#shared family computers in the living room

[artaxlivs]

kids these days: what's dial up?

Kids these days are all "wow I can't believe I still like this ship 3 months after the canon ended!" bestie I have ships that started when I was still using dial-up internet

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Seventeen: brick by brick

tw: none

“So… we talking about Marco and Andrei, or…?”

Simon’s neck hurts. Painfully tense muscles plague him from spending the last handful of nights sleeping on the couch rather than in his bed. It’s a symptom of your skittish tendencies, he supposes. You’re still keeping an awkward distance from him, which he knows he can’t entirely blame you for. It’s a lot to soak in; his job, and the things he’s done, the things everyone has been hiding from you. You’re still talkative—at least, not any less than usual—but you’re hiding. Drawing away in order to make sense of this new mess that you’ve found yourself in. 

So, he gives you the bed—and your space. 

Rubbing at the back of his neck with rigid fingers, Simon swivels in the computer chair next to Johnny. If he’s lucky, he can work the knots out before they root deep enough to form a migraine. Tight tendons pull at the base of his skull, and they don’t seem to want to relent. The dim incandescence of the security room helps stave off the beast, but the question posed to him only pokes the bear. 

“What’s there to talk about?” Simon’s playing dumb. Even the mere thought of Marco is enough to make his brain throb uncomfortably within the confines of his skull. He’d rather snuff this conversation out before it ignites. 

“Aye, I see,” Johnny hums. He eyes the handful of monitors in front of him before spinning around in his chair. “So, we’re pretending I never saw anything on the cams?” 

“Would appreciate it,” Simon huffs. His hand falls away from his neck as he tilts his head to either side. There’s a sharp click! that accompanies the movement, followed by a sigh. “Don’t need this gettin’ out, yeah? I promised her that I’d keep it between us.” 

Johnny nods. “So, I suppose you wanna keep Price in the dark too?” 

The reply that burns the tip of Simon’s tongue hardly seems to come from a sound mind. Lie to John Price? The John Price? As if his family hasn’t been known for snuffing out undesirables for generations—for keeping the streets safe for those who would otherwise be crushed under steel toed boots? The same boot you’re currently pinned under? He thinks back to the other day, and the tears that pooled in your eyes; the fracturing of your voice as you all but begged him not to tell John. 

Or worse—Aelin. 

How did his allegiance switch so abruptly? So violently that an omission of truth suddenly comes easy if he does it for you? 

“Don’t mention it to anyone. Price included,” Simon confirms. 

Johnny is a good man. An honest one. So much so that his discomfort manifests in the minute clenching of his jaw at the thought of telling such a lie. “Is she safe at least?” 

Safe. Simon thinks about it. You. curled up in his bed wearing nothing but a plain t-shirt, burrowed beneath heaps of blankets. You’ve been sleeping non-stop lately, like you’ve got a deficit you’re attempting to catch up on. Though you owe a debt to Marco, you owe a larger debt to yourself and your abused body and mind. He lets you curl up like a cat and nap the days and nights away, because if you’re comfortable enough to sleep around him, then that must mean something. 

Something good. 

“She’s stayin’ with me,” Simon shares. “Probably will be for a while.” 

“Ah.” Johnny’s chair squeaks as he leans back. “So… you two official, then?”

Simon pauses, head tilting to the side. “You’re a funny man.” 

A cheeky remark flits across Johnny’s tongue, but the words are lost on Simon’s ears. His phone buzzes in the pocket of his jeans, and his heart skips a beat. There’s no hesitation in retrieving his phone and allowing the screen to illuminate his face with a text message from you. 

i’m learning new tricks (: 

Your message is quickly followed by a picture. You’ve captured an image of the string you always play cat’s cradle with, laid out flat on the coffee table in his living room. It’s in a design he doesn’t recognize. The form is fuzzy without fingers holding it taut, but he’s still able to make out the lattice-like rectangle that swirls in the photo. 

it looks better when i’m actually holding it. fun to do!

Simon tries to hide his smile. 

Looks great sweetheart. 

A playful scoff pulls Simon’s attention away from his phone. He looks up just in time to catch the tail end of Johnny’s rolling eyes before he twists his chair back around to look at the monitors. 

“Ay, right. I’m the funny one,” he mutters, sarcasm dripping from his words. 

Another message from you has him ignoring the man. 

it’s called jacob’s ladder

Simon has to blink several times in order to clear his vision. He rereads your message, convinced he’s seeing it wrong, but nothing changes. Each word is still the same—all the way down to the name. 

Didn’t know they had string versions of that. 

It’s impossible for him to hide his mirth. That sly chuckle that seeps from his chest as he stares at the screen, waiting for your response. Simon is a simple man. He likes his jokes, no matter how debauched they are. 

i don’t get it

Somehow, he’s not surprised. His fingers hover over the screen as he contemplates his answer. 

I’ll tell you when you’re older. 

Muffled music swells to a crescendo, only to quickly diminish into a hush as the door swings open and closed again. John Price enters the room with broad shoulders swaying, but it’s impossible for him to hide his exhaustion. He’s jetlagged. Enervation gnaws at the heels of his feet as he strides into the room, bags pulling at his eyes. Still, he manages a smile as Johnny swivels around to greet the boss. 

“Evening boys.” Despite his weariness, his voice is as gruff and sonorous as usual.

“Missed you, boss,” Johnny teases. “How was your holiday?” 

“Warm,” John chuckles. 

“Looks like you got a bit of color, too,” Simon notes. 

Laughing, John rubs the tip of his rosy nose. He pretends not to notice the slight peeling of his skin. “Like I said; warm. Warm, sunny, and a hell of a lot better than London in December.” 

For a short moment, his eyes flicker to the rows of monitors behind Johnny. Black and white footage of clubbers dancing illuminate the tight space of the room. The building is packed, almost alarmingly so, full to the brim of tired uni students with nothing better to do over their break as they dance the night away as the New Year approaches. 

“And you boys? Got some good R&R, I hope,” John asks, arms crossing over his chest. 

“Oh, you know me,” Johnny sighs. His fingers buzz, tapping his knees like he’d rather be clacking away at a keyboard than having this conversation. 

“Oh, I do,” John chuckles. “No broken nose this year though, yeah?” 

“Not yet,” he grins. 

“Of course. And you, Simon?” 

His phone buzzes just as the attention is turned on him, but he doesn’t dare look down at his screen. Instead, he nods as he adjusts himself on the faux plastic leather seats of the office hair. 

“Yeah. Good. Manchester was cold as hell, but we survived,” he explains cooly. 

“Chip like it?” John continues. 

“Her and Joey got along well,” Simon humors. 

“And your brother? Doing well?” 

He nods. “Happiest I’ve ever seen ‘im.” 

This feels like an interrogation. An uncomfortable insight into his life that he usually doesn’t offer up willingly. For a moment, Simon’s guilty conscience gets the better of him—has him feeling as thin as cellophane, and he nearly melts under the heat until he realizes John’s looking at him the same way he did all those years ago in that pool house.  Hidden away in the locker room, offering him a job. Earnest and amicable. 

This is the furthest thing from an interrogation. It’s rapport building. This is the man who has sent him to break jaws to keep children safe and spill blood over the smallest of cuts on women. John’s known you much longer than Simon has, and he’s simply checking in on the very man he helped save all those years ago. Muscles melting, Simon allows himself to take a proper breath. 

“Glad to hear he’s keeping clean,” John praises. “Either of you heard from Kyle?” 

Johnny chuckles. “Nothin’ but moaning and groaning. Still hungover from his night out with Lucy. Fucking lightweight.” 

“Surprised they gave her Christmas off,” John muses. “Last I remember, the hospital stiffed her with having to work every holiday, and then some.” 

Halfway through his sentence, John’s phone begins to buzz. Loud, obnoxious, incessant—a phone call. His sigh is heavy and tense as he retrieves the item from his pocket. His thumb nearly goes to ignore it until he reads the ID at the top of the screen. 

“Wife calling you home?” Johnny teases. 

“We’ll see,” he chuckles. 

His laughter dies in his throat the moment he answers the call and he hears Aelin sobbing on the other end. 

The world continues to rage around them as the room falls into silence. Aelin’s wailing cuts through the air like ice, bouncing off the walls like her voice is nothing more than a toy to be tossed around. Johnny and Simon share a look—wide eyes framed by furrowed brows—while John attempts to calm her. His head dips as his free hand rubs at the back of his neck; a stress response Simon has rarely seen in the man. 

There are a few words that cut through the static of the call, each of them framed by blood curdling cries: 

John—please—I can’t do this—not again—I can’t—

There’s an attempt made at diffusing the situation. Of gently cooing into the phone, of asking what’s wrong, but nothing calms her. It’s all tears and painful laments that he can’t seem to quell coupled with sharp hyperventilation. John doesn’t bother to give either of the boys a second glance before he’s ducking back out the door. Music swells, then quickly dies. Neither of them speak. They just sit in their chairs with Aelin’s cries echoing in their minds. 

“The last time I heard her cry like that was when her ex-fiance cheated on her,” Johnny mumbles to himself. He pauses as he looks at Simon—he’s still staring at the door. “Think everything’s alright?” 

“Yeah,” Simon responds after a pause. “If not, we’ll know soon.” 

His tone is even—strong and unwavering—but the truth is, Simon hates the sound of crying. It makes his teeth ache as if he’s scraped his fingernails on a chalkboard. He’s reminded of his mother. Even after all these years, her screams haunt him as she braces for the unforgiving impact of a closed fist against her face. He sees her crumpled form on the kitchen floor, a trembling hand covering her eye. 

It reminds him of himself as a child. Pathetic pules and sputtering echoing off the bathroom walls as he begs and screams. High pitched and prepubescent. Water sloshing. Feet kicking. His father always hated the sound of him—every sniffle, every blubber, every cough—and he eventually grew to hate it too until even the sound of his own breathing infuriated him. 

Worst of all, it reminds him of you. In the midst of your trashed apartment, hardly able to get a full breath in, tears streaming down your face—terrified. Prattling. Rambling. Hit with an unforgiving concoction of grief and fear; his stomach churns at the mere memory of you trembling against him. 

Pushing it out of his mind, Simon brings his attention back to his phone—back to you. Everything melts away—Aelin’s cries, the music pounding just beyond the door—and for a moment it’s just him and the notification flashing on his screen. 

i just googled it. the ribbon and woodblock toy, right? jacob’s ladder? i forgot those existed haha

It’s past three in the morning by the time he gets home. You’ve left the kitchen light on for him. He doesn’t know why, but that makes his heart wrench. 

You’re the first thing he checks on. He doesn’t even bother to take his shoes off at the door. The very moment the deadbolt latches behind him, he’s peeking into the bedroom through the gap in the door. Snug, you’re buried under his comforter, head hardly visible as you burrow your face into the pillow. For a moment, he stands there and watches you with nothing but a sliver of light seeping through the doorway to illuminate you. 

Safe. Comfortable. Sleeping. 

Retreating away from the door, Simon hides himself away in the living room. He’s forgotten to lay out clothes to change into, and he curses the idea of sleeping in his jeans as he sinks into the couch, but he’d rather that than disturb your sleep. The cushions are flattened. Morphed into the shape of his body after a near week of using it as a makeshift bed. A jolt of electricity shoots through his neck as if his body is already anticipating the ache. 

He tosses his arm over the back of the couch as he mindlessly flips through programs on the television. Usually, he’s able to sleep without white noise, but these days it’s hard to get any rest at all. There’s money to save up, debts to pay. A sharp pang echoes throughout his knuckles. It throbs like a heart quivering with memory, and he attempts to quell it by flexing his fingers. It’s a symptom of a larger beast. Of something that demands blood—thirsty for penance. 

An eye for an eye. 

He’s satiated this type of reprobate before, and he’ll do it again in due time. 

Anything for you. 

A nature documentary is Simon’s choice of white noise for the night. Auburn fur blurs on the screen as a red fox bounds along the environs of lush woodlands. Its thin snout pokes up in the air where a wet nose dances with short and sharp inhales. Simon smiles as the narrator—a man with an overly posh accent—drones on about the critter’s life. 

As he goes to place the remote on the coffee table, he spots a piece of string. It’s tied in a circle, just about as long as his forearm. Worn fibers fray with years of use, yet it still holds strong—well loved. Curious, he picks it up. He thinks about the pictures you sent him that evening, and how proud you were of the new trick you learned. 

How your first instinct was to tell him about it. 

Careful fingers wrap the string around his own hands as he sets up a round of cat’s cradle. It’s easy enough—a simple slip of his middle fingers—but he doesn’t know how to continue. Hazy memories attempt to surface in his mind as he thinks of your hands. How your fingers moved and danced to manipulate the string so effortlessly. Practiced to the point you can do it without proper thought.

He tries to move his thumbs. It’s what he recalls you doing, anyway. Weave them between thin lines of string until it feels firm and secure. 

When he drops his pinkies, he’s left with nothing but a knot. 

“Si?”

He doesn’t hear you approach—doesn’t hear the squeak of the bedroom door or the creak of the floorboards—you appear like an angel swathed in the light of the TV. Freshly woken and rubbing your eyes, he wants to lay you down. Needs to pull thick blankets over your body and let you get the rest you deserve. It’s an odd urge to feel; one he doesn’t quite understand. Instead, he pulls the string off of his fingers and places it back on the table where he found it. 

“Did I wake you?” he asks. 

Your prostration temporarily clouds your mind, forcing your brows to furrow at his question. He watches as you mull his words over in your mind, then shake your head. 

“No.” The fox on screen begins to cry out some melancholic tune neither of you can decipher, and still your eyes don’t leave Simon. You stare at him for so long he begins to question the state of your consciousness. “Will you come to bed with me?” 

Simon has to bite his tongue to keep his response from spewing out of his mouth too quickly. His hands reach for the remote where he kills power to the TV. A stillness stretches between the two of you—you swear you can hear him breathe. 

“Course.” 

Eager to get out of his jeans, Simon shucks them off in favor of sweatpants while you mindlessly climb back into bed. He’s hardly able to settle in next to you before you’re clamoring for him. Hands paw at his chest as you nuzzle against his side—he would chuckle if it didn’t make his heart swell to the point of bursting. Arm wrapped around you, he holds you close as he drags the blankets up where he tucks them underneath your chin. 

As you mumble quiet goodnights to one another, and your body goes still, Simon can’t help but think he could die like this. With you in his arms. With you here at his house leaving lights on for him to come home to. Sending him texts while he’s at work. Pictures of things you’re proud of; of things that make you happy. Perhaps that’s what he’s been missing all these years—someone to take care of. 

Or, maybe it’s just you. God, he could die like this—

—but really, he’d rather live like this. 

When morning dawns, and pale light seeps through the curtains, Simon is awoken by gentle fingers. Convinced he’s dreaming, he revels in the feeling. Nails carefully ghost the line of stubble on his jaw, working up, up, up into his hair, weaving between the short strands and rubbing into his scalp. He’s reminded of the way his mother used to wash him up as a child. Too scared to fit into the tub; leaning over the side instead as she rinses his hair clean of suds. 

Refusing to stir, he lays there for a while longer. It would be a lie to say he hasn’t had an appetency for this; for you. Your warmth against his side and your head on his chest, just like things were back in Manchester. That strange longing still has a hold on him. This strange affliction that not even sleep can shake off. It haunts him. Curls up tight at the side of his feet and sits with him like a cat that’s suddenly decided that his body is its home now. 

“You’re awake,” you note. 

He allows his eyes to flutter open when you speak, and his chest expands with a tired sigh. “Am I?” 

Movement ceasing, your fingers leave his hair and Simon almost reaches for you to put them back. “Your heartbeat changed,” you explain. 

Even the mere mention of it has his heart racing. You’ve been listening to it for quite some time this morning, counting each slow and steady beat as it drums against your cheek. It quickened the moment you started to caress the side of his face, lulling him back into the waking world. For a moment, it made you feel powerful; being able to change the beating heart of another person. 

“What time is it?” Simon asks. You feel his legs shift, long limbs stretching the morning ache out. 

“Dunno,” you admit. “Early.” 

“You’re not a very good watch,” he playfully grumbles. 

“Tick tock.” Things are quiet for a moment as you adjust yourself, head nuzzling further against his ribs as if you won’t be happy until you’re burrowed inside of his chest. “Were you playing with my string last night?” 

He’s glad you can’t see the odd smirk on his lips. “Was tryin’ to figure out how you play cat’s cradle by yourself.” 

You hum. “I meant what I said, you know. About teaching you.” 

Your words set off a reaction within him consisting of flexing arms and a fluttering heart. He pulls you closer, and he swears his breathing nearly ceases when he feels you melt into him. 

“Think I’d just like to lay here for now, sweetheart.”

So you do. Together. Your body lays heavy on the mattress as it holds you in place while Simon’s warmth radiates into your bones until you’re sure you’ll dissolve. You stay there laying next to him until the sun’s light transforms from a pale yellow to a glorious gold. Manna hangs heavy in the air as Simon’s thumb begins to gently caress the side of your waist—absentmindedly and sweet. 

This quiet moment ends by the fault of your stomach. It churns and protests with a pathetic growl, and despite how muted it is, Simon still hears it. Staying as still as humanly possible, you pray he doesn’t mention it—that he can allow himself to rest for just a bit longer—but of course, he stirs. 

Simon cradles your head with his palm as he moves you to the side, torso leaving the bed as he sits up, and you whine. It’s an unfamiliar sound that leaves your lips; this pathetic whimpering. It’s enough to get him to pause for a moment, body twisting as he gives you his full attention. He rests your head down on the mattress but he doesn’t retract his hand. 

“What?” he questions.

There’s a tight pull at the corner of his lips, and you’re suddenly aware of just how close he is. Hovering over you, fingers pressed into the back of your skull, his eyes locked on yours. Staring up at him, your tongue goes dry as you try to think of a response. How are you supposed to tell him he’s the first comfort you’ve felt that didn’t suffocate you? That removing yourself from him is like tearing a bandaid from your skin—epidermis removing with it? 

“Don’t go.” It’s hardly above a whisper. A susurrus that almost fails to drift through the air. 

He chuckles and it’s deep. His voice in the morning is always rough. “Gotta eat at some point today.” 

But he doesn’t move. 

Simon’s looking at you. Really looking at you. Not just into your eyes, but he’s soaking up the way the light filters through your eyelashes and the pressure indents on your cheek from sleeping. You find yourself doing the same thing; tracing every single faded scar that decorates his face and the subtle curve of his nose. His lips press together just as his thumb brushes along the apple of your cheek. You’re frozen. Forever caught in this moment. 

“Gorgeous.” 

The word leaves Simon’s lips without permission, but he doesn’t retract it. He isn’t ashamed of it, either. He refuses to play it off and be coy—he continues to caress your cheek, and you wonder if he can feel the heat brewing inside of you. Firing synapses, blood superheating to the point of sublimation—can he feel it? The way you crumble? How you melt beneath his touch? 

They say Rome was destroyed within a single day, but you know that’s not the case. Like all things, its destruction was systematic. Timed and viscerally demanded. Rome was destroyed the same way all things are—brick by brick. 

Simon takes you apart the same way with this kiss—brick by aching brick. His lips press against yours, setting you ablaze as if he’s lighting you for your immolation. Like he’s trying to burn you away until you’re nothing but ash and cinder. It’s heavy, but soft. A weight so unfamiliar yet it feels like home. It’s simple. Blithe. He neither gives nor takes with this kiss; he only speaks. 

You try to speak back as your lips perk against his, jaws gently moving in sync. It’s an insurmountable task. How are you supposed to pour out all the words you wish to speak into this single union? How can it be possible to convey to him that this is the first kiss that has not ripped you to shreds? How do you explain that you’re trembling out of ardor instead of fear? 

For once, love doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt, and it tastes like stale cigarettes. 

Simon’s shaped your lips into a shy smile by the time he pulls away. Still hovering over you, he brushes a kiss against your forehead. 

“Breakfast?” he asks, muttering the word into your skin. 

He kisses you, and instead of talking about money—like you’re so painfully used to—he speaks of food. Of sharing a quiet moment with you. You don’t know why, but you want to cry. The pressure builds behind your eyes, but instead of crying, you laugh.

For once, everything is quiet. There is nothing but Simon’s soft breath against your skin, and the pounding of your own heart. Your fingers do not twitch. They do not yearn for string. 

Only for him. 

“Yeah,” you smile. “Breakfast sounds good.”

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[shorthaltsjester]

the mighty nein - critical role

this is a place where i don't feel alone. this is a place where i feel at home.

[famewolf]

after I finished every story mission in ESO I thought to myself 'I think I'm going to replay Skyrim and use my old game guide and do every single quest in Skyrim'. and then Baldur's Gate 3 came out

[bloodstaineddeer]

watching twin peaks is like thats funny haha then youre like :o seconds later 😭

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

tell me again that you hate me

a/n: i kinda just poured all of the filth ever into this one fic... you're welcome.

summary: “you know, I could help you. Pop that little cherry for you,” he shrugged as if he didn’t seem out of his mind for what he was brashly uttering, “you desperately need it, that fucking stick up your ass makes you such a bitch to be around. But no one is gonna wanna bang you, I mean, maybe you could be kinda hot if you weren’t such a fucking loser, if you didn’t dress like a fucking pogue, but I don’t think anyone would commit social suicide like that. So, I’ll take care of it. Fix that problem for the good of everyone else.” 

warnings: bully!stepbro!rafe cameron x virgin!reader, smut, dark content, dubcon/noncon, enemies to lovers, rafe is in college while reader is still in high school (everyone is over 18), blackmail, alcohol consumption, allusion to drug use, drunk driving, hidden cameras, panty stealing, references to somno, possessiveness, kissing, loss of virginity, size kink, belly bulge, pain kink, dirty talk, impact play, oral, pussyjob, just the tip, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, cumplay, no aftercare and not really any foreplay, public sex, rafe is mean and pervy and dark but it's all fun because it's just a silly fantasy

word count: 5153

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Your life had turned into a living nightmare.

You thought that when your high school bully graduated, you’d finally get rid of him. But little did you know what the future held in store, just who your own mother would decide to marry and what particular family you’d be forced to fuse with. 

Rafe Cameron had been the bane of your existence for years. Sure, when you’d first met him, you admittedly had a bit of a crush on him, but that was until he noticed you and truly showed you the notorious bully that he was. And now that he, the very person who had turned your teenage years into literal hell, had become your stepbrother, you couldn’t wait to get out of there, move halfway across the globe just to never see his face again. 

It also didn’t help matters that you got situated in the room right next to his, even had to share a Jack and Jill bathroom with him. 

Now what you didn’t know was how Rafe’s feelings truly were towards you. How he only started bullying you because you made him feel some type of way that no other chick did, but you came from the wrong side of the island, so getting those feelings out in the form of cruelty only seemed natural to a guy such as him. You had no idea that it was actually you whom he thought about every time he jerked off on the other side of that incredibly thin wall you shared, or even that his wicked fascination with you only seemed to grow now that you were a part of the family. 

The impatient knocks were no use, so swiftly you swung the door to Rafe’s bedroom open. He was nowhere in sight, but before you could turn around to search for him in another place, the light that his computer monitor blared out into the space caught your eye.

Your vision however grew wide as soon as you saw the taboo tab that was open. It was porn, but not just any porn. The open page was littered with rows and rows of graphic videos that all fell under the stepsister search he had typed in. 

Frozen in your stance, you wanted to sprint out of there, though at the same time, some part of you wanted to inch closer and snoop further. 

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” a voice blared from behind you and caused you to jump.

Skittering away from the desk, you spotted the familiar buzzcut standing in the doorway. 

“I–, uh,” you swallowed and recalled the reason for your hunt, “my mom’s forcing me to go to that party at Topper’s tonight.”

“Okay, and?” he scoffed. 

“And so, because I don’t really do that sort of thing–”

“Because you’re a fucking loser who never gets invited.”

“Because I have better things to spend my Friday nights doing, your father wanted you to keep an eye on me and to make sure I got home safe.”

The only way you were gonna get through the night was if you got as wasted as possible.

Which is exactly what you ended up doing. 

When the clock chimed two, the raging headache you were developing from the blaring music convinced you to finally call it a night. You’d given it enough of a chance, enough experience to go home and state that partying simply wasn’t for you. 

But if you didn’t find the literal demon of a stepbrother and let him complete his end of the bargain, then maybe your mom wouldn’t believe you alone and force you to go to another. 

However, locating him turned out to be a much more difficult task than you’d thought. As you stumbled around the massive house, supporting your wobbly weight on the walls as you peeked into each of the rooms where some partygoers had migrated to, you soon dug your phone out of your jeans and dialled up his number. 

It was on the third attempted call that you finally stumbled into him. Sitting with a random blonde on his lap and the remnants of a mysterious white powder dusting the coffee table separating you from him. 

“There you are,” you grumbled, “I’ve been trying to call you!”

His expression turned sour as he noticed your presence, swiftly flipping his phone around as it layed on the table, though the caller ID that lit up the screen wasn’t of your name as your phone still buzzed in your palm to get through to him. Instead, it spelt out fleshlight in big bold letters. 

“So, you have,” he exhaled, “what do you want?” 

“I wanna go home,” you shoved your phone back in your pocket. 

“So, go home. What do you want my fucking permission? Are you that obsessed with me?”

“You have to take me home,” you reminded him, though when he began to laugh in your face, you shot back, “or you can just deal with your dad yourself when you get home. Your choice if you wanna keep being in his good graces or not.” 

That managed to shut him up. Though as he reluctantly pushed the blonde aside and got up from the couch, he muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “fucking prude,” like a curse on the wind just before he marched passed you and grabbed a hold of your arm to drag you with him. 

“Ow, Rafe, you’re hurting me!” you tried to tear yourself free of his grip. 

“Oh, shut up you baby, no I’m not. You wanna feel what does hurt?” his long fingers then dug further into your flesh and caused it to actually ache, “this.”

As he pushed open the front door, you whined, “ow, please stop,” but when he finally did, he only traded the grasp out with a light shove to your shoulder, directing you further towards his parked car. 

When you were planted in the passenger seat with your gaze firmly fixed out the window as the dark streets rolled by, you crossed your arms and mumbled, “I hate you…” gaining enough courage from the dizzying alcohol ravaging your system to utter it out loud. 

“What was that?” Rafe cast a glance in your direction.

Twisting your neck to glare back at him, you hesitantly repeated, “I hate you,” though the faint flicker of bravery you’d acquired was snuffed out as swiftly as it ignited when you saw the smirk that bloomed on your stepbrother’s features. 

“Aw, don’t tell me that, princess,” he chuckled, “you’ll just make me hard.” 

Eyes widening, they briefly fluttered down to the crotch of his trousers before you blinked away, a reaction that was evidently satisfying enough for Rafe to cause him to keep going. 

“But you probably wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway.”

“I know what to do,” you said defensively, though regretted your humouring him as soon as the words slipped out past your lips. 

“Oh yeah? Just how would you know that? Everyone knows you’re a fucking virgin,” something he was to blame for, though that wasn’t a fact you ever had to know. You didn’t have to be aware of just how many times he had stopped guys from asking you out, just because he wanted you all to himself, “but are you secretly a perv, sis? Is that how you think you know what to do?”

“Don’t call me that,” you cringed lightly. 

“What? A perv? Or sis? Don’t you wanna be reminded that you’re my stepsister?”

“Not particularly...”

As the car curved into the driveway to Tanny Hill, an offer suddenly rolled off Rafe’s tongue. 

“You know, I could help you. Pop that little cherry for you,” he shrugged as if he didn’t seem out of his mind for what he was brashly uttering, “you desperately need it, that fucking stick up your ass makes you such a bitch to be around. But no one is gonna wanna bang you, I mean, maybe you could be kinda hot if you weren’t such a fucking loser, if you didn’t dress like a fucking pogue, but I don’t think anyone would commit social suicide like that. So, I’ll take care of it. Fix that problem for the good of everyone else.” 

Your mouth hung agape as the vehicle rolled to a stop, the sudden shift made you fear that your latest drink would come up again. 

Utterly stunned, you couldn’t form a single word as you stared back at him. 

