#she always leaves traces of her around and when i find them it makes my heart feel light
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
It makes my heart so full when I find the lost belongings from my friends long after hanging out with them. I found a lip gloss I'm going to have to mail back but finding it in the back of my car in my cupholder feels so endearing.
#ill have to mail back your lip gloss and waist chain but best believe I'm wearing your waist chain in the time between#she always leaves traces of her around and when i find them it makes my heart feel light
2 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Sweet Stardust

â MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY) â
âĄď¸ synopsis: You'd never expect to be set up on a blind date with Xavier - the one man youâve been hopelessly crushing on for months.
âĄď¸ pairing: Xavier x fem!reader
âĄď¸ tags: fluff, smut, use of 'sweetheart' 'princess' 'honey', reader has hair (at least shoulder length, didn't specify texture), fingering, creampie ofc
âĄď¸ word count: 6.1k
âĄď¸ a/n: written for @who-mentioned-rhys-larsen ⥠this fic is part of the Blind Date Matchmaking event by @unintentionalseductress
âĄď¸ Thank you to my dearest friend and my beta reader âĄď¸@its-deâĄď¸ for helping.
divider by @/anitalenia

You take a slow sip of your iced tea, the coolness doing nothing to soothe the warmth creeping up your neck.
Why did you think this was a good idea?
Your fingers find the edge of your star-shaped earring, tracing the smooth metal absentmindedly as you glance around. The restaurant is elegant but cozy, the kind of place that requires a reservation but doesnât suffocate you with formality. Secluded tables nestle in private corners, the polished dark wood of the bar offering a sense of quiet luxury. Itâs niceâ a perfect spot for a first date.
The thought only makes your stomach twist tighter.
You arrived earlier than planned, too anxious to sit alone in your apartment with nothing but your thoughts. Now, perched on a barstool, youâre starting to question every decision that led you to this moment.
The worst part? You donât even know what your date looks like.
Tara assured you sheâd pick someone good. And you trust herâsheâs not just a colleague but a close friend, someone who knows you well enough to understand your type, your standards, your... predicament. That is, your utterly hopeless crush on Xavier.
Your gaze drops to your lap at the thought of him, an old ache stirring in your chest. Youâve spent months pining for himâyour colleague, your neighbor, the man who has occupied far too much space in your head. But nothing has ever come of it. No flirty advances, no subtle signs that he might see you as anything more than a friend and coworker. And youâve grown tired of waiting.
So, you let Tara set you up. Maybe this mystery man will be exactly what you needâa good distraction, someone to help you move on. If thatâs even possible.
Still, one small consolation eases your nerves - you know you look good. The sweater dress you chose hugs your curves just right, soft and warm, the cleavage dipping just low enough to be tempting. Your heeled boots elevate your outfit, and, miraculously, your hair cooperated today, falling just the way you like it.
Tara instructed you to wear a recognition pieceâsomething star-shaped, she had said. You thought it was too subtle, but you were relieved you had control over your outfit. Now, though, as you anxiously toy with your earring, you wonder if your date will even notice it.
What if he saw you already and decided to leave?
Your grip tightens slightly around your drink, your pulse stuttering at the humiliating thought. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybeâ
A small speck of light floats in front of you, pulling you from your anxious thoughts. You canât help but associate them with him, as they always appear -
âHey.â
The soft, familiar voice shifts your attention.
You turn, blinking in surprise, and your heart nearly stumbles out of your chest.
Xavier is sitting next to you.
When did he even get here?
Heâs propped against the bar, one elbow resting on the polished wood, his cheek lightly pressed against his hand. The dim glow of the restaurant catches in his deep blue eyes, glinting with something unreadable as he watches you.
Your breath falters for just a second, heat creeping up your neck. âHi.â you manage, offering a sheepish smile, your fingers still toying with your earring.
His gaze flickers down, catching on the star-shaped piece before shifting back to your face. âAre you waiting for someone?â
You straighten instinctively, forcing yourself to stop fidgeting. âI am,â you say, glancing toward the entrance. âBut Iâm not sure what he looks like.â
His brows lift slightly. âA blind date?â
You let out a small, nervous chuckle. âYeah.â
You glance at your phone. You exhale sharply, shifting in your seat. âBut Iâm starting to think he wonât show up.â
Xavier hums, the sound low and thoughtful. âMaybe heâs just running late.â
You look back at him then, finally taking in the details of his outfitâheâs wearing a crisp white shirt, paired with light-colored slacks that somehow make him look even taller, more put-together, but still effortlessly him.
Your stomach twists with an uneasy realization âwhat if heâs waiting for someone? Swallowing past the sudden lump in your throat, you force yourself to ask, keeping your voice as casual as possible. âAre you waiting for someone?â
His eyes linger on yours for a second too long. Then, he shakes his head. âNot really.â
You barely have time to process that answer before he turns his attention toward the softly lit dining area. Without hesitation, he rises from his seat, and thenâhe extends his hand toward you.
âOur table is ready.â he murmurs, his voice smooth, a soft smile curving at the edges of his lips.
Your breath catches.
Oh -
Heâs your date.
â・â§ËĘđÉËâ§ď˝Ąâ
After settling into a table tucked in a cozy corner, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, you and Xavier placed your ordersâdrinks and appetizers to start. But your mind was spinning too fast, so you excused yourself to the restroom, needing a moment to breathe.
Inside, you grip the edge of the sink, inhaling slowly as you pull out your phone.
"Tara, did you bribe Xavier into being my date?" Your heart hammers in your chest as you type the next part. "Please tell me you didn't tell him I have a crush on him!"
Within seconds, a text pops up:
"Of course not!"
You wait, staring at the screen. Then a voice note appears.
You tap play, Taraâs familiar voice filling the quiet space of the restroom.
"He immediately refused when I asked him if he wanted to be set up on a blind date." You can hear her dramatic pout, but then it shiftsâlighter, giddy. "But when I told him youâd be his date, he accepted. Anyway, have fun!"
You blink.
Your reflection in the mirror catches the exact moment your anxious frown softens into something else entirelyâa shy, almost disbelieving smile creeping across your lips.
He accepted because it was you.
A warm, tingling sensation spreads down to your fingertips. You clutch your phone, staring at yourself, trying to tamp down the hopeful little spark.
Does this mean he likes me?
You bite your lip, willing yourself to stay grounded, to not jump to conclusions. It just means he didnât hate the idea. Thatâs all. Donât get ahead of yourself.
Still, as you slip your phone back into your purse and wash your hands, your movements feel lighter, less burdened by nerves. By the time you push open the bathroom door and step back into the dinning area, that giddy warmth is still lingering in your chest.
â・â§ËĘđÉËâ§ď˝Ąâ
You step into your apartment, and turn to lock the door after Xavier enters. It feels surreal. Xavier is standing in your entryway. In your apartment. Slipping off his shoes, asking where the guest slippers are. He shrugs off his coat, and before you can even think to reach for it, heâs holding out his handsâfirst to take the bouquet of flowers he bought for you on the walk back, then to grab your coat.
The bouquet is filled with your favorites. Did he ask Tara? Did he just⌠know?
You clear your throat, mumbling a quiet thanks, and step into the kitchen to grab a vase. The sound of running water fills the space as your mind is stuck on the simple, surreal fact that heâs here. Xavier is standing in your kitchen, looking around with quiet interest, his gaze flickering over little detailsâyour recipe books stacked on one counter, the aprons hanging next to the fridge, the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air.
âCozy.â he comments, his voice warm.
ę°á˘. .á˘ęą
You cover your lips as a chuckle escapes you, shaking your head. âIâm sorry,â you say, glancing at Xavier with an apologetic smile, âI just always assumed you were bad at cooking since thereâs burning smoke coming from your apartment almost every week.â
Xavier exhales a quiet laugh. âItâs not that Iâm bad,â he muses, âI just have a bad habit of dozing off while waiting for something to cook.â
The low rasp in his voice makes your stomach flutter. Youâre suddenly very aware of how close he is, how his knee has brushed against yours too many times to be an accident.
You clear your throat, scrambling for something to keep the conversation flowing. âI have dough at the apartment.â The words slip out. âIâm not sure what to make with it yet. Do you have any ideas?â
Xavier leans in slightly, resting his chin on his hand as he contemplates, but his eyes never leave yours.
âI bought strawberry jam today,â he murmurs. âIt would be perfect with homemade bread.â His gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest second before it settles again on yours. âI could help you with itâif thatâs okay with you?â
ę°á˘. .á˘ęą
Your cheeks burn at the memory.
Just a few hours ago, you thought Xavier wasnât interested in you at all. That your feelings were nothing more than a hopeless crush. But nowâheâs here. Heâs helping you find the perfect spot to set the vase, standing close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.
And you know - he does like you.
You saw it in the way he looked at you at the restaurant, in the way his usually distant, unreadable gaze softened, locked onto you. It wasnât the casual attention he gave to others, the absentminded focus of a man who was simply being polite. Noâthis was different. His eyes had lingered, had traced the curve of your lips between words, flickering down for just a second too long before finding yours again.
And you felt it, too. In the way his knee brushed against yours beneath the table. In the way his fingers found yours by the end of the night,the touch tender and grounding.
And now, here you areâjust the two of you in your cozy kitchen, setting everything up to prepare homemade bread.
You move around the space, trying to keep your hands busy, trying not to focus too much on the man leaning against the counter. You reach for the aprons hanging by the hook, and a playful smile tugs at your lips as you hand Xavier the one with the bunny print. He raises an eyebrow at the design before letting out a low chuckle, shaking his head in amusement but accepting it anyway.
"You picked this on purpose, didnât you?"
"Youâll look cute in it," you tease, already tying your own cherry-print apron around your waist.
But before you can secure the knot, his fingers brush over yours. "Let me."
His breath against the shell of your ear makes goosebumps bloom along the side of your neck. He steps in behind you, his fingers tying the knot â but he doesnât move away immediately. For a lingering moment, his hands rest on your hips, fingers splayed lightly over the fabric of your dress, and your breath catches. Itâs so subtle, so fleeting, but the touch lingers even as he steps back and moves to stand beside you.
You exhale slowly, turning your attention back to the dough in the bowl.
Xavier rolls up his sleeves, the fabric sliding up his forearms, revealing the sculpted muscle, the veins subtly lining his skin. His hands flex as he reaches for the dough, fingers sinking into the soft mixture.
"I can handle the kneading," he offers, his eyes flicking to you. "Just instruct me."
You nod, too distracted to say anything.
Xavierâs hands press into the dough with steady, practiced motions, fingers flexing as he pushes forward, the soft mixture stretching and folding beneath his palms. You watch, transfixed, as the muscles in his forearms shift with each movement, flexing beneath his skin. The dough yields to his touch, stretching between his fingers before he folds it over itself again, his knuckles pressing in, wrists rolling as he coaxes the mixture into the perfect consistency. It shouldnât be mesmerizing. It shouldnât be distracting. But it is.
You swallow, completely absorbed in the way his hands workâthe slow push, the press, the stretch, the way his fingers curl just slightly as he pulls the dough back. Heat pools in your stomach, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.
And then he stops.
Your gaze snaps up from his hands to find his face already turned toward you, amusement flickering in his deep blue eyes.
"Can you sprinkle more flour? Or are you just gonna keep staring?"
Your stomach flips.
Oops.
Heat spreads over your cheeks as you realize he caught you shamelessly ogling his arms like they were the most fascinating thing in the world. You scramble to gather yourself, clearing your throat as you quickly grab the flour.
"I was just making sure you were doing it right." you lie, voice slightly higher than normal as you sprinkle a light dusting over the dough.
Xavier hums, clearly unconvinced, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips as he kneads again, the fresh coating of flour making his hands glide easier. But just as you think youâve escaped the moment, he shiftsâhis hands no longer sticky with dough, moving faster than you can react.
A soft swipe of flour brushes against your cheek.
You blink, stunned. Xavier pulls his hand back, his smirk widening, too pleased with himself.
"Focus." he teases, the mirth in his eyes makes your stomach flip all over again.
Your jaw drops in feigned offense, so you grab a pinch of flour, and tap the tip of his nose. The faint layer of white settles on the tip of his nose, an almost comical touch against his usually composed expression. His gaze locks onto yours, surprise flickering in his eyes, and thenâ
A low chuckle spills into a soft, genuine laugh. Your heart stumbles over itself at the sight of him like thisâ warm and sweet, no longer distant. The sound of it makes you grin wider, but you donât miss the way his eyes gleam with mischief. The playful glint is all the warning you get before his hand moves as he smears another streak of flour along your cheek.
âYou should really focus.â he teases, voice rich with amusement, tilting his head as if inspecting his work.
You gasp, feigning an appalled expression. âOh, youâre gonna regret that.â
But you donât get a chance to launch another attack, because he moves swiftly, catching your wrist in his hand. The contact sends a small jolt through you; itâs soft but firm enough that you can feel the heat of his palm against your skin, holding you in place. You expect him to smirk, to tease. But instead, his expression softens, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes as he lifts your hand. And thenâhe presses a kiss to your knuckles. His lips linger for only a second, the warmth of them seeping into your skin, before he pulls away.
Your pulse is fluttering, your cheeks heating, and silence settles between you, stretching for just a beat too long.
You clear your throat, glancing toward the dough still resting on the counter, and force your voice to sound as steady as possible.
âSo, what do you like to cook the most?â
Xavier hums in thought. âI like trying new things,â he muses, rolling his shoulders slightly, easing some of the tension in his muscles. âIt doesnât always turn out great, but I like the challenge.â
You tilt your head, intrigued, and then smirk. âSo, you like torturing yourself with hard recipes?â
He chuckles, shaking his head. âSomething like that.â His voice is a little quieter as he continues. âYou make it look easy. Thought Iâd try my hand at a few things.â
You pause for a moment, wondering if you heard him correctly. âWait - have you been trying to remake my recipes?â
His fingers falter for just a second before he smooths his expression into something neutral. âMaybe.â
A slow grin spreads across your face. âXavier.â
He exhales, shaking his head like youâve caught him in something ridiculous, but the corners of his lips twitch. âYou make good food,â he mutters. âI wanted to see if I could make it too.â
You fight the urge to squish his cheeks that have flushed a tiny bit at the revelation. He actually remembers the things youâve brought him, the little baked goods and dishes youâd made. And not only does he rememberâhe tries to recreate them.
His gaze flickers to you. âMaybe you should teach me.â
Itâs a casual request, but you hear what he isnât saying. He wants to see you more, and it sends another rush of giddy warmth through you.
âOkay,â you say, pretending like your heart isnât doing flips. âWhat do you want to learn?â
He doesnât hesitate. âEgg tarts.â
The answer is so unexpected that you blink, then laugh. âReally? Out of everything?â
He nods. âTheyâre delicious.â
Finally, the bread dough is prepped, shaped, and ready for the oven. You slide the tray inside, and after cleaning up the counter and your hands, you remove the aprons and put them back on the hook.
As you turn to face Xavier again, you catch him watching you, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, leaning against the counter.
You clear your throat, trying to shake off the way his gaze makes your stomach tighten. Then, with a teasing lilt to your voice, you ask, âShould I go get you a blanket? Since you might doze off.â
His brows lift slightly, and then he huffs a short laugh.
But then, his voice drops, smooth as silk. âI think we can find a better way to pass the time.â
A soft laugh spills from your lips at first, but as soon as you catch the look in his eyes, the warmth in your chest falters, the laughter dying on your tongue.
The teasing spark in his eyes is nowhere to be found. Instead, a soft blush dusts his cheekbones, creeping up to the tips of his ears. Thenâhe moves.
One step, then another, the space between you disappearing, inch by inch. The edge of the counter presses into the small of your back as he approaches, your body instinctively leaning away. His hands rest on either side of you, palms pressing flat against the cool surface of the counter.
His breath is soft, ghosting over your lips. The sheer weight of his attention wraps around you like a second heartbeat, syncing with your own, pulsing through your veins. Your fingers twitch at your sides, aching to reach for somethingâhim, the counter, anything to steady yourself.
The rest of the world fades into nothing, and all that exists is him.
His lashes lower just slightly, his lips parting as he leans in, his gaze holding yours the entire time. Heâs waiting, offering you one last chance to pull away, to stop this before the moment tips over into something neither of you can take back.
Then, barely above a whisper - âTell me to stop.â
You donât say a word.
Instead, you tilt your chin up, closing what little distance remains between you, and press your lips to his. Xavier exhales softly against your lips, the sound breaking somewhere between relief and disbelief before he finally moves.
His mouth presses more firmly against yours, molding to the shape of you, learning the way you taste, memorizing the way you feel beneath him. His fingers twitch against the counter, like heâs restraining himself from reaching for you, from pulling you against him, from letting his hands wander to the places heâs only ever dreamed of touching. But he lingers, soaking in every moment, every detail, every sigh and shiver you give him. You melt into him, your fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer.
Xavier pulls away for a moment, his breath warm against your lips. "Can I touch your hair?"
Itâs such a simple question, yet it sends comforting warmth through you, and it makes you fall for him even more. You nod, your heart hammering in your chest as you tilt your head slightly in invitation. You press your lips to his again, needing to feel that warmth, needing to drown in the way he kisses you. The moment his hand settles on your hair, a slow shiver rolls down your spine. His touch is reverent, the slightest tug at the roots sending small tingles all the way down your neck. You sigh into his mouth, the sound soft and almost dazed, relishing in the way he handles you, like he wants to learn the texture of every strand under his fingers.
And then he steps closer, pressing his body fully against yours, erasing the last inch of space between you. His firm muscles shift slightly against you, the warmth of him seeping through his clothes, through yours, until you feel surrounded, consumed. And lower, against your hip, thereâs something elseâsomething hard and pressing insistently, showing just how much he wants you.
Your breath catches, your fingers faltering where they rest against his jaw.
Just a small movementâthatâs all it takes, the softest drag of your hip against the unmistakable hardness straining against his pants, to draw out a reaction from him.
Xavierâs body tenses, his breath catching in his throat. His fingers twitch against your hair, tightening slightly before loosening, as if heâs reminding himself to be gentle. His jaw clenches, his eyes squeezing shut for the briefest second before they open again, darker now, heavier.
He whispers your name. "If you keep doing thatâ"
But you donât move away. Instead, you lift your gaze to his. "Do you want to stop?" you whisper.
The moment hangs between you, before he exhales.
"No," he murmurs, "But if we do this, I need you to be sure."
And you are sure. Your fingers tighten around his wrist, feeling the pulse thrumming just beneath your fingertips. You guide his hand from your hair down to your waist. "I want this." you whisper, your heart pounding so violently you wonder if he can hear it. "I want you."
The tension in his body dissolves, his grip tightening at your waist, holding you there, against him. His breath stutters for just a moment, his nose brushing against yours, and then he kisses you. His lips move over yours with such aching tenderness that your knees almost buckle. His hands smooth over the curve of your waist, fingertips trailing lightly along your spine, sending shivers down your back, making you arch into him. Your fingers find the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric, gripping tighter as your body melts further into his.
Then he pulls away just enough to wrap his arms around you and effortlessly lift you off the ground. You gasp softly as he positions you carefully on the counter, ensuring you're comfortable. His fingers slip beneath the soft fabric of your sweater dress, and instinctively, you part your legs in silent invitation. He doesnât hesitate. He steps forward, pressing into the space between your legs, his body crowding against yours. Then his hand ventures further, toward the ache pooling between your legs.
He pulls back just enough to watch you, his lips parted, his breath mingling with yours. His eyes flicker between your gaze and where his fingers now hover. Thenâhis fingertips graze over the damp fabric of your underwear and a sharp breath escapes you.
His voice drops to a husky murmur. âYouâre already so wet for me.â
Heat licks up your spine, not just from the way he touches you, but from the way he looks at youâdevouring, mesmerized. Your cheeks flush, warmth creeping up your neck, your ears. Your grip on his shirt tightens as his touch grows bolder, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your folds, teasing, coaxing.
Your lips part on a quiet whimper, and he catches it, swallowing the sound as he leans in again, capturing your mouth in another slow, intoxicating kiss. His teeth graze your bottom lip, a teasing scrape that makes you shudder against him, makes your body arch instinctively. His fingers press firmer, brushing up, downâcatching against your clit with just enough friction. You gasp softly, tightening your grip on him, your hips shifting involuntarily.
Then, his fingers hook over the waistband of your underwear, and you rest your hand against his shoulder, lifting your hips to help him slide the fabric down your legs. Heat blooms across your cheeks when you catch him tucking the lace into his pocket, and youâre even more flustered when you see the mischievous smirk on his lips.
His fingers trail back between your legs, but the first brush of his fingers against your bare folds makes you jolt.
"Relax for me, honey." His voice is soft, soothing, his lips just a breath from yours.
You nod, your breath shaky as you let your body give in. His fingers slide along your wet heat, teasing and exploring in slow, tender strokes. Your grip tightens on his shoulder as one finger circles your entrance, prodding and testing you. A quiet gasp escapes you as you tug at his shirt, pulling him closerâand you press your lips to his, your tongue tangling with his.
Then his finger pushes in slowly, making you feel every inch of that delicious stretch and every slick, teasing glide. He finds that sweet spot with ease, the one that makes your breath hitch and your toes curl. A soft curse slips from your lips as he strokes it again and again, spreading tingling warmth through you.
He savors your soft, breathy whimpers as he slides a second finger inside, curling them just right and moving them in deep strokes.
"Does that feel good?" he murmurs, giving you a moment to catch your breath.
You can only nod, unable to form words when heâs touching you so perfectly. Your gaze flickers downwardâbetween your legs, where his fingers move, where his hand glistens with your arousalâand the sight alone sends another pulse of heat through you.
Xavierâs lips curve in a soft, knowing smile as he takes in your expression, your half-lidded eyes, your parted lips. His free hand lifts, cradling the back of your neck, tilting your head to expose your neck to him. His lips graze your skin, teasing at first, before his tongue flicks out, dragging a wet trail along the sensitive slope of your neck.
A sharp gasp escapes you as his thumb presses against your clit. He circles it in slow, lazy swirls, the pleasure deepening, pooling low in your stomach. Your thighs tremble, hips shifting involuntarily, chasing more, needing more.
"Thatâs it, honey." he breathes against your throat, his fingers plunging deeper, working you open. He latches onto your skin, sucking gently, his breath fanning over the damp spot.
The hand on his shoulder moves to hold onto his forearm, each precise stroke sending jolts of pleasure through you, winding that coil in your belly impossibly tight. Youâre right there, trembling on the edge, every breath a shaky, desperate gasp. If you had any control left, you would be embarrassed by the broken sounds spilling from your lipsâwhimpers, soft cries, the only thing you can manage being his name, over and over like a plea.
Xavier groans low in his throat. âYou sound so fucking beautiful,â he rasps, lips brushing your ear. âCome for me, princess. Iâve got you.â
His control is slippingâyou can hear it in his voice, feel it in the way his hips press forward, seeking friction against your thigh. Heâs trembling, barely holding himself back, and the thought alone sends pleasure ripping through you. You shatter against him, burying your face in his neck as your release crashes over you, your walls clenching around his fingers, slick dripping down his hand. He holds you through it, his grip firm, his breath ragged, whispering praise into your hair, your pleasure undoing him just as much.
Your lips press against his throat, muffling the last of your cries as your body trembles against him, and heâs not so sure he can hold back any longer. His hand catches your chin, tilting your face toward his. His thumb brushes along your jaw, eyes locked onto yours, dark and desperate. His chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, his restraint hanging by a thread.
âI need to feel you.â His voice is barely more than a whisper, trembling. âPlease.â
Your body is still pulsing with the aftershocks of release, but you know you need more.
"Yes." You whisper, wasting no time to slip one hand between your bodies, trembling slightly as you reach for his pants.
Xavier groans softly, helping you with the belt when your hands fumble, his own need evident in the way he works quickly to unfasten it. The moment he pulls himself free, your breath catchesâhe's so hard, flushed and aching, the sight alone making you even more wet. You canât help but wrap your fingers around him, feeling the weight, the heat, the pulse beneath your touch. When your thumb glides over the bead of precum on his tip, smearing it over the sensitive skin, a sharp hiss leaves his lips, his grip tightening on your waist.
"Fuckâ" he exhales, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist, stilling your touch before he brings your hand up, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of it. Then, as he lowers his gaze, positioning himself between your legs, his breath stutters again. His tip nudges against your soaked entrance, and just before he presses forward, his eyes flick back up to yours.
"I donât haveâ Do youâ?"
A soft smile tugs at your lips as you cradle his cheek, your thumb stroking along his jaw. "I'm covered," you murmur, brushing your lips over his. "And I trust you."
His exhale is shaky, his forehead pressing to yours before he finally moves. Carefully, the thick head of his cock begins to ease in, parting you with an aching stretch that has your body tensing before melting, your nails pressing into the firm muscles of his shoulders. Youâre already so sensitive, still pulsing from his fingers, and this only adds to your dizzying arousal.
"Fuck," he grits out, his jaw clenching as he inches deeper. "You're soâ"
The words die in a low groan as he bottoms out, pressing flush against you, his pelvis catching on your clit in a way that sends sparks through every nerve in your body. Your walls flutter around him, gripping him so tightly that he shudders, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
"Are you okay?" he breathes against your hair, his arms tightening around you.
You canât speakâyou can only whimper, nodding as your body adjusts. Your lips part against the crook of his neck, sucking lightly on the skin there, grounding yourself in the feel of him. His first thrust is slow, dragging â so controlled itâs almost torturous. You can feel the tremble in his muscles, the way his breath shakes as he exhales through gritted teeth.
"Look at youâso beautiful." A deep groan rumbles in his chest as you clench down around him, your walls gripping him so tight it makes his thrusts falter, his cock stroking against that perfect spot over and over.
Your hands slide up, fingers curling in his hair, tugging gently as you tilt your face up, finding his eyes.
"Xavierâahhâ" your voice is soft, pleading, "Iâm so close. I need youâ"
His cock twitches inside you, throbbing against your walls, slick and tight and perfect. His fingers dig into your hips, trying to hold back, but itâs no use. A desperate moan spills from your lips as his thumb returns to your clit, pressing, circling, matching the frantic stutter of his hips.
"You feel so fucking good," he rasps, voice wrecked, hoarse. "Taking me so well, honey."
Pleasure crashes into you, shattering, overwhelming. Your pussy clenches around him, pulsing, gripping, and Xavier curses under his breath, arms locking around you, holding you through it.
"Thatâs itâfuckâjust like that,â he pants, breath shaky. âIâve got youâhaahâI'm so close."
His rhythm stutters, his hips grinding deeper, erratic, chasing the high. Youâre still trembling, still lost in your high, but you donât want him to stopânot with the way his cock throbs inside you, not with the way his breath stutters.
You tighten your legs around him, pulling him deeper. Thatâs all it takes.
Xavier chokes on a groan, his hands gripping you so tightly you know youâll feel it tomorrow. His cock pulses, his entire body tensing as his release crashes into him, his hips pressing flush against yours as hot spurts of cum spill deep inside you. His breath breaks into uneven gasps against your ear as he grinds through it, his cum slipping out, messy and warm between you.
"Canât get enough of you," he mutters, almost delirious. His lips brush your temple, his hands roam over you, slow, reverent. Even spent, his cock twitches inside you, hips rolling in lazy, absent thrusts, as if heâs already craving more.
"Never gonna get enough of you," he breathes.
Xavier doesnât move for a while, and you donât want him to. His arms stay wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest as his breath evens out, warm against your hair. His fingers trace light, absentminded patterns on your back, his other hand smoothing over the side of your waist, as if he canât stop touching you. You sigh into him, boneless, completely melted in his hold, and he lets out a quiet, satisfied hum in response, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.
His lips graze your forehead before pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze is warm and tender as he takes in the sight of you in the afterglow, "You have no idea what you do to me."
Your breath catches, your fingers tightening slightly where they rest against his shoulder, and you donât know what to say. You donât know how to say anything when all you want to do is hold onto this feeling forever.
So instead, you just nuzzle closer, in the crook of his neck where small, faint marks are forming on his skin. He smiles against your cheek, squeezing your waist before he loosens his hold, letting you shift against him.
And then your nose reminds you of something. Your eyes snap open, panic flashing through you as you sit up straight, hands flying to Xavierâs chest.
âOh no!â
His brows furrow, confused at the sudden change. âWhat?â
âThe bread!â
You scramble off the counter, adjusting your dress as best as you can, legs still shaky, as you rush to the oven, already bracing yourself for disaster. But when you peek inside, miraculously, the bread is still perfect. Golden brown, fluffy, not even close to burnt.
You let out a deep, relieved sigh.
As you take off the oven mitts after placing the bread on a cooling rack, you turn back to Xavier. Heâs leaning lazily against the counter, pants in place, but his shirt still rumpled, his hair thoroughly disheveled. He looks impossibly handsome like this. But instead of letting yourself get distracted, you cross your arms, feigning a small pout. "Youâre bad luck in the kitchen."
"Bad luck?" He tilts his head, and you instantly regret saying anything.
He pushes off the counter, strolling toward you with that confident ease, stopping just shy of pressing against you. "Didnât seem like you minded the distraction."
Your face burns.
You could argue. You could roll your eyes, huff, tell him off for that smug little look heâs giving you. But whatâs the point? He knows heâs right. And youâre too warm, too utterly spent to even deflect.
Before you can decide on a response, he moves.
One second, youâre standing there, legs still a little wobbly, and the nextâXavier scoops you up into his arms like you weigh nothing at all. A startled yelp slips past your lips, but it dissolves into breathless laughter as you grab onto his shoulders.
âXavierâ!â
But he only gives you a soft smile, before pressing his lips to yours.
By the time he pulls back, your head is spinning all over again.
He smirks down at you, adjusting his hold. âCome on, princess,â he murmurs, walking toward the bathroom. âWe made a mess.â
As you gaze at his face, you muse how the once-distant, untouchable Xavierâthe man who felt like a star too far awayâhas somehow become warm and steady and impossibly close.
And youâre just a giddy, melted puddle in his arms.
#love and deepspace#xavier love and deepspace#love and deepspace xavier#xavier smut#xavier x reader#love and deepspace smut#xavier#lads x reader#lads smut#xavier x you#ncs valentines day#blind date matchmaking
1K notes
¡
View notes
Text
â âArcane characters - with a big boob S/o Headcannons

