‘SEVEN DAYS’ — CHRIS STURNIOLO

pairing. chris sturniolo x fem!reader. genre. established relationship au, smut.

word count. 16.6k.

❝you can handle me for seven days.❞

content warnings. crack humour involved, crude jokes, explicit content, multiple sex scenes, oral (female and male receiving), unprotected sex, bathroom sex, backshots, riding, car sex, kitchen sex, anal, dirty talk, heavy petting, creampies, hair pulling, squirting, spanking, | nicknames like 'baby', 'babe', 'ma', and 'mama' are used throughout.

# ( PROLOGUE )

“What are you doing?” 

Your eyebrows pull together as you step into the room, your gaze immediately landing on Chris, who's seated at the kitchen table.

He's hunched over, chunky headphones covering his ears, a rainbow of coloured pens scattered around him—some uncapped and rolling close to the edge of the table as his hand moves quickly, scribbling something on a sheet of paper.

Strands of curly hair have fallen into his face, concealing most of his expression, but even without seeing his eyes, you know that look—the one where he's so lost in focus that the rest of the world doesn't even exist to him right now.

Turning your head, you spot Nick and Matt in the living-room. Matt is sprawled across the couch, his legs stretched out comfortably while his thumb idly scrolls through his phone. Nick sits on the other end, his feet propped up on the coffee table with a bowl of popcorn balancing in his lap, his attention fixed on the tv screen.

You glance back at Chris, still oblivious, deciding to try a different approach as you shift your gaze back to the boys.

"What is he doing?"

“I have no idea. He won’t tell us, and honestly? I don’t give a fuck,” Nick responds without looking away from the screen, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth before continuing. “But we actually have some peace and fucking quiet for once, let’s not bother him—please.”

With a crease in your forehead, you cross the room to approach the kitchen table, setting your bag down on the edge with a soft thud, hoping the sound will draw Chris attention.

It doesn't.

Instead, the noise seems to have caught Nick and Matt’s attention as their heads abruptly snap in your direction almost in unison.

Matt's gaze narrows in irritation, his brows furrowing slightly as he shoots you an unimpressed look. Nick, on the other hand, raises a finger to his lips in an exaggerated shushing motion, and you retaliate by flipping him off, ignoring his dramatic response of wide eyes and placing his hand on his chest as if you brutally offended him.

Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, you fill it with water, glancing over at Chris as you take a sip, hoping to catch even the slightest bit of acknowledgement, but he remains blissfully unaware. His head still bent low, hand darting across the paper in quick scribbles.

Letting out a quiet sigh, you abandon your efforts and decide to join the others, allowing Nick to tug your arm and pull you down beside him. The sudden movement sends your glass wobbling, but you manage to keep a firm grip before any water spills.

Nick throws a blanket over the two of you and nestles against your side, barely giving you any time to adjust before he shoves the popcorn bowl into your lap, offering you some.

You reach into the bowl and grab a handful, savouring the buttery, sweet taste that melts on your tongue as you chew, your gaze flicking to the TV where a heated argument is happening between the couple on the screen.

“She needs to dump him immediately,” Nick scoffs, gesturing towards the screen with a dramatic wave of his hand. “If someone ever talked to me like that, I’m karate chopping their head off their fucking neck.”

“She actually spoke to him like that first, though,” Matt murmurs from your right without looking up from his phone, his thumb still scrolling as he speaks. “She said somethin’ about his personality — like it was borin' or whatever.”

Nick slowly turns his head to look at Matt, blinking comically. “And I thought you said you weren’t interested in watching this show?”

Matt finally lifts his head, his eyes narrowing as he shoots Nick a flat look. “Kid, you got the fuckin’ volume on eighty or some shit.”

“Excuses, excuses… blah, blah, blah—”

Matt cuts him off, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Real fuckin’ mature, kid.”

Nick leans back against you comfortably, unbothered with the fact he's pissing Matt off. “Blah, blah, blah—”

The bickering continues back and forth for a while, their voices overlapping with each other, and you shake your head, taking another sip of water as you watch them both—but before Matt can fire another response back, a new voice breaks through the conversations. 

“I didn’t know you were here…” The unexpected interruption pulls your attention away, and you glance over your shoulder to see Chris rising from his seat at the kitchen table, his movements slow as he pulls off his headphones and sets them down with a quiet clink before he makes his way toward you with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

Without another word, Chris slides into the gap between you and Matt, squeezing himself beneath the blanket that covers you and Nick—his lanky limbs awkwardly tangling with yours as he settles in, and he wraps himself around you tightly.

He buries his face in the crevice of your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he exhales deeply, his body melting into yours. 

Nick huffs loudly, shifting away as Chris’ hand accidentally brushes against his head, and he lets out a dramatic groan as he sits up straight. His head had been resting comfortably on your shoulder just moments ago, but with Chris now firmly in place, he’s been forced away.

Chris doesn’t pay Nick the slightest bit of attention. Instead, he presses a series of soft, feather-light kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck, and you find yourself smiling as his arms tighten securely around your waist.

Matt glances over, his brow lifting in curiosity. “What were you doin’ over there?” he asks, nodding toward the cluttered kitchen table. When Chris doesn’t respond, Matt’s eyebrows furrow in annoyance. “Alright, cool, I’ll just go fuck myself then.”

Chris barely lifts his head, his voice muffled against your neck. “None of your business anyway.”

Matt lets out a scoff and rises from the couch, announcing that he’s heading to his room for the rest of the night, and he throws a glance at Nick who’s already tossing the blanket off his lap, seemingly doing the same thing.

Nick stands up and stretches lazily, his shirt riding up slightly. “Yeah, I’m out too. I’m not gonna sit here and be third-wheeled, thank you very much.”

With that, Matt disappears down the hallway to his room, and Nick heads upstairs to his, leaving you and Chris alone in the living-room. 

Chris finally lifts his head from your neck once the quiet settles in, and his fingers touch your cheek as he gently turns your face toward his. His eyes meet yours for a moment before he draws you closer, his lips brushing yours in a tentative, tender kiss.

You respond almost immediately, shifting to wrap your arms around his neck and pulling yourself closer. Chris tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss as his lips part against yours, his tongue sliding into your mouth as the kiss becomes slower—more intimate. 

You both stay like that for a while, the soft sounds of your kissing blending in with the TV in the background along with the blanket that rustles in your laps. Eventually, you pull back, your chest rising and falling steadily as you catch your breath, and Chris presses on last chaste kiss to your lips.

"What were you doing earlier?" you ask curiously, hoping to get a response from him this time.

Chris grins as he tugs you up from the couch, and he leads you back to the kitchen table, where his pens are paper are still scattered across the messy surface. The sheet of paper he'd been scribbling on earlier sits in the centre, and he slides it toward you, turning it so you can see clearly. Your eyes flit over the page, taking in the messy but colourful layout.

The title, 'SEVEN DAYS' is scrawled across the top in bold letters, with scribbled notes and doodles through money to sunday in small boxes.

Your eyebrows knit together as your finger traces the title, "You made a calendar?"

Chris shifts closer to you, his arm draping casually over your shoulder. "It's a little somethin' we're gonna be doing for the week."

The corner of your lips lift in a pleasant surprise. "You planned dates for us?"

Chris shakes his head, his grin turning mischievous. "Not exactly."

Before you can press him for more details, he pulls out his phone, unlocking it quickly with a swipe of his thumb. He angles the screen toward you, showing a video of a couple dedicating a challenge to a popular song.

At first, you don't noticing anything unusual about the video, until the lyrics of the song becomes clearer, and the activities written on that couple's calendar comes up which makes your eyes widen and mouth part in shock.

"You... made a sex calendar?!"

"Hey, hey—easy..." Chris shushes, using the hand draped over your shoulder to clap it over your mouth. "You wanna say that shit louder next time?"

You glare at him, your expression deadpan, your lips still pressed against his palm. Chris holds your gaze for a moment before his grin starts to creep back, and he taps your mouth lightly with his fingers, as if to tease you, before finally lowering his hand.

"It sounds crazy, I know—" he says, holding his hands up defensively as you continue to stare at him in disbelief. "But c'mon... you're not a little bit interested?"

"You're crazy," you murmur, stepping away from him to take another look at the calendar he's created, staring at the spaces that are still blank, left for the two of you to fill in. "There's, like, no way we can actually do this for seven days."

Chris hums softly, and you feel the warmth of his best pressing against your back as his hands rub your shoulders, his fingers finding the spots where your neck meets your shoulders, gently kneading the area in slow, deliberate circles as he leans in close to your ear.

"You know you can handle me for seven days."

# ( MONDAY, DAY ONE )

Your eyebrows knit together in your half-asleep state, a tired noise emitting from you as you feel a weight nestled between your legs—gentle hands prying your thighs apart. You exhale deeply and shift in bed, trying to turn onto your side but a breathy gasp escapes past your lips when you feel warm air blowing against your clit.

You stir awake, vision blurred and lashes sticky with sleep as you weakly push yourself up on your elbows, gaze falling down to a mess of curly hair between your thighs. You squirm when you feel the similar warm air blowing again, but Chris’ hands hold your hips to the bed, forcing you to remain still as he glances up at you.

“I’ve been waitin’ for you to get up,” Chris hums against the skin of your thigh where he presses gentle kisses, his eyes locked on yours. His lips curl into a smirk once he pulls away, “Why you starin’ at me like that?”

“Just… wondering what you’re doing.”

Chris clicks his tongue against his teeth as he tuts, shaking his head as his grip tightens on your hips. “Don’t tell me you forgot already… it begins today—seven days, remember?” 

You breathe out, “I didn’t think you were serious about that.”

“I’m serious about everythin’ we do,” Chris drawls. He shifts between your legs, his hands moving from your hips to lock around your thighs. “Get comfortable f’me, baby. I want breakfast in bed to start off m’day.”

You snort, wanting to respond but you are lost for words when he presses his mouth to your pussy, licking a wet stripe through your folds before stopping to toy with your clit, swirling the wet muscle around it.

You moan quietly as your body slumps back against the mattress, your fingers tangling through his hair. His tongue dips down to your entrance, prodding teasingly at your hole and he pushes the tip inside, eliciting a louder noise from you.

His eyes flit up to you, a warning look in them to be quiet and you nod your head, sinking your teeth into your lower lip to conceal your noises as your grip tightens in his hair, moving your lower half in an attempt to grind against his face. 

You can feel Chris’ smirk against you, his tongue pushing through your hole and wiggling as his hand comes down to thumb at your clit, and your legs quiver, getting closer to your orgasm much faster than planned. 

Fingers twist in Chris’ hair as your back arches against the bed, your head thrown in pleasure—but you let out a choked cry when you feel his mouth let up from your pussy. His hand slides up the length of your body, pushing your chest down before a firm hand grips your chin, forcing you to look down at him.

He moves his mouth back down, lips suctioning around your clit and a suppressed cry leaves your lips, lashes fluttering against your cheeks as your eyes close from pleasure, but with Chris’ grip on your chin, he shakes your head to get your attention.

“Eyes open,” He orders, words muffled. “Keep ‘em open f’me—I know you can do it.”

You nod your head, keeping your eyes open to watch Chris go back down, his tongue lapping the length of your pussy and you bite down harder on your bottom lip, your fingers gripping his hair tightly.

He eats you out as if he’s starved all while his gaze is locked on you, making sure your own eyes remain open. With the hand that’s not gripping your chin, he’s pinning you to the bed when your hips twitch, groaning against your cunt, and the vibrations cause you to let go of your lip as your mouth drops open, panting heavily. 

The sounds from between your legs are disgusting; your gushing pussy, his tongue lapping you up through heavy grunts and moans, and one specific flick of his tongue sends you over the edge, your body trembling as your orgasm washes over you.

Chris continues licking you through your high, loosening his grip on your chin to slide his hand down to your stomach, stroking the skin to soothe your heavy breathing, only stopping when you tug at his hair from the oversensitivity. 

He’s grinning as he crawls up your body, slotting himself between your legs and pressing his lips to yours, and you immediately taste yourself on his tongue when it slides into your mouth, causing you to moan softly as you circle your arms around his shoulders.

Chris parts away to glance down between your bodies, his breathing laboured as he fists his cock—freed from his plaid pants a while ago, and he rubs the head through your soaked folds, tapping the tip against your clit before his head raises up to meet your gaze.

“You good?” He asks, and you nod your head, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Alright, just—just keep quiet f’me.”

With another nod of your head, Chris pushes his hips forward, sinking into your warmth. 

You gasp in his ears, letting go of the curls at his nape to grab his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin as his cock stretches out your walls, filling you up. He shoves his face in the crook of your neck, thrusting in and out of your pussy slowly. 

He feels good—too good to keep quiet and you press your mouth to his shoulder, muffling your moans as your walls squeeze around him, suctioning him in deep which causes his chest to vibrate with a groan.

“That’s it—fuck,” Chris mumbles in your ear. “Keep squeezin’ me in like that, baby.”

You follow through with his request and your walls clamp around his cock, causing Chris to fuck you harder against the bed. He raises his head, wetting his bottom lip before tucking it between his teeth as he stares down at you, the headboard rocking against the wall with each deep thrust.

He reaches his hand up to press his palm against it, holding it to the wall to prevent any more noise. You would’ve been delighted if it wasn’t for his cock rubbing against your inner walls, pushing you closer and closer to the edge, the band in your stomach tightening with each thrust of his hips.

The pleasure builds between your legs and you struggle to hold it back, your teeth immediately sinking into Chris’ shoulder to conceal your noise as you cum, your cunt clamping around him and drawing him towards his own orgasm.

“Shiiit,” He grunts in the crevice of your neck, coating your insides with cum, filling you up.

His thrusts are slower—steady movements that have his lower half rubbing over your clit, making your spine tingle and toes curl in bliss. Soon, he comes to a stop and rests his body weight on top of yours, pressing light, feathery kisses to your sweaty skin as the both of you try to catch your breath. 

When Chris finally moves to pull out of you, he sits up on his knees, head ducked to watch his cum leaking out of you with a grin, and his eyes flit up to yours with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows which results in you kicking him weakly in his side.

“Okay, okay,” Chris laughs, grabbing your ankle to stop you. His thumb strokes across your skin as he murmurs, “Y’know… I think I'll be down for more than seven days if I can see this view all the time.”

“Seven days is more than enough,” You giggle as you push yourself up on your elbows, squirming slightly when you feel his cum drip. “You can barely last three anyways.”

“Wha—ow,” Chris frowns, offended. His eyebrows knit together as he glances down at his cock that's softening against his thigh, “You really think lil’ Chris will be all worn out by Wednesday?”

Your amusement immediately washes from your face as you stare at Chris with a deadpan expression, “Don’t ever call it that again.” Chris opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head quickly. “No—no. Just help me to the bathroom so I can pee and have a shower.”

Chris takes his hand in yours as he slides off of the bed, pulling you up with him. His arm slides around your middle, helping you waddle to the bathroom and he flips on the light switch. You sit down to relieve yourself as Chris turns on the shower, his hand outstretched as he feels the temperature of the running water. 

Chris takes a breath when he turns to you, “But d’you really—”

“Chris.” 

# ( TUESDAY, DAY TWO )

Setting up one of Tara Yummy's infamous parties on a Tuesday evening wasn't exactly on your to-do list for the week. But when your best friend called you up, her voice filled with excitement and a hint of desperation, you couldn't say no.

You'd promise her once—probably more times than you could count—that you'd always be a helping hand when she needed it. And Tara? She always needed it.

Two hours of frantic shopping, hanging up decorations, blowing up an army of inflatables for the pool, and preparing far too many jello shots later, you find yourself standing in the middle of Tara's room, finally able to breathe.

You turn toward the mirror, fingers tying the strings of your red bikini top around your neck as you take a moment to analyse your reflection. You make sure everything is in place—secure and snug to be risk-free of any wardrobe malfunctions.

You twist your body to the side, checking the fit from a different angle as you fix your shorts until they sit just right on your hips.

"You look hot," Tara says from her spot at the vanity, her gaze flicking to you through the mirror. She's holding an eyeliner pen steady in one hand as she purses her lips, leaning closer to check her reflection. "Do you think we bought enough alcohol?"

You scoff lightly, adjusting the dainty necklace around your neck. The charm—a small, delicate 'C'—rests against your collarbones as you secure the clasp. "Yes, Tara. The price on the receipts proves it. Also, Jake and Johnny said they're bringing in a few more boxes when they arrive."

Tara perks up at that, her brows lifting in surprise. "They did?"

"They texted in the groupchat earlier."

Tara spins in her chair, snatching her phone off the vanity with one hand while the other swipes at the screen. Her perfectly glossed lips twist into a small pout as she scrolls through the endless flood of messages in your groupchat, and after a moment, she makes a small noise of acknowledgement, her nails tapping rapidly across the screen as she types out a response.

A second later, your own phone pings from its spot in your bag. You glance at it briefly but don't bother picking it up, already knowing it's something Tara had replied to the others.

"Anyways," Tara hums, setting her phone down to finish the last touches of her eyeliner. "Run me back through what you were saying earlier—about this calendar stuff."

"Chris found this challenge on TikTok called 'Seven Days' or something like that," you begin to explain to her. "It's basically where you have sex for seven days straight, and he decided to make a whole calendar for it."

"That's so crazy to me," she snorts, her dark eyes wide with amusement. "Also, I'm, like really surprised it was him who suggested it. That seems way more like a you thing."

The corner of your lips twitches, fighting back a smile. "You'd be surprised."

"And this all started yesterday?" she asks, one brow arching inquisitively, and you nod your head to confirm. "Okay, wait, so... did you do anything today?"

"No, because someone—" you pause, shooting her a pointed look that makes her grin innocently. "—dragged me out of the house at 10 o'clock this morning for breakfast, and a two-hour shopping trip for her party."

Tara snorts unapologetically, before she straightens up. "Wait. Does that mean Chris is going to show up here all cranky and sexually frustrated?" Her eyes widen dramatically as her hands fly to her temples, rubbing hard. "Please tell me he's not going to ruin the vibe. I can't handle moody people at my party—it stresses me out. Not good for my energy."

You shrug your shoulders with a teasing smile, refusing to get her an answer. Tara lets out a drawn out groan, throwing her head back like she's just been dealt with something awful, and the exaggerated action makes you cackle.

Once the laughter fades, you both turn back to the mirror, putting the final touches on your outfits and ensuring your makeup is perfect. Once feeling ready, the two of you click together a pair of shot glasses filled with tequila to kickstart the night, and you welcome the familiar burn that slips down the back of your throat.

It doesn’t take long before the guests to start arriving in groups, and you and Tara head downstairs to the lively party area, greeting her guests and mutual friends with warm smiles and compliments on their beach-inspired outfits before you move through the crowd, scanning faces for one in particular.

But before you can find him, you're momentarily caught up in conversations. Familiar faces stop you to chat, and a few strangers introduce themselves, exchanging names and socials with you. You lose track of time as the party buzzes around you: drinks are flowing, music is thumping, and some are screaming over party games.

It's only when you glance toward the far end of the kitchen that you finally spot him. Chris stands there with Nick and Matt, his signature red cap perched backward on his head, and a grin plays on his lips as he listens to whatever Nick is saying.

Your chest tightens with excitement, and a wide smile spreads across your face as you bound over to him.

Chris notices you immediately, his eyes lightening up as you approach. He licks his lips, adjusting the brim of his cap before leaning toward you. His arm slides around your waist, his palm resting at the small of your back as he pulls you into his chest.

Slotting his lips against yours, warm and firm, he kisses you deeply for a few moments. Then, with a grin tugging at his mouth, he trails a series of playful smooches along your cheek and down your jawline, hearing him chuckle against your skin as you giggle at the ticklish sensation.

“Alright, enough,” Nick interjects beside you both, nursing a red solo cup in one hand while using the other to slide his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “It’s already nauseating seeing so many people all up on each other… I do not need to see you two doing it too.”

“Shut up, Nick,” Chris huffs as he pulls his face away from you, giving his brother a hard but playful glare before turning his attention back to you. His hand stays on your lower back, his thumb stroking your skin softly in a soothing motion. “You look good, baby.”

"Thank you," you say with a soft smile, leaning in to kiss Chris briefly. As you pull back, you can't help but snort at the lipstick mark left on his lips, using your thumb to wipe it away while his fingers absentmindedly toy with the necklace around your neck, fixing the charm.

"Are you drunk already?" Matt's voice cuts through the music, his gaze fixed on you as he squints like he's trying to figure out if you're drunk or sober.

"I had four shots, asshole," you retort, shooting him a playful look. "Are you drunk?"

"I'm the driver, kid—use your brain," Matt teases, holding up a soda can in one hand and jingling his car keys in the other as if to drive his point home. You immediately flip him off, making him laugh as he takes a slow sip from his drink.

The rest of the night flows seemingly well, and you stick with the triplets for most of the party, occasionally slipping away to mingle with others alongside Tara, who keeps a tight grip on your hand and a drunken smile on her face. You both catch up with friends, dance to the music, hand out jello shots, and throw inflatables into the pool for others to grab.

You are having fun, but every so often your gaze drifts toward Chris, who is in the middle of a heated beer pong game with Matt and a few other guests. He catches you staring, flashing you a grin and a wink that makes your chest flutter.

You watch as he lines up his next shot with confidence, his arm steady as he tosses the ping pong ball that lands perfectly int he cup, and the kitchen erupts into cheers. Chris throws his arms in the air in celebration, laughing hysterically as Matt tackles him in a tight hug, the two stumbling slightly.

Nick, standing off to the side filming the entire thing, looks utterly stunned—his jaw hanging open in a mix of shock and impressiveness.

You decide to head over to congratulate Chris and re-join them, but before you can take a step, a hand grips your arm and tugs you back into place.

"Where are you going?" Tara slurs as she stares at you with wide, glassy eyes. Her flushed cheeks and unsteady stance make it clear she'd had more than a few drinks, especially with the grip she has on your arm. "Join me in the pool!"

You laugh, shaking your head. "I'm not going in the pool. I'm gonna go see Chris."

Tara pouts dramatically, her grip loosening but not quite letting go. "You're no fun. Party pooper," she sighs before scrunching her nose and grinning at you mischievously. "You're totally gonna go hook-up, aren't you?"

Your eyes widen at the volume of her voice, and you laugh again as you try to hush her. "Tara—"

"Yeah, yeah, whateverrrr," she interrupts with a dismissive wave, smacking your arm lightly. "Go have fun—but my room is off-limits. Use one of the upstairs bathrooms, nobody's allowed up there anyway."

"Tara—"

"Shhhhhh," she drawls, pressing her finger to your lips to silence you. You stifle a laugh, but remain quiet for her to speak. "Go complete date two... and don't forget to tell me all the juicy details later. I'm so serious."

Shaking your head, you smile despite yourself and give her a quick hug, feeling a twinge of guilt for leaving her—but you know Tara is more than capable of keeping herself entertained.

Turning back toward the kitchen, you weave your way through the crowd until you reach Chris, and he lifts his head as you approach, his grin widening when he sees you. His arm is draped casually over the edge of the ping pong table, but his focus shifts entirely to you as you slide into his side.

His arm curls around your shoulders automatically, his fingers brushing against your skin as they toy with the strap of your bikini. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his breath is warm against your skin, and the small gesture fills you with a sense of calm and comfort.

"You good?" he asks, his voice low and quiet as he murmurs in your ear.

You hum in response, leaning up to bring your lips close to his ear instead as you whisper your request for him to follow you upstairs. His gaze sharpens slightly, and he nods without hesitation, keeping his arm securely around you as the two of you move toward the stairs.

Tara’s makeshift ‘NO ACCESS’ sign dangles loosely from the railing, and you peel it away with a smirk before leading Chris up to the second floor. The noise from the party fades slightly as you slip down the hallway and make a beeline for the bathroom at the far end.

The air feels cooler here, quieter, and as soon as you step inside, the door clicks shut behind you. You fumble for the lock, but before you can secure it, Chris' lips meet yours with an intensity that sends a thrill through you.

His hands find your hips, tilting his head to the side to deepen the kiss and you melt into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck as you kiss him back.

Chris grins against your lips as he feels you tug at his hair, and he squeezes your hips, pulling you flush against him as he deepens the kiss, his tongue gliding across your lower lip. You part your lips, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, pressing you against the cold bathroom counter as his hands slide down to your ass, giving it a playful slap.

Chris bites down gently on your bottom lip, tugging it with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch in your throat.

His chest rumbles with a deep chuckle as he kisses you again, his tone low as he utters, “Turn around f’me.”

You obey, turning around, laying your palms flat against the countertop as you meet Chris’ eyes in the reflection of the mirror, feeling hot under his gaze. He trails kisses across your shoulder blades, his hands coming around to caress your stomach before moving down to the waistband of your shorts, popping open the buttons and dragging the material down your legs along with your bikini bottoms. 

Chris fumbles with the belt on his own pants next, his teeth biting his bottom lip as he frees himself, his fingers gripping his cock and giving a few lazily tugs before tapping the head to your puffy folds. You hum softly, leaning your forearms on the countertop, arching your back and pressing your ass against him, coaxing him to thrust inside already.

“Need you to relax f’me…” Chris murmurs softly, one hand massaging your hip as the other still holds his cock, positioning himself. “Just relax n’ take it, yeah?”