“I mean, it’s what you want, isn’t it?” he went on, turning in his seat to gaze over at you, already undressing you with his eyes, “haven’t you always had the hots for me?”

“I–…” it felt as if the car was swaying around even though it stood completely still, “…I drank way too much tonight, and I think you might have as well.”

“You’re drunk?” darkness glinted in his eyes, “well, I honestly don’t know if I should be impressed or run inside and wake everyone up so you can get grounded for fucking ever,” he laughed. 

“No!” you gasped, “You can’t tell them, please! I–…” you felt tears begin to sting the corners of your eyes and blur up your already hazy vision, “fuck!” 

Leaning even further back in his seat, he cocked his head, “I mean, I could also keep it a secret…” the tip of his tongue mischievously slipped out to poke his lip, “for the right price, that is.”

“Seriously?” you glared back at him, “are you serious right now?”

Capturing your hand, he swiftly brought it to the palpable tent in his pants, “do I not seem serious?” his eyes narrowed ever so slightly to a squint. 

Your lips parted in shock, stare flickering away from his eyes to spot how he ever so slightly pressed your palm down against him. 

He was so hard that you could nearly feel his pulse through the fabric of his trousers. 

“I mean, really I’d be helping you out,” your gaze stayed glued to how his broad hand engulfed your own a moment longer before you glanced up to find his unwavering stare once more, “so you should really thank me for both keeping your secret and doing you such a massive favour…”

As a shaky breath escaped your lungs, you whispered once more, “I hate you…”

But the proclamation only conjured a smile to appear on his lips, “tell me again,” and he leaned in a bit closer.

“I hate y–,” but you didn’t get the last bit out as Rafe then crashed his lips against yours.

It took a second for you to react with anything other than a surprised whimper, but when you did, it was slow and cautious compared to his boldness. 

A string of saliva strung you together as he eventually parted from you. Offering himself a small caress, he pressed your palm down against him one last time before he let you go. His breathing was heavy as he momentarily let his thumb trace your bottom lip, briefly slipping it crudely in your mouth, before uttering, “get inside.”  

Why, after all of this time, after all of the pain and torture he alone made you go through, why did he still have to give you butterflies the way that he did?

It was your room that he led you to, a hand ever rooted on you as you made the journey. At first, you thought it was because he saw the way you occasionally stumbled over your own feet, but perhaps it was just in case you wanted to make a run for it, just a precaution, a safety net already halfway over you. 

“Take your clothes off,” he commanded in a cold tone as he shut the door behind you. 

“W-what?” you turned to look back at him.

Sitting down on the edge of your bed, he repeated, “take your clothes off,” though they came out sounding slightly impatient. 

He palmed himself through his pants as you slowly began to strip. Though as you’d shyly peeled your t-shirt off and dropped it to the floor, his voice halted you just as you began to undo your jeans. 

“Stop,” his voice cut the thick air like a knife, “turn around when you pull those down,” you twisted away from him as your thumbs sank into either side of the waistband, “and do it slowly,” he made you put on a show, ogling as you gradually revealed the curve of your ass, “that’s it…” he nearly moaned as your pants crumbles to the floor, “bra and panties too, princess. Unless of course, you’re backing out of our deal already.”

Clenching your jaw, you squeezed your eyes shut and shed the rest, ignoring his soft wolf whistles and crude comments as you exposed yourself. 

Slowly turning back around to face him, your hands were clasped before you out of sheer timidness and not knowing what to do with them. 

“You gonna stand over there all night?” he raised his chin slightly.

When your feet stood rooted right before his seated position on the bed, your hands began to fiddle as he pulled his shirt over his head and caused your pulse to somehow beat even harder than it already did. 

One of his palms then scooped up your stomach and briefly grabbed one of your tits before scooping you closer, “come here,” and utilised his leverage to toss you down on the bed beside him, “let me get a good look at you.” 

Grabbing for the bedsheets as the mattress momentarily bounced beneath your spine, you blinked up at Rafe as he sat next to you, twisting his form and craning down to near your core. 

You tried to clamber your legs shut, embarrassed for what his cruel reaction might be, but he was not only faster, but stronger than you, and grabbed a hold of your thighs. As he split you apart, his lips curled up into a grin. 

“Look at you… fuck,” he let out a short chuckle, “this is gonna be fun.” 

A gasp curled out of your frame as he then grazed his thumb over your folds, smearing some of the mortifying wetness that seeped out and made you feel even more intoxicated than you already were. He lightly spread you apart and studied intently your dripping pussy, how it looked, how it glistened and how your little hole twitched when he lightly circled your clit. 

“Oh, you like this, don’t you?” he rubbed your puffy pearl with a mean lightness that caused your hips to buck slightly, “you like it when your big stepbrother touches you like this?” but when you didn’t reply, he reached down and grabbed your jaw, angling it for you to meet his eye, “answer me.”

“I–… y-yes,” you quietly admitted, feeling as if you were in some strange dream. 

“Of course you do, you dirty little girl,” he bent down again to gaze at your pussy a little too close for your taste, “I knew you were a slut since the moment I met you.”

Letting go of your face, he then snaked his free hand down to give himself an ounce of relief. 

“You know, part of me doesn’t even wanna prep you with my fingers first,” he smirked and let his fingertips sweep down to tickle your entrance, “I like the idea of not stretching you out first and letting my cock do all the work, let it feel just how tiny and pure you are for me.” 

“But isn’t that gonna hurt?” your breath caught in your throat. Sure, you’d played with yourself nearly till your hands fell off, but that idea still managed to scare you. 

“God, I hope so,” he groaned and briefly leaned down to press a hot kiss to your clit, sucking it into his mouth and sloppily making out with it. 

When he then stood up and pulled his pants down, your jaw nearly hit the floor as well when you saw how thick his dick was. Fat and veiny, curving proudly up towards his abs. 

Seizing your hips, Rafe yanked you closer to where he stood, nearly letting your ass dangle over the edge of the mattress.

“Wait,” you suddenly reached out to touch his forearm as he gave himself a few lavish strokes, staring down at your cunt, comparing the obscene size of him to your puff, “what about a condom?” you squeaked as he flicked his leaking tip down to tap your core. 

Sucking in a fierce breath through his nose, he glared down at you and shot back, “what about you shut the fuck up and just be grateful,” before he sent his open palm down to smack your pussy. 

“Ah! I’m sorry, I just–, fuck!” you shuttered beneath him as he soothed the slap with the nudge of his length, rubbing it against you and teasing your cunt before he started sweeping it through your folds, nearly fucking your soppy slit, the tip of him kissing your little pearl on each silky advance.  

A dollop of spit dropped from his lips and joined the mess he already tickled at between your parted legs. 

“It’s too big…” you murmured as you stared down at how his fat girth parted your pretty petals, though the observation only conjured a smile on Rafe’s lips, “maybe you could just put the tip in?” you tried through your foggy mind, “that would still count.”

A rumbling chuckle bubbled out of him as he stared down at the two of you together, “just the tip…” his movements then grew more erratic as he slid through your folds, “is that all you think your little virgin cunt can handle?” shy gasps escaped you every time he deliberately let his cock catch at your opening, “just the tip?” 

As he slowly pressed just the flush head of his length in to breach your entrance, your brows crinkled up at the mind-numbing stretch. 

“Like that, baby?” he only moved ever so slightly, “is that all you think you can handle?” and you nodded foggily in return. But as you let your eyes flutter shut and breathed through the staggeringly wonderful sensation, Rafe’s voice once again washed over you, “nah,” like a splash of cold water while you were licking up warm sun rays, “that’s not good enough. This is,” and he then slammed the entirety of his length into you.

Your eyes instantly shot back open and your legs curled up even further on either side of you at the shock. 

“What?” he cooed at you mockingly as he slowly dragged his dick back out for just the memory to remain, “does it hurt?”

You were a blubbering and cursing mess, trembling beneath him as your pussy tried to accommodate him.

“Come on, princess,” he bent down over you and let his nose ghost against yours, “tell me that it hurts.”

“It h-hurts,” you whimpered as his hot breath fanned across your blazing cheeks. 

It did sting, a lot, but though you hated to admit it, a part of you loved it, a part of you sank even further into the pit of pleasure he so slowly dunked you into. 

“Tell me that it’s too big for you,” he nuzzled his nose against yours as he plugged you back up. 

Your body shook beneath his every time he moved as much as a millimetre inside you, “i-it’s too big.” 

Letting out a low moan of satisfaction, he then leaned down to press his lips to yours, stealing your breath away even further. 

You tried, but couldn’t really focus on kissing him back, not that he seemed to mind much as he moaned into your mouth, soon letting his sloppy kisses dance over your cheek and down your neck, letting hickeys bloom in his wake and mark up your skin like a brand.

As he sucked down on the spot where your pulse went wild beneath the skin, his hips drove against yours harder, causing them to collide in a sticky smack, as well as letting the tip of him bully the deepest part of you. He didn’t just do it once, but kept it up as he enjoyed the little squeaks you let out every time he bumped against your cervix. 

Kissing his way back up to your lips, he only offered them the briefest of pecks before raising himself off of you, just ever so slightly, and one by one, grabbed your already wide-spread legs and rested each one of them onto his broad shoulders, efficiently folding you in half. 

“H-holy shit,” you panted as the mattress rippled beneath you at every one of his rough thrusts, “Rafe–”

“Yeah?” he smirked down at your melted form, the vein in his forehead popping from the strain, “are you gonna cum? Are you gonna cum on your big bro’s dick?” one of his hands swept up to squeeze your tit, then gave it a swift tap before growling, “come on, princess. I can feel you squeezing me so fucking tight. Do it, I fucking dare you. Be a good girl and cum on my cock.”

You almost screamed as you tumbled over the edge, your head curling to the side to hide yourself in the crumbled duvet beneath you as your pussy gushed all over his fat girth. 

“Oh, fuck,” Rafe croaked as he straightened back up to get a good view. Pulling out of you, he briefly flicked his dick through your folds to urge more of your nectar to leak out, before he slid it back inside and asked in amazement, “you ever squirted before?” 

Trembling from the overstimulation, your eyes rolled in your skull as you shakily mumbled, “maybe twice, I think.”

“Such a good fucking slut,” he growled proudly, “squirting all over me like a proper whore. Just look at you,” his grip dented your thighs as he pressed them further down against the bed, “you’re already a pretty little cockdrunk mess.”

“I–, I–,” you blubbered as you felt drool begin to trickle down your cheek. 

“Oh, fuck,” he then groaned, glancing down at where he split you apart, “hold your legs back,” he requested, though had to help your sluggish hands find their way, “look at this, baby,” he scooped a palm behind your head and ushered you to spot what he had noticed. Splaying a wide hand over the lower part of your stomach, he traced the faint bulge that rhythmically appeared, “sure as fuck not a virgin anymore, are you? Fucking ruining that perfect little pussy of yours. Now that’s how you pop a fucking cherry. Aren’t you happy I was in such a charitable mood tonight?” he then pressed down on the imprint rudely, the overwhelming sensation causing your pussy to drizzle a little more around him, “aren’t you, sis?”

“Yes,” you mewled, feeling as if you were floating on a cloud and not getting your guts rearranged. 

“You’d let me do anything I’d fucking want, wouldn’t you?” he smirked down at your dazed form. 

“Y-yes,” the word flowed out of you, though you couldn’t quite comprehend all of his dirty talk any longer. 

“Hold on,” he briefly slowed down and stretched over to reach a small apprentice obscured and hidden in all of the cluttered decor on your nearby dresser. Turning it in his hand, he pointed the discrete camera down to film you, “say it again,” he picked his pace back up, “tell me that you’ll let me do anything I want to you.”

“Anything,” the words bubbled out through your moans, “anything you want.” 

“Say that you’re my little slut.”

“I’m yours–, I-I’m your s-slut.”

Tilting the hidden camera down to get a few close-ups, his voice then seeped into you once more, “now tell me again that you hate me.” 

One of your hands fluttered down and began to rub your puffy clit.

“I hate you.”

“Again,” he reached down to give your left nipple a harsh pinch.

“I hate you.”

“Keep going, princess.” 

And the more times the phrase flowed out past your lips, the more it began to lose its meaning and morph into just another sound, one that was almost akin to the complete opposite kind of proclamation. 

Just like you barely noticed when Rafe dug out the hidden camera, so too did you miss it when he put it back down, obscured somewhere among your things, possibly not even the only one. 

When you came once again, Rafe didn’t so much as pause when you creamed around his cock and drenched the sheets beneath you that much further.

“There you fucking go,” he sent a palm down to smack the sensitive skin on your inner thigh, “god, you’re so hot. I can’t believe you actually let me do this,” he grinned as your fingers stretched out to graze his wild hips, trying and failing to slow him down, “you’re such a little freak,” he glanced down at the ring of your essence that marked the base of his throbbing cock, “so fucking nasty for your stepbrother. I bet you’d even let me keep using you after you fall asleep. I mean, who’s to say I haven’t already,” he chuckled, “you’re so fucking cute when you sleep. No annoying remarks, no dumb comments… I think I might prefer you that way…” his slamming grew sloppy as he soon moaned, “fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum.”

“Pull out,” you begged through your hazy pants. 

And just when you thought he wouldn’t respect your wishes, he yanked out and furiously stroked himself before your winking and wrecked hole as it slowly retraced from the severe stretch. Moaning loudly, he swiftly painted your pussy with his load, getting it all over your puffy petals till he was panting above you. One hand rested on your thigh as he brushed the sensitive head of his cock over the cream, messily tapping the hefty weight of him against your aching clit and making you jump a few times as he smeared it in. 

Throwing himself down on the bed beside you, he let out a long sigh and said, “you’re welcome.”

You felt like you couldn’t move, like you might never be able to move again. Your breath still came in ragged as the only thing you could focus on was the sore throbbing centred at your core, that blossomed out through the rest of your nerves. 

“Well,” Rafe huffed as he soon lifted himself up to a sitting position, “night,” and without another word, slipped out through your shared bathroom into his own bedroom. 

“I can’t believe they made you take me,” you grumbled as you watched Rafe shadow you in the clothing store, “I could have just gone to the mall on my own.”

“You don’t have a car though–, also, why are you the one complaining? I’m the one being forced to go fucking shopping with you of all people.”

Somehow, for some mysterious reason, since you’d moved into Tanny Hill, your collection of underwear had shrivelled down till you barely had enough to get you through the week. Guess that was the price you had to pay for letting someone else do your laundry, though you’d always assumed it would more just be a single sock that commonly vanished in the wash…

When you dipped into the fitting room to try a few of the gathered options on, you only managed to test out two of them before the curtain slid back open and you swiftly scrambled to cover yourself.

“Rafe!” you let out a hushed screech, “what do you think you’re–”

“Try these on,” he handed you a wide stack of hangers. It wasn’t just underwear dangling from them, but also some clothing, though all of it way too revealing than you were used to. 

Glancing down at them, you refused to grasp the items and simply stated in a clear tone, “no.” 

Letting out a low sigh, he then turned to close the curtain back up before he twisted back to face you, “do you need me to have a little talk with your mom and my dad?” he took a few steps towards you, slowly pushing you into the corner by the tall mirror.

Glaring back at him through your pout, you huffed, “no…” 

You stayed in the corner as he then hung the clothing up on the hooks before taking a seat on the small stool where your purse was resting before he swept it to the floor. 

“Are you just gonna sit there and watch?”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, “it’s boring as shit out there. At least in here, I might get a moderate amount of entertainment.”

Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly began to try the attire on. 

“I hate thongs,” you muttered as you tugged a pair into place over your hip, trying not to catch your stepbrother’s stare as his gaze wandered from your reflection to the perfect view he had of your backside. 

“I recall you hate a lot of things you still don’t hesitate to jump on.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, “you have your fun, enjoy this little fashion show, but I’m sure as hell not getting any of these.”

“Well, good,” he uttered demeaningly, “because I’m buying them for you.”

Catching his eye in the mirror, you told him, “I’m still not wearing them. You can’t make me.” 

“Yeah,” he puffed out a smirk, “we’ll see about that,” and then tore his gaze away from you to gesture to one of the hangers, “try that dress on, but keep the pink thong on underneath, only the thong though.” 

You had to shut your eyes in annoyance a moment before you fulfilled his request, soon standing before him in a scantily cut, pastel mini dress, crafted in a fabric so thin that you could see the faint shadow of your nipples poking through them, especially after they’d turned all pebbly after Rafe had torn that privacy curtain to the side. 

“You happy now?” you turned to face him and propped your hands on either side of your hips. 

“Hm,” he cockily pursed his lips as his gaze studied you, “I was right…”

Your brows stayed furrowed till you watched his palm slide down to squeeze himself through his shorts. 

“What are you doing?” you hissed, eyes growing wide. 

“You do look hot in normal clothes.”

“I don’t think any of this is normal…”

“I think it’s time you learned how to suck a cock,” he suddenly announced, eyes still glued to the dress’ low neckline as he unzipped his slacks. 

“Rafe…” you breathed. 

His eyes flickered up to find yours, “get on your knees,” he tilted his head, “come on, princess. You’ll love it, trust me.” 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[screwitbaby]

cybergirl

hamzahthefantastic x reader (fic)

1.0

[part 2]

summary: hamzah’s a horny freak and you’re the lucky camgirl who gets to entertain him.

contains: smut with plot, essentially

wc: 2.1k-ish

~

It's that time of the night where Hamzah has finally completed all his daily tasks and he feels a familiar twitch in his pants. As an adolescent he never understood what people meant by "thinking with your dick," but that was before he had access to myriads of internet porn at the press of a button.

It was a fateful day when he masturbated for the first time. What was once just a pee stick attached to his body suddenly became so much more after stumbling upon his dad's porn magazine collection in the garage. That year was full of mysterious viruses on the family computer that seemed to appear from thin air and lots of trips to his friend's houses to share his findings.

Of course, there was the eventual graduation from magazines to videos to now, God's greatest act since turning water to wine: OnlyFans.

This time, he did not simply stumble upon such a vice. Instead, he was introduced to it through a time of desperation. Covid was at its peak and quarantine was doing a number on his mental state. Or, perhaps that's just what he tells himself to excuse what he did next.

He went to one of the many models he followed on Instagram and clicked the link in their bio.

It was all too enticing, too easy. A simple hop, skip, and entering of credit card information later and he was in—subscribed. This was the first taste of a delicious new drug he would no longer be able to live without. From then on, an addictive part of his personality would take over and he'd constantly want more, more, more.

No one knew about his dirty little secrets in the taboo corner of the internet where he could explore his greatest fantasies. He wasn't a virgin anymore, but a sexual deviant with a very bad spending habit. He'd learn more about himself in this time than any amount of puberty and social interaction could have ever made clear to him in his lifetime.

And that all brings him to the current time, 11:03 p.m. on a Wednesday night, alone as per usual. The saddest part was, the porn made him feel a little bit less lonely in the onset of isolation he was experiencing since his detachment to the world. The throbbing in his pants held a dull ache as he disrobed and laid in bed in only his boxers. He pried his laptop open and typed in his favorite web address, the gateway to his favorite girl in the whole world.

You were the perfect woman in Hamzah's eyes. You'd do anything for the right amount of pay, somehow keeping the mystique surrounding you prevalent and consistently having him crawling back for more. You had fuck me eyes and blowjob lips. And last, but certainly not least, the most mouth-watering pair of tits.

Though Hamzah thoroughly enjoyed these physical aspects of you, he also felt a deeper connection with you. There was something about you that caught his attention, made him unable to focus on anyone else. He'd often find himself daydreaming about you; thinking of your grocery list while at the supermarket and unholy things you could do to him when passing the neighborhood church on walks. He was enamored by your whole being.

He opened up Zoom and went to your usual meeting room, waiting for you whilst nearly bursting through the cloth of his boxers. You were always a little late, and even though he'd been paying for these sessions for a couple months now, he couldn't bring himself to care. You could keep him waiting until the daylight and he was sure he'd still be sitting in front of the camera awaiting your entrance, having a part in his own torture as he refused to please himself until you got there.

When the notification finally sounded that you had joined, it was 13 minutes past your initial meeting time of 11:05.

"Hi, Hamzah," your sweet voice rang, "were you a good boy for me?"

"Yes." He quickly nodded, his eyes unable to separate from your cleavage.

You teasingly pouted and crossed your arms, pushing your breasts up in the process. "You're never naughty... always trying to please me, hm?"

"Always," he breathed out.

"But I want to please you, too," you whispered.

You moved your laptop camera to expose the length of your body, fully bedecked in lilac-colored lingerie atop silky bedsheets. Hamzah's hand instantly reached to grab himself with a whine.

"So eager," you giggled. Your fingernails trailed down your sternum, tracing the bow on the center of your bra. "I love how you react to me."

"I'm already so hard," he said through a grunt.

"Show me," you ordered.

Hamzah hastily pulled his boxers off, freeing his erection from its confines. He spat into his palm and gripped his shaft, lips parted.

"I wish that was my hand," you sighed, eyeing the imagery unfolding in front of you. "Don't you?"

"I do," he replied with no regard as to how desperate he sounded. It just fueled the fire in his belly. "I nearly fucked a hole in my hand yesterday thinking about you."

"What were you thinking of?" you questioned, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you unclasped your bra and slid the straps down your arms. Hamzah watched in amazement, the friction of his hand making him speechless. "Was I blowing you? Riding you?"

"In the shower," he panted. "Your face pressed against the tiles—shit—while I fucked you from behind."

You hummed, pinching your nipples for a moment before your hand trailed further down, "all wet for you?"

"Soaked," he said, tossing his head back on the wall but keeping his eyes on you. "S-Screaming my name."

"Hamzah," you teased, "such a dirty mouth on you."

"Say my name again," he pleaded.

"Hamzah," you melodically repeated. "You're not gonna last long if you don't slow down."

He whined, knowing you were right. "So good...don't wanna stop."

"I know, baby," you murmured, running your fingertips over your wetness, "but don't you want to take your time with me?"

He watched as you slipped one finger in, then another, shielded by the fabric of your panties. He grunted in frustration, fisting his dick harder.

"Let me see you, please," he begged like the sight pained him, running his other hand through his disorderly curls.

You obliged, standing from the bed and turning so your ass was in the camera frame. You slowly pulled the laced bands down your hips, bending over as they fell down your legs and pooled at your ankles. Hamzah's breaths quickened as you kicked them to the ground, fully exposed to the camera.

"Fuck," he cursed, desperately reaching for his laptop to pull it closer and get a better view of you. "You're so..."

You crawled back onto the bed and parted your legs so you were out in the open for him, pussy glistening with your desire. Your fingers retraced their destined path as you reached down and spread your folds. He watched with hungry eyes.

"I'd kill to get a taste of you." He panted between his words.

You giggled and slipped teasing fingers in and out, never all the way. "Tell me how you want it, angel."

He moaned louder at the pet name. "All fours, p-please."

You flipped onto your knees, arching your back so your chest was touching the bed and you were looking over your shoulder at him.

"Touch yourself," he demanded.

Your cheek pressed on the mattress as you sunk your fingers deep within yourself, adding a third to fill you to the brim. Your mouth fell agape. The room filled with slapping sounds as you and Hamzah pumped your hands simultaneously.

"My god," he puffed out, his bare chest reddening with the fervor of his movements. "Just like that."

"So tight," you whimpered, feeling yourself clench around your fingers. "I'm dripping for you."

"I can almost f-feel you," he groaned as he pictured himself inside of you. "Fuck, the things I'd do to you..."

"Yeah?" You egged him on, getting restless. "Would you pound into me? Stretching me more than my fingers ever could?"

"Until you're bruised and sore," he promised breathlessly.

His hips began to lift from the bed as he fucked into his left hand, steadying himself on his right forearm. It was impossible for him to lift his jaw closed with the way he felt, his eyes nearly rolling back into the back of his head. Your free hand groped your breasts as your skin burned from his words.

"Are you close, Hamzah?" you asked, familiar with his signs. "Don't you dare cum yet, baby."

"I'm trying," he said through gritted teeth. "I never last long when you're l-like that."

"I love it," you gasped as shocks of electricity coursed through your veins. "Such a mess, all because of me."

"'Cause of you," he echoed, incapable of forming his own thoughts from the pleasure.

The both of your moans filled the air, pushing each other closer to completion. Hamzah's quivering voice, ever so expressive, shouted expletives as he slowly came undone. The pain in your neck went ignored as you took in the pathetic state of him, cumming into his fist and all over himself. His eyes were screwed up as his hips jolted in unison with every spurt of white that left his glossy tip.

Your climax took place soon after he came back down from the clouds, allowing him to watch as your thighs were saturated with your own arousal. He tirelessly pumped his shaft, wanting to ride out every last bit of satisfaction he could from you calling out his name. When your eyes opened and saw him, you shook your hips side to side, letting him ogle you a little longer.

You crashed to the bed and brought the laptop up so you could observe the way he cleaned himself up with a tissue from his nightstand. Your chests rose up and down, trying to oxygenate your lungs after being so breathless for so long. His happy trail was dampened, lying flat against his skin as he swiped away the last bits of moisture from his stomach.

Silently, you rose with trembling legs to grab the closest cloth to clean up your own mess. When you began wiping your inner thighs with your bunched up panties, Hamzah groaned. You bit your lip and bent over to shake your ass, your reddened pussy on display.

"Is it bad I wanted to lick my screen?" he exhaled as you sat back down, not bothering to put any clothes on.

"Stop," you giggled.

"Mail them to me."

"What?" You were still trying to catch your breath.

"Your...panties." The word sounded more obscene leaving his lips.

"I'll have to wash them first—"

"No." He shook his head, resting his hands on his sweaty torso. "Just send them."

"You're filthy," you gasped, grabbing the moisture-laden garment up from the carpet and holding it up. "What do you want them for?"

His cheeks suddenly flushed and you smirked, twirling the lace in your fingers. "You know."

A lazy smile spread across his face as he leaned his head to rest on his bicep, exhaustion beginning to hit him. It was a really fucked up ego boost—having him so obsessed with you—but up until then you’d never actually felt the rhythm of your heartbeat falter from his words. He didn’t know his words affected you that much, and even less did he know that he was the only client you actually managed to orgasm with.

“Five hundred.”

“Dollars?” Your brows shot up.

“No, pesos,” he joked, eyes half-lidded.

“Do you know the things I’ve done for that kinda money?”

“I don’t care.” He shrugged.

Behind a screen, he was different. Something like an alter ego would be unleashed, an audacious character he certainly didn’t behave like in public spaces. He didn’t have to worry about being found out because of his digital anonymity (as anonymous as you can be with your whole face and dick out). In the real world he was an introverted loner, but here, in the darkness of his room with only the LCD screen illuminating his figure, he was free to act as he pleased.

Besides, in the presence of you, he was basically a saint.

“Okay,” you finally said.

“Okay?”

“I’ll send them over.”

“Can’t wait.” There was a twinkle in his eyes from the acceptance of his offer.

“Try not to look so smug, angel.”

The call ended abruptly and as the light in front of him dimmed, he realized he was getting hard again in anticipation of receiving the parcel.

~

a/n: i’m realizing i can just post whatever i want on here so here’s this lil idea ive been hiding away for a while!! hope u enjoyed freaks <3

[supernovafics]

𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist

pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 2.7k words

warnings: explicit language, alcohol consumption, jealous!reader, a bit of angst, fluff

summary: in which you don’t expect to feel so bothered seeing steve talk to another girl, but you do 

author's note: this was unfinished for months and i finally felt inspired to actually finish it thank god. i'm trying to slowly get back into writing stuff for this series so enjoy this for now<333

general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Summer 1986

When you first heard about the party, you didn’t think too much about it because your Friday night plans were already settled. A simple movie night in your living room with Steve featuring some of the new arrivals that had just gotten to Family Video. However, you still nodded and said a quick, “Maybe I’ll check it out” to your college friend when she told you about her party and you got the address from her too out of niceness. 

It wasn’t until you half-mentioned the party to Robin as you picked through the new arrivals cart during the final hour of her and Steve’s shift that going actually became a possibility. 