Characters: Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Mel, Vander, Sevika, Silco, Jayce, Viktor, Ekko.
Warnings â ď¸: Fluff, suggestive themes, slight nsfw, teasing, groping.
-Vi

âShe's shameless about it. Vi is very handsy and loves to grab them whenever she gets the chance, especially when she's hugging you from behind. Loves laying on your chest after a long day, mumbling about how lucky she is. In public, she might sneak a hand around your waist and "accidentally" brush again your chest, just to see you squirm. "C'mon, babe, you can't blame me. They're right there."
-Jinx

âAbsolute menace. She'll poke, squeeze, and jiggle them just to get a reaction out of you. Jinx loves burying her face between them, claiming it's her "stress relief." Will 100% use them as a pillow while lying on your lap. Loves making dirty jokes about them in front of people just to see you blush. "Damn, I could get lost in these - oh wait, I already did."
-Caitlyn

âAt first, she tries to be polite about it, but she notices. Caitlyn enjoys resting her head on your chest when youâre alone, but she gets flustered when you tease her about it. Sometimes, she gets distracted during conversations, her eyes flickering down before quickly looking away. If you ever wear something revealing, she struggles not to stare. âAhem⌠your outfit is quiteâuh, nice today.â
-Mel

âAbsolutely adores them. She loves luxury, and to her, your body is no exception. Mel enjoys dressing you in elegant, form-fitting outfits that accentuate your curves. Sheâll trail her fingers down your cleavage absentmindedly while talking, making it seem so casual yet intimate. During private moments, she takes her time appreciating them, whispering sweet praises in your ear. âYou truly are a masterpiece, my love.â
-Vander

âHeâs a gentleman, but he appreciates them. He loves how soft and warm you are when he holds you. If you ever wear something revealing, he clears his throat and looks away, but his ears turn red. When cuddling, he rests his hand on your waist, but if theyâre pressed against him? Yeah, heâs struggling. âDamn, sweetheart⌠youâre really testing my patience.â
-Sevika

âSheâs dominant and makes it known. Loves grabbing them, especially when making out. Sheâll tease you, squeezing and kneading them just to hear you whimper. If you wear something tight or low-cut, sheâll smirk and say, âYouâre just begging to be touched, huh?â Definitely loves leaving marks on your chest. If you try to cover up, sheâll pin your hands away and make sure you donât.
-Silco

âHe acts composed, but your body is very distracting to him. His hands naturally gravitate towards your waist, but if they brush against your chest? He lingers. Silco enjoys seeing you in fine lingerie, admiring the way the fabric hugs your figure. When you sit on his lap, he lets his fingers ghost over your cleavage, his voice smooth and teasing. âYou do enjoy testing my restraint, donât you?â
-Jayce

âHeâs a flustered mess. Youâll catch him staring, then immediately looking away like he wasnât just ogling you. If you press up against him, he short-circuits, especially if itâs unintentional. Jayce enjoys holding you close, his hands tracing your curves as he whispers sweet compliments. If you ever tease him about it, his face turns bright red. âIâuhâI wasnât looking! Okay, maybe I was, but can you blame me?â
-Viktor

âHeâs subtle but so into it. Viktor loves resting his head against your chest when heâs tired, claiming itâs the âperfect pillow.â Heâs usually focused on his work, but if you lean over his desk with a low-cut top, he notices. Will sometimes cup them absentmindedly while cuddling, but if you call him out on it, he coughs and mutters, âAh, well⌠theyâre quite⌠nice.â
-Ekko

âHe tries to play it cool, but he gets flustered. Loves when you hug him because your chest is right there. He wonât make it obvious, but his hands always find their way to your waist. If you ever tease him about staring, he just grins and shrugs. âHey, can you blame me? Youâre kinda hard to ignore, babe.â
#fem!reader#vi x reader#arcane Headcannons#arcane fluff#arcane smut#jinx x reader#caitlyn kirraman x reader#mel medarda x reader#vander x reader#sevika x reader#silco x reader#jayce talis x reader#viktor x reader#ekko x reader
2K notes
¡
View notes
Note
ok ok hiiiii hope your doing well! Um this may be odd, but, imagine an au where fem reader sleeps in the same bed as best friend sevika but place a few pillows between each other because fem reader believes she's not into girls despite her best friend being an absolute hottie đ
My Best Friend áśť đ đ°
this is ALSO one of my fav tropes, so thank you for this.. and yes I'm doing well ty summary: sevika could treat u better than he can !!! never let a man stop you from finding your wife. thats the moral for tday.
masterlist , new fic, sevika is your dads best friend..