You don’t even have time to respond properly, only a quiet whine seeping past your lips as Chris pushes his hips forward. Your mouth drops open in a silent gasp at the stretch, unable to stop your legs from trembling as Chris continues to ease his cock inside your warmth.

“Shiiiiit, ma…” Chris hisses through his teeth once your ass is pressed to his hips—skin against skin. He grabs your arms and pulls them behind your back, bending you further over the countertop and locking you in place as he drives his cock inside of you at a speed you struggle to comprehend—your head dropping forwards with incoherent sounds spilling for your lips as he fucks you.

Chris moans each time he pounds into you, and you involuntarily squeeze your walls around him when his cock probes the spot deep within, toes curling in your shoes. He meets your gaze in the mirror and your mouth hangs open, wheezing short and quick breaths, unable to keep your eyes on him as they roll to the back of your head. 

“Hey—hey… c’mere..” His hands remove their grip from your arms to wrap around your middle instead, pulling your back to his chest to keep you upright.

Your head slumps back on his shoulder, your fucked out expression sending a shiver down his spine.

“Look at you, ma. All fucked out on my cock… your pretty pussy can’t get enough of me, yeah? Want me that bad? Ha… look at you, mama, you’re droolin’.”

He continues to whisper nothing but filth in your ear as his hips thrust at a brutal pace; the sound of skin hitting skin echoing in the room, completely overtaking his hoarse moans and your pathetic whines.

You’re already cumming before you even recognise it, a choked moan leaving your lips as the coil in your stomach snaps, and your core clamps down on his cock as your high hits you with an intense force. Chris fucks you through it, pressing sloppy kisses to your cheek while filling your insides with his own cum.

“You’re good, baby… you’re good,” Chris praises quietly as his motions begin to slow before coming to a stop, rubbing soothing circles into your skin as he gently kisses your shoulders and neck this time—helping your shaking body come down from its intense high.

You wince when Chris carefully pulls out of you, but you’re more than pleased when he turns you around, propping you against the counter and wiping the mess between your legs with gentle caresses. He throws the tissues into the toilet and helps pull your bikini bottoms and shorts up your legs, fastening the button with a smile on his lips.

“Fuckin’ in Tara’s bathroom was not on the calendar, but m’not mad about it,” He murmurs, his gaze flitting up to meet yours as he fixes your necklace. “She’s gonna be super fuckin’ pissed when she realises that some of m’kids are—Ow… really?”

# ( WEDNESDAY, DAY THREE )

Your eyebrows knit together as you stare down at the calendar resting on your lap, the faint rustling of paper breaking the silence. The Wednesday section catches your eye, where 'you can pick' is scrawled across the square in Chris' messy handwriting.

Your thumb lingers near your mouth, teeth grazing your nails as you bite down in deep concentration. Pursing your lips, you push yourself off the bed, the calendar in hand as you make your way out of Chris' bedroom. The soft padding of your bare feet against the flooring is the only sound as you climb the stairs toward the kitchen area.

The house feels oddly still, eerily quiet.

Matt and Nick had left earlier, their voices echoing through the halls as they shouted quick goodbyes, and you’d heard the slam of the garage door and the low rumble of the car as it started up, fading into the distance.

Now, it’s just you and Chris. Alone.

As you reach the kitchen, you spot him standing by the table, holding a can of pepsi in one hand while his other hand is occupied with his phone, scrolling through messages.

His brow is furrowed in that familiar look of focus, the faint glow of the screen reflecting in his eyes.

"Hey…" you call softly, your voice breaking the stillness in the room.

Chris looks up from his phone, and his expression softens almost instantly as a small smile tugs at his lips, watching you approach.

You hold up the calendar, pointing to the scribbled words with a furrowed brow. "What do you mean, ‘I can pick’?" Chris blinks, his gaze shifting from the calendar to your face, amusement flicking in his eyes as he replies, "It means you can pick."

You scoff lightly, giving him a pointed look as you cross your arms over your chest. "Didn't I technically pick yesterday? I'm the one who wanted to hook-up in the bathroom at Tara's house party."

"Sure," he concedes with a hum, a sly grin creeping across his face in a way that makes your stomach flip. "But, y'know... I was the one bendin' you over the bathroom counter and—"

"Okay!" you cut him off quickly, biting down on the inner skin of your cheek to keep yourself from laughing.

Chris chuckles, clearly pleased with your reaction, and he sets his phone and soda down on the kitchen table with a soft thud, then steps closer to you. His hands find your waist first, sliding around to rest low on your back, just above the curve of your ass as he pulls you in.

"Am I really picking what we do today?" you ask, your voice softer now, raising your eyebrow.

"Yeah," he murmurs, his lips brushing lightly against your neck as he plants a trail of kisses there, sending shivers skittering down your spine as he nibbles softly. "S'all up to you."

His words linger in the air as his fingers trace slow, lazy patterns against your back. It's hard to think straight when he's this close to you, when his lips are this soft against your skin, when the scent of him completely wraps around you.

"All up to me, huh?" you repeat, tilting your head back to look at him properly.

"Mhm," he hums as his eyes meet yours, his voice dropping as his hands slip a little lower. "No pressure, though."

You pause for a moment, a thought bubbling up in your mind. "For the entire challenge, do we both have to cum?"

"Uh, yeah," Chris answers almost immediately, giving you a look that suggests you're being a bit ridiculous asking that question. "Are you dumb? What's the point in doin' this shit if we're both not gettin' off?"

"I get that, but... I'm still pretty sore from yesterday."

"Sore?" he repeats, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Then, a smug grin spreads across his face, seemingly proud of himself as his arms tighten around you. "Really? Didn't think I fucked you that hard, babe."

You roll your eyes, unable to suppress a smile as you playfully pinch his side, causing Chris to hiss through laughter, his body jerking in response. He loosens one arm around your waist to grab your wrist, stopping your miniature attacks

He breathes out steadily through his nose, the sound low and intimate, leaning in to plant a soft peck to your lips—the sweetness of the gesture sends a flutter through your chest.

"What do you want me to do? Hm?" He asks quietly, his voice low as he presses another gentle kiss to your lips, lingering for just a moment longer before pulling back. "Want me to make it feel better?"

You watch as Chris drops to his knees before you, his hands gripping your hips firmly to press you against the kitchen counter. You can’t bring yourself to tell him to stop when you watch him slowly pull down your sweatpants and underwear, finding the sight of him on his knees too hot for you to handle, especially when he leans in to bury his face between your thighs, eyes locked on yours. 

He presses gentle, loving kisses to your folds and you let out a soft moan, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth as your hand comes down to rest on top of his head, your fingers threading through his hair as you feel his tongue massage the tender skin. 

The tip of his tongue traces the length of your slit before circling around your swollen clit, keeping his movements slow as he alternates between long languid strokes along your cunt and delicate clicks against your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

A muffled noise seeps past your lips when Chris parts your folds carefully with his thumbs and drags his tongue through your arousal, resuming his familiar swirls around your clit before drawing it into his mouth to suck gently. 

Chris angles his head, his nose now bumping against your clit as his tongue probs your entrance, poking somewhat teasingly before sliding inside, stroking your inner walls.

He’s still gentle, allowing your aching cunt to adjust to the sensation before he starts thrusting his tongue, one hand curling around your body and gripping your ass, pulling you against his face as you writhe—hips uncontrollable.

At the same time of curling his tongue inside of you, brushing over the spot that has you seeing stars, he brings his free hand up to rub circles around your clit with his thumb, adding an extra layer of stimulation that causes your moans to fill the room. 

You struggle to warn him when you feel the knot in your stomach tighten, when your toes curl in your socks and legs tremble as your orgasm hits with force.

You’re cumming on his face, and Chris happily laps up everything you’re giving him, tongue brushing at your spasming walls. He doesn’t let up until he’s sure you’ve ridden out the last tremors coursing through your body, and you feel him chuckle against your skin when he sees you losing balance. 

He pulls back to look up at your face properly, keeping one hand gripped on your ass while the other holds your hips, keeping you upright. "You alright, baby?" 

You nod your head as Chris stands up, and he leans in to kiss you, but a surprised noise fleets past his lips when he sees you drop to your knees. You can tell he panics a little, his hands reaching out to assist you, but he freezes mid air when he feels your own wrap around his cock, spitting down onto his tip to lubricate him.

You want to return the favour—you’re eager too, especially after the mind blowing orgasm he just gratefully gave you. 

You give him a few slow pumps to start him off, hearing him groan above you, feeling his hand resting at the back of your head and guiding you closer to his cock. You take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his head, teasing his slit. 

“Ah… fuck,” Chris moans, his lips parting as he watches you bob your head at a leisurely pace, taking him deeper and deeper with each pass. You swallow around him, contracting your throat, causing him to hiss and jerk his hips forward at the feeling. 

You’re making a mess of him—drooling over his cock, gagging around him. Your eyes bubble with tears at the strain, and you moan when he rolls his hips against your face, fucking your throat gently.

When you look up at him, it’s the prettiest sight; his eyebrows pinched together in pleasure, mouth parted as he pants heavily, his eyes hazy. 

Chris’ breath comes out in ragged gasps as you continue, seeing the way your lips stretch around his cock almost makes him lose it, the pleasure building up inside him like a tight coil about to snap, and deep grunts and groans escaping him now and then as you push him closer and closer to the edge. 

"Shit," Chris’ voice comes out in a strangled whisper. "Please… d-don’t stop—fuck."

His free hand reaches out to grip the counter to ground himself and you close your eyes, pumping what you struggle to fit into your mouth as you continue to blow him, your other hand reaching up to fondle his balls, rolling them gently in your palm.

“Keep goin’... keep—fuck—keep lookin’ up at me,” Chris pleads, his breaths coming out heavy and laboured. 

You do as you’re told, opening your eyes, looking up at him through sticky lashes to see him already looking down at you, and he shakily exhales as he loosens his grip on your head to push the hair out of his face.

He lets out a shuddering moan as he feels you use your tongue on the underside of his cock, his body arching even more towards your mouth as the sounds of slurping and moaning fill the room.

He suddenly speaks up in a shaky, pleading tone, his words coming out in desperate gasps. "Please… don’t stop… don’t—don’t stop… fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop… please—"

You moan at his pleading, and his hips twitch at the vibrations, his cock slipping back down your throat and making you gag around him again. You continue focussing on your breathing and relaxing your throat, listening to him whimper as his hand resumes gripping your head. 

A low guttural moan escapes his lips as he stills, shooting warm, spurts of cum down your throat, and you swallow every drop before releasing him from your mouth with a pop, licking your lips clean as you look up at him with a smile. 

He pants heavily as he stares down at you, hair tousled, face flushed—he looks like a wreck, and you’re proud knowing that you’ve done that to him. Although, the smug expression slips off your face as you squeal when he pushes you down onto your back, pushing between your thighs, hovering over you. 

Chris palms at himself, jerking his cock back to life, and you spread your legs further apart to accept him inside greedily until you hear a car door slam from the garage.

Are they home already?

You and Chris stare at each other with wide eyes, filled with shock, desperation and need, before you both shoot up to stand on your own two feet, quickly adjusting your clothes to act as natural as you possibly can. 

Chris is in the middle of stuffing his cock back into his sweats when Matt appears at the top of the stairs, swinging his car keys around his fingers, but immediately stopping when he looks at you both.

"I don’t want to know," Matt says, shaking his head with a grimace as he walks toward his room. "I really don’t." 

# ( THURSDAY, DAY FOUR )

Maybe wearing a dress today wasn't the smartest idea—or maybe it was, depending on how you look at it.

The summer heat is relentless, the kind that clings to your skin and makes the air feel heavy even inside the house. The air conditioner is doing its best, but it's no match for the blazing sun streaming through the windows.

A short sundress seemed like the perfect solution at the time—light, breezy, comfortable—but now, as you lounge idly in the living room, sipping on a cold drink, you're starting to realise the consequences of your own actions.

Chris can't stop staring.

You're not even doing anything—just scrolling through your phone, your legs tucked up on the couch as you take slow sips of your drink, but even with your attention elsewhere you can feel his gaze.

It's subtle at first, little glances that linger a second too long on your exposed skin, but soon, it's impossible to ignore the way he gawks—his focus clearly not on the camera that's filming him and his brothers, nor is his focus on the conversation happening around him.

"Would you stop?!" Nick's voice cuts through, and you glance up just in time to see him swat Chris lightly on the back of the head. "Are you even paying attention right now? We're filming."

Chris blinks, wrinkling his nose as he huffs. "I am payin' attention—and don't hit me like that, I'll knock your fuckin' teeth out."

"Kid thinks he's tough," Matt chimes in, leaning against the counter with a smirk. "Or he's actin' tough in front of his girlfriend."

You pretend to be engrossed in your phone, but the corners of your lips twitch as you fight back a smile, hearing Chris mutter something under his breath—likely a string of curses and minor threats—but the teasing doesn't stop.

"Just focus," Nick says, fixing the items spread out on the table as they get ready to try and bake something. "You're just standing here like a fucking idiot not doing anything."

You glance back up from your phone, finally meeting his gaze, and he smiles at you softly, which you immediately return. You take another slow sip of your drink, deliberately holding eye contact for just a moment longer, stretching out your legs purposefully before looking away.

In the corner of your eye, you see Chris snort and shake his head, prodding his inner cheek with his tongue at your audacity as he awkwardly—but subtly—fixes the front of his jeans away from the camera and brothers.

It continues like that for a long while—Chris sneaking glances at you while trying to balance his focus on filming the video. You've caught him staring at least ten times now, and every time his eyes linger, you can't help but smirk to yourself.

But, to be honest, you're not making it easy for him either.

Stretching lazily on the couch once again, you let your sundress ride up, exposing more of your thighs as you scroll through your phone, pretending to keep yourself busy. You don't even need to look at him to know he's already looking at you, especially when you hear him stop mid-sentence as he talks to the camera, trailing his words.

You gnaw on your bottom lip to keep yourself from laughing as you hear Matt scold him for not making sense, and you shift again, your dress hiking up just a little more as you lean over to reach for the glass on the coffee table, taking slow, deliberate sips, letting your throat bob before setting it down again.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Chris glance over—his gaze zeroing in on the bare skin of your thighs, and this time, you make it known you're doing it on purpose.

You let your fingers trail lazily along the edge of your dress, smoothing the fabric over your legs, the movement subtle enough that it could be seen as innocent—if not for the slight head tilt and cheeky smile on your slips.

Chris shifts uncomfortably where he's standing, clearing his throat as he tries to regain focus. Luckily, his brothers are too busy arguing over the ingredients to notice him, but you catch the way his jaw tightens and his hand flexes at his side.

When Matt tells him to crack the eggs into the plastic bowl, Chris barely registers the request, his eyes flicking to you one more time before he steps forward, grabbing the bag of flour instead which makes Nick throw his hands up.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Nick shouts, exasperated.

You can't help but let out a quiet laugh at that, and Chris' head snaps toward you, his eyes narrowing. Yet, you shrug innocently, feigning ignorance as you pick up your drink again, but you're not done yet.

This time, you shift again, letting the small strap of your sundress slide off your shoulder. You don't bother fixing it right away, leaving your skin bare as you rest your head against the back of the couch, arching yourself in a way that you push your chest out, acting as if you're just trying to get comfortable.

Chris visibly falters.

"Chris," Matt snaps. "What is wrong with you?"

Nick follows Chris' gaze, his eyebrow raising as he looks between the two of you, and it takes him about two seconds to figure out what's going on. "Oh, it's you."

Chris shoots him a warning look. "Don't."

Matt looks confused for a second before the realisation hits, chuckling softly. "Can you two, like, stop for five minutes?"

You feel a little guilty for distracting him, but even as they continue filming, you can't help but not stop.

You cross your leg over the other, letting your dress ride up again as you trail your fingers along your collarbone absentmindedly, toying with the strap of your dress. Every little movement is obviously calculated, made to pull his attention away from filming and make him fumble.

By the time they wrap up filming, Chris looks like he's barely holding it together, and the moment they do the outro, Chris practically beelines over to you—his brothers' laughter fading into the background as he grabs your wrist and pulls you up to your feet.

"Come with me." he demands.

"Hm?" you reply, feigning innocence once again as he drags you toward the stairs, pulling you down them quickly. "What did I do?"

Chris doesn't answer, but the heat in his eyes says enough, and you're excited. He doesn't stop walking until you're both downstairs, and he pulls you into his bedroom and shuts the door firmly behind you—the click of the lock echoing in the quiet room, and you barely have a moment to register what's happening before he's on you.

His hands are on your waist as he backs you up toward the bed, his lips pressing to yours in a kiss that's full of heat and frustration.

"You think you're funny?" he mutters against your lips, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes with a teasing grin, your own voice breathless. "... maybe a little."

Chris huffs out a laugh that has an edge to it, and his hands slide down to the hem of your sundress, his fingers brushing over your thighs as he grips the fabric tightly. He lifts the dress higher, and the air feels cooler against your exposed skin, but the heat radiating from Chris' touch makes up for it.

His lips find your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin there, and you instinctively tilt your head to give him more access while his hands roam over you, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its path.

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers tangling in his hair as he works his way down your neck, his lips and teeth skimming your skin just enough to make your breath hitch.

"You've been drivin' me fuckin' crazy all day," he murmurs, his voice muffled against your skin. "Sittin' there, lookin' so good... actin' like you didn't know what you were doin'."

You tug lightly on his hair, pulling his head back to meet his eyes. His eyes are dark, full of lust and need, and it makes your heart race and your pussy ache.

"Maybe I wanted to drive you crazy," you tease lightly. "I like seeing you like this."

Chris lets out a low moan, his hands tightening on your waist as he presses you down onto the bed, "Careful, baby," he warns you, though there's no real threat in his tone.

You grin, craning your head up to press your lips to his, cutting off whatever he was about to say next. The kiss is slower this time—deeper—but no less intense as his hands slide up your sides, brushing over the thin straps of your dress before slipping them off your shoulders.

The fabric falls easily, pooling around your waist and leaving your bare chest exposed to his hungry gaze. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaning down to lick and kiss at your breast, capturing your nipple between your teeth.

You mewl softly, arching your back into his touch, your grip tightening on his hair before letting go to tug at his shirt upward.

"Off," you plead weakly.

He doesn't hesitate, his lips leaving your skin to pull his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, allowing you to take a moment to appreciate the sight of him; his slightly toned chest, the way his muscles flex as he moves, the flushed look on his face.

Chris hovers over you, his weight balanced on his forearms as he gazes down at you, his lips parted slightly. The tension between you both feels intense, the air thick with anticipation as his thumb brushes gently over your cheek, a surprisingly tender gesture.

He leans down to nudge his nose against yours before capturing your lips in a kiss, more hurried and deep as his hands slide back down your sides, gripping your hips to pull you with him as he switches your positions for you to straddle him while he leans up against the headboard.

The fabric of your sundress is still bunched around your waist, and it doesn't surprise you that Chris keeps it on while he fingers hook beneath the waistband on your panties, awkwardly sliding them off your legs and throwing it aside.

Your bare cunt presses against the zipper of his jeans, and you moan softly, rolling your hips down onto him as he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder for a moment.

As he presses a series of kisses down the column of your neck, your body reacts—your back arching as breathing hitching once again as his lips move lower, his hands exploring every inch of you.

You tilt your head back, your eyelids fluttering as you let yourself get lost in the moment, feeling his cock twitch beneath you.

"Chris..." you murmur his name softly, and it makes him pause, his head lifting up to meet your gaze with a hum in response. "I need you—need you inside."

Chris nods his head eagerly, patting your hip for you to raise up on your knees to give him space as he undoes the buckle on his jeans, shimmying the leather strap free. He works his jeans and boxers down to his thighs, not bothering to rid them completely, just enough to free his cock from the confinements.

It springs up, thick and hard, the flushed mushroom tip already glistening with pre-cum, eager to be tucked inside your warmth. His hands settle back on your hips, his thumbs rubbing circles on your hip bones as he guides you to hover over his cock, the heat of your pussy making his chest rumble with a moan.

You grip the base of his cock, positioning properly at your opening, biting down on your bottom lip at the feeling of him nudging against your puffy folds. With a deep breath, you move, sinking down onto him, impaling yourself on his cock in one smooth motion, letting out a choked gasp as he fills you.

A guttural noise rips from the back of Chris' throat as your inner walls grip around him tightly, his fingers digging into the meaty skin of your hips as he fights the urge to thrust up and burying himself balls deep.

His gaze drifts lower, fisting the hem of your dress to lift it up, fixating on where you're both join—mouth drying up at the obscene sight of his cock disappearing between your folds, wet and glistening with arousal.

You start to move, slowly at first, rolling your hips in a circle to adjust to the size of him, feeling him stretch your inner walls to fit him in snugly. Then, you begin to rise and fall, picking up speed as you get into a steady rhythm, his name falling from your lips repeatedly like a prayer.

You grip his shoulders for balance, helping you bounce up and down as Chris' hands slide up your back, pulling you close to kiss you. His tongue slips into your mouth, devouring the sounds of your whimpers and moans, feeling the way you easily glide up and down his cock.

He breaks the kiss only to nip and suck at your jawline, working his way down your neck where he could gently bite down on your pulse point, and you let out a broken sound, your movements stuttering.

"ah, fuck... jus' like that" he urges, rolling his hips upward to meet your uneven bounces. "take what you need, baby. use my cock—fuuuuck."

You increase the pace, sliding your arms around his shoulders to hold him as you bounce faster on Chris' lap, your gummy walls clenching him tightly.

You lose yourself in the pleasure, your breath coming in short gasps, drool seeping from the corner of your lips as you whine, "F-feels good—hng—I can't, I can't, I can't—"

He wraps his arms around your, crushing your breasts against his chest as he meets your frenzied pace, feeling your pussy fluttering wildly around his cock that pistons deep within, the gushy and wet sounds of your actions filling the air.

It pushes him closer toward the brink and he whines, "Shit, baby.. y'gonna make me cum."

A loud cry escapes your lips as your nails dig into Chris' shoulders, "Oh god—oh fuck! I'm—fuck! M'cumming!" you squeal loudly, your pussy spasming violently around Chris' cock, the contractions sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Your vision blurs, your mind going blank as you ride through your orgasm, your juices dripping around his cock while he slams up into you one final time, burying himself balls deep as he pulses and throbs, shooting hot spurts of cum inside your cunt.

His hips jerk erratically, grinding against your pussy as he empties himself, panting heavily against your skin as he feels your spongy walls squeeze around him rhythmically, milking every last drop of his cum.

Finally, with a shuddering sigh, Chris slumps back against the headboard while you collapse weakly on his chest, keeping yourself glued on his softening cock as cum spills from the overflowed hole, creating a sticky mess between your thighs.

You nuzzle your face in the crevice of his neck, seeking warmth and comfort as your thighs ache, barely able to support your weight. You feel drained, but pleased, your eyes glossy and unfocussed as Chris slowly slips himself free of your heat, leaving behind a trail of cum gushing out.

He shifts slightly, adjusting you both so you can rest comfortably on top of him, your head still nestled in the crevice of his neck as his hand gently strokes your back, pressing tender kisses to your sweaty temple.

# ( FRIDAY, DAY FIVE )

You're sprawled out in Chris' bed, the soft glow of your laptop screen illuminating the dark room as you watch an episode of your favourite comfort show you've seen a dozen times before. It's been a quiet, lazy afternoon, and you're perfectly content to stay holed up while the triplets are out.

But the sudden and heavy thud of the front door slamming open makes you sit up a little straighter.

The sound is followed by raised voices—angry and heated. You can't make out exactly what they're saying, but it's loud enough to echo through the entire house, and you're quick to pause your show, your attention now fully on the commotion.

Straining to listen, you pick up small bits and pieces of the argument.

"Are you fuckin' serious?" That's Matt's voice, clear and booming, carrying up the stairs.

"Yeah, I'm serious, kid. What's your problem?" Chris snaps back.

"My problem? My problem is that you're a fuckin' immature—"

"Please, for the love of god," Nick's voice cuts in, exasperated and annoyed, but not nearly as loud as the other two. "Shut the fuck up."

There's a loud crash—something slamming against a wall, maybe another door—and you flinch, your curiosity now fully piqued. What could they possibly be fighting about? It's not really unusual for them to argue, but this sounds... a little different.

However, you stay put, resisting the urge to go upstairs into the living-room to see what's happening. You just sit there, ears tuned to the muffled shouting as it continues to escalate. Chris' voice is the loudest while Matt's is angrier, more forceful. Nick seems to be playing the role of the mediator, trying (and miserably failing) to calm them both down.

After a few more minutes, the argument seems to abruptly cut off, leaving the house in complete silence—apart from the faint hum of the air conditioner and the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears.

You barely have time to decide if you want to continue staying put or go out and see them before the door to Chris' room swings open with enough force to make it bounce slightly off the wall.

He storms in, his face a mix of frustration and anger, his jaw tight and eyes blown wide. He's still breathing heavily, like he's just come from a full-on shouting match, and he looks like he's barely holding it together.

He stops in the doorway, his eyes locking on you as you sit up against the pillows, wide-eyed and a little startled by his sudden entrance.

"Chris...?" you say cautiously, sitting up straighter. "What's going on?"