“Wait, what? A party at a lake house sounds perfect. We have to go.”

Steve was quick to look up from the computer and shake his head at her words. “No way. We already have plans for the night, Robs.”

The eye roll he received in response was immediate. “You two can waste away on the couch any night you want. Tonight we should go to a party.”

You considered her words and nodded after a second. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Thank you,” She smiled at you before looking back at Steve. “And you need to remember that I’m only gonna be here for a few more weeks, so we need to do as much stupid shit as we can while I am still here.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at her words. “Okay, you can’t keep using the college card like it’s an ‘I only have two weeks left to live’ card.”

“I second that,” Steve agreed. “Also, you keep making it seem like you’re going thousands of miles away. You’re only gonna be an hour away from here.”

“Yeah, well, still, things are changing,” She told you both. “And I wanna have fun before I leave.”

Fun ended up being an understatement. 

Barely an hour into the party she was drunk due to one too many cupfuls of whatever punch concoction had been thrown together and put in a big bowl in the kitchen. You and Steve shared one cup of the weirdly sweet drink and then decided to simply settle into the role of babysitting Robin. 

You both were currently lingering by a wall and watching as Robin danced with all of the other people crowded in the living room; you vaguely recognized the ABBA song playing. You made a mental note to tell her no if she came running over to you and Steve and proposed the idea of getting another drink. 

“This is your fault, you know,” Steve told you, leaning into your ear to be heard over the music. “If you didn’t mention the party to her earlier, you and I would be on the couch watching a movie and eating takeout from Third Street.” 

You gave him a sad look coupled with a pouty lip and he immediately felt bad, taking your look to heart. He quickly leaned in to apologetically kiss you. 

“Sorry,” He mumbled against your lips. 

You were smiling as he pulled away. “You’re too easy.”

He immediately rolled his eyes at you and playfully poked your side, which made you laugh. “And you’re very evil.”

“Sorry, I had to,” You said and initiated the quick kiss that time around. “Anyway, yes, I know this is my fault and I’d kill to have Third Street right now, but look how happy she is.” You gestured in the direction of where Robin was in the packed living room, dancing with all of the other people who you were convinced were at least half-drunk, but you now couldn’t see her. “Wait, shit, where did she go?” 

Steve looked around for a second too and then let out a sigh when he also couldn’t spot her. Maybe you two weren’t the best babysitters after all. 

“Okay, I’ll check upstairs and you look around down here,” You said to him. “Oh, and maybe grab some water too. She’ll probably need it sooner rather than later.” 

Steve gave you a quick nod. “Okay.” 

You checked every room upstairs and instead of finding Robin you accidentally interrupted one too many couples making out. After quickly peeking into the last room and mumbling out another “Oops, sorry,” you headed back down the stairs, hoping Steve had better luck than you. You noticed him in the kitchen, two water bottles in hand, and talking to someone who wasn’t Robin but you immediately recognized. 

Vanessa. A girl who was in one of your classes last semester and had gone on a handful of dates with Steve at the end of last year. 

It was hard to decipher what they were talking about right then, but Steve had a small smile on his face and so did she. 

You couldn’t recognize why— or maybe you just refused to admit it right then— but you felt the sudden urge to insert yourself into the conversation; sidle up next to Steve, grab his hand and wrap his arm around you, kiss his cheek or simply plant one on his mouth. Essentially mark your territory for everyone, especially Vanessa, to see. But, you were way too sober to actually consider doing any of that, so you instead looked away from him and went back to searching for Robin.

You found her moments later, sitting on the chair swing on the front porch of the house. 

“Hey, Robs, what are you doing out here?” You asked softly as you sat down next to her, trying not to move the swing too much but that proved to be a lot harder than you thought.

Robin didn’t seem to mind, though. Her eyes were closed as she shrugged at your question. “Just wanted some fresh air.”

“Makes sense,” You nodded. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Her eyes stayed shut as she answered you. “Sleepy, but at the same time I kinda wanna get another drink and dance some more.” 

“I’ll allow the dancing, but I need to be a good babysitter right now and say no more drinking.” 

She gave you a quick nod. “The logical side of me knows you’re right.” 

Things got quiet for a second and in that moment of quiet you thought about Steve and Vanessa in the kitchen. It seemed as if all your brain wanted to do right then was play that moment on repeat. You could inwardly admit that the conversation had looked completely innocent and probably quite literally meant nothing, but for some reason, it still bothered you.

“A part of me wishes I got drunk with you,” You said to Robin with a sigh and leaned back into the chair. 

She smiled at that and looked at you. “You definitely still can.” 

Before you could answer, you heard the front door open and subsequently close, and then Steve’s voice filled the brief quiet. “Good. You found her.” 

He handed one of the water bottles he was holding over to you. “I grabbed one for you too.” 

He the. placed the other bottle in Robin’s lap and she gave him a small smile. “Thanks, dingus.”  

If the circumstances were different and your thoughts weren’t confused and scattered, you would’ve shifted over a bit and made room for Steve on the small chair swing, and a random conversation would’ve played out for the next few minutes before you or he suggested leaving. But things weren’t different, so you didn’t.

Steve didn’t think too much of it, though. Instead, he simply asked, “Should we head out?”

You nodded, finally meeting his eyes. “Yeah.” 

He looked at Robin. “We’re taking you to our place, right?”

“Yes, please,” She answered, smiling. “You guys are great babysitters.”

She shut her eyes again and Steve looked at you, giving you a smile and you were quick to force one back. It was then that you could tell that he knew something was up with you because of the look he gave you in response to your forced smile, but he didn’t get to ask you what was going on because Robin was abruptly standing up and asking which way the car was. 

It wasn’t until you all were finally in Steve’s car and driving away from the party— Robin fell asleep in the backseat almost immediately— that he finally asked.

“What’s wrong?” 

You let the question linger in the air for a bit— keeping your eyes focused out the window and letting your fingers mindlessly fiddle with the zipper of your jacket— before you answered him. 

“I don’t know…” You mumbled with a shrug and then you sighed and shook your head. “Actually, I do know, but it’s dumb. It’s stupid.” 

His right hand moved off of the steering wheel and found one of yours. “You can tell me.”

You knew he was right, but that didn’t make being a thousand percent honest feel any easier in this moment. 

“Vanessa was at the party,” You ultimately said, figuring that would be the easiest way to start the conversation.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, we talked for a second.”

“Yeah, I saw,” You said and wanted to end the conversation there, but you knew that you couldn’t. “It kinda annoyed me a bit.” 

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, taking a quick look at you.

“I don’t know…” You sighed again. “Just seeing you guys talking was a little annoying, I guess.”

Things got quiet for a second, and that managed to make you get even more inside your head. Maybe Steve thought you were insane or he was even mad at you for feeling this way. This was entirely unchartered territory between you two, so you weren’t entirely sure what his reaction would be. 

“Oh,” Steve said as if he was realizing something and then smiled a bit. “You were jealous.” 

You immediately rolled your eyes. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

You used your free hand to gesture to his face. “With that smile on your face.”

“I think it’s cute that you were jealous,” He told you, pulling your intertwined hands up to his lips so that he could kiss the back of yours.

You shook your head. “No, it’s not.”

“It really is,” Steve said and you decided not to protest him that time around, looking out the window again. 

“I love you, by the way,” He continued. “Just in case you forgot.” 

That managed to finally get a smile out of you.  

“I did forget, actually. Thank you for the reminder,” You joked and then turned to look at him. “I love you too.” 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Guiding a half-awake Robin from the car to your and Steve’s apartment was a feat in itself, but it somehow worked out. You two helped Robin into your bed instead of letting her take the couch and then you set a glass of water and ibuprofen on the nightstand because you had a feeling she’d need it in the morning. 

You changed into your pajamas in Steve’s room, which simply consisted of a t-shirt that you had long ago stolen from Steve and a pair of shorts, and then both you and him settled into his bed. 

He had fallen asleep pretty quickly and you thought, or more so hoped, that you would find sleep easily too, but instead, you tossed and turned in bed because you couldn’t seem to shut off your mind. You weren’t entirely sure why you were still feeling a little sulky and weird about everything— Steve didn’t care and he wasn’t upset with you for feeling jealous— but there was something still nagging at the back of your head about the whole thing.

“I know what you’re thinking right now,” You heard Steve sleepily mumble after what felt like an hour of you trying but failing to force yourself to sleep but it was probably only twenty minutes. His arm circled around your waist and he pulled you back against him. “And you should stop it.” 

The fact that he could easily read your mind wasn’t surprising and it was probably the only thing that made you feel a little bit okay and made you want to at least attempt to verbalize the thoughts that had been running through your head. 

“I just hate being like this. It feels so— I don’t know…” You were then squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your face into the pillow as you admitted, “When I saw you and her talking I really wanted to just go up and kiss you in front of her, so that she knew that we’re together and you’re mine.”

“Mm, you should’ve done that,” He mumbled into your neck. “That would’ve been really hot.”  

You finally turned on your side to face him. “Shut up. I don’t know why I just admitted that, honestly. I told you this was stupid.” 

“Don't feel embarrassed about it,” He said, somehow managing to sum it all up perfectly; you were feeling embarrassed. “This happens to me all the time.” 

You laughed a little. “You don’t have to lie to try and make me feel better about how dumb I'm being.”

“I’m serious,” He told you. “Remember last Thursday when you came to Family Video during the last hour of mine and Robin’s shift?”

When you gave him a quick nod in response, he continued. “I was so annoyed watching you talk to that one guy.”

At first, you weren’t sure what guy he was talking about, but then it hit you. It had been the all too familiar situation where someone thought that you also worked at the store because you were the only one standing behind the counter since both Robin and Steve were stocking shelves. But even after you told this guy that you actually didn’t work there, he kept the conversation going and you laughed and smiled along for a bit to be nice before making up some excuse and retreating to the break room for the rest of Steve and Robin’s shift. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You didn’t seem annoyed at all, and we didn’t even talk about it.”

“Yeah, because for like two minutes I felt jealous, but then I remembered that I’m the one you’re with and nothing could change that— especially not some random blonde guy— so…” Steve trailed off with a shrug and smile.  

As if flicking a light switch, his words changed everything for you. Once again, he was right; there was nothing that could change what you two had. 

“And just so you know,” He continued, voice soft and quiet. “I always feel embarrassed and stupid about it after it happens too.”

You were smiling as you kissed him then, closing the small bit of distance between you two and finding his lips in the darkness that consumed his room. 

“I can’t believe you’re turning out to be the rational one out of the two of us,” You joked when you pulled back from the kiss and proceeded to bury your face into his neck and completely entangle your body with his. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” He whispered back and pressed the softest kiss to your shoulder before he started to pull away from you. You immediately pouted at him in protest but he continued, pulling the blanket off of both of you and getting out of bed. “It’s only midnight. Let’s do what we were actually supposed to do tonight.”

Hearing him say that made you follow suit and get out of bed too, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Movies and Third Street?”

Steve was nodding as he walked over to you, arms slipping around your waist and pulling you close to him. “Yup.”

“That’s a great idea,” You whispered, looking up at him. “But, no funny business on the couch, though. The walls are way too thin and we’ll never hear the end of it from Robin if she hears anything.”

“Okay,” Steve said, and then proceeded to kiss your forehead and then both of your cheeks and then your neck; all of which made you softly laugh. “Sorry, just needed to get those out of the way first.”

You gave him an understanding nod that you hoped looked as serious as you wanted it to be, but there was a wide smile on your face as you spoke. “Okay, yeah, makes sense.”

He gave you one final kiss, that time against your lips, and then he was pulling away from you and heading toward his shut door. Your arms circled around him from behind as you followed him out into the living room. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)

[mrsfancyferrari]

Teach Me

Summary: MV1 + “I never had any special tradition for the holidays while growing up,"

Song: It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas by Michael Bublé

Author’s note: Sorry it took so long to release a Christmas fics. Exam mocks are really kicking my ass right now! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 10.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

Christmas had always been a grand affair in your family, an extravaganza of twinkling lights, laughter, and the warm, cinnamon embrace of freshly baked cookies.

From the moment you could remember, your mother would orchestrate a symphony of holiday cheer—everyone involved, from the youngest child to the oldest grandparent, had a part to play.

The joyous chaos of your family’s Christmas Eve traditions was something you cherished, an unshakable foundation of love that enveloped you every year.

But as you sat on the couch, a steaming cup of peppermint hot chocolate cradled in your hands, you watched Max, your best friend, from across the room, use his computer to read his email.

He was staying over at yours for the week since he thought it would be better to stay with someone over the holidays than stay by himself with his cats in Monaco.

His brow was furrowed, tongue poking out slightly as he concentrated; a sight that made you smile. But then he said something that spun your world off its axis.

“I don’t really do much for Christmas,” he remarked, his voice disconnected, as if he were commenting on the weather rather than divulging a piece of his soul.

You looked up, your heart tightening in disbelief. “What do you mean, you don’t do much?” Your voice came out sharper than intended, the surprise and concern mixing into a jumble of emotions that suddenly felt too big for your small living room. “Like… at all?”

Max shrugged, a hint of embarrassment tracing the lines of his face. “I don’t know. My family doesn’t celebrate like that. We might exchange a few gifts, but it’s not a big deal, you know? Just a regular day for us.”

A regular day. The words clanged against your heart like a fallen ornament, shattering the idyllic image you had created of sharing the holidays together.

How could someone not revel in the joy of Christmas?

The traditions, the twinkle of lights, the warmth of family—these were the things that made the season magical.

“Oh,” you whispered, suddenly feeling a chasm form between you. You took a sip of your hot chocolate, not sure how to navigate this unfamiliar terrain.

Your childhood memories flooded your mind—caroling with your neighbors, the ritual of finding the perfect Christmas tree, and the way your father would always bungle his lines while reading ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.

Max must have felt the shift in the air; he looked up, catching the troubled expression on your face. “Is it weird that I don’t celebrate?” He gave you a small, tentative smile, as if he were trying to gauge your reaction.

Your heart thudded, and the truth hung dangerously on the tip of your tongue. Could you accept this about him? “Um, no… it’s just… It’s really important to me.”

You weren’t sure how to articulate the depth of your feelings, the nostalgia that struck you like a cold wind at the thought of a muted Christmas devoid of celebration.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“No, Max, I’m sorry,” you interjected. “It’s not your fault. I guess I just expected… well, more.”

Turning away to hide your emotions, you felt a tightening in your chest. You wondered if it was possible to bridge the gap between two worlds so different.

To you, Christmas was warm hugs and laughter, while to him, it was merely an ordinary day.

As you both continued to watch the show on the TV in silence, a plan began to form in your mind.

What if you could share your Christmas with him? What if you could envelop him in the warmth of your family’s traditions, guide him through the whirlwind of what the holiday truly meant to you?

That night, you stayed up late, tossing and turning, rehearsing the idea in your mind like an actor preparing for a role.

The next day, you broached the topic over breakfast.

“Max,” you started, tentative but hopeful, “what if you joined my family this Christmas? We have so many traditions, and it would be amazing to share them with you.”

You watched closely as he took a bite of his toast, the surprise etched on his face like the designs on your family’s old holiday plates.

“Are you sure?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “I don’t want to crash your family’s holiday. It sounds like it means a lot to you.”

“It does,” you replied, leaning forward, excitement building. “But I want to share it with you. I want you to experience Christmas through my eyes.”

After a moment, his expression softened, and a smile appeared. “Okay, if you really want me there, I’d love to join,” he said, his initial hesitancy fading away beneath the glow of your enthusiasm.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a rosy glow across the sky, your phone buzzed with a call from your parents. You picked it up, expecting a routine check-in, but it was a little different this time.

“Hey, honey!” your mom chirped on the other end. “We were hoping you could come over and help us decorate the Christmas tree.”

“Sure! But is everything okay?” you asked, noting a tinge of urgency in her voice.

“It’s your dad,” she said, lowering her voice. “His back has been acting up again, and he insists he can’t be on his feet too long. I’d hate to do it all by myself.”

You chuckled, picturing your dad stubbornly trying to avoid any heavy lifting, even if it meant sitting on the couch, grumbling about the decorations.

“Alright, I’ll be there soon. Do you mind if I bring Max along? He’s been staying with me for the holidays, and quite frankly, he’s getting a bit bored.”

“Of course! The more, the merrier! I’m sure he’ll love it!” she replied, her voice brightening. “See you in a bit!”

The pungent aroma of gingerbread wafted through the air as you stirred a pot of simmering cocoa on the stove. Christmas music played softly in the background, intermingling with the sounds of Max fumbling around in the kitchen.

“Max! Do you want to go help decorate my parents’ tree?” you called out, trying to be heard over the clinking of dishes and the low hum of the music.

He appeared at the kitchen doorway, a puzzled expression on his face. “Are you sure I won’t ruin it for you? I hardly know anything about Christmas,” he replied, wringing his hands, suddenly self-conscious.

“Max, relax! It’s about having fun, not just making it look perfect,” you assured him, a grin spreading across your face. “Besides, my dad’s back is acting up, and they could use an extra pair of hands. It’ll be good for us both to get out of the house and do something festive.”

He seemed to mull it over, a slight furrow forming on his brow. “Alright then, let’s go,” he said with a sigh, walking back to finish putting the remaining cookies on sheets for baking.

Once you two arrived at your parents' cozy two-story house, the inviting glow of warm lights twinkled through the windows, making it feel even more like a holiday wonderland.

The scent of pine filled the air as you stepped inside. Your mom greeted you with a wide smile and a warm embrace.

“Thank you for coming, you two! I’m so glad you could help,” she said before turning to her husband, who was gingerly stretching his back on the sofa.

You pulled back slightly to face her, noticing her festive sweater with reindeer prancing across the front. “Of course! We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you replied, a smile creeping onto your face.

As you glanced toward your dad, you caught him gingerly stretching his back on the sofa. He grunted softly, rubbing at a spot just above his hips. “I’m fine! Just did a little too much holiday decorating, that’s all,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Hello, Y/N's mom and dad," Max said shyly, standing a bit awkwardly with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He had only seen your parents twice before, and each time was a whirlwind of excitement and nerves for him.

“Max! It’s so wonderful to see you again,” your mom chirped, immediately stepping over to him, arms open. He hesitated for just a moment, but then accepted her hug, easing slightly as she welcomed him with warmth.

“What happened, Dad? Did you lift something heavy?” you asked as Max and you set your jackets down on the coat rack.

“Just a little heavy lifting here and there,” your dad said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You know, moving boxes up to the attic and making sure the Christmas lights are all working. I might have overdone it, though.”

“Remember last year?” you teased. “When you insisted you could get that giant inflatable snowman by yourself?”

“Hey! That snowman was a real battle. But look how magnificent he was once I got him set up!” he countered, puffing his chest out with pride.

You chuckled, knowing that the holiday spirit always brought out the competitive side of your father. “This year, let’s take it easy.” you suggested.

“Me and Max will put on the rest of the tree decorations, so you two go and rest,” you playfully ordered, a grin spreading across your face.

You gestured towards the mound of glittering ornaments and fairy lights that lay waiting to be hung, an assortment of memories collected over the years.

Your mom chuckled softly as she helped your dad, who was trying to rise from the couch. “Thanks, you two,” she said, glancing back at the tree adorned with half-placed baubles.

She spared a loving look at your dad, her eyes shimmering with tenderness, before leading him to their bedroom. “We’ll just take a quick nap, and then we’ll join you for hot cocoa.”

“I’ll hold you to that!” you called after her, the aroma of chocolate baking wafting through your kitchen.

Just as the door clicked shut behind you, Max stepped into view, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his green hoodie.

“Alright, Max,” you said, taking a step back to admire the bare pine tree. “What do you think? Are you ready to decorate?”

Max looked up at the tree, its branches heavy with potential. “It’s, um, a lot taller than I expected,” he said, scratching his head. His light brown hair flopped over his forehead as he shifted on his feet. “How do you even start?”

You chuckled, feeling a sense of amusement and excitement bubbling up inside of you. “Well, for me, it starts with the lights. You can’t have a Christmas tree without lights!”

“Lights? Like, the kind that twinkle?” His wide-eyed expression radiated a mixture of intrigue and skepticism.

“Exactly! And they’re the best part.” You walked over to the box where the twinkling fairy lights lay coiled. “Here, hold this end,” you said, handing him one end of the string of lights. “Watch closely, and you might just learn a thing or two.”

Together, you two draped the lights around the branches, winding them carefully to imitate a gentle cascade. Despite his initial uncertainty, Max followed your lead, and you were surprised at how quickly he picked up the rhythm.

As you worked, you thought about how different this was for him. “So, Max, what do you usually do at this time of year?”

He paused, biting his lip as if recalling a distant memory. “Um, not much, really. My family just… doesn’t celebrate anything during the winter. My parents went away on a business trip last Christmas, and it was just me and my video games.”

You frowned. “That sounds kind of lonely.”

“Yeah, it was,” he admitted with a small shrug. “I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to do something festive, though. Like… this.”

He gestured at the lights you were hanging, and a little smile broke through. “It’s different. Good different.”

“Good!” you smiled back, feeling your heart warm. “I love that you’re getting to experience it with me.”

You finished hanging the lights, and you stepped back to admire your work. “Alright, next we get to hang the ornaments! These are my favorite part.”

You pulled out the box filled with ornaments, some homemade, some collected over the years. Each ornament held its own story.

“Whoa, look at this one,” Max said, holding up a glass snowman that sparkled as he tilted it in the light. “What’s the story behind it?”

With a nostalgic sigh, you took a seat on the floor surrounded by ornaments. “Oh, that one! My grandmother made it when I was little. She used to tell me that if we hang it on the tree, it would keep us safe from snowstorms.”

Max looked at you, his brows furrowed. “Safe from snowstorms? Does it… work?”

You laughed, feeling the warmth of memory wash over you. “To be honest, I’m not sure, but it makes me feel good to have it there. It reminds me of her, and Christmas is about holding onto those memories, right?”

Max nodded thoughtfully, placing the ornament on a branch. “I think I understand. It’s more than just decorations; it’s about the people and the moments.”

“Yes! You’re getting it!” you cheered, feeling the joy of sharing this tradition take root in your hearts. As you continued to hang the ornaments, you noticed how Max’s fingers brushed over each one, examining them as if they were precious relics.

“What’s this one?” he asked, lifting a shiny red ball with a silver ribbon tied around it.

“That’s one I made in art class when I was in fifth grade. I was so proud of it! Can you imagine?” you grinned, remembering the day you came home with it in hand.

“It looks nice,” Max said, his admiration genuine. “You were pretty crafty back then,”

“Still am!” you shot back, playfully nudging him with your elbow. “Just wait until you see the tree when it’s all done.”

As you continued to hang each ornament, you began to chat more about your families, your interests, and the things you two loved. With each conversation, the air filled with laughter and anticipation.

“Are we really putting up the angel this year?” he asked, glancing over at you with a teasing smirk.

“Of course! It’s tradition,” you insisted, a firm look on your face. After all, it was important to maintain the little things that connected your world, your friendship. “You know we can’t let it down.”

Max chuckled, and the sound was like a breath of fresh air. “All right then, but I’m the one who usually puts it on top. It’s kind of my thing.”

You shook your head, a smile creeping onto your lips. “Not this year. I’m doing it. You can help me, but I’m the one putting it on top.”

“Okay, Miss Determination,” he replied, his tone mildly sarcastic, but he stepped aside as you grabbed a wooden stool from the corner of the room.

Your heart raced slightly—not just from the excitement but from a deeper, indescribable atmosphere crackling between you two.

You steadied the stool, glancing back at Max, who was still watching, arms crossed, his expression playful yet somehow, deeply attentive. His gaze held a weight that made your stomach flip, and you could swear there was a beat where the air thickened around you.

You climbed onto the stool, your heart thrumming in your chest like a tiny drum, as you reached for the starry-eyed angel that gleamed at the top of the Christmas tree.

It felt higher than you remembered, and a sense of confidence mingled with a rush of fear surged within you—like standing on the edge of an uncertain cliff.

“Easy there!” Max cautioned, his voice a mixture of concern and amusement. “Maybe I should be doing this.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the tiny thrill that his closeness brought—only a foot separating you now, his breath mingling in the air as he leaned closer.

“Don’t you dare come over here. I’ve got this,” you insisted, waving him off with a playful faux annoyance.

But before you could even register what happened next, the stool wobbled. Your heart jumped as you lost your balance, and instinct kicked in.

You flailed, arms going wide, but before you could topple down completely, a strong hand shot out, grabbing you and pulling you back against him.

“Whoa! I got you!” Max said, surprise mingled with exhilaration in his voice.

You found yourself hanging in the air for a moment, all thoughts of the angel forgotten as Max held you firmly, your feet dangling inches above the ground.

Your heart raced not just from the fall but from the electric intimacy of the moment, your bodies pressed together, the warmth of his body wrapping around you like a blanket.

“Maybe I should have done this part,” he murmured, his face inches from yours.

His gaze held yours, a mixture of playfulness and something deeper, something you both had danced around for so long, unspoken and heavy in the air.

“Okay, okay,” you breathed, a slight embarrassment creeping into you. “Just let me get back up. I can do it.”

Yet, as his arms remained around your waist, you felt an intense flutter in your chest, the world around you fading into a gentle hush.

Everything seemed to slow—a heartbeat, a moment of depth, the shared breath between friends that felt like it could be something more.

“Are you sure?” he asked, brows knitting slightly as he studied your expression, his grip firm yet gentle.

“Just a little higher,” you whispered, and he complied, lifting you just a bit higher up, careful and steady. For a moment, you felt balanced, your body suspended, held securely by him.

With a slight adjustment, you reached for the angel perched above, heart racing.

When you finally grasped the angel in your hands, you could hardly contain your joy. “I got it! Look!” you exclaimed, beaming down at him.

Your smile matched the twinkling lights strung across the room, the room alive with holiday spirit.

“You did it!” He grinned, his eyes sparkling as he gazed up at you. “But let’s see if you can put it on the tree without falling again.”

You took a breath, carefully repositioning to reach the top of the tree without losing your balance, and to your surprise, you did it. You placed the angel right on top, the final touch to an enchanting creation.

As you settled back on the stool, Max’s hands lingered a moment longer on your waist, his eyes locked onto yours in a way that stirred something deep inside you.

“You really are something else,” he said softly, admiration flooding his tone.

You met his gaze, a million words left unspoken, a shared understanding hanging in the air between you. In that moment, amidst the tree, the decorations, and the warmth of the season, you both realized that everything could change—if only you'd take the step to speak what lingered in the silent spaces.

“Max, I—”

His breath hitched, anticipation crackling like the electricity between you.

“You really are something else,” he said softly, admiration flooding his tone.

You met his gaze, a million words left unspoken, a shared understanding hanging in the air between you.

In that moment, amidst the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree, the festive decorations draped lazily across the walls, and the warmth of the season, you both realized that everything could change—if only you’d take the step to speak what lingered in the silent spaces.

“Okay guys, are you almost done? We need to get this Christmas party started!” your mom’s voice rang into the room, cutting through the moment like a loud alarm.

You both jumped, the spell shattered in an instant.

“Yeah, um, right!” you stammered, pulling back slightly from his touch and forcing a smile.

The twinkling lights that had felt so inviting moments earlier now seemed to cast shadows, distorting the possibilities just spoken.

Max raked a hand through his tousled hair, irritation flickering in his eyes. “It’s fine,” he murmured, but it felt anything but fine.

The silence between you swelled with tension, unspoken words echoing in the air.

“Do you think we have enough decorations up? Or should we add more garlands?” you asked, attempting to redirect your racing thoughts.

It was a weak attempt, a desperate grasp for normalcy. But you could feel the distance widening, the moment fading like the last glow of an ember.

Max turned to help you adjust another string of lights, his fingers brushing yours as you worked side by side. “I think it looks great,” he said, though his tone lacked its usual enthusiasm.

His eyes darted around the room instead of settling on you.

“Thanks,” you replied softly, your heart heavy with the words that had been interrupted.

“What’s taking so long?” Your mom poked her head through the doorway, hands on her hips. “You two better hurry up or your father is going to eat all the cookies. And trust me, you know how fast he eats when his back hurts.”