Sevika has been your best friend for a few years (although she would never admit it) and shes seen you through your best and worst.
After breakups with shitty men, she knows to find you at the last drop, laughing at your drunken state before dragging you home.
This was one of those nights.
She had you slung over her shoulder while she keyed the lock on her door, grunting at your head that lulled on her shoulder, "Are we home..?"
Sevika nodded, dragging you through the doorway and sitting you on the couch gently. She grabbed a glass from the kitchen and filled it with water for you. Her heavy shoes thudded on the wooden floor as she made her way back to you.
Sitting beside you, she held your chin, pouring water into your mouth, "I don't like seeing you with those blunder-heads."
You gulped down the cold water greedly, attempting to soothe the dryness in your throat. You held her by the wrist to steady her hand.
Sevika scoffed, and you knew she was referring to your exes. You giggled at her seriousness, "I don't think I like being with them."
You felt the pressure lift from your head, feeling more sober. Clinging to Sevikas arm, you sighed, looking up at her. "You're lucky you dont have to deal with boyfriends."
Her features twisted, contorting into a sour look, "You don't have to either."
"Hm?" You hummed, mindlessly tracing the rim of your glass.
"I mean, you could always try women."
You laughed and said teasingly, "Like at the brothel?"
Her eyes widened, and her brows furrowed, lips almost pulled into a pout, "No, no, like a girlfriend."
"What? Are you volunteering?" You smacked her on the arm and laid back further into the couch.
She smirked, Sevikaâs cocky demeanor returning to her, "I wouldn't mind teaching you a few things."
You made a fake sound of disgust but laughed afterward. Although you couldn't deny she was beautiful, her thick arm was warm in your hold, and the angles of her face softened when you spoke.
Sevika treated you like no man ever had before. She was sweet in her own way, ans actually listened to what you had to say. You know she would never do anything to hurt you, and infact she was the one that picked you up after you got hurt.
You had never been interested in women, but Sevika definitely piqued your interest. Maybe it was all the memories you shared or the way she treated you. But maybe it was the way her V line connected to the waistband of her pants, emphazised by the warm light, the way her hair stuck to her sharp jaw that clenched under your gaze.
She interrupted your thoughts, "It's late, you should get to bed."
"Already? You aren't going to stay?"
She smirked again, revealing the flattering gao between her teeth, "All you have to do is ask, doll."
Heat rose to your face at the nickname. Maybe it was just the alcohol in your system, but it was starting to get hotter. You bit your lip, looking up at her through your lashes, "Please stay Sevika, I'll even make you breakfast before you leave in the morning."
That was music to her ears. At that, she stood up, grabbing your waist to take you with her. Eventually, she got tired of your stumbling and slowness and picked you up, arm under your legs, and prosthetic on your upperback.
You smiled, wrapping your arms around her neck, throwing your head back dramatically. She shook her head at your playfulness while kicking open your door.
Sevika tossed you onto the bed as gently as possible, and your eyes widened at the suggestive position you were in. She loomed over you, shadowing your body. Your knees were slightly bent and legs spread, almost inviting her between.
You could imagine her crawling up to you, hands pushing your knees apart to draw your face into hers. Instead, she sat beside you, leaning against the headboard and lighting a cigar.
Rolling your eyes, you pulled the blankets over you and laid facing away from her. She snickered at your mood change and patted you on the shoulder, "I want pancakes."
You didn't respond, humming at the thought of food. For the next several minutes, you could hear her mindlessly flicking her zippo top open and closed, flame flicking on and off.
You imagined her thick fingers against the cool metal, fire illuminating her always-bruised knuckles. Then, you imagined her fingers on your waist, then in your hairâ
You groaned, shoving your face in the pillow, attempting to drown out the thoughts. The sound of her zippo halted before a small tiss, was heard.
You could feel the weight shift behind you as she moved to lay down, resting a hand on your back. Shimmying away from her touch, you rolled over to face her.
Sevika's eyes opened, and you immediately missed the peaceful look on her face. Now her brow was cocked and her lips curled downward.
Her grey eyes bore into yours as you spoke, "Only my girlfriend should be touching me in bed like that."
You mocked her words from earlier, but without any harshness. Her lips drew into a tight line, "I get it. You aren't into women. Im not trying anything funny."
She didn't have to say it because you knew she wouldn't. But a part of you didn't quite mind if she did.
"Okay, thenâ"
You picked up a few pillows, placing them between your bodies. "There."
She deadpanned, "Are you serious?"
You snickered, not responding, before turning back to your original position. After a few seconds, you heard her sigh and lay back down, definitely facing you. Sevika reached over the barrier to tug the blanket further up your frame, shielding you from the cold.
She treated you better than any man had, and you both knew it. Maybe you'll finally do something about it over some drinks tomorrow.
i laaaaauuuvvvvvvv best friend sevika, idk if ill make a part 2 tho, i have some more fics coming out soon, some kind of suggestive?? and nsfw..????!! so follow for that, all cumming this week
taglist: @thequeenreaders @hangezoes-wife @thesecondhandwoman @slut4sevika @kylorey25 @sylencr @jinxjinxjinx12 @morphids
comment to be added <333
#sevika#arcane#sevika arcane#sevika x reader#arcane sevika#arcane netflix#sevika arcane x reader#lesbian#wlw#need that#suggestive#minors dni#arcane x reader#fanfic#x reader
1K notes
¡
View notes
Text
My Greatest Joy
IVE Yujin x Male Reader
16k words
'A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty.' â The Year of Magical Thinking
18+ smut
The Birth Crisis. The Great Vanishing. The Specter of Demographic Collapse. The media couldnât decide on a name, only that it was happening. Some said Korea would be empty in a century. Others, ten years. Twenty-five, if they were feeling generous. A hysterical pendulum swing between denial and terror, between think-tank white papers and government campaigns urging citizens to bureaucratize what was once spontaneous: love, sex, reproduction.
But in Dunsan-dong, no one talked about it. Not really. Not in any meaningful way. The village shrank in slow motion. Affairs stopped happeningânobody had the energy, or the audience. The local divorce lawyer quietly removed âInfidelityâ from his services, then shut down altogether. Playgrounds grew ghostly. The corner food stands, once territorial battlegrounds for unruly teenagers, went bankrupt one by one. âKids these days grow up too fast,â one ajumma said, as if that were the whole explanation.
And yet, in all this entropy, two were born. A statistical error. A miracle.
Miracle is not hyperbole. In two decades, the birth count had been three. The bureaucratic failure of Loveâyes, Love, capital L, the thing that was supposed to be instinctual, inevitable, the thing people built whole religions and K-dramas aroundâhad finally completed its slow bureaucratic death. Love was no longer a force. Love was paperwork.
Except for two people.
For them, Love was everything.
â
'One move and you'll split open like a badly wrapped present.' âIs that your professional opinion?' 'That's my twenty years of keeping-you-alive opinion.' She's biting her lower lip, the way she always does when she's trying not to smile at your stupidity. 'And I really don't want to explain to some emergency room doctor why I have a boy bleeding out in my room at 2 AM.'
The gash should hurt more. Six inches of red spite across your forearm, but all you can focus on is how Yujin's looking at itâlike she's found something breakable in a world made of steel.
'I really fucked up.' 'Did you?' Her touch finds your good arm, barely there. 'Or did you do exactly what you meant to?'
The lamp makes everything soft. She's wearing your t-shirtâthe one you left here that summer when the AC broke. Cotton worn thin enough to catch shadowy curves underneath. Silk pajama bottoms that whisper secrets when she moves. You try not to notice. You notice everything.
'This might need stitches.' 'Are you volunteering?' 'Shut up and hold still.' But there's laughter in her voice, the kind that makes your chest tight. 'Some of us are trying to work miracles here.'
The first-aid kit looks wrong in her small hands. Those hands that used to patch up your scraped knees, that still know exactly where you're breakable.
'Remember that time in third grade?' Her fingers ghost over your skin. 'When you tried to convince me you could fly?' 'I could've.' 'You broke your arm.' 'Minor setback.' She laughs, soft and close. 'Nothing's changed, has it?'
Everything's changed. The way moonlight catches in her hair now, how her perfume makes your head swim, the careful distance she keeps even when she's touching you. But you say, 'Not the important things.'
Her breath hits your arm in warm little puffs as she works. Clean movements. No hesitation. Like she's mapping something she never forgot.
'Almost done.' Her thumb traces the edge of the bandage. 'Next time try not to bleed on my carpet?' 'Yujin-ah.' 'Mm?' 'Thank you.'
She looks up. Those eyes crack something in your chest. Then she smiles and whatever was cracked turns to stardust.
'So how'd it happen? And don't say you just slipped, because I know all your clumsy excuses by heart.' 'Just slipped.' 'Onto what? Did some wandering samurai leave their sword in Dunsan-dong?' 'You never know what you'll find these days.' 'Hey.' Her voice goes quiet, the way it used to when she'd tell you secrets at midnight. 'Tell me? I promise to not scold youâŚmuch.'
Face to face now. The universe narrows to this: her eyes on yours, her hands still on your skin.
'Okay.' You gesture with your good arm. 'Window.' 'What did youâ' Her voice catches. 'If you've done something wildâ'
Then you smile.
You watch her shoulders drop. It's a small thing, being able to do thisâturn her static to quiet. Not exactly Superman stuff, but it's the only superpower you'd keep if they were dealing them out.
She knows. You can see it in how she movesâlittle half-dance steps to the window, taking your words as isâhopefully, something good. The curtain whispers. You don't watch. Can't. Your skin's electric with her lingering smellâsomething you'd bottle if you could, except that'd ruin it, the particular way her skin holds the perfume.
The silence stretches until you think you might snap. Thenâ
'What am I supposed to be looking at? Because all I see is Mrs. Kim's cat trying to fight a streetlight again, andâ' She stops. 'What's it say?'
'Let me make sure I'm reading this right.' She's still facing the window, but you can hear the smile breaking through, eyes transforming into pure joy. 'Because either someone's confessing to me via Christmas lights at 2 AM, or the neighborhood's having a very very specific power outage.'
'These past yearsâ' 'Wait.' She spins around, eyes catching lamplight. 'Did you seriously string up every Christmas light in Dunsan-dong just toâ' She takes three quick steps toward you, stops. 'The lights outside the convenience store. The ones from the coffee shop. Even the ones fromâ' Her eyes go wide. 'You didn't.'
'Old Mr. Park drives a hard bargain.' 'His birthday lights? The ones he's kept since forever?' 'To be fair, they were already purple. Worked with the aesthetic.' 'And what exactly did you promise him?' 'Just my eternal servitude. And maybe repainting his fence.' 'The whole fence?'
'Both sides.'
She shakes her head, but her smile could light up the whole neighborhood. 'You're insane. Completely insane. Do you know how many people I had to convince about your mental well-being?'
'Had to?'
'Have to. Present tense.' She's between your knees now, playing with your shirt hem like it's suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. 'Though I guess now I'll have to change my story to "dating a lunatic who steals Christmas lights and nearly loses an arm trying to spell out love confessions."'
Your heart stumbles. 'Dating?'
'Well,' her borrowed shirt slips further, showing more shoulder. 'I mean, you did just write my name in stars.'
'They're Christmas lights.'
'Same difference.' Her fingers trail up your arm, careful of the bandage. 'Very romantic Christmas lights.'
'Does that meanâ'
'It means anyone crazy enough to risk tetanus and Mr. Park's wrath deserves at least dinner.' A pause, then softer: 'Maybe breakfast too, if they play their cards right.'
'Just breakfast?'
'Don't push your luck.' But she's smiling that smileâthe one that's always been just for you.
'Yujin-ah.'
'Mm?'
'All these years, did you everâ'
'Every day.' She doesn't let you finish. Doesn't need to. 'Every single day.'
'Can Iâ'
Her mouth finds yours: the way her lips part like flower petals at dawn, soft and inevitable. Her breath mingles with yours. There's the perfect arch of her spine, the way her breasts press warm against your chest through thin cotton, how her hips seek yours with an instinct older than thought. The taste of her, sweet milk tea and something darker, something that makes your blood sing. Her hands flutter at your neck, startled, before finding home in your hair, and there's that smell of herâwoody, floral, fruityâthat makes you dizzy, makes you forget where you end and she begins. Delicate sounds escape her, primal and pure, vibrating through both your bodies like a struck chord. Then she's pulling back, but her body stays honestâtrembling, burning: alive with new knowledge.
'Sorry,' she whispers. 'Got carried away. We should probably wait until your wound is healed.' Her smile is so reassuring, masking the softest disappointment that her eyes couldn't hide.Â
But she was in luck.
Your fingers circle her wrist mid-fret, right as she's about to check your bandage for the seventh time. Her skin is cool against yours, pulse like a hummingbird.
'Stop fretting.'
'I'm not fretting.' But she's barely holding back a smile, eyes bright with something more than just lamplight. 'I'm calculating how many years Mr. Park's going to make you repaint his fence.'
'Already negotiated.' You tug her closer, feeling the way she pretends to resist. 'Two coats, both sides, and my firstborn child.'
'Bold of you to negotiate with children that don't exist.' She settles between your knees anyway, like she's found her way home.
'Yet.'
Her borrowed shirtâyour shirtâslips further off one shoulder. 'You're impossible.'
'Impossible enough to steal every Christmas light in Dunsan-dong.'
'Borrow,' she corrects, fingers playing with your collar. 'We're calling it borrowing. Sounds less felonious.'
'Look who's being responsible.'
'Someone has to be.' But she's leaning closer, breath warm against your mouth. 'Since you've apparently lost your mind.'
'Lost it years ago.' Your thumb traces her lower lip. 'Right around the time you started wearing my clothes.'
She makes this soundâhalf laugh, half something else entirely. 'Smooth talker.'
'Only for you.'
Her hands find your chest, but there's no real resistance in it. 'If you tear those stitchesâ'
The kiss swallows her warning. This one's differentâdeeper, like you're trying to taste every year you've waited. She makes a sound that turns your blood to starlight, fingers curling into your shirt like she's afraid you'll disappear.
'That's cheating,' she whispers when you break apart.
'Is it working?'
The lamp catches gold in her eyes. 'Always will.'
Your hand finds skin at the small of her back. She arches like a cat stretching into sunlight.
'You're staring.'
'Can't help it.'
'Try.'
'Make me.'
She kisses you this timeâsoft, sweet, dangerous. When she pulls back, her smile could outshine every stolen light in the neighborhood.
'We should probablyâ' she starts.
'Probably.'
Her fingers find the hem of her shirt. Your shirt. Details.
What follows is an exercise in creative problem-solving. One functional arm between you, too much cotton, not enough coordination. Her hair gets caught. You both laugh. The shirt wins the first round.
'Left,' she instructs.
'My left or your left?'
'Waitâhere⌠I got it.'
The second attempt goes better. The shirt surrenders its hold, and suddenly there's just Yujinâall golden skin and starlight. Her bra's simple beige cotton, but the way it holds her could make Michaelangelo weep.
'You're staring again.'
'Still can't help it.'
She kisses you quiet, hands on your shoulders, pulling you closer. Everything soft and warm and perfect.
'Can Iâ' your fingers find her back, trace lace.
'Yes.' Another kiss. 'Please.'
The bra falls away like a secret finally told. You forget how words work.
The air hums with the weight of revelationâher body an altar, every contour a psalm. Your breath tangles as you drink her in: the bronze aureoles, the arch of her ribs like a vaulted sanctuary, the pulse fluttering at her throat like a caged sparrow. She shivers beneath your gaze: the raw vulnerability of a soul laid bare.
Your palms ascend her sides, mapping the smoothness, the glory of it allâeach sigh, each hitch of muscle, a dialect you ache to memorize. She tips her head back as your thumbs brush the underswell of her breasts, a whimper dissolving. âMore,â she murmurs, not a demand but a prayer, a beg; her fingers knotting in your hair as if you might slip away like smoke.
You oblige, slow as honey, mouth tracing the salt-sweet hollow of her collarbone. Her skin blooms beneath your lipsâpetal-soft, fever-warmâas you chart a path lower, lower, until her nipple grazes your tongue. She gasps, back arching. Her hands clutch at you, anchor and plea, as you worship her with unhurried devotion, savoring each tremor, each stuttered breath.
When her legs partâa silent invitationâitâs your turn to shudder. The heat of her radiates through the last fragile barrier, a molten promise. You press closer, the rigid heat of your unclothed shaft straining against her thigh, a visceral counterpoint to her softness. She rolls her hips, deliberate, and you groan as her warmth grinds against you, friction sparking like flint.
You linger there, foreheads pressed, breaths mingling, the world narrowed to the space between heartbeats. Her eyes lock with yours, galaxies swirling in their depths. âI want to feel you,â she whispers, voice trembling. âAll of you.â
You move as tides do: inevitable, reverent. Her thighs cradle your hips as you guide yourself to her entrance, the head of your shaft slick with Her. The first breach is a shared gaspâa threshold crossed in tandem. She tightens around you, velvet heat clenching like a fist around your length, and you still, trembling, sweat-slicked and spellbound. Her nails score your shoulders, anchoring you to the agony of slowness.
âSlowly,â she breathes, and you obey, each fractional advance a pilgrimage. Her fingers trace your jaw, your lips, as if memorizing the shape of this moment. When youâre sheathed fully, time suspends. Her lashes flutter closed, a tear escaping as she whispers, 'Yes.'
You move in thrusts. Her sighs crest into whimpers, into chants of your name, each syllable a spark in the gathering storm. Her breasts sway with the rhythm, nipples brushing your chest, while your hands grip the flare of her hips, guiding her into the tide. Around you, the room dissolves: there is only her skin, her scent, the liquid pull of her around your shaftâa mosaic of need and nectar, each fragment a revelation.
You kiss her deeply, tasting the salt of her surrender, as the world fractures, reforms, and fractures again.
â
Sheets tangled like an afterthought. A leg hooked over yours, pinning you in place with the quiet authority of someone who has long since decided where they belong. The desk fan ticks through its slow, mechanical arc, stirring the air, stirring her hair, making it brush your chin in the softest, smallest way possible.
She shifts, just enough for her ribs to press against yours. You feel her breathing. Deep. Slow. Listening.
âI have an audition next week,â she says, voice barely above a whisper.
âFor what?â
âCommunity theater. Spring show.â A pause. Then, quietly, âItâs dumb.â
âYou donât do dumb things.â
She laughs. A real one. The kind that scrunches her nose a little, that makes her shoulders shake just enough to jostle you.
âExcept this,â she murmurs. Her fingers trace slow circles on your chest.
âThis was a strategic decision.â
âOh?â
âCarefully calculated.â
She laughs again, softer this time. Her breath is warm where it spills against your collarbone. You could live here. Right here, in the space between her voice and her warmth and the way her hair tickles your skin.
She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at you. The Christmas lights outside flicker purples and blues across her face, her skin, making her look like something caught between a dream and waking. Her smile is quiet. Not big, not blinding. Just there. Something sheâs forgotten to hide.
âHey,â she says.
âHey.â
Her fingers tap lightly against your chest. âRemember when you proposed to me behind the school?â
âWhich time.â
She grins. âThe time I lost the play to Wonyoung and cried so hard I got a nosebleed.â
âAh. I told you it didnât matter because youâd always be the lead in my story.â
She groans, dropping her forehead to your shoulder. âYou were so corny.â
âStill am.â
âYeah,â she murmurs. âYou are.â
You feel her smile against your skin.
The fan clicks on again, stirring the night, the space between you. The crickets outside hum in harmony with the distant sound of a trainâfaint, but there. The whole world is slowing down. Breathing with you.
She shifts again, nestles closer. Her lips brush your skinâyour collarbone, then just above your heart.
âI can hear you thinking,â you say.
She sighs, slow and steady. âJust⌠happy.â
You donât say anything. Just hold her tighter. Like keeping her close might keep the moment from slipping away.
She pulls back, just far enough to see you, really see you. Her hair is a mess. Her lips are still swollen. The Christmas lights turn her eyes into something impossible, something endless.
âI love you, you know,â she says, like itâs the easiest thing in the world. Like sheâs never known anything else.
You smile. âI know.â
She kisses you. Slow, deep, soft. Like a secret. Like an answer.
The fan ticks. The lights flicker. The night stretches on.
â
It was supposed to be small. A local theater gig, a footnote in her life story. Something that kept her busy while she figured out the rest. That was the plan.
Then a casting director walked into the wrong show on the right night. A single scene, a single line delivered with the kind of weight that makes people stop chewing their popcorn. Two weeks later, sheâs everywhere.
At first, itâs just murmurs. Articles in the culture section. Buzzwords like promising, raw talent, the next big thing. Then the billboards go up. Magazines with her faceâhalf-laughing, half-serious, eyes catching the camera like they know something you donât. The first time you see one, itâs plastered on the side of a bus stop you used to share, back when the only lines she rehearsed were whispered promises and badly sung pop songs.
Now sheâs too big for Dunsan-dong.
Not just big. Seismic.
Koreaâs sweetheart, the industry's new obsession. Agencies circle like sharks with briefcases, smiling through teeth polished for negotiation. They offer her everythingâmoney, sponsorships, a life where she doesnât have to wait for the subway or count change at convenience stores. And she takes it, not because sheâs greedy, but because this is what she was always meant to be.
You watch it happen the way people watch slow-motion car crashes. Helpless. Horrified. A little bit in awe.
Because hereâs the thing they never warn you about when you love someone who's destined for greatness: fame isnât a door. Itâs a chasm. You canât walk through it holding hands.
At first, you convince yourself nothingâs changed. You still talk, still text. But her replies come slower, her voice more rehearsed. The calls happen between set breaks, her voice filtered through exhaustion and bad reception.
Then the interviews start. The talk shows. The press tours.
She gets good at the answers, the little smiles, the artful dodges. The first time someone asks if sheâs dating anyone, she hesitates. Just for a second. Just long enough for the internet to notice.
You tell yourself it doesnât mean anything. That sheâs protecting you. That this is just part of the machine.
But a few weeks later, you see a headline:
âThe Nationâs New Star: Who is Yujinâs Mystery First Love?â
And for the first time, it hits youâreally hits youâhow easy it is to be rewritten.
The tabloids build their own history, constructing boyfriends from old classmates, exes from co-stars. They donât name you. They donât have to. Because in the world theyâve built, you donât exist.
And maybe, you start to think, maybe you never did.
Maybe love isnât enough when itâs up against the weight of the world. Maybe you were naive to think you could be something more than a footnote in her legend.
Maybe you were never really two. Maybe it was always just her.
Moving forward. Rising higher.
And youâ
Youâre just the idiot standing still, watching her disappear into the stars.
â
Yujin called you up.
The night was cutting: cold, unrelenting Snow blew sideways, a thousand tiny knives catching on your exposed skin, but you sat there anywayâlegs crossed, hands in your lap, all polite.
The bench was old, paint curling at the edges, the kind of place people only sat when they had no better options. You smiled at the irony.
Youâd met Yujin in worse places. Loved her in worse places.
And maybe, just maybe, lost her in worse places too.
Then she emerged from the fog, a silhouette first, then a shape, then a person.
Five benches away. Maybe six. Distance had become an abstract concept, like time, like certainty, like the idea that loveâreal loveâwas enough to hold the weight of the whole goddamn world.
She didnât sit. Didnât hesitate.
âLetâs break up.â
The words didnât belong to the girl who used to steal fries from your plate, who used to call you at 2 AM because she saw a cat in the street and thought you needed to know. They belonged to someone else. Someone who had spent hours, maybe days, rehearsing.
Her voice was final. Her eyes were final. Everything about her, from the way she stood to the way the wind refused to touch her, was final.
You shouldâve said something.
Anything.
But the air left your lungs in one sharp exhale, stolen by the weight of three syllables arranged in an execution sentence.
The snow caught in her hair, in her lashes, in the hollow curve of her collarbone, and she lookedâgod, she lookedâlike something from a dream you had once, the kind you woke from gasping, reaching for someone who wasnât there.
And then she wasnât.
She turned. Walked away. Snow swallowed her whole.
You couldâve chased her. Couldâve fallen to your knees, begged, pleaded, made a scene, made a fool of yourself. Couldâve grabbed her wrist, reminded her that you were not just some chapter to be closed. Couldâve thrown every memory, every quiet moment, every touch, every whispered I love you in her face like proof of something sacred.
But you didnât.
Because Yujin never spoke like this. Not unless she meant it.
And thatâs what gutted you most.
You sat there long after she was gone, staring at the place she used to be, like if you looked hard enough, you could rewind time, unbreak whatever fragile thing had finally snapped between you.
The sky stretched empty above you, stars sharp against the ink. You tried counting them. Tried counting anything to stop counting the ways youâd just lost her.
One star. Two. One mistake. Two. Three years. Four. Five benches away.
Maybe six. The wind howled, and you let it.
â
The beerâs flat, but thatâs not why it tastes bad.
You lean against the bar, watching foam dissolve into something thin and lifeless, the way good things always do. Three years distilled into neon lights and a tab you donât remember opening.
Sheâs 24 now. You keep count because she was impossible to avoidâbillboards, subway ads, every damn screen flashing her face like she owns the world. And maybe she does. The brightest star, the nationâs darling, the girl who left and became.
You should be proud. You tell yourself you are.
But pride doesnât feel like this. Doesnât sit heavy in your ribs like grief. Doesnât twist like a blade when you flip through channels and land on her.
The latest drama. Friends-to-lovers, some rom-com fluff. A special kind of hell, watching her fall for someone else, even if itâs scripted.
And the kissâgod, the kiss.
Over and over. Different angles, different takes. The guy has trepid shoulders and a weaker mouth. You want to reach through the screen, grab him by his stupid collar, shake him until he understands: You donât get to kiss Yujin like that unless you mean it.
The beer in your hand swirls, a storm in a pint glass. You watch it spin, thinking about how everything these days seems determined to drown you.
Then Roach walks in.
Roachâhalf philosopher, half walking disaster. A man with too many past lives and a prosthetic eye that glows faintly under bar light, making him look part machine, part ghost.
âThat recovery group, theyâre solid,â he says, by way of hello. His voice is like chewing on gravel. âMightâve been able to quit if I stuck around.â â4.8 stars on Google, right?â âRight. Wait. Howâd you know that?â His synthetic eye sits there while the real one narrows. âBeen there.â âWhat?â âBeen there. You recommended it.â Roach laughs, short and sharp. âThat was the review forum.â âMemoryâs fuzzy.â âFuzzy? Youâre getting soft.â âAll those reviews read like discount novels, Roach.â âWhy the hell would I write reviews?â âSame reason you do anythingâto feel something.â He smacks your chest, hard enough to make you look up. âYujin broke you. Plain as day.â Your throat tightens. The name alone feels like a switchblade. âItâs not like that⌠anymore.â âSure looks like it.â âHowâs that?â âYouâre on the leaderboard in this bar. Theyâre bleeding you dry, and youâre letting them.â You donât argue. Just take another sip. âDonât deserve this money anyway.â âThen give it elsewhere. Thereâs an orphanage across the street.â âDonât play saint with me.â âItâs just a block away.â âFuck off.â âJust a blockââ âFine.â You press your glass against the table, like the condensation might hold you steady. âIâll think about it.â Roach grins like heâs won something. âEver watch her show?â he asks, tilting his flask toward you. You hesitate. âNot really.â âBullshit. Saw you yesterday. That rain scene.â Your grip tightens around the glass. The rain scene. You were there. Back when âweâ still meant something. Holding her coat between takes, watching her shiver between scripted heartbreaks. âShe always cried pretty,â you murmur. âEven back then.â Roach nods, takes a sip. âTell me about it.â You do. You donât mean to, but you do. âNothing to tell,â you start. âI was nobody. She was becoming somebody. Simple math.â âThatâs not what I heard.â âYeah? Whatâd you hear?â âThat you proposed. Night before Seoul.â The beer sours in your mouth. âWho told you that?â âDoes it matter? True though, isnât it?â You let out something thatâs supposed to be a laugh. âGot the ring from my grandmother. Vintage Tiffany, art deco. Yujin loved vintage.â âAnd?â âAnd she cried. Not the pretty kind.â You see it now, clear as the night it happenedâher shaking hands, the way she pressed the box back into yours like it burned. âSaid she couldnât. Said she wasn't ready. I guess that was the foreshadowing: she broke up with me just a week later.â âA choice between you and fame?â âBetween real life and the life sheâd dreamed of since she was six. No contest, really.â Roach doesnât speak for a while. Just stares at the bar like itâs holding the right words. âWhereâs the ring now?â You smirk, but it tastes like blood. âPawned it. Bought a week of blackout drunk and a ticket anywhere else.â Roach exhales, long and low. His eyes flick to your watch, but nothing gold can compare to what you lost. âAnd here you are.â âHere I am.â Bass pulses through the walls, someone screams about love on the dance floor, and the bartender slides another drink toward you like it might fix anything. Roach downs the rest of his flask, claps a hand on your shoulder. âWell. Good luck with that. Got a missus waiting. Let me know when you find one.â You donât look at him. âWe might never speak again.â âDoubt that.â A pat on the back, one final grin. Then heâs gone. You scoff. If ever. And you leave.
â
Seoul in summer is a thing that sticks. To your skin, to your thoughts, to the spaces between breath. Heat rises off the pavement, thick and wet, settling in your lungs like something permanent.
The city is wide awake, but softer at this hour. Convenience store fluorescents hover in the humidity, blurring edges. Subway vents exhale something metallic, ghostly. The crickets donât know they live in a city. They just keep singing.
You walk. Not home, not anywhere. Just walking, because itâs better than stopping.
Stopping means remembering.
Every street corner holds a version of her. The Yujin who stole fries off your plate, who could sleep through a fireworks show, who once convinced you that every ice cream cone tasted better if it was half-melted. Sheâs there, tucked into flickering billboards, frozen mid-laugh on subway ads, threaded between the chords of songs you donât mean to hear.
You take the long way. Five, six corners. Maybe more.
Then the bus stop appears.
Half-forgotten. Almost overgrown. A bench with its paint peeling like old skin, weeds curling around the edges like they might swallow it whole.
You sit. Elbows on knees. Hands folded. Thinking. Not thinking.
The streetlight buzzes. The air is thick with waiting.
Thenâ
A shadow falls across your feet.
A shift in pressure. Not wind, just something. The moment before a storm, before impact, before memory collides with the present and makes a mess of everything.
âWhat are you doing here?â Soft. Not a blade, not a wound. Just a question that lands like an old habit.
You donât need to look. But you do. Because some habits donât break.
Yujin stands there, framed by sodium light, hands tucked into the pockets of a hoodie that looks too soft to exist. No cameras. No entourage. Just her.
And godâjust her is enough to knock the breath out of your chest.
âHiding?â Soft. Like the question isnât a question, just something to fill the space between heartbeats.
You donât look up right away. You know the shape of her. Youâve spent years knowing it. The way she stands, weight slightly to one side. The way her voice lands, gentle, edged with something only you ever got to hear.
But you look anyway. Because itâs her. And some rules of the universe donât change.
Yujin.
Not the Yujin on billboards, the Yujin on magazine covers, the Yujin who belongs to a nation that adores her.
Just Yujin.
Hair a little messy. Hoodie swallowing her frame. Hands tucked into the sleeves like sheâs bracing against a cold that doesnât exist.
Andâgod. Her eyes. Still warm. Still familiar. Still Dunsan-dong in their quiet, endless way.
She tilts her head. Smiles. The kind of smile that makes you feel seventeen again, like you just said something stupid and brilliant in the same breath.
âHiding?â she repeats, softer this time.
âHiding implies I have something to hide from.â
âAnd do you?â
A pause. Thenâ
âMaybe.â
A hum. A small shift in weight. Then she sits. Just like that. No asking, no hesitation. Just sits, close enough that her knee brushes yours, like muscle memory, like the past hasnât completely given up on you yet.
The air smells like street food, like summer. Somewhere, a neon sign hums its last flickers before shutting off for the night.
She bumps her shoulder against yours.
âMissed you, you know.â
You turn your head. Blink. Sheâs watching you, like the sentence wasnât a trap, wasnât something heavy. Just⌠true.
You swallow.
âYeah?â
She nods, pulling her sleeves over her hands. âYeah.â
The night stretches. Not awkward. Not tight with something unspoken. Just easy. Just⌠there.
âHowâs life?â she asks.
âOh, you know. Full of bad choices.â
âAny good ones?â
âStill deciding.â
She breathes out a laugh, soft.
You glance at her, at the curve of her nose, the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear like sheâs done since she was a kid.
âYou lookâŚâ she starts, then tilts her head.
âWhat?â
âThe same.â
You huff a laugh. âThatâs a lie.â
âNo.â She nudges your knee again. âYouâre just⌠still you.â
And itâs so simple, the way she says it. So casual, like she hasnât just pulled the breath from your lungs.
You donât answer. Not yet.
She leans in slightly.
âStill drink too much coffee?â
âStill sleep through earthquakes?â
Her grin widens. âStill remember that?â
âSome things donât change.â
âSome do.â
A small shift. A glance. A fraction closer.
And the city moves around you, oblivious.
But you?
You stay still.
You stay here.
Yujin sighs, long and soft, tilting her head back, watching the streetlight cast flickering halos through the humidity.
âSeoulâs different at night,â she murmurs. âSeoulâs different all the time.â
She hums, half in agreement, half just because she likes the sound. You forgot about thatâthe way she used to make tiny noises when she was thinking, little musical notes that filled in the gaps between words.
âFeels slower now,â she says. âThatâs just you.â She turns to you, eyes warm. âYeah?â You nod. âEverything moves too fast for you these days. You forgot what slow feels like.â A small smile. âRemind me?â Something tightens in your chest. She doesnât mean it like that. Doesnât mean it like anything more than what it isâa quiet moment, a quiet ask. But still. You shift, leaning back against the bench, stretching your arms across the top like you own the night. Like it doesnât own you. âAlright,â you say. âLesson one: sitting still.â She huffs a laugh but follows your lead, sinking deeper into the wood, legs stretching out. Her foot knocks against yours. âLike this?â âYeah.â A beat. âAnd then what?â âNothing.â She raises a brow. âThatâs it?â âThatâs it.â She exhales, slow and thoughtful. âYou always made things feel easy,â she says, voice quiet, like sheâs afraid of disrupting the moment. You glance at her, and sheâs not looking at youâjust at the night, at the city, at something only she can see. âNot sure thatâs true,â you admit. âNo, it is.â She pulls her sleeves over her hands again, eyes flicking toward you. âYou made me feel easy. Like⌠breathing.â Something inside you curls at the edges. âYujinââ âItâs okay.â She shakes her head, soft, smiling like sheâs telling you not to carry it too heavily. âIâm just remembering.â The city hums around you both. A distant motorbike rumbles past. Somewhere, an old radio plays a song you half recognize. You look at her again. Hair slightly mussed. Eyes bright, soft, familiar. Like she was never gone at all. She shifts, tucking one leg under the other, hands still hidden in her sleeves.
âYou ever think about calling?â Her voice is light. Not demanding. Not accusing. Just... wondering. You let out a slow breath. âYou ever think about picking up?â A small laugh, exhale-soft. âYeah.â You glance at her, and sheâs already looking at you, chin propped against her knee, smile barely-there but real. âBut I figured you needed time,â she says. You swallow. âDid I?â Her fingers twitch against the fabric of her hoodie. âI donât know. Maybe I just told myself that so I wouldnât call.â The honesty knocks something loose in your chest. You donât say anything for a moment. The city moves around you both, neon humming against the wet pavement, the smell of night air thick with too many things. Then, quietlyâ âThree years is a long time, Yujin.â âI know.â
She shifts, slow, careful, like sheâs turning over a fragile thought in her hands. âBut I never wanted it to be forever.â Your throat tightens. You want to ask her then why did you leave like it was? But you donât. Because you already know the answer. Because she was always meant for something bigger. Because she was scared, because you were scared, because maybeâjust maybeâback then, love wasnât enough to hold everything steady.
Instead, you say, âYou look good, you know.â Her lips curve, soft. âYou do too.â You scoff, tipping your head back against the bench. âLiar.â âI never lied to you.â That shuts you up. For a moment, you let it sink in. The weight of her voice, the way she says it like itâs a fact, like itâs something you shouldâve never doubted. Then, softerâ âYou really never called?â she asks. âI really never called.â She doesnât look away. âWhy?â You inhale. Let the air sit heavy in your lungs. âBecause I thought youâd be better off without me.â The words land, quiet and unpolished. Yujin blinks. Thenâ âYou idiot.â And then sheâs moving, shifting closer, her fingers finding your sleeve, gripping just slightly, just enough for you to feel her there, to feel her warmth against the fabric. âDo you know how many times I almost showed up at your door?â she says, voice soft but steady. âHow many times I wanted to tell you that I was still here? That Iââ She stops. Exhales. Looks away, looks back. âThat I missed you?â You swallow. Sheâs close now. Not quite touching, but nearly. The air between you charged, something slow, something waiting. Your heart does something complicated in your chest. âYou missed me?â you murmur. Yujin smiles, small, fond. âOf course, you idiot.â The city hums. The night exhales. And youâ You donât move away. Yujin stays close. Close enough for you to count her breaths, to feel the warmth of her body radiating through the space between you. You should say something. You should do something. Instead, you just sit there. And YujinâYujin lets you.
Her fingers stay curled into your sleeve, loose but certain. Like sheâs testing gravity, checking to see if youâll stay, if youâll shift, if youâll remind her that youâre real. She tilts her head, watching you the way she used toâlike sheâs memorizing you, like sheâs trying to fit you back into the version of her life where you were always supposed to be. And maybe she is. Maybe sheâs wondering how you look the same but feel different. Maybe sheâs cataloging the way your shoulders have set a little heavier, the way your mouth curves in thought before you speak. Or maybe sheâs just looking. Like she never stopped. âSo,â she says, voice light, careful. âWhat now?â A question too big for this moment. A question you canât answer, not yet. So you do what you always do. You deflect. You lean back, arms stretching across the top of the bench, looking at her out of the corner of your eye. âShouldnât I be asking you that?â She lifts a brow. âYou were always the planner.â She snorts. âHardly.â âOh? I seem to remember someone who had color-coded schedules for summer break.â âThat was one summer.â
âStill counts.â She exhales a laugh, tipping her head back against the bench, looking up at the sky. âOkay, fine. Maybe I was a little obsessed with plans.â âA little?â
She shoots you a look, but itâs all warmth. All familiarity. âYou liked it,â she says. âIt was efficient. It was cute.â
You hesitate. Just slightly. But she catches it. Of course she does. Her smile softens.
âYou can say it, you know.â You tilt your head, pretending to be confused. âSay what?â âThat you missed me too.â
Something about the way she says it makes your stomach pull tight. Not teasing. Not fishing. Just true. You turn back to the street, watching the way the neon catches in the puddles, turning them into something like galaxies.
âYou already know.â Yujin hums. âI want to hear it anyway.â You exhale.
Three years of distance. Three years of silence. Three years of trying to unwrite the part of your life where she belonged.
âYeah,â you say, voice quiet. âI missed you.â
Yujin doesnât say anything right away. Thenâ
Her hand slides fully into your sleeve, warm against your wrist. A small thing. A quiet thing. But itâs enough.
âGood,â she murmurs.
You sit there like that for a while. Neither of you moving. Neither of you pulling away. And for the first time in yearsâ
The silence between you doesnât feel like an ending. It feels like a beginning.
Her hand stays there. Not gripping. Not holding. Just resting, warm against your wrist, like it belongs there. Like it never left.
You let out a slow breath. Three years. Three whole years. And somehow, thisâher, the quiet press of her skin against yours, the way sheâs just hereâfeels so natural it makes your ribs ache.
âWhat are we doing, Yujin?â
Soft. Not accusing. Justâjust needing to know if she feels it too, if this night is supposed to mean what you think it does.
She tilts her head, slow. Her hair slips over her shoulder, catching the streetlight in its strands. âTalking?â
A small, careful smile.
You huff. âIs that what this is?â
She hums, shifts a little closer, foot knocking against yours. âI donât know. Feels nice, though.â
Nice. Nice, like it isnât everything. Nice, like you arenât suddenly breathing her in again, like your body hasnât been on high alert since the moment she walked into your orbit tonight.
You roll your wrist slightly, just enough so that your fingers brush hers. She doesnât pull away.
The city hums. The night exhales. And thenâ
âDo you want to go for a walk?â she asks.
Itâs an easy question. A simple one. But something about it knots itself into your chest, makes your throat tight. Because thatâs always how it was with her. Yujin never asked for big things. Just small ones, one after another, adding up to something impossible to resist.
Do you want to get ice cream? Do you want to climb onto the roof? Do you want to watch the rain with me? Do you want to stay?
And you had always said yes.
You glance at her now, at the way sheâs watching you, hopeful but not pushing, patient in the way only she could ever be. A walk. A moment. A step toward something you donât quite know how to name.
You exhale, slow. Then you stand.
âLead the way.â
Her smileâgod. Her smile.
She slips her hand fully into yours, easy, thoughtless, like muscle memory. Like no time has passed at all.
And youâ You let her.
The street hums around you, the last traces of night shifting toward something softer. The vendors have mostly packed up, but the scent of grilled meat and frying oil still lingers, floating warm through the thick summer air.
Yujinâs hand stays in yours. Not tight. Not hesitant. Just there. Like it was always meant to be.
You walk without direction. Just moving, side by side, the way you used to. Her footsteps match yours easily, a quiet sync neither of you planned.
âWhere are we going?â you ask, voice low.
âNowhere,â she says.
It makes you smile.
A few years ago, that answer would have annoyed her. Yujin, the girl with color-coded schedules, with plans so detailed they might as well have been carved into stone. But now she just says it like itâs enough. Like itâs the whole point.
She swings your hands slightly, absentminded. âYou always walked like this,â she murmurs.
âLike what?â
She shrugs. âLike the city doesnât own you.â
You breathe in, slow. The neon of old convenience stores, the occasional flickering of a streetlamp. âI guess I never let it.â
She hums. âI did.â
You glance at her. âYujinââ
âItâs okay,â she cuts in, smiling. âI wanted to. I justââ She exhales, presses her lips together for a moment, then shakes her head. âI forgot how good it feels to walk like this. Without thinking.â
You squeeze her hand just slightly.
She notices. Her thumb brushes the edge of your palm. Not an accident. Not a mistake.
The city stretches ahead of you, quiet. âYou ever think about coming back?â you ask.
She doesnât answer right away. Her fingers tighten around yours, just a little.
âI used to dream about it,â she says, voice softer now. âIâd wake up thinking I was still in Dunsan-dong. That Iâd step outside and find you waiting, like always.â
Your throat goes tight. She turns her head, studies your face in the flickering light.
âBut I was scared,â she says, gentle. âWhat if you were different? What if I was?â
You donât look away. âAnd now?â
A breath. A small, small smile. âI think I was scared of the wrong thing.â
Your heart stumbles.
She slows, pulling you toward the edge of the sidewalk, toward a tiny park that barely qualifies as a parkâa patch of grass, a few trees. The kind of place nobody notices. She stops. Turns to face you.
You should say something. You should say everything.
But she beats you to it.
âYou were always the best part of my life,â she says, voice steady, firm, like sheâs decided something for herself.
Your pulse jumps. âYujinââ
âI just needed you to know that.â
Sheâs looking at you like sheâs bracing for impact. Like sheâs not sure what youâll do with this thing sheâs handing you.
So you take it. Carefully, quietly, the way she deserves.
You lift your handâthe one sheâs not holdingâand tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her breath catches.
âYeah?â you murmur.
She nods.
And then, softerâ
âI think you were always mine.â
You donât know who moves first. Maybe it doesnât matter. Because the next thing you know, her hands are on your face, and your mouth is against hers, and the whole city dissolves around you.
She tastes like everything you remember. Like fine tea and something sweeter, something that was always just hers. She presses closer, hands slipping down to your collar, holding you there like you might disappear.
You wonât. Not this time.
When you pull back, sheâs breathing fast, forehead resting against yours. You smile.
âStill walk like the city doesnât own me?â you murmur.
She laughs, breathless, and pulls you back in.
Yujin kisses like a memory you never let go of. Like muscle memory, like breathing. Like the space between your ribs was always meant to make room for her.
She pulls back, just enough for her nose to brush yours. Her breath is warm, uneven. Her hands are still curled into the collar of your shirt, holding, gripping, keeping.
You open your eyes. Sheâs already looking at you.
Not like the girl on the billboards, not like the actress on screen. Just Yujin. Soft, real, right here.
Her lips are pink and kiss-bitten. She blinks slowly, dazed, like sheâs trying to piece together what just happened. And thenâ
Then she laughs.
Not a big laugh. Not loud. Just this tiny, incredulous little sound. Like she canât believe it. Like she canât believe you.
âWhat?â you murmur.
She shakes her head, smiling, fingers still resting against your collar. âI donât know.â
âThatâs a first.â
She huffs. âShut up.â
âMake me.â
A flicker of something in her eyes. Amusement. Mischief. Something else.
She tilts her head, considering. Then, in one slow movement, she leans inâ
Not kissing you, not quite. Just close enough that her lips barely graze yours. Close enough that you can feel her smile.
âTempting,â she murmurs.
Your heart stumbles.
But then she pulls away, slipping her fingers from your shirt, stepping back onto the sidewalk, like sheâs giving you space to breathe.
You donât need it. But you let her.
The city hums around you, the distant rumble of a car engine, the occasional flicker of neon against damp pavement.
You watch as Yujin tilts her head toward the sky, stretching her arms out, exhaling like sheâs just remembered how.
âI forgot what this feels like,â she admits.
âWhat?â
âNot thinking.â She lets her hands drop to her sides, flexing her fingers. âNot planning every second of my life in advance. Just⌠being.â
You shift, watching her.
âI donât think Iâve done that in years,â she says.
A pause. Then, softlyâ
âStay with me.â
Your heart does something complicated in your chest.
She looks over, a little hesitant now, like sheâs not sure how the words sound out loud.
âI meanââ she starts, but you shake your head.
âOkay.â
Her lips part slightly.
Like she expected you to hesitate. Like she thought sheâd have to convince you.
You step closer. Just enough that the space between you disappears again.
âOkay?â she echoes.
You nod.
Then, quieterââAnywhere.â
Yujinâs face softens.
And god, itâs so easy, the way she looks at you. Like you are something known. Like she is something understood.
She lets out a small, breathy laugh, reaching up to brush her thumb against the corner of your mouth.
âYouâre so stupid,â she murmurs.
âYou love it.â
âYeah,â she says, shaking her head. âYeah, I do.â
She slips her hand back into yours, fingers threading together like itâs the most natural thing in the world. Like she never left. Like you never let her.
And the city stretches ahead, wide open, waiting.
You should take a taxi. That would be the smart thing. A quiet, unremarkable way to disappear from the city before someone notices Koreaâs brightest star walking hand-in-hand with someone who isnât famous, isnât scripted, isnât anything but hers.
But Yujin shakes her head.
âNot yet,â she says.
So you walk.
She keeps close, hood pulled low, fingers curled into yours. The streets are thinning out, the city exhaling into its quieter hours. The air smells like fried oil and pavement, the ghosts of dinner service still hanging in the air.
She bumps into you once, then twice.
âAre you always this bad at walking?â you ask.
She grins, breathless. âI think I forgot how to do it with company.â
Company. Company.
Youâre not sure if youâre relieved of that; that she was too busy to even meander through lazy lovers.
You squeeze her hand. She squeezes back.
Your place isnât far, but when you reach itâwhen Yujin stops at the entrance, tilting her head back to take it all inâsomething shifts.
âHuh.â
Thatâs all she says.
You fight a smirk. âHuh?â
She makes a small noise, arms crossed, like sheâs trying not to look impressed.
âYou kept acting like you lived in a shoebox.â
You raise a brow. âDid I?â
âYeah.â She gestures vaguely to the high-rise, the massive glass windows catching the city lights. âI was expecting something small. Modest. Maybe a bachelor pad with an ugly couch and a tragic little coffee table.â
You scoff. âWhat do you take me for?â
âA very humble man, apparently.â
You shake your head, leading her inside.
The elevator is empty. Too bright. Too quiet.
She rocks on her heels. âSo, do I get the grand tour?â
âI donât know,â you say, pretending to think. âYou might not be able to handle it. Very overwhelming.â
She elbows you in the side, laughing. âShut up.â
The doors slide open.
She steps out first, into the hallway, waiting while you fish your keys from your pocket.
She glances over. âI still canât believe you live here.â
âWhy?â
She shrugs. âItâs just weird.â
âWeird how?â
She scrunches her nose, like she doesnât quite know how to explain it. âI donât know. You just never cared about stuff like this.â
You unlock the door.
She steps inside.
And immediatelyâ
âOh my god.â
You roll your eyes, shutting the door behind you. âWhat now?â
She turns in a slow circle, taking everything in. The high ceilings, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the soft lighting that spills across the polished wood.
âAre you kidding?â she says, spinning toward you, mouth open in faux outrage. âThis is beautiful.â
You snort. âWhat, you thought I was sleeping in a broom closet?â
âYes.â
âWow. Faith in me is strong, I see.â
She grins, moving toward the living room. âNo, itâs justââ She shakes her head, fingers brushing over the back of the sleek, perfectly chosen couch. âYou were always so⌠comfortable with less. I figured, even if you had money, youâd still live like some struggling artist in a shoebox.â
You scoff, kicking off your shoes. âWhat does that even mean?â
âLike, I donât know, sleeping on a mattress on the floor. A single sad chair. Stacks of books everywhere.â
You raise a brow. âSo your image of me is basically a broke philosophy major?â
She shrugs. âIt suited you.â
You exhale a laugh.
âBut this,â she gestures around again, âthis is⌠grown-up.â
âWas I not grown-up before?â
She grins. âNo.â
âWow.â
âBut,â she continues, stepping toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the city spills out in front of her like a living, breathing thing, âI like it. It feels like you.â
You pause.
Not expensive. Not fancy. Not over-the-top.
It feels like you.
You scratch the back of your neck, looking away.
âYeah?â
She nods. âYeah.â
She turns back to the glass, resting her fingers lightly against the frame. âYou can see the river from here.â
You step up beside her.
Itâs a view you see every day, but somehow, with Yujin here, it looks different.
She breathes in. âItâs nice.â
You breathe her in.
âYeah,â you murmur. âIt is.â
She turns.
And then she kisses you.
Not careful. Not planned.
Just Yujin.
She tilts her head, presses up slightly on her toes, and meets your mouth with something warm, something easy.
Itâs not perfect.
She misses, just slightly. Laughs into the kiss. Her hands fumble for your collar but find your wrist instead.
But godâ
Itâs real.
You breathe her in. Hold her waist. Feel her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt like sheâs trying to pull you closer, closer.
She hums against your lips, smiling.
You grin. âYou missed.â
She exhales a laugh. âShut up.â
âMake me.â
She does.
The kisses are clumsy, messy, soft. The kind that happens when two people are trying to remember, trying to relearn each other in real-time.
She tugs at your shirt.
You trip over the edge of the couch.
She gasps.
You land in a heap, tangled together, breathless.
Silence.
Thenâ
She laughs.
Bright, full, head tipped back against your chest.
You groan, letting your head fall back against the cushions. âUnbelievable.â
She grins, shifting so sheâs straddling your lap. âI donât know, I think itâs fitting.â
âOh?â
âYeah.â She leans in, pressing her forehead against yours. âClumsy love suits us.â
Your breath catches.
Then, softerâ
âYeah,â you murmur. âIt does.â
She cups your face, fingers warm against your jaw.
The city hums outside, unaware.
And youâ
You stay here.
With her.
You donât know who says it first.
Maybe her. Maybe you. Maybe neither of youâmaybe itâs just implied, wrapped up in the way sheâs still sitting in your lap, fingers absently tracing patterns over your collarbone, skin warm against yours.
But at some point, between the teasing and the breathless little ohs that slip between kisses, it just becomes a fact.
Youâre both too warm.
Too sticky from the night air, from walking too long through humid Seoul streets, from the thick summer heat pressing against the glass of your windows.
âShower,â she murmurs.
Youâre not sure if itâs a request or a declaration, but either wayâ
âYeah,â you say.
And then youâre moving.
Yujin laughs when you lift her off the couch, stumbling slightly as you navigate through the apartment. She doesnât let go, arms slung loosely around your neck, breath warm against your ear.
âAre you always this dramatic?â she asks.
âYou love it.â
She hums, not denying it.
The bathroom is bright, too bright, the kind of brightness that makes everything feel a little more real than youâre prepared for. But Yujin doesnât hesitateâjust pulls her hoodie over her head, shakes her hair out, steps closer like sheâs done this a thousand times.
Like sheâs never left.
You watch as she turns toward the mirror, tilting her head slightly.
âHavenât been in a place like this in a while,â she muses.
âA bathroom?â
She snorts, shoving you lightly. âNo, this kind of bathroom.â She waves a hand vaguely, indicating the open shower, the marble walls, the soft lighting. âItâs fancy.â
You roll your eyes, reaching for the faucet. âYou act like you donât stay in five-star hotels every week.â
âThatâs different.â
âHow?â
She steps behind you, pressing her chin against your shoulder. âThis feels like you.â
You donât know what to say to that.
So you donât say anything at all.
The water warms between your fingers, steam rising slowly.
Yujin hums, stepping forward, slipping her fingers under the hem of your shirt. âCome on.â
You donât move.
She looks up, amused. âWhat, suddenly shy?â
You scoff, shaking your head, but your pulse jumps when her fingers skate lightly against your stomach.
She grins. âCute.â
âWhat is?â
âThree years apart, and youâre still so you.â
You exhale a laugh, finally pulling your shirt over your head. She does the same, tossing her clothes into a messy pile, and thenâ
Then itâs just you and her, standing too close, bare skin meeting for the first time in what feels like forever.
Her breath catches.
You hear it. Feel it.
And godâ
Sheâs so beautiful.
All golden skin and soft curves and the kind of warmth that could make the whole city feel like home.
She watches you, expectant, waiting.
You donât make her wait long.
You reach for herâ
And she lets you.
Lets you pull her in, lets you kiss her slow, deep, careful, like youâre memorizing her all over again.
She sighs into your mouth, hands trailing up your arms, curling into your hair.
âCome on,â she whispers.
And this timeâ
You listen.
The water is hot, almost too hot, but neither of you care.
Yujin steps under first, exhaling as the warmth rolls over her skin, tilting her head back so that her hair darkens, slick against her shoulders.
Youâre distracted.
Too distracted.
Becauseâ
Because sheâs standing there, all bare skin and soft curves and Yujin, looking at you like she already knows exactly what youâre thinking.
âAre you going to keep staring?â she teases.
You swallow. âMaybe.â
She laughs, stepping forward, reaching for the shampoo.
You should move. Should help. Should do something.
But instead, you justâ
Just watch.
The way she hums under her breath, the way she lathers the shampoo into her hair, fingers massaging small circles against her scalp.
Youâre so lost in it, in her, that you donât even realize sheâs finishedâ
Until she suddenly turns, tilts her head, and smiles.
âCome here.â
You donât hesitate.
She tugs you forward, fingers threading through your hair, working shampoo into your scalp like itâs something sacred, something worth taking her time with.
And godâ
God, you forgot how good this feels.
Forgot what it was like to just be, to just exist under someoneâs hands, to let yourself be cared for in a way that doesnât feel heavy, doesnât feel like a transaction.
Her fingers move slowly, carefully, her nails scraping lightly against your skin.
You close your eyes.
Breathe.
Let yourself lean into it.
Let yourself lean into her.
And sheâ
She lets you.
Sheâs still rinsing when you reach for her.
âWhatââ
You shush her, hands skimming up her sides, guiding her under the waterâs warmth.
She lets you.
Lets you tilt her chin slightly, lets you press a kiss just below her ear, lets you work your fingers into her hair like sheâs something holy.
Her breath catches.
You hear it, feel it, let it sink into your bones.
âClose your eyes,â you murmur.
She hesitatesâjust a fraction of a secondâthen obeys.
The water slides down her face, over her lips, down the elegant curve of her throat.
You watch, transfixed.
Then you move.
You reach for the shampoo, work it between your hands, and Yujinâs confusedââAgain?ââbut when your fingers find her scalpâ
She melts.
You donât think youâve ever seen her this undone.
Head tilted slightly, mouth parted, body soft beneath your touch.
She hums, a small, quiet sound, like sheâs just remembered something sheâd long forgotten.
You barely breathe.
Just keep going, keep moving, keep tracing slow, deliberate circles, letting your fingers tangle through her hair like itâs something sacred.
Because it is.
Because she is.
Yujin, the girl who never stopped moving, who never let herself stop thinking, who planned every step of her life down to the last decimalâ
Sheâs still now.
Still, and warm, and yours.
You rinse the shampoo carefully, letting the water do the work. Your fingers trail down, down, past her neck, past her shoulders, past the delicate slip of her collarbone.
She sighs.
Leans into you.
Lets herself fall.
And godâ
Youâll catch her.
Every time.
You reach for the soap next, work it slowly over her back, over her arms, over every inch of her that you can touch.
She exhales, barely above a whisper.
âFeels nice.â
You smile.
âGood.â
You donât rush.
Not when sheâs like this. Not when sheâs letting you do this, letting you love her with something as simple as this.
Your hands trail lower, down her spine, over the dip of her waist. She shifts slightly, breath hitching just a little.
You pause.
Press a kiss to her shoulder.
She shivers, but not from the cold.
âThis okay?â you murmur.
Her fingers curl around your wrist, stopping you.
For a moment, you think sheâs going to pull awayâ
But insteadâ
She guides your hand lower.
Presses it against the soft warmth of her stomach.
Holds it there.
She exhales, slow and deep. âDonât stop.â You donât. God, you donât. You let your hands move slowly, carefully, exploring her the way youâve always wanted toâlike sheâs something to learn, something to understand. And Yujinâ Yujin lets you.
She lets you wash away the last three years, lets you trace something new into her skin, lets you relearn every inch of her with soap and steam and careful, careful hands.
She turns in your arms, pressing her forehead against yours. The water slips between you, catching at the spaces where you donât quite meet. Sheâs smiling. Soft. Sweet. Yours. You cup her face. She leans into it, eyes fluttering closed. For a long, long moment, neither of you move. You just stay. Right here. Right now. Like this. Like always. Thenâ She opens her eyes. And she kisses you.
The water trails down her spine in slow, careful rivers, catching in the dips of her back, rolling down the curve of her waist. You follow its path with your fingers, mapping her skin like something sacred, something known.
She doesnât move. Just lets you touch. Lets you care.
You start with her back, palms gliding down the slope of her shoulders, the delicate stretch of muscle beneath warm, damp skin. Your thumbs press gently into the knots there, kneading, coaxing, working out tension she probably doesnât even realize sheâs holding.
She exhales, long and slow, tipping her head forward. âMmm,â she murmurs, voice thick with something close to sleep. âThat feels good.â You smile. Press your thumbs in a little deeper. Let your hands drift lower, following the curve of her spine, tracing each ridge, each shadow, each memory pressed into muscle. You smooth circles over her lower back, fingers pressing into the dimples there, trailing downâ She shivers. Your hands pause. âTicklish?â you murmur.
She huffs a quiet laugh, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. âA little.â You grin, but you donât tease. Not now. Not when sheâs letting you do this, letting you love her in the simplest, softest way. You reach for the soap, work it between your hands until it foams, and thenâ Then you really start. You start with her arms, sliding your palms over smooth, damp skin, tracing the delicate lines of muscle beneath. You lift her wrist, turning it over, running your fingers along the pulse point there. Her breath catches. You watch, mesmerized, as water beads along the inside of her forearm, trailing down to the soft bend of her elbow. âYouâre so careful,â she murmurs. You hum. âYou deserve careful.â Something flickers across her face. Something soft. She lets her fingers curl around yours. You smile. Run your hands over her stomach next, tracing the subtle rise and fall of each breath, the warmth of her, the realness of her. She shifts slightly, the movement pressing her closer, pressing skin to skin, pressing warmth to warmth. You exhale. Let your hands drift lower, over the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip, the length of her thigh. You take your time. Because she lets you. Because she wants you to. You kneel then, water rolling down your shoulders, down your back, pooling against your skin. You press your lips to her hip. She exhales, shaky, fingers threading into your hair. âYou donât have toââ âI want to.â You slide your hands over her legs, smoothing your palms down her thighs, over her calves, down to her ankles. She watches, breathing slow. You work the soap into her skin, rubbing warmth into her, sliding your thumbs up the backs of her knees, over the gentle curve of her calves. She sighs. Soft. Deep. Content. You let your fingers skim up again, over the dip of her waist, the gentle swell of her stomach, upâ Upâ To her chest. Her breath stutters. You pause. Look up. Sheâs already looking at you. Eyes dark, lips parted, cheeks flushed from the heat of the water. She lifts her hand, pressing it against yours. Guiding you. âGo on,â she whispers. And you do. God, you do.
You cup her, trace the delicate slope of her, run your thumbs over warm, wet skin, over the soft peaks of her breasts, watching the way she reacts, the way she shivers under your touch.
Her lips part.
Her fingers tighten in your hair.
âYouâreââ she starts, voice barely a breath, barely a sound. âYouâre soââ
You stand.
Tilt her chin up.
Kiss her.
Not hungry. Not desperate.
Just deep.
Just certain.
Just her.
And when you pull back, pressing your forehead against hers, she exhales a laugh.
âThis is dangerous,â she murmurs.
You smile. âYeah?â
âYeah.â
She lifts her arms, looping them around your neck, pulling you in, pressing against you, warm and wet and perfect.
And youâ
You let her.
The steam rises. The water beads against her skin, gliding down slow, tracing paths over the soft slopes of her body, catching at the delicate points where warmth meets shadow, where light bends just so, where she is golden and bronze and endless.
You follow it.
With your eyes first, then with your hands.
Fingertips grazing along the soft valley of her stomach, skimming over her ribs, pressing gently into the places where she is most tender, most real. You watch the way the droplets gather at her collarbone, suspended for just a moment before slipping down, down, disappearing into the delicate dip between her breasts.
It feels unfair, almost, that something as simple as water gets to touch her like this before you do.
So you take its place.
Your lips find her collarbone first, brushing against the damp skin, warm and reverent. She exhales, tilting her head slightly, letting you have her like this, letting you take your time.
You do.
You always do.
Your mouth trails lower, following the path of the water, tracing its descent. You press a kiss against the gentle swell of her chest, right where her heart beats beneath, steady, certain, alive. You linger there, letting the moment stretch, letting yourself feel it, letting yourself remember what itâs like to love someone in a way that has nothing to do with time or distance or the years lost in between.
She breathes in, slow and deep, her fingers threading through your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp. Not pulling. Just holding.
And then you go lower.
The water clings to her, catching at the nipples, glistening like liquid gold against the dark-bronze warmth of her nipples. It drips, slow and deliberate, down the soft curve of her, over the places where she is most tender, most beautiful.
You chase it.
Your lips press to her sternum, then lower, following the water as it rolls over the swell of her breast, catching it before it can disappear.
She makes a sound then, a soft, breathy thing, like something breaking open inside her, like something unfolding, something giving way.
And godâ
You love her like this.
Love the way she lets you worship her, the way she lets you press your mouth to her skin like itâs something sacred, like itâs something worth kneeling for.
You take your time.
You kiss along the curve of her, letting your tongue flick against her skin, letting yourself taste the warmth of her, the salt, the sweetness, the Yujin of her.
She trembles. Not much. Just a little. Just enough. You kiss the the peak of her breastânipple, lips closing around the dark, glistening bronze of her, taking her between your lips like something meant to be savored. And sheâ She gasps. Soft. Sharp. Her fingers tighten in your hair, her back arching just slightly, just enough to press herself further into your mouth, to offer herself up like this, to let you take her in a way that feels like praise. The water slips between you, forgotten, but you donât need it anymore. She is all the warmth you will ever need. And youâ You are drowning. But you donât mind. Not one bit.
You donât know how long you stay like thisâyour mouth on her, your hands tracing slow worship into her skin, your tongue moving against the dark-bronze pebble of her like youâre tasting something sacred, something forbidden, something you never stopped craving.
She doesnât rush you.
Just feels.
Just lets herself be felt.
Her fingers tremble against your scalp, gripping just enough to keep you grounded, to keep herself from falling apart entirely. The water sings against the tiles, drowning the rest of the world out, leaving just the sound of her soft gasps, her breath catching, the delicate whimper when your teeth graze over where she is most sensitive.
âYouâreââ she tries, but the sentence breaks, dissolving into something else entirely.
You hum against her, half-smirking, half-dazed.
âSay that again?â
She exhales sharply. Then, in a voice softer than the steam curling between youâ
âYouâre ruining me.â
You smile against her skin.
âGood.â
But then sheâs moving.
Slow, steady, deliberateâsliding her hands down to your jaw, guiding you up, forcing your mouth away from her skin so she can see you again.
You lift your head, meeting her gaze, and godâ
She looks like something devotional.
Like sheâs burning and melting and breaking and remaking herself in the same moment.
And then she cups your face.
Runs her fingers down the sharp edge of your jaw, down your throat, down the planes of your chest like sheâs trying to learn you all over again.
âMy turn,â she whispers.
You exhale. âYujinââ
But sheâs already pressing her lips to your palm.
A slow, wet kiss against the skin there, warm and reverent.
You tense, watching the way she does itâhow her mouth lingers, how her breath spills against your hand like sheâs praying into it.
Then another.
And another.
Each kiss deliberate. Each one softer than the last.
Your fingers twitch.
Your heart stutters.
And Yujinâ
Yujin just smiles.
Like she knows what sheâs doing to you.
Like she knows the effect of her lips, her mouth, the heat of her pressing into you like this.
Then she goes lower.
Tracing fire against your wrist. Down to your forearm.
Sheâs taking her time.
Like she knows whatâs coming. Like she wants you to feel every second of it before she even starts.
Softly, she lowers herself to the shower floor, folding her legs beneath her like someone prayingâlike someone preparing for something sacred. Water cascades over her, tracing the delicate angles of her face, slipping down her shoulders, clinging to her lashes. She doesnât blink it away.
She looks up at you instead.
âJust so you know,â she murmurs, fingers curling around your thigh, pressing just hard enough to make you feel it, âI havenât had this for three years.â
Your breath catches.
âYou poor thing.â
She hums, tilting her head slightly, eyes flickering with something playful, something edged with heat. âIf only you called.â
Her grip tightens on your shaftâsubtle, knowing, cruel.
Your pulse slams into your ribs.
âRegretting everything as we speak,â you manage, voice rough, because godâthree years of waking up alone, three years of knowing what her body felt like against yours and still having to live without it, three years of not having thisâ
Yujin presses her lips to your hip, slow, warm, reverent.
âDonât,â she whispers, breath ghosting over your skin. âFrom now on, letâs not waste a single breath.â
And that was that.
No more lost time. No more distance.
She presses another kiss, right below your navel. Cheating.
Your entire body tenses, twitches, a sharp current running through you.
She notices.
She smiles.
âThis is punishment,â she murmurs.
Your fingers twitch against the tile. âFor what?â
She looks up at you, lashes wet and mussed and dripping, lips parted just slightlyâruinous.
âFor almost forgetting me.â
Your jaw tightens. âThatâs blasphemy.â
âIs it?â
âEvery waking moment, everyââ
Her hand slides along your wet shaft. Tight. Destitution incarnate.
You stumble against the back wall.
She grins, a little smug, a little knowing, a little dangerous.
âI donât want excuses,â she says softly.
And thenâ
Then she presses another kiss, open-mouthed, slow, dangerous, right where on the tip of your cockâcollecting whatever desperation you had bottled up.
You let out a slow, shaky breath.
She hums against you. Then, another kiss.
âThis,â she says, hands curling against your hips, âis mine.â
And god, you believe her.
You always have.
Her mouth forms a tight ring right on your tip. Sheâs sucking everything out of you. Caring not for a single second how much this ruins you, how your knees intend to buckle. Â
The cool wall slides against your back, and her mouth gentles nowâless tight, slower, deliberate. Her lips part, wet and swollen, spit-strung as they glide over the flushed head of you. A slick sound escapes her, obscene and tender. You feel every ridge of her tongue, every warm drag, the way her saliva pools and drips down the length of you. She moans softly, and the vibration travels straight to your gut.
âEasy,â you rasp, fingers threading into her hairânot to push, but to feel. To guide her rhythm, your thumb brushing the shell of her ear. âJust like thatâŚâ
She obeys, but not meekly. Her eyes flick up, dark and gleaming through her lashes, her lips a glistening ring around you. The head glistens under the showerâs spray, spit-slick and ruddy, and when she pulls back just to breathe, a thin strand of saliva stretches between her bottom lip and your tip. She watches you watch it snap.
âYujinââ
âShhh.â Her breath ghosts over the wetness sheâs made, cooling the heat. âLet me.â
Her tongue swipes the slit, slow, too slow, and your hips jerk. She laughsâa soft, husky thingâand catches the bead of precum with her thumb. Holds your gaze as she sucks it clean.
âAll those years,â she murmurs, nuzzling the inside of your thigh. Her voice is a frayed ribbon. âYou let this ache. Let it go untouched. Why?â
You tighten your grip in her hair, not harsh, but present. âYou know why.â
She hums, lips pressing to the vein throbbing beneath the skin. âTell me anyway.â
âBecause it was yours.â The admission tears free, raw. âEven when you werenât.â
Her breath hitches. For a heartbeat, her composure cracksâlips parting, eyes glassy. Then she surges forward, taking you deep, deep, until your tip brushes the back of her throat. Her nose presses into your pelvis, her cheeks hollowed, and the wetness is overwhelming. Spit spills down her chin, drips onto the shower floor. You watch, wrecked, as she works you with a reverence that borders on worship.
âGodâYujinââ
She pulls off with a gasp, lips swollen and slick. âLook at me.â
You do. Her face is flushed, water clinging to her lashes, hair plastered to her neck. Ruin has never looked so soft.
âNever again,â she whispers, palm cradling your jaw. âYou donât starve yourself. Not of this. Not of me.â
You nod, breathless, and she smilesâa fragile, aching thingâbefore bending again. Her mouth is softer now, languid, savoring. Every suck, every lick, pours honey into your veins. You let her take you apart, let her rebuild you, until the world narrows to her lips, her hands, the spit-slick sounds of her devotion.
The climax coils, inevitableâa wildfire in your spine, a tremor in your thighs. You feel it there, the precipice, and your hands fly to her shoulders, gripping hard. âYujinâwaitââ
She resists at first, brows furrowed, lips sealed tight around you. But you tug her back gently, your cock slipping from her mouth with a wet pop, her lips swollen, glistening. Her confusion flickers only for a heartbeat before you fist your cock, rough and hurried, and the first hot stripe of release paints her cheek.
She gasps, eyes fluttering shut as the next pulse hits her chin, her throat, the tip catching her collarbone. Thick, pearly streaks splatter across her skinâher eyelids, the bridge of her nose, the bow of her top lip. A ragged moan tears from you as you empty yourself onto her, the mess pooling in the hollow of her throat, dripping down her sternum.
For a moment, sheâs perfectly still, breath held, face tilted up as if in prayer. Then her tongue darts out, just once, catching the spill on her lipânot to taste, but to feel, to savor the proof. Her eyes open slowly, lashes sticky, gaze molten.
For a second, she just blinks.
One eye.
The other one is⌠well.
You watch her process it in real time.
Her lips part slightly, her breath still uneven, chest rising and falling as she takes in exactly whatâs happened. Your release is everywhereâeverywhereâglossing her cheekbones, slipping down the slope of her throat, pooling in the dip of her collarbone like some kind of offering.
She tilts her head. Blinks again.
âOh.â
Then she laughs.
A breathy, disbelieving sound, half-amused, half-are-you-kidding-me?
Youâre still pressed against the shower wall, still trying to function, your brain short-circuiting between the mess youâve made of her and the fact that sheâs actuallyâlaughing.
âYouââ she starts, touching her cheek, then stopping, fingers hesitating before they smear through the mess, ââyou got it in my hair.â
She looks up at you then, eyes bright, glisteningâpartly from you, partly from water, partly from the sheer absurdity of this situation.
You swallow, still breathless. âUh.â
She blinks. A slow, lazy flutter of lashes.
Then her mouth quirks.
âYou shouldâve warned me, you beast.â
You canât help itâyou laugh, too, scrubbing a hand down your face. âI tried. You didnât stopââ
âI was busy,â she huffs, wiping at her cheek again. âAnd now Iâm busy. Because look at me.â
You are.
You really, really are.
âI meanââ you gesture vaguely to her face, her throat, the trail of evidence marking everywhere sheâs beenââI think itâs a good look.â
She glares.
âNo, seriously. We could brand this. âDewy Glowâ or something. Sell it in high-end skincare stores. âCelebrity Secret.ââ
She snorts, shoving at your thigh. âYou absolute menace.â
And thenâ
âOh, wait.â
She freezes.
Her smile vanishes.
Her expression shifts into something far more serious.
âOh no.â
You blink. âWhat?â
She doesnât say anything.
Just slowly, slowly, slowly raises a hand to her right eye.
You know whatâs coming before she even speaks.
âOh my god, I canât see.â
You wheeze. Actually wheeze.
She jabs a finger into your thigh. âDonâtâdonât laugh. This is serious. This isâI might never recoverââ
âYujin.â Youâre still dying, but you reach for her anyway, cupping her face with both hands, thumbs swiping over her cheeks, carefully wiping away what you can. âBaby, blinkââ
âI am blinking.â Sheâs being so dramatic about it, blinking furiously, tilting her face up to the water like it might cleanse her soul. âOh my god. Oh my god.â
âOkay, okay, come hereââ
You guide her fully under the stream, hands in her hair, rubbing circles at her temples as she half-laughs, half-groans against your chest.
âThree years, and this is how it goes?â
âI mean,â you murmur, fingers tracing down her jaw, âtechnically, this is a good thing. This means I really missed you.â
She gasps, smacking your chest. âThat is not how this works.â
âNo, no, it is. You should be flattered.â
âI am blinded.â
âListen, some people pay a lot of money for facials like this.â
âOh my god, shut upââ
Sheâs laughing now, still rubbing at her eye, still squinting slightly, but you tilt her face up, press your lips to her forehead, her nose, the water-warm curve of her cheek.
âHere,â you murmur, âlet me see.â
She lets you, tilting her chin up, letting you wipe at her lashes, the bridge of her nose, the soft hollow under her eye. Your fingers are gentle, your touch slow, careful, as you rinse the last of it away.
Her hands find your ribs, gripping lightly, grounding herself.
âIâm keeping score, you know,â she murmurs, voice softer now.
You kiss her temple. âYeah?â
She hums. âYou owe me for this.â
You grin, pressing a kiss to her cheek. âI owe you?â
âMhm.â Another soft blink, this one slower, more considering. âBig time.â
You exhale, pressing your forehead to hers. âIâll make it up to you.â
She pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes warm, searching.
âYeah?â
âYeah.â
A beat.
Then she grins, pressing a quick, mischievous kiss to your lips.
âGood.â
And thenâ
âNow help me get this out of my hair, you absolute monster.â
You laugh, tilting her back under the water, already reaching for the shampoo.
You barely make it out of the shower before Yujin is already reaching for a towel, scrubbing at her hair like sheâs trying to erase all evidence of your existence.
You watch her, arms crossed, towel slung lazily over your shoulder. âYou know, I could help with that.â
She gives you a look. A very specific you-are-the-reason-Iâm-in-this-mess look.
âYouâve helped enough,â she mutters, aggressively drying her face.
You grin. âWant me to dry your back?â
âNo.â
âSure?â
âI donât trust you.â
You press a hand to your chest, mock-wounded. âI am offended by this blatant accusation.â
âYou are plotting something. I know that face.â
âI literally only have one face, Yujin.â
âYeah. And I know it.â
She sighs, shoving her towel at you. âFine. You want to be useful? Dry my hair. But no funny business.â
âDefine funny business.â
She glares.
You chuckle, grabbing another towel, stepping behind her. She exhales as you gently towel-dry her hair, rubbing slow, deliberate circles into her scalp.
Her head tilts slightly, unconsciously leaning into your touch.
You knew sheâd enjoy this.
She hums, closing her eyes. âOkay. Maybe you can be trusted.â
âTold you.â You press a kiss to the crown of her head. âI am a professional.â
âA professional nuisance.â
âA professional lover.â
She snorts. âOh my god, shut up.â
You grin, setting the towel aside, reaching for the hairdryer.
She shifts slightly in her seat. âWaitââ
âHm?â
She peeks up at you, tilting her head back, cheeks warm. â...I like it when you do it slow. With your hands.â
You pause.
Look down at her.
Oh.
Oh.
You set the hairdryer aside. âYou shouldâve said so earlier, baby.â
She exhales, smiling, closing her eyes again as your fingers slip into her hair, raking through the damp strands, slow and careful.
This isâ This is intimacy in its simplest form. You, standing behind her, fingers combing through her hair, working through knots with gentle patience. Her, sitting still, trusting you, letting herself be taken care of. âYouâre soft,â you murmur, pressing another kiss to her temple. âMm.â Her shoulders relax completely. âJust donât mess up my parting.â You chuckle. âIâll do my best.â It takes a whileâbecause you like taking your time with herâbut eventually, her hair is dry, loose waves tumbling down her back. She stretches, arms overhead, and thatâs when you realizeâ Sheâs still wearing your shirt. The one she stole post-shower, hanging off her like it was made for this moment.
You stare. Your thoughts are not wholesome. She catches you looking. Her lips curve. âYouâre plotting something again,â she says, amused. âMaybe.â âYou need to control yourselfââ âNope.â She laughs, batting you away when you attempt to grab her. âNo. No, sir,â she warns, scooting to the bed. âYou said youâd be good.â âDid I?â âYes. You did. You explicitly said youâd behave.â âAnd you believed me?â She pauses. Then groans, rubbing her face. âGod, Iâm an idiot.â You grin. And then you pounce.
She yelps, barely managing to roll away before you trap her under you, laughing as she dodges your grabby hands.
âNo,â she gasps between laughs, âwe are doing the normal nighttime routine first!â âThis is the routine.â âNo it is not!â You chase her across the bed. She giggles, swats at you, then suddenlyâmiraculouslyâmanages to flip you over, straddling you with a triumphant grin. âHAH.â She plants her hands on your chest. âGot you.â You blink up at her. Pause. Then smirk. âYujin,â you murmur, voice low. âBaby.â Her smile falters. ââŚWhat.â
You cup her waist, slowly sliding your hands up, over the fabric of your shirt, over the nothing sheâs wearing underneath.
She realizes. Her eyes widen. âWaitââ And then you flip her back over. She gasps. âNooooooââ You laugh, pinning her down, watching as she squirms, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with warmth and amusement. This. This is the routine. Laughter. Teasing. The way you move around each other like gravity has always existed between you. She exhales, chest rising and falling beneath you, fingers curling around your wrists. Her voice, when she speaks, is softer. âYou win,â she murmurs. You press your forehead to hers. âI always do.â She sighs dramatically. âUgh. Fine. Manhandle me, then.â Sheâs still beneath you, chest rising and falling, fingers curled loosely around your wrists where youâve pinned them. Her breath is quick, her pulse erratic, and you know itâs not just because of the weight of you pressing her into the mattressâitâs everything. The warmth between you, the years leading to this, the understanding that whatâs about to happen isnât just want, isnât just releaseâitâs reclamation.
She swallows, lips parting slightly, pupils wide and dark in the low light. The dark strands of her hair are fanned across the pillow, tangled from your hands, a mess youâd memorize blindfolded. Thereâs a flush blooming across her chest, creeping up the column of her throat, a heat that you feel mirrored in yourself.
You watch her, watch the way she shifts slightly beneath you, pressing up just enough to remind you sheâs waiting, waiting, waiting. You could draw this out forever. But thatâs cruelty. Or maybe, maybe, thatâs worship.
You press your lips to the tip of her nose, then her cheek, then down, trailing a path over her jaw, her throat, the faint dip between her collarbones. You can feel the hum of her laughter before she even releases it, a small breath of amusement, her fingers twitching against your hold'
âYouâre teasing,â she murmurs, voice wrecked already. âNo,â you answer, dragging your mouth lower, tasting the salt of her skin. âIâm remembering.â
Because you are. Youâre remembering the way her body curls into yours when sheâs overwhelmed. Youâre remembering the tiny, trembling exhales she makes when your hands slide over the slopes of her ribs. Youâre remembering that she loves when you take your time, that she loves to be adored, that she wants to feel every inch of you.
And she is so easy to adore.
You shift lower, your hands tracing slow, lazy patterns down her sides, feeling the way her muscles twitch beneath your touch. The shape of herâlong lines, soft curves, skin warm and impossibly smooth beneath your lips.
Your name escapes her in a breath, a barely-there sound that settles somewhere behind your ribs, inside your chest, like it belongs there.
You kiss lower. Down, down. Your fingers slip between her thighs, ghosting over her bare glistening pussy, and her breath stutters, a sharp intake that punches straight through your gut. âLook at you,â you murmur, dragging your knuckles up the inside of her goosebump-ridden thigh. âFidgeting.â She doesnât answer. Just glares, lashes damp, lips parted, so achingly beautiful you feel winded.
âIs that frustration?â you tease, dragging your mouth back up, scraping your teeth over her hip bone. âItâsââ She exhales, trying for control. Fails. âItâs you taking too long.â You hum. âI thought you liked it slow.â âI do,â she grits out. âBut I also like it when youââ
Her voice catches as your fingers press a little harder into her. A single stroke, just enough to make her body jolt, enough to make her curse under her breath, enough to feel the sticky wetness of herâinside.
Then you do it again. And again. Until her hips are moving against your touch, until her nails bite into your shoulders, until her breath is a series of broken, unsteady exhalations, âYes, yes, oh fuck~â
You kiss her then. Hard. Deep. Drinking in every shiver, every sound, every breathless plea she wonât voice but you understand anyway.
And thenâ Then, finallyâ Her thighs part wider, welcoming you; knees hooking around your hips, heels digging into the small of your back. You press your shaft along her golden-soft navel, hard enough to get her whimpering under the heat of your shaft. You drag slowly along her softâyet firmânavel, coursing the map lower and lowerâuntil the nub responsible for her heatâall swollen and beautiful and pinkâmeets your tip. She lets out a sudden whimper; She glares, and you press a kiss on her temple once againâsorry baby, sorry. At the end of the map, you feel the slick heat of her cunt against the head of your cock, her entrance fluttering, pulsing, as you grind around the clit in slow, torturous circles. Precum smears her folds, mingling with her arousal, the glide obscenely wet. âFuck,â she hisses, nails raking down your spine. âStopâstop toyingââ You catch her wrist, pinning it above her head again. âNo.â Your other hand grips the base of your cock, guiding it through her slit, the swollen head catching on her clit with every pass. She jerks, a broken moan tearing free, her hips buckingâbut you hold firm, denying her friction. âYou wanted slow. This is slow.â Her cunt weeps, glistening, her inner lips swollen and flushed. You watch, transfixed, as your cockhead nudges her entrance, spreading her open incrementally. A single inch sinks in, the velvety grip of her walls clenching reflexively, and you groan through gritted teeth. âChristâ She whimpers, her clit throbbing against your shaft as you retreat, dragging your tip through her folds again. âPleaseââ Her voice cracks, tears spilling down her temples. âJustâfuck meââ You lean down, lips grazing hers. âWhere?â She glares, chest heaving. âYou knowââ âSay it.â âInsideââ âInside what?â You press forward, another inch sheathed, the stretch burning sweet. âUse your words, Yujin.â Her thighs tremble. âMyâmy cunt.â âGood girl.â You sink deeper, the thick ridge of your cockhead massaging her front wall, that spongy patch of nerves that makes her sob. Her cervix yields, soft and pliant, as you bottom out, hips flush against hers. Her cunt clenches, a vice of slick muscle, and you swear, forehead dropping to her shoulder. âYouâre gonna milk me dryââ âMove,â she demands, her ankles locking behind your back. âMove or Iâllââ âYouâll what?â You pull out almost completely, leaving just the tip seated, her clit rubbing against your shaft. âBeg?â She keens, back arching, breasts pressed to your chest. âYesâyes, god, pleaseââ You snap your hips forward, sheathing yourself in one brutal thrust. Her scream is muffled by your palm as you clamp it over her mouth, your other hand sliding between you to circle her clit. âQuiet,â you growl, grinding deep. âYouâll take it. All of it.â Her cunt ripples around you, fluttering in erratic pulses, her clit swollen and pebbled beneath your thumb. You fuck her with shallow, punishing rolls of your hips, each stroke dragging your cockhead over that sweet spot, her thighs shaking, her breath coming in ragged, choked gasps. âLook at me,â you snarl, removing your hand from her mouth. She obeys, eyes glassy, lips bitten raw. âWhose cunt is this?â âYoursââ âAnd whose cock?â âMineââ You slam into her, hilt-deep, your balls slapping her ass. âLouderââ âMINEââ
The word cracks through the room, ragged and raw, and you reward it by slamming into her hilt-deep, your pelvis grinding against her clit as you still inside her. Her cunt clenches, a vice of slick heat, and you hiss through your teeth, your grip bruising on her hips. âAgain,â you demand, pulling out until only the swollen head of your cock remains lodged in her entrance. Her inner lips cling to you, reluctant to let go. She whines, back arching off the bed. âYoursâyour cunt, your everythingââ You thrust back in, slow, savoring the way her walls ripple to accommodate you. âAnd what do you want?â 'You,â she gasps, nails carving half-moons into your shoulders. âInside meâclaiming meââ 'How?' You drag your cockhead over that spongy patch of nerves again, deliberate, watching her thighs quake. 'Cum,' she begs, tears streaking her temples. 'Fill meâmark meâ' You still, your hand sliding up to grip her throatânot restricting air, just owning. 'Ask nicely.' Her breath hitches. 'Pleaseâplease, I need itâneed you to paint my insides white, need to feel itâ' A dark thrill curls in your gut. You lean down, lips brushing hers. 'Since you asked so sweetly.' You start a brutal, precise rhythmâdeep, grinding thrusts that punch the air from her lungs. Each snap of your hips drags her clit against the base of your cock, each retreat leaves her clenching around nothing. Her cunt weeps, arousal slicking your shaft, the obscene slap of skin on skin echoing off the walls. 'Look at me,' you snarl, tightening your grip on her throat. Her eyes fly open, hazy but obedient. 'You take me so well,' you murmur, your free hand sliding between you to circle her throbbing clit. 'This greedy cuntâmy greedy cuntâsucking me in like you were made for it.'
She sobs, her walls fluttering. 'Yoursâalways yoursâ'
'Prove it.' You pin her wrists above her head with one hand, your other still working her clit. 'Come. Now.'
Her orgasm rips through her violentlyâback arched, cunt spasming, a scream tearing from her throat as she soaks your cock. You ride it out, fucking her through the pulses, your thrusts turning jagged, erratic.
'Mine,' you growl, feeling your balls tighten. 'Say itâsay itâ'
'Yoursâgod, yoursâ'
You slam into her one last time, hilt-deep, and hold. Your release surgesâthick, hot ropes of cum flooding her cervix, painting her walls in stripes of white. She whimpers, oversensitive but greedy, her cunt milking every drop as you grind your hips in slow, possessive circles.
'Take it,' you grit out, watching her stomach quiver with the force of your spend. 'All of it.'
She nods, dazed, her thighs trembling around your waist. You collapse atop her, still buried inside, your lips finding the sweat-damp hollow of her throat.
â
Yujinâs lashes flutter against your chest, and thereâs a moment where she seems to wrestle with somethingâembarrassment, vulnerabilityâbut it dissolves when she feels your fingers tracing gentle circles against her back. She shifts, propping herself up just enough to look at you, her eyes dark and soft and entirely too honest.
âYou know,â she whispers, voice almost shy, âI used to dream about this. You and me, like this. Just⌠here.â
âHere?â You brush a damp strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. âIn bed, sweaty and gross?â
A soft laugh escapes her, warm and tender. âYeah. Exactly this.â Her fingertips graze your jaw, light as the touch of a memory. âIâd think about waking up to you, about how itâd feel to fall asleep in your arms. Itâs stupid, I knowââ
âNot stupid,â you murmur, cutting her off with a kissâsoft, lingering, like youâre trying to pour every unspoken word into it. âNever stupid.â
Her gaze softens even further, and she buries her face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent like itâs something she needs to breathe. You feel her lips press against your pulse, a delicate kiss that sends warmth flooding through you.
âI donât want to let you go,â she confesses, voice muffled. âNot tonight. Not ever.â
âThen donât.â You trail your fingers up and down her spine, feeling the subtle curve of her back beneath your touch. âHold on to me. Iâm not going anywhere.â
She shifts, looping her arms around your neck, pressing her body flush against yours. The contact is warm, grounding, and you let yourself sink into it, let yourself feel the weight of her, the steady thrum of her heartbeat against your chest.
âYouâre too good at this,â she mumbles, the faintest hint of a pout in her voice. âMaking me feel safe. Like I belong here.â
You tighten your hold on her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. âYou do belong here. With me. Always.â
Her breath shudders, and you feel her fingers clutch at your shoulders, like sheâs afraid you might slip away. You press another kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek, each touch softer than the last.
âYujin,â you whisper, and she looks up at you, eyes wide and glistening. âThereâs nowhere else Iâd rather be.â
She smilesâa real, unguarded smileâand you feel the weight of it settle in your chest. She lifts herself up just enough to press a kiss to your lips, lingering, tender, unhurried. Itâs a kiss that feels like a promise, like something that doesnât need words to be understood.
When she pulls back, her face is flushed, her expression open and raw. âI love you,â she says softly, the words so simple, so devastatingly sincere.
You cup her face, thumb brushing over her cheek. âI love you too. More than youâll ever know.â
She settles against you, fitting herself into the curve of your body, her head resting against your chest. You stroke her hair, feeling the tension melt from her frame as she presses one last kiss to your heart.
The room is warm and heavy with the scent of you both, with the quiet weight of something real and unbreakable. You feel her breathing slow, her body growing heavy with sleep, and you let your own eyes drift shut, content to let the world narrow to the steady rise and fall of her breath.
And thenânothing. Just the two of you tangled together, warmth and closeness and the certainty that this, right here, is home.
â
a/n: Experimenting yet again. Hopefully the last sex scene wasn't too mortifying. But I really enjoyed writing thisâYujin's personality meshes really well with with the dialogue I was aiming to do (hopefully I succeeded). This was a half-finished draft that I managed to finish (through merging other drafts, other idols, et cetera et cetera), and now I don't have a single draft remaining; sooo... I don't know how this fares for the next fic (hopefully not too long..... haha..heh..he).
a/n 2: Much love for all the support: they never go unnoticed!!! <3333333
974 notes
¡
View notes
Note
mean!sorority!karina x loser!gp!reader headcannons? đââď¸
WORST BEHAVIOR â yu jimin headcannons.