He remains silent for a moment, taking a deep breath as he steps further into the room, his hands clenching into fists at his sides before unclenching, shaking the tension in his fingers.

"Get up."

You blink, confused by his sudden demand. "What? What? What happened?"

Chris doesn't elaborate further as he reaches for your wrist, pulling you up from the bed with more force than you were expecting. "We're goin'."

"Going where?" you ask, stumbling as you try to keep up with his strides as he leads you toward the door. "Chris, what the fuck is going on?"

He doesn't stop, his grip firm on your wrist as he pulls you out of his room and toward the garage door, his thumb idly stroking your skin.

"We're goin' to have sex in Matt's car." he says matter-of-factly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

You stop dead in your tracks, forcing him to pause outside the garage door and turn back to you. "I'm sorry—what did you just say?"

Chris exhales deeply, "You heard me. Matt pissed me off, 'n I'm gettin' back at him."

You blink at him again, your brain struggling to catch up. "By... having sex... in his car?"

Chris nods. "Yes."

"Chris, that's... that's insane," you say, though you can't help the small laugh that escapes you. "You're not, like, actually serious.. are you?"

His eyes narrow, deadpanning. "I'm serious."

You're still baffled, but the sheer determination in his expression—and the way he's already pushing open the garage door—tells you that he's not joking at all.

Part of your wants to argue, to tell him this is fucking ridiculous and unnecessary. But the other part of you—the part that loves his impulsive and chaotic side—can't help but find the whole thing intriguing.

"Okay, you're officially insane," you mutter, finally giving in as you follow behind him, allowing him to lead you toward Matt's car.

Chris glances back at you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he unlocks the car door, "Yeah," he hums, his tone lighter now. "But you love it."

Well... he's not wrong.

He pulls open the door and guides you into the back seat, and you glance around a little nervously as Chris climbs in after you, shutting the door behind himself. He turns to face you, his eyes burning with intensity in the dim light of the garage filtering through the tinted windows of the car.

"Y'know, I've always wanted to do this," he admits to you as he touches your hips, helping you manoeuvre onto your hands and knees in the limited space. He cups your ass, giving the covered skin a firm squeeze as he hums. "Havin' you bent over in the backseat, your pretty ass on display f'me to fuck. Thought it would be in my own car, but uh... Matt just had to piss me the fuck off."

You gasp when his hand comes down with a sharp slap, making your body jolt forward at the force and you reach out, steadying yourself with your own hand braced against the door.

"C-Chris—"

"We don't have much time," he reminds you, licking at his lips as he makes quick work of pulling down your sleep shorts, and Chris can't resist giving your ass another smack, watching the flesh jiggle enticingly. "Shiiit, look how we you are."

His fingers caress through your slick folds, dipping in between to stroke your slit with a satisfied hum, watching as you quiver beneath him in anticipation. He pulls his cock out of his sweats with practiced ease, slapping the tip against your puffy folds a few times before he pushes himself in, causing you to grip the seats hard, nails scratching at the fabric.

You push back against him greedily, seeking more friction and pressure as he slides in and out easily, keeping a steady rhythm before he picks up speed, his balls slapping against your clit.

The combination of having sex in Matt's car, stuck in the confined space, and feeling Chris' body over your sends you spiralling. You're aware of how exposed and vulnerable you are right now, how easy it is for you to get caught in this position—or even heard.

Plus, there's no barrier between your skin and the car, and you can feel your arousal dripping onto the seats below you, and how your heavy breathing fogs up the windows of the car.

Your other hand dips between your legs to cup yourself, your fingers grazing over Chris' cock that bullies your cervix, trying your hardest not to create a mess on the seats.

"Move your hand," Chris demands with a grip, his grip tightening on your hips, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the limited space. "M'serious. Move it."

"But.. but—"

"Don't give a fuck if you make his car messy, baby. Ruin the seats for all I care—Move. Your. Hand."

Chris' words are punctuated by each deep and harsh thrust, the lewd squelching of his cock plunging in and out of your soaked pussy, but suddenly, he pulls almost all the way out, only the tip remaining nestled inside.

You whine at the withdrawal, your body instinctively reaching back for him, craving the fullness of his cock he provided seconds ago. You risk glancing over your shoulder, gnawing on your bottom lip, your heart racing from the immense pleasure and the risk of being discovered in such a compromising position.

Chris traces a finger along your spine, his eyebrow raised in expectation, his gaze darting down to your cunt before meeting your eyes again.

He's waiting for you to remove your hand.

He wants you to make a mess in Matt's car.

The thought of it makes you moan quietly, and your hand drops back to the seat, only for it to be replaced with his own hand as it snakes around to touch your sensitive clit, causing you to release a high-pitched whimper.

Pleased with your reaction, Chris continues to rub circles while pushing his cock back inside, pressing himself fully against you before his hips snap against yours, the car rocking with the force.

You let out a choked gasp, your mouth stuck forming the perfect 'o' shape at the feeling of his fingers rubbing circles on your clit and his cock fucking your cunt. You struggle to hold yourself up by your arms, and you give out, slumping face first into the seats, drooling on the material without a care in the world.

"There we go, thaaaat's it," Chris coos, using his other hand that's not on your clit to stroke your back. "Make a fuckin' mess on the seats, baby. Gooood girl."

His balls continue to slap against your raw skin with every erratic pump of his hips, the obscene sounds mingling with your muffled whimpers and his grunts. Your body's buzzing, and your tummy tightens into knots, and you can feel the pressure building more and more—but you can't warn him, you can't find your words.

It comes faster than you anticipated, your pussy convulsing around him rapidly before squirting your release all over his cock, the wetness and the force causing him to slip out of you completely with a lewd pop.

Your body shakes, mouth agape in a silent scream, vaguely aware of the liquid gushing out onto the car seats as your walls clench and unclench repeatedly, the mess dripping down your already soaked thighs.

"Shit..." Chris stares in awe at the sight of your pussy, still twitching and releasing drops of liquid, pooling beneath you both.

His cock stands against his stomach, covered in your arousal, glistening under the dimmed light, and he reaches down to stroke himself, using the sight alone to get him off—panting heavily as he leans over you to cum all over your ass in quick spurts, watching himself create an even bigger mess.

"You good, baby?" Chris asks softly after a moment, leaning in further to get a closer look at you, pushing the hair out of your sweaty face with a tender touch.

You nod your head weakly, your mouth dry and throat coarse, and you wince as he takes a hold of your upper arm to sit you up, curling his other arm around your waist to keep you upright.

"We... we can't leave this mess here," you whisper, grimacing at the stains all over the seats, knowing you'll have to deep clean the fuck out of Matt's car before he figures out what has happened. Chris goes to protest, but you're already speaking up again. "What were you even arguing about?"

Chris purses his lips, scratching the back of his neck as he murmuringly admits. "He dropped my burger so I poured ketchup all over his."

Your head slowly turns to face him, almost comically, your face straight, unamused that the whole argument—the loudness, the slamming of doors, and the payback—was all because of something so mundane.

"Are you fucking serious?"

# ( SATURDAY, DAY SIX )

You're curled up comfortably on your couch, still in your pyjamas, a mug of coffee sitting half-empty on the table in front of you while a notebook filled with to-do lists sits in your hand, planning out your ultimate relaxing day.

Today is all about you.

You've planned out every moment; a long and relaxing bubble bath with your favourite scented candles, a little online shopping, making trying out a new dessert recipe you saw on Tiktok.

No interruptions.

No obligations.

Just peace and quiet.

The thought alone makes you grin as you lean back against the couch, pen in hand, tapping it against your notebook rhythmically as you finalise the perfect plan.

Until you hear the knock at your front door.

Your brow furrows slightly. You weren't expecting anyone, and your friends usually text you first to let them know they're coming over. You assume maybe it's a neighbour or even a delivery you're forgotten about, and you get up to shuffle to the door, pulling it open without much thought.

And there he is.

Chris stands on the other side, grinning widely, dressed casually in a oversized hoodie and sweatpants. He holds a cup of what look suspiciously like iced coffee—your favourite kind, and in the other, he holds a square-shaped calendar.

"Mornin' baby," he says, holding up the calendar and tapping it with his finger. "Guess what day it is."

You stare at him, confused. "What..? What are you—"

And then it hits you.

Oh fuck.

You completely forgot about the seven days challenge for a moment—so focussed on wanting to have a you day that it slipped your mind entirely.

"You forgot, didn't you?" he teases, his grin widening. "How can you forget? My dick not doin' it anymore for you?" he pauses, recalling the words he just said, the grin slipping. "Don't answer that. I'll die. I'm serious."

"I didn't forget, okay? I just..." you trail off, scrambling to find the best word to explain, though you know there's no excuse to save you now.

"Uh-huh, right," he hums, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he steps past you into the house, walking over to set the calendar and coffee down on your kitchen counter. "Good thing I remembered though. Otherwise we'd be missing out on day six, 'n that would be tragic."

You close the front door behind you, dragging your feet to follow him into the kitchen with your arms crossed over your chest, pouting. "But I had plans today..."

"Plans?" he turns to you, raising a brow. "Like what?"

You gesture vaguely toward the living room. "Like relaxing, watching my favourite show, maybe bake a cake or something."

Chris blinks at you, his face deadpan for a moment before he breaks into a slow smirk. "Wow. Amazing. You thought all that is better than having sex with me?"

Your jaw drops, and you glare at him. "Chris."

He smirks wider, completely unfazed by your warning tone as he jabs his finger repeatedly at today's date on the calendar, the sound of his finger tapping the paper. "We're supposed to complete the week, ma. C'mon... look what I have planned."

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you step closer, peering down at the calendar. Your eyes land on the scribbled word beneath today's date, and you immediately jerk back, your eyes wide.

"No. Nope. Absolutely not." you say, shaking your head so fast it's a miracle it doesn't fall off.

Chris tilts his head, "Why not?"

"Because!" you exclaim, pointing at the calendar like it's personally offended you. "You are not doing that to me, Chris!"

"Why not?" Chris repeats with a dramatic whine, stepping closer to you, his arms circling around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest.

You can’t stop the incredulous laugh that escapes past your lips, even as your arms instinctively slip around his shoulders for your fingers find their way to the nape of his neck, twirling the soft curls there, and his own hands tighten on your hips.

"You're not putting it in my ass."

"I honestly think it'll be fun."

"For you, maybe." you shoot back, trying your best to sound firm, but the way his fingers are kneading your hips is making it harder for you to stay serious.

Chris' grin only widens at your reaction, his eyes glinting with mischief as he leans in close, his nose brushing against yours. "C'mon... you might like it, y'know?"

You groan softly, your head falling forward to rest against his shoulder as you mutter, "I can't believe I'm even entertaining this conversation right now."

His arms tighten around your waist as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. "You're laughin' and smilin', baby... think you're already halfway convinced."

You pull back slightly to glare at him, though the playful glint in your eyes makes it obvious you're not really mad, or fully against the idea. "I'm not convinced... there's just no way I'm letting you put your dick in my ass."

Chris wiggles his eyebrows at you, "You say that now, but give it time, baby. I've got my ways."

And he does, he always does.

Because right now, you're sprawled out across your bed, skin bare, knees pressed to your chest as Chris' mouth latches onto your pussy, tongue swirling and lips suckling around your clit while his two fingers work inside your ass—covered in copious amounts of lube for a more easy access.

You take a shaky breath, wincing at the initial stretch of something foreign being inside you back there, but as he continues to apply gentle pressure along with the tender licks of his tongue on your cunt, you begin to slowly relax—your body yielding to his touch.

Chris watches your expression closely from below, taking notice of the subtle shift from discomfort to relaxation as he smiles against your folds, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your slit as he continues to stroke your inner walls with his fingers, maintaining such a steady pace that it has your toes curling.

Chris slowly withdraws his finger before gently pushing it back in, sinking it deeper this time, and your back arches with a quiet whine, gripping the sheets as he keeps his movements slow and controlled.

"I... I..." you speak breathlessly, unable to find your words as his free hand wanders up your torso to massage your breast, rolling the pebbled nipple to help distract you from any lingering discomfort, and it works.

Your eyelids flutter shut, lost in the stimulation of his probing fingers and delicate thumbing of your nipple, surprised to find yourself actually enjoying this new experience—the slight burn of stretching giving way to the growing warmth in your belly.

When he believes you're ready, he removes his fingers from your ass, causing you to whine a little from the loss of contact. You watch through hooded-lids as he positions himself, grabbing his cock to line it up with your prepared hole, making you shiver and tense up when you feel him lightly press to your opening.

"Just relax," he reminds you, using his other hand to caress your thigh lovingly, sending you a warm smile. "Take a breath, you'll be okay. I got you."

You give him an affirmative nod, taking a deep breath in as he pushes his hips forward, the head of his cock breaching your tight ring, pausing every so often to allow you to adjust to his side.

You cry out sharply his cock stretching you open, your muscles clenching reflexively around him, and the pain makes you seize up, your hands flying out to grasp his arms—pinching the skin with your nails on accident, but he doesn't seem to mind as he focuses more on you than himself.

The tears bubble at the corner of your eyes from the burn of being stretched much significantly larger than his fingers, and your teeth gnaw down on your bottom lip harshly to stifle the whimpers that threaten to spill.

"It's okay, it's okay," Chris coos softly, "Just breathe, mama. You're doin' so well already."

He knows it's a lot to take in, but he can't help but feel so satisfied at finally claiming you this way—marvelling at the tightness and the warm embrace around his cock.

He rubs your thighs tenderly, holding still for a moment, allowing you to get used to the feeling of being so filled from a different way. Then, slowly, he begins to withdraw, only to push back in carefully, repeating his shallow motions as he leans his body over yours, his breath fanning across your face before claiming your lips.

You struggle to reciprocate at first, but eventually, you return the kiss, your tongue sliding into his mouth as the pain ebbs away, replaced by a strange tingly warmth that spreads through your lower half—body adjusting to the constant pressure of his cock moving within you.

A soft, strangled moan escapes your throat as you feel him hit a particularly sensitive spot, and your grip loosens on his arms to bury your face in the crook of his neck, panting heavily against his skin.

"There... there we go," Chris praises, his lips trailing kisses along your jawline as he picks up the pace, his hips rocking in a steady rhythm as he sinks deeper with each thrust. He can already feel the heat building within him, his balls drawing up tight to cum.

His hips continue to roll, grinding his pelvis against your ass to stimulate that sensitive spot again, and he grins when he hears your sharp gasp, your teeth grazing over the juncture of his neck.

"Fuck, you feel so good—oh my god—"

You shiver under Chris' words, your face warming with a mix of embarrassment and pride. You try to meet his thrusts with your own, pushing your hips up to take him deeper, only for a desperate whine to bubble from your lips as the tip of his cock brushes against the spot inside you again and again, sending sparks shooting down your spine.

"I... I think... I think I'm close," you pant out, your voice trembling as your toes curl. "Please.. please.."

"Yeah?" Chris hums, his grip on your hips tightening as he increases the speed of his thrusts a little, staring down at you with wild eyes, lips parted as he breathes heavily. "Let me feel you cum on my cock, baby—c'mon."

He urges you, angling his hips, pressing deeper to push you over the edge as the pressure coils tighter in his balls, desperate to fill you up—but he holds himself back with has much willpower as he can muster, focused on making you cum first.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon—" he repeats his words, pumping his hips, his balls slapping against your cheeks as he drills you into the bed, his moans blending in with your high-pitched moans.

Your vision whites out, and you see flecks behind your closed lids as an orgasm rips through you, clenching around his cock tightly. You can barely form any coherent thoughts, too overwhelmed by the intensity that you don't feel him pulsing inside of you, his cock filling you up as he reaches his own release.

You're lost in the aftershocks, gasping for air as you try to process what just happened, but when reality starts to filter back in, you look up at Chris with hazy eyes, a dazed smile playing on your lips.

Chris leans down to press a kiss to your damp forehead, his breath warm against your skin as he breathes heavily, carefully pulling out of you and rolling onto his side, chest rising and falling rapidly.

"You okay?" you hear him ask you quietly, breaking the comfortable silence between your both as his arm wraps around you, pulling you close to his chest.

You nod against him, your cheek pressed to his bare skin as his fingers begin tracing lazy, soothing patterns down your spine, the motion calming you—taking your mind off the dull ache that lingers down below.

"I'm fine," you murmur, draping your arm across his middle to hold him close, smiling tiredly when he presses another kiss to the top of your head before resting his chin lightly against you.

Silence settles between you both once again, just relaxing in each other’s embrace, listening to the sounds of the outside world until Chris decides to break it;

“I hope you know we’re doin’ that again... and again, and again, and—”

# ( SUNDAY, DAY SEVEN, FINAL )

You can't believe you've made it to Sunday—the end of the week.

Fucking Chris for six—almost seven—days straight has been taxing on your body; every muscle aches, your limbs heavy with exhaustion, and you're a little sore between your legs.

You're drained, sure, but as you lay in bed, reflecting on the past several days, you can't help but feel a warmth bloom in your chest.

Despite the ache, despite the exhaustion, it's been... really good. The past week wasn't unusual for your relationship. You and Chris have always been sexually active, but this week felt so different.

Being with him so frequently, so intensely, has unlocked a new kind of closeness between you—one that you hadn't even realised was missing.

It wasn't just about the physicality, no, there was plenty of that. It was the way he looked at you through it all, his gaze filled with love and appreciation. It was the way he touched you, firm but gentle in the moments when you needed him to be. It was the way he listened to you and spoke to you, how every word carved deep into your soul, leaving a mark behind.

You've always been comfortable with Chris, but this week, it felt like both of you had peeled back another layer to expose parts of yourself you've never shared before. You saw new sides of him, and in turn, you felt open and comfortable enough to show more of yourself in ways you'd never thought you would.

It reminded you why you love him in the first place: the way he makes you feel so seen, heard, loved, and wanted.

You're pulled from your thoughts when Chris enters you room, a box in hand and a silly, crooked smile stretched across his lips. He nudges the door closed with his foot before making his way over to you, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing the box down on the sheets in front of you.

You raise your eyebrow in curiosity, your gaze darting down to the mysterious box before back at him, "What is it?"

He leans back on one hand, the other gesturing toward the box. "Open it."

You purse your lips sceptically before reaching out, your fingertips grazing the edges of the cardboard box as you slowly pop open the lid, leaning forward to peek inside.

What you see nearly pulls a laugh from your throat—a snort threatening to escape as you hold your hand over your mouth. Inside sits a cake, weakly decorated and messy, the frosting smeared unevenly across the surface in bright splashes of blue and green.

Red icing hearts dot the edges, lopsided and wobbly, and in the middle, written in shaky (and barely legible) icing letters, are the words: 'YOU DID IT. CONGRATS ON FUCKING ME FOR SEVEN DAYS. I ♡ YOU'.

You're stuck in silence, your hand still covering your mouth as you try to stifle the grin tugging at your lips before finally letting out a laugh.

"You're so stupid..." you murmur affectionately.

Chris' grin only grows wider at that, "I think it's romantic."

"Romantic?" you tease, "You call this romantic?"

"Me workin' my ass off in the kitchen to make this shit f'you while you lay in bed? Yeah, I think it's romantic," he says, his eyes glimmering as he points to the cake. "D'you know how hard it is to write with icing? I almost threw the fuckin' thing."

You giggle softly as you look down at the cake. The thing is, it's perfect. Not in the traditional sense due to it being so lopsided and messy, and the fact it looks like it was made by a five-year-old—but it's perfect because it's from him.

The thought, the effort, the way he wanted to celebrate this silly little challenge—it makes your heart ache.

Your fingers brush lightly over the edge of the box once again as you glance up at Chris, "You really did this?"

Chris' grin fades, replaced by a softer smile as he rests his hand on top of yours, "'Course I did," he brushes his thumb over your knuckles. "You deserve it, y'know? Been puttin' up with me 'n my dick all week, wanted to do somethin' special for you. Even if it's ugly."

"It's not ugly," you rebuke quickly, but Chris raises an eyebrow, giving you a pointed look that makes you falter. You take one glance at the cake again, pressing your lips together before finally relenting. "Okay, maybe it's a little ugly."

The pair of you laugh, and you push yourself up on your knees to lean over the box, cupping his face between your palms to bring him in for a sweet kiss. Chris responds instantly, his lips meeting yours, his fingers curling around your hips to steady you as you lean into him.

The kiss deepens, his mouth moving against yours, and you can feel the smile tugging at the corner of his lips which brings out your own smile too, your fingers sliding up into his hair as you tilt your head to the side.

"Wait," he mumbles against your lips, voice muffled and breathless, and you pull back to meet his gaze, confused. "I know it's ugly, but we don't need to crush the cake, baby."

Oh.

You look down at the box still sitting between you both, your clothes almost touching the icing around the edges and you pull your hands from his hair to press against his chest, pushing him back slightly.

Chris picks up the box carefully with a soft laugh, placing it down on the nightstand—keeping it far away from the two of you. The second he turns back to you, his hands are on you again, pulling you closer for his lips to find yours.

The kiss is deeper now, slow and deliberate, as his hands slide up your waist, holding onto you as yours fist the fabric of his shirt, your knees brushing against his as you melt into him.

His arm hooks around your middle, lifting you up a little only to lay you back against the bed, sprawling you under him. You expected him to kiss you again, to leave you feeling breathless, but you're surprised when all he does is caress your face softly, stroking your cheek and trace the outline of your bottom lip with his thumb.

He's staring down at you so lovingly that you grow flustered, looking elsewhere around the room until he cups your chin to bring your attention back to him, leaning down to reconnect your lips.

Chris is the first to take off his shirt, fisting at the material and pulling it over his shoulders, discarding it to the floor to help you take off yours before his lips attach to your chest—leaving light, feathery kisses over your skin, and you arch your back with a quiet gasp, watching as he trails over your breasts and down your stomach.

He hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs slowly as he kisses down your legs, and you squirm at the cold air that hits your pussy—knees knocking against his side but he pays no mind as he decides to lay between your legs.

The sight of him staring at you from his position builds the arousal in the pit of your belly, and you lift your hips to coax him into touching you—tasting you—and you clench around nothing when he leans in to press another kiss to your inner thighs.

Without warning, you feel his tongue slowly lap your slit, the tip of the wet muscle wiggling between your folds before flicking over your clit slowly, and you hum, threading your fingers through his hair.

Chris moans into your pussy as he messily slurps you up, sucking on your clit with the right amount of suction, causing a cry to tumble past your lips as you instinctively roll your hips against his face, seeking more friction.

Chris takes it upon himself to hook one hand beneath your knee to push it up at an angle that helps bury his face further between your legs, mouthing at all the right places.

You tilt your head back with a moan, unable to control the pitch of your sounds as your orgasm builds up quicker than usual, the band in the tummy tightening as your pussy clenches around the tip of his tongue that dips inside of you—the pressure and pleasuring becoming too much for you to handle that the band snaps, cumming heavy on his tongue.

"Good job, baby." Chris praises you, lapping you up eagerly as he helps ride out your orgasm, smiling against your pussy when he feels your thighs twitch.

You struggle to catch your breath, dry panting as you jerk your hips away from his mouth, and his chest vibrates with a laugh, letting go of the back of your knee to watch it drop limp on the bed.

You taste yourself when he crawls up your body to kiss your lips, and you suck on his tongue to which he responds by rutting his hips into yours, his covered cock pressing against you.

"Take them off," you whisper into the kiss, your hands tugging at his sweats. "Please, take them off."

Chris doesn't verbally respond to you as his tongue slides into your mouth, but his own hands move toward his sweats, pulling at the drawstring to untie it before shoving them down his legs along with his boxers.

You move your hand between your bodies to wrap your fingers around his cock, causing him to moan between kisses as you pump him leisurely, your head spinning with the way he pants against your mouth—mouth agape as his breathing gets heavier and heavier with each tug of your hand.

Eventually, you guide him to your opening, coating his cock with your arousal and his saliva as you slide the tip through your folds. Chris deeply exhales, pulling his lips from yours to look down, watching you position his tip at your awaiting hole, angling his hips forward to help push inside.

Your body welcomes him immediately, and Chris coos, taking your hand in his own to give it a few squeezes as you both watch where you're connected—watching him sink deeper into you bit by bit, rolling his hips to thrust slowly, allowing your legs to wind around his waist to pull him in closer.

He kisses you once again, pouring his love and devotion into it as he brings your interlocked hands above your head, pressing them into the pillow as he gets comfortable above you.

Each gentle and slow roll of his hips has you seeing stars behind your closed lids, listening to the way Chris moans and groans every time he bottoms out inside you, and your gummy walls clench around him in return.

Your grip on his hand tightens when you break the kiss to allow yourself to breathe in fresh air, struggling for oxygen, staring up at him in bliss to see the slightly fuzzy outline of him smiling down at you—his own eyelid fluttering with every roll of his hips.

But he buries his face into the crevice of your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your skin as the pace of his thrusts start to quicken, the wet noises of your pussy sucking in his cock fills the room along with your shameless noises of pleasure, and your free hand reaches up to grab the back of his head, threading your fingers through the roots as you nip at his shoulders.