You both chuckled uncomfortably. “We’re almost done!” you called out, exchanging a glance laden with mixed emotions.

As you both trudged into the kitchen, the comforting yet chaotic scent of melted chocolate, vanilla, and a hint of cinnamon greeted you.

Your father sat at the counter, a plate of cookies in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. Crumbs dusted his sweater, remnants of his early encounter with the treats.

“Save some for us, Dad!” you exclaimed, snatching a cookie just out of reach.

You made a mock of your father’s crunching sound like a movie monster, mimicking the terrifying yet silly creatures from the last film you hadn’t quite finished watching.

“‘Save some’ was my plan until your mother left,” he chuckled, taking another bite. Somehow, amidst the crumbs and laughter, he looked both amused and guilty. “Didn’t realize how fast they’d vanish. These cookies? They’re a blessing.”

You rolled your eyes. “I can’t believe you,” you teased, trying to lighten the previously heavy mood, but the weight clung to the air like an unwanted guest. You grabbed a cookie as well, feeling the soft warmth radiating from it.

“Are they good?” Max asked, eyeing the colorful array of cookies, his curiosity mingled with hunger. He reached for one, nosily nibbling on the edge of the plate.

“Epic,” your dad said with a nod, his mouth full. “Even if I say so myself.” He looked down, catching crumbs on his lap.

“Good enough to distract you from your back pain?” you pressed gently, trying to lighten the mood, even if just a little.

Your dad’s laughter faltered for a moment, replaced by a visible glimmer of sorrow, a fleeting reminder of years that brought more than just joyful memories.

“Ah, well, that along with every other distraction I can find,” he replied, his voice tinged with a sadness you could hear but not see, as if every word was a careful piece painted in gray shades.

Just as the silence began to stretch uncomfortably, your mother entered the kitchen, a warm smile brightening her face, although tired lines around her eyes told a different story.

“Everyone’s been out of sorts today. Should we all sit down together?” she suggested, motioning gently toward the living room.

“Sounds good,” you said, stepping back from the cookie plate. “Just let me snag a few more first.” You plucked three more cookies and stuffed them into your pockets, ensuring you were ready for later consumption.

Max smirked at your cookie-stashing antics. “You really think you will need that many for a five-minute stroll to the living room?”

“Hey,” you replied, holding a cookie aloft like a trophy, “you never know when the cookie monster strikes!”

Your dad chuckled again, and the tension broke slightly. “Well, if it gets too frightening, I suppose I can lend you my sweater for protection.” He gestured grandly to the crumbs adorning it.

“However, I warn you, the last person who tried to wear it claimed to have lost a battle with sugar and chocolate.”

You giggled, imagining someone in an epic showdown against a plate of cookies while wearing that sweater. “I’ll take my chances!” you said, confidently slinging a couple of cookies into your pockets before you finally sashayed toward the living room.

As you entered, the glittering Christmas tree sparkled in the dim light, each ornament reflecting both the colorful bulbs and the excitement that filled the air.

The sounds of bells jingled softly, punctuated by the occasional laughter from your mom as she rearranged a hodgepodge of decorations.

You plopped down on the couch, managing to get crumbs on the cushion as you settled in. Max followed, a teasing look still plastered on his face.

“So, what’s the plan now? A cookie feasting or a Christmas carol performance?”

“Why not both?” Max suggested, taking a bite of one of the prized cookies. The sweet explosion of chocolate instantly heightened your holiday spirit. “We could start a new Christmas tradition!”

“Yeah! Cookie caroling!” you exclaimed.

Just then, your mom turned to you with a thoughtful expression. “So, we were thinking maybe you wanted to stay over for Christmas?”

She moved a few ornaments on the tree, her hands deftly arranging them with the care of someone who wanted everything just perfect.

You glanced at Max, who had already raised his eyebrows in surprise. Staying over for Christmas would mean a whole day of festivities, treats, and memories.

But it also meant leaving Max behind if he couldn’t join. A pang of longing shot through you at the thought of him being alone.

“Can Max stay too?” you surprised yourself by asking, your voice light but earnest.

“Of course he can!” your dad chimed in, giving Max a reassuring smile. “We always have room for friends, especially at Christmas.”

Max’s face lit up, a mix of relief and joy spreading across his features. “Really? Thank you for letting me stay,” He leaned back into the couch with a grin, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

Your mom smiled warmly, returning to straighten the tree decorations. “I’ll make sure to set up a cozy spot for you, Max. We’ll even have a hot chocolate station!”

“Whoa, a hot chocolate station?” Max echoed, his eyes widening. “My festive drink dreams are coming true!”

Laughing, you leaned towards him. “Just prepare for my intense marshmallow-to-chocolate ratio. I'm known for going overboard.”

Max chuckled. “I’ll risk it for a cup with you!”

“I just might put extra whipped cream on yours,” you teased.

“Bring it on,” he shot back confidently, but there was a spark of determination in his eyes that made you look forward to a friendly competition. . . .

You were nestled in the guest room at your parents' house, a cozy haven with a view of the holiday lights twinkling just outside the window.

Christmas Eve had always been a special time filled with warmth and nostalgia, but this year, all you could focus on was Max, who was sprawled out on the couch in the living room.

You had invited him over for the festivities, and while it felt good to have him around, a worry gnawed at you—was he cold out there?

As you snuggled beneath the blankets, the fluorescent glow of string lights outside painted the walls in a soft, warm hue.

‘He’ll be fine,’ you reassured yourself. ‘It’s just one night.’ Yet the thought of him alone, wrapped in a blanket that could barely keep him comfortable, stirred restlessness within you.

You wanted to go out and offer him a cozy spot next to you, but you didn’t want to disturb him, especially if he managed to finally drift off.

After an hour of tossing and turning amidst visions of reindeer and jingling bells, you heard a soft knock at the door.

Your heart raced, mingling excitement with a touch of anxiety. Slowly, you swung the door open and there he was, Max, standing there with his fluffy pillow tucked under one arm.

The sight of him was undeniably endearing, and you fought the urge to smile like a fool.

“Hey, what’s up?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even. You stepped aside to let him in, noticing how the warm glow of the room contrasted with the chilly air he had brought in with him.

“I… just couldn’t fall asleep,” he admitted, looking down at his feet. “I didn’t know if you’d be awake, so I thought I’d check.”

“Oh, well, I’m definitely still awake,” you said, the playful tilt of your lips escaping before you could stop it. “I was trying to catch Santa.”

“Really?” Max’s eyes widened, filled with mock disbelief. “You think Santa’s actually going to show up here?”

“Well, it’s Christmas Eve! Why wouldn’t he?” You plopped down on the edge of your bed, inviting him to sit. “Just because we’re older doesn’t mean we can’t believe. It’s part of the fun!”

Max chuckled, settling onto the floor cross-legged, his pillow still clutched to his chest. “Okay, okay, I get it. But still, how do you plan to catch him? With a camera or something?”

“Maybe,” you said, half-seriously. “I might have some tricks up my sleeve. What about you? What did you think—would you prefer to catch Santa or find out if reindeer actually fly?”

He pondered that for a moment, his brows furrowing in concentration. “Hmmm, that’s a tough choice. I think I’d prefer to see the reindeer fly, actually. I mean, how do they even do it? I’d love to see those little hooves take off!”

“You know, if you stand up and pretend to be one, maybe that’s the secret,” you teased, your heart lifting at the sound of laughter that poured from him. It felt good, this mini-adventure in imagination.

Max shook his head, his smile infectious. “Absolutely not! I’ll leave the magical reindeer business to you, thank you very much.”

“Fair enough,” you said, grinning back at him. The air was lighter now, filled with a playful spirit that made the room feel even cozier. “But I’ve got to ask—are you cold out there on the couch?”

Max’s smile faltered for just a moment. “A little. I wasn’t thinking about that when I decided to crash on the couch, I swear! Just didn’t want to kick you out of your own room.”

“That’s sweet of you, but you can just come here next time if you want,” you offered, feeling a warmth spreading inside you. “There’s plenty of room.”

He glanced at your bed, then back to you. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”

Taking in his slightly sheepish expression, you sat up straighter. “You’re not! We can keep each other company while we wait for Santa… or at least talk about whatever silly thing pops into our heads.”

Max’s eyes glimmered with delight. “You know what? That sounds perfect.” He picked up his pillow and moved it to your bed, settling down beside you. “Okay, so how do we catch Santa then?”

“First, we need snacks! Santa loves cookies. We can’t let him go hungry,” you declared, leaping up and heading for the kitchen.

When you returned, you carried a plate stacked high with the best cookies your mom had made—snowflakes, gingerbread men, and festive sprinkle biscuits.

“Wow, you’re serious about this,” Max teased, grabbing a cookie. “Okay, then let’s make a plan. If we take shifts—”

“Shifts?” you interrupted with a gasp, the laughter bubbling over. “We’re not soldiers guarding the North Pole, Max!”

He couldn’t hold back his own laughter. “Okay, fine. No shifts. But how about we set up where we can see the tree and the cookies, and then when someone looks away, the other has to keep a lookout?”

“Deal. And when we catch Santa, you have to promise not to scream,” you added, snickering.

“Like I’d do that,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Okay, I’m going to be the lookout then.”

Minutes turned into hours as the night unfolded beneath the glow of your soft fairy lights, laughter blending with stories and silly reindeer poses.

For the first time that night, the ticking down to Christmas felt less like a wait and more like a cherished moment shared.

You positioned yourself comfortably, but couldn’t help sneaking glances at him. One moment, he caught your gaze, and an unusual silence settled between you. The playful banter slipped away and instead, the warmth in his eyes drew you in.

He leaned a little closer, his voice softening. “You okay?”

“I am,” you said, but your heart raced more from the shift in ambiance than the excitement of catching Santa. The air was somehow charged with a tension that felt both thrilling and terrifying.

Max's gaze lingered on you, and for just a heartbeat, you both held still. You couldn’t ignore the heat rising in your cheeks. Your eyes flickered down to his lips, and you felt a magnetic pull towards him.

For a moment, you thought he might lean in. Then, as if struck by an invisible force, you turned away. “I—sorry, I just…” You stammered, struggling to find your words.

But Max’s eyes, filled with curiosity and a hint of longing, didn’t let you off the hook so easily. “What is it?” he asked gently, his voice low and soothing.

“Nothing!” you rushed out, a laugh escaping that sounded a bit too high-pitched. “I think maybe I just stared at the lights too long.”

“Sure,” he replied, but the playful tone was gone, replaced by something softer, more sincere. “You can tell me, you know. I won’t bite.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the rapid beating of your heart. “It’s just… really nice, being here with you. I mean, it’s Christmas Eve and we’re supposed to be having fun, but… it feels different this time.”

His expression softened even further, as though he understood completely. “Yeah, I feel it too.”

With a small smile, he shifted closer, letting the comfort of the moment wash over you. “Maybe it’s the cookies or the tree. Or maybe it’s because we’re just getting older.”

Under the thick blanket, you shifted again, settling into the warmth he radiated. “Now come closer; you’re taking all of the blanket,” you teased, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

Max slowly moved to close the gap, his body edging over but hesitating just a tad as if he feared touching you too much would shatter the serene moment.

“I’m scared,” he blurted, glancing sideways, his cheeks tinged a light shade of pink.

“Scared?” you repeated, surprised. “Of what?”

“Of ruining this, I guess,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Everything feels so perfect, and I don’t want to mess it up by making a wrong move.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Like what?”

“Making you uncomfortable,” he said. He drummed his fingers nervously on the blanket. “What if I lean too far, or what if I say something silly and it turns this into one of those moments where you laugh uncomfortably because you’re not sure how to react?”

“I wouldn’t laugh at you,” you replied earnestly, shifting so you could look at him properly. “And even if you said something silly, we’d just laugh it off, right?”

He looked at you with soft brown eyes, gauging the sincerity in your expression. “You promise?”

“Absolutely,” you said, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. “Why would I want to ruin this either? I like where we are, Max. It feels… right.”

“I just…” he paused, the weight of his thoughts hanging in the air, “I like being around you. You make everything lighter. But I don’t want to push you away.”

You leaned closer, feeling the thud of your heart echo in the space between you. The bottle of uncertainty that had been keeping both of you at bay began to crack. “It’s okay; you’re not pushing me away. I want you here.”

The tilt of your head must have been inviting enough, because he shifted in closer, the gap between you dissolving like morning mist. He was tentative, still afraid of breaking the moment, but the warmth you felt was from more than just the blanket.

“See?” you said softly as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Not so scary, right?”

“I guess not,” he chuckled, relief flooding his features. “But I just can’t help it; I keep thinking about how everything could change. What if it goes wrong?”

“Max,” you said, resting your head against his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne, “worrying about what might happen keeps you from enjoying what’s happening now. Isn’t that what people do? They get so lost in what’s next that they forget to appreciate what they have?”

His silence was contemplative as he pulled you a fraction closer, the warmth of him wrapping around you like the blanket. “You’re right. I guess I just really want this to last… us.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. The vulnerability in his tone was striking, and it planted a seed of hope within you. “So, let’s just be in this moment,” you suggested, draping the blanket more tightly around your bodies.

“Here and now. No expectations. Just us.”

He nodded slowly, and for a moment, the sound of snow became the soundtrack of your cocoon. Slowly, his fingers brushed against yours, a gentleness that sent a ripple of warmth through you.

A smile broke across his face, one that sent warmth through you like the first rays of sun after a long, cold night. “Sounds perfect,” he said, his voice deepening in that way you had come to adore.

You settled back against him, draping the soft blanket more tightly around your bodies. The fabric felt like a cloud, cocooning you in a protective bubble.

Outside, the snow continued its gentle descent, each drop creating a soft symphony that seemed to echo the beats of your hearts.

He fell silent for a moment, and you watched as he closed his eyes, letting the rhythm of the snow wash over him. “I wonder how many people wish for this,” he mused, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I think a lot,” you replied softly, feeling the weight of his words linger in the air. “But it’s ours. We shouldn’t take it for granted.”

The two of you settled into a comfortable silence, as peaceful and inviting as the sound of the snow against the window. You felt yourself beginning to relax, lulled by the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoing against your cheek where it rested.

Your eyes fluttered closed, and you let out a long, slow breath, feeling the world around you begin to fade away.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, sensing your drift towards slumber.

“Always,” you replied, feeling your eyelids grow heavier. In the sanctuary you had created, enveloped in warmth and affection, you allowed the quiet to take over as your thoughts turned hazy.

And with that, you drifted into a peaceful sleep, the comfort of his presence, the shelter of the blanket, and the soft patter of the snow wrapping you both in a cocoon of tranquility.

Here, in this moment, everything was right, and your hearts whispered promises that could span across a lifetime. . . . .

You woke up to the gentle thrum of a heartbeat against your ear, warmth enveloping you fully. The sound brought you back slowly to the present, and you smiled as you remembered where you were.

The faint smell of pine and cinnamon wafted through the air, intermingling with the warmth of the blankets draped over you.

You were home, nestled in bed beside him, accompanied by the soft glow of fairy lights strung around the room.

Turning slightly, you found him still beside you, his arms wrapped around you in a secure embrace. His chest rose and fell rhythmically beneath your head, and his breath sounded deep and peaceful.

You cherished this moment like the most precious gift, knowing that today was Christmas Day.

You smiled at the thought and snuggled a little closer, feeling the sleep still clinging to your eyelids. "Merry Christmas," you whispered, not wanting to disturb the beautiful serenity of the morning.

He stirred a little, pulling you even closer. "Mmm, Merry Christmas," he murmured, his voice husky from sleep.

He tilted his head to meet your gaze, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “What time do you think it is? Do you think your parents are up yet?”

You chuckled softly, nudging him playfully. “Probably not. They’d sleep in on Christmas morning if they could."

Max’s smile widened. “Well let’s not disturb them then and do our own breakfast,” he suggested with a conspiratorial glance. “And maybe make some breakfast for them so they like me more.”

“Max, they love you, you know that,” you said, feeling your cheeks heat slightly.

Calling Max your friend felt wrong, like a poorly matched puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. In your heart, he was so much more, but the boundaries were intricate and tangled, built over years of friendship, laughter, and unspoken affection.

“My parents don’t usually agree to let a friend stay over at Christmas. You’re special.”

He tilted his head, his playful demeanor shifting to something more serious. “Really? That’s sweet of them. But honestly, I want to make a good impression. Christmas breakfast is a big deal, right? In a ‘you have to impress your parents’ kind of way?” He rolled his eyes in mock exaggeration.

You laughed, pushing your hair back from your face. “Okay, fine. What do you have in mind?”

Max hopped up from the edge of your bed, a spark of enthusiasm in his steps. “I can handle the pancakes if you get the eggs and bacon. And maybe we can sneak in some hot chocolate?”

“Sounds like a plan,” you agreed, reluctantly swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “But we have to be quiet. They’re definitely still asleep.”

“Shh, we have to be silent,” he declared dramatically, mimicking a ninja as he tiptoed toward the kitchen.

You followed him, amusement bubbling up inside you at his antics. Entering the kitchen, you were greeted by the familiar scent of pine from the Christmas tree, twinkling lights reflecting off the walls.

Max opened the fridge with exaggerated care, peering inside as if it were a treasure chest.

“Eggs and whatever this is,” he said, pulling out a carton that looked slightly dubious, but then again, you didn't remember buying much food lately.

You rolled your eyes. “That was from Thanksgiving. Let’s stick to the basics.”

Max pretended to ponder for a moment. “And let’s not poison your parents on Christmas morning.”

With a soft laugh, you got to work, gathering the ingredients for the breakfast spread. The soft sound of sizzling bacon filled the kitchen as you heated the skillet, and Max enthusiastically began mixing pancake batter in a bowl.

After some time, your kitchen transformed into a makeshift restaurant, with pancakes stacked high, bacon sizzling, and eggs brightening the countertop.

You’d managed to quiet the noise, but you couldn’t hold back your laughter at the two of you trying to balance plates on the way to the table.

“Okay, moment of truth,” Max said, placing plates down at two seats, making sure they were perfectly aligned. “How do we make this secretly magical?”

You raised your eyebrows, then added, “Hot chocolate on the side?”

“Genius!” he proclaimed, quickly pouring hot chocolate into two mugs adorned with marshmallows. “You’re not just a pretty face, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered at the compliment. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Max,” you replied playfully, unable to hide your smile.

Just as you both sat down to toast the moment, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. You shot Max a frantic look, and he quickly grabbed a pancake, stuffing it in his mouth as if caught in the act.

“Surprise!” your mother exclaimed, walking into the kitchen, her eyes wide with delight. “What’s all this?”

You exchanged guilty glances, but Max, ever the charmer, grinned with a mouth full of pancake. “Just trying to make Christmas breakfast a real deal. Hope you’re hungry!”

“And great pancakes, if I may add,” you chimed in, feeling your heart race. “And bacon! Can’t forget about baked bacon.”

Your dad appeared beside your mother, his scruffy morning hair adding to his amusement. “Wow, you two really outdid yourselves!” He looked between you and Max, clearly impressed.

Feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, you glanced at Max, who was now smirking, clearly enjoying the attention.

“Well, maybe, by making breakfast, they’ll include me in the family from this point onward,” he said, his eyes dancing with mischief.

You chuckled, nudging him again. “You already are family, you know that right?”

Max locked eyes with you, and for a brief moment, the teasing banter faded into something more sincere. “Yeah, I guess,” he said softly, his smile less about jesting and more about truth.

Your parents settled at the table, and soon enough, the jovial atmosphere filled the room as laughter and shared stories surrounded you.

Even amidst the festive spirits, you and Max shared fleeting glances and quiet smiles, both unsure whether to acknowledge what lingered just beneath the surface.

As bacon sizzled and your parents marveled at the pancakes, you felt a warmth in your heart.

"So, as you know, we're hosting the Christmas party this year," she said, her voice bright and cheery despite the busy atmosphere. "It's going to be crowded before it’s 4 PM."

You looked across the table at Max, who was focused on his plate but seemed to be listening intently. "You don’t mind that, right?" you asked him, your heart racing slightly.

It wasn’t just your parents who would be attending; they had invited family friends, neighbors, and even some of your old schoolmates.

Max looked up, a friendly smile breaking across his face. "No, it’s fine! More the merrier," he replied, taking a big bite of pancake as if to emphasize his nonchalance.

After breakfast, your mother handed you and Max a box of decorations that had been stored away for the season. "Here! You two handle the living room. Make it festive!" she called, already disappearing into the next room.

You and Max exchanged glances, and you both laughed at the same time. "Looks like it’s just us," you said, a hint of excitement in your voice.

"Let’s make this place sparkle!" Max exclaimed, grinning as he opened the box to reveal an array of ornaments, garlands, and twinkling fairy lights.

As you began to decorate the room, you found yourself instinctively reaching for a shimmering silver garland. You draped it across the mantelpiece, wishing to give it a touch of elegance.

Meanwhile, Max was busy attempting to untangle a giant string of lights, a comical frown on his face.

"I'm telling you, these lights have a grudge against us," he said, huffing slightly as he pulled on the cords.

You laughed, shaking your head. "Need a hand, or are you determined to battle the lights alone?"

He raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his eyes. "I can handle this. Just you wait!"

He managed to get one long string untangled and triumphantly held it up. "See? Success!"

"You are the hero of light untangling!" you declared, clapping your hands dramatically.

As the afternoon wore on, you took a break to change into your dress. You’d chosen a deep green one that flowed elegantly around your knees. Standing in front of the mirror, you adjusted the neckline and twirled once to see the fabric swirl around you.

When you stepped out of your room, you spotted Max walking past with a box filled with more decorations. He froze, his gaze sweeping over you as if trying to gauge your outfit.

"Is it too much?" you asked shyly, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his watchful eye.

"No, it’s fine! You look beautiful, I promise," he assured you, his voice steady and sincere. That made your heart flutter a little.

“Thank you,” you said softly, a smile creeping onto your face.

Max cleared his throat, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks. "I mean it. You always look great."

As the clock approached 4 PM, guests began to arrive. The house filled with laughter and the sounds of holiday greetings. Your parents mingled with guests, ensuring everyone felt at home.

“Wow, look at this place,” Max said, his voice barely audible over the joyous chatter. He stood close beside you, his eyes wide as he took in the familiar surroundings that were brimming with memories.

“Yeah, it’s a little chaotic,” you admitted, your gaze drifting toward the swarm of guests. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Today, especially, you were thankful for Max's presence as anxiety began to creep in with each arrival. He didn’t know anyone else here, and his nervous energy mirrored yours, though he was determined to keep you company.

“Maybe we should find somewhere quieter?” he suggested, but just as you were about to agree, a voice rang out from the doorway.

“Hey, Y/N! Haven’t seen you in forever!” It was Blake—standing with a group of his friends, their smug expressions painted in the crackling light of holiday cheer.

Your heart sank. What was he doing here? Memories of the past flooded back—the bullying, the harsh teasing. You instinctively took a step back, bumping into Max, who looked worried.

“Should I get them out?” he whispered, concern creasing his brow.

“No... it’s okay,” you muttered, though your heart raced. There was a part of you that hoped this time would be different. Maybe Blake had changed.

“Blake!” you said, forcing a smile. “How has it been?”

“Good! Real good! Just finished finals, and I think I aced them all.” He leaned against the doorframe, an uninvited confidence radiating from him. “It’s kind of nice to see you. We should catch up sometime.”

His gaze roamed over you like an echo of the past, pulling at invisible threads that bound you to days long gone.

You could feel Max shift beside you. He subtly positioned his body protectively between you and Blake, his hand casually resting on your waist—something that felt both natural and reassuring.

The gesture worked to ground you, despite the tension that crackled in the air.

“Oh, um, thanks!” you replied, your voice shaky but steadying as you felt Max’s warmth. “I’ve been busy with college. Working a lot too. It’s—really challenging.”

Blake chuckled, his friends joining in the laughter. “You always did know how to balance things,” he said with a wink, his tone flirty. “I bet that’s why everyone is still buzzing about you. You’re always the one who had their life together.”

You forced another smile, but inside you felt uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze.

“I wouldn’t say that,” you replied, trying to redirect the conversation. “What about you? Are you still into basketball?”

“Of course! Can’t get enough of it.” He was enjoying the attention of your classmates who were gathered around—nothing but echoes of their bygone camaraderie. “I could show you some moves later if you want. I mean, I’m pretty good.”

“Maybe I’ll just stick to watching,” you said, with a weak laugh. Your gaze flickered to Max, who still remained a quiet presence at your side, his hand never faltering on your waist.

“Come on, it wouldn’t be the same without you,” Blake persisted, moving closer, his friends egging him on. “We can rekindle old times.”

Just then, Max tightened his grip around you as if to shield you from that unwanted history. “I think Y/N has plans,” he stated clearly. “Right?”

Your heart swelled at his assertion. “Yeah! Plans!” you echoed, grateful for his quick thinking. “We were actually just about to grab some food. Isn’t that right, Max?”

“Absolutely,” he nodded, his eyes locking onto yours with an earnestness that sent warmth through you. It was something you’d been craving since that encounter with Blake began to take an unsettling turn.

“Should I join?” Blake smirked, but your laughter came out more forced than you intended.

“No! I mean, we’re kind of... in a rush,” you insisted, pointing toward the dining room where the food was being served. “Right, Max?”

“Right,” he affirmed, his eyes that twinkled with an inner strength. “Let’s go grab some snacks, Y/N.”

With a half-hearted wave to Blake and his friends, you took Max’s hand, the warmth of his palm igniting an unexpected comfort. You navigated through the crowd, the noise fading into a dull roar behind you.

“Thank you,” you exhaled once you stepped into the quieter dining room, where twinkling fairy lights adorned the table and the table was laden with a spread of delicious food.

“I was worried I’d have to drown in that conversation.”

Max chuckled, his relief evident. “I’ve got your back. Always.”

The atmosphere in the dining room was lighter, filled with the cheerful sounds of your family laughing and sharing stories.

Under a garland of fresh greens and bright red ribbons, you felt enveloped by warmth and safety, especially with Max at your side.

“So tell me more traditions that you guys do on Christmas Day,” Max asked curiously, his bright blue eyes sparkling with excitement as he perched on the edge of the couch.

You could see the warmth of the festive spirit in him, a perfect addition to your family gathering.

You smiled, wiping away a few crumbs from your cookie-laden fingers. “Well, for us, we do Secret Santa where we pick someone’s name and get them something secretly before hiding it under the tree. Oh! And we especially do Christmas karaoke!"

You laughed, pointing at your dad and uncle belting out “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” in exaggerated voices. They were utterly off-key, but it only added to the hilarity.

Max chuckled, the sound making your heart flutter. “I would pay to see that!” he exclaimed.

“Then there’s the mistletoe!” you said, gesturing towards the couple by the entrance who were caught under the hanging sprig of green. “If there are two people under it, they have to kiss.”

You opened your mouth to continue, but before the words could form, Max leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours.

Time stood still. You were caught in that perfect moment until he pulled away, his cheeks turning a shade of pink that nearly matched the holiday décor.

“Uh, what just happened?” you stammered, glancing up only to find a bunch of mistletoe hanging right above you.

Max pointed up with a shy grin. “I figured I’d follow the traditions, you know?”

You couldn’t help the playful smirk that crept onto your lips. “Is that the only reason you kissed me?” You leaned slightly closer, your heart pounding in excitement.

Max's eyes widened as he shook his head. “No, um, not exactly,” he said, his voice a mix of confidence and vulnerability. “I really like you, Y/N.”

A giggle bubbled up from your throat before you could suppress it. “You’re so cute, Max,” you said, your voice light and teasing.

His face turned even redder, and your playful tone hung in the air between you like a promise. “Did I just get friendzoned?” he asked, half-joking but his eyes flickering with uncertainty.

You rolled your eyes with exaggerated dramatic flair. “Nope, I like you too, cutie.” The words flowed out more easily than you had anticipated, but they felt right, resonating with the whirlwind of emotion that had caught you both off guard.

Max's expression shifted, the nervousness giving way to relief and undeniable joy. “Really? You like me?”