read the one shot here!
pairings. mean!sorority!karina x loser!gp!reader
warning(s). pet names (karina calling u puppy), jealous & possessive!karina, let me know if thereâs more
words. 802
authors note. this is the first time i EVER did headcannons⌠got too lazy to add nsfw ones though đ
navigation. main masterlist.
mean!sorority!karina who calls you âpuppyâ more than your actual name because, in her eyes, thatâs exactly what you areâher pathetic, obedient little lapdog.
mean!sorority!karina who keeps you on a short leash. youâre not allowed to talk to certain people, go to certain parties without her knowing, orâgod forbidâignore her texts. if you take too long to respond, sheâll send a follow-up: âpuppy? donât make me come find you.â
mean!sorority!karina who loves making you flustered. sheâll drag her fingers along your jaw, trace her nails down your arms, lean in as if sheâs going to kiss youâonly to pull away at the last second and laugh.
mean!sorority!karina who got possessive without realizing it. she still made fun of you relentlessly, but the moment someone else tried? her tone turned cold. âi didnât say you could talk to them.â
mean!sorority!karina who bullies you in public, but gets territorial in private. if someone else messes with you? suddenly, sheâs not amused.
mean!sorority!karina who hated how much she noticed you. the way your ears turned red when she got too close. how you always showed up when she needed you, no matter how ridiculous her request was.
mean!sorority!karina who would never admit she liked you first. instead, sheâd just scoff, roll her eyes, and mutter, âugh. why do you have to be so pathetic?â as if it was your fault she was falling.
mean!sorority!karina who is the most demanding, impatient person ever. she wants kisses when she wants them, and nothing is going to stop her from getting what she wantsânot even you.
mean!sorority!karina who tries to hide it, but her heart melts when you do cute things. when you offer her the last cookie, or tell her she looks nice in a dress, or hold the door open for her.
mean!sorority!karina who doesnât know how to express her feelings properly. so, when she says, âyouâre so annoying,â or, âyouâre lucky i tolerate you,â or, âitâs not that i like you or anything,ââyou know it really means, âi love you.â
mean!sorority!karina who acts like sheâs doing you a favor by letting you be around her. âyou should be grateful, puppy. not everyone gets to be my personal lapdog.â but the truth is, sheâd probably go insane if you ever actually left.
mean!sorority!karina who gets jealous so easily, itâs ridiculous. sheâll roll her eyes and act uninterested, but if she catches you laughing a little too hard at someone elseâs joke? sheâs suddenly in your space, hands on your collar, whispering, âwhatâs so funny? care to share with the class?â
mean!sorority!karina who uses her nails to tease you constantly. she loves the way you freeze up when she drags them down your arm or across the back of your neck. and she always does it when she knows you canât reactâlike in public or in front of her friends.
mean!sorority!karina who finds excuses to touch you, even when she doesnât have to. adjusting your hoodie strings, fixing your hair, pulling you close by your belt loop just to whisper something unnecessary. sheâs addicted to how easily she can fluster you.
mean!sorority!karina who says she doesnât do relationships, but somehow, youâre different. she doesnât know when it happened, but suddenly, sheâs only interested in you. and when someone asks if you two are a thing, she just scoffs and says, âsheâs just my pup. i keep her around.â
mean!sorority!karina who would act like she doesnât care, but if you ever tried to leave? if you ever pulled away from her, even slightlyâsuddenly, sheâs not so nonchalant anymore.
mean!sorority!karina who will corner you at a party, arms crossed, voice deceptively calm. âwhatâs this i hear about you ignoring me, puppy?â and if you try to play dumb, her lips curve into a smirk that doesnât reach her eyes. âdonât test me.â
mean!sorority!karina who will scoff, roll her eyes, and mutter, âfine. go.â if you ever seriously consider walking away. but the second you actually turn your back, sheâs grabbing your wrist, yanking you close, and whispering, âyou think you can just leave me?â
mean!sorority!karina who wonât beg, wonât admit sheâs scared, but if you ever really push herâif you tell her youâre done, that she canât keep stringing you alongâher mask finally cracks. her voice will drop as she mutters, âyou donât get it, do you? youâre mine, puppy.â
mean!sorority!karina who is terrified youâll realize that somewhere along the way, she became yours, too.
#bytemee speaks#karina x reader#jimin x reader#yu jimin#yu jimin x reader#aespa x reader#karina x y/n#karina x g!p reader#karina x fem reader#karina x you#headcanon#headcannons#aespa#aespa karina#bytemee works#kpop x reader#jimin x y/n#aespa fanfic#fem!reader#jimin x you
596 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Pretty Baby - Billie Eilish
âTMI, but self-pleasure is an enormous, enormous part of my life, and a huge, huge help for me. People should be jerking it, man"
Credits to @prttyribbons for the divider đ¤
Summary: Billie reminds you how pretty you are by touching you in front of a mirror
A/N: idk why this took so long for me to write cuz its nothing special btw tysm for all the love on my last fic i really appreciate it!!!! love you guys ok bye!đ¤
CW: SMUT, insecurity, edging, fingering, Dom!billie. fem!reader, excessive use of the word pretty
word count: 813
Billie: purple
Y/n: Pink
You stand in front of your bed, staring at your reflection in the mirror as you try on yet another outfit. You've always had some insecurities about your body, but today, it feels like it's all you can focus on. You and Billie were supposed to go out today, but after two hours of searching for something to wear, you still can't find an outfit that hides the parts of yourself you wish weren't so visible.
After trying on what feels like the 100th outfit, tears fall. "Whats wrong with me, why can't i be pretty?" You whisper, eyes scanning your reflection in the mirror. After some time Billie walks in and sees you crying. "What's wrong babe? You alright"
You wipe your eyes quickly, but your voice cracks when you answer. "I just⌠I can't find anything that looks right. I feelâ" you pause, the words hard to form, "âI feel like i'm not good enough."
Billie steps closer, gently pulling you into her arms. "But you are good enough, more than good enough." She pulls back and cups your face. "In so many different ways" she says with a smirk, her eyes glued to yours.
She spins you around, making you face the mirror. "in fact, i could name a lot i like about you." She says, hands snaking around your waist. "Bil-" you start, a hesitant smile tugging at your lips. Billie leans in, her breath warm against your ear. "But you're gonna have to take this off for me first." She whispers, tugging on the straps of your black dress.
Without thinking, you pull the straps down, feeling the fabric slide off your shoulders. Billieâs eyes follow the motion, her gaze soft and full of admiration. She lowers her hand, resting it lightly on your thigh as she kisses your neck and for a moment, the weight of your insecurities feel miles away.
Your pulse quickens, the intimacy of the moment replacing the self-doubt. "Bils..." you whisper.
She unclips your bra, leaving it on the floor, "I love these," she says as she squeezes your bare tits. she slides down your panties leaving yu completely exposed. "Fuck, you can talk all the shit you want about yourself but you drive me crazy"
She squeezes and traces your thigh as you sit on her lap. "Look at you, baby, you're fucking gorgeous" You look yourself in the mirror, Billie is completely infatuated with you. Maybe I am good enough, you think, a smile landing on your face. "Spread for me, mama." You do as you are told, and spread your legs, causing whimpers to escape your throat.
She takes her finger and swipes from down up, "So wet baby, you're so pretty" She takes her two fingers and begins to rub your clit. "Billie," you moan, reaching down for her hand. "uh-uh Y/N, just keep looking in the mirror, pretty girl." she takes her other hand and lifts your chin to make sure your eyes stay fixed on yourself.
without warning she slides both fingers inside you. "Fuck!" you cry out, your back arching as Billie's fingers plunge deep inside you. "you're so tight, baby," she says, thrusting her fingers in and out at a punishing pace. Your eyes flutter closed, but Billie insists you keep them open, watching your own reflection as she finger-fucks you senseless.Â
"You're so beautiful", she breathes, her free hand cupping your breast, thumb rubbing your nipple until it's hard and aching.
"Your pussy is so fucking good when it's wet for me. Isn't it, pretty girl?" she says, breathless. She slides a third finger in, watching your face for a reaction."Â Say it, baby. Tell me how pretty you are." Â Billie demands, her voice urgent. You can barely speak, your need for release building with each stroke."Billie.." you plead. "Do it, or i'll stop right now"
You whine as she slows down her pace. You thrust your needy hips against her fingers, making her pull them out. "say it" she says a lot more stern than before. you hiss, your need for release almost painful. "Fuck- i- I'm pretty"  you manage, your voice strained. "I'm so pretty"  Billie's eyes blaze with hunger as she watches you through the mirror.
"And you better fucking believe it" she growls, her fingers digging into your hips. "Now come on, baby. Show me how pretty you get when you cum for me." Billie commands, her voice dripping with lust. She slides her fingers back in and continues to fuck you.
"Billie, I'm going toâ I'm gonnaâ" "Come for me baby, let it all out", Billie encourages, fingering you harder, faster, pushing you closer to the edge. "Oh fuck- my god, bils' You throw your head back, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. Billie smirks as she watches you in the mirror, "that's it, so pretty, baby"
#billie eilish fanfiction#billie eilish smut#billie eilish x reader#billie eilish fic#billie eilish x you#billie eilish fluff#billie eilish angst#billie eilish x y/n#billie eilish x female reader#billie eilish x fem!reader#billie eilish oneshot#billie eilish imagine#billie eilish gf#dom!billie#wlw fanfic
663 notes
¡
View notes
Text
London Fever (p2) | neighbour!harryÂ
Summary: Y/N knew exactly what she was doing when she slipped into his oversized merch. She wanted a reaction, and oh she got one. Harry doesnât take well to being toyed with, especially not when sheâs been pushing his buttons for weeks. One knock at her door is all it takes for things to spiral out of control. But after a night that leaves them both wrecked and wanting more, reality comes crashing in. The world finds out, the headlines explode, and suddenly, itâs not just a game anymore.
A/N: Turns out, playing with fire does get you burned. Who knew? 𼚠Anyway, hereâs Harry losing his mind over Y/N in his clothes, an ungodly amount of tension, and a smut scene so intense it should come with a safety warning. Enjoy the chaos, my loves.
Word Count: 5,5k
Warnings:Â
Smut (explicit, detailed, and very NSFW)
Power play, dominance, and control (Harry is in charge, letâs be real)
Possessiveness (because of course)
Teasing & sexual tension (this could fuel a power plant)
Rough sex (hair pulling, manhandling, praise + dirty talk)
Aftercare & softness (he may be mean, but heâs also sweet đĽš)
Angst (because life is cruel)
Public fallout & paparazzi drama (oops)
[part 1]
â â
⎠â
â
A line had been crossed.
He moved.
A slow, deliberate step forward.
Then another.
She felt it before she fully registered what was happeningâthe shift in the air, the heat rolling off his body, the static crackling between them like a wire pulled too tight.
Until her back hit the door.
Until he was so close that she could feel the ghost of his breath against her cheek.
Warm. Unsteady.
His presence swallowed her whole.
The scent of spice and cedarwood curled around her, intoxicating, familiar. It filled every inch of space between them, sinking into her skin, into her lungs, making it impossible to think clearly.
She swallowed hard, pulse hammering at the base of her throat.
This was new.
Harry had always watched. Always pushed, always teasedâa smirk here, a lingering look there. He kept the tension simmering beneath the surface, something unspoken, something electric.
But he had never touched.
Not like this.
Not with his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, knuckles grazing her skin, the tips barely pressing into the delicate hollow of her throat.
Not with his body caging her in, his chest nearly brushing hers, his presence a weight she could feel everywhere.
Not with his lips hovering so, so close.
His emerald gaze flickered over her, slow and dangerous, cataloging every reaction. Every stuttered breath. Every slight part of her lips, every flutter of her lashes, every tiny movement.
Like he was memorizing something.
Like he was committing every single detail to memory.
She couldnât breathe.
Her hands stayed at her sides, fingers curling against the doorframe, nails pressing into the wood to ground herself.
But it didnât help.
Not when his thumb brushed against her cheek.
Featherlight.
A whisper of a touch. So delicate, so intimate, it sent a shiver racing down her spine, left a hollow ache in its wake.
Made her knees feel weak.
Made her mind spin.
His gaze dipped lower, lingering at her mouth.
And thenâhis lips parted, voice dropping into something low and lethal.
"Because, sweetheart," he murmured, the words slow, deliberate, dripping with something dark.
Something possessive.
Something that curled tight in her stomach, hot and consuming.
His fingers tilted her chin up.
Forcing her to look at him.
To really see the heat in his gaze.
The warning.
"I donât like sharing."
Silence stretched between them.
Thick. Heavy.
Her breath came in short, uneven bursts, her chest rising and falling too quickly.
She wanted to say something. Anything.
But she couldnât.
No words came.
Just the heavy pounding of her heartbeat in her ears.
His fingers lingered; thumb brushing the edge of her jaw, tracing the delicate curve.
A test. A tease.
And thenâ
He pulled away.
Abrupt. Sharp.
Like the snap of a rubber band pulled too tight.
The loss of his touch was instant.
A cold rush of air in his absence.
A hollow ache in the pit of her stomach.
He didnât say anything.
Didnât look back as he turned and walked away, his shoulders tense, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
Leaving her there.
Pressed against the front door.
Heart slamming against her ribs.
Every nerve ending burning.
She made a choice the next morning.
A deliberate decision.
The oversized shirt slipped over her frame easily, the fabric soft against her skin, hanging loose, dipping just enough to expose the curve of her collarbone.
It was his merch.
A bold logo stretched across the front, his name, his design.
It wasnât actually his. Not something borrowed, not something stolen.
But that didnât matter.
It was the implication that counted.
It was the game.
She saw him before he saw her.
He was leaning against the front desk in the lobby, scrolling through his phone, fingers tapping idly against the polished marble surface.
Dressed down. Sweatpants slung low on his hips. A hoodie pushed up to his elbows, exposing tanned forearms.
Casual. Unassuming.
But then, he looked up.
And everything changed.
His entire body went rigid.
She saw it all.
The flicker of realization. The quick inhale through his nose. The sharp clench of his jaw.
His eyes darkened.
Dragging down. Over the loose neckline exposing her collarbones. Over the way the fabric swallowed her whole.
Over the fact that his nameâhis brandâwas stamped across her chest like a mark.
Then lower.
To the bare stretch of her thighs.
His nostrils flared.
His grip tightened around his phone.
For a moment, he didnât move.
Didnât say a word.
Just stared.
Just looked at her like he was trying to figure out if this was real. If she was really doing this.
If she was really taunting him.
Thenâ
"I thought you werenât really a fan."
His voice was rougher than usual. Low and sharp.
She tilted her head, lips curling into something dangerous.
"What can I say? Opinions change, I guess."
He didnât smile.
Didnât smirk the way he usually would.
His jaw ticked. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to do something.
To touch.
To grab.
To undo this tension that was so close to snapping.
But insteadâ
He exhaled.
A slow, measured breath.
And then, he walked away.
Not a word.
Not a glance back.
But the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sidesâ
It told her everything.
This wasnât over.
It happened late that night.
Three knocks.
Deliberate. Heavy.
The kind that demanded attention.
The kind that made her breath catch before she even opened her eyes fully.
She stirred beneath the sheets, her heartbeat slamming in her ears.
It was late.
Too late for neighbors.
Too late for casual visits.
And she knew.
She knew who it was before she even reached the door.
Fingers trembling slightly, she curled them around the handle.
She exhaledâslow, steadyingâbefore she unlocked it.
Before she pulled it open.
And when she didâ
There he was.
Harry.
Standing in the dim hallway.
His hoodie was gone.
Just a white T-shirt, clinging to his frame. His curls were messy, like heâd been running his fingers through them.
His eyesâ
Dark. Blazing.
And when he finally spokeâ
His voice was hoarse. Low.
"Open the door wider."
For a second, she didnât move. Couldnât. Her fingers curled tighter around the handle, breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat. But then she didâslowly, cautiouslyâstepping back just enough to let the door swing open. Just enough to let him inside.
The second he crossed the threshold, she knew she had made a mistake.
The air shifted.
His presence sucked the oxygen from the room, leaving behind something thick, something stifling. The hallway light behind him cast his features in sharp reliefâthe sculpted lines of his jaw, the tension coiled in his shoulders, the unmistakable hunger in his eyes.
He looked at her then.
Really looked at her.
His gaze swept down, dragging over every inch of her, drinking her in like he was committing her to memory. Her bare legs. The way the oversized shirt swallowed her frame. The way the fabric dipped past her collarbones, slipping from one shoulder, exposing the delicate skin there. It wasnât his shirtâbut it might as well have been.
His fingers twitched at his sides.
He reached out.
A slow, deliberate movement.
Fingers curling around the hem of the fabric, thumb barely grazing her thigh as he tugged it between his fingers. Testing. Teasing.
"You think this is funny?"
His voice was rough, like it had been scraped raw. A warning. A challenge.
Y/N swallowed, her pulse hammering, her skin prickling beneath his touch. "I donât know what you mean."
Harry huffed a quiet, humorless laugh. Then he stepped closer.
Too close.
His body heat was suffocating. His scentâspice and cedarwood and something purely himâwrapped around her, invading her senses, making her head feel light.
"Youâve been teasing me for weeks." His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, the calloused tips ghosting up, up, up, barely touching, barely there.
A shiver raced down her spine.
His breath was hot against her temple, his words slow, measured, dangerous. "Is this what you wanted?"
Her knees felt weak. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. Every nerve ending in her body was on high alert, every muscle coiled tight, waitingâ
She barely heard her own voice. Barely recognized it when she whisperedâ
"Yes."
Thatâs all it took.
The snap.
A fraction of a second and his mouth was on hers.
Hard. Desperate. Bruising.
A collision of lips and teeth and frustration. His hands gripped her waist, firm and unyielding, pressing her back against the door. She gasped, the sound swallowed between them, lost in the mess of it all. He kissed like he was trying to punish her, like he had been holding back for too long and was finally snapping.
His hands slid upâfingers tangling in her hair, gripping just enough to tilt her head back, forcing her to let him take more. Take everything.
His knee parted her legs, pressing up, pressing against her. She let out a small, choked sound, one she barely recognized as her own, and his grip tightened in response.
He didnât stop.
Didnât slow.
Didnât give her a second to breathe.
And she didnât want him to.
His hands moved lower, fingers skimming the bare skin beneath the fabric, tracing the soft curve of her waist. Teasing. Exploring. Making her squirm.
Thenâ
He pulled away.
Just enough to let her feel the loss.
To make her chase after him.
His mouth hovered just above hers, his breath unsteady. His eyes, dark and blown, flicked downâto her lips, her throat, the way her chest rose and fell in rapid succession.
He smirked. Barely.
Then, he whisperedâ
"Told you, sweetheart."
His hands found the hem of the shirt again.
"You like playing with fire."
He peeled the shirt up.
Slow. Torturous.
His fingers traced every inch of newly exposed skin, dragging up the sides of her ribs, feeling the way her body shuddered beneath his touch. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to her stomach as he lifted the fabric higher, higher, his tongue grazing over sensitive spots, inhaling the way her body reacted to him.
When the fabric lifted past her breasts, he paused.
Pulled back.
Just enough to look at her.
His thumb brushed over a peaked nippleâa featherlight touch, teasing, testingâwatching the way she gasped at the contact, watching the way her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something.
But before she could, he leaned inâ
And wrapped his mouth around her.
A gasp ripped from her throat.
He took his time.
His tongue flicked, slow, deliberate. His teeth grazed, just enough. He worked her up, dragging out every tiny sound, every sharp intake of breath, every shiver that wracked her body.
Then, he switched.
Repeating the same sweet torture on the other side.
By the time he finally pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it aside, she was trembling.
And they had only just begun.
His hands skimmed down her waist, slow and deliberate, his palms branding heat into her bare skin. She barely had time to process the loss of the shirt before his grip tightenedâfirm, commandingâas he caught the backs of her thighs and lifted her with effortless strength.
A startled gasp left her lips, her fingers scrambling against his shoulders, nails digging in for balance as her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.
The air felt thick, electric.
Her back pressed against the door, the hard surface grounding her as he held her up, his body locked against hers, caging her in.
And thenâhe rolled his hips.
Just once.
A slow, deliberate grind that sent a sharp pulse of heat straight through her core.
A strangled moan slipped past her lips.
His reaction was immediate.
A low, deep groan rumbled from his chest, his grip on her thighs tightening like he needed to steady himself. His forehead dropped against the side of her face, his breath warm against her cheek, his voice rough.
"This what you wanted, sweetheart?"
He did it again, slower this time, pressing himself against her just enough to make sure she felt him.
Felt how hard he was.
How much he wanted her.
The friction sent another shudder rolling through her, her body betraying her, her head tipping back against the door with a sharp gasp.
His teeth scraped along her jaw, catching the sensitive skin before he sucked lightly, just enough to make her whimper.
"Yeah," he murmured, voice dark, smug. "Thatâs what I thought."
And then, he let her downâjust barely.
Lowering her just enough that her toes skimmed the floor, his fingers still digging into her thighs, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.
And thenâhe dropped.
Sank to his knees in front of her, his hands still gripping her thighs, fingers spreading over the soft skin, holding her open.
His gaze flickered up.
Dark. Intense.
Watching her as he pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh.
Slow.
Lingering.
She exhaled shakily, her entire body tensed, caught in that unbearable space between anticipation and desperation.
He didnât rush.
Didnât move too fast.
Instead, he took his time, his lips trailing a slow path higher, the heat of his breath searing against her already-sensitive skin.
A soft gasp escaped her lips when he nipped lightly, just above her knee, his tongue flicking out to soothe the spot.
He hummed against her skin.
"So sensitive," he murmured, voice full of wicked amusement.
She bit her lip, fingers curling into fists at her sides as he kept going.
Higher.
His mouth moved up the inside of her thigh, his tongue dragging in slow, torturous strokes.
When he reached the curve where her thigh met her hip, he paused.
She could feel his breath there.
So close.
Right where she needed him.
Her hips shifted instinctively, a small, unconscious movement. A plea without words.
And instead of giving inâ
He pulled back.
A small, teasing chuckle rumbled from his throat.
"Impatient?"
She made a small, frustrated noise, her hands twitching at her sides.
And thenâ
His fingers curled into the waistband of her underwear.
A small tug.
Not enough to pull them down.
Just enough to snap the elastic against her skin.
The sharp little sting made her jolt, made her breath catch.
Harry grinned.
"So eager," he murmured, voice dark, teasing. "Look at youâalready soaked for me."
She whimpered.
His fingertips traced just above the fabric.
Not touching her where she needed him.
Just hovering.
Letting her feel how close he was.
Letting her ache for it.
"Tell me," he murmured, voice rough, his lips brushing the inside of her thigh.
"Do you want my fingers or my tongue first?"
Her breath hitched, fingers clenching into fists at her sides. The heat of his breath against her skin sent a shiver rippling up her spine, and she felt like she might go mad if he didnât touch her properly.
She swallowed hard, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. She knew what he was doingâpushing her, making her beg for it.
But her pride could only hold out for so long.
"Your mouth," she whispered, voice unsteady.
A pleased hum vibrated against her skin. "Good girl."
And thenâhe snapped.
In one sharp motion, he hooked his fingers into her underwear and ripped them down her thighs. A gasp caught in her throat at the sudden movement, at the way the fabric barely had time to glide over her skin before he was shoving it aside like it was a useless scrap in his way.
The cold air barely had time to meet her exposed skin before his mouth was on her.
Her whole body jerked against the door, a strangled sound escaping her lips as his tongue flicked out, slow at first.
Testing.
Tasting.
He took his time, dragging the tip of his tongue in a long, deliberate stroke, savoring the way she trembled, the way she exhaled in stuttered little gasps.
His grip on her thighs tightened, thumbs pressing into the soft skin as he held her open for him.
"Fuck," she breathed, already struggling to stay upright, nails clawing at the wooden door behind her.
His tongue moved again, flicking over her in a lazy, teasing rhythm that made her hips stutter forwardâchasing the feeling, chasing him.
That seemed to amuse him.
"So desperate," he murmured against her, lips curving before he dipped his tongue deeper.
Her whole body jolted. A strangled moan caught in her throat, her knees nearly giving out.
Harry groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her, making her stomach tighten, her pulse race. His grip tightened on her thighs, holding her steady, keeping her exactly where he wanted her as he worked her open with his mouth.
And thenâhe got impatient.
The slow teasing disappeared in a snap.
His tongue pressed deeper, flicking faster, rougher, his lips sealing over her in a way that sent electricity shooting through her limbs.
She gasped, back arching, hands slamming against the door as her whole body clenched.
He didnât let up.
Didnât give her time to breathe, to process, to do anything but take it.
Her hips tried to jerk away, the pleasure rolling through her so intense it was almost too much.
But Harry wasnât having it.
His hands pinned her in place.
"Stay still," he ordered, voice muffled against her. His lips brushed over her slick, sensitive skin, a promise, a warning. "Take what I give you."
And thenâhis fingers slid inside her.
She nearly sobbed.
His fingers curled inside her just right, pressing into that spot that made her see white behind her eyelids.
She was already unraveling, already falling apart in his hands.
And he loved it.
His mouth and fingers worked in tandem, pushing her higher, pushing her toward the edge so fast she couldnât think, couldnât breathe, couldnât do anything but let him wreck her.
Her hands clawed at the door, her head falling back, a sharp cry slipping from her lips.
So close.
So close it was torturous.
Her body clenched around his fingers, legs trembling, the pleasure building, burning, threatening to consume her whole.
She was right there.
Right on the edge of breaking.
And thenâ
He pulled away.
Completely.
Her eyes snapped open, her breath catching, her head spinning in a dazed, wrecked, frantic haze.
"Harryâ"
Her voice came out shattered, her body desperate, aching, ready to fall apart.
But he just wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his lips red and glistening, his eyes dark and burning as he stared up at her.
"Turn around," he ordered, voice low, rough, firm.
She didnât move at first, still gasping for breath, her mind slow to catch up, still clinging to the pleasure he had just ripped away from her.
But Harryâ
Harry didnât wait.
He grabbed her.
Spun her in one swift motion, pressing her face-first against the door.
Her hands braced against the wood as she sucked in a shaky breath, her body still trembling from what he had done to her.
But she barely had time to recover before she felt it.
Him.
His cock, thick and hard, dragging over her slick folds.
Not pushing in.
Not yet.
Just teasing, letting her feel how ready he was, how desperate he had become.
His breath was hot against her ear as he leaned in, pressing his chest against her back.
"You like playing with fire?" he murmured, his voice low, taunting. His lips brushed over the shell of her ear, the words a dark promise.
"Now you get to burn."
Her body shivered, but it wasnât from the cold. There was nothing cold about the way he held her, about the way his hands framed her hips, keeping her pinned between his body and the door. Nothing cold about the weight of him pressing into her, the hard line of his chest against her back, his thighs bracketing hers as his grip tightenedâpossessive, unrelenting.
His fingertips dug into her skin, marking her before heâd even properly touched her. A slow, dark thrill curled in her stomach, anticipation pooling low, thick and hot, making her legs tremble beneath her.
Harry tilted his head, letting his lips graze the curve of her jaw before trailing lower, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the side of her neck. He hummed against her skin, his voice nothing but a rasp. "You were teasing me all night. Now look at you."
She bit her lip, swallowing down the sound that threatened to escape. It was pathetic, how easily he unraveled her, how effortlessly he wound her up. He hadnât even touched her properly, and already she was teetering on the edge of something reckless, something that stole the breath from her lungs.
His fingers skimmed down her stomach, deliberate and slow, until they settled on the waistband of her underwear. He played with the fabric, tugging it just enough to make her gasp, before dragging his hand back up.
She whimpered.
"You hear that?" he murmured, pressing his lips to the hinge of her jaw. "Youâre already desperate for me."
She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing down the response on the tip of her tongue. He knew it was true. He knew exactly what he did to her.
And still, he made her wait.
Seconds stretched between them, thick with tension, the air heavy with the weight of what was coming. His fingers flexed against her waist, his breathing uneven, his restraint razor-thin.
And then, finallyâfinallyâhe pushed inside.
There was no hesitation, no teasing. No gentle buildup.
The moment he entered her, it was deep and hard, stealing the breath from her lungs in one sharp thrust.
Her fingers flew to the door, pressing against it for support, her body arching in response to the sudden fullness, the delicious stretch of him inside her. A broken moan tumbled from her lips, her forehead falling forward, her body tensing around him.
"Fuck." The word was a ragged groan from behind her, his voice thick, strained. His grip on her waist tightened, his nails pressing crescents into her skin. "So tight, sweetheart. Always so fucking tight for me."
She barely heard him. Barely registered anything beyond the way he felt, the way he filled her completely, the way his hips pulled backâjust enough to make her whimperâbefore snapping forward again.
It was punishing. Relentless.
There was no slow build, no tenderness. Just pure, raw need.
His other hand slid up, fingers tracing the path between her ribs before curving around her breast. He squeezed, rough and possessive, his thumb swiping over the peak. She gasped, her knees nearly giving out beneath her.
She couldnât think.
Couldnât focus on anything beyond the way he moved, the way he took herâdeep and desperate, like he needed this as much as she did.
"This is what you wanted, huh?" His voice was nothing but a rasp, wrecked and breathless. "To be fucked like this?"
A strangled moan was all she could manage, her hands scrabbling against the door, nails scraping against the wood.
His pace quickened, hips slamming into hers, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the dimly lit room. The dresser beside them rattled with every thrust, the sharp edge of the door biting into her palms as she braced herself.
She could feel herself slipping, unraveling beneath his touch. The pleasure built rapidly, winding tight in her stomach, threatening to snap.
But just as she reached for itâjust as she started to fallâhe pulled away.
She gasped at the sudden loss, her body protesting immediately, but before she could even form a coherent thought, he spun her around.
Her back barely hit the dresser before his hands were on her thighs, lifting her easily, placing her exactly where he wanted. Her fingers scrambled for purchase, gripping his shoulders, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he aligned himself again.
His mouth crashed against hersâdesperate, bruising.
The kiss was messy, all teeth and tongues, heat and hunger. He nipped at her bottom lip before swallowing the breathy moan that slipped out, his hands digging into the flesh of her thighs as he held her still.
And then, without warning, he slammed back into her.
Her head tipped back, a strangled sound escaping as her fingers clawed at his back.
He didnât give her time to adjust. Didnât give her time to catch her breath.
He set a brutal pace from the start, each thrust deep and deliberate, dragging pleasure through her like fire licking at dry wood.
"Look at me."
His voice was commanding, his grip tightening as his fingers tangled in her hair.
She forced her eyes open, her vision hazy, dazed, as she met the intense green of his.
His pupils were blown, his jaw tight, sweat dampening the curls at his temples. He looked wrecked, desperate, and completely in control all at once.
The way he was looking at herâlike he wanted to watch every second of her unraveling, like he wanted to imprint this moment in his memory foreverâsent a fresh wave of arousal through her.
The dresser rocked beneath them, the force of his movements sending jolts of pleasure through her, her body trembling from the sheer intensity of it.
She was close.
So close she could taste it, could feel it creeping up her spine, threatening to pull her under.
And then he did something devastating.
He slowed.
His thrusts dragged out, the pace shiftingânot easing in intensity, but stretching the moment, prolonging it, making her suffer.
She whimpered, her nails digging into his skin, frustration making her eyes sting.
"Harry," she pleaded, voice wrecked, shaking.
His smirk was slow, teasing, even as his own restraint wavered. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear as he murmured, "Come on, sweetheart. Let go."
The words shattered her.
Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, dragging her under, burning through every nerve ending. She gasped, her whole body tensing, thighs squeezing around him, fingers gripping him so tightly she was sure sheâd leave marks.
The sound that left herâsomewhere between a sob and a screamâsent him spiraling after her.
A guttural groan ripped from his throat as he buried himself deep, his whole body shuddering as he spilled into her.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Their breathing filled the silence, ragged and uneven, the scent of sweat and sex lingering between them.
Then, Harry let out a breathless, hoarse chuckle against her shoulder.
"Fuck," he muttered, forehead dropping to hers.
She exhaled shakily, still floating somewhere between reality and oblivion.
And when she finally laughedâsoft, dazedâhe smirked, shaking his head.
"Yeah, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to her jaw. "Real funny."
Her body still hummed from the aftershocks, her skin dewy, her limbs heavy and languid. The dresser was cool against her back, contrasting the overwhelming warmth of himâhis body still pressed to hers, his breath warm against her temple.
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself exist in this space, in the remnants of what theyâd just done. Her fingers trailed absentmindedly along his shoulder, nails scraping lightly against damp skin.
He sighed, a slow exhale that ghosted across her collarbone. "You okay?"
It was soft. Barely more than a murmur, but the concern in his voice made something pull tight in her chest.
She swallowed, forcing a small smile. "Yeah. You?"
His lips brushed over her throat, lingering there for a beat before he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "Always."
She huffed out a tired laugh, shaking her head. But she didnât argue.
Because for now, sheâd let herself believe it.
The first thing Y/N registers is warmth.
It surrounds her, presses against her back, blankets her in something heavy and solid and safe.
A slow, steady breath ghosts over her shoulder, warm lips barely grazing her skin in sleep.
Harry.
Reality creeps in slowly, threading through the fog of exhaustion. The sheets are tangled around her legs, twisted in the aftermath of limbs and desperate touches. His arm is draped over her waist, his fingers relaxed against her stomach, but even in sleep, his hold is possessiveâlike even now, he doesnât want her to leave.
She blinks, adjusting to the dim light filtering in from the window, to the weight of his body curled around hers.
This is real.
The thought hits her with startling clarity. The heat of him against her, the soft inhale and exhale of his breath.
His fingers twitch against her stomach, flexing slightlyâlike heâs making sure sheâs still there.
For a moment, she lets herself sink into it.
She stays still, breathing him in, memorizing the feeling of his skin against hers. She closes her eyes, reveling in the warmth, the intimacy of it, the slow rise and fall of his chest pressed against her back.
But then, the second thought comes.
She needs to go.
Carefully, she shifts, trying to untangle herself without disturbing him, but the moment she moves, his grip tightens.
"Where you going, trouble?"
His voice is low, thick with sleep, rough in a way that makes something clench deep in her stomach.
She swallows. "I should leave beforeâ"
His arm tightens around her, pulling her back into him.
"Stay."
The word is soft. Barely a whisper.
But it steals the breath from her lungs.
She doesnât move. Doesnât breathe.
Because this? This isnât supposed to happen.
She bites her lip, staring at the ceiling.
"Harry, thisâ" she hesitates, her voice quieter now, less certain. "This wasnât supposed to happen."
His fingers move slowly, tracing small circles against her hip, his breath steadying.
"Maybe not." He presses a lazy kiss to her shoulder. "But it did."
She doesnât respond.
Because she doesnât know how.
So, for now, neither of them moves.
For a while, they exist in a bubble.
The tension is still thereâalwaysâbut now itâs laced with something heavier.
Something neither of them speaks about.
They steal moments.
Quick touches in the elevator. Lingering glances across the lobby. The brush of his fingers against her wrist in passing. A hand on her lower back when no oneâs looking.
The silence between them is thick with unspoken words, with things they should say but donât.
Because saying them makes this real.
And if itâs real, it can break.
But then, the bubble bursts.
A paparazzi photo leaks.
"Harry Styles spotted leaving neighborâs apartment in the early hours."
Her phone is vibrating before she even opens her eyes.
A constant buzz against her nightstand, insistent and relentless.
She groans, squinting against the early morning light as she reaches for it.
Calls. Messages. Notifications blowing up.
Her stomach tightens.
With shaking fingers, she swipes through the alerts.
People found her Instagram. Theyâre digging through her posts. Speculating.
Her heart pounds as she scrolls through the headlines. The invasive comments. The messages flooding her inboxâsome curious, some vicious.
Her stomach twists.
Her hands shake.
She doesnât even hesitate before grabbing her keys and heading to Harryâs apartment.
By the time she gets there, the door is already unlocked.
She steps inside cautiously, closing the door behind her, her pulse hammering in her ears.
Harry is pacing.
His back is to her, his hands tangled in his hair, his shoulders rigid.
He turns sharply at the sound of the door clicking shut.
His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are dark, stormy.
"Harryâ"
"We canât do this."
The words hit like a slap.
Her breath catches, her stomach twisting so violently she thinks she might be sick.
"So thatâs it?"
His jaw tightens.
He doesnât answer.
Because he doesnât know.
And thatâs the worst part.
Not the photo. Not the headlines. Not the fact that the world is picking apart something she doesnât even understand herself.
Itâs this.
The hesitation in his voice. The conflict in his eyes. The way he looks at her like he wants to pull her close but knows he shouldnât.
She waits.
Waits for him to take it back.
To say something, anything, that makes this hurt less.
But he doesnât.
His throat bobs, his fingers twitch at his sides, his mouth parts slightlyâlike he might speak.
But he doesnât.
She exhales shakily, her vision blurring.
And when she finally turns, when she finally walks awayâ
He doesnât stop her.
â â
⎠â
â
Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like â¤ď¸âđĽ
taglist: @oscahpastry @mema10 @angelbabyyy99 @iloveharrystyles04 @cinemharry @drwho06 @donutsandpalmtrees @panini @mads3502 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @one-sweet-gubler @rizosrizos26 @ciriceimpera @everyscarisahealingplace @hello-heyhi @sexymfharriet @lizsogolden @hannah9921 @chicabonitasblog @huhidontknowstuff @berrywoods1245 @jennovaaa @angeldavis777 @prettygurl-2009 @almostcontentcreator @run-for-the-hills @maudie-duan @dipmeinhoneyh @harrrrystylesslut @georgiarose94 @stylestarkey @watarmelon212 @hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east @bethiegurl19 @adoredeanna @secretisme4 @harry2121 @hopefullimaginer123 @fangirl509east @uncassettodiricordi @2601-london
#harry styles#harry styles smut#harry styles x reader#harry styles fic#enemies to lovers#one night stand au#angst with smut#slow burn#pining#forbidden romance#friends with benefits gone wrong#harry styles writing#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles x y/n
438 notes
¡
View notes
Text
THERE'S HOLY GROUND BENEATH THEM, AND SPARKS FLY WHEN THEY KISSââBUECKERSâľ
for this request!
â summary | you & paige have been together for a while, and you know nothing could come between you twoâeven distance itself.
â pairing | paige bueckers x fem!reader
â word count | 1.8k
â warnings | just fluff! paige being clingy af
ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!
⨠missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!
Itâs early morning when you wake to the soft rise and fall of Paigeâs breath next to you. The sun barely peeks through the blinds, casting gentle lines of light across her face. You can't help but smile as you watch her, peaceful and completely at ease, as if the world outside doesnât exist for a moment. Itâs these quiet mornings you love the mostâjust the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other's presence.
You reach out, gently brushing a few strands of hair from her forehead. She stirs, her eyes fluttering open, and a sleepy smile spreads across her lips.
âMorning,â she murmurs, voice low and rough with sleep.
"Morning," you whisper back, leaning in to kiss her cheek. Paige shifts closer to you, her arm sliding around your waist, pulling you against her. You can feel her warmth seep into you, and for a second, you close your eyes, soaking it all in.
âI still canât believe this is real,â she admits softly, her breath warm against your skin.
Itâs something she says often, almost like a reflexâa reminder of the way her past relationships left her unsure, hesitant. But you know her better now. You know how far sheâs come, how much youâve both learned together.
âMe neither,â you reply with a soft laugh, pressing your forehead against hers. âBut weâre figuring it out, arenât we?â
Paige nods, a small, determined smile playing at her lips. You can feel the tension that still lingers sometimes, the quiet fears she doesnât always speak aloud. But youâve made it clear from the startâthis is new for both of you, and youâre in it together.
âIâm glad itâs with you,â she says after a beat, her voice soft but sure.
And in that moment, wrapped in the safety of her arms, you know without a doubtânothing could ever come between you.
âââ
When Paige has to leave for away games, you can always tell somethingâs off before she even says a word. She tries to hide it, but you see it in the way she lingers just a little longer when you hold her, in the tight squeeze of her arms around you when she pulls you in for a hug. The way her fingers stay tangled with yours as if sheâs afraid to let go, like if she holds on long enough, maybe time will stretch, and she wonât have to leave just yet.
The night before she leaves, you find her sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at the duffel bag thatâs only half-packed. Her shoulders are slumped, her usual easy confidence replaced by something softer, quieter. You step closer, leaning against the doorframe, watching her for a moment. She doesnât notice you at first, too lost in thought.
âHey,â you say softly, breaking the silence.
Paige turns, her blue eyes lifting to meet yours, and though she smiles, it doesnât reach her eyes. âHey.â
You walk over, sliding into the space next to her on the bed. Without a word, you take her hand in yours, feeling the warmth of her palm against yours, the way her thumb absentmindedly traces circles on your skin.
âYouâre not even packed yet,â you tease gently, trying to lighten the mood. âWhat happened to Paige Bueckers, always ready for anything?â
She lets out a small laugh, the sound soft and almost reluctant. âI know, I just⌠I hate leaving.â
âI know,â you murmur, resting your head on her shoulder. âBut itâs only a few days. Youâll be back before you know it.â
Paige nods, but you can feel the tension in her body, the way her jaw clenches ever so slightly. Sheâs not great at talking about it, the way leaving you behind makes her feel. Sheâs always been independent, fiercely so, but when it comes to you, something shifts. Thereâs a vulnerability in her that only you see, a softness she keeps guarded from the rest of the world.
âItâs justâŚâ she starts, and then stops, chewing on the inside of her cheek. âI donât like being away from you.â
You tilt your head up, looking at her as her brow furrows in that way it does when sheâs trying to find the right words. Sheâs always been better at showing you how she feels than saying it. Her love comes in the quiet moments, in the way she slips an arm around your waist when youâre making coffee, or how she sneaks kisses against your temple when youâre focused on something else. But now, sheâs trying to put it into words, and you can see how much itâs weighing on her.
âI know itâs my job,â Paige continues, her voice a little rougher, âand I love playing, I really do. But I hate leaving you here. Every time Iâm on the road, I just⌠I donât know. Itâs like a part of me is missing.â
Her words hang in the air for a moment, and you squeeze her hand a little tighter. âI miss you too,â you say quietly, because itâs true. Every time sheâs away, the apartment feels a little emptier, quieter. You find yourself glancing at the clock, counting down the hours until sheâs back, until you can hear her laugh in person again, see the way her eyes light up when she talks about her game.
âBut,â you add, nudging her lightly, âyou know Iâm always watching, right? Every single game, Iâm right there, cheering you on.â
Paigeâs expression softens at that, the corners of her lips turning up just slightly. âYeah, I know. I always try to play my best âcause I know youâre watching.â She lets out a breath, her shoulders relaxing a little. âItâs weird, but even when Iâm on the court, I think about you. Like, I canât wait to get back and tell you everything. How the game went, the plays we ran⌠I donât know. I just always want to talk to you after.â
You smile, warmth blooming in your chest. You can picture it so clearlyâPaige out there, focused and driven, pushing herself to her limits not just for the love of the game, but because she knows youâre at home, glued to the screen, living every moment with her.
âThatâs because Iâm your biggest fan,â you say, leaning up to kiss her cheek.
She finally grins, that familiar Paige smile that lights up her whole face. âYouâre biased.â
âMaybe,â you admit, laughing softly. âBut itâs true. Youâre amazing, Paige. And Iâll always be here, waiting for you when you get back.â
Paige shifts so she can wrap her arms around you, pulling you close until youâre resting against her chest. You feel her chin rest on top of your head, the steady beat of her heart beneath your ear. She holds you like she never wants to let go, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The world outside the two of you falls away, and all thatâs left is thisâthe warmth of her body, the familiar scent of her skin, the way she makes you feel safe and loved.
Eventually, she breaks the silence, her voice soft and sincere. âI love you, you know that?â
âI know,â you whisper back, your fingers tracing absent patterns on her arm. âI love you too.â
Paige holds you a little tighter, and you stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each otherâs presence, as if neither of you can bear to let the moment slip away.
By the time sheâs finally packed and ready to go the next morning, thereâs a quiet resolve in her. You stand by the door, watching as she throws her bag over her shoulder, her posture more confident now, like sheâs mentally gearing up for the game. But before she leaves, she turns to you, eyes soft, and steps close, cupping your face in her hands.
âIâll be back before you know it,â she promises, and this time, you can tell she believes it.
You nod, leaning into her touch. âIâll be here.â
With one last kiss, sheâs gone, and the apartment feels empty without her. But even as she leaves, you know that no matter how far away she is, sheâs still with you. Youâll be watching her from home, cheering her on, and when sheâs back, youâll be right here, waitingâlike always.
âââ
The reporter steps in, microphone in hand, with the cameras rolling. Paige wipes the sweat from her brow and takes a deep breath, flashing that signature smile, the one you know so well, but thereâs still that softness underneathâreserved, a little shy when the attention is focused on her, even after all these years.
"Paige, another incredible performance tonight! You led your team with 28 points, 8 assists, 4 stealsâyou were unstoppable out there. How do you keep finding ways to take over like this?"
Paige chuckles, her eyes flickering down for a second as if sheâs still processing it all. "Uh, honestly, itâs just about staying focused. My teammates make it easy for me, and Iâm just trying to do my part to help us win."
The reporter nods, grinning. "Youâve had quite the season so far, but tonight, something felt differentâyou were playing with so much energy. Anything in particular motivating you tonight?"
Thereâs a small pause, and then Paigeâs smile shifts, her eyes softening in a way thatâs familiar to you. The crowd noise fades in the background as she takes a moment before answering.
"Yeah, uh, thereâs always one person whoâs got my back no matter what," Paige says, her voice steady but full of emotion. "Even when Iâm out there on the road, I know sheâs at home, watching, supporting me every second. That makes all the difference." She looks directly into the camera, her smile widening.
"So this oneâs for you," she continues, and your heart skips a beat. "You know who you are. Thank you for always being there for me, for believing in meâeven when Iâve had doubts. Youâre the reason I can go out there and play my best. Every game, every shot, I think about coming home to you. I love you."
The reporter grins, picking up on the moment. "Sounds like youâve got quite the support system off the court as well."
Paige laughs, a little embarrassed but glowing. "Yeah, well Iâm really lucky. She means everything to me."
You can feel your cheeks heat up even though Paige isnât there with you. Hearing her say it, in front of the cameras, in front of everyoneâitâs a reminder of just how deep this connection goes. Youâve always known how much you mean to her, but hearing her speak about you like this, with so much love and gratitude, makes your chest swell with pride.
The interview wraps up, and as Paige waves to the fans and heads back toward the locker room, you sit there, staring at the screen, heart full. The game may be over, but the way Paige looks at you, even from a distance, reminds you that youâre always with herâon the court, off the court, and everywhere in between.
âł make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !
âł thank you for reading all the way through, as always âĄ
#paige bueckers#paige bueckers x reader#paige bueckers fic#paige bueckers smut#paige bueckers x oc#paige bueckers headcannons#uconn huskies#uconnwbb#uconn#wcbb#uconn wcbb#wbb x reader#wbb smut#wbb fanfiction
856 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Post Ceremony Awards
Giselle X Male Reader
Tags : Idol Girlfriend, Kissing, Cowgirl, Lots and lots of Sex, Temptation
Words : 3,2k