"F-Fuck I love you," he whimpers, his teeth grazing over your skin as he splutters repeatedly. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I—"

Your hand tightens around his own as his words of affection tip you over the edge completely, whining as your legs tremble around his hips as you cum all over his cock. The feeling of your walls gripping him like a vice triggers his own climax and he’s moaning into your neck, releasing with long spurts that paint your insides and you gasp at the feeling of him filling you up, the warmth spreading. 

He stays above you for quite some time, basking in each other's presence and collecting your breath, staring at one another with giddy smiles which causes you both to laugh as he pulls out with a wince before laying back over you comfortably.

"I really fuckin' love you... y'know that, right?" Chris whispers softly to you, removing his hand from yours to cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb across your cheekbone tenderly.

A small, tired, but lovingly smile graces your lips as you let out a content sigh, your own voice barely above a whisper as you reply back to him. "I know... and I really fucking love you too."

© STURNIOZ

[loveesiren]

Choi Seunghyun x reader virgin🤭 (if you are comfortable)

𝙵𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎

Choi Seung-hyun (T.O.P) x virgin!reader

synopsis: Y/n decides her boyfriend, Seunghyun, should be her first

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, fluffy goodness

wc: 3.7k+

Lazy days like today were your favorite. There was something so blissful about having no obligations, no responsibilities pulling either of you away. It was your day off, and for once, Seunghyun didn’t have to be at the studio or in rehearsal. After months of back-to-back shows and endless travel, BigBang had finally wrapped up their tour, and all he wanted was to spend every possible second with you.

You still remembered the night you met him like it was yesterday. A year ago, you had been working a shift at the event center, slinging drinks for excited fans after the concert. He had walked up to the bar, all confidence and charisma, ordering a glass of wine with that signature smirk of his. What was supposed to be a quick drink turned into an hour-and-a-half-long conversation, laughter weaving between you like an unspoken connection. His manager had practically dragged him away, but not before he scribbled his number on a napkin and told you to call him. And now, a year later, three months into your official relationship, you had never been happier.

Both of you were private people, and that suited you just fine. There had been rumors, of course—whispers in fan circles, pictures snapped of the two of you together—but neither of you had confirmed nor denied anything. Instead, you lived in your own little world, undisturbed by outside noise. Seunghyun treated you like royalty, taking you to lavish restaurants, surprising you with bouquets of flowers and little gifts, constantly reminding you of how beautiful you were. He never pushed, never made you uncomfortable, always the perfect gentleman. It was almost too good to be true.

Today has been nothing short of perfect. The two of you curled up together on the couch, legs tangled, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s presence. The rain drummed steadily against the massive windows of Seunghyun’s apartment, casting soft, gray light over the room. Takeout containers littered the coffee table and a movie played in the background, its dialogue little more than a hum beneath the rhythm of the rain.

A particularly spicy scene flickered across the screen, and you shifted slightly, your mind drifting to thoughts that had been plaguing you for weeks. Since being with Seunghyun, something inside you had ignited, a desire unlike anything you had ever felt before. The late-night thoughts, the lingering heat pooling between your thighs—it was all because of him. Pleasuring yourself in the shower, like you had done for years, no longer satisfied you. You craved something more. Something real.

Seunghyun knew you were a virgin, and he respected that, never pushing for more than what you were comfortable with. But you wanted him. Needed him. Weeks ago, you had made up your mind—you were ready. You had been extra flirty, touching him more, giving him subtle hints, but he never took the bait. At first, you thought maybe he didn’t notice. Now, you were convinced he was holding back on purpose.

Frustration simmered beneath your skin, and you decided enough was enough.

Slowly, you shifted, turning to straddle his lap. His dark eyes flickered with surprise, but he didn’t move, watching you carefully. You cupped his face, pulling him into a deep, lingering kiss. He responded instantly, his hands finding your hips, his lips moving in sync with yours. When his tongue slid against yours, you let out a soft moan, pressing down against his thigh, seeking friction where you needed it most.

His grip on you tightened. “What are you doing, baby?” he murmured between kisses, his voice low, strained.

“I want you…” you whispered, trailing your lips down the column of his throat. You felt him tense beneath you, his breathing growing uneven, and when you shifted again, his arousal pressed against you, hot and hard even through his sweats. A satisfied smile tugged at your lips before you crashed your mouth back onto his.

Seunghyun groaned against your lips before suddenly pulling back, his hands gripping your waist to still your movements. “Mmm, fuck… baby, stop…”

You frowned, your brows knitting together in confusion. “Why?”

He let out a breathy chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Because, you’re really turning me on right now.”

“That’s the point,” you countered, tilting your head slightly, eyes locked onto his.

His expression softened, but there was something else there, something deeper—conflict. “Baby…”

“I’m ready, Se,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “I want it to be you.”

He leaned back into the couch, his hands still resting on your hips. His eyes searched yours, as if trying to find any hesitation, any doubt. But there was none. All he saw was you—flushed, eager, beautiful. And in that moment, every unholy thought he had been suppressing came rushing to the surface.

He exhaled deeply, his grip tightening just slightly. “You don’t know how hard it is for me to hold back with you.”

“Then don’t.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The rain outside continued to fall, the movie long forgotten in the background. It was just you and him, the heat between you threatening to consume everything in its path.

And then, finally, he pulled you down, crashing his lips to yours, surrendering to the inevitable.

You smiled, pressing your body flush against his, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his clothes. His lips moved against yours with an intoxicating rhythm, tongues tangling in a slow, deliberate dance. Your hands, desperate and trembling with need, flew to his waistband, fingers fumbling with the fabric in an attempt to rid him of it.

"Settle, baby," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire. "Let me take care of you first, yeah? Gotta get you ready…" He punctuated his words with a sharp nip at your neck, making you shudder beneath him.

"Okay…" you panted, breathless, your body already pulsing with anticipation.

His hand slipped beneath the waistband of your pants, his fingers tracing over the damp heat between your thighs. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as his middle finger ran teasingly through your slick folds, barely pressing against you. Your body trembled at the sensation.

"You tell me if you want me to stop, okay? At any point," he whispered, his lips brushing against your jaw, his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

"O-okay…" you stammered, barely able to form words. "Keep going, please."

Your plea was all he needed. His finger moved slowly, collecting your arousal before pressing inside your aching core. A sweet moan spilled from your lips, your head tilting back as pleasure consumed you.

"Shit… you're so fucking wet," he groaned, his voice dripping with restraint as he fought to control himself.

His finger pumped in and out at a torturously slow pace, the cool metal of his ring adding a delicious contrast to the heat pooling between your thighs. His free hand trailed up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your lips before pressing inside.

"Suck, baby," he instructed, his gaze locked onto you, dark and hooded with desire.

You obeyed without hesitation, wrapping your lips around his thumb and swirling your tongue over the pad. His eyes darkened further, a low growl vibrating in his chest as he watched you with a mix of hunger and adoration.

As his fingers worked you open, your hips instinctively moved to match his rhythm, rolling against his touch in slow, desperate motions.

"I'm gonna add another finger, stretch you out a bit, okay?" he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"Mhmm," you moaned, nodding eagerly.

He slipped another finger inside, curling them slightly, and you gasped, gripping his shoulders as your walls clenched around him. The initial discomfort melted into pleasure, and soon, you were rocking against his hand, chasing the overwhelming heat building deep within you.

"This okay?" he asked, his gaze searching your face, his voice softer now, filled with concern despite the raw desire consuming him.

You nodded, relaxing against him. "Feels so good…" you murmured, resting your head on his shoulder.

He angled his fingers just right, pressing against that perfect spot, and your body jerked in response. A whimper escaped your lips, sending a rush of satisfaction through him. His thumb found your swollen clit, circling it in slow, tantalizing strokes, building you up higher, faster.

The tension coiled in your stomach, your breaths growing shorter, panting his name like a prayer.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he coaxed, his lips tracing the curve of your jaw. "Cum for me like a good girl…"

His words were your undoing. The knot in your core unraveled, pleasure washing over you in waves as your body trembled on top of him. Your walls clenched around his fingers, your nails digging into his shoulders as you let go with a cry of bliss.

"Fuck!" you gasped, your body pulsing against him, shuddering as he helped you ride out your high.

"That's my girl…" he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction, watching you with dark, lust-blown eyes.

As your body relaxed against him, he slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips. His tongue darted out, tasting you, his eyes never leaving yours.

"That was amazing…" you panted, a lazy, sated smile tugging at your lips. "I want more."

Seunghyun exhaled a shaky breath, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "You sure?"

You nodded eagerly. "Please. I want to have sex with you."

A deep, guttural groan rumbled from his chest as his hands found your hips, gripping them firmly. "Fuuckkk…" he exhaled, his head dropping to your shoulder for a moment before lifting to meet your gaze. His hands slid down to palm your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh.

Then, with effortless strength, he lifted you into his arms. You gasped, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

"Where are we going?" you asked, your voice soft, innocent despite the fire still burning between your thighs.

He smirked, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before whispering, "Your first time is not going to happen on the couch. I’m going to make love to you properly. In our bed."

Your heart swelled at the possessiveness in his tone, at the way he said "our bed" like it had always been yours, like you belonged there—with him.

Smiling, you tightened your hold around him, letting him carry you away, excitement building at your core once again.

Seunghyun’s lips molded to yours, slow and deep, before he gently pushed you back onto the bed. A surprised giggle bubbled from your lips as you bounced against the soft mattress, your breath catching when you looked up at him. The way he stood there, dark eyes locked onto yours, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths—it sent heat rushing through your veins.

Then, with a deliberate slowness, he peeled his shirt over his head.

Your lips parted slightly as you took him in, the golden glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows over the defined ridges of his body. He was tan, toned, every inch of him sculpted like a masterpiece. You’d seen him like this before, but something about this moment felt entirely different—maybe because you knew you were about to experience all of him. No barriers, no teasing restraint. Just raw, unfiltered desire.

A shiver ran down your spine as he leaned down, hovering over you, his warmth seeping into your skin. His hand cupped your cheek, fingers tracing along your jawline with an almost reverent touch before he guided your lips back to his. His kiss was slow, intoxicating, his tongue gliding against yours in a way that made your head spin.

You moaned softly into his mouth, your body arching instinctively toward him. Sure, you’d kissed Seunghyun plenty of times before. But not like this. Not with this kind of hunger—like he was trying to memorize the taste of you, like he needed you to breathe.

His hand slipped beneath your shirt, fingertips featherlight as they traced over your stomach, your ribs, before settling on your breast. A sharp gasp left your lips as he massaged the soft flesh, his thumb grazing over your nipple before rolling it between his fingers. The sensation made your breath hitch, your thighs pressing together in anticipation.

“That feel good, baby?” His voice was husky, dripping with desire, his lips brushing against your neck, tracing a path down to your shoulder.

“Mhmm…” you whimpered, barely able to form words. “S’good…”

Seunghyun sat up slightly, his fingers curling around the hem of your shirt—well, his shirt, the one you’d been lounging in all day. He tugged it up and over your head, tossing it to the side. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you beneath him, bare and vulnerable, but entirely unafraid.

“You’re so fucking beautiful…” he murmured, his fingers ghosting over your skin as if he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

Warmth bloomed in your chest at his words. You believed him when he told you that. With him, you never had to second-guess, never had to doubt.

Still, you couldn’t help but tease him, arching your back slightly as you looked up at him through your lashes. “I wanna be sexy,” you murmured, lips curling into a playful smirk.

Seunghyun groaned, dropping his forehead against yours. “God, you are so. fucking. sexy.” His voice was strained, thick with want, before he crashed his lips onto yours again—this time, rougher, more desperate. His kiss left you breathless, lips swollen, body aching for more.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You think I didn’t notice how flirty you’ve been the past few weeks?” His hand trailed down your stomach, slow and teasing, before slipping under the waistband of your sweatpants. “Wearing those tiny shorts around the house… giving me those innocent little looks with those big, pretty eyes…” His fingers dipped lower, grazing over the growing heat between your thighs. “Pressing your tits together just to see me react.”

You gasped as he slid a single finger into you, your body jolting at the sensation.

“You’ve been driving me fucking crazy,” he growled, watching your reaction intently, his free hand gripping your thigh to keep you still.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah?” you whispered, voice barely audible.

His smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with something dark and knowing. “Yeah,” he murmured, slipping his finger out only to circle your entrance, teasing, taunting.

You let out a needy whimper, your body straining toward him. “So, what are you gonna do about it?” 

He sat back, hooking his fingers into your sweatpants and dragging them down your legs with a slow, torturous precision. He tossed them to the side without a care, his gaze locked onto you, devouring you whole. And then, with a wicked grin, he settled between your thighs. “Guess you’re about to find out.”

You barely processed his words before his tongue found your clit, swirling over your sensitive bud with a slow, devastating precision. A shuddering gasp left your lips as pleasure shot through you like a live wire, your fingers clawing at the sheets, searching for something—anything—to anchor yourself.

“Oh, fuck! Seunghyun!” Your voice was wrecked, desperate, a plea wrapped in pleasure.

Your hands found his hair, threading your fingers through it, tugging just enough to feel him groan against you. The vibration sent another sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core. He devoured you like a man starved, every stroke of his tongue possessive, every flick of his lips insatiable.

“God, you taste so fucking good…” he murmured, voice thick with lust before diving back in, his tongue lapping at you like he couldn't get enough.

Your thighs trembled, the telltale knot in your stomach coiling tighter and tighter, seconds away from snapping. It was overwhelming, his mouth, his hands gripping your hips like he owned you, the heat pooling in your lower belly—

“Oh, God, I’m close—Seunghyun, stop!”

The words left you in a breathless rush, and instantly, he pulled away, his head snapping up in alarm. His lips were slick with you, his eyes wide with concern.

“What? I’m sorry!” His reaction was immediate, panicked, as if he’d done something wrong.

A breathless giggle bubbled from your lips as you reached for him, your fingers tilting his chin up. “No, it’s okay,” you reassured him, still panting. “I just want to cum on your dick.”

His pupils darkened, his lips parting slightly at your words. A slow, sinful smile spread across his face as he crawled up your body, his hands trailing reverently over your curves, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

“Are you sure you want this?” His voice was softer now, hesitant. His biggest fear wasn’t the moment—it was making you feel anything less than cherished.

Your hands framed his face, your thumb stroking over his cheek. “I do, Se. I love you. And I trust you.”

Something shifted in his gaze, something deeper, something sacred. His entire body seemed to melt at your confession, and he captured your lips in a kiss so slow and tender it stole the breath from your lungs.

“I love you, too.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it was raw, unfiltered, filled with emotion.

He sat back just enough to rid himself of his sweatpants and boxers, his gaze never leaving yours. Your heart raced in anticipation as he settled between your thighs, his tip teasing your entrance, running through your slick folds.

Your breath hitched, every nerve ending in your body alive with anticipation. This was it—a moment you had dreamed about, wondered about, and now, it was happening.

He pressed into you slowly, his thick length stretching you inch by inch. The pleasure was laced with a sharp sting, your body adjusting to the new intrusion. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you gasped.

“Shit…” you breathed, trying to relax around him.

His brows furrowed immediately. “Want me to stop?” His voice was urgent, worried.

You shook your head. “No, no. Keep going. Just…slow…”

He nodded, placing a grounding hand on your hip as he continued to push in, giving you time to adjust. His breath came out in a shudder when he bottomed out, his forehead pressing against yours.

“Fuck, you’re so tight…” he groaned, his grip on you tightening as he fought to stay still.

You let out a shaky chuckle, the initial discomfort giving way to something warmer, something deeper.

“Feel okay?” he asked, his lips brushing over your jaw, his gaze searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

“Yeah…” you whispered, your body finally accommodating him. “Just…God, you’re big…”

A low, amused laugh rumbled from his chest, and he kissed you softly. “Just try to relax, okay? We can stay just like this if you need to.”

You took a slow breath, allowing your body to mold around him, to welcome him. His lips trailed featherlight kisses across your face, his patience endless.

Then, finally—

“Okay,” you breathed, meeting his gaze. “You can move.”

He searched your face for any uncertainty, but when he found none, he gave you a slow, deep kiss and pulled out just enough before thrusting back in. The motion sent a delicious spark through you, the pleasure beginning to eclipse the ache.

His movements were deliberate, slow and steady, giving you time to adjust, to feel every inch of him. And then, the pain was gone—replaced by something so intoxicating it had you gasping his name.

“You feel so good…” he murmured, his breath hot against your neck as his pace increased just slightly.

“Go faster, please,” you begged, your voice breathless, needy.

He groaned at your words and obeyed, his hips moving with more urgency, more purpose, hitting that perfect spot inside of you. A strangled moan escaped your lips, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper.

“Oh my God…” you panted, pleasure coursing through you in waves.

“Fuck, baby, I’m not gonna last long…” Seunghyun admitted, his voice strained, his control slipping.

“Me either,” you whined, eyes shut tight, the build-up sending you dangerously close to the edge. “I’m on the pill.”

His movements faltered for half a second, his eyes flicking to yours in shock. “What?”

A breathless smirk played on your lips. “Told you I was ready.”

Something snapped in him at that. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and he grabbed your leg, pushing it back just enough to hit even deeper.

“I fucking love you, Y/N,” he groaned before pounding into you with newfound intensity, his thrusts deep, desperate, perfect.

The coil in your stomach twisted tighter and tighter, your moans turning into cries of ecstasy as it finally snapped.

“Oh, Seunghyun!” You shattered around him, clinging to him as your body trembled through the waves of pleasure.

His thrusts became erratic, his breath ragged as he chased his own release. A strangled moan left his lips as he spilled into you, his entire body tensing before collapsing onto you, spent and breathless.

The world felt hazy, your bodies tangled together, the only sound in the room was your heavy breathing and the faint pounding of your heart.

Slowly, he pulled out, rolling onto his side and immediately pulling you into his arms. His lips pressed to your temple, warm and reverent.

“Was that okay?” he murmured against your skin. “Did I hurt you?”

You smiled sleepily, tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “That was fucking amazing, Seunghyun. Thank you.”

He exhaled, as if relieved, and wrapped you tighter in his arms, pressing kiss after kiss to your forehead.

“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s take a shower, and then I’ll make you dinner, okay?”

“Mmm, can’t move,” you teased, your limbs still boneless from pleasure.

“Then I’ll just have to carry you,” he chuckled, standing up and scooping you into his arms effortlessly.

You giggled, curling into his warmth.

That night, as he cleaned you up, cooked for you, and held you close, Seunghyun couldn’t stop thinking about how much he loved you. And as you finally fell asleep in his lap, his heart full, he realized something—

One day, he was going to marry you.

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[itadoring]

Toji remains seated on the carpet with his children's small toy table in front of him, too small to allow him to even place both of his hands on it.

“What would you like to order sir?” asks Megumi holding a crayon and notepad full of drawings, and looks at his father with a serious expression, or at least tries to.

Toji parts his thin lips for a brief moment and looks at the paper with coloured lines that should, in theory, represent the menu of the well-known restaurant “Fushigurosʼ Restaurant”.

“Is it possible to have the special of the day?” he asks as he carefully searches for the right words and smiles, highlighting the scar on his right side.

With a quick nod of his head, Megumi walks over to his three-year-old sister and informs her of their customer's request. In response, the little girl turns to him, looks at him from head to toe with her big green eyes and shakes her head slightly, causing her black hair to move as well.

After this dramatic reaction, her brother goes to the table and reports the cook's reply. “Well, the dish of the day is made of,” he pauses briefly and pretends to read the note scribbled a moment before, “biscuits and water.” he finishes by flashing a smile.

“Biscuits and water?” repeats Toji and nods slowly. “Alright thank you.” he finally says and, again, Megumi walks over to his little sister.

The latter starts mumbling and with every word spoken her brother nods and agrees. Toji does not know exactly what the two are saying to each other but he can't help but smile.

“Oh, there's a tea party?” your voice catches the attention of the three raven-haired who turn towards you; your two children happily run over and hug you as if they haven't seen you in years while your husband remains seated next to the toy table.

“Mummy, Daddy has so many demands!” the little one complains and her lips form a pout as she looks towards her confused father.

[orphicmusings]

giving a sleepy, overworked viktor head late in the lab..? and because hes so tired he's just dumb and needy....???? (ig somno if you squint)

18+ ᴍᴅɴɪ

“what do i have to do to pull you away from that?” you sighed, practically hanging off the back of your lover’s chair. you took a quick glance at the clock in the corner of the room, soon to approach midnight. viktor answered you with a simple, deflective hum and you rolled your eyes. if he didn’t complain about the exhaustion making his chronic pain flare up, you would have pulled him away from that desk with your bare hands and throw him on the nearest plush surface. you sighed again, a little louder this time, a little pointed.

“am i boring you, love?” he rasped, exhaustion heavily coating his voice and thickening his accent.

“you really can’t take your eyes off that thing for just a second?” you leant down over his shoulder, exasperatedly nodding toward his project. “not. one. second.” he answered, not even raising his eyes to meet yours, focused entirely on scribbling down what looked to be an equation.

oh. you took that as a challenge.

wordlessly, you gently nudged the wheels of his chair away from its place flush against his desk. he barely noticed, only giving you a slight furrow of his thick brows. you rounded the chair in front of him and slowly sank to your knees. “not one second?” you tilted your head coquettishly. at your words, he allowed himself to spare a glance at you, kneeling before him, under his desk. his breath hitched in his throat, trapping his response in his chest. a glance was all he could afford if he wanted to focus. even in the dim lamplight, you could see the faintest brush of pink across his cheeks. smirking triumphantly, you carefully reach up for the zipper of his pants. he loudly clears his throat when he feels your fingers so close.

“darling.” he called as a warning, stopping short in his work but still refusing to tear his eyes off of it.

“you want me to stop?” you asked earnestly, though you were sure you already knew the answer. he fixed you with a look. a permissive look, but a firm look, like an ‘i can’t resist this but i also won’t endorse it’ kind of look. you bit down on your grinning lip and pulled his pants down entirely. you could feel him tensing his muscles under your hands, willing himself to keep his focus on his work. you slowly pulled his cock from his constraints, giving it a single kiss on the head.

a soft groan rumbled in his throat, one hand dropping his pen and moving to cover his mouth. he could not look at you. he could not look at you. if he looked at you, he’d be done for the night, his brain would be absolutely fried and, oh, goddammit. your cheeks are hollowed, pretty plump lips wrapped around him, mischievous eyes glinting up at him. “fuck.” he groans again, closing his eyes and letting them open in your direction, finally. you braced your hands on his thighs, making sure to dig your nails into the pillowy flesh of his good leg. you finally got those pretty whines to come out. “evil…” his chest rises and falls heavily with each labored breath, becoming more and more ragged the more you fill your mouth with him. “evil woman.”

you giggle as much as you can with him on your tongue and it vibrates oh so good around him, causing him to toss his head back and whimper, “please…” one hand blindly reaches for your hair, gently tangling his long fingers in your locks, guiding you. oh, you’ve got him now. “oh, god, please don’t stop…” you will yourself to take him as deep as you can, and he hisses as he feels his cock hit the back of your throat. he opens his eyes to check on you, pulling you off for a moment. he takes the brief respite to tilt your chin up and give you a few quick kisses, babbling things like sweet girl and i love you so much and i’m sorry for neglecting my poor little darling and i could never say no to that pretty face in between. you can’t help but giggle at his sleepy verbage, more mushy than usual.

“that’s cute.” you take his hand off your chin, threading your own fingers through his. looking at his achingly hard cock. “i wasn’t done, though.”

he gives you one of his cocky, lopsided smiles and pats his lap. “no, no you weren’t.”

[punkshort]

Thank you Anon for this request!

A Deeper Purpose

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader one-shot

Summary: Living in Jackson during the apocalypse doesn't do anything to curb your desire to have a child. The problem is, most of the men in town are unavailable... except for one.

Warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, breeding kink (given the request, obv), language, friends to lovers, mentions of anxiety, infertility, pregnancy, angst, pining, alcohol

WC: 3.4K

dividers by @saradika-graphics

When you first asked him, he thought you were crazy.

He stared at you in complete disbelief, his gaze flickering down to the drink in your hand, trying to recall how many you had to propose something so insane. But it was only one.

"Are you fuckin' serious?"

"Mhmm," you said confidently. "I've thought about it for a long time. I want a baby and the men in this town are either taken or have the mental fortitude of a child," you joked nervously. "You're neither of those things. Besides... I trust you."

His eyes softened for a moment and he dropped his gaze to the table. You had known Joel for the better part of five years, and while at first he was brash and gruff, throughout countless patrols and fights against infected where you had to have each other's backs, you had grown rather close. Neither of you ever crossed the line past friendship, and you had never even thought about it until recently when your anxiety was keeping you up late at night, wondering if you would ever find a man and settle down to start a family.

It was a luxury in this life, to be sure. The population of Jackson wasn't very large, but in five years you had come to get a good read on most of its citizens. And you kept coming back to the same conclusion: the man for you was not there.

So after much thought and self-reflection, you worked up enough courage to get a drink with Joel after your route and ask him if he would be willing to give you a baby.

You followed up by telling him you would be solely responsible, that you would do all the work and he could be as involved in the child's life as much as he wanted to be, if at all, while he sat there dumbstruck.

Now he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck nervously as he weighed your proposal.

"Can I think 'bout it?" he finally asked.

"Oh, god, of course!" you exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise that he was considering it at all. "However much time you need."