“Of course! I mean, we get along so well, and you’re literally the sweetest person I know.”

He smiled wider, the hint of anxiety disappearing from his features, replaced by a twinkling delight. “Wow. Okay, good! So, uh, should we… I don’t know… try that kiss again? Just to really make sure it wasn’t a fluke?”

You laughed, the sound rich and warm like the cocoa in your cup. “Bad idea, Max. What if people see?” But even as you said the words, you felt a spark ignite, compelling you to step closer again.

“Who cares?” he said, his voice bold now. “It’s just mistletoe. And I think it’d be a better story if we kissed again than if we stood here talking about it.” His eyes danced with energy, a hint of mischief.

You couldn’t resist that challenge, not with the way he was looking at you—the spark in his eyes making it impossible to think clearly. “Okay, but if we do,” you said, taking a breath to calm your fluttering heart, “we have to do it right. No awkward pecks.”

“Deal,” he replied, the seriousness of the moment settling between you like a secret shared.

Max grabbed you by your waist and pulled you closer, his sudden boldness catching you off guard.

Surprised, a little noise escaped your lips — a mix of laughter and shock — and you could see the amusement dance across his face. “See? Not so bad, is it?”

You felt warmth flood your cheeks, a blend of excitement and anticipation, as well as the faintest hint of embarrassment. “You’re impossible,” you said, trying to regain your composure, though your heart raced wildly in your chest.

“You have no idea what you’re getting into,” he replied, a playful smirk forming on his lips. “But I’m more than willing to show you.”

“Bring it on,” you challenged, your heart racing with both fear and excitement.

And then, before you could second-guess yourself or back out, you tilted your head back slightly, and your lips met his.

The kiss was an explosion of warmth, as sweet and indulgent as the cocoa you had been sipping. It flickered to life like the crackling fire in the corner, igniting a warmth in your heart that surged straight through to your fingertips.

You melted into him, feeling the world around you fade—the hum of conversation, the clang of glasses, the scent of pine in the air, all of it dimming in the wake of this moment.

Max’s grip on your waist tightened, pulling you even closer. The kiss deepened, and you could feel the steadiness of him against the thrumming chaos of your own pulse. His lips moved against yours with a mix of softness and urgency that sent shivers down your spine.

After what felt like both a blink and a lifetime, you pulled back, breathless. “Wow,” you managed to say, your cheeks flushed as you looked into his eyes, which sparkled with a hint of triumph.

“Wow, indeed,” he echoed, his smile broad and boyish. “You see? Better than just talking about it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You have no shame.”

“And you’re blushing again,” he pointed out, leaning against the back of the sofa, clearly relishing the moment. “What’s wrong with a little mistletoe magic?”

“Seems like a pretty convenient setup,” you teased, trying to regain your composure. “What if someone walks in?”

“Let them!” Max shrugged, his playful energy infectious. “I’m not ashamed of how I feel about you.” His gaze softened, and for a moment, the noise of the party faded into the background.

“Guess it’s too late to act cool now,” you said, glancing around the crowded room, where your parents were happily mingling with friends and relatives.

“Merry Christmas to me, looks like I got my present,” you added, winking at him.

“Think your parents will approve?” Max's eyes danced with mischief as he leaned closer again, just inches from your face.

“They’re going to be thrilled,” you replied, sarcasm lacing your voice. “My mom has been trying to play matchmaker for months. She’s probably already trying to convince my dad to change the seating arrangement for the rest of the night.”

Max chuckled, and suddenly, the surrounding noise blurred into a vague hum as you found yourself lost in his gaze.

“You know,” he said, “I never had any special tradition for the holidays while growing up. But after today, I think I’m ready to spend the rest of my days trying to learn your family’s traditions.”

You chuckled, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “Aww man, are you really trying to win my heart?”

“Is it working?” Max asked, his smile widening.

“Maybe,” you teased, brushing a stray hair behind your ear as you tried to suppress a grin.

“Good,” he said, leaning a little closer, the playful glint in his eyes replaced with something more genuine.

“Because I’ve decided I want to experience all the things that make your family special. Like this—” He gestured to your father, who was attempting to sing a holiday tune, completely off-key.

“Yeah, that’s a real highlight,” you replied, laughing.

“I’m serious,” Max said, the warmth of sincerity filling the space between you. “I want to be a part of it all—the cooking, the awkward games, the stories that are told every year. I want to learn why your mom insists on making seven different types of cookies, or why your uncle insists he can beat anyone at charades.”

Your heart swelled at his words. “You really mean that?”

“Absolutely,” he affirmed, taking a step closer, so your shoulders brushed against each other. “You’ve made this horrible week of relentless deadlines bearable just by being you. I can only imagine how wonderfully chaotic it must be at these parties. I want to be part of it.”

Surprised, you looked down at your feet, your cheeks burning. The twinkling lights around the room seemed to echo your racing heart.

“Well, you definitely picked the right night to make such a grand declaration. Keep your expectations realistic, though. My family is… a lot.”

“Bring it on,” he said, his enthusiasm contagious. “I’m ready. Besides, you’re worth it.”

As you sat there in the warmth of your parents’ home, wrapped in laughter, full of acceptance, you realized that this could be the start of something wonderful.

The sparkling lights twinkled with promise, and perhaps, just perhaps, this Christmas would be the first of many with Max by your side. . . . .

[letorip]

Do you think you can do obsessive Wednesday headcannons? If u can thanks. Also love your headcannons

obsessive wednesday addams headcanons

okay so she may definitely be borderline stalking you a little but it’s out of love, mate. thank you to the anon who submitted, this was fun to think about and thank you for the compliment! genuinely so sorry for the delay, i've been working on so much stuff it's been insane

you see each other for the first time while she's touring nevermore with enid, wandering the greens on a warm day, and you're sitting under a tree in the shade, at the opposite end with a textbook in your hands and a notebook. you both look up and see each other, and wednesday is immediately transfixed. you just look back down and do your homework

she immediately asks enid who you are, trying to seem disinterested, but enid just shrugs and tells her your name. she learns you live in the hall across from hers and finds herself watching doors for when you come in and out, even if she herself has yet to actually talk to you

she's definitely a little bit disgusted by herself, and how much she clearly wants you right away. it's giving her annoying flashbacks to how much her father is obsessed with her mother, and she realises she does in fact have a crush when she catches herself watching the back of your head in class

you catch her staring once, and send her a kind smile, but you're definitely a bit wary of her, considering there are rumours she killed people at her old school. even though you find her breathtakingly pretty, you're a bit worried by how she's staring at you, that maybe you might be her next victim

you actually strike up a conversation with her first, trying to be kind and welcoming, and wednesday just stares back at you with a blank face, not saying anything and struggling to compute. it's very funny, and wednesday.exe has stopped working. she just watches you talk

'blah blah blah, proper name, place name, backstory stuff'

she has to talk to you next, trying to make up for your weird, one sided conversation. she definitely still has her quirks, but you kind of roll with it, becoming one of her closest allies and friends

once you do actually get together after getting caught in the rain during an investigation and kissing, you start to notice how much wednesday actually listens to you. not in that way where friends listen to each other, but how she laser focuses in on the things you'll say

out of nowhere, she'll buy tickets for a date night, to go see a movie you offhandedly mentioned three weeks ago and never again. she's full of small gifts like that

for your birthday, she buys you a perfume/cologne that's very expensive and you wore six months ago, before you were even dating. you never even told her the scent name or anything, but she somehow figures it out and buys you it with a small note that says 'mi amor' with a small 'w' at the bottom

when you open up to her about your family and stuff, she acts as if she didn't know you had siblings or anything about your parents, but she absolutely, definitely already googled them with help from enid and knows about some of the things you bring up

you're not too sure, but it's possible she has a file on you somewhere in her room. you wouldn't be surprised, still struggling to understand how she remembers all of this stuff you say. she listens to you ramble about anything, and you know she really is truly listening, and not just hearing, like exes have in the past

your exes still do bother her a little. not in a way that she'll ever mention to you out loud, but she'll grip your hand a bit tighter as if trying to hold you to herself, or dramatically roll her eyes if they ever come up in conversation

you'll find old sweaters of yours in wednesday and enid's shared room, thrown over her chair or hung up in her closet. you remember giving her one or two, but not as many as she has, and she has to explain to you, while a little bid of red peeks onto her pale face, that she likes that they smell like you. she of course tells you, "don't get obnoxious about this," afterwards, but you just smile and shake your head. once you're done hanging out that night, you leave your hoodie on her bed while she goes to brush her teeth, and slip out with a single goodbye kiss, leaving it for her to find

she likes how warm you feel to the touch. she doesn't usually like warm things, but she'll lay right on top of you and tuck her head into the crook of your neck or right under your chin

wednesday memorises the curves and planes of your body, and she loves the familiarity it brings after a long day. it does quite genuinely feel like home to her, when she's laying against you

when you have a petty argument that's far from anything serious, you wake up in the middle of the night during a rainstorm, to see wednesday, sopping with rain in the middle of your room. her lip is bit, like she's stopping herself from crying, water dripping from her bangs, and she begs you not to go, apologising right there on the spot. it's a softness that catches you off guard, and you have to dry her off and explain that you weren't going to leave her because of the disagreement

she watches you sleep sometimes, when she's snuck over to your room. she likes to watch your chest rise and fall and the level of peace on your face as you rest. she'll pretend to be asleep when you turn over or stir, and sometimes you'll smirk as she watches you and mumble, "i know you're looking, wednesday."

she denies these sorts of things, especially at first, but when you don't shame her about it or bring it up that often, she becomes more comfortable in her little quirks and obsession over you

was very cute? not sure if you wanted to go into stalker territory, but it almost somewhat did

[sturnioz]

♯┆fully introducing. . . fwb!chris .ᐟ

you and fwb!chris stopped hooking up after realising you were both taking things way too far, and that the arrangement was lasting longer than necessary — but when you show up at the triplets birthday party empty handed, you both know one birthday present that he'll enjoy the most.

"you're here?" chris' eyebrows raises in surprise at your arrival, but it still doesn't stop him from throwing his arm around your shoulder to coax you into a hug that you immediately return, your hands rubbing his back. "i didn't expect you to, like, be here.."

"i'm not going to miss your birthday," you say with a light laugh, pulling back from the embrace to give him a sheepish smile. "i kinda forgot to buy a present on my way here... i'm sorry."

"no — no, s'cool. don't worry about it," chris dismisses with a wave of his hand before he scratches the back of his neck, adjusting the cap on his head. "the party is about to end soon but, do you — can you stay behind when everyone leaves, or somethin'?"

"sure," you nod slowly. "i'll go wait in your room.."

you've been waiting for fifteen minutes, listening to chris' laughter echoing in the living-room as he bids everyone goodbye and thanks them for coming to his and his brother's birthday celebrations, while you mindlessly walk around his familiar bedroom, capturing the small details of the space that hasn't changed since you were last here.

the walls are still white, decorated with a few random posters of his favourite artists. he still has that neatly stacked record collection that sits in the corner, untouched and left in pristine condition, and he still has his shoe collection tucked away in the other corner, some pairs left slightly askew.

he also still has a few photo frames sitting on his desk next to his computer, and your fingers ghost over the images of him with his friends and family, the locations holding a lot of memories. but you pause when your fingertips touch a particular photo that you were certain chris wouldn't have kept, and your heart swells uncomfortably in your chest.

the photo that catches your eye is one of you and chris at a carnival, both of you wearing silly headbands and grinning widely. chris stands behind you with his arms loosely draped around your shoulders, his cheek pressed against yours. your hand rests on his arm while the other hand squeezes his jaw playfully.

staring at it, your stomach swirls with regret as you take a step back. you feel suddenly guilty for showing up at his birthday, after you were the one that decided to call it quits on your odd situation.

you and chris were friends with benefits — an arrangement that lasted much longer than either of you had originally planned. you were hooking up to satisfy your needs, fucking each other when you were sexually frustrated and in need of a release, or sometimes when you were board.

what was only supposed to be a month-long fling turned into two months, then five, then a year, and eventually nearly a year and a half.

the predicament wasn't good for either of you — feelings had spiralled out of control, and even your shared close friends had pointed out how strangely long it had been going on.

it made you feel terrible when a girl once approached you, saying she liked chris and wanted to ask him out, but couldn't due to the uncertainty around your relationship.

that exact night, you had explained to chris that maybe you had both dragged out the friends with benefits situation longer than you should have, and in doing so, were preventing each other from meeting other people. chris was confused and hesitant, but he eventually agreed, leaving you both to shake on it as you ended your friends with benefits situation.

it's been two months since then, and truthfully, you've both struggled to keep in contact with each other without things feeling awkward and whenever you share eye contact, you're reminded of the intimate moments you've shared.

it felt a dent in your friendship, but you were desperate to still keep chris as the close friend as he once was, which is why you showed up tonight, despite the complicated history.

"sorry for makin' you wait so long," you hear chris apologise behind you, and you're startled at the sudden voice, peering over your shoulder to see chris close his bedroom door behind himself with a grin. "had to help matt and nick get nate into the uber, the kid didn't wanna leave."

"you should've let him stay," you tell him with a kind smile. "then you wouldn't be alone in here for the night on your birthday."

"well, i mean, i was hopin' that you would stay with me tonight," chris admits with an airy laugh, rubbing his jaw — a familiar nervous habit you recognise from your time together. "since we, like, haven't been able to spend time together, y'know?"

"i get it," you nod in understanding, wanting nothing more than to catch up and spend time with him as well "i... i'm still sorry for not getting you a birthday present."

"you can still give me one..." chris murmurs softly as he takes a step forward, his finger scratching his cheek. your eyes widen slightly, immediately knowing what he's hinting at when you feel his hands cradle your face, his thumb pulling at your bottom lip. "you... you can give me you."

"chris..." you warn him, and your fingers curl around his wrist, but you don't pull his hands away.

"c'mon.. you don't miss it?" chris questions you and you get surprised, watching as his teeth kneads down on his bottom lip as he stands closer to you. "i miss it. a lot — more than i'd like to admit, to be honest."

"i do," you admit quietly. "but that doesn't mean we should."

"we enjoyed ourselves, we — we liked it," he states, grazing his lips over yours. "that's all that matters, right? i mean, we were fuckin' happy, so — so who cares what others think? i'd never want them like i want you.. don't you want me too?"

"you talk too much," you sigh, fisting the collar of his shirt and pulling him in for a kiss which he reciprocates almost instantly, refusing to give either of you a chance to breath as he's licking inside your mouth and kissing your lips raw.

his quick and nimble fingers are tugging down the zipper of your jeans, and you gasp when you feel his hand slip beneath the waistband of your panties, pressing his fingers to your folds and rubbing your clit in circular motions that elicits a whine from you, baffled by the fact he still knows your body so well.

he's laying you down on his unmade bed, hovering above you, resting one hand by the side of your head to keep him upright while the other plays with your pussy — the kiss hot and heavy as his fingers push through your opening, curling them and grazing the spot that has your thighs snapping shut around his hand.

chris is drinking up your moans, panting in your mouth as he grinds down on your thigh while bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm, and he's grinning against your lips as you're embarrassingly quick to cum over his fingers, the wet squelching sounds echoing throughout the quietness of his bedroom.

"yeah, that's it..." he sighs over your mouth. "good, ma.. jus' like that."

neither of you give yourself time to calm down as he's already sitting back on his knees to pull his pants and boxers down to his thighs, not wanting to waste any time in taking his clothes off fully.

you do the same, lifting your hips to pull down your own jeans and underwear, cursing under your breath when the material gets stuck around your shoes and chris laughs, helping you yank off your shoes to leave your lower half bare for him.

chris resumes his position above you — guiding himself to your slick pussy and stroking the head of his cock between your puffy folds, gathering your arousal for an easy slip in, and you wrap your thighs around his hips as he does so, the feeling of being full with his cock leaves you a moaning messy already, gripping at his shoulders as he thrusts, grunting with each deep stroke.

"chriiiis..." you mewl his name loudly and he grins, slotting his lips to yours as he pounds relentlessly, skin slapping against skin.

he's not letting up, his pace brutal when he feels your nails dig into his shoulder blades and he tastes the salty tears that slip down your cheeks from the pleasure and sensitivity of not being fucked in so long.

"so fuckin' pretty, ma," he compliments you when he parts from your lips, admiring you beneath him. his eyes dart above your head for a moment, glancing at the headboard that rattles but holds the birthday gift someone had gifted him earlier this morning, a chuckle rumbling in his chest as he shakes his head. "yeah... you're definitely my favourite birthday present."

© STURNIOZ

[piedinthepiper]

You owe me ☆

Mafia!Jungkook x psychologist!reader

Summary: It’s your job to help people, but is he really suffering? At least it’s a case of the crazy and obsessive syndrome.

Warnings: yandere!Jungkook, dub con, guilt tripping, description of murder and crime, mention of stalking, cursing, weapons (one singular gun), mention of male masturbation, descriptive smut, probably wrong use of psychological terms (oopsie)

Wc: 6.9k

A/n: This is my first post on my bts fic blog! If you like it please show your support! Don’t be a silent reader! My requests are open, share your ideas!

Disclaimer: This is 100% fiction. I am in no way saying that this is how any member of bts would act. Nor do I condone the actions detailed in the story. This is purely for entertainment purposes only. If any of the warnings trigger you, or you’re under 18 ¡do not read! I’m not your mother, and I don’t take any accountability for what you decide to read online!

Another disclaimer: I am not a licensed psychologist! Everything related to psychology in this fic is off Google, do not use this to diagnose yourself or anyone else!

Parts: | 1 | 2 |

He clutched the gun close to his chest. Hiding it under his pyjamas. His fathers words ringing in the back of his mind. “Your brother is too soft for this industry, but you son, you’re my perfect descendant.”

He walked into his family’s suite. It was dark, except for one light in the living room. His mother sat there head propped up on her hand reading a book.

“What are you doing up so late, baby?”

She asked, putting the book down in her lap and taking off her reading glasses. He looked over at the white sofa placed next to the large windows. His brother was sleeping there peacefully. Not aware of his presence.

“I let your brother sleep in the living room tonight. His nightmares have returned.”

She continued when he didn’t answer her. He slowly turned his eyes towards his mother again.

“Weak.”

He answered lowly. Her look turned concerned.

“Is something wrong, baby?

His eyes continued to stare at her. He didn’t move a muscle, not yet.

“You know I don’t like it when you look at me like that.”

She continued when he yet again didn’t answer. There was a sturdiness to her voice now. The kind of sturdiness mothers have before scolding you. He started smiling. Not in a sweet innocent way. Not in the way 11 year olds should. But in a sinister and dark way. His hand moved out of his pyjamas top. She looked at the object in his hand.

“Drop that gun right now, Jungkook!”

A scream. Three shots. And silence.

15 years later

“Your patient is here.”

Your assistant, Erin, said through the slightly ajar door to your office. You looked up from your lunch. Quickly glancing over at the stationary computer to check the time.

“I don’t have an appointment. Not in another thirty minutes.”

Erin looked back to the waiting room before slowly stepping inside the office. Closing the door quietly behind her. She walked closer to you.

“He’s been sitting here for an hour already. I told him his appointment wasn’t until 1 pm. He just said ‘I know’ and sat down.”

She hurriedly whispered afraid of whoever was sitting out there.

“Please, Erin. Don’t act like he’s crazy. Send him in, I’ll eat later.”

She gave you a look before holding up two fingers. The signal that the two of you created. Working as a psychologist you meet with all sorts of people. Even criminals. The signal signalised that she would call the police if you hit the button that called directly to the front desk.

“Stop it, there will be no need to call the police. He’s harmless.”

“If you say so.”

She shrugged and walked out the door. The next time it opened a familiar figure entered.

“Good afternoon, Doctor.”

“You’re early Mr. Jeon.”

You had been treating Jungkook Jeon for a little over a month now. And you had come to the conclusion that he had PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. After he had witnessed a series of murders and crimes during his childhood. He was vague about the past, but a few things came out here and there. You only knew about his absent father and that his brother and mother had both been killed. No description of how or when. Which is common at first. It’s hard to re-live your trauma.

“I’m sorry I disturbed your lunch. Just eat, I don’t mind.”

He said as he sat down in the white sofa across your desk. You gave him a small smile as you reached into your drawer.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll eat after our session.”

You said as you fished his file up and opened it on you desk. You quickly read your notes from the last session as you continued talking.

“How are you doing? Still having nightmares?”

You looked up from the file maintaining eye contact as he answered your question.

“Sometimes, but not as often as before. I dream of you instead now.”

His eyes never left yours as he bit his lip, playing with his piercing he had there. You nodded.

“How often do you dream about me? And what are the dreams about?”

You asked as you scribbled it down in your notes.

“Every now and then they occur. Especially after our sessions. Or after I read your books. You’re a good writer Dr. y/l/n.”

He started smiling. His smile wasn’t sweet, it was different from how he had smiled at you before.

“As for what they’re about, I don’t think you’d want to know, Doctor.”

You tried concealing your confusion at his last statement. Curiosity taking over you.

“Dreaming about people you frequently surround yourself with is not uncommon. If you don’t like to talk about it we don’t have to. I would just like to know if they’re good or bad dreams.”

He nodded, still not breaking his smile nor the eye contact.

“Oh they’re good, Doctor. Don’t worry.”

You smiled back at him.

“That’s good to know. I’m glad to hear your nightmares are slowly being changed with good dreams.”

It went silent for a moment as you wrote down the good news. When you looked up again he wasn’t looking at you anymore, and for some reason you felt relived. His eyes were big and doe like, and when they focused on you for too long you would sometimes feel uneasy. You wondered so what those eyes had experiences in the past.

“What about your sudden outbreaks, are you able to control your anger better?”

He focused on you again the second he heard your voice. His smile returned.

“Sort of, I’ve been letting out the aggression in the gym, after you adviced me to try to stay active. I’ve started boxing.”

You smiled and nodded, writing down boxing in your notes.

“That’s good to hear. It seems that you’re getting better Mr. Jeon, much b-“

“Jungkook, call me Jungkook.”

He interrupted. You stopped and looked at him for a second.

“And no, I’m not cured. I still need you.”

You slowly nodded.

“Well there is no cure for your diagnosis, it’s a matter of being at peace with living with it. But I can understand that you still have things you would want to talk about. Maybe you would like to open up to me about your past?”

The room grew quiet. His eyes now focused on his hands in his lap. His demeanour changed completely.

“I have told you about my past. If I didn’t you wouldn’t have been able to diagnose me in the first place.”

He answered with a bit of underlaying annoyance. You sighed. Something felt off, but you couldn’t figure out what.

“You have told me some parts yes. If you want to go more in detail you can, I’m not forcing you. As your psychologist I would advise talking about it with me. It could be nice to have an outsiders perspective.”

You said in a soft tone. Trying to get your point across at the same time as being gentle. You didn’t want him to feel pressured or as if he had to say anything. When he didn’t open his mouth you understood you crossed his personal line of what he feels fit for you to know. You spoke after almost a minute with silence.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to. You can think about-“

“You’re a smart one.”

He interrupted you again. His eyes raised to meet yours.

“That’s why I like you. You know to some extent what is going on inside my head. I could never do that. I never know what is going on inside your head. If you think I’m weak or even crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy nor weak. It’s not your job to know what is going on inside my head. But it is my job to know what’s going on inside yours.”

He nodded before patting the sofa seat beside him.

“Come here.”

He simply said. You don’t know why, but you had a bad feeling in your stomach. He was acting differently today, compared to other sessions. Either way you got up from your chair, knowing that doing what he said would get you an insight of what you wanted to know. You slowly walked around your desk and sat down in the small sofa next to him. You crossed your legs trying your best not to get too close to him, but he seemed to man spread even more. Making your thighs touch. You placed your notebook in your lap, ready to write down exactly what he told you. He took a hold of your wrist.

“You’re not writing this down, Doctor. I need your full attention.”

It was the first time he had touched you, beside the first time you met when you shook hands. It made you think that you usually never have any sort of physical contact with your patients. Maybe that’s exactly what they need. What he needs to open up to you. You put your notebook down, and continued holding his hand. He looked down at your hands intertwining. Your smooth small hand was a sharp contrast to his bigger tattooed one.

“Tell me whatever you feel comfortable with telling me.”

You said to get his attention back to reality. He went quiet for a few seconds.

“I grew up in a hotel. It was a nice hotel, four stars, good breakfast. My father was almost never home, I didn’t mind though. I had my mother and my brother there. It was perfect in the beginning.”

He stopped. You looked down at his hand, it was shaking. You started drawing small circles at the back of his hand. Trying to calm him down. He looked down at your hands again.

“One night when I was sleeping I was woken up by a loud bang. The door to our home was broken down. A man entered and started shooting. My brother was still sleeping on the sofa and died instantly. My mother reached her gun and shot the man in the shoulder.”

He looked into your eyes.

“But he shot her in the head.”

You nodded, looking down at the floor. You knew he was looking at you, but you couldn’t meet his eyes in that moment.

“Did you find out who that man was? Why he would do such a thing.”

He went quiet again at your question. His grip on your hand tightened, as if what he was going to say would make you pull away.

“He was a mobster. Like my father. After the incident he trained me as the next leader of his group. I was 11.”

You looked at him. His childhood was worse than you thought, but he wasn’t saying all this as if it was a traumatic experience. It seemed like he was bragging about it. You would have to go through your notes and his file after work to see if there was something you were missing about him. You couldn’t jump to conclusions just yet.

“Thank you for telling me.”

You smiled at him. He looked back at you with those big eyes. You looked at the watch on your wrist. The session was over.

“Look at the time.”

You were about to let go of his hand to get up from the sofa. But he grabbed you harder. Forcing you to sit still.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jeon. But our session is over-“

“I’ve told you to call me Jungkook.”

“Jungkook, I have other patients today as well. We can continue this next week.”

You tried to assure him. He still didn’t let go.

“I’ve never told anyone about this, and you decide to end the session this quickly?”

You grabbed his hand with your other hand as well.

“You know I usually don’t end sessions like this. But I can’t let my other patients wait. You’re free to sit in the waiting room for as long as you want to.”

He frowned at your comment, but relaxed his hand nonetheless. You got off the sofa and walked to your desk again. Before you could say anything else he got up from the sofa and hastily walked out the door. Slamming it shut behind him.

You had two more patients that day. You waved goodbye to your last patient of the day, a young girl named Olive Thomson who was suffering from severe anxiety, as she walked through the door. You got up from your chair and collected your things. You turned off the computer and the light. You made sure to lock the door as you always do. The only thing you had to do now was say goodbye to Erin by the front desk, and you could go home. You walked into the waiting room.

“Finally.”

You turned to find the owner of the voice, as it was clearly not Erin’s.

“Mr. Jeon what are you doing here?”

You asked as you looked at the man seated in one of the waiting chairs.

“I told him he had to leave, I promise.”

You heard Erin whisper behind you.

“You said I could sit here for as long as I wanted to, Doctor. And please, just call me Jungkook.”

He was clearly upset. You remembered your words from earlier, but you didn’t think he would spend almost four hours just sitting there.

“I did, you’re right. I’m leaving now, Erin will be here for another two hours. But after that we’re closed.”

He got up from the chair.

“I was waiting for you.”

He simply said.

“I’m sorry our session ended so brutally, but I promise we’ll talk about it next week.”

You said and patted his shoulder as you walked past him towards the exit.

“Goodbye, Erin!”

You said as you made your way outside. The wind was cold and you clutched your coat closer to you as you walked towards your car.

“The least you can do is eat with me.”

He had followed you outside. You turned to look at him.

“I’m not that hungry, I just want to go home.”

You was going to open your car door, but his hand suddenly blocked the door. You were about to cuss him out. Tired of his antics.

“You haven’t eaten all day, I hardly doubt that one bite you had for lunch filled you up.”

He sounded threatening, something he had started to do recently.

“I just want to hear your thoughts on what I said. Don’t you think you owe me that? Or do I have to wait a week and dread finding out your opinion of me?”

He was desperate, you could see it. What he was saying was true. He would walk around overthinking for the next week and his health could worsen. You had to take action according to your diagnosis.