This is a Commission for My Friend @dav1233555 on Tumblr. Hope you liked it buddy.
The soft hum of the city outside was drowned out by the faint sound of heels clicking against the marble floor. Giselleâs delicate yet hurried footsteps echoed through the empty hallway as she approached the door, her heart racing with a mix of exhaustion and excitement. The award show had been a whirlwindâflashing cameras, blinding lights, and the constant pressure to smile even when her feet felt like they were about to give out. But now, all she wanted was him.
Y/N.
Her safe haven. Her escape from the chaos of being an idol. She fumbled with the keys for a moment, her hands trembling slightly from the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Finally, the door clicked open, and she stepped inside, greeted by the warm, dim lighting of their shared apartment.
âY/N?â she called out softly, her voice carrying a hint of playfulness as she kicked off her heels and let them clatter to the floor. There was no immediate response, just the faint sound of sizzling coming from the kitchen. A smile tugged at her lips as she padded toward the source of the noise, her hips swaying ever so slightly in her form-fitting dress.
There he was, standing by the stove, his back turned to her as he stirred something that smelled absolutely divine. His broad shoulders relaxed under the casual shirt he wore, and Giselle couldnât help but admire how effortlessly handsome he looked, even in such a simple moment. She leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms as she watched him, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
âDid you miss me?â she purred, her voice dripping with teasing affection.
Y/N turned around, his face lighting up the moment he saw her. âOf course I did,â he said, setting the spoon down and wiping his hands on a towel. âHow was the show? You look⌠stunning, as always.â
Giselle smirked, stepping closer until she was just inches away from him. âIt was exhausting,â she admitted, her fingers lightly trailing down his chest. âBut seeing you makes it all worth it.â
His breath hitched as her touch sent a shiver through him. He could feel the heat radiating off her body, the intoxicating scent of her perfume enveloping him. Before he could say anything, she closed the distance between them, her lips crashing against his in a kiss that was equal parts desperate and passionate. Y/Nâs hands instinctively found her waist, pulling her closer as their tongues danced together, exploring every inch of each otherâs mouths.
Giselle moaned softly into the kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed herself against him. The fabric of her dress felt too constricting, too much of a barrier between them. She pulled away just enough to whisper against his lips, âI need you. Now.â
Y/N didnât need to be told twice. In one swift motion, he lifted her off her feet, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the living room. He carefully set her down on the couch, his eyes never leaving hers as he began to undress her, peeling away the layers of designer fabric until she was left in nothing but her lingerie. His gaze darkened with desire as he took in the sight of her, his hands trembling slightly as he traced the curves of her body.
âYouâre perfect,â he murmured, his voice rough with need.
Giselleâs cheeks flushed at the compliment, but she didnât have time to respond before he leaned down to capture her lips once more. His hands roamed over her skin, igniting a fire that burned hotter with every touch. She arched her back as his fingers dipped beneath the lace of her panties, finding her already wet and eager for him.
âY/N,â she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as he teased her sensitive folds. âPleaseâŚâ
He didnât make her beg for long. With a growl of approval, he stripped off his own clothes, his erection springing free as he positioned himself between her thighs. Giselle reached down to guide him inside her, her breath hitching as he slid into her warmth, filling her completely.
They moved together in perfect harmony, their bodies melding as if they were made for each other. Giselleâs head fell back against the couch as Y/Nâs thrusts grew more frantic, each one sending waves of pleasure through her entire body. She wrapped her legs tighter around him, urging him deeper, harder.
âFuck, Y/N,â she moaned, her voice breaking as the pressure built inside her. âDonât stop⌠please donât stopâŚâ
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he chased his own release. The sound of their skin slapping together filled the room, mingling with their muffled cries of pleasure. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, they both came undone, collapsing into each otherâs arms as the world around them faded away.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing and the steady rhythm of their hearts beating in sync. Giselle nuzzled against Y/Nâs chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin as she basked in the afterglow.
âLetâs stay like this forever,â she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Y/N chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. âAs long as you want, princess.â
But just as they were beginning to drift off, the sound of the front door opening jolted them awake. Giselleâs eyes widened as she realized what time it wasâthe rest of the members must have come home.
âShit,â she hissed, scrambling to grab her dress and pull it back on. Y/N quickly followed suit, throwing on his clothes just as Karina, Winter, and Ningning walked into the living room.
Their eyes immediately zeroed in on the disheveled state of the couchâand the unmistakable flush on Giselleâs cheeks.
âWhat were you two doing?â Winter asked, her tone laced with amusement as she raised an eyebrow.
Giselle laughed nervously, trying to play it cool. âNothing! Just⌠catching up after the show.â
Karina and Ningning exchanged knowing glances, clearly not buying it, but they didnât push further. Instead, they plopped down on the other side of the couch, stealing bites of the food Y/N had prepared earlier.
As they ate and chatted, Giselle leaned back against Y/Nâs chest, feeling more content than she had in weeks. Despite the chaos of her life, moments like this made everything worth it.
But deep down, she knew this wasnât the end. Not even close.
And as she glanced up at Y/N, a sly smile playing on her lips, she wondered just how far they could take thingsâŚ
Giselleâs fingers traced lazy circles on Y/Nâs thigh under the table as the other members chatted animatedly about the award show. Winter was recounting a particularly funny moment backstage, her laughter echoing through the room, while Karina and Ningning were fully immersed in their video game, controllers clicking furiously.
But Giselle couldnât focus on any of it. Her mind was still replaying the way Y/N had touched her earlier, the way his hands had lingered on her skin, possessive yet tender. She glanced at him from under her lashes, her lips curving into a mischievous smile.
He knew exactly what she wanted.
âHey,â she whispered, leaning closer to him, her breath warm against his ear. âI think I left something upstairs⌠come help me find it?â
Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly catching her drift. He glanced around the roomâthe girls were too preoccupied to notice anything amiss. Without a word, he nodded, standing up casually.
âBe right back,â he said, though no one was really paying attention.
Giselle followed him up the stairs, her heels clicking softly against the wooden steps. The moment they reached the hallway, she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind them.
The air between them crackled with tension as she turned to face him, her back pressed against the door. Her eyes darkened, her lips parting slightly as she tilted her head up to meet his gaze.
âYou owe me,â she murmured, her voice dripping with promise. âFrom earlier.â
Y/N didnât need any more encouragement. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them in one swift motion. His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him as his lips crashed onto hers. The kiss was hungry, desperate, filled with all the pent-up frustration theyâd been holding back downstairs.
Giselle moaned softly into his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair as she deepened the kiss. She could feel his hardness pressing against her, and it sent a jolt of heat straight to her core.
âFuck me,â she breathed when they finally broke apart, her chest heaving. âRight now.â
Y/N didnât hesitate. He spun her around, pinning her against the door as his hands slid down her body, gripping her hips tightly. His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses that made her gasp.
âQuiet,â he warned, his voice low and rough. âUnless you want them to hear.â
Giselle bit her lip, nodding as she reached behind her to undo the clasp of her dress. It fell to the floor in a pool of silk, leaving her in nothing but her lingerie. Y/Nâs eyes raked over her body, and she could see the hunger in his gaze.
âTake it off,â she demanded, her voice trembling with anticipation.
He obeyed, his hands trembling slightly as he unhooked her bra and slipped off her panties. She stepped out of them, completely bare before him, and the look in his eyes made her shiver.
âYouâre so fucking beautiful,â he muttered, his hands roaming over her curves, savoring every inch of her.
Giselle reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle as impatience gnawed at her. She needed him inside her, now. When she finally freed him from his pants, she gasped at the size of him, her body already aching with need.
âHurry,â she whispered, turning around and bracing herself against the door.
Y/N didnât need to be told twice. He lined himself up with her entrance, his hands gripping her hips as he pushed into her slowly, letting her adjust to him. Giselleâs nails dug into the wood of the door as she let out a stifled moan, her body trembling with pleasure.
âDonât hold back,â she breathed, pushing back against him. âFuck me like you mean it.â
That was all the encouragement he needed. Y/N gripped her hips tighter, thrusting into her with a force that made her cry out. Each movement was deep, deliberate, hitting all the right spots as her moans grew louder, more unrestrained.
âShh,â he reminded her, though his own breathing was ragged, his self-control slipping.
But Giselle couldnât help it. The pleasure was overwhelming, each thrust sending waves of ecstasy through her body. She bit down on her hand to muffle her cries, but they still escaped, soft and breathy, filling the room.
Downstairs, Karina paused mid-game, glancing up at the ceiling. âDo you guys hear that?â she asked, her brow furrowed.
Ningning tilted her head, listening. âSounds like⌠I donât know. A cat or something?â
Winter snorted. âIn this apartment? Doubt it.â
Karina shrugged, returning to the game. âProbably just the neighbors.â
Upstairs, Giselle was far past caring. She rocked back against Y/N, matching his rhythm as their bodies moved together in perfect sync. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with their gasps and moans.
âHarder,â she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. âPlease.â
Y/N obliged, his thrusts becoming rougher, more urgent. He leaned over her, his chest pressed against her back as his lips found her shoulder, biting down lightly. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through her, and she arched her back, pushing herself further onto him.
âGod, you feel so good,â he groaned, his voice strained.
Giselle smiled to herself, reveling in the way he was falling apart for her. She reached back, tangling her fingers in his hair as she guided him closer, urging him on.
âIâm close,â she whispered, her walls tightening around him. âSo closeâŚâ
Y/N kissed her neck, his breathing uneven. âCome for me,â he urged, his voice thick with desire.
And she did. Pleasure ripped through her body like a tidal wave, her vision going white as she cried out, muffling the sound in her hand. Y/N wasnât far behind, his thrusts growing erratic as he buried himself deep inside her, spilling himself with a groan.
For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies pressed together, both trembling from the intensity of it all. Then Y/N pulled away slowly, helping her turn around to face him.
Giselle looked up at him, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from kissing. She reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead as she smiled.
âYouâre amazing,â she whispered, her voice hoarse.
Y/N chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. âYouâre not so bad yourself.â
They stayed there for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow, until the sound of laughter from downstairs brought them back to reality.
âWe should probably get dressed,â Y/N said reluctantly, though his hands still lingered on her waist.
Giselle pouted playfully. âDo we have to?â
He laughed, shaking his head. âUnless you want to explain why weâre naked when they inevitably come looking for us.â
She sighed, stepping away from him to retrieve her dress. As they got dressed, she couldnât help but glance at him, a sly smile playing on her lips.
âYou know,â she said, smoothing out her dress, âwe could always sneak back up here laterâŚâ
Y/N smirked, pulling her into his arms once more. âAre you trying to kill me?â
Giselle giggled, leaning up to kiss him again. âMaybe.â
The soft hum of conversation and clinking silverware filled the apartment as the group gathered around the dining table. Y/N had outdone himself with the mealâsizzling bulgogi, steaming kimchi jjigae, and perfectly seasoned japchae adorned the table. The aroma wafted through the air, mingling with the lingering tension that seemed to hang just beneath the surface. Giselle sat close to Y/N, her fingers occasionally brushing his under the table, a secret smile playing on her lips whenever their eyes met.
Karina was the first to break the casual chatter. She leaned forward, her chopsticks hovering over her plate, her sharp gaze darting between Giselle and Y/N. âSo⌠how long have you two been sneaking around?â she asked, her tone light but laced with suspicion.
Giselle froze mid-bite, her eyes widening for a split second before she recovered, her lips curling into an amused smirk. She set her chopsticks down deliberately, leaning back in her chair. âSneaking around? Who said anything about sneaking?â
Winter snorted, rolling her eyes. âOh, come on, Giselle. Weâre not blind. Youâve been glowing like a neon sign since we got home. And donât think we didnât notice how long it took you two to âhelp clean upâ earlier.â
Ningning giggled into her hand, clearly enjoying the sudden shift in the roomâs energy. âYeah, and letâs not forget the very loud thud against the bedroom door. What were you doing, redecorating?â
Y/N felt his cheeks burn, but Giselle remained unfazed. She tilted her head, her expression turning almost predatory as she glanced at the others. âWell, if youâre so curious, why donât you just ask? Iâm sure Y/N wouldnât mind sharing⌠details,â she purred, her voice dripping with mischief.
The table fell silent for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. Karinaâs jaw dropped slightly, while Winterâs eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. Ningning choked on her sip of water, coughing loudly as she tried to regain her composure.
âSharing?â Karina finally managed, her voice higher-pitched than usual. âYou mean⌠youâd actually⌠share him?â
Giselle shrugged lazily, reaching for her glass of wine. âI mean, if the offerâs tempting enough, I might consider it.â She took a slow sip, her eyes never leaving Karinaâs. âBut letâs be realâyouâd have to give me a damn good reason. And maybe throw in a bet or two. Iâm not giving him away for free.â
Y/N nearly choked on his food, coughing loudly as he tried to process what heâd just heard. He turned to Giselle, his brows furrowed in disbelief. âUh⌠excuse me? Am I a prize now?â
She reached over, patting his cheek affectionately. âOf course not, baby. Youâre my prize. But if they want a tasteâŚâ She trailed off, her grin widening as she looked back at the others. âWell, letâs just say theyâll have to work for it.â
Winter leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, her gaze locked on Giselle. âWhat kind of bet are we talking about here?â
Giselle tapped her chin thoughtfully, her eyes sparkling with mischief. âHmm⌠how about this? Whoever wins the next round of whatever game we decide gets to spend some⌠quality time with Y/N. Nothing too crazy, of course. Just enough to make it interesting.â
Ningning let out a squeak, her face turning bright red. âGiselle! You canât be serious!â
âOh, Iâm dead serious,â Giselle replied, her tone unwavering. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. âBut hey, if youâre not up for it, no hard feelings. More for me.â
Karinaâs eyes narrowed, a competitive glint flashing in them. âFine. Letâs do it. Winner takes all.â
Winter smirked, nodding in agreement. âYouâre on. But donât cry when I win.â
Ningning hesitated for a moment before raising her hand tentatively. âUm⌠can I sit this one out? This feels⌠weird.â
Giselle chuckled, shaking her head. âNope. Youâre in this now, Ning. No backing out.â
Y/N stared at the scene unfolding before him, feeling both flustered and oddly intrigued. He cleared his throat, trying to interject. âUh, shouldnât I have a say in this?â
All four pairs of eyes turned to him, and Giselle grinned wickedly. âDonât worry, babe. Youâll love it. Trust me.â
Before he could respond, Karina stood up, slamming her hands on the table. âAlright, enough talk. Letâs play. But Iâm warning you, GiselleâIâm not losing.â
Giselleâs grin widened, her confidence unshaken. âWeâll see about that.â
The group quickly cleared the table, moving to the living room where they decided on a game of truth or dareâwith a twist. Each dare would be designed to push boundaries, and every truth would dig deep into secrets none of them had dared to share before.
As the game began, the tension in the room grew thicker, the air electric with anticipation. Y/N found himself caught in the middle, his heart racing as he watched the girls strategize and flirt openly, their competitive sides taking over.
When it was Winterâs turn, she spun the bottle, and it landed squarely on Y/N. Her lips curled into a sly smile as she leaned forward. âTruth or dare?â she asked, her voice low and sultry.
Y/N swallowed hard, glancing at Giselle, who simply raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to choose. âUh⌠dare?â
Winterâs smile widened. âGood choice. I dare you to kiss the person you find most attractive in this room⌠besides Giselle.â
The room went silent, and Y/Nâs eyes darted between Karina, Winter, and Ningning, his pulse quickening. He could feel Giselleâs gaze on him, watching intently, waiting to see how heâd handle the situation.
He took a deep breath, his mind racing. The stakes were high, and the tension was palpable. As he moved closer to make his choice, the sound of Giselleâs voice cut through the silence, smooth and commanding.
âCareful, Y/N. Choose wiselyâŚâ
- To Be Continued -
#kpop#kpop x reader#kpop x y/n#x male reader#update#Giselle aespa#giselle aespa#aespa#aeri uchinaga#aeri uchinaga aespa#aespa smut#giselle smut#beautiful#apreciation post#kpop smut
532 notes
¡
View notes
Note
Loooove your takes on the Uchihas. Could you please do some hcs of the men being jealous or even possessive? đĽşđĽş
Love me some yandere dummies