But that was almost a month ago. Each day that passed you became more anxious, more impatient, and it was beginning to sour your mood.

On that particular day you were checking out the park rangers outpost hidden deep within the Wyoming forest. The building was up within the trees, providing the park rangers in the past a bird's eye view of the forest, and now it gives Jackson the same.

Joel was scribbling something in the log book while you strolled aimlessly around the cabin, opening and shutting drawers loudly, already knowing what was in them but just looking for something to do.

"Somethin' on your mind?" he mumbled over his shoulder, his focus still on the book.

"No," you said defensively, but when you angrily began to struggle with a window that refused to open, it became clear you were lying.

"Here, lemme help," he offered, dropping the pencil and walking to your side of the room.

"I'm fine, I don't need your help," you snapped, though you obviously did.

His hands gripped your shoulders and forcibly moved you out of the way before he took hold of the window and gave it a quick jerk, loosening the window in it's frame and finally allowing fresh air in.

He smirked at you and you rolled your eyes before breezing past him.

"This attitude 'bout the window or 'bout what you asked me?" he challenged, stopping you dead in your tracks. Slowly, you spun around, unsure what to say.

"The window," you finally answered, then shifted your weight and shrugged. "Okay, maybe a little of both."

"Mhmm," he said, advancing toward you. "Thought so."

"Well... have you thought about it or are you just trying to come up with a nice way to say no?"

He frowned and propped his hands on his hips. "Now why d'you think it's a no?"

"Because you haven't said a single word about it in a month," you told him like the answer was obvious.

"Well maybe the answer's yes but I don't know how to casually bring up into polite conversation that I'm ready to knock up my goddamn friend!" he argued.

You stared at him, jaw hanging open in disbelief.

"Wait, really?" you whispered.

He nodded and scrubbed his palms over his face. "Yeah, I mean... if you still wanna or... whatever," he grumbled.

The first time was bad, to put it mildly. Your kisses were all teeth, chins and noses bumped together awkwardly. You had hoped once you got down to it that it would have gotten better, but you were wrong. Your rhythms were all off, you hit your head on the end table, and Joel nearly fell off the couch at one point. Needless to say, you didn't come. It was a miracle he did by the end of it.

Afterwards, you both sat there, catching your breaths and wondering if you made a huge mistake.

No, it wasn't a mistake. It was always a means to an end. Ultimately, it didn't really matter if the sex was good or not, the end result would be the same.

Still...

"I'm not usually that bad," you finally said, breaking the thick silence. He groaned and tipped his head back to rest on the couch.

"Me either. I swear, I ain't lyin'. I never usually..." he trailed off, rubbing his chin, deep in thought. "We'll try again. Back home. In a bed. That's the problem. It's gotta be, right?"

"Yeah," you nodded, not fully believing him but at that point, what could it hurt?

The next time was the following day at your home. It was a little better than the first time, but not by much.

"It doesn't matter, Joel," you assured him, tugging your blanket over your chest.

"Matters to me," he said defensively. "I'm too in my head or somethin'. It's still weird, don't you think?"

"Yeah, it's weird," you agreed.

"It's too planned out. Maybe it's gotta be more natural. More... spontaneous."

"Yeah," you agreed.

A couple evenings later one of the other men on patrol was having a bonfire at his home and invited a handful of others, you and Joel included.

Ten or so people sat around a roaring fire, tossing back whiskey and playing cards or swapping war stories. The alcohol made you feel warm and relaxed, your limbs as loose as your tongue when you joked around with the others, joining in on the teasing when a seasoned patrolman admitted to shooting off a crossbow at a leaf that fell just a little too loudly in the woods.

Then you felt a hand on the small of your back and you turned, your eyes glassy and face warm from the booze and the laughs. Joel stood beside you looking just as at ease as you and he gave you a knowing look.

For once, you were on the same page. Neither of you said a word.

You made your excuses, said your goodbyes, and slipped into the night. It was quiet, the rest of the town asleep, so it was easy to hear Joel's voice carry over the wind a few minutes later when he announced his departure, your heart skipping an excited beat in your chest.

He didn't hurry to catch up with you and you were glad. It helped. The anticipation built up on the walk home, and for the first time you felt a warmth bloom between your legs. Your fingers shakily worked your front door when you heard his steps growing closer, the crunching of gravel growing louder and louder until your door swung open and the squeak of old wood under his boots as he walked up your stairs echoed in your ears.

You didn't bother to turn the lights on. His hands were on your waist instantly, kicking the door closed behind him as his mouth crashed against yours with a groan. All you could hear was your shared breath and the rustling of fabric, each of you working to strip the other of their clothes as quickly as possible.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the spontaneity of it. Whatever it was, it was better. Oh, so much better.

Somehow you had made it to your bed and you had never been more grateful to have a small ranch home in your life. When he first pushed inside, you moaned and arched your back off the mattress and his teeth gently grazed your collarbone, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. Instantly, you found a rhythm. Your hips rolled to meet his at the perfect time, his hands squeezed and pinched your breasts while his tongue invaded your mouth, only sliding down to cup your ass when he sensed it was becoming too much.

"More," you moaned into his mouth, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. He alternated between snapping and grinding his hips, the mix of sensations quickly bringing you over the edge.

You could feel the excitement in his body when he finally made you come. Like he was reenergized and focused, like he had finally accomplished what he set out to do.

"Come for me, Joel," you whispered in his ear before nipping at his earlobe. You could tell he was close by the way his muscles tensed and the deep groans emanating from his chest.

"Yeah? Want me to come in this tight little pussy?" he growled, the dirty talk sending a jolt of surprise through you. Before, he had been so quiet. This was new.

"Yeah," you whispered back, "want you to fuck a baby in me. I want everyone to see what you did to me."

He groaned so loudly you wondered if it could be heard from outside. His teeth sunk down into your shoulder when he came, muffled words being spoken into your skin as he shot thick ropes of his seed deep into your womb, only slowing when his legs began to shake and he collapsed on top of you with a huff.

"Fuck," he gasped, still trying to catch his breath on top of you. "That was..." he trailed off with a chuckle and you felt him swallow tightly. "That was much better."

"Yeah," you whispered, your eyes sliding shut as your fingers gently raked through his hair. You didn't even realize you were doing it or how intimate it seemed considering your arrangement, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he leaned into it a bit as he waited for his heartrate to slow.

Once he collected himself, he propped himself up on his hands and slowly eased out of you with a hiss.

"Can you hand me-"

"Yeah," he said, already knowing you were asking for the small, firm pillow you used last time to prop your hips up, and gave it to you. With a groan, he got to his feet and went to your bathroom while you tucked your knees against your chest, hoping you were getting the angle right.

When he emerged from the bathroom, he handed you a wet washcloth to use when you were done, then began to dress.

He glanced at your face, then your hips propped up in the air.

"You need anythin' else?"

"No, I think this'll do," you joked, and he chuckled before he stood.

"Alright then. See you tomorrow?"

"Yep," you said with a smile, then watched him as he left your bedroom and listened while he slid his boots back on and quietly shut the door behind him, leaving you all alone.

"Fuck, it better work this time," you muttered as you bounced up and down on Joel's lap, your hands digging into his shoulders for support as you slid up and down on his cock. His hands held your waist, guiding you while you rode him on his couch, his eyes transfixed on where you were connected.

"Gotta relax. I told you, it ain't gonna work if you stress yourself out," he replied, eyes still glued to the way his cock emerged from your clutch even wetter than before.

"It's been six months, Joel," you whined, but he shushed you by slanting his mouth over yours. He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't mind when you came to him each month with a look of dejection when your efforts inevitably failed. He felt bad for you, don't get him wrong, but he had grown very fond of the one week every month you found yourself wrapped around his cock.

His thumb found your clit and he felt you tense and your mind went blank. Perfect.

"'S'right," he murmured, watching your face go slack, "just turn off that pretty little head of yours for a minute and lemme take care of you."

You nodded, eyes sliding shut as your hips began to work faster, rolling and grinding down on him until your nails dug into his skin and you cried out his name. Fuck, he loved hearing that. It didn't take much more for him to come, his hands gripping your sides so tight, he was afraid he might leave bruises as he thrusted up into you, giving you every last drop of his release.

"Goddamn," he whispered, head falling back onto the couch as he panted for air.

"Shit," you gasped, voice a little cracked. "Shoulda finished with me laying down. It's gonna leak out when -"

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you and, still plugging you with his cock, twisted around so you were laying flat on the couch and he was hovering above you.

"Better?"

"Much," you giggled, playing with a stray curl over his ear. You gazed warmly at one another, neither of you saying a word as your pulse slowed and his cock softened.

"Thank you for doing this for me, Joel," you whispered, your eyes drifting all over his face, taking in every little detail.

He nodded and swallowed then forced himself to look away. If he didn't, he was worried you would see too much.

He slid out of you and grabbed a pillow, handing it to you blindly before standing and strolling to his bathroom. After he cleaned up, he leaned over his sink, hands curled around the cracked vanity, and stared at his reflection in the mirror with a pit in his stomach.

How did he let this happen?

He should have known. The morning before you came over, he had a bad feeling. Like something had shifted in the air, something had changed without his permission and it left an empty feeling in his chest.

The overly excited knock on his door as he sipped his coffee almost made him want to pretend he wasn't home, that you weren't about to bounce into his kitchen holding two white sticks with a huge grin plastered across your face. But he didn't, and you did.

Either he really sold his reaction to your news well or you were too elated to notice his heart being ripped from his chest.

It was over. You were pregnant, and you no longer needed him. You would no longer come by every month and keep his bed warm. You would no longer share breakfast with him or talk to him about the books you were reading. He would go back to being utterly and completely alone.

It took a good month or two, but he adjusted back to his normal life. You still did patrol runs with him, which he protested, but when you finally began to show around five months, you agreed to stop and found a different job in town, instead.

That made his chest crack back open. Now he hardly ever saw you. It was bad enough he didn't get to be with you, taste you, fuck you anymore, but now he didn't even get to hear your voice. Occasionally he would see you in the dining hall or in the street and you would always talk to him, but it wasn't the same. Meanwhile, you walked around Jackson with his child growing in your belly, your shirts straining against the swell of your womb, the life he put inside you blooming before everyone's eyes. And all he wanted to do was claim you, right there in the center of town for everyone to see. For everyone to look in awe at what the two of you had created together.

One evening he was sitting alone in front of his fire, sipping whiskey and staring blankly into the flames. He had a decent life, considering the circumstances. So why couldn't he just be happy?

Then a rap came at his door. Urgent and loud. He placed his tumbler down and quickly went to open it, surprised to find you waiting on the other side.

"Hey," you said breathlessly, one hand over your round stomach. His eyes dropped down to take you in before he met your gaze again.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," you replied with a look on your face that told him you didn't realize he would obviously panic about your wellbeing at this point in your pregnancy. "Sorry, I just - can I come in?"

"Yeah, 'course," he said, stepping aside to open the door wider. You toed off your boots and shrugged off your jacket, allowing him to take it from you and hang it up before you wandered into his living room. Your eyes fell on his abandoned glass and you smiled.

"I miss drinking," you said longingly. He grinned and, leaving the whiskey where it was so as not to tempt you, sat on the couch.

"What're you doin' here so late? Is the baby okay?"

"Yeah," you nodded, tearing your eyes away from the glass and sitting down near him on the sofa. "Baby's good. I just was thinking about you and I wanted to see you."

He perked up at that, he couldn't help himself. "Oh, yeah?"

You grinned and bit your lip shyly before looking away. "I miss you, I guess."

A smile spread wide across his face. "Aw, how sweet."

You swatted an arm out to smack him on the shoulder and he laughed, his heart finally feeling like it was mending a bit.

"Jerk," you muttered, and he laughed again.

"I missed you, too," he finally admitted, his cheeks rosy from the fire and the whiskey as he gazed at you, the reflection from the flames making your skin glow. Maybe it was that pregnancy glow that everyone used to talk about. Or maybe you always glowed and he just never allowed himself to notice until it was too late.

He watched your throat work, swallowing dryly while your fingers fidgeted in your lap and he realized you were nervous.

"What if I told you I missed you as more than just friends?" you whispered, your eyes pinned to the floor, unwilling or unable to meet his gaze.

His breath caught in his throat. Surely, he must have misheard you. But then you finally turned to look at him, tears welling in your eyes, and his heart lurched in his chest.

"What if I told you I'm in love with you?" he bravely whispered back.

Your eyebrows pinched together and your face crumpled before you reached forward, curling your arms around his neck and pulling him close, your lips pressing together earnestly before opening your mouth and letting his tongue lick behind your teeth.

He wasn't sure how you both made it upstairs and into his bed. He couldn't remember peeling your clothes off, one by one, revealing more and more of your changing body to him for the first time. But he did remember seeing your bare, swollen belly underneath him while his hand slowly slid across your skin in wonder. And then he felt it. A little flutter. A little jolt. And he looked up at you in surprise.

"She's kicking," you explained, and his eyes fell back to your stomach.

"She?"

You nodded, placing your hand over his lovingly. "I think it's a girl."

He smiled as tears began to cloud his vision, then bent forward to press a kiss against your stomach, letting his lips linger so hopefully his unborn daughter could feel him there and feel the love he had for her.

You had to pull him away by his shoulders, the both of you laughing softly, unable to believe how much things had changed in just a year.

Because not only were you a couple months away from finally being a mother, but you also realized you were very, very wrong all those months ago.

The man for you was, in fact, right there all along.

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[bytemee]

SECOND NATURE 2 — kim minjeong.

synopsis. teasing winter is second nature, sometimes it’s not even intentional.

pairing. winter x added!member!reader

warning(s). fluffy, r is still a big tease tease, possessive winter again!, and let me know if there's more!

words. 1.6k

authors note. i tried to cook, i think i burnt the food

navigation. main masterlist. request. part one.

it’s supposed to be a casual day out, but with you and winter walking through a busy shopping district, it doesn’t take long before fans start gathering. some approach cautiously, others excitedly call your names, and soon, there’s a small crowd forming.

you’re used to it by now, stopping to take quick photos and sign things while winter stands nearby, hands in her pockets, watching you interact.

a fan steps forward, grinning as they hold out a photocard.

you reach for it automatically, but when you see who’s on the card, you pause.

it’s a photocard of winter.

without thinking, you smile, flip it over between your fingers, and—right in front of winter—slip it into your jacket pocket. “oh, nice. thank you!”

winter’s head snaps up instantly.

the fan laughs, covering their mouth before showing you the marker. “y/n, you’re supposed to sign it!”

you glance at winter, your smile widening when you catch the slight furrow in her brow.

“ohhh, you wanted me to sign it?” you take it out of your pocket, brushing nonexistent dust off of it. “my bad, i thought it was a gift.”

winter scoffs under her breath, muttering, “like you don’t already have one of mine.”

you hear it. and so do the fans, judging by the giggles and whispers of “wait, y/n has a winter photocard?” floating through the crowd.

you grin at her, fully enjoying how she’s starting to look a little flustered. “what can i say? i’m a collector.”

winter rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide the small, amused smile tugging at her lips.

you finally sign the photocard, handing it back to the fan, who practically bounces with excitement. “thank you! winter, can i get yours too?”

winter obliges, but not before side-eyeing you as she scribbles her signature. when she hands it back, she mumbles just loud enough for you to hear, “i should start taking your photocards too.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you already have them?”

her ears turn pink, and she looks away quickly. “shut up.”

you and winter are sitting next to each other at the fansign event, casually signing albums when a fan asks, "if you had to marry one member of aespa, who would it be?”

it doesn’t surprise you; it's a question the four of you are often asked. you hum in thought, pretending to consider your options as you glance around the table before settling on winter. you grin at her, watching the way she rolls her eyes and shakes her head in exasperation.

“well, that’s easy,” you say smoothly, leaning back in your chair. “i’d marry minjeong.”

you catch winter's sharp inhale and the way she bites her lip to hide a smile. it's a tell-tale sign that she's pleased by your answer. but you know winter too well not to notice the subtle way she shifts in her seat, or the way her gaze lingers on you longer than necessary, or how her expression turns soft when she thinks you aren't looking.

the other members immediately whip their heads toward you.

karina raises an eyebrow. “oh?”

winter clears her throat, trying to act nonchalant. but you know she's secretly glad you picked her. you turn to her, shrugging like it’s nothing. “you’re the perfect choice.”

winter blinks rapidly. “why—”

you start listing on your fingers. “you’re cute, responsible, a great cook—”

giselle laughs at the redness rising to winter's cheeks. she elbows her. "you're blushing!"

"i'm not!" winter retorts, trying to hide her face behind her hand. ningning tries to remove them, but it’s no use.

you nod along, grinning. "you already take care of me anyway; might as well make it official.”

winter's gaze snaps to you, her cheeks still pink but a teasing smile on her lips. she leans in and smacks your arm. "y/n, you're so annoying."

then, to make it worse, you turn back to the fan and seriously ask, “can you be the witness at our wedding?”

winter refuses to sit next to you at the next fansign.

your solo stage comes first, and winter is watching—except she’s barely watching you.

instead, her gaze keeps shifting to your dance partner. the one who places their hand a little too comfortably on your waist during the choreo. the one who leans a little too close.

winter’s arms cross tighter each time. she refuses to let herself react, but it’s impossible to ignore the way her jaw clenches when your partner’s fingers trail along your arm.

by the time her turn comes in the next show, she makes sure to fix the situation.

you’re her partner this time. and she makes sure to dance closer than ever.

there’s no space between you. the choreo never called for it, but she wraps her arms around you a little tighter, her grip a little firmer. she doesn’t take her eyes off you once.

you try your hardest not to laugh or smile during the performance, but it gets difficult with winter pressing against you so much that it feels like you can hardly breathe. you catch her staring at you, and she has the audacity to smirk.

when the song ends and the two of you have to bow, winter does it a little too quickly, her hand finding yours and squeezing. she lets go just as fast, but you quickly pull her back, lacing your fingers together and keeping her close. she glances at you in surprise, and you can see the light blush on her cheeks, but you only grin and squeeze her hand reassuringly.

you’re at the dorms, reaching up to put something on the highest shelf in the kitchen when she walks in.

she pauses. you see her glance at the item before slowly looking at you.

“y/n.”

“hm?” you don’t stop what you’re doing, too focused on stretching as far as you can to reach the shelf.

she glares. “bring that down.”

you tilt your head. “bring what down?”

she scoffs. then, she reaches past you to grab it herself.

except she can't reach it either. she stands on her toes, grunting as she tries to reach it, but it's obvious that it's beyond her reach. "need some help?" you ask, your tone too innocent.

her face flushes red, and she scowls. "i'm perfectly capable of getting it myself," she says firmly, her words coming out more like a warning than an actual statement.

she's so cute. but you know better than to say that, instead leaning in and whispering in her ear, "you're so short."

she snaps her head to you, ready to glare, but her eyes widen when she realizes how close you are. she freezes. "…get out of my ear!"

you laugh, stepping away. "how about i get that for you?"

winter huffs and looks away. "whatever."

you step behind her, and she stiffens when your arms reach around her and grab the item on the shelf. she's so warm. you lean forward, trying not to think about how good she smells. "here," you murmur, handing her the item.

she takes it, still not looking at you. but as soon as you step away, she grabs your sleeve. "hey!" she yells, and you turn around, surprised to find her face even redder than before.

she looks you straight in the eyes, her jaw clenched, and suddenly, you're worried you actually went too far. you open your mouth to apologize, but before you can get a word out, she speaks up again.

"thank you!"

the words come out rushed and high-pitched, and you stare at her in confusion. she still won't meet your eyes, but you can tell she's serious from the way her brow is furrowed.

your chest swells with affection, and you smile. "of course."

life in the dorms with winter was nothing short of a competitive nightmare.

you learned this the hard way when, after a long day, all you wanted to do was kick back on the couch and watch the soccer match you’d been waiting for.

except winter was already there, controller in hand, watching her own show like she owned the place.

you frowned. “move.”

“no.” she didn’t even glance at you, eyes still glued to the screen.

you crossed your arms. “i was literally about to watch the game.”

winter scoffed. “not my problem. i was here first.”

you sighed dramatically before stepping closer, towering over her. then, just because you knew it’d get to her, you reached over and grabbed the remote from her hand effortlessly.

“yah!” winter immediately jumped up, trying to snatch it back, but you held it high above your head.

she reached. she missed.

she reached again. still missed.

“wow,” you mused, grinning down at her. “so small.”

winter glared. “give it back, y/n.”

you waved the remote just out of her reach. “what was that? i can’t hear you from up here.”

she huffed, frustration growing by the second. then, before you could react, she grabbed onto your shirt and pulled—using her entire body weight to wrestle the remote out of your hand.

you yelped as you lost balance, nearly toppling over. “minjeong, what the hell—”

she used the moment to snatch the remote back and immediately ran to the other side of the couch, hugging it to her chest.

“i win,” she said smugly.

you narrowed your eyes at her. “this isn’t over.”

and it wasn't. not when you started kicking her off the couch every time she tried to watch her show, and definitely not when she retaliated by stealing your snacks.

in the end, you both ended up sitting on the floor in front of the couch, each too stubborn to let the other watch their show. and as you watched her get absorbed in whatever drama was playing, you couldn’t help but think:

the sight of winter happily watching her show is worth missing a game.

[heliosunny]

Yandere!Phainon with a reader who tries to run away but with the song- "veronica, open the door" from meant to be yours ifyk wht mean......

Ah, Heathers. You have no idea how much I love it.

Meant to be yours

Yandere!Phainon x Reader

Valentine’s Day was always an eventful time.

You weren’t exactly famous, but you had enough admirers to receive a decent number of gifts every year—small tokens of appreciation, letters with clumsy handwriting, and carefully wrapped sweets. It was harmless. Fun, even.

This year was no different. The morning started with a few gifts waiting for you, a mix of chocolates and little trinkets from people who admired you from afar. Phainon watched with mild disinterest as you sorted through them, his sharp gaze flicking over each item with the wariness of a guard dog.

"You really accept anything from anyone, don’t you?"

"It’d be rude not to. And most of these are just harmless chocolates."

Phainon didn’t seem convinced, but he let it go—until later that evening when you bit into one of the sweets and felt a sharp, searing pain tear through your mouth. The metallic taste of blood spread instantly, and you recoiled, coughing as you spit out the candy. A glint of something sharp caught the light, coated in crimson.

Phainon was at your side in an instant. His fingers gripped your chin, tilting your head so he could see the damage. His expression darkened, eyes narrowing as his gaze flickered between your bleeding lip and the candy on the floor.

"Who gave this to you?"

You barely managed to answer. You had seen Phainon irritated before, but this was something different.

Phainon didn’t give you a choice. One moment, you were still reeling from the pain, and the next, he had you on your feet, practically dragging you out the door.

"Phainon—!" You tried to protest, but his grip on your wrist tightened.

"You’re going to the doctor" he said, his voice eerily calm, but the way his nails dug into your skin betrayed the tension in his body. "No arguments."

The trip was a blur. You were vaguely aware of Phainon keeping an arm around your shoulders, his pace quick and his grip firm, as if he expected you to collapse at any second. The moment you stepped into the clinic, he didn’t even let you speak for yourself.

"My friend ate some sweets" he informed the doctor, "Something sharp was inside."

"You're lucky you didn't swallow it." the doctor said, peering into your mouth with a critical eye. "The cut isn't too deep, but it'll be sensitive for a while. Avoid anything too hot, spicy, or hard to chew. And definitely no more mystery chocolates."

You winced as they dabbed disinfectant on the wound. You felt Phainon's entire body tense beside you and his gaze burning into the side of your face, but you didn’t dare turn to look at him.

The doctor sighed, scribbling something down. "Just be careful. If you start feeling unwell, dizziness, nausea—anything unusual—come back immediately. But for now, you're fine to go."

You muttered a small thanks before sliding off the chair, but before you could even move toward the door, Phainon’s hand was already on your wrist.

He didn’t let go.

Not even on the way home.

That night, you lay in bed, staring at the dim light of your phone screen.

Phainon [11:07 PM]: Does it still hurt?

You sighed, rolling onto your side before replying.

You [11:09 PM]: It's fine. Just a little sore. You [11:09 PM]: Stop worrying so much.

He didn’t reply right away, but you could see the three little dots appearing and disappearing as if he kept typing, deleting, and retyping his response.

Phainon [11:12 PM]: I’ll handle it.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Handle what?

You wanted to ask, but something in your gut told you not to.

Instead, you turned off your phone and tried to sleep.

The next morning, Phainon was already waiting for you outside, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. When he saw you, he immediately straightened, his gaze sweeping over you like he was checking for any signs of harm.

"Did anyone bother you last night?"

You blinked. "No? Why would they?"

He didn’t answer, but then, as you turned the corner, his body suddenly went rigid.

"Go inside"

You followed his gaze and spotted the person standing at the far end of the street. A man, older than you, dressed in plain clothes. He wasn’t doing anything suspicious, just standing near a lamppost, looking down at something in his hands.

"Phainon, what—"

"Inside."

You hesitated but took a few steps toward your door. When you turned back to glance at him, he was already walking toward the stranger.

At the time, you thought nothing of it.

But later that evening, the news spread.

A man had been found dead in an alley. His throat slit cleanly, the wound too precise to be from a random attack.