“Ok, I’ll eat with you.”

The two of you were sitting at some restaurant. The lights were low and to everyone around you, the two of you looked like a couple on a date. This was obviously not something you would do with your patients, you like to keep things professional. Something about this whole situation felt anything but professional.

“Get whatever you want, my treat.”

He said deeply focused on the menu. You shook your head.

“No thank you, I can pay for my own food.”

You answered.

“I’m the one responsible for you not being able to eat your lunch right? You owe me this meeting and I owe you food. Two birds with one stone.”

You sighed when you didn’t have a rebuttal. The two of you ordered, and the silence grew more and more awkward.

“I’m sorry again, Mr. Jeon I’m-“

“Jungkook. Please y/n! Just call me Jungkook!”

He was clearly upset now. You were a bit taken aback from the sudden use of your first name. He had never called you by your first name before. And the feeling of the professionalism fading away became more apparent.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to remember your request.”

“Say it. Say my name.”

For some reason you didn’t feel like you had it in you. It felt so strange to call a patient by their name, the same way it felt weird to be called your name by a patient.

“Jungkook.”

You managed to get it out, but you couldn’t look him in the eye saying it. The food luckily came quickly, you were starving. Plus it saved you from whatever he was going to answer. You decided to take the lead. Wanting to stay on track for the actual reason you said yes to join him.

“You said your father was a mobster. Do you know if he’s still living that lifestyle? Do you have any contact with him?”

You asked after taking a big bite of your pasta. Jungkook swallowed before answering your question.

“My father is dead. He’s been dead for 7 years now.”

A question came to mind, but you didn’t know if you dared ask him. You remember he said his father trained him to the life of crime at a young age. For him to take over his fathers legacy. With his father gone he would be next in line to whatever group his father had built. He got the image. Tattoos, piercings, the black clothes. But you couldn’t imagine him being a mafia boss. Maybe it was some sort of stereotype that strong, tough men don’t go to the psychologist. But you were starting to rethink his intentions.

“You’re thinking about something.”

You looked up from your food. He was staring at you.

“Look at you, you do have the ability to understand my mind.”

You said lightheartedly. He chuckled.

“I think you’re brave. Not many people survive the kind of neglect and trauma you’ve experienced in your childhood.”

You said, trying to give him an answer for his entire life story. He nodded and suddenly reached for your hand across the table. You jumped, but didn’t remove your hand. You didn’t want to make a scene with this many people around.

“I’m fine, y/n. I think the only cure I need is you.”

His statement combined with his eyes staring into your soul, gave you chills down your back. Something was off about him. You had to ask. You just had to.

“When your father died, did you…?”

He smiled. The same sinister smile he smiled at you earlier that day.

“I did. I took over his legacy. Me and my father were actually great friends the years before he died. Not that I cared for him. I don’t think I’ve ever cared for anyone in my entire life.”

Another shot of chills froze your body at his statement. You had overlooked it this entire time. His calm demeanour, his tendency to physically violence, his intelligence and charisma and now his lack of empathy. He didn’t suffer from PTSD, he had been lying this entire time.

“At least not until I met you.”

He interrupted your thoughts. You pulled your hand out of his quickly. You took a deep breath trying to compose yourself.

“That’s nonsense. You must’ve cared for your mother.”

He shrugged.

“Not really, she wasn’t exactly the best mother.”

“You don’t really have those nightmares do you?”

You asked, looking at him. It took him a few seconds to answer. Probably contemplating if he should continue his lies or tell the truth.

“I don’t.”

“You didn’t really have a problem with your mother or brother dying either right?”

He let out a small laugh.

“I just told you.”

“Just answer me.”

He poked his tongue into his cheek and leaned forward onto the table.

“What is this? Are you trying to diagnose me, Doctor?”

He said mockingly.

“Answer me.”

You commanded. He sighed and started smiling at you again.

“Everyone has to die at some point. Doesn’t matter when or how.”

You nodded. Your instinct was true.

“You don’t have PTSD, you have ASPD.”

He licked his lips and cocked his head.

“And what does that mean, Doctor?”

“You’re a sociopath.”

He looked taken aback from your bluntness for a second. He probably wasn’t expecting you to crack his code.

“You’ve lied this entire time for your own personal gain. I must admit your acting was really good. But my question is, what do you want?”

He was quiet for a second. You knew he was fighting a war on the inside.

“I really underestimated you y/n. I knew you were smart, but personally I don’t think PhDs make a person smart by default. You’ve really proven yourself to me.”

“My efforts were not made to impress you. You think too highly of yourself Mr. Jeon.”

His gaze switched, you had aggravated him. Not only by calling him by his last name, but by attacking his self image.

“Why don’t you come home with me, we can continue our conversation there.”

You shook your head, and arranged the cutlery neatly by the side of your half empty plate.

“I do not go home with patients, and I definitely do not go home with mobsters. You have already challenged my professionalism by taking me out to eat.”

He smirked.

“What if I stop being your patient? In all honesty I don’t really need your advice, Doctor.”

You grabbed your bag and got up from your seat.

“In all honesty I think you do. We will continue this conversation in my office next week. Good night Mr. Jeon.”

With that you walked away from the table. Not looking back.

The next few days you were on edge. Constantly overthinking everything that had happened that day with Jungkook. You almost wanted to call in sick. Terrified of what would happen next. But regardless of that you had to continue working. You couldn’t let your other patients get affected by whatever was going on with you. You said goodbye to Mrs. Humphrey. An elderly woman that had fallen into depression after her husband had passed. Once the door closed you fetched your lunch out of your bag. You didn’t feel like eating, but you knew you had to. If not your energy would be drained at the end of the day. After the first bite you started hearing noises outside. Erin was almost yelling outside your door. You stood up, wanting to investigate what the commotion was. Before you could take one step the door swung open. And there he stood, your nightmare for the last couple of days.

“I told him you were busy, Dr. y/l/n! I told him he couldn’t enter!”

Erin said hopelessly behind him. He was soaking wet from the rain. His hair plastered itself to his forehead. And his black shirt did the same to his abdomen. He didn’t move, he was just staring at you with a furious look in his eyes.

“It’s fine, Erin. I’ll handle this.”

Erin looked at Jungkook worriedly before looking back to you. She held up two fingers. You nodded, and she left.

“Sit.”

You said, as you yourself sat down behind your desk. He closed the door behind him, but didn’t sit down. He continued to lure near the door.

“You interrupt my lunch again, I don’t want this to become a habit.”

“Please, spear me the bullshit.”

He said, and you went quiet. Wanting him to say whatever he came here for.

“How did you do it?”

He said after some time. You looked confused at him. Not understanding what he was referring to.

“Did what?”

You asked in almost a sharp tone. You were annoyed. He let out a small laugh, it almost sounded like a sneer.

“You’re cute when you’re angry with me.”

He started slowly walking towards you.

“But I need to know how you did it, y/n.”

He stopped once he reached the end of your desk. You looked up at him.

“What did I do?”

You ask again. He puts his palms on the table and lean closer to you. You don’t move, trying to prove to him and yourself that you’re not scared.

“You figured out a side of me I never understood I had. If I, the person that’s bearing this disease didn’t know. How come you knew?”

You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms. He was clearly distressed. Maybe even more than what you had been for the last days. And for some reason it pleased you.

“I told you, this is what I do. This is my job.”

You could tell he was conflicted in what to do next. You could practically see the way the wheels were turning inside his head. But eventually he sat down.

“I studied the human mind for six years to be able to understand things not even you are aware of.”

He scowled at you as you talked to him in a harsh tone.

“I’ve done research, and I’ve written books about this, that you have read may I add. What made you think that I wasn’t capable?”

He didn’t answer. The two of you just stared at each other.

“This is not a session, I demand answers, Jungkook.”

His eyes lit up when he heard his name fall off your tongue.

“Like I said, I underestimated you.”

He answered short.

“You didn’t answer my other question.”

You stated. He looked confused at you.

“The question from the other night. What do you want?”

He started laughing. You did not find it funny, and watched him as his fit of laughter died down.

“Y/n, you can’t be serious! You’re telling me that you were able to diagnose me with some bullshit, while I was pretending to be something else. But you’re not able to see the fact that I want you.”

The room got quiet. For the first time in a long time you felt completely speechless. He moved to get up from the sofa, but stopped the second he saw you roll your chair further away from him. He could tell you were afraid now, there was no point in acting tough.

“Come here.”

He said with a smirk and patted his thigh this time. There was still fight in you though.

“You’re disgusting.”

You uttered. He sneered at your comment.

“You’ve exploited me for your own satisfaction this entire time.”

You looked strictly at him, as he sighed.

“What was I supposed to do? You’re constantly on my mind. Day and night. And it’s awful!”

“That’s called an obsession.”

“I know what it’s called!”

He bit back. You went quiet, waiting for him to give you more information.

“The only way I can get a break is after i come to the thought of you. It usually takes around three times until I’m too tired to think of you.”

You couldn’t hide your disgust from your facial expression anymore. Looking at him as if he was a rat on the street.

“And then I thought if that helps, the real deal would help even more.”

He got up from the sofa now. You stayed seated, your hand slowly moving across your desk towards the telephone.

“I need you, y/n.”

You broke eye contact and looked down to hit the right number for the front desk. Jungkook quickly understood what happened and pushed the stationary phone off the desk. It fell to the floor with a bang, breaking it on impact. You got up quickly, wanting to distance yourself from him.

“How did you know? About the phone, about me. We never met before our sessions. Why? I don’t understand.”

You blurted out in pure stress of the situation. He smiled as he started walking towards the side of the desk. You walked the other way, wanting to keep the desk between the two of you. He chuckled.

“You’re cute when you’re confused too.”

You continued walking backwards. Trying to keep as much distance from him, while he tries to close it.

“I’ve followed you for a long time, baby. A very long time.”

The two of you had walked an entire round around the desk now. He jumped down onto the sofa again. His hand gracing the sofa cushions beside him.

“Do you want to know the full story?”

You knew what he was hinting at. Your entire body was screaming not to get anywhere near him. But you needed to know. He didn’t have anything to hold back now, you were certain he would tell you the truth. So you walked towards the sofa, carefully sitting down beside him. You took a second to compose yourself before looking at him. Signalising that’s you were ready. He smiled.

“I have known you since we both were children. Your father was my brothers shrink. He´s the one that had PTSD. I saw you for the first time in the hotel lobby after your father had finished his session with my brother. You were maybe 6 and sat there for so long, waiting for your father to return. When I saw you, I knew we were meant to be. We were soulmates. And for the first time in my life I felt something for someone.”

He grabbed your hand. You quickly out of reflex tried to wiggle yourself out of his grip. He tugged your hand harshly towards him and your entire upper body followed. Without your hand to catch you, you fell straight into his chest. His other hand sneaked around your waist as you composed yourself.

“Let me go.”

You said annoyed, placing your hand on his chest to keep a distance.

“If you want to hear the rest, you have to play by my rules, baby.”

His eyes focused on your lips as he whispered to you. You shook your head.

“I don’t need to know the rest. I can make out the sob story on my own. Boy falls in love, boy doesn’t get girl.”

He shook his head and let go of your waist. You quickly sat back up, brushing off imaginary dust from your lap.

“You should show me some respect.”

He said with a serious tone. You rolled your eyes and crossed your eyebrows.

“I’m not scared of you.”

He chuckled at your comment, placing his hand around the back of the sofa.

“I don’t want you to be scared of me either. I just think that you should show the man you owe your life to some respect.”

He touched your shoulder, drawing small circles on your jumper.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

He smirked.

“Oh, but you do. I made you the person you are today. Without me you wouldn’t be here.”

You sighed tiredly at him.

“You’re unbelievable.”

You got up from your seat and walked back to your desk. Starting to pack up your stuff. You were so done with him. He needed help, but you would no longer treat him. You decided as much.

“I need to get out of here, if you’re not gone when I’m back I’ll call the police.”

You put your bag over your shoulder, ready to walk away.

“How did you get into Yale, Doctor?”

He asked out of the blue. You stopped in your tracks.

“What? Why?”

He shrugged.

“Just seems so weird that someone with your grades would be able to attend any Ivy League school. Don’t you agree?”

You went quiet. Not knowing where he wanted this conversation to go.

“And don’t you think it’s weird how you always got A’s even when you were out partying instead of studying?”

You thought back to the years when you were studying. You originally did only apply to Yale just because your father went there. You didn’t think you actually was going to make it, because your grades were mediocre.

“What are you saying?”

“You have no idea how many people I had to blackmail to get you there. How many men I had follow you constantly. How many professors I had to bribe to make them give you a good grade. I’ve spent millions on you, y/n!”

Your mind was racing. You didn’t understand anything. Was your entire life a lie?

“I have to give it to you. Your first book made it without my help. But when you came out with your second book, and it wasn’t a success right away. I bought almost half the copies and payed a hefty amount of money to make it a New York Times best seller.”

You dropped your bag in awe. What he was saying made a lot of sense. You started rethinking every significant moment in your life. Wondering if he was behind it all. He got up from his seat and started moving towards you. But this time you didn’t step back. You let him come close to you.

“I’ve done so much for you, baby. Why are you so ungrateful?”

You looked up at him. He was now standing right in front of you. So close that you could almost feel his breath on your skin.

“I didn’t ask you to do any of this. You can’t keep me in debt for something I-“

You struggled with continuing the sentence. The reality of his words hit you, and your tears threatened to spill.

“It’s ok, baby. I’m not asking for much, considering what I’ve given you.”

He whispered calmly. His hands found your waist. He took one step closer to you and placed his forehead against yours.

“All I want is you, right here on this sofa, showing me how grateful you are.”

You couldn’t hold your tears in anymore, letting them slowly drip down your cheeks. One of his hands abandoned your waist to wipe away the hot tears on your cheek. You looked into his eyes as he continued to hold your face.

“If I do it, will you leave me alone?”

His eyes focus on your lips and how close you were. He had never been this close to you.

“I can never leave you. You’re my soulmate.”

He simply answered. You looked down at the floor.

“Jungkook, you’re delusional. You have to stop.”

“How can I stop? Huh? You’re the only one that matters in my life!”

You continued looking at the floor, even when he pushed himself off you in his fit of rage.

“I fucking love you!”

You shook your head, looking up at him this time.

“You don’t love me! You don’t even know me! You’ve created this illusion in your head that we are meant to be, but we’re not!”

You yelled back at him angrily.

“You’ve interfered in my life when I didn’t ask you to! You don’t have the right to do that!”

“And where would you be without me?”

He argued back.

“You act like you don’t care! But you know that without my help you wouldn’t be anything. You would’ve been a nobody.”

His words stung. What he was saying was the truth. The hard truth. You would have never made it to college. Never gotten this job. Never been a successful author. Never followed in your fathers footsteps and made him proud. You heard Jungkook sigh.

“I’m sorry baby, but it’s the truth.”

He said dejectedly. You took a deep breath. Realising what you had to do.

“I’ll do it.”

You simply said and met his eyes.

“I’ll have sex with you once, but after this I need you to stop.”

“Baby-“

“Listen to me! I’ll find you another psychologist. I want you to go to there and get help. When your treatment is over-“

You stopped for a second. Contemplating if you wanted to commit to the promise you were about to make.

“I’ll meet you again. To talk. I can’t promise you more than that.”

His eyes lit up and he swiftly lifted you in a hug. Letting out small sounds of excitement and shaking you around a little. You couldn’t help but smile at his boyish action. After a moment he put you down again, but continued to hold your waist.

“I’ll do whatever you say, baby. I’ll do anything for you.”

Your hands found his strong chest. You kept the eye contact, but your eyes couldn’t help but flick down to his lips for a split second. And that’s all he needed to kiss you. It started slow, but quickly got hotter. Your hands slid around his neck, unconsciously pulling him deeper into the kiss. He stepped backwards. You were taken aback by the sudden movement, but followed his lead. He guided the two of you to the sofa. The same sofa he had sat in every time he came to your sessions. He broke the kiss to jump down on the sofa. He looked up at you with nothing but lust in his eyes. He had been waiting for this for many years, and finally he had you. He reached out for you as you straddled his lap, feeling his already hard cock between the fabric of your trousers. His hands moved down to your ass. Grabbing it the second he had a chance, and letting out a satisfied groan. You reached down to the hem of your top and pulled it off.

“You’re so fucking hot.”

He said with half lidded eyes as he watched your bare skin. You smirked at his comment and reached for his shirt as well. He lifted his back off the sofa to help you get it off. Once it was off you started examining his tattoos. Tracing his arm with your finger all the way up to his shoulder. You stopped once you saw the little circular scar. Your entire body froze as you remembered his words from your last session. “My mother reached her gun and shot the man in the shoulder. But he shot her in the head.”. He looked at you confused for a second, before he looked at his shoulder where your eyes were glued. He understood what you were thinking.

“You killed your family.”

You said and looked back at him. He was already shaking his head.

“The man was you. You killed them.”

You tried to get up from his lap, suddenly scared of the killer you were straddling. But he held you down with a strong grip.

“Baby calm down, let me explain.”

You continued to struggle. Not listening to his words.

“Y/n!”

He suddenly screamed. Getting your attention. He sighed.

“I didn’t kill them.”

“I don’t fucking believe you.”

You started struggling again, now hitting his chest as well. He quickly flipped the two of you. Pushing you down onto the sofa with his own body weight. Holding your wrists harshly.

“So what if I killed them? It doesn’t take away from the fact that you still owe me this!”

He looked dangerous on top of you like that. A single tear fell down the side of your cheek. He was right yet again. He kissed you tenderly. It was a sharp contrast to the tone in his voice.

“You still owe me your body.”

He started kissing down your neck. Eagerly taking one of your boobs in his hand. His crotch grinded against you for a second before you heard him curse under his breath.

“I’ll have to taste you another time. I can’t fucking wait any longer to be inside you.”

He started working on your jeans. Ripping them off in a hasty speed together with your panties. He quickly loosened his belt and repeated the action on himself. His cock sprung free, but you weren’t able to look at it for more than a second before he lifted your legs over his shoulders and pushed into you. The two of you moaned in unison. He was big, but he took little to no time for you to adjust, as he started thrusting into you with brutal force.

“You’re so fucking tight.”

He moaned, stopping his motion to spit on your pussy. Using it as lubricant. He continued quickly after. Moans and heavy breathing filled your office as the two of you strived to reach your orgasms. He reached down and started rubbing your clit. Almost overstimulating you.

“I’ve waited for this for so long, baby. You feel better than I ever imagined.”

You felt a familiar knot building in your lower stomach. The rapid speed of his hands and the stretching of his cock making you come closer to release quicker than ever.

“I need to come inside you. I need to fill you up, baby.”

You nodded. Not knowing or caring what you said yes to. You were already on cloud nine and needed him to continue whatever he was doing.

“Say my name.”

You understood he was close, and you were too.

“Jungkook!”

You moaned as your orgasm washed over you. You legs clenched around him, and your hands found his arms. Digging your nails into his skin. He came the second he heard his name escape your mouth. He let you ride out your orgasm, before he fell on top of you. You felt his breath go back to normal as he nuzzled into your neck. The two of you laid there in serenity for a while. Just feeling each others heartbeats and listening to each others breathing.

He would do as you told him. He would go see someone. He would do whatever it took to have you like that again. He would never let you go. You owed him this after all.

Thank you for reading! Do you want to read more?

Masterlist

[ghostieyanyan]

hi ~🤍 how do you think (yan or not). demon twst react to find out mc is a human girl ? they khow she is magicless but ahem...

~Human girl in NRC?!~

Yan!DemonAU!Idia x fab!mc

Yan!DemonAU!Jack x fab!mc

Yan!DemonAU!Leona x fab!mc

I'll still use they/them pronouns even if mc is female. so if you're male, there is talk about future kids so processed with caution

i don't know if you sent this twice or if someone just asked the same question but i don't mind either way. i picked some random students to write about since you didn't specify which one you wanted. i hope you enjoy!!

Warnings: maybe a lot of grammar issues (sorry), future kids talk, stalking, creepy behavior, hint of nsfw, cannibalistic behavior

~~~

Idia

Idia found out second hand, aka from Ortho.

Apparently, when ortho meets anyone, he does an automatic scan of them. It basically tells him everything about the person, mainly physically. That scan also goes into Idia's computer and he happened to see it.

To see the mysterious prefect has more layers of mysteriousness??? You must be a legendary pull!!!!! He HAS to know more. but it wasn't like he'll talk to you himself.... his heart couldn't take that.

Instead, he asked ortho to check up on you. which wasn't too hard cause you already consider Ortho as one of the first years in your group.

He recorded every interaction you had with ortho, pretending you were talking to him~

"How are you today?"

"You did great, Orth--- ████ !!"

"Hey, you wanna stop by Ramshackle dorm after school?"

He'd probably made an AI voice box like your voice for his sick fantasy.

Talking about Ramshackle, he also had installed hidden cameras in every corner of that dorm. One in the kitchen, one in the living room, two in the bathroom, two in your room, and much more. Inside, outside, everywhere!

He likes watching you when you're alone. He also hates to see anyone else in your dorm, with the exception of his own brother and that cute kitty.

Idia likes to think, in a fantasy world where he has more courage, you'll be in the kitchen making him something because work called him in last and when he gets home, you'll greet him with a "welcome home, master" with cat ears---!!!! fantasy world but still!!!

No only is he just feed his sick fantasy of you, he imagined what a future with you would be like... You had no magic so if he took you away to the Island of Woe, you'll have a really hard time running away from him, nearly impossible.

Plus... he's family is a pretty powerful family.... one day, he'll have to think about future kids...

With that, he's decided he'll try to talk to you. It'll be easy with your connect with Ortho, plus Ortho could help.

Ortho would probably see this as helping his older brother with a crush and if that crush helps his brother out of his shell, its a win win!

Idia will, of course, only tell his brother about his innocent pining for you and keep his dark fantasies to himself for now. Until he's sure you wouldn't might him share his fantasies with you. And if you do mind... sorry to break it to you-

Maybe when he takes the overblot students to the island of woe, he'll also take you. saying it's for your safety. No one knows why there's been a coincident amount of students in NRC overblot. Plus you being caught in is most of them time is worrisome. you staying in NRC will likely end you life if you keep in countering these Overblots.

Ortho couldn't help but agree with his brother but also saw this opportunity to get you more closer to his brother.

"What do you think, prefect?"

~~~

Jack

Jack was one of the first to find out about your little secret. It was your scent... But he's not the type to share it if you haven't shared it yourself. And if any other beastmen tried to share that information or point it out without your permissions, he'll have a nice chat with them. You don't have to worry a thing!

Whether you, him, or anyone that notices, wants to admit or point out, jake has been stuck to your hip. He will 100% be like a personal. Make sure no one enters a room when you are changing. Make sure that when you use the restroom, no one is trying to peek at you. Especially makes sure that no one tries anything that might be a threat to you!

He'll total imagine you running your fingers through his hair, scratching behind his ears, and rubbing the base of his horns. He will go feral.

If you ask Jack about how this world works, his tail will start wagging. (he's happy you came to him with your questions.) He'll answer any questions you have, even the "obvious" ones. He not the type to make you feel guilty about asking a question that you don't know, unlike ace.

If the topic changes to the future, he'll say that he's planning to find a mate so that he can proudly work hard for his mate and his pups. But he's "not in a rush to look for one right now." Cause he's already found his mate...

Some people on the outside of your relationship with Jack, might say that you have Jack wrapped around your little finger. You want to lay down on him? He'll turn into his wolf form so you'll be comfortable. You late to something? He'll give you a ride! (He could change into his wolf form but he could also give you a piggy back ride.. and feel your legs wrapped around him~)

Jack tries his hardest to not let his animal instincts scary you off. It's not like he thinks your weak, anything but that! He actually admires you, you were thrown into an unknown world and learned to adapted and you've made yourself home here. You've also make home in his heart~

He could only hope that your relationship grows enough that you wouldn't want to leave...

In dyer situations, Jack will protect you. He'll shield you with his own body, protecting you from tiny things like falling books or from big powerful spells.

He also really likes to watch you nurse him back to health. If you were anyone else, he'll brush you off, saying "he's fine" or "he can take care of himself." But since your the one nursing him, he's a little more weaking on his protest.

Watching you take care of him, makes me super excited for the future. Maybe he'll help you were sick? Or maybe he'll walk in on you care for your pups?

Man... if it weren't for both of you being in college and freakily not financially ready for kids, he would-

~~~

Leona

He was one of the first people to find out. He usually wouldn't care much about it. he would have just allowed you to be and keeps his distance. And if you were paths do cross, he'll be mindful of the things he says to you, aka not being too rude to you. (Only people that were sharp notice his demeaner but it wasn't like they'll go up to the lion about it)

Without realizing it, he kinda became fond of you. How you go get things but not in an obedient pet way, just because you can help way... you often cant say no but you also could stand up for in justince? How you are still kind to the people who hurt you or used you, tricked you.. How you still help people with any background.

He couldn't understand it but he was also fascinated of it.

The day when you came to savanaclaw because you and your cat beast were kicked out of your dorm was, in better words, interesting.

He wasn't proud of it but when you slept in leona's room, he couldn't help himself from watching you sleep. Watching how your chest moved as you breathed in and out subconsciously. How savanaclaw's heat made you kick your blanket away, showing him your sweat glazed body. It made his mouth water..

he wonders how'd you taste..? No, your sweat wasn't enough to satisfy this lion, but you. Your blood, the meat that clung to your skin and bones, your organs... he wont mind killing you here and now just to have a taste...

But it was too soon, way too soon... he'll spoil himself if he wasn't patient.

For right now, watching you from a distance will be enough. unless you keep trying to interact with him, he cant make any promises...

After watching you for quite a while, hes thoughts about killing your just to taste you slowly subsided. but it was quickly replaced with another thought..

Cheka was at NRC for one of his visits, much to leona's dismay. but he'd overheard that cheka had taken a liking to you!

Whenever Cheka returned to leona's side, he'd always asked, "why does that not-demon live so far away..? They must be really lonely.." or "why not bring that not-demon home with us?! Then they wont be lonely anymore!!"

After Cheka left and leona had some time to think to himself. He thought, he could bring you back to Sunset Savana. You took care of cheka like he was your own. You wont be able to say no to cheka.

You'll also be taken care of. Food, roof over your head, secrity, what more could you need?

The only problem was how to make you stay...

He thought about it long enough and rolled over in his bed to take a nap.

Cheka would leave him alone if he had a new cousin to play with...

~~~

[drabblesandimagines]

Too Many Beds

Leon Kennedy x reader, fluffy nonsense

Leon drums his fingers on the wooden counter of the rustic inn as the old man types –taps one painstaking finger at a time – into the clunky desktop PC, pausing every so often to peer down his spectacles and mutter under his breath about new-fangled technology.

It’s been a hell of a day, too many close calls for his liking – the amount of times it felt like his heart stopped beating when you took a hit or had disappeared from his eyeline - and it felt like a miracle that you’d even came across this place off the beaten track. You were near enough dead on your feet and he wasn’t far behind, so he’s thankful that it looks like a decent amount of sleep in a proper bed is on the cards… if the man ever worked out the computer system. He’s glad he pulled rank and ordered you to sit on the battered old couch just behind with the amount of time it's taking.

The man bangs the side of the monitor before giving a nod. “Sorry, grandson set us up with this thing for that “world wide web” and I promised my Martha I’d use it. Looks like we have the one room left, son, only a double, but-”

Leon doesn’t hear the rest – a mixture of exhaustion and his mind starting to spiral with the possible implications of sharing a bed.

There’d been so many moments this mission where he’d been a millisecond away from wrapping you up in his arms and kissing you. There’d always been a connection between the two of you – a fluttering feeling in his gut that he hadn’t felt since Ada, even better that you were on the same side – but it had never felt the right time to act upon it, not when you were fighting for your lives.

But sharing a bed… Well, couldn’t get a more intimate setting than that, right?

He hands over his credit card – under an alias – and smiles. “We’ll take it.”

Setting up the billing takes just as long as finding the room in the first place, but at last Leon is rewarded with an antique-looking brass key, a keyring displaying 4 attached to it.