Madara
Madara Uchiha does not get jealous. Or at least, thatâs the lie he tells himself. The truth is far uglier, simmering beneath the surface like an earthquake waiting to crack the earth open.
The moment he senses another man getting too close, his entire demeanor shiftsâhis usual arrogance sharpened to something more lethal. His hand finds the small of (Y/N)âs back, firm, claiming.
He doesnât ask her to stay away from certain people. He expects it. "-You belong to me. You know this, donât you?"- Itâs not a question; itâs a reminder.
If anyone dares flirt with her in his presence, he doesnât need to say anything. One lookâcold, dark, absoluteâis enough to make them reconsider their life choices.
But when itâs just the two of them, his possessiveness is quieter. Itâs in the way his fingers tighten when she tries to move from his lap, in the way he pulls her closer at night, whispering, "-Mine.-" against her skin.
Izuna
Izuna doesnât get insecure jealousâhe gets petty jealous. He wonât say anything outright, but his actions are impossible to ignore.
If someone flirts with (Y/N), suddenly, heâs the most affectionate man alive. An arm draped lazily around her shoulders, a hand tracing the curve of her waist, a smirk that dares anyone to challenge him.
"-Oh, were you talking to her? My mistakeâI thought you had a death wish.-" His words are light, teasing, but the underlying threat is real.
The moment theyâre alone, though, the teasing vanishes. He pins her with a look thatâs all heat and frustration, fingers gripping her chin as he murmurs, "-Tell me you donât want anyone else, and Iâll let this go.-"
Of course, she always reassures him, but he likes making her say it. Making her prove that she belongs to him.
Obito
Obito is bad with jealousy. He has lost too much, and the thought of losing (Y/N) too? Itâs enough to make his blood boil.
He doesnât even realize how menacing he looks when he gets possessiveâshoulders squared, Sharingan flashing, jaw tight with barely restrained anger.
If anyone dares look at her the wrong way, he gets uncharacteristically quiet, dangerous. "-You should leave.-" Itâs not advice. Itâs a warning.
With (Y/N), heâs not much better. He doesnât know how to handle the fear of losing her, so sometimes it comes out in sharp words, in desperate kisses that linger too long, in the way he holds her so tight she can barely breathe.
But later, when the anger fades, all thatâs left is raw vulnerability. "-I just⌠I need you to be mine. Only mine.-" He buries his face in her neck, voice low, almost broken. And she always soothes him, because she understands.
Shisui
Shisui is the type to laugh when heâs jealous, like itâs all a joke. But thereâs something dangerous in his eyes, in the way his smile never quite reaches them.
He doesnât believe in making a sceneâhe just makes sure the other guy knows exactly who (Y/N) belongs to. "-Oh, you think you have a chance? Thatâs cute.-"
If someone gets too close, he doesnât lash outâhe outsmarts them. Twisting words, making subtle threats with a friendly grin, ensuring they never try again.
But when he and (Y/N) are alone, he drops the act. His fingers curl around her wrist, tugging her close. "-I donât like sharing. And I never will.-" His voice is soft, almost pleading. "-So donât make me.-
Itachi
Itachi is not the type to be openly jealous. He doesnât scowl, doesnât make threatsâhe simply watches. Cold, calculating, utterly unreadable.
But make no mistakeâjust because heâs quiet doesnât mean he isnât feeling it. If another man gets too close, his presence alone is enough to send a chill down their spine.
The way he lingers at (Y/N)âs side, the way his fingers ghost over her wrist, the way his eyes darken when she laughs at someone elseâs jokeâitâs all subtle, but unmistakable.
He wonât confront her about it, but he will remind her of who she belongs to. Later, when theyâre alone, heâll press his forehead to hers, voice barely above a whisper. "-I donât need to say it, do I?"-
And sheâll smile, because no, he doesnât. She already knows.
#naruto shippuden#naruto#naruto imagines#uchiha clan#uchiha madara x reader#madara uchiha x reader#madara x reader#uchiha itachi x reader#itachi uchiha x reader#itachi x reader#uchiha obito x reader#obito uchiha x reader#obito x reader#uchiha shisui x reader#shisui uchiha x reader#shisui x reader#izuna uchiha x reader#uchiha izuna x reader#izuna x reader#uchiha itachi#itachi uchiha#itachi#uchiha obito#obito uchiha#obito#uchiha shisui#shisui uchiha#shisui#uchiha izuna#izuna
245 notes
¡
View notes
Text
not close enough - alexia putellas x reader