And when you saw Phainon again, there was a small, almost unnoticeable red stain on the sleeve of his jacket.

----

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the glow of Phainon’s phone screen. The soft click of his nails against the glass echoed through the silence as he scrolled through your social media.

His eyes flicking between posts, comments. He was thorough—checking likes, reactions, and replies. It was a routine now.

Then he found it.

An unusual profile.

The account was old but recently active. No personal photos, no real name, just vague posts and replies under your pictures. Nothing overtly hostile, but something was off.

His fingers hovered over the screen.

Phainon [12:47 AM]: Who are you?

The response was quick.

Unknown [12:48 AM]: Who’s asking?

A slow smirk curled at the corner of Phainon’s lips. Interesting.

Phainon [12:49 AM]: Someone looking to talk. Face-to-face.

Unknown [12:51 AM]: Lol. You’re coming off strong, man. What do you want?

Phainon [12:52 AM]: You seem close with Y/N. Thought I’d introduce myself.

The typing bubble appeared, vanished, then returned.

Unknown [12:55 AM]: …You’re not their boyfriend, are you?

Phainon’s grip on the phone tightened.

Phainon [12:56 AM]: Meet me tomorrow. Let’s talk.

He sent a location. An alley. Quiet, empty at night.

The typing bubble flickered again.

Unknown [12:57 AM]: Sounds shady as hell.

Phainon [12:58 AM]: Just a conversation. Unless you have something to hide?

Unknown [1:00 AM]: Fine.

The air was cold. The alley was dimly lit, Phainon leaned against the wall, idly spinning a cutter knife between his fingers. The silver blade glinted under the light.

Footsteps approached.

The man—young, nervous—stepped into the alley. He hesitated, shifting on his feet, eyes darting around.

"You’re the guy from the messages?" he asked, voice guarded.

"I am."

"You’re kinda creepy, man."

Phainon chuckled. "Am I? You’re the one lurking around my friend’s profile. You ask a lot of questions. Seem awfully curious about where they are."

"So what? You got a problem with that?"

"I do, actually."

The knife clicked as he extended the blade.

The man’s eyes flicked to the weapon, then back to Phainon’s face. "…Dude. You’re seriously pulling a knife on me?"

"That depends. Were you planning something?"

The man scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re insane. I just follow their posts. It’s not illegal."

"You’re right. It’s not."

The blade slashed upward, catching the man’s throat before he could react. A sharp, wet gasp escaped him as he stumbled back, hands flying to his neck, blood gushing between his fingers.

Phainon caught him before he could hit the ground, gently lowering him as if handling something delicate.

The man’s mouth opened, choking on air, struggling to speak.

Phainon crouched beside him, tilting his head. "You know," he murmured, "you’re right. Maybe you weren’t a threat. Maybe you were just some nobody with too much time on your hands."

The body twitched. The blood pooled. And Phainon wiped his blade clean against the man’s jacket before standing.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. Then, with the same casual ease as someone finishing an errand, he stepped over the body and walked away.

Tomorrow, he would check your social media again.

----

It didn’t stop with that first body.

The deaths began piling up. Some were dismissed as tragic accidents. Others, the authorities labeled as suicides.

The first was a boy from your school—a popular guy, known for his playful flirting with you. His body was found hanging in his bedroom one morning, the door locked from the inside. A suicide note was placed neatly on his desk. The handwriting matched his own.

But his friends swore he had been fine the day before.

Then there was the girl who used to compete with you academically, often smugly boasting about outscoring you on tests. She was found in a bathtub, wrists slit open. Her phone—dropped carelessly on the bathroom tiles—had messages on the screen. Ones she had apparently sent to herself.

"I’m sorry." "I can’t do this anymore." "Goodbye."

People mourned. Teachers gave sympathetic speeches. Candlelight vigils were held.

And Phainon?

He never said much.

Then, days later, another death. A boy who had confessed to you once, only to be rejected. He had jumped from the school rooftop. The security footage showed him stepping over the edge without hesitation.

No one had pushed him. No one was there.

And yet… the way he stood, completely still, right before he jumped—almost like he was listening to someone.

The pattern didn’t go unnoticed.

The police arrived at your school, officers questioning teachers and students alike. But no one knew anything. No connections were found. No evidence of foul play.

And Phainon?

He answered their questions with ease.

"I didn’t know them well." "I don’t think they were struggling, but I can’t say for sure." "It’s really tragic."

No one suspected him.

Then, one night, you learned the truth.

It was late. But you had left something at school- your book, forgotten in the rush to leave.

The campus was empty, eerily silent under the flickering streetlights. You moved quickly, slipping through the hallways, grabbing your thing, ready to go home.

But then you heard it. Someone's voice.

And there he was.

Phainon.

Standing in front of a student you vaguely recognized. A trembling figure backed against the wall, eyes wide with terror.

And in Phainon’s hand…

A stationery knife.

"You don’t have to do this..." the student whimpered.

"But I do, You’ve been getting too close."

"I-I won’t say anything, I swear—!"

"You think I trust you? Come on. Let’s make this easy. No unnecessary pain."

The knife glinted.

The student collapsed.

Phainon let the body fall, crouching beside it, tilting his head in quiet observation. Then, just like always, he wiped the blade clean and pocketed it.

You stumbled back, breath ragged. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

You had to leave.

You turned and ran, slipping away before he could notice.

The next morning, you couldn’t look at him.

Phainon greeted you as usual, "Did you sleep well?"

You didn’t answer.

"Something wrong? You seem off today."

You forced a nod, gripping your bag tight. Your palms were clammy.

And from that day on, you avoided him.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t text.

But Phainon didn’t like it.

It started with a knock at the door.

Your stomach twisted the moment you heard your mother’s voice: "Oh, Phainon! What a surprise! Come in, dear."

You sat frozen in your room, staring at the door as your mother led him inside.

"Is Y/N in?"

"Yes! Upstairs. Let me-"

"Ah," Phainon interrupted smoothly, voice as polite as ever. "No need to bother Y/N. I’ll just stop by another time."

Your mother laughed lightly. "Oh, don’t be silly! They’ll be happy to see you."

You weren’t happy to see him. You weren’t happy at all.

But the doorknob didn’t turn. There was no knock on your door.

Instead, after a moment, you heard his voice downstairs again.

"Actually, I have to run. Thank you for having me."

You thought you were safe.

You thought he had left.

But as you walked through the quiet streets that evening, heading anywhere but home, you felt it.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

His voice cut through the air, close.

You turned sharply. Phainon stood behind you. The dim streetlight cast eerie shadows across his face.

"I—"

"You haven’t been talking to me. You won’t even look at me." He took a step forward. "Did I do something?"

Your should pretend that it’s fine. Pretend you don’t know.

But the image of the knife, the blood, the lifeless bodies flashed in your mind. And before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out.

"I saw you."

"You what?"

"That night. At school. I saw you. I saw what you did."

"You’re not making any sense."

"Stop lying." Your voice wavered, but you forced the words out. "Just say it. Confess. Admit what you did."

"So....You’re scared of me."

"No....I..."

"Why? I did it for you-"

"Because I should be.. Because you're a murderer."

You turned and walked away. Left him standing there.

You didn’t look back.

Not even when he called your name.

----

Phainon was gone.

He didn’t show up at school.

No texts. No calls. No messages.

And somehow, that scared you more.

Because Phainon never left without a reason.

And whatever he was planning next…

You wouldn’t see it coming.

For days, Phainon didn’t return to school.

At first, you tried to convince yourself that it was over. That maybe—maybe—he had finally decided to leave you alone.

But then, the feeling started.

That creeping sensation of being watched.

At home. On the way to school. Even in broad daylight.

You stopped leaving your curtains open. You avoided walking alone. You tried to tell yourself that it was paranoia.

Then, one night, you saw him.

Through the window.

Standing across the street.

Watching.

And when your eyes met—

He smiled.

You kept your door locked. You double-checked the windows. You kept your phone close, ready to call for help.

BANG

You jolted awake.

Someone was pounding on your front door.

Your phone screen lit up. Phainon. Calling. Again. And again.

BANG, BANG, BANG.

You stayed frozen in bed, your breath shaky.

"Y/N… Open the door."

You squeezed your eyes shut. No. No, no, no.

"I know you’re awake."

You swallowed, forcing yourself to stay silent.

"Come on… just come out and talk to me."

"You used to talk to me." His voice was quieter now, almost sad. "Why won’t you talk to me anymore?"

"I miss you...."

You gripped your blanket tight, every muscle in your body locked up.

More knocking.

"Y/N, open the door please..."

"I won’t leave until you talk to me."

More pounding.

"Please, Y/N... I just want to see you. Everything I did.. I did it for you. I protected you, cared for you,.. Don't you see? I... was meant to be yours..."

No more pounding.

After awhile, you forced yourself to move, crawling out of bed, tiptoeing toward the window instead of the door. Hands trembling, you peeked through the blinds—

And there he was.

Not at the door anymore.

Standing in your yard. Staring straight up at your window.

His phone still in his hand.

Your own phone vibrated again. Another call.

Then, a message.

"I can see you."

You stumbled backward.

Another message.

"If you won’t open the door…"

The typing bubble appeared.

"I’ll come in myself."

Your hands shook as you backed away from the window, heart hammering so loud it drowned out the sound of your own breathing.

You can't seem to find a space to hide.

Click.

Did the door just unlocked? How? How?!

The door creaked open.

A hand clamped over your mouth. An arm wrapped around your torso, yanking you back before you could even scream.

Your muffled cries were useless as your back slammed against his chest.

"Shh," Phainon whispered against your ear. His grip tightened as you thrashed, "It’s okay, I’ve got you."

You tried to scream, but his palm pressed harder against your lips.

"You kept running. Kept hiding. That’s not very nice."

Tears pricked your eyes. You twisted in his grip, your nails digging into his wrist.

"I didn’t want to do it this way, but you left me no choice."

Do what?

"I took care of your parents."

Your eyes went wide, frantic, searching for any possible meaning—any possibility that you misheard him.

But he only smiled, voice gentle. "Don’t worry, they didn’t suffer."

No, no, no—!

Your scream was muffled against his hand, your entire body wracked with terror.

He killed them.

"You don’t have to be scared" he whispered. "You have me now. I’ll take care of you."

But just when his grip loosened slightly, and in a blind surge of desperation, you bit down on his hand.

"Ah—"

He flinched, just enough for you to break free.

You stumbled forward, sprinting toward the door. But the second you stepped into the hallway, you saw your parents. Sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood, eyes empty, throats slit clean.

A sharp, ugly scream tore out of you.

The world spun. Your knees buckled.

-----

Your body was heavy.

Something soft beneath you—a bed. But the air felt wrong.

Not your room.

Your head throbbed as your eyes fluttered open.

"Finally awake?"

You turned your head slowly to see Phainon sat at the edge of the bed.

"Sorry about earlier" he murmured. "I know that was… a lot to take in."

Your hands clenched the sheets.

"But it’s okay now," he continued, leaning forward. "You’re safe here. No more bad people. No more threats."

He reached forward, his fingers brushing your cheek with disturbing tenderness.

"You’ll start your new life here," he whispered. "With me."

----

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ If you don’t see me posting as often, it’s either because I’m busy or feeling sick. I have over 130 requests, but I’m working on the plots and will finish some of them soon!

[danisbrainrot]

shauna shipman x reader a/n: minor season three spoilers, angst and unhinged shauna ahead. NSFW (it's smut because shauna this season is making me feel things). afab reader.

you watched shauna storm off, refusing to participate in whatever crazy shit the group was making you do now. you felt bad because nat had been trying to boost morale, and van had worked hard on coming up with unique to entertain the group, but you understood why she wouldn't stay around. ever since losing the baby, everyone treated her differently—like she was a tightly wound coil about to snap.

they weren't wrong; you had seen her in a rage scribbling so fast in her diary, almost setting it fire. you often watched the way she tormented mari, and shauna could be cruel. however, there was something so tragic about her that called out to you.

losing her best friend, her baby, and then javi in quick succession would cause even the sanest of people to snap, but shauna's rage simmered quietly until she unleashed it on others. everyone feared her, but you. . . you were drawn to her.

excusing yourself, you left the circle and followed shauna. everyone else, too distracted to notice, didn't see you leave.

you found shauna kneeling at her baby's grave, whispering something unintelligible. you crept closer to eavesdrop, only to snap on a branch. her head snaps up, and she locks eyes with you. it's quiet for a moment as she eyes you up and down—a shiver ran up your spine. out of delight or fear, you didn't know. perhaps both.

quicker than the blink of an eye, shauna pressed a knife to your neck. "what are you doing here?" she hissed, holding you against a tree.

you struggled to form a response, shamelessly excited by the sharp blade digging into your neck. "i was just checking up on you, shauna," you promise.

"are you here for my baby? i won't let you anywhere near him," she snapped, her face inches from yours—you could feel her hot breath on your face.

"no, i'm not here for him. i'm here for you, shauna. i noticed you left the circle—"

"i don't want to listen to a bunch of dumbasses talk about how my best friend and baby needed to die," she spat, a dangerous gleam in her eyes. if this was anyone else, they'd be terrified—but you felt something different. pity. shauna resembled a scared animal backed into a corner.

so, going against your common sense, you leant forward—showing you weren't scared of her—and smashed your lips against hers. you pull back instantly, trying to gauge her reaction.

she was frozen in place, staring at you with wide eyes—gorgeous brown eyes that had hardened after the crash. the same eyes that you'd become smitten with ever since you tried out for the soccer squad.

a panic shot through you as you realised how dumb your mistake was. she just stared at you, her anger-filled eyes fading and revealing the truth—vulnerability.

shauna's lips were on yours again. they were hungry and demanding. her hands gripped your cheeks tightly as she devoured your mouth, pressing her body up against yours to keep you in place. you rest your hands on her waist, trying to ground her.

the bark was rough against your back, the thin material of your shirt doing nothing to stop it from scratching you. you tried to readjust into a more comfortable position, but shauna wasn't letting you move. instead, she pulled away and almost ripped your shirt off. you gasped softly, receiving an eyebrow raise from shauna—almost like she was asking you if you had a problem with how rough she was.

"strip," she barked. you immediately followed her commands, pulling your shorts to your ankles and stepping out of them, placing them next to your discarded shirt. shauna pulled her butterfly shirt over her head, tossing it somewhere on the floor and unbuckled her belt. "naked."

hesitantly, you reached behind and unhooked your bra. "have you done this before?" you question, pulling the straps down and finally exposing your boobs.

shauna stared hungrily at your chest, her eyes unmoving as she shook her head. "i've had sex, just not with a woman," she replied. her eyes finally met yours, "shouldn't be that hard to learn."

you were about to scoff when she recaptured your lips. it was a messy kiss, full of teeth and tongue as shauna unleashed her pent up anger on you. she squeezed your boobs, groping them like a horny teenage boy.

her knee pressed against your heat, revealing your dripping heat. she pulled away, yanking your panties down to your ankles before running a single finger through your slick. holding her finger to your face, she smirked at you, "i held a knife to your throat."

"it was hot," you shrugged. shauna growled, taking your lips into hers again. this kiss wasn't any nicer—but you wouldn't have it any other way. you wanted her passion. her anger. her hunger. shauna bit down on your bottom lip, causing you to moan and allowing her to shove her tongue down your throat.

her knee was pressed against your core but didn't move, while her hands rested on your boobs. you were seconds away from whining and begging her to do something when she pinched your left nipple. you gasp violently, and something dark stirs in her eyes. shauna's lips move to your throat, biting down on the pulse points before licking them better. all the while, her hands twisted and pinched your nipples deliciously.

"this is how i've always liked it," she mumbled against your neck, "rough," she made her way to your clavicle, shoving you higher up the tree with her knee and leaving marks on your collarbone. "jeff never wanted to hurt me. never wanted to leave evidence for jackie to find," she sneered. "but when i'm done with you, everyone will know what happened."

one hand remains, rough handling one of your nipples, while the other trails down your sternum. the lower her finger went, the more chills rushed up your spine. shauna placed a few more marks on your clavicle, then your chest before she pulled away to watch her finger tease you. she went agonisingly slow; her finger circled your belly button before it followed your snail trail down to your bush.

you gripped onto her shoulders to ground you. she made eye contact with you, delighting in how much pleasure you were getting from this, and she hadn't even touched your most sensitive area yet.

when she finally touched your clit, she remembered how she touched her own and swirled it delicately to begin with. you were incredibly wet, so she felt comfortable picking up her pace. your breathing quickened, a soft moan slipped from your lips, but that wasn't enough for her. she wanted to see you squirm. she wanted to hear you scream for her.

she traced your slit with her finger, as you mourned the loss of contact with your clit. without warning, she slipped her middle finger into your pussy—eliciting a gasp from you. "shauna," you whispered, feeling her pump it deliciously. your wetness made it to easy, so she added another one almost immediately. "curl them," you begged, she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, pausing her ministrations as she worked out how to curl them. "you. . . you still move," you bit your lip, watching her glare at you.

"i know. i'm working it out, shut up," she hissed. her pace quickened, as she took your advice. you moans were no longer soft, gaining volume the faster she went. shauna picked up a rhythm, rocking you against the tree—but you were too blissed out to feel the pain of the bark scratching your back.

her thumb circled your clit, while she continued to pump two fingers in your pussy. she struggled at first, trying to grope your boob, finger your and play with your clit—it appeared to be too much for her inexperienced self—but eventually got the hang of it. you were in bliss, getting perfectly fucked by shauna, you felt bad for not returning the favour.

a burning sensation in your stomach began to soar, as shauna brought you closer to the edge. you could feel your orgasm was swiftly approaching. "shauna, holy shit. i'm so close, i'm almost there," you moaned. her pace quickened again, as shauna began violently fingering you. any pain was replaced by pleasure as you screamed her name. shauna suddenly realised how close everyone else was and didn't want this to end, and pressed her lips against yours to shut you up.

it wasn't until shauna put her mouth back on yours that you felt your orgasm come over you in waves. you moaned in to her mouth, as she fingered you through your orgasm. you panted as she finally pulled away, pressing her forehead against yours. "my turn," she growled.

you dropped to your knees, hooking your finger around her panties and ensuring you maintained eye contact with shauna as you pulled them down.

unable to wait any longer, eager to please her, you pressed your nose against her bush and inhaled her sex. tentatively, you kitten licked her clit—her hand roughly grabbed the back of your head and shoved your face into her pussy. needing no more instruction, you laved at her clit. she grunted softly, as your licks treasured her sensitive nub. you weren't satisfied with the noise she was making, however, and decided to draw moans out of her another way.

clutching her love handles, your nose nudged at her clit as you licked strips of her slit. your tongue dipped, causing a loud moan to erupt from her. shauna covered her mouth with her elbow, looking down at you fiercely. the grip on the back of your head tightened as she rocked her hips against you.

you ate her out like a starving woman, and she was your last meal. if this was winter, she might have been. but thankfully it was springtime.

shauna was close, you could tell. her hips rocked erratically as you began frantically eating her out. your nose rubbing against her clit was the final straw. shauna let out the loudest moan you'd heard as she came.

you lapped up her juices, eating her out through her orgasm before cleaning her up. when you finally pulled away, you looked up at her through your eyelashes and smirked at her face. shauna stared down at you and smiled—the first genuine smile you'd seen from her in a long time. it was a ghost of a smile, but it was still there.

"i think you should hold a knife to my throat more often," you joked.

"you should move in to my tent. . . in case i ever need to blow off some steam," she mumbled.

"okay, but i'm a big spoon—"

"i'm not spooning you," she snapped.

you raised your hand in surrender, "whatever you say, shauna." you smirked, knowing she'd crack, eventually.

[lamaery]

This time it is Rlain's turn to gaze. :D There's a reason mateform makes you unfocused. Here is Renarin looking back

ID: The first image features Renarin through Rlain's loving eyes. In all, Renarin glimmers with handsomespren. In none of them is Renarin looking back at us. They paint a beautiful vision of being in love with a man who prefers not to make a lot of eye contact. In the first drawing, Renarin looks out from a slightly ducked posture, his attention focused elsewhere and his expression privately delighted, as if he'd just thought of something wickedly clever that he hasn't yet shared. The light catches his features in an alluring way, and the viewer knows exactly what Rlain loves about his boyfriend's brilliant mind. In the second drawing, Renarin looks out into the middle distance, his expression serious and emotionally neutral, but somehow weighted with responsibility. His wide Blackthorn jaw seems slightly clenched, but unconsciously. His collar is tantalizingly open, allowing Rlain to enjoy the elegant length of his neck and that secret hollow of his throat. In the third sketch, Renarin is seen from above. He's leaning back in a chair, his head resting comfortably and uninhibitedly, supported by the chair's curved back. He's looking in the opposite direction from the viewer, but he smiles with teeth. His collar is wide open, and he looks so comfortable in his own skin. Like, he's so completely relaxed, so uninhibited, like sharing his personal space bubble and his body with Rlain is effortless. In the fourth sketch, Renarin stands across the room, about twenty feet away. His weight is subtly on his back foot to compensate as he holds up at an arm's length an impeccably pressed, regal knee-length Kholin jacket. In his other hand, he holds his shorter Bridge Four jacket, in a way that will keep the collar from being creased. He's wearing an undershirt that my heart knows was custom made for his measurements with a pair of pants with a line of coy, delicate little buttons down the split in his lower pants leg, from knee to lower calf. The split shows a tantalizing sliver of calf, and he doesn't even realize how handsome he is. His pants make his butt a little flat, but we all must cope with devastating trials in this mortal realm. He has elegantly boned feet and there's a slim musculature behind his leanness now, and isn't that all that really matters in this universe? Rlain thinks so. In the fifth drawing, Renarin leans over a few scribbled pages, one hand pointed outward as it presses flat against the table.  He seems deep in conversation with Glys, attention focused inward as he focused on the complexities of a mystery.  He's wearing a buttoned-down version of a fancier outfit: a tailored cross-body vest that emphasizes the slimness and sleekness of his build. and matching trousers.  Beneath that is a button-up shirt with an open collar and rolled-up sleeves, because Marie loves us and she wants us to be happy. The second image, at the top right, is a very cartoonishly minimalistic and humorously stylized illustration of mateform Rlain standing with absolutely zero chill, his arms crossed in a way he wants you to think is relaxed, but clearly isn't relaxed at all.  He's staring forward and sweating, the words "Trying very hard to concentrate." snaking around his head.  He's also wearing a very wide open collar in harmony with his stouter overall physique.  He also has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, because everyone deserves to see their favorite forearm circumference represented in media. 3 and 4 are a trio of very quick and sketchy but also ADORABLE illustrations, Rlain grabs a surprised Renarin's vest front, which draws a deep blush and a very enthusiastic and eager little grin.  Surprises are not always great, but he's 100% down with this one!  They meet in a kiss, craning over the table between them, Rlain's hand still clutching a fistful of Renarin's vest and Renarin reciprocating with passion, cradling the back of Rlain's neck with one hand, one finger running up the bare skin where neck meets skull.  Passionspren fall thickly around them.

[fushiguro-megloomy]

The Dean's Assistant

request: “may I request something where viktor is eating out needy reader (established relationship) 👉👈” tags: afab!reader, oral (f receiving), humiliation kink if you really squint, miláčku = honey wc: 1.9k notes: iiiiii got carried away with this LMAO-

dividers from cafekitsune

You had always been a particularly persistent person, some might even say bordering on arrogance. At least, that’s how others might describe you. Admittedly, it has served you well over the years, helping you climb the academic ladder and often pushing back against regulations in the name of scientific pursuit. You liked to think you simply knew how to charm people—professors, lab partners, anyone who could help you get ahead.

That was, of course, until you met your match. A brilliant mind, quickly flying through the ranks and overtaking you in academic seniority. It ruffled your feathers, to say the least. It didn’t help that he had a way of turning your own tactics against you, leaving you flustered and, on rare occasions, at a complete loss for words.

Even after you’d started dating, it felt like a never-ending game of cat and mouse—though you were never quite sure which of you was the cat and which was the mouse.

You leaned against the doorframe of Heimerdinger’s lab, your arms crossed and an exaggerated pout on your lips. Your boyfriend in question was in a familiar haunch, his brows furrowed in concentration as he scribbled along his reports.

“Viktor,” you called out, your tone bordering on a whine.

“Mm,” he hummed absently, not looking up.

“I’m bored,” you said, stepping closer.

“Then perhaps you should find a hobby,” he replied without missing a beat, his voice dry but laced with a hint of teasing.

“Oh, I have one.” You rounded the workbench, slowly until you were hovering near him. “You.”

That earned you a glance, his lips twitching as he fought a smile. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm.” You leaned against the edge of the bench, letting your fingers trail over the scattered papers. “And you’ve been very bad at entertaining me lately.”

“I've been busy,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the stack of notes in front of him. “Some of us have responsibilities, you know.”

You scoffed. “I’m just saying you could take a break once in a while. I mean, when’s the last time we…” You trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

He gave you a sideways look, his expression equal parts amused and exasperated. “You are incorrigible.”

“And you are stubborn,” you shot back, your fingers curling around the edge of the bench as you leaned in. “Don’t you miss me?”