“Room 4, son. Just up the stairs and to your left. Have a good night.”

“Thank you, sir.” Leon nods in gratitude before he turns to find you nodding off on the sofa, head propped up by an arm that’s slowly slipping off the armrest.

“Come on, sleeping beauty,” he crouches down and offers you a hand.

You accept it with a loud yawn, allowing Leon to pull you up to your feet. Weary legs cause you to stumble into him with a mumbled apology, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest. He wonders if you can feel how hard his heart is pounding at your touch through both the layers of his shirt and bullet-proof vest, having swapped round the order before the two of you had entered the establishment to avoid any questions.

“Let’s get you to bed, hm?”

“Please.”

He places a hand on the small of your back and guides you up the stairs and to the left, towards the room in question. He keeps his hand there even as he slides the key into the lock and opens the door, preparing to explain the sleeping situation - he’d take the floor and you’d protest, claiming his back has been through enough trauma today and he should just cuddle up with you in the bed and-

His eyes widen as he sees the double bed of his dreams…

..alongside two single beds and a crib.

“Wow, that’s…” His hand drops from your back in defeat. “That’s a lot of beds.”

“Mm. He said it was the family room, remember?” You yawn again, taking a few heavy steps over to the first bed – the double - and collapse down into it, not even bothering to remove your boots, jacket or gun.

Leon closes the door behind him with a muted sigh before engaging the lock, and trudges over to one of the single beds, the mattress creaking under his weight as he sits.

“Leon.”

“Mm?”

“What do you think you're doing?”

He looks over to you, your face smushed against the pillow, one eye open, brows furrowed in a confusion that mirrors his own.

He shrugs off his jacket as he replies. “Going to bed?”

“Yeah,” you scoff. “The wrong bed.”

“Huh?”

“Get over here, idiot.”

If he wasn’t so tired, he’ll argue the next morning, he would’ve put up a performance of protest, maybe thrown in a witty remark, but his legs move on their own and he finds himself laying down beside you before he can truly comprehend his actions.

You roll over to face him and before he can blink, you capture his lips in a chaste kiss, allowing him to deepen it when he regains his senses, before pulling away with a content sigh and turn back over.

He wraps his arm around your waist, legs becoming entangled as he pulls you into his chest, pressing a kiss to your crown.

“This better, sweetheart?”

“Much.”

Best night of sleep he’s had in years.

--- Inspired by this post. Comments, likes and reblogs make my whole day x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

[deansbeer]

Nerdy anakin 🙏🙏🙏

unexpected birthday surprise ・ ANAKIN SKYWALKER. ៸៸៸ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! ♡ pinned library

SYNOPSIS. anakin's heartfelt birthday surprise leaves you feeling loved and cherished. and you were sure this day was one you'll never forget.

WARNING(S). fluff | fem!reader | light angst | soft!anakin | nerd!anakin | emotional vulnerability.

KARI NOTES. forever thanking nai @st4rfckerz for nerd!anakin <3 && not entirely sure how you wanted this to turn out anon babe, but enjoy !!!

it was your birthday, and as usual, you didn't have any special plans. growing up, your family had never really made a big deal out of birthdays, and now that you were on your own, the day often passed without much fanfare. but this year, things were a little different.

you shared a small apartment with your boyfriend, anakin, a brilliant but socially awkward computer science major who you'd met in one of your classes. anakin was hopelessly in love with you, and he had made it his mission to shower you with affection and attention, even when you protested that you didn't need or want to be spoiled.

as you walked through the front door of your shared apartment, you stopped short, eyes widening in surprise. the entire place was decorated with streamers, balloons, and a large "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”banner hung across the living room wall. soft music filled the air, and the aroma of something delicious wafted in from the kitchen.

"anakin?" you called out, your voice laced with confusion and a touch of panic. "what's going on?"

suddenly, anakin appeared from the kitchen, a wide grin plastered across his face. he was wearing a silly party hat and holding a cupcake with a single lit candle.

"surprise!” he exclaimed, practically bouncing with excitement. "happy birthday, my precious girl!"

you stared at him, mouth agape, as he approached you, holding the cupcake out towards you.

"i… i don't understand," you stammered, your eyes darting around the room. "you didn't have to do all this, honey."

anakin's face fell slightly, and he paused, his brow furrowing in concern. "but i wanted to," he said softly, his blue eyes searching your face. "i know how much you hate making a big deal out of your birthday, but i just… i wanted to do something special for you, to show you how much you mean to me."

you felt your heart swell with emotion, and before you could stop yourself, you felt tears welling up in your eyes. anakin's face fell further, and he quickly set the cupcake down on a nearby table, reaching out to take your hands in his.

"hey, hey, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with worry. "did i do something wrong? i'm sorry, i just thought–"

you shook your head quickly, squeezing his hands reassuringly. "no, no, baby, it's not that at all," you said, your voice soft. "it's just… no one's ever done anything like this for me before."

anakin's expression softened, and he reached up to gently wipe away a stray tear from your cheek. "well, that's about to change," he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "because from now on, i'm going to do everything in my power to make sure you never have another birthday without feeling special."

you felt a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over, and you surged forward, wrapping your arms around anakin's torso and burying your face in his chest. he immediately enveloped you in a warm, comforting embrace, holding you close as you let the tears flow.

"thank you, ani," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. "i love you so much."

"i love you too, babe," he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "and i'm never going to stop showing you how much you mean to me."

after a few moments, you pulled back, wiping at your eyes with a sheepish smile. "okay, so what else do you have planned for my birthday celebration?" you asked, your voice light and teasing.

anakin's face lit up, and he practically bounced on the balls of his feet. "well, since you asked…" he said, grinning mischievously. "i made your favorite dinner, and i have a whole stack of your favorite movies ready to go. and of course, we can't forget the cake!"

he dashed back into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a beautifully decorated cake, complete with your name written in icing. he set it down on the coffee table, then turned to you, his eyes shining with excitement.

"and that's not all!" he exclaimed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, neatly wrapped present. "i have a gift for you, too."

you felt your heart skip a beat as he handed you the package, and you carefully unwrapped it, your eyes widening as you revealed a beautiful silver necklace, with a delicate pendant in the shape of a flower, your favorite one at that.

"anakin, it's… beautiful," you breathed, running your fingers over the intricate design.

he beamed, reaching out to gently clasp the necklace around your neck. "i saw it and thought of you," he said softly, his fingers lingering on the pendant. "it's a little reminder for you," he gently points a finger at your chest. "to always know how brilliant and amazing you are."

you felt the tears welling up again, and this time, you didn't bother trying to hold them back. anakin's face fell again, and he immediately pulled you into another tight hug.

"hey, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice now laced with concern. "was it something i said?"

you shook your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck. "no, anakin, you didn't do anything wrong," you assured him, your voice a little muffled. "these are happy tears, i promise."

you felt him relax, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.

"good," he murmured, his voice filled with relief. "because i never want to be the cause of your tears, sweetheart. i just want to make you happy, always."

you pulled back, gazing up at him with a warm, loving smile. "you already do, my love," you said softly. "more than you'll ever know."

with that, you pulled him in for a deep, passionate kiss, your hands tangling in his messy curls as you savored the feeling of his lips on yours. when you finally broke apart, you were both beaming, your foreheads resting together.

"happy birthday, baby," anakin whispered, his breath ghosting over your lips.

"thank you," you murmured, your heart overflowing with love and gratitude. "this is the best birthday i've ever had."

and as the two of you embraced, surrounded by the festive decorations and the delicious scent of anakin's homemade cooking, you knew that this was only the beginning of a lifetime of birthdays and celebrations spent together, making memories and building a future filled with love and happiness.

[ihavethedreamies]

Stupid | Wooyoung [NSFW]

Jung Wooyoung - ATEEZ)

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~10.2k

Pairing: Wooyoung x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Reader-Insert, Actual Plot, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Friends-to-Lovers, Comfort

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Caution: The angst in this story is more familial based. There are mentions of adultery/infidelity, but it's not dwelled on. This could be triggering for those who have had parent's leave or other similar circumstances, so just be warned.

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Pet Names (Princess, Sweetheart, Sunshine, etc.), Childhood/Teenage Trauma, Family Issues, Tears and Crying, Swearing, Unrequited Love, Kind of a Love Triangle, Kissing, Dirty Talk, Oral (F! Receiving), Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Marking/Hickeys/Scratches, Couch Sex, Shower Sex, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom! Reader is on the pill)

Author's Note: Hm, just thought I would do this since I made something similar for San.

(S/N) is for the name of your sister.

Revised (1/31/25) - I forgot to change the name to (Y/N), so I fixed it!

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

The only sound you can hear is your own aggressive keypresses. You’d paused your music to go to the bathroom and hadn’t bothered hitting play again. Staring hard at the screen, your eyes hurt even with the dark theme applied. The colorful lines of code on the dark screen blur and refocus, and you blink, trying to force your eyes to not blur again. Sighing, you push back from your desk, rubbing over your eyes. Taking your computer glasses off, you let them fall onto your desk and you get back up. It’s really hard to work at 2 am, let alone when your thoughts are racing; and the thoughts have nothing to do with your job. The last thing you need the day before a project is due is to loop on irrational thoughts. Your socked feet thump on the wood floor of your hallway as you go down it. Your sister’s door is propped open, so you quietly open the door, peeking inside. The soft teal lighting strip lining her walls casts a faint flow over the room. She’s starfish-ed on the bed, peacefully and messily asleep. Hugging, you step out and shut your door. How nice it must be to be thirteen... Pulling your phone from the pocket of your sweatpants, you exit the hallway and go into the kitchen. The large open room of the apartment includes the kitchen as well as dining and living areas. A spare room is in the back corner, empty since your friend had moved out a month before. Another room sits across from it, the large windows of the studio covered with tall curtains, but you know it’s just full of boxes of old things. Someday you’ll have the courage to go through them and get rid of stuff, maybe use the studio as an office or something, but…

Opening the fridge to get the pitcher of orange juice, the door shuts, and your eyes focus in the dark on the picture magnetically attached to the front. The picture is of a once happy life you lived. A black squiggle covers the face of the man, the woman next to him smiling like the sun. Glaring at the censored face, you yank the photography from the magnet clip and slap the picture on the counter. The pitcher follows and as you grab a glass, you pluck the scissors from the small utensil-filled mug on the counter. After pouring yourself a drink, and taking a few sips, you grab the photo. Holding it up, you realize it’ll make sense to turn the overhead light of the range hood on to see better, but you continue in the dark. Opening the shears, you cut a tiny slit into the white border of the photo and halt. The line splits the man’s pants from the shoulder of the little girl’s white sundress; she’s no more than four… She’s sitting on the lap of a girl looking much the same, just about twelve years older. It’s weird to see such a bright smile on your face.

The purple-handled scissors clatter onto the Formica counter; the photo still held in the crook of the blades. Resting against the counter behind you, you drink the juice in gulps, hissing through your teeth when it’s gone like it’s some kind of liquor. The glass-mimicking plastic cup clanks into the sink, and you leave the kitchen to shuffle back to your room. As you reenter, you yank the zipper down of your hoodie, nearly tearing the garment off and throwing it harshly onto the floor. You let the door click quietly closed despite wanting to slam it and go back to your computer. Your chair lets out a puff of air when you plop down into it, the remaining pieces of the candy necklace you had on bouncing over your collarbone. Crunching on one of the sugary beads, you flip your phone over, so the screen faces up, tapping the black surface and a small white notification bubble shows itself under the white numbers of the clock; 2:13 am. Unlocking the phone with your finger print, you open your message app and sniff at the message in annoyance.

🦊WooWoo🦊: did you get it done?

He’d sent it nearly an hour prior. You glare at your computer screen, then to the second monitor, the program running over and over, glitching at the same time stamp each time.

☀️: not even close 🦊: why are you up young lady ☀️: why are you?

He doesn’t reply right away so you look back at your computer, clicking your tongue. Hitting save and closing the window, you instead open up a new email and send one to your coworker that it might not get there by tomorrow night but that you’ll try. It’s not a hard deadline anyway. You work for an Indie label, not some AAA, so that gives you some flexibility. Closing the window, you stare at your background for a good few minutes, waiting for Wooyoung to reply. The picture used to make you smile, but it hurts your heart. San’s cute dimple smile, and his arm around you makes you wince. Wooyoung’s on your other side, his cheek pressed into the side of your head as he hugs you. You’re leaning into San, trying to escape the other man’s embrace, at least that was your excuse… The picture is getting close to five years old.

🦊: games 🦊: why are you up ☀️: working. thinking 🦊: about? ☀️: how shit I feel 🦊: you sick??

You roll your eyes; he isn’t super intuitive sometimes. It’s almost 2:30 in the morning though.

☀️: no. how shitty my life is now compared to back then…

Once again, he takes a bit to reply, and you almost get up to use the restroom before going to bed. Your phone then buzzes on the desk, the noise even louder going through the wood, and you grab it quickly, answering the call.

“Your life isn’t shitty (Y/N). I’m here, huh?” His giggle is forced. You just huff, getting out of your desk chair to move to your bed.

“Livin’ the dream.”

“What’s it this time? Your…da- uh, male-life-giver?” His little catch at least makes the corner of your mouth crook up.

“Yeah.”

“How’s (S/N)?”

“Good, I guess. She…she was a bit too young to really remember either of them.”

“Even if she doesn’t, it can’t be easy with…how it all played out.” He’s trying to be careful with what he says, but you’re already in a bad mood.

“Our dad cheating, leaving us for his second family and then my mother…” You thought tears would come to your eyes, but maybe you’re too tired.

“Where do you think she went?” Your best friend’s voice is soft.

“No clue. Neither did Gramma, or the cops. She could be in Timbuk-fucking-tu for all I know.”

“Do you want to go out tomorrow with me and San? Or do you have to work?” Before you can answer, your phone buzzes, and you pull it away from your ear. Opening the email from your coworker, you sigh in relief. Perfect timing.

“Not anymore. The character models are getting scrapped and redone so that means my code has to be scrapped. Might be why I can’t get it to move right.”

“What about (S/N)?”

“She’s thirteen not three. I’ll have her sleep over at a friend’s maybe…”

“Great! Get some sleep, sunshine. Meet us at 9!” He hands up and you flop back onto your mattress, feeling disappointed for some reason. Finally working up the energy to get off the bed, you go back to your computer and shut it down, staring at San’s smiling face a little too long, before letting it actually turn off.

~TωT~

“Good morning, little lady.” You leave the hallway, sandals in your hand. Your sister sends you a tired look over her cereal, waving lazily.

“G’mornin’.”

“Do any of your friends get to have sleep overs on school nights?” Her eyes open a bit wider then, then squint as she thinks.

“Uh…probably. Going out with-“ she gives a flirty pose, batting her eyelashes, “Sannie?” the drops the act.

“Wooyoung’s going too.”

“Oh. You ever gonna tell him?”

“Tell San I like him? I don’t know…”

“San? Oh, yeah, right… Why not?” You don’t answer right away, pouring a glass of juice.

“You’re gonna turn into an orange.” Your sister rolls her eyes, and you pour just a bit more before putting the pitcher back down.

“I just… I don’t think I stand a chance.”

“What?! Why?!” Your sister acts like you’ve personally offended her. Even before your whole messed up parental situation, you two never bickered or anything. Probably because you’re nearly thirteen years older than her.

“I’m not his type. He probably sees me as a sister. Also, he looks like that,” You motion down at your white tank and a think blue plaid shirt over, and worn denim capris, “and I’m…”

“You better compliment yourself.” Your sister glares at you, making you sigh.

“He likes the girls in skirts with makeup and their nails done. The ones that giggle at everything he says and touch his bicep ‘accidentally’…” You drift off, getting mad at the mental pictures.

“Then do all that.” (S/N) shrugs, getting up to put her cereal bowl in the sink.

“Counter.” You correct and she rolls her eyes, taking the bowl out and moving it to the counter.

“(S/N), I don’t even own a tube of mascara.” You sigh, then proceed to down your orange juice again like it’s a stiff drink. Your throat burns and your stomach stings somewhat… maybe you do drink too much.

“Use mine.”

“What?” You turn fast to look at her and her eyes widen in panic.

“I only have mascara, I promise!” She lifts her hands in surrender, and you breathe out your nose hard. She’s only a year off being allowed make up, you at least want to maintain the rules your mother put on you with your sister. Even if a lot of them never had to truly be enacted on you.

“Look, I’m just going to go hang out with them and pretend one of my best friends isn’t sex on legs.”

“I’m pretty sure they both are, but okay…” (S/N) mutters under her breath as she passes you to go get her backpack and you pretend to not hear her.

~θɞθ~

“Bye, sis!” (S/N) gets out of the car and heads into her middle school. She’s one of the few who doesn’t mind being seen dropped off right in front of the school, but laid-back older sisters are much, much coolers than any parent.

“Just text me who you can stay with!” You call to her, and she turns around with a shocked face.

“Right! What about my bag? My locker’s not big enough!” She realizes, coming back to your rolled down window, leaning into it.

“I’ll bring it by after you club meeting is done.”

“Really?! Can you bring WooSan?”

“Don’t call them that!” You scold, but laugh nonetheless, “Sure.”

“Bye, sis!” She takes off again, meeting her similarly uniformed friends by the entrance. You’re blessed that the school was willing to take her in for free more-or-less on a scholarship. Your mother had wanted both of you to go to the same school, but it’s private, and you’re in no way capable of paying. If you were, you wouldn’t be driving a whine red 2002 Hyundai Sonata with suede upholstery. Pulling out of the drop-off line, you continue down the road till you meet the traffic light. It sits at the edge of the academy’s campus and the park where you’re meeting the guys is just past the light. As you wait for the light to turn, you tap your fingers on the steering wheel along to the music playing from your radio. The light takes even longer because the crossing guard is leading a group of elementary schoolers across. You’re watching them pass in their cute little uniforms when you’re startled by a knock on your window. You flinch, looking to see what looks to be a high school boy on the other side. You roll the slightly tinted glass down just enough that you’d be able to hear him. He flashes a smoldering smile, and you blatantly sneer.

“What, kid?”

“You obviously don’t go to school here, you from the public school?” How dumb is this kid? You haven’t been in high school for seven years. You have a college degree and everything. Most might take it as a compliment to be seen as looking young enough to be a teenager, but…

“Get lost, squirt.” You scoff, looking away but not bothering to roll the window back up. You’re a bit curious what his reaction will be.

“I might look young, but I’m a senior this year, princess.” He’s clearly a little put off by your flat dismissal, trying to keep a flirty tone.

“Fuck off, kid. She’s our princess.” A familiar voice hits your ears, and you sigh in relief, watching Wooyoung essentially hip bump the kid so hard he falls back onto the sidewalk. Your heart skips as you huff a laugh, watching San come up as well and unlock the doors so the two guys can climb in, right as the light turns green. San barely shuts the back door before you take off, leaving the teenager’s friends laughing at this sorry state. Crossing the median, you pull into the parking lot of the park and slump back into your set.

“Got your favorite~” San leans forward, toned arm hovering over the center console, holding a bag with one finger.

“Sweet!” You swipe it from him and Wooyoung gets out, running around to your side where the window is still rolled down.

“Hey, pretty lady, want to go make out behind the bleachers?” He leans against the side of your car just like the cocky teen had and you can’t help but laugh.

“Uh, no.” You wonder if he catches your glance in your rearview mirror to watch San get out of the car, holding the drink holder of ice coffees as well. You can’t meet his gaze though, and surprisingly, he doesn’t respond, just stands up and starts to follow San down the path.

“Hey, wait up!” You get out quickly, nearly forgetting your phone and to lock the car as you dash after them. Finally getting half-way around the pond that’s trying to be a lake, you sit on a picnic bench of the wooden shelter right on the edge of the water. Some ducks quack as they lazily swim closer, hoping for a snack. As you take a long sip of your ice coffee, you watch San get up and go closer to the ducks, a little bit of his croissant left. Your eyes can’t help but travel over the wide expanse of his shoulders and back. His arms are on display since he’s in a sleeveless hoodie, and you smile at him as the ducks happily eat the bread.

“That’s bad for them, y’know?” Wooyoung calls and the other man tosses him a bored look over his shoulder, then goes back to the birds. Because you’re too busy eying over your friend, you don’t notice Wooyoung watching you. He lifts half of his nose in a sneer, glaring at his friend who’s taking up all of your attention. Wooyoung wants to blame it on that San’s started working out since you’d all started being friends, but he’s not sure that’s it.

“Just fucking tell him.” He whispers harshly to you and his sudden mutter makes you choke. San immediately turns around, and you wave him off, but he still goes to your side, patting your back some to help.

“You okay?” He kneels next to you, and you nod, flashing a small smile, trying not to get red. Not like you can control it… Just then, something green flies through the air, flying past San’s head as he stands, and he’s toppled over by a mass of blonde fur.

“Jeremy, get off of him!” A young woman scolds the golden retriever as it refuses to get off of San, sniffing him and licking his face. Why am I jealous of a dog? You sigh, slumping back against the wood railing of the shelter.

“Why don’t you tell him?” Wooyoung’s next whisper is much softer, he sounds very tired.

“And get rejected? Ruin our friendship? No.” You whisper back, still watching the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. The dog is a fat mood, refusing to get off of San…

“I’m so sorry!” The woman finally manages to pull the dog off of the man and he gets up laughing. She immediately blushes, finally able to see San past all of the fluff. Looking away and down the path to where the green flying disk still lies you get up to retrieve is, since the dog failed its job.

“Here.” You force a smile as you hand it back to her and she snaps out of her daze to take it from you, immediately looking back to San. Luckily, she leaves not too longer after and you’re able to continue the day with the two guys.

~υ-υ~

A week passes, and you still haven’t been able to work because the rest of the team can’t get their act together and finish their parts. So, you’d been left to your thoughts which is never good. You sit on the couch, boredly and only partially watching the TV. Your knees are pulled up to your chest and your hands lazily tap a rhythm on the worn faux leather of the couch. Tilting your head, it rests on the back of the couch, and you stare at the ceiling of your loft apartment, the large ventilation pipes curving around the support columns high above your head. When the doorbell rings you almost don’t recognize it, thinking it might have been on the show. It happens again and you know it’s yours because the TV now displays a commercial for some kind of sports drink. Getting up with a groan, you trudge over to the door, a young woman stands on the other side, and her face makes you nervous. She looks…

“Hi. Are you (Y/N)?” She smiles gently and you nod.

“I’m Jena Hwang. Can…can I come in?” When she says her last name, your heart falls. You know immediately who she is.

“Sure.” Your tone is flat, but since she doesn’t know you, it seems she doesn’t notice. You motion her in and toward the couch and you glance around your place. It isn’t messy, but it isn’t nice either. She’s in a sundress that’s at least $300, and she has a giant rock on her finger. You grimace as she sits on your very well-worn couch and you sit down as well, facing her by sitting sideways. She puts her designer bag down, linking her fingers and resting her hands on her knee, legs crossed.

“I’m sorry to intrude, but… I’m assuming you know Daniel Hwang?” You never wanted to hear that name again.

“Uh, yeah.” You shuffle on the couch, the faux leather creaking under you.

“I’m his daughter. I have to admit I was being a little…stalky?” She cringes at herself, smiling sheepishly.

“Dad is…well, he doesn’t have much longer.” When you don’t really react, she continues. On the inside, you’re just aren’t sure how to react.

“They don’t know if he drank too much when he was younger or what, but his liver is failing. He’s been on a transplant list, but they can’t find anyone compatible.” She better not have come to get you to give him half of your fucking liver-

“Anyway, I was looking over his will-“

“Where’s your mom?”

“Huh?”

“How…what about your mom?”

“Oh, uh…” She looked down, a sad expression covering her face.

“When he got sick, she left him, so I’m in charge of everything.” Rolling your eyes, you huff, looking toward the kitchen, focusing on the picture on the fridge you meant to cut up.

“Uh… Right, your name is on the will.” She pulls a packet of paper from her purse, showing you where your name is highlighted. You don’t even care what he’s leaving you, so you hand it back.

“I don’t want it.”

“O-oh…if you don’t mind me asking, who are you?” You raise an eyebrow, and she wilts under your glare.

“You don’t know?”

“No, sorry.” She hides bashfully behind the papers, “are we cousins or something?” You just stare at her in shock.

“No offense, but it’s a bit weird to have a niece in your will when you have four kids?”

“Look, if you want my part, have it.”

“No! That’s not… Actually, the reason I’m really here is-“ She pulls something else out of her bag and you recognize it.

“Dad kept saying the name Naomi.” You stand up at this and she flinches. You pace a bit, hands going to your head, fingers digging into your scalp. Breathing out slowly, you turn back to her.

“Sorry…keep going, I’m just…struggling with this.” She seems a bit unwilling to continue without asking anything, but she does so as you sit back down. Your ire is evident, you’re sure.

“Um…well, I can’t figure out who she is, so I looked in his yearbook. He’s…” She flips to the middle of the book, “with a girl named Naomi.” She shows you the page, but you already know it. High School Sweethearts reads in the flowery script over the picture of your parents.

“But when I looked her up, I can’t find anything.” Of course not. You never could either.

“So, I used Google’s new AI search with this picture, and I found a woman…” You hadn’t gone that far, still not really trusting any kind of program claiming to be AI. She pulls out another paper from her bag and shows it to you. It’s an article about some town’s mayor on the other side of the country, and the caption lists the woman next to him as his wife. It’s your mother… But her name is wrong.

“It says her name is Carry, but that looks like the same woman, right?”

“Y-yes.”

“Maybe they’re sisters? Twins even? I know it’s a long shot, but do you have her contact information? Even if they broke up soon after high school, maybe she’d be willing to see him since he’s dying…” As soon as you see her face on the paper, your anger leaves, and you’re holding back tears.

“I don’t…but-“ you take a shuddering breath, “uh, I don’t think she’ll go see him.”

“Really?” She deflates a bit, and you look down at your lap, picking at your torn jeans.

“Uh. No. She’s…Okay, I’m in the will because I’m…your sister. Those are my parents. She’s my mother.” This information floors her, her jaw literally dropping. Sniffing hard, you hate crying, let alone in front of essentially a stranger.

“How old are you?” Your question snaps her back, making her flinch.

“T-twenty.” Of course.

“Dad…He uh, left us and mom for…you guys. The mom fucking snapped or broke or whatever and left us too.” You look at the printed off article, at your mother’s smiling face next to some man you’ve never seen or heard of before. This shocks her even further. You give her the article back and stand, moving to the door.

“Uh, take me out of the will or whatever and just leave us alone please. Thank you.” You open your front door, not able to look at her.

“U-us?”

“Ah… (S/N). My thirteen-year-old sister.” This must really make this Jena girl realize why you’re acting the way you are. It isn’t that your father left your mother then fathered her, he had both families at the same time.

“M-my brother is twelve…” Reality is hitting her.

“Great. That sucks for everyone, please leave.” You motion with your arm for her to get out and as soon as she shuffled out into the hallway, you let the door fall closed. Your shoulder hits the wall, and you slump to the floor, hot tears falling down your cheeks and onto the floor. Your chest heaves as you sob, hand covering your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Fuck!” You scream, grabbing a cheap ceramic bowl you use for change and chuck it across the room. It hits the column behind your TV and shatters, coins clattering onto the floor in its trail. You bury your face in your hands, breathing harshly, trying to prevent yourself from hyperventilating. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table. It buzzes again a few minutes later, then again. Again.

“Damnit.” You get up, storming over to your phone, looking at it. It’s the group chat, Wooyoung and San are talking about doing something the next day, some kind of lawn game competition at the community college. When they see you’re reading the messages but not replying, your phone rings with a call from Wooyoung.

“I know that we’re not in college anymore, but we can get away-“ You’d stopped crying more or less, but hearing his voice brings tears back to your eyes and you fight a sob.

“Are you crying? What happened?”

“U-um…” You swallow hard, a lump rising in your throat along with the tears.