word count: 1854
âAlexia, I told you that I wouldnât be able to hang out today because I needed to focus on my work,â you say in a serious tone toward the blonde standing in your doorway.
âI know that mi amor but I missed you so much. I feel like we havenât been spending much time together because of our schedules,â Alexia gives you a cute pout as she raises two bags, âbut look I brought you food and snacks and these pretty flowers you like.â
Biting back a smile you stand to the side signaling that she can come in. You knew that if you did not let her in now she would find her own way in, whether that be crawling through your window, again, or calling your mother who would convince you to let her in.
âThank you. I appreciate it, baby,â you tell her as she speeds past you towards your kitchen.
âI just want to take care of my girl, bebĂŠ. I donât like it when you work too much and stress yourself out,â she states while grabbing your waist to pull you into a tight hug.
âI only work so much so that I have more free time to spend with you, and also money to spoil you. You deserve to be catered to as well.â
Alexia canât help but smile at your words as she kisses your neck. âWhile I really appreciate that amor, you know that just being in your company is more than enough for me.â
âIâm glad that you feel that way but I still have to work, these bills arenât gonna pay themselves,â you tell her as you tickle the sides of her stomach, making her giggle and release you from her tight grip.
âMove in with me and Iâll pay your bills,â Alexia states. âWeâll talk about that later, but Iâm not letting you pay my bills,â you roll your eyes as you open one of the food boxes she brought which was filled with some of your favorite pastries.
âWeâll see,â she shrugs, coming up behind you to take a bite of one of the pastries already in your hand.
____________________
âThank you for breakfast, but I really need to get back to work. I have two more meetings today and then Iâm all yours,â you tell your girlfriend as you pick up her plate to bring to the sink.
âI donât want to leave you here alone,â she says, grabbing the dishes from your hand so she can wash them. âIâll be fine, but if you really want to stay you can watch TV in my room or the living room,â you tell not really paying attention to her as you grab your computer and headphones.
âIâll be in my office if you need anything just text me, okay?â you tell her while blowing her a kiss from the door of your office. As you are closing the door you catch her pretending to grab the kiss from the air and place it on her heart.
____________________
Though your relationship is not even a year old Alexia canât help but be absolutely obsessed with you. She always wants to be around you, always thinking of you, and everything she sees and does can all be traced back to you.
This feeling was so new and different to Alexia that it scared her so much that she called her mother panicking. Of course, Eli calmed her down and gave her reassurance that this was a good feeling but told her if it bothered her that much then she should talk to you about it and take it slow.
A couple of days later when Alexia sat you down and told you how she felt she was relieved to know that you felt the same way and that you were more than happy to continue the relationship at whatever pace she needed.
It turned out that Alexia did not need to go as slow as she thought. Soon after your talk she was bringing you over to meet her mother and sister and hinting at you moving in with her, but you kind of talked her out of the latter, at least for now.
You two have been nothing but in love and happy and that is all Alexia could ask for.
____________________
After about an hour of laying around your living room and tidying up things here and there, Alexia gets bored and decides to go into your room. She flops on your bed on what she has claimed âher sideâ and lays there in silence, basking in the atmosphere of your space.
The smell of your perfume she loves so much lingers in the air making her take deep breaths. As she turns over to your side she can smell the scent of the new shampoo you are trying out in your pillow making her smile.
She looks at your nightstand to see a framed picture of you two. The same one she has at home on her nightstand. As she reaches over to grab it she notices that you have one of her captainâs armbands. Alexia laughs at the thought of you stealing it from her bag. She holds it up to take a selfie and sends it to you.
To: Mi Reina đ
âYou are a little thief.â
*sent attachment*
Alexia gets up from the bed and into your walk-in closet. She canât help but smile at the two different spots you have cleared out, one being a drawer for her clothes, and the other being her jerseys that you have bought or ones that she has given you.
From: Mi Reina đ
âtechnically I didnât steal it. i remember being told âtake it off of me.âđâ
After reading your message Alexia closed her eyes and let her head fall back with a deep sigh as she remembered that intense intimate night after the Champions League Final game.
Shaking her head out of thought she sends a reply back.
To: Mi Reina đ
âGet back to work.â
From: Mi Reina đ
âđsorry baby. i was just getting the facts straight.â
Alexia rolls her eyes and smiles, putting her phone in her pocket before going back to look around your closet.
She reaches up to take your favorite hoodie off the hanger and brings it up to her nose, inhaling more of your perfume. Even though she is at your house, in your room, and you are on the other side of the wall she still canât help but feel you arenât close enough, so she strips off her FC Barcelona Nike jacket and tugs your hoodie over her head.
Ale lays down in your bed once again, this time on your side, and when she realizes that you arenât going to be done with work any time soon she decides to just take a nap.
____________________
After both of your meetings, you get up from your desk to stretch and check on Alexia. You walk past the kitchen and living room when you notice she isnât there and go straight towards your room.
When you open the door you see Alexia sleeping peacefully on her stomach with her face shoved into your pillow.
âHey baby,â you whisper quietly, as you gently rub her back coaxing her out of her nap. Her eyes flutter open and she gives you a sleepy smile. âAre you done with work?â she whispers.
âNo, I am done with my meeting though and Iâm taking a break. Do you want to make some lunch?â you ask her.
Alexia nods her head as she sits up and stretches, letting out a small yawn.
âI see you stole my hoodie, whoâs the thief now?â you tease, making her let out a little laugh.
You grab her hand and pull her out of the room towards the kitchen where you pull out ingredients to make sandwiches.
Alexia sits at the kitchen bar where she watches you with a loving gaze. When you are done making the sandwiches you pass Alexia her plate and a water bottle.
âAre you done with work?â she asks before taking a bite. âNo, I still have emails to answer but I can probably get through those quickly,â you answer.
âCan you answer them on the couch and I sit with you?â she asks.
âI could, but you might be a little distracting,â you smirk at her as you take another bite.
âI am not distracting,â she pouts, crossing her arms which makes you laugh. âYou can be sometimes, but itâs not always a bad thing. I like that you always want to be around me.â
âI just love you very much. Since we met, I have always wanted to be around you,â she tells you in an almost shy tone.
You walk around the bar to turn her chair so that you can stand in between her legs. Putting your hands on her cheeks you tell her, âYouâre such a lover girl. I love you so much.â She leans in and pecks your lips multiple times.
âGo sit on the couch I am going to go grab my computer and Iâll meet you there,â you tell her pulling away.
____________________
âAlexia I cannot sit in your lap and do my work,â you tell her trying to pull away.
âAnd why not?â she asks.
âBecause I said so,â you finally get free from her and sit on the other edge of the couch where you stretch your legs out and set your computer on your lap.
âPut a match on the TV or your âLove is Blindâ show,â you tease her knowing that she doesn't want to admit to liking that sort of show.
âI do not like âLove is Blindâ Donât tell anyone that,â she demands like she has been caught doing something wrong.
You canât help but let out a loud laugh at the panicked expression on her face. âOh really? Iâve caught you watching it multiple times, and did you forget we share a Netflix account? I can see everything that you watch.â
She lets out a puff of air and you can hear her mumble a âwhatever.â
âYou literally like to tell me all the red flags you see in these people. Itâs okay baby, you know Iâm not one to judge,â you say, raising your hands in a âsurrenderâ position.
Lifting your computer off your lap you motion for her to come lay between her legs. Alexia immediately replaces her pout with a big smile as she moves to lay her head on your stomach. âIs this close enough for you baby?â you ask her.
âItâs okay for now, I wish I could be in your skin,â she replies.
âUm. Okay,â you whisper to yourself a little stunned.
Still needing to work you place your computer on her back like a little table.
âLet me know if it gets too hot on your back,â you tell her as you kiss her head.
Alexia nods her head as she grabs the remote to turn on the TVâŚto âLove is Blind.â
#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas imagine#alexia putellas#woso#woso x reader#woso imagine#woso fanfics#womens football#woso community
648 notes
¡
View notes
Text
you're a damn fine bartender