His lips parted as if to respond, but you didn’t give him the chance. Instead, you slipped closer, your hand brushing against his thigh. “Come on,” you murmured, your voice dropping to a softer, more coaxing tone. “Just a little break. For me?”

Viktor let out a sigh, his head tilting slightly as he finally set the pen down. “You do not play fair,” he said, his voice tinged with mock disapproval.

“I never claimed to,” you countered, your grin widening as you stepped fully into his space.

He rose to meet you, quick to pull you flush against him. The action caught you off guard, and you let out a surprised squeak as a hand settled firmly on your hip.

“Careful what you wish for, miláčku,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as his eyes locked onto yours. “What exactly do you expect me to do? Push you up against the workbench and have my way with you here, in the lab?”

Your breath hitched at the way he said it. “Maybe,” you said, your voice coming out more breathless than you intended.

He chuckled. “Unbelievable.”

“You like it,” you quipped, your hands sliding up to his chest.

He hummed, eyes flickering to your lips. “You’re lucky I do.”

Your hands quickly found their way around the white fabric of his tie, practically yanking him in for the kiss. Whatever lingering sense of responsibility he had was quickly tossed out the window, cold fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt leaving goosebumps in their wake. You responded by letting your own touch wander, fingers carding into his hair and giving a light tug, earning a small grunt from deep in his throat.

“You are a menace.” He grumbled, voice low, though his lips barely left yours long enough for it to carry any weight.

A giggle escaped you when his hand met the underside of your thigh and squeezed, you didn't hesitate to let him guide you up onto the workbench. The movement sent loose parts and sheets of paper tumbling to the floor, but neither of you paid them much mind as he moved to nip along your jaw.

“Me?” You countered. “What about you? This is what the Dean's assistant gets up to when nobody is looking?”

He froze for a moment, pulling back to meet your gaze. His expression was half amused, half threatening as one dark brow cocked.

“Do you want me to stop?” He challenged, hands finding purchase on your thighs giving them a squeeze.

“No—” it left your mouth too quickly, too eager, and heat crawled its way up your neck. “Not even a little bit.”

He pursed his lips in an attempt to hide the shit eating grin breaking across his face before he dipped back towards your neck. You could already feel yourself growing weaker at his touch, heat pulsing low in your belly, moaning meekly when his mouth bruised your neck.

As he pressed himself between your legs your hips bucked involuntarily to meet him, drawing a low sound from his throat. Your lips crashed together in another heated kiss, quickly growing desperate as his tongue swept across yours. Sensing your impatience Viktors grip shifted, pushing you down until you were flat against the benchtop. His teeth scraped your collarbone before he descended lower, leaving wet, hot kisses across your skin. His hands moved down your body, one roaming the curve of your hip while the other hooked into your waistband. His fingers hooked beneath the fabric, pulling at it with enough force to leave your heart hammering with anticipation.

His lips ghosted their way down, knowing just where to press to have you crumbling beneath him, hot breath tickling your skin. When he reached your hips you instinctively arched towards him, lifting just enough for him to slip your bottoms off in one quick motion. Despite the warm room your skin prickled, especially as his fingers traced idle patterns over your bare legs.

When he lowered to his knees in front of you a needy whine escaped your mouth, fingers already gripping the edge of the table. He smirked in response, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin where your thigh met your pelvis.

“Patience” he murmured, but the teasing edge to his tone only made you tremble.

Moving more deliberately he nipped at the skin of your inner thighs, leaving small marks in his wake. Lanky hands gripped your legs, keeping them firmly parted as he inched his way closer and it took everything in you not to squirm. Finally he flattened his tongue against you, licking a lazy strip over your clit. Your body tensed, a grunt spilling from your throat. He was growing a bit hazy already himself, dragging his thumb experimentally through your folds. His breath audibly hitched when your arousal coated his skin, and he began slow circles on your puffy clit.

“Look at you,” his voice was gravelly now, slightly strained. “So eager.”

You whimpered in response, hips now bucking towards his touch. Your reaction seemed to pull a quiet, almost dazed chuckle from him before his lips found your thigh again.

“Who knew you were so desperate for the Dean's assistant.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he threw your own words back at you.

“Viktor-” you breathed, a mixture of frustration and need clawing its way out of you.

Before you could protest further two long fingers slid inside of you, the sudden fullness stealing the words from your mouth and replacing them with a keening moan. His thumb continued its maddeningly slow assault of your clit and he watched you with a hungry gaze. He leaned in closer again, breathing out against your skin as he kissed back towards your center. His movements were unhurried despite the way you writhed under him.

“Say my name again.” His voice was low, and you barely processed his words, your focus splintering when his fingers started moving faster. Still, you managed to respond, his name tumbling weakly past your lips. It seemed to satisfy him, a quiet hum vibrating across your skin as his mouth replaced his thumb. The first pull of his lips against your clit had you reeling, crying out as your head fell back against the table.

His name slipped from your mouth again, more fervently this time and he rewarded you by suckling gently, tongue teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your thighs trembled around him, his free hand now pressing against your hip to steady you, though you could feel his grip tightened each time you squirmed.

Your fingers found their way back to the brown threads of his hair, pulling lightly as you grind your hips into his mouth. His fingers curled inside of you at just the right angle, sending a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you and your walls clenching around him. This time, though, it was Viktor who moaned. It was muffled and low but it reverberated right into your aching cunt, the sensation making your eyes roll back into your head as your grip on his hair tightened.

He was practically drunk on you now, lapping you up as his own arousal burned hot and insistent, cock straining in his pants. The way you pulled him in, every moan only spurred him on.

“That's it-” he cooed in a low condescending tone, breaking between teasing licks and soft kisses to your clit. “So desperate, aren't you miláčku?” He purred, words dripping with such mocking sweetness that it made you shiver.

You couldn't answer, couldn't do anything but whine and curl against him, not with his fingers bullying into you,spreading you just right while his lips brushed against you over and over. You were unraveling, quickly.

“Making such a mess,” he teased. “and on my boss's desk, no less.” a small tisk left him and he smiled against you. “What would Heimerdinger think if he walked in right now?”

It only made you burn hotter, eyes pinching shut as a strangled moan ripped its way out of you, the coil in you snapping violently. He was quick to latch back onto your clit, tongue flicking as your orgasm rolled over you. It was so overwhelming your body twisted and writhed in an attempt to escape, your voice cracked as you wailed his name. Yet he was nothing if not stubborn. His arm tightened around your thigh, pinning you in place. He refused to let up until he had you on the brink of overstimulation, cunt drooling against his hand, tears pricking your eyes as your entire body convulsed under him.

Only once he was satisfied he'd drawn every last tremor did he finally relent. He slowed, pressing a few more soft kisses along your thighs. You were an utter mess, panting, boneless body thrumming from the aftershock while your head lulled. Viktor lifted himself from the floor, hands smoothing over your thighs as his gaze raked over you. A smug grin pulled at his swollen lips, hair disheveled, and heat rose to your cheeks again.

“You're stunning like this.” His tone was thick with satisfaction.

You huffed in response, a sheepish smile forming on your face. Forcing your tired body up from the bench your hands found his collar again, pulling him in for another kiss. He gladly accepted, the taste of yourself lingering on his lips. Quietly you pushed him back towards his chair, a playful glint in your eye.

“Your turn.”

©lilsworks 2024

[mingumis]

stupid idiot | kmg

he doesn’t care about anything, other than the slow, curling smile on your lips and the feeling of your soft fingertips, fluttering over the bruises on his knuckles. 

pairing: gryffindor kim mingyu x slytherin f!reader genre: fluff !! so much fluff! tags: little bit of blood, nothing graphic! just a load of mingyu in love being a dummy a/n: i was racing against the clock to finish this before midnight but it's still the sixth where i am, so happy birthday to our precious minguri who deserves the whole world and then some 🥹 wc: 3.0k

read mingyu and sparky's first fic here!

“I love her.”

“Oh, wonderful. You’ve finally figured it out.” 

Seokmin barely lifts his head from his desk, where he’s finishing up on a love letter to his own girlfriend, no doubt, based on the sheer amount of hearts he has scribbled onto the parchment. 

Mingyu scowls and has half a mind to march over and tear up the letter to shreds, but he actually likes the Hufflepuff that Seokmin has sickeningly dubbed his Lovey and he also knows that you have been friends with her since first year Astronomy class. 

You. Sparky. Right, there are more important matters at hand. 

“Well, then,” Seokmin pokes his tongue out in concentration as he carefully rolls up the paper and seals it with hot wax. “Enlighten me. What helped you get it into that thick skull of yours?” 

Mingyu drops his bag onto the floor and comes around to Seokmin’s side of their room, plopping himself onto the neatly made mattress. He holds out the stack of his returned and graded assignment, where the professor has notated a perfect grade in the top margin. 

His friend finally looks over to his offering, brow furrowing. “Con...gratulations? Dude, what?” 

Mingyu sighs, partly out of frustration, mostly out of defeat. “No, no,” he mumbles, rifling through the pages to land on the conclusion that he settled on that night in the library, with your help, “Just read this.” 

Seokmin gives him another dubious look but takes the essay into his hands and starts reading the words out loud. 

“To the average witch or wizard, this dilemma provides merely an opportunity to practice a simple Levicorpus spell. Being tied down to the tracks before an unstoppable force, seconds before certain death, is a trivial matter to those who hold the power to move the earth with a mere flourish of the wrist. 

“To Muggles, however, the decision and its outcomes cannot be easy. The choice of inaction might allow several people’s deaths but keep the blood off of one’s hands, while action condemns a single person to death but saves the greater many. To protect the life of a lover, one may have to grapple with the active choice of letting a stranger, a classmate, even a friend or multiple, die in their place. In the split second that exists between life and death, logic and ethics and morality fail, and all that remains is love.” 

Mingyu squirms a little as Seokmin’s voice lingers even after he finishes reading. It’s his heart, poured out onto the parchment in the neat, blocky handwriting that you’ve complimented him more than once before. His heart, that he hopes to be able to convey to you someday. It’s so obvious to him that he frowns when he notices Seokmin’s puzzled squint. 

“What?” 

“I’m still confused.”

He huffs loudly, yanking the paper back, and flops backwards onto Seokmin’s bed so that he doesn’t have to look at his friend as he declares, “I’m in love with Sparky, alright? Like, she’s my friend, but also, I think she’s incredible and smart and perfect and– I would let five people die if it means saving her!” Mingyu heaves a few quick breaths and receives no response, so he turns his head to the side, where Seokmin’s face has contorted into something crossed between a knowing grin and a disgusted gag. 

“Okay, wow. I could’ve done without the theatrics,” his friend quips, but there’s already an excited sparkle to his eyes. “Ooh, does this mean that we can go on double dates now? 

Mingyu’s heart flutters at the thought, before he realizes that he hasn’t even gone on a date with you, let alone asked you out, let alone confessed his feelings to you. Those should all come first, probably, before a double date with Seokmin and his Lovey. He turns over, shoving his face into the pillows and lamenting through a groan, “I haven’t even told her yet.”

Seokmin snorts, “Well, hop to it, Romeo.”

“Who the hell is Romeo?”

“You’ve got so much more to learn about the Muggle world, my young Padawan.”

“What is a ‘Padawan’?” 

–

You’re determined to make this extremely difficult for him, it seems. 

The first time Mingyu tries to talk to you, it’s a futile attempt to catch you as you leave your Arithmancy lecture. 

You’re traveling in a cluster within your newfound Slytherin protection squad, led by Jeonghan and flanked by Soonyoung and Jihoon. The arrangement had resulted, courtesy of Seungcheol, when Mingyu had shown up to practice late one too many times from walking you to classes to fend off the bullies. Fortunately, the three Slytherin upperclassmen had been all too happy to be given a reason to sneer at snot-nosed pureblood supremacists at the compensation rate of a Butterbeer per month. Unfortunately for Mingyu, they seem to take their jobs a bit too seriously, judging by the warning hiss that escapes Jeonghan’s gritted teeth as he approaches. 

“I’m her friend!” Mingyu protests, gaze leaping from Soonyoung, who grins, Jihoon, who shrugs, and you, who cackles into your scarf. “Also, I’m your friend!”

Jeonghan lifts a shoulder, eyes narrowing with scrutiny. “You are Seungcheol’s friend. We are, at best, classmates, and at worst, rivals on the pitch. Besides, we were told to make sure that Sparky gets to her classes in peace, without any distractions.” The Slytherin beater rakes his gaze up and down before his lips curl in disapproval. “You look like a distraction to me.” “Hear, hear!” Soonyoung pipes up, pointedly ignoring the scathing glare that Mingyu shoots his way. 

Jihoon leans into you, dipping to murmur something into your ear that makes you giggle. Giggle. 

Mingyu fears that he has unwittingly sent you straight into a den of tigers who have enlisted you as one of their own. As a last resort, he peeks his head around Jeonghan’s frame to you, pleading with a gaze that he hopes is pitiful enough for you to cave in.

You meet his eyes steadily, lips twitching into an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Gyu. We’re gonna be late to Divination. See you later?”

Dejected, Mingyu steps aside to let the group by, acting like he doesn’t see the way Jeonghan’s hardened glare eases into a languid smugness.

The next opportunity that he seizes comes in the library, during the midday tea and meditation session that you partake in with Minghao. 

Mingyu stalks his way over to the far corner where he knows he’ll find the two of you amidst the dusty stacks of Transfiguration textbooks. Sure enough, Minghao sits on a cushion on the floor, straight backed and eyes shut. You, however, have your knees to your chest and back against one of the shelves, with your nose buried into a book and sipping away at a giant mug. 

When Mingyu whistles a quick note to announce his arrival, you glance up in surprise, your eyebrows quirking curiously. Before you can say anything, the meditating Ravenclaw mutters, not even bothering to open his eyes, “Go away, Kim.” 

He startles, “How did you know it was me?”

“Of course it’s you. You’re the only one dumb enough to try and interrupt our meditation.” “Sparky’s not even meditating!” “Hey!” You growl, offended. He offers you an apologetic grin and notices you fight off your own. 

Minghao slides a single eye open, shooting the most threatening one-eyed glare he’s ever seen his way. “I know, but Sparky’s not distracting or annoying so she can stay. You, however.”

Mingyu sighs and tilts his head towards you, hoping that you’ll get the hint and follow him out of the library. Instead, you motion towards your book and tea with a sheepish shrug, leaving Mingyu to sulk. Just as he’s turning away to leave, he runs right into Wonwoo and Hansol, who have coincidentally arrived at the dark corner, matching in blue and bronze with empty mugs in hand. 

“Really?” He demands, twirling back around to Minghao, who has returned to his meditation again. 

Wonwoo rumbles out a laugh as he brushes past and takes up the cushion beside you, like it’s second nature. You pipe up a hello towards the older Ravenclaw, simpering when he pats your head to return the greeting. 

Mingyu’s stomach burns. 

Third time’s the charm, he tells himself, but the race for the Quidditch Cup ramps up and he’s being pulled into early-morning practices and late-night scrimmages. Mingyu swears he’s spent more time on a broom than on his own two legs for the past two weeks and seen more of Seungcheol, Seokmin, and Chan’s ugly mugs than your radiant face. It’s not right. 

The day of the tiebreaker Gryffindor-Slytherin match, the final chance they have for the title, they have to take breakfast before the rest of the students, so it’s a surprise when he sees you, shuffling into the Great Hall in your checkered pajama pants. You’re still rubbing sleep out of your eyes, but when you spot him, you march towards him with a conviction that doesn’t match your fuzzy slippers. 

“Mingyu.” You get right into business. “I overheard Hoon and his cronies last night, and they have something shady up their sleeves for the match today.” 

He blinks, hand halfway up in a wave, “Good morning to you too.” Mingyu finishes chewing on his mouthful of eggs as he contemplates your words. “What do you mean by ‘shady’?”

You come to sit on the bench across the table from him, tugging at the sleeves of your sweater, nipping at your lips nervously. “I’m not sure,” you mutter, wincing and leaning in closer when you notice the Slytherin Quidditch team stride into the Hall raucously, “I couldn’t get all of the words, but I feel weird. Like something bad’s going to happen.” 

Mingyu grins, shoveling more eggs and crooning through his chewing, “Aw, that's cute. Look, the Slytherins have been playing nasty for all of time. We’re used to them. But thanks for the head’s up, I appreciate it.”

A sleeved fist thumps against the wooden table, and he jumps at the dishes clattering against one another. Your forehead creases, the way that it does when you’re upset, and he falters, wondering if he’s said something wrong. 

“Just,” you seem like you force yourself to swallow down a million things you’d rather say, choosing to mutter out instead, “Be careful today, Mingyu. Please?”

“Yeah, of course. Anything for you, Sparks.”

–

Mingyu’s on fire today. 

He’s scored fifty points out of their hundred, Slytherin’s trailing back by thirty, and by the way Chan’s flitting here and there on the Snitch’s tail, the match is nearly theirs. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, victory already sweet on the tip of his tongue, he decides that today will be the day that he finally tells you that he loves you. 

As he chases the Quaffle past Seokmin, the Beater sends a particularly persistent Bludger off in the opposite direction. Mingyu flashes his friend a grateful grin and tucks into form neatly, getting ready to dive after the ball and add another goal to his name. The familiar lurch in his stomach as he drops heartens him for only a second, until he hears an unfamiliar whizzing by his ear. It only takes another passing moment to realize that the Snitch is right beside him, then another to understand that the force colliding straight into him is the SIytherin Seeker and that his broomstick has been knocked off kilter. 

Mingyu yelps, as he teeters from left to right on his seat. For a second, he’s able to grip his fingers around the handle firmly and he thinks that he’s going to be alright. Just as he lifts his head to find his bearings, another rush of green creeps up in his periphery and collides into his side. He fully loses his balance and topples over the side of his Firebolt, wind rushing up and around him violently as he hurtles towards the field. 

–

“Mingyu.”

He must’ve hit his head a bit too hard on the way down because when you appear through the flap of the medic’s tent, you’re glowing. An entourage of his friends follows closely behind, but he can only see you, making your approach towards him, brow furrowed and nose wrinkling. 

It looks like you might start crying. Mingyu has never seen you cry before, not even when you came quite close to it that one time that you received a less-than-perfect score on your Herbology practicum. He’ll be damned if he ends up being the cause behind your tears for something so trivial. 

“Sparky,” he soothes, reaching for you and wincing back when the motion earns him a twinge in his shoulder and a strict tut from the medic behind him. There’s a slight wobble to your mouth as you behold his battered state. Shit. He has to fix this right away, somehow. “Hey, I’m okay. Promise.” 

Blood from the cut that splits his bottom lip dribbles as he tries to speak, and Mingyu cringes a little at the taste of iron. Your gaze drops to his mouth and the crease in your forehead deepens. He’s thinking so hard to come up with something to say next, to ease your concern, to get rid of those tight anxious lines around your eyes, but you beat him to it. 

“Episkey.” 

His lip warms and then grows cold within a split second, and when he reaches up with his uninjured arm, the cut has faded, leaving only a smudge of blood against the back of his hand. Mingyu smiles dopily, pleased to have been on the receiving end of your spell, as warm and gentle as a sunshower. 

“Thanks–”

“I cannot believe you, Kim Mingyu.” You mutter, more to the ground than to him, but he can hear the strain in your throat as you try to keep the tears at bay. “I told you to be careful. I told you that they’re going to play dirty today.” There’s frustration, anger, fear in your voice, and despite his efforts to prevent it, a single tear falls from your lashes. 

Mingyu’s chest squeezes. His head, reeling as it is already, cannot keep up with his tongue, and before he realizes, he’s blabbing everything that’s been on his mind for days, everything that made him lose his concentration and fall in the first place. 

“I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. I love you, like, I like you so much that I’ve been trying to tell you, but my friends are such assholes sometimes and they made it so hard for me to talk to you. I’m sorry. I like you. I love you. Don’t cry, please.” 

Your face scrunches up entirely, which is the total opposite effect he was going for. Maybe he read the signs wrong, maybe you just see him as a good friend after all, maybe falling off of his broom in front of the entire student class in one of the most important matches for the Quidditch Cup has made him lose all potential chances he ever had with you. 

Mingyu withers as he quietly watches you work through his outburst. He watches as you hurriedly wipe at your teary eyes with quivering fists. He watches as you sniff loudly and stifle down the hiccups that have started up in your throat. He watches as you tilt your head back to blink rapidly at the lights overhead. He watches as you finally look straight at him since you’ve entered the tent, breath hitching ever so slightly as you dial up to say something. 

“You’re so ridiculous.” 

Yeah, he figured as much. Mingyu grimaces, desperately trying to swallow away the bitter taste that rises in his mouth, so that he can take this all in stride and pretend like he didn’t just bare his bleeding heart in front of not only you but his friends and the medic as well. He blinks hard, once, and when he can see again, you’ve come to a crouch before his chair, trembling hands grabbing at his, looking up at him with those pretty, albeit weepy, eyes.

“I love you too, stupid Gyu,” your voice tremors and escapes in a warble, as if you’re dazed to admit it out loud, “I’ve been in love with you since first year, stupid.” 

There’s an eruption of noise outside of the tent coming from the pitch and the bleachers, one of the Seekers must have caught the Snitch, but there’s nothing Mingyu can hear over the roaring in his ears. Blood rushes in every capillary in his head, it seems, as he feels rapid heat prickling up his neck, his cheeks, the damned tips of his ears.

He won’t ever admit it to anyone, but at this moment, he can’t be bothered to find out which of the teams outside has won the match. He doesn’t care that his stupidity might’ve singlehandedly yanked the Quidditch Cup from Gryffindor’s hands and placed it into Slytherin’s. He doesn’t care that Wonwoo and Minghao are standing just a few feet behind you, slapping Galleons into each other’s palms and snickering about it. 

He doesn’t care about anything, other than the slow, curling smile on your lips and the feeling of your soft fingertips, fluttering over the bruises on his knuckles. 

–

“And this year’s Inter-House Quidditch Cup goes to Gryffindor House!” 

The table explodes into cheers as Seungcheol lifts the trophy, gleaming and massive, above his head. Seokmin thumps Chan hard on the back until their youngest teammate chokes on his saliva and complains loudly. Mingyu throws his hands up as he celebrates, and immediately, his relocated shoulder twinges in protest. 

He cringes at the pain, gaze darting all the way across the Great Hall. At the Slytherin table which has broken out into jeers and hisses, his attention zeroes in on you, despite being flanked by a Jeonghan and Jihoon who look quite miffed about the loss. You’re already looking at him, eyes narrowed into slits. He knows you so well that he can imagine the disapproving click of your tongue, the way you would chide him for forgetting to keep his arm in its sling. 

Mingyu beams over what he hopes comes across as his most charming smile. He observes, and melts at, the way that your scowl barely lasts. Easy, open joy takes over your face, as you mouth out across four tables. 

Congrats, stupid.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑳𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: 2203

Warnings: none

Summary: when Alexia is sick and more stubborn than ever, yo do everything possible to make her feel better. [Based on this request, though I did change it up a little to make it fit alexia better. I hope that’s okay.]

[prompts]

It was rather late when you wonder into the living room from your shared bedroom, spotting Alexia sat on the couch clad in one of your shirts and a pair of baggy sweatpants just where you'd left her a few hours ago. In her hands was a small notepad and pen, and her eyes were fixated on the TV in front of her where one of her last Barça matches was playing.

It was against Sociedad, and they'd won, of course, but win or lose Alexia always had to watch the match back. There was always something she was under the impression she could fix. Always something she or someone else could do better.

Analysing, is what she likes to call it. Obsessing is what it actually was.

Normally, you were content to leave her be. However, today, you weren't so keen to let her do so. She'd woken up somewhat under the weather this morning. Nothing too terrible. Just the sniffles and maybe a light fever if her flushed skin was anything to go by, but despite that all you wanted her to do was relax. Maybe take some medicine or eat some soup. But getting Alexia getting her to admit she was sick was like trying to find something to watch on Netflix; almost impossible and always ends in a fight.

And so you had simply watched. You'd watched as she'd stifle somewhat heavy sneezes into the back of her wrist. You'd watched as she'd swallow heavily before wincing and reaching for the warm tea you'd purposely left out for her. And you'd even watched as she laid her head back against the couch before rubbing at her temples. All you had wanted to do was to pull her into your arms and convince her to let you look after her. But you hadn't, despite how much it had pained you to do so.

With a quiet exhale, you make your way properly into the room and sit down on the opposite side of the couch. Due to the fact that she was still so enthralled with the TV, you're able to give her a quick once over without her noticing. She appears okay, you think to yourself as you watch her scribble something on her notepad. A little sleepy maybe, but that was to be expected after a long day at training. But despite your longing for that to be the truth, you knew for a fact that it wasn't.

Alexia was amazing at hiding the fact she was sick. The last time it had happened was almost six months ago, and you'd been none the wiser until Mapi had snitched on her one night after training.

Alexia had cursed at her. Mapi made a sarky comment in response and whilst the two of them had chased each other around the house yelling obscenities at each other, you'd been left to sit on the couch trying to figure out just how you'd been so oblivious. There were no signs. No symptoms. She went to work, slept and ate fine and was still her usual stubborn self at home with you. In the end, it taken Ingrid comforting you to realise you weren't at all oblivious and Alexia was simply just really good at pretending to be okay.