“I’ll be there in five…six minutes!” He hangs up and you let the device fall onto the couch. Your shoulders fall as you stand in the middle of the main room of your place, glaring at the coffee table’s scratched surface. A tear falls onto the plywood, then another. Snapping out of your daze when hard knocks pound on the door, you only get hallway to the door before he opens it, finding it unlocked.

“(Y/N)?” Seeing the concerned look of your best friend makes you feel safe and so your self-erected walls fall. He shuts the door as he moves forward, catching you in his arms as you shrivel to the floor. Wooyoung holds you tighter as you cry, desperate sobs and whimpers muffled as you press your face into his chest. Your tears darken the red fabric of his sweatshirt, and he adjusts your position, so you sit on the floor, legs over one of his, cheek pressed to his collarbone. A tear of his own falls and mixes with yours on your jaw, but you don’t notice it. He doesn’t know what happened that wrecked you so badly, but he can’t stand hearing and seeing you so upset. He even hates it if you cry at a movie.

“What happened, sunshine?” His embrace loosens so you can sit up straighter, tears still falling, but you aren’t actively sobbing. Wooyoung cups your cheek in his hand, wiping a tear from your eye. You have to take several deep breaths through the story, but you manage to tell him what happened.

“M-my mother’s alive, Wooyoung.” Your voice has quieted so much at the end, but he still hears the pain.

“(Y/N), sweetheart, come here.” He stands, helping you get up and he leads you over to the couch. He grabs your phone, and you rest back on the couch as he easily puts in your pin code without having to ask what it is. You listen half-heartedly as he calls your sister, most likely just getting out of class, about to go to her art club meeting.

“Again? Is this going to be weekly? I think I can stay with Amanda, maybe Emily…” You hear (S/N) sigh, “what about my stuff?”

“Can’t you manage with borrowing?” Wooyoung casts you a glance, your forearm over your eyes.

“I guess. What’s wrong with (Y/N)?”

“She’s just really struggling with something.”

“What?”

“Adult stuff.”

“Okay, yeah, sure, uh-huh.”

“She’ll tell you when she’s ready, little lady.”

“You better take good care of her Mr. Jung.”

“I will Miss Hwang.” He hangs up and puts your phone back down. You feel the couch shift when he stands up, then feel his body heat as he kneels on the floor next to you. Wooyoung gently removes your arm from your face, and you turn to look at him.

“Oh, sweetheart…” He sighs, hand going to your cheek, rubbing his thumb over the red skin of your cheek, brushing away a stray tear.

“C-can you call San? And we can watch a movie? Get Indian food?” You aren’t sure how to read Wooyoung’s expression. He seems to be thinking, but then he forces a smile and nods.

“Sure, princess.” Wooyoung stands and presses a long kiss to your forehead, and you blame your turbulent emotions on your racing heart.

~σ-σ~

About two weeks later, you find yourself sitting on the couch, staring at the number you’ve plugged into your phone. You haven’t pressed call yet, the non-local area code of the number glaring at you. It’s a long shot, but you hope calling the mayor’s office might get you somewhere. You’ve been stalling for a long time, his office will only be open for another hour thanks to the time difference. Your sister is getting annoyed with you having her stay the night at a friend’s place, but luckily, she has a slumber party she’d been invited to. The sun is starting to set, and you finally work up the courage to hit call, then turn it onto speaker, at 5:57. It’s probably around 3 there…

“Mayor Elledge’s office, this is Peg.”

“Hi, uh, Peg. I’m… I’m trying to get in contact with Carry Elledge, but I’m not sure how to get ahold of her…” The silence scares you, worried that the woman might be too suspicious to help you.

“May I ask who you are?”

“I’m…a relative. It’s about…my father’s will.” Please work…

“I see… I can get you her cellphone number.” The secretary relents and you sigh in relief, thanking her several times. Typing the number she give you into your notes app, you politely end the conversation and go to call the other number while you still have the courage to do so.

Ring… Ring… Ring-

“Hello, this is Carry?” It’s your mom, no doubt. Tears well in your eyes and you swallow, voice coming out softer than normal to keep from crying.

“M-mom? It’s me. It’s (Y/N).” More silence.

“I think you might have the wrong number, dear.” You feel your face fall, your brow furrowing, your lip trembling.

“This isn’t Naomi Hwang?”

“No, dear, sorry.” There isn’t any kind of recognition in her voice, but it’s hers.

“O-oh…okay, sorry.” The call ends and you press your lips hard together, jaw clenching. What the hell happened? You sit trying to wrap your head around everything, about thirty minutes passing, and your phone stars to ring. It’s a different number, but it’s the same area code as the other two.

“H-hello?”

“Are you the young woman looking for Naomi Hwang?” A man speaks, and you wonder if it’s the mayor guy.

“Yessir.”

“You must be (Y/N).”

“What the hell happened to my mother?” Your tone doesn’t have nearly as much malice as you wanted. Even if this guy did nothing wrong, you hate him. He sighs. He explains that he found her near death in an alleyway. She was malnourished and dehydrated. He got her to the hospital, she had been in a medically induced coma for a few days, and when she woke up…she didn’t remember anything.

“So, she has no idea about her past life?”

“No, miss.”

“Thank you for…not letting her die.”

“I’m sorry to not be of more help Miss (Y/N). Though, I don’t think it’s good for her to be reminded of her past life. I called because she is…having a panic attack. Maybe it was your voice, some part of her recognized it maybe? It’s clear she’s traumatized from her past. I think it’s best if you leave her be.” You don’t want to. You want to get in your car, grab your sister, and drive for the three or four days you need, and get your mother. But… she isn’t your mother anymore, even if she does remember you, it’s clear her brain is hiding you and your sister.

“I…Okay. If you want to know, Daniel Hwang is dying.”

“Good.”

“Yes.”

“I appreciate you wanting to reach out, but I’d like you to lose our numbers.”

“Yessir.” He hangs up. Your body must’ve ran out of tears along with your energy because you just slump back into the couch. Something rises in your then, something bold. Grabbing your bag, phone and keys, you leave your place, heading for Wooyoung and San’s.

~₸v₸~

As you ride the elevator to the third floor, you’re shaking. Whether it’s nerves or pure exhaustion you aren’t sure. Going down the hall, you hear voices further down and you finally see the owners as you turn the corner. San’s standing at this apartment door, some bleach blonde girl wedged between him and the door. You aren’t sure how to feel, your emotions are too turbulent. Somehow, it feels like your heart finally completely shatters, but you’re also relieved, but the latter makes you mad. You turn and flee before you can see his lips actually meet hers.

~ę×ę~

“(Y/N)?” You hear your name through the door, then Wooyoung’s rapid knocks. You’re slumped against the island counter, hands stinging and bleeding, shards of glass and ceramic scattered around the room. Tissue paper and packing peanuts are strewn about the main room of the apartment as well, old papers and books torn and discarded. Splinters of wood from broken frames and dismembered toys litter the floor as well, and you run your thumb over a glass paper weight shaped like a cat.

“(Y/N)?!” Wooyoung jiggles the door handle harder, but it’s locked. A red smear follows your thumb on the glass cat, the cuts on your palms still oozing blood.

“Damnit, (Y/N) Hwang! Open the fucking door, I know you’re in there.” He’s panicking, you can hear it in his voice.

“Fuck off.” You sigh, throwing the glass piece as hard as you can, and it hits the far wall. The ear chips of and breaks, the finish over the brick wall flaking off, then it clatters to the floor.

“(Y/N), please princess, let me in.” You hear a thump, presumably his forehead hitting the door. You lick your lips, the salt of your tears hitting along with the iron tang of blood. You aren’t sure if it’s from where you’d bitten your lip or the cut on the tip of your nose.

“(Y/N)… Please, I need to see you, sweet girl. Please let me know if you’re okay.” You don’t know what time it is, just that it’s late, only the light of the storage room flowing into the room from the door. Your phone had been going off, and you hated the final message you saw on it, so you chucked it across the room as well, breaking it instantly. The place is a mess, and you’re grateful your sister isn’t home to see your breakdown.

“Go away, Wooyoung.” Your voice is hoarse after your crying, but the door is thin, and you know he hears.

“Not a fucking chance, (Y/N).”

“Just…just let me be alone.”

“No! Open the door, damn it!”

“Go home.”

“Shit. (Y/N) open the freaking door or I’m coming up the fire escape!” You know he means it. You get up, not bothering to be careful of what you step on, only wincing slightly as a speck of glass wedges in your foot, joining other scrapes and cuts already present. Shakily, you undo the door chain, and he must hear you turn the deadbolt and unlock the doorknob, because he opens the door before you can. He gasps, looking at your face, pale but red from smeared blood of the small cuts on your face. He looks at your hands too, and the bloody footprints on the floor…

“Oh, my god, (Y/N).” Wooyoung shuts the door, dropping his backpack and cupping your face with his hands. They’re cold from being out in the early autumn night and you don’t even react when he does so. Wooyoung lifts your head so you can look at him and his brow furrows in despair at the blank look in your eyes. Finally, he looks around the room in the low light, shocked at the carnage.

“I called her.” You manage to get out and he looks back at you, confused.

“Mom. I looked up the mayor guy’s office number and called. She didn’t… She didn’t know who I was. Her husband called and told me she had some kind of amnesia after he found her. Then he told me never to try again. So, I…” you lick your lips, “then I…I decided and went to your place. San was taking some blonde bitch into the apartment.” Your breath shudders and his shoulders slump.

“(Y/N)-“

“I…I went to the store, but they were out of Cayman Jacks. The Indian place down the street closed early. The pizza place was out of white sauce… I grabbed some random food from the convenience store and then when I got home… I got a text from that Jena girl, my half-sister,” you spit, “dad’s dead.”

“(Y/N), sunshine, you must… What can I do?” He steps closer, one hand leaving your face to grab your hand. You flinch at the sting, and he holds your hand up to see the cuts in the skin. It looks like you have a few splinters as well.

“Help me clean this mess?”

“I’ll just do it, let’s get you cleaned up first.”

~

He picks a few splinters out of your hands and feet, then sends you off to shower. Wooyoung vows to work on the mess more later, maybe even get Seonghwa’s help, but he deals with the dangerous stuff first. He’s shoved and/or swept all the debris into a big pile in the ravaged storage room, leaving the mess for another time. After carefully picking up all the sharp shards and splintered wood, he vacuums to make sure everything is picked up. He glances up when you shuffle out of the hallway, a towel draped over your wet hair, a soft light-weight grey sweater draped over your torso, and a darker grey pair of shorts nearly hidden by the shirt. Your head is bowed, hands and feet red and he shuffles over to lead you to the couch.

“Did you use soap?”

“Mm… Conditioner stung.” You sit, and he pulls your hands into his lap so he can look them over.

“I’ll help you with these.” He lets your hands go and then his own go to the towel on your head, gently rubbing it over your hair, then scrunching the strands with the fabric to get more of the water out. Gently he lays it around your neck and shoulders, so the still damp strands don’t drip on your shirt. When Wooyoung returns with your first aid box from the bathroom, you’re still sitting in the same spot, staring blankly at a spot on the couch. Sighing, he goes back to you and neither of you say anything as he smears ointment on the cuts. He goes ahead and just wraps some bandages around your right hand since it’s so cut up, but puts band aids on the other. Wooyoung does the same with your feet, and you don’t even flinch even though you’re usually ticklish there. As he finishes some other little tidying things, you run your finger over the chipped nails of your opposite hand, the polish flaking and cracked as well even though (S/N) only painted them two days prior.

“(Y/N), look at me.” He prompts and when you don’t, he gently lifts your head with his finger under your chin.

“I’m so sorry, princess, that your…about your mom. And your father. But with San-“

“It was a stupid thought. I don’t know why I got the courage to go.” You try to look away, but he forces you back to look at him, thumbs stroking your cleaned face. The little cuts have already pretty much closed, and he leans forward and presses a small kiss on the scratch on the tip of your nose.

“It’s not stupid, (Y/N). Neither are you; he is.” You huff a wry laugh, but he shakes his head.

“No, he is. He’s a fucking idiot. You wanna know why?”

“Yeah, why?” You pull both of your legs up under you, leaning with you side into the back of the couch, head resting on the back cushion.

“Any man who doesn’t fall in love with you after knowing you is an idiot. I think I’m the only smart person there is.” Wooyoung shakes his head, throwing the band-aid wrappers onto the coffee tables. It takes your tired brain a bit to process what he’s said, but you still barely have the energy to snap your head up to look at him.

“What?”

“You’re looked at him like he’s hung the damn moon for like two years, but you’re still like a sister to him or something. Fucking stupid.”

“You…fell in love with me?”

“Yes! And you’re an idiot for not noticing. That’s why I’m the only smart one.” He stands up to actually throw the wrappers away, using the task to flee since he’s flushed from his confession. He stands looking down into the nearly full trash for a few seconds, trying to think of what to do next. Before he can turn back to you, he feels your arms wrap around his middle from behind, your cheek pressing to his back. He isn’t very tall, one of the shortest in your friend group, but you’re small compared to even him. Normally your hugs have a great deal of strength in them, like you do as a whole, but he can feel your arms shaking around him.

“I’m sorry for being an idiot, Wooyoung.” Your voice is quiet, he feels it vibrate through him more than actually hearing it with his ears. He sighs.

“It’s…it’s fine. You can’t help how you feel any more than I can.” He lays his hand over your arm, gently prying you off of him, but pulling you back into him once he turns around. As he rests back against the island, you go with him, letting him hold you close. His fingers run through the drying strands of your hair, and you shuffle even closer when he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I…My brain is too frazzled to give you a response right now, Woo. I…I want to tell you-“

“It’s fine, (Y/N). I’m not expecting anything back…”

“No, it’s… I can’t put emotions together right now, but I might like you back, but it could just be my subconscious looking for comfort.”

“Can I help? We can talk it out? What do you want me to do?”

“What do I want…?”

“Anything.” You pull back to look at him, looking over his face. He’s so freaking pretty, his longer black hair is pulled half-up, a few strands framing his face. The ends of the little strands brush over the beauty mark under his eye and your eyes flit to the small one he has on his lip. You bet most people don’t even know it’s there… Bringing your left hand up, your sleeve falls so it’s no longer hanging by your fingers, and your index finger runs over the small dot. You flinch when he quickly grabs your wrist, a little tighter than it maybe should be. He realizes this and loosens, sliding his thumb up to your palm.

“(Y/N). Be careful, sweetheart.” With his grip on your wrist, he pulls you closer.

“Anytime you’re close to me, I want to hold you. I want to kiss you. I want to pin you to the nearest surface and…” He licks his lips, brow furrowing, “don’t let me do something you’ll regret because you’re weak now.” You grimace, looking down, stepping back from him.

“D-don’t…” Your breath shudders and he can tell you’re starting to cry again.

“Hey, hey.” He pulls you back in for a hug, “I will hold you as long as you want. I can lie on the couch, and you can lie on me. We can sleep there. We’ll watch that movie you like so much that your sister hates…” You sniff, nodding and he kisses the crown of your head before you pull back, and he leads you to the couch. Not even ten minutes later he’s stretched across the old couch, you nestled half on top of him, half between him and the back of the couch, the intro of The Last Unicorn playing on the TV. You normally don’t use a blanket on the couch, not unless you’re upset, so it’s wrapped around you, tucked under your chin.

“How did you know to come?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you come here?”

“Oh. (S/N) was freaking out because you weren’t answer any texts or video galls, and your phone was going straight to voicemail. I texted her that you broke your phone and that she doesn’t need to come home.” Like it feels left out, his phone buzzes, and he shifts to grab it from the coffee table. You sneakily glance and see that it’s from San.

🐯: where you at??

He just puts the phone down, but it buzzes not even a minute later.

🐯: is (Y/N) ok, or do I need to send Becca home and come over?

“You better not fucking come here.” Wooyoung huffs quietly, managing to use one hand and reply.

🦊: She’s fine now. Leave us alone.

“That’s harsh.”

“He broke your heart; I should be much worse.” He clicks his tongue, picking his phone up when it buzzes again on his stomach.

🐯: wtf you good? Are you mad?

“Yeah, I’m fucking pissed.”

“He’s calling.” You mumble, looking at his screen while he looks at the TV, trying to think of what to say. He angrily slides at the answer button, having to do it a second time for it to work.

“What?!” He nearly shouts into the phone, his even-louder-than-normal voice sharp in your ear.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Wooyoung brushes over your hair, “What?”

“Woah, dude, are you sure you’re okay?”

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“Woo.” You scold, and that seems to make him even more mad.

“Is she okay?!” San must’ve not heard…

“Yes, you stupid- She’s fine. What do you want?”

“Can I talk to her?”

“No, you can’t.”

“What? Why?”

“Just go…hang out with or in Becca or whatever-“ You smack his chest and he yipes.

“Did you make her upset; did you guys get into a fight?”

“No-“

“I’m coming over-“

“Damnit, no!”

“I don’t see why you fucking care, Choi San.” Something snaps in you, your last vestiges of rationale fizzling out. Wooyoung chokes around a laugh, quickly putting the call on speaker.

“N-(Y/N)?” He sounds like a whimpering puppy.

“Why are you trying to stuck up for me or defend me?”

“Y-you’re…you’re like my sister-“ Your fingers dig into Wooyoung’s shirt so hard, you scratched the skin underneath some, and you sit up, grabbing the phone.

“You know why I’m not okay? Huh? I found out my mom’s alive but doesn’t remember me or my sister. My dad is dead. I couldn’t get my favorite butter chicken, and the guy I like is at his place sucking face with some chick who looks like she can’t do basic addition. So, fuck off, San.” You hang up and slide Wooyoung’s phone away, so it lands on the coffee table, sliding just a bit further past where it lands. Huffing, you lay back down onto your other friend and continue to watch the movie. You both try to focus, but after a few minutes, you both burst into laughter, and it’s a good five minutes before you can fully calm down.

“I’m so fucking tired.” You rest your hand over your eyes, wedged between Wooyoung and the couch and he turns toward you, blocking your view of the TV.

“Do you feel better though?” He brushes your hair off your face, and you nod, nestling into the crook of his neck.

“Just sleep, sweetheart.” Wooyoung presses another kiss to your forehead, and you can’t help but listen.

~ųƐų~

You wake up sore, not sure if it’s from sleeping on your shitty couch or from the destruction you had wrecked on your apartment the night before. Wooyoung is still asleep, curled around you, and still so, so pretty. You assume he thinks that if you waited, you’d realize you’re just wanting him for comfort, not because you like him back. But, after sleeping on it, you aren’t so sure. Before, you really didn’t know if you like him back or not, but as you watch him sleep (feeling a bit creepy honestly) you think about it. When you first became friends, you had a pretty big crush on him. The closer you got, the more it seemed he got on your nerves, and he was just annoying and immature. But after graduating, you got much closer; he really is your best friend. You’re genuinely closer with Wooyoung than San, but you almost always hang out as the three of you. Could you have liked both, but chose San because you didn’t want to admit you’ve liked Wooyoung the entire time you’ve known him? Did he annoy you so much because you have feelings for him like some elementary age boy who pulls a girl’s hair, and says he hates her? Gently, so as not to wake him, you cup his jaw with your hands much like he had the day prior to you.

“Be careful, sweetheart.” He echoes the same words from the day before, not even opening his eyes.

“Why?” His eyes finally open, the intensity in his gaze taking your breath away. Wooyoung scoots an inch closer, pressing you further into the back cushions, his knee wedging between your legs. You gasp when he presses closer, finally feeling him against you.

“If you let me kiss you, I won’t stop there.” His lips hover over yours, tongue flicking out and running over your bottom lip as well as his.

“Then don’t.”

“(Y/N)-“

“I’m sure, Wooyoung. I thought about it, and yes, I have…had a crush on San. But that’s what it is, like a school crush. You’re right that I was stupid. I don’t love you because you’re my best friend, you’re my best friend because I love you. I’m in love with you.” Normally such flowery words make you cringe, but yours are genuine. He breathes out hard with his nose, brow furrowing, eyes flitting away from yours, down to your lips.

“That was part of the reason I was so upset last night. Yes, I felt heartbroken from seeing San with that girl, but I also felt horrible, because I wasn’t nearly as upset as I thought I’d be. I was just glad it wasn’t you with some bleach blonde bitch. After I found out about my mother…I was really glad you came over and not San.” Wooyoung can’t hold a giggle back, trying to keep his face serious, but he can’t.

“And I’m glad my sister called you, that you came.” You smile purely, but his turns into a smirk, the arm not under your head curling around you. You gasp when he slides the last little bit closer, hitching your leg over his hips and grinding his hardening cock into you.

“You have ten seconds to tell me to get off, otherwise I’m fucking you stupid on this couch.” You whimper at his words, hands leaving his face and resting on his shoulders. You buck your hips, causing him to let out a soft grunt.

“Stupid, huh?” You smirk back and you squeak when he rolls on top of you, soft lips capturing your chapped ones. The kiss isn’t gentle, his tongue quickly invading your mouth, tasting every inch of your tongue, his strong thigh hitching hard against your mound. Sneaky hands sneak under the waist band of your shorts, fingers pressing hard into the flesh of your ass, pulling you up against him, feeling the outline of his dick against your tummy. Wooyoung pulls back from the kiss, letting you catch your breath, a trail of saliva dripping down your chin. He kneels over you, pulling his shirt off and chucking it across the room. You whimper, your won sneaky hands stroking over the skin of his chest and abs, when did he get so built?

“Up.” He orders, and you sit up just enough for him to pull your shirt off, along with your sports bra underneath.

“Fuck~!” You twitch as those sinful lips wrap around your nipple, teeth nibbling the peak before moving to the next, then up. Finally, his trail of kisses stop at your throat, and he sucks your skin between his teeth there. It’s too high to hide, and he works the skin nearly raw, leaving a large purple welt on your jaw.

“Ah!” You jerk under him when his hand dives under your shorts and panties, two fingers swiping through the slick of your folds.

“You’re already this wet for me, sweetheart?” Wooyoung chuckles in your ear, those two fingers not hesitating to plunge into you. The sudden intrusion takes your breath away, the slight burn leaves your head swimming. He only pumps the digits maybe twice before retracting his hand, and instead shoves his fingers in his own mouth.

“Oh, fuck~” He groans, climbing off of you, then shoves you up the rest of the way on the couch, landing on it with his stomach. Your shorts and pants fly through the air, joining the rest of your clothes and he throws your legs over his shoulders. Your skin feels like it catches on fire when his tongue wastes no time in wiggling inside your cunt. It’s long and he knows how to work it, his nose brushing your clit as he drank from you like a thirsty dog.

“Woo-Wooyoung, god~!” Your breath hitches, legs twitching around his head, that deft tongue leaving your core to circle your clit, those two fingers sinking into your heat once more. He pulls back, licking his lips, spread into a sinful grin.

“You taste so fucking good, sweetheart~” He groans, crooking his fingers up hard, battering your weak spot.

“W-w-wait!” Your orgasm is coming on fast, and his fingers keep up their antics as he lays over you again, nose nuzzling behind your ear.

“Cum for me, princess.” He licks over the crest of your ear, and he chuckles breathily as your cunt clenches and spasms around his fingers, their wiggling spurring your orgasm along. You shudder and heave as he pulls them out, and you flinch when the slick pad of his index finger lowers, swirling over your pucker.

“Huh?” Your back arches from the odd sensation, but he doesn’t go further than a few teasing brushes.

“Maybe later, I want to taste all of you. And I want to fuck you full of my cum there too.” He sinks his teeth into your earlobe, and you turn your head to the side submissively, whimpering.

“Oh, you’re a good girl, huh?” His teeth scrape along the column of your exposed throat, your head twists more to give him better access.

“Fuck, you’re gonna feel so good on my cock, princess.” Wooyoung groans, scattering kisses over your neck, shoulders and throat as he wiggles to get his pants and boxers off. Hauling you back down the couch, he easily grabs your thighs to lead you to wrap them around his middle. You sigh, feeling the heat of his hard cock sliding through your folds, heading swimming as the fat head prods your entrances, then slides up.

“Wooyoung, please~!” You whimper, wanting him to sear through you, craving the burning sting.

“You wanna know something, sunshine?”

“What?” He chuckles at your slightly slurred speech.

“I plan on railing you so hard you don’t even remember who San is.” He hums and you can’t brace for his entrance, his fat cock filling you with a hard snap of his hips. Your back arches, breath forced out of you, chipped fingernails digging crescents into his back. Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, gummy walls spasming and fluttering around his cock, somehow the pain of him gouging into you threw you over the edge so quickly it makes your clit sting too.

“God, fuck, Wooyoung!” You finally catch your breath enough to speak and he groans long and deep.

“You’re so fucking perfect, (Y/N). Oh, sweetheart, you’re made for me~!” He groans a laugh, fading into a whine as the clenches fade with your orgasm. You feel like a truck hit you, vision blurry, lower half protesting at Wooyoung’s brutal entrance, but you love it. Your hips jump again, cunt sucking him in further when he sits up more, pinning one of your knees to your shoulder, holding the other at his waist.

“Look at your cute little pussy struggling to take me, huh?” He loves the sight of your tight core weeping around his sock, slick shining along his flesh and both of your inner thighs.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart~” He giggles, and your fingers gouge lines down the skin of his back as he starts, pace immediately relentless, battering your cervix with the head of his dick. The hand at your thigh holds it to his left side, sliding down your body and gripping your ass.

“Hm, you like it, pretty girl? Like my fat cock?”

“Fuck, yes, Woo~” Your breath heaves, and you let out a delirious giggle, gasping and whining hard as his rapid pace barrels you through your third orgasm. Your cunt stings, but it’s so good. You squeal when his hand leaves your butt, only to slap the skin hard, the sting travelling up your hip and into your thigh. He feels your walls grip him harder at the spank, so he does it again, harder.

“Oh, shit-!” Your head lolls against the couch cushion, face and neck flushed, heaving for air. Your nails claw down his chest to his stomach and he licks his lips at the sting.

“(Y/N), you’re such a good girl, yeah? My good girl~”

“Y-yours~!”

“Yes, sweetheart. All mine, oh, you’re doing so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, princess. This pussy’s so good too, welcoming my cock home?”

“Yeah~!” You giggle, dumb on his cock and he hasn’t even cum once yet.

“Aw, love, can I cum inside? You on the pill, yeah? Let me paint you white, huh? Fuck you full of my cum, then flip you over and give you more?” He’s laughing every few words, sounding a bit delirious himself. He’s wanted to have you like this for so long, and he’s going to fuck you on every surface in the place if he can.

“P-please~!”

“Okay, I’m gonna then-“ Wooyoung hums, it fading into a groan, then with a few more stuttering thrusts, you feel heat blossom in your lower stomach. His cock pulses as rope after rope of hot jizz fills you, a few drops leaking from where he splits you open, leaving a mess on the couch. Your body jerks as his orgasm fades, you almost black out from your own. Your clit is throbbing, folds swollen and red, but he’s still painfully hard…

~

“Hold on here.” Wooyoung moves your hands to the mount of the shower head, and you wrap your fingers around the metal pipe. Your toes curl as he enters you again, hot water hitting his back and dripping off of him onto you. Drops of cum hit the shower floor along with the water and he starts to pound into you again. The water makes the slaps of the skin of his pelvis against your butt and thighs all the louder, nearly muffling your soft whimpers and mewls. Your ass is red, covered in hand-shaped welts, thighs littered with hickeys and kiss-marks. His back, chest, and stomach are covered in scratches, a bite-mark etched into his shoulder and a single hickey clings to his jawline. You aren’t sure how long it’s been since he first got inside you, but it has to have been hours ago. You have no idea where his stamina has come from, and your once burning cunt has more or less numbed to the sting of overstimulation, tiny orgasms shattering through you without warning or reason. You feel the wets strands of his hair on your shoulders as he leans over you, hand cupping the underside of your breast, the other over your hands on the shower mount.

“Fuck, (Y/N), I love you. I love you so much.” He kisses your shoulder, avoiding a sore-looking mark he’d left.

“I-I love you t-t-too, Wooyoung-!” You heave for air as another tiny climax shivers through you.

“Breathe baby, you gotta pace yourself, I still gotta fuck you stupid~” Wooyoung giggles and you just squeak and mewl, since he already has.

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