It tells you now that despite the nonchalance she was currently displaying on the outside, beneath the surface was an completely different story that for some reason she doesn't want you to see.

It wasn't that she doesn't trust you because you knew for a fact she does. You'd been through way too much together for that not to be the case honestly. It was just how Alexia was, So, so stubborn.

The room goes quiet a few moments later, and you flicker your gaze away from Alexia and over to the tv to see that it was now off. In the reflection of the screen you could see Alexia setting her notepad onto the table along with the remote and pen. You look back at her just in time to see her stifle a quiet sneeze into her the back of her wrist.

"Bless you." You murmur, speaking for the first time in what feels like forever. Alexia does no more than nod with a smile that looks more like a grimace, settling back against the couch with a quiet sigh.

You do no more than watch her for a second before turning around in your seat and holding out your arms. Alexia raises an eyebrow, and you were quick to shrug as you spread your legs, one on the ground and one laid flush against the back of the couch.

Right now, you had no ulterior motives, you just simply wanted to hold her. Seeing the fact that you were being genuine, Alexia crawls over to you and all but collapses against your chest. She curls up on her side, letting out a congested sigh as she secures her arms around your waist with her cheek flush against your sternum.

You wrap your arms tightly around her shoulders, your hand cupping the back of her head as you press a kiss to the top of it and let out a quiet sigh. No words were spoken. They didn't need to be. You both knew for a fact she wasn't feeling all too great but neither one of you were willing to admit it for completely different reasons.

Right now, however, you weren't too concerned. She was allowing you to hold her, to comfort her, and that was way more than she'd done the last time and for that you were incredibly grateful. As you lay there in a comfortable silence, you feel Alexia slowly but surely growing more limp against you. Her breathing slows; her arms loosen, and when you look down, you see that her eyes were now closed.

Not quite knowing if she was completely out for the count just yet, you make sure to keep as still as possible as you trail your hand up and down the length of her back. Her head shifts slightly, now buried into your neck, and you feel more than hear the slightly raspy breaths that hit your skin. It takes a further ten minutes before you were sure she was actually asleep, allowing you to reach for one of the many blankets you kept on the back of your couch before laying it over the both of you.

You tuck it beneath her body, making sure it covered all of her so that only her head was peeking out. Alexia doesn't make a peep as you scoot a little further down the couch so that you were properly laying down, and you sigh a little in relief as you allow your own eyes to close . If she didn't want to admit she was sick, or take any medicine or eat any soup, you were at least grateful she was allowing herself to get some much needed rest.

*

You wake up the next day feeling uncomfortably hot, your skin damp with sweat and your cheeks deeply flushed. There was a heavy weight on top of you, and as you force your eyes open and glance down, you see that it was Alexia and that she hadn't moved a single inch throughout the entirety of the night.

With a quiet groan, you yank off the blanket in hopes it would help cool you down a little. It doesn't, and it makes you realist that it wasn't the blanket that was making you hot, but a very fever induced Alexia.

You take a few seconds to contemplate your next actions before slowly and reluctantly slipping out from beneath her. You land on your knees, soothing Alexia's furrowed brow with a gentle kiss on the forehead.

"It's okay. I'll be back." You whisper hoarsely, blinking the sleep out of your eyes as you rise to your feet and head through to the kitchen to grab the things you would need to help Alexia feel at least a little better.

You grab a cloth, soaking it with cool water before squeezing out the remanence and placing it onto the counter. You then grab some cold medicine along with some Tylenol, taking a mental note of the dosage Alexia was allowed to have as you carry everything back through to the living room.

Alexia was thankfully still asleep, although now she was laid on her back. Her breathing was so hoarse it almost sounded like snoring, and you can't help but smile slightly as you perch on the end of the couch and place the cool cloth on her forehead. Her brows furrow as her head turns a little to the left, and you place a gentle hand on her chest, rubbing it in gentle circles in hopes it would help sooth her.

It appears to do so, but her eyes do flicker open, her gaze hazy due to her fever.

"Hey, you," You murmur, stilling your hand before bringing it up and gently cupping her cheek. "You're pretty sick."

Alexia simply blinks as she brings a clumsy hand up to try and push off the washcloth on her forehead. You shake your head as you take her hand in your own, giving it a gentle squeeze and guiding it back down to her side.

"No, baby. Keep that on. You have a fever."

Alexia blinks again, her face scrunching up in mild discomfort as she lets out a single, hoarse sounding cough. You wince a little at the sound as you reach for the cold medicine, pouring the allotted dose onto the small plastic cup before holding it to her lips.

"No." She grunts, clumsily trying to bat your hand away. Her efforts prove futile as you move the cup before it could be hit, earning yourself a rather grumpy pout.

"I know," you sooth, reaching up to adjust the wash cloth slightly. "But it'll help you feel better, baby. You know this."

Alexia sniffles before once again shaking her head. She eyes the cup in your hand with a dirty glare, almost as though it was offending her by simply existing. You can't help but laugh a little despite the concern you were feeling.

"Alexia..." you trail off.

"No." She murmurs.

"Baby, come on," You shift a little closer, leaning down to press a kiss to her flushed cheek. The heat the greats you makes you all the more determined to get some medicine into her. "For me, please?" You weren't against begging if that's what was necessary.

Alexia hesitates before letting out a quiet whine. It was evident she didn't quite know what to do. She didn't want to take the medicine, but she didn't want to upset you by not talking it either. She stares at you with a pleading look on her face, her bottom lip quivering just slightly.

"I know," you whisper in understanding. "How about we come to a compromise?"

Alexia's gaze flickers over to the cold medicine you hands before looking back at you, almost as though she was saying anything but that.

"You don't have to take the cold medicine right now, but only if you take some Tylenol to help get rid of that fever." You say, and though Alexia hesitates again, this time she nods her head making you let out an almost silent sigh of relief.

Progress.

"Good girl," You praise genuinely, switching the cold medicine with the Tylenol pills, holding a single one to her lips. Alexia's lips part, and you set the pill on her tongue before helping her swallow it down with some water. "Good job. One more, baby." You assure, repeating the process once more before capping the bottle of water and taking her hand in your own.

Alexia squeezes weakly as she sniffles again, heavy lids threatening to close as she stares up at you with a pleading look on her face.

"What do you need baby?" You ask, trailing the pad of your thumb over the back of her hand.

Alexia wets her dry lips with her tongue as she reaches to loosely grab your shirt. "Cuddle." Is all she says, and though you internally wince about being once again trapped beneath your own personal furnace, you don't hesitate to nod your head as you slip back beneath her in the same position you'd been in before.

Alexia coughs hoarsely as she clings to your shirt, her cheek flush against your chest as her eyes once again slip closed. You use one hand to hold the still cool washcloth to her forehead as the other slips beneath her shirt to trail gentle circles on the too warm skin of her bare back.

"Thank you for letting me look after you." You whisper into her hair as you press your lips against the top of her head in a lingering kiss. Alexia says nothing, but she does crane her head up to press a kiss to your neck although it was more so just a brush of lips against the skin.

"Go to sleep baby. I've got you."

**

Tags:

@simp4panos @goldenempyrean @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @xxnaiaxx @marysfics @liloandstitchstan

[magicdustsworld]

𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀(4)

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: A guide on how to properly date your tattooed, big, bad boyfriend.

𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒: Established relationship, slice of life

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Profanity, illness, fluff, mentions of blood, no curse AU, no mentions of y/n.

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟒: 𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐇

A/N: ik i haven't posted in a while (in my defence, school is taking up too much of my time to focus on anything else) but I got an off day and this was a quick write up (actually not) jhjhjhs wc - 3.7k. Hope you enjoy <3

Divider credits - @cafekitsune

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟑

It's not usual for Sukuna to fall ill.

However, when he does it’s like all the pathogens known to mankind have taken it upon themselves to infect him.

This time, it isn't so different after all.

Since the break of dawn Sukuna's been awake. Body twisted in an uncomfortable manner under the duvets, the dim flicker of the night lamp proves to be a companion in the otherwise solitary room.

"Fucking hell," He curses under his breath, shifting his position to ease the persistent ache that ripples through his body; his joints, for some reason, seems to have tightened itself to his bones. Slight movement proving to be difficult. While the air conditioner functions properly, a sheen of perspiration aglows his forehead—he swabs the moisture only to meet with another thin layer marring his skin, seconds later. He forces open an eye, trying to contemplate why your figure beside him does seems so fuzzy. No sooner, he can clear the mystery does a wave of shiver runs down his spine. "What the hell is this?"

The question leaves his lips, followed by strange churn of his stomach and on instinct he smacks his hand over his mouth.

The next minutes are blurred. Literally blurred for the brief time as if his body is set on auto-pilot, beckoning him to rise from the bed and walk to the bathroom.

As the expunging liquids leaves his throat and down the toilet does his distinct vision returns. Lips apart, he breaths in copious amount of air while the room seems to spin in a whirl. Once his senses have returned, he reached to flush down the contents only to halt.

Is that... blood?

.

"Temperature 101.6 °F and he threw up in the morning."

Sukuna would rather be anywhere but here.

Sitting in a doctor's cabin with you while the former wouldn't stop with his ridiculous questions. Inadvertently, he rests his scalp against the wall, a searing pain ripping from his chest every once in a while, causing him to jolt as if he's being electrocuted.

"Any other discomfort? Body ache or...?" Shinzo trails off, continuing with the physical examination of his patient.

In response, Sukuna shakes his head negatively. However, you take it upon yourself to be honest, "He does and he coughed through the whole drive."

"Not the whole—"

"Keep your mouth shut." Harshly you rebuke, shooting a scornful glare his way.

His lips curl down, on the verge to retaliate before the notion of it seems indolent. He's already been through a series of blood test and chest X rays since the last thirty minutes, exhausting him beyond relief; no need to add more to the list. Therefore, his mouth forms a thin line.

Shinzo hums, finishing with the check up as he returns to his seat across you. Scribbling down on the prescription, a knock sounds from the door and soon his assistant strides in with a number of reports. While the doctor reads through the files of his current patient, your hypertension manifests itself upon your being when your eyes find your boyfriend.

Awfully muted, his throat must have chipped while he threw up—reason to the unusual bleeding. Shoulders raised in a manner, tints of red stains his skin and the groans that escalates from him whenever he attempts to move just causes you to wince. You chew on your bottom lip, fiddling with the fabric of your jacket as the momentary silence in the room stretches. For too long that this might be the loudest silence, you’ve been in.

"Does he need to be hospitalized?"

"No—"

"I am not talking to you."

Sukuna clicks his tongue, just taking a mental note to give you an earful once all of this shit is over. It's so fucking funny. Oh, for heavens... he is perfectly fine. Well yeah, maybe some coughing fit but he can work through that for the day. No way did you call Kenjaku and call in sick for him. And he allowed that? Allowed you to drag you here as well? Alright, maybe he is sick.

Shinzo sets the files down, "Stage I Pneumonia," He concludes, straightening his posture and continues with the prescription. "No need for hospitalization but I am prescribing an antiviral— Tamiflu. Thirty minutes after breakfast, lunch and dinner for three days. Ibuprofen remains whenever he gets high fever and for the cough..." He pinches the bridge of his nose, ripping the sheet before passing it to you. "There's the Honiitus syrup, he can have 10 ml now. Rest, you know."

You nod, scanning the sheet in your grasp, irises halting on the specific medications. Craning your neck upto him, you ask, "Thank you and anything else?"

"Adequate rest and homemade food and he's good to go."

.

"Don't be difficult now, drink it."

"No."

Sukuna scowls at you and you scowl back. His eyes shifts to the tin medicine cup-cap in your hand filled with the amber coloured liquid which is supposed to heal his sore throat.

Currently, confined inside the four walls of his room, this place is 100 times better than that doctor's cabin and any hospital bed. He is sure just a whole day of sleep will make him back on his feet but you just have to be so... persistent.

"I am not asking, drink it." You extend your hand, bringing the liquid to his lips, only for him to turn his face away.

"And I said no," He spits back, eye twitching as he disregards your terse call. "Get that shit out of my face."

"This is for your own good, Sukuna. Stop acting like a child."

Sukuna only huffs in response, muttering a string of curses under his breath. No way is he letting you win this plus that thing in your hand smells disgusting.

“Absolutely not.”

You heave out loudly, "I don't want to force you."

That draws an almost amused chuckle out of him, he tilts his head—eyes shutting down and mouth clamping with a sound as another wave of nausea overrides him. Once composed, he reopens his eyes, challenge swirling in the crimson hues, "You think you can force me?"

“I don’t think so,” A mirthless smile curves into your own mien, you regard his dare with one of your own. "I know so."

"Sure."

"So are you going to be a good boy and drink it or do I need to make you?"

He scoffs, "Go on and try."

You pause for a second, bringing the cup down, gaze settled on him and for reasons unknown, Sukuna senses trouble. "Remember, you asked for it."

He shuts his eyes, rolling the irises behind the lids. You are just so funny sometimes. To think you can force him? Really? Even in this state, he can easily overpower you without even trying. Pick you up and throw you on the bed without any effort. But just for the jokes and laughs, he will let you get a head start.

In the reverie, he is when your warm palm grazes his jaw.

Here it comes.

Until it doesn't.

There's no hint of strength, no force, nothing as you let your palm trail over his skin. He opens his eyes and good lord's... You are close. Too close for his liking. Not that he is complaining. Of course. You can be closer if you want but wait– he is infected, right?

So you shouldn't be near him.

But it's like some hypnotism that's in play as he gazes into your eyes. With the added bonus of your soothing touch on his jaw, the pad of your thumb running on his lower lip—you pull down the flesh. He can see you more clearly than ever, from the slight furrow of your brows to the twitch of your lips and the light reflecting on your eyes.

It's clear.

So, so clear.

A heat spreads through his cheeks, mingling with the blood flowing in his veins and in seconds, his heart rate amplifies. Was it one of the side effects of Pneumonia? Shinzo obviously didn’t mention this but- fuck! You are here and the proximity only hitches the breath in his throat. Your rhythmic exhalation of air fans his skin and he swallows a lump.

Fuck!

He is truly sick.

You draw him in, "Open your mouth."

Before he can make sense of the situation, his body complies. Lips parting and soon you are pouring the medicine down his throat. He gulps, eyes still trained on you and yours on his.

You sit back on the bed and Sukuna blinks.

Wait– what just happened?

"That wasn't too hard now, was it?" You chuckle, pouring some water on the cup and swirl it.

"You– you tricked me."

"Oh? Did I?" Feigning innocence, you laugh again. "And what if I did? ...Oh, and don't make that face now, it doesn't taste that bad.”

“Taste it yourself then speak.”

“I am not the one who’s sick, you are” You muse, cleaning the cap and fastening the lid. He mutters an incoherent curse under his breath and you stand up. Straightening the duvet, you beckon him to lay down.

Something he does without any protest. However, his eyes flickers to the door for a brief second and now only, he is met with the yellowish eyes of a feline.

He raises an eyebrow, “What do you want?”

Kuro passes him a languid stare, his whiskers tremor once almost like its scowling. Only serving for the former’s vexation, the man waves him off without a thought. A low squeal is erupted from him and he is on the verge of pouncing of him when step in.

Picking up the cat, you bring it up to your face, “See Kuro, your papa is sick. So no trespassing here for a week.”

He blinks and answers you as though he understands what you mean.

You’re pretty sure he will try to barge in the second you leave but hey! What’s the problem to hold a little hope? Setting the cat down, you usher him out. Turning towards your boyfriend, you shoot him a heads up. One which he returns with a dismissive gesture.

“Get some rest in the meantime. I will be in the living room, just call if you need something.”

The lights dim out, curtain pulled over – creating the perfect atmosphere for an hour or more nap. Chirping of birds and the revving engines of cars from outside fades into background as comfort envelopes Sukuna amidst the sheets.

Despite it all, hollowness unfurls into his being.

The notion of silence returning again while he the room cloaks itself in darkness strikes an anonymous melancholy though his chest. A garter wraps around his neck, tightening with each passing second. And just like that the calm veneer crumbles into dust.

He pries an eye open and although the blackened room vanishes everything, its difficult to amiss your retreating figure. The haze increases, mouth sealed shut – he can’t speak. So, he extends an arm.

Wait-

The door closes shut.

.

He is walking through a mirage.

Surely, he has strolled through this area before. Once. Twice. Thrice. This is the fourth instance he is met with the same beige tinted cottages with scarlet thatched roofs.

He walks through the secluded lane across them.

Where is he going? He doesn’t know that. Just he is walking all alone. On his own. Just cause he has to.

Sky obscured with thick clouds, every once in a while does the thunder cracks. Lightening over the whole region. Sound so prominent, so daunting that it shakes the whole neighbourhood. For reasons, Sukuna finds an undulating spark tightening over his frame as every step forward becomes a struggle on its own. Down pouring heavily, the droplets causes his clothes to stick to his skin. Dripping down his ink stained countenance, clouding his vision. Breaths filled with raggedness, he wipes the moisture off- it isn’t removed.

He tries again and again and again.

Doesn’t work.

Nothing works.

How can anything ever work when-

Only a singular step he has taken and its like he is pushed off from a building.

Falling down, he doesn’t know what awaits him.

However, when he returns to his feet, the whole scenery has changed.

Instead of the murky countryside stretching with grasslands till the horizon, he is met with the picturesque view of a beach. Sparkling waves rises with all its glory, flaunting its sheer power before crashing on the sandy soil. Seagulls fly over the water bodies, their voice being a distinct reminder of this serenity. Murmurs of human life accompanied by distant tune from seaside eateries greet him. The gentle wisp of the sea breeze ruffles his hair, wafting sand into his eyes and nostrils; he doesn’t flinch.

When he looks around, everyone vanishes.

From the footprints on the soil to the sea castles to all the tourists. No one’s here.

The seclusion stalls on him only a second later. That’s when he realizes, everything’s truly gone.

The scorching sun blazes in fury, momentarily blinding him. Humidity persists in the air, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. The waves crash again and he walks towards it. For some unknown reason-this feels right.

What’s the point of continuing anymore?

The sand prickles under his feet as he staggers towards the water. Sky high waves flicker and dance, crashing onto him and even though the musky salt should cause him to recoil, the intensity should strike some agony – he feels nothing.

Paving his way through the water until the very liquid surrounds him. All of this, just seems so empty.

“Sukuna,”

As if broken out from a trance by the mere call of his name, he turns.

Once again the vast expanse of the world does everything shift.

“You’re holding yourself well,” Jin remarks, wiping some specks of soap water from a plate. “Better than I expected you to.”

Sukuna’s eyes drift to take in the surroundings; standing across the kitchen counter of his apartment. His brother indulges in cleaning some utensils, a forlorn lilt of his lips prompts the former to raise an eyebrow. The room remains quiet only broken by the usual cling of the cutlery. From his periphery, he could see his nephew crouched down before Kuro, the boy ruffles the feline’s hair and now the cat should retaliate. Until it doesn’t.

“Taking care of Kuro as well,” Jin stares down at the duo. “Give yourself some credit y’know.”

Wait- since when did his brother know about the cat? And since when did Yuji turn to silent?

Gazing out the window- his eyes widen.

When did his neighbourhood change so much?

Without any explanation, Sukuna marches out of the apartment.

Greeted by a hoard of stones situated all over the grassland. Each of different shapes, sizes and perhaps… something just might be written on it. He doesn’t wait to read. Why should he doesn’t have his reading glasses with him?

Feet squashing the lifeless grasses, the leaves don’t crunch under his boots. His steps are steady, turning round a corner or more whenever he so pleases. Maybe this is the way out of the labyrinth of stones.

However, he halts before a particular stone.

For reasons unknown, Sukuna feels life slipping out of his fingers.

.

Sukuna wakes up with a jolt.

Eyes wide open, he breaths in through his mouth. Fingers trembling with the surge of adrenaline as his shoulders rise and fall in a cadence. Think coat of sweat mars his whole body, vest clinging to him like a second skin and the duvets covering his form renders him panting fit.

What was that? The beach? His brother? Those stones?

What- what was happening?

The eerie maze where he walked? Ran?

Wait- what occurred?

The ceiling lights blinds him with all the intensity, he shuts his eyelids, grunting out like a wounded animal. Some external voice rings out, too loud, too disturbing that he’s forced to press his palm over his ears. Touches guide his skin from his cheek to shoulders and a burst of repulsion compels him to push the person away.

Who the hell was it to hold him like that?

He’s got a girlfriend for fuck’s sake. Get the hell away from him.

However, instead of leaving him alone they are inching closer. He is met with the same touch again but the noise starts to clear as well.

“…Just a dream, you’re fine...”

Albeit begrudgingly, Sukuna removes his hand from his ears.

“…You’re home, calm down…”

It’s a gamble but he manages to reopen his eyes.

“Are you ok? What happened?”

Sukuna blinks, stupefied for the second.

There you are, standing before him while cupping his face in your little palms. Thumb running circles over the tattoos on his face, irises pooling with sheer concern, your eyes are solely focused on a subject. That subject being him.

He looks around.

Notably, nothing has changed. He is still in his bedroom, sitting on the bed with the comforter pooled around his hips. From the traces of light pouring from the ajar window, he can make out how the light fades to dark as twilight tints the skies in hues of violet and blue.

“Hey,” You tap his cheek, urging him to face you, “Why aren’t you speaking?”

He only responds with long stare.

“Sore throat? Should I bring honiitus again?”

“Don’t even think about it, woman.” He barks, lips curling down in utter disgust as the very prominent taste of the damn syrup lingers in the back of his mouth.

Without making a fuss about his sudden outburst, you place your backhand over his forehead. “Mhm… you don’t seem to have fever.” You nod, “No ibuprofen, then.”

“Fucking finally.”

“Don’t celebrate too early,” You snort, a mirthful smile creeping onto you, “Tamiflu after lunch, remember?”

“Well genius, I didn’t have lunch.”

You snap your fingers, “I know, and there it is,” You point to a tray stacked with a lidded container resting on top of the nightstand.

He stares at it for a second too long, “What’s that?”

“Boiled vegetables and… no–” You flick your index finger in the air, a clear negative sign. “No more tantrums, you’ll shut up and eat.”

“As if,” He scoffs, twisting his body away from the utensil, he faces the wall as if the blank canvas seems more interesting than the food you cooked.

You sigh, sitting down on the limited space provided for you on the bed across him, “Just because I call you baby doesn’t mean you have to act like one.”

“I am not enacting–  no, just– fuck,”  He curses under his breath, fumbling with the words too many times before he reaches a conclusion. “I am not acting like a god damn child.”

“Sure.” His eyes narrows down while he regards you. You stretch your arms, the joints cracking under the evident tension, “I added a few pieces of meat for taste, just so you know.”

He raises an eyebrow, retorts accumulating in his mouth. Just a second away from being unleashed before his gaze lands on a bowl and a pack of damp towels. “What happened with that?”

“What?”

“That.”

You glance at the way he points, taking a moment to contemplate before you answer, “I called Dr. Shinzo again, he said applying cold water towels will help with the fever so…”

Sukuna doesn’t know why, but he stills. “You were doing that all this time?”

“Yeah?”

“Why?”

You tilt your head, “Maybe cause you need it?” He blinks and you find your patience wearing thin. Dismissing the confusion clouding his visage, you reach for the tray and pick it up. The clattering of the utensils due to your unstable balance rings through the whole room. “See, this won’t be that bad. Besides, it’s only for a few days, you can manage, right?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Aw c’mon, now,” You unfasten the lid, dipping the spoon. “I will feed you as compensation. How does that sound?”

He still doesn’t answer but with the way he doesn’t protest your offer, he hopes to let you know his affirmation.

.

Sukuna refuses to let you know that the boiled vegetable soup isn’t as bad as he thought.

.

Two days later

.

Credits to his above average immunity or whatsever but Sukuna is almost back to complete health in just a span of few days.

Finally.

Done he is with all the ibuprofen and every other shit he has to endure.

Never again.

As a ritual, only does the lunchtime ends with the empty hot pot of boiled vegetables being lidded back does Sukuna notice the uncharacteristic clattering of the utensils as you try to hold them in place.

“Give me that.”

Before you can reply, the tray is already being grabbed by your boyfriend as he sets it down on the nightstand.

“That needs to be in the kitchen.”

 Instead of gracing you with a proper answer, you are met with his crimson hues filled with something you can’t quite put a finger on. He urges you to sit with him and you comply. Feeling the need to for some reason.

“What?” You ask. His eyes darts down, following his gaze, confusion clouds your head for he is looking at your hands. “Huh?”

No sooner does the word leave your mouth than he grasps both of your hands on his own. You gasp yet don’t try to pull away.

Sukuna traces his thumb over the ridge of your knuckles to the tips of your nails. Turning them around, he draws every single contour lines on your palm as if he’s etching them onto his memory. It’s not the first time, he is holding your hand but it’s the first time he is noticing all the details. Like how a tiny callous has formed beside the edge of your thumb or how the tiny scar runs down the side of your ring finger.

His grasp tightens over yours, nothing to make it hurt. He would never.

He brings them up, pressing his lips over each and every, societally deemed, imperfection. At last, he turns to your backhand. This time, keeping his gaze stilled on you, he kisses your knuckles.

Perhaps, he’d have kissed you too but he doesn’t want the infection to pass.

Perhaps, you’ll know someday that… he is grateful.

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