masterlist
jj maybank x fem!reader
summary: after your first meeting with jj leaves you aching for more, you find yourself at the country club where jj is the bartender
this is part two of you + me + the bathroom all thanks to @angvl3tears, much lovee darling
smut and suggestive content
You are at the country club, absent-mindedly twirling the straw around your drink, bored out of your mind. Usually, you're not one to hang out here, but every once in a while, your mom drags you here to show face. Whatever the fuck that means.
You are seconds away from excusing yourself to the ladies' room when you look up and, well, well, who do we have here? JJ Maybank, working the bar. Now that you really think about it, you have heard something about him being the bartender here. Maybe that's why you didn't object too much when you were ordered to come along with your mom and her fake friends.
"I'll just go get a refill," you say, motioning to your glass as you get up from your seat. There's no response as everyone is seemingly very interested in this year's landscaping trends. Whatever, it's even better if they don't notice you're not there.
Deciding to just go for it, you make your way toward the bar, fluffing up your hair and straightening out your shirt as you go. For days after that fucking party, you couldn't get his face out of your mind. His blissed out expression as he was cumming inside you was tattooed on the inside of your eyelids.
JJ is cleaning something behind the bar, his back to you. He seems to be focused on having the glasses be the shiniest they've ever been because he doesn't hear you walking over. You take the stool in the middle and cross your arms on the bar top, the leather beneath your ass feeling stiff.
"So, what's a girl gotta do to get a drink around here?" you say with a playful tone, flashing him your sexiest smirk when he turns around. JJ's eyes widen and sparkle in recognition once he takes a good look at you. His white work shirt is cuffed to the elbows, exposing strong forearms. This time, his messy blond hair is lightly slicked back, restrained to be up to par with the so-called classiness of the place.
You much prefer his chaos to this dimmer appearance, though. Even if his ass must look delicious in the black slacks, mandatory bartender uniform. "Didn't peg you to be a Kook, darlin'," JJ drawls, cleaning a glass. Just his voice is already doing its thing to you.
You squirm a little on the stool, crossing your legs, trying to keep the heat from spreading throughout your body. "That's because I'm not a Kook," you reply, flicking your hair over your shoulder. JJ's eyes follow your movements, his lips twitching. You aren't a Kook and you aren't a Pogue either, always somewhere in the middle, or on the outskirts rather. Hence, why your mom is trying to win over those stuck-up women.
"Yeah? Coulda fooled me, hanging out here with those ladies." He bends down, takes another glass, and starts to wipe that one too. With every pass of the rag, his arms flex, reminding you of what they were doing to you a few weeks ago.
You roll your eyes, tracing the bar with your fingers, your long nails tapping gently on the marble top. JJ licks his lips once and puts the rag away. "My mom wants to be one of them all of a sudden, for some unknown reason." You tilt your head a little, as if you are debating on something. "I think she's just lonely."
As JJ looks at you intently, you are trying to figure out what lucky star is shining on you to have his attention again. Even though you aren't friends and don't run in the same circles, you've always known about him. He never noticed you, though, always too busy with being a rebel or an adventurer or a heartbreaker. Well, not until that fateful moment in the bathroom anyway. Now you feel weirdly in the spotlight.
You wave your hand at him, your bracelets clanking together. "Let's not talk about that."
JJ leans closer to you over the bar and says in a low voice, "what should we talk about then?"
You remember what he said about you being a good girl. Desperately, you want to hear him say something like that again. You glance back at your table, your mom and the others still talking animatedly. Slowly, you bring your finger to his bicep and start drawing imaginary circles. "We don't have to talk at all," you whisper, leaning on your elbows more, showing off your cleavage. "I was such a good girl, you know?"
JJ takes in a quick breath, and you can literally see his pupils get bigger. He starts to walk toward the back area of the bar, shooting you a look over his shoulder, his order clear. With a smile to yourself, you eagerly obey, jumping off the stool.
You slip behind the bar in the employees-only area and spot JJ leaning on one of the fridges. The swinging door closes behind you, and all the noise quiets down. Walking toward him, you tie your hair up in a ponytail. Without any words, you kneel down, your hands coming to caress his thighs, slowly traveling up to his ass.
You were so right, his ass is delicious in these black slacks. When your fingers reach his belt buckle, JJ hisses and grabs the back of your neck. He starts lightly pressing into the knots of your neck and shoulders. You work on his buckle and zipper, lowering his pants. JJ's already hard, his dick straining against his boxers.
Your hand goes under your skirt, where your underwear is wet already, too. Guess both of you are still worked up over the bathroom encounter. JJ confirms so, saying "couldn't stop thinking about that sweet pussy, baby. Damn, was wishin' to see you again."
"I was wishing to have this cock in my mouth," you shoot right back. You bite your lower lip, and JJ follows the movement. "I wanna feel you everywhere, JJ." Finally, you take him out, stroking from the tip all the way to his balls. Your thumb circles his tip, spreading the precum. Your mouth is watering at the sight of it, so you spit on him and spread that with your fingers.
JJ's hand tightens around you, his head falling back, a moan escaping him. "Oh, m'gonna fill that filthy mouth, sweetheart," he says, his voice rough. Your pussy clenches, liking the sound of that, liking it very much.
"Eyes on me, Maybank," you say, and slowly take him in your drooly mouth. His head straightens, and his face is flushed, a smirk on his lips. You fix your eyes on his, not breaking contact while you work on taking more and more of him inside. He's big and thick, and you struggle to take as much as you can. You don't want to gag, not yet, so your eyes fill with tears, one escaping from the corner.
"I think you can take more, baby," JJ says when he notices the tear rolling down your cheek. His hands go from the back of your neck to your ponytail, pushing just slightly, but enough to bring his dick even further inside your warm mouth. He's at the back of your throat now, and you can't help but gag on it, more tears trickling from your eyes.
"Oh, fuck, that feels g-good, " he stutters. You hum and moan against his cock, knowing the right tricks to bring him closer to busting. One of your hands travels upward to scratch against his abs, and the other cups his balls. JJ whimpers and whines, the sounds echoing against the metal of the fridge. You hope everyone can hear you, you wish you can set his whimpers as your ringtone.
"Touch yourself for me, baby." You take off your hand from his abs and start circling your clit, already swollen and ready. Collecting some of the moisture from your pussy, you take those fingers and wrap them around the base of his dick, slicking it and stroking him some more.
JJ's moans are now broken and deep, your touching and sucking bringing him to the edge. With another grunt, he explodes in your mouth and you do your best to swallow it, but some of his cum spills down your chin, the stickiness spreading down your neck. You release his cock from your mouth and smile up at him, your eyes still glassy from the tears, mascara all over.
The way he looks at you stops your breath halfway, and you have to cough a little and swallow thickly, your mind hazy and filled with lust.
Of course, just in that moment, you hear somebody calling your name, probably your mom, though the sound is muffled. This time, you have to run, so you quickly get up off the floor, wipe the excess makeup, and blow a kiss in JJ's direction. Hopefully, this is the last time your hookup gets cut short. Third time has to be the charm.
#jj#jj maybank#obx#jj maybank x reader#jj maybank x you#jj x reader#jj x you#fanfic#smut#jj obx#jj outer banks#jj maybank obx#jj maybank outer banks#jj maybank smut#jj one shot#fanfiction#obx fanfiction#jj obx fanfiction#jj obx imagine#jj obx fic#jj maybank imagine#jj fanfiction
205 notes
¡
View notes
Text
In Limbo
simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist
Chapter Twenty-Seven: to you, Aelin
tw: minor violence and gore, miscarriage, abortion mention, infidelity
âYou see that girl right there? You stay away from her. Sheâs nothing but trouble.â
Itâs the first thing Johnâs father says about Aelin Gilroy. Using one long, crooked finger, he points her out in the thick crowd of parents and students attending their Year 8 science fair. Projects and standing boards obscure her as they tower overhead on rickety folding tables, but that blinding smile and incandescent teal eyes shine through the crowd like a lighthouse leading a ship safe to shore.Â
Trouble. He often disagrees with his father, and this instance is no different. He does not think Aelin Gilroy is trouble. Sheâs never disruptive in class, and he once saw her give another student her cardigan two years ago when she couldnât stop shivering in class. It isnât until her father steps into view that he realizes the meaning of this warningâcrisp police uniform, hat held in front of his stomach, giving a firm handshake to the science teacher. An officer. An inspector. An adversary to his father in the most wretched of ways.Â
Police officers always make the family business difficult.Â
For many years, John heeds his fatherâs warningâif not for his own sake, then at least for hersâuntil Year 11. By some terrible twist of fate, his maths teacher sat Aelin Gilroy next to him in that small, two seater desk. She smells like roses freshly woken by morning dew after a spring shower. He learns she likes to doodle in the corner of her notebook during lectures, and she canât stop tapping her foot against the floor while taking an exam. John finds that he likes the way her pale brows knit together in concentration, scrunching her forehead, and how soft her voice is when whispering answers to the table on her left.Â
But he doesnât have time to think about her. Not that he should. John Price is unfortunate enough to come from a long line of brutal patriarchs who often condition equally as cruel heirs. Once he turns sixteen, his fatherâs petulance only grows as he forces him to join him on escapades in the night after lectures have concluded. Bodies crumble. His fists split on begging faces pleading for the mercy that has long been snuffed out of his fatherâs chest. Each night his cheek grows tender with the force of his fatherâs hand, and his eyes droop with the weight of the secret life of a killerâof a true son born into the family business.Â
âRed color corrector will hide the bruise on your eye.âÂ
It takes John several moments to realise Aelin Gilroy is talking to him, but even then he doesnât fully believe it until he turns to see her already staring at him. Sheâs lazily leaning forward on the desk, hand propping her head up beneath her chin as her tongue darts out to wet her rosy lips. Johnâs pencil ceases its dance across his worksheet.Â
âColor corrector?â he repeats.Â
âYeah, you know. Makeup. Green hides red marks from acne, orange hides dark circles, red for⌠very dark circles.â Her brows raise as she silently motions to his eye, bringing his own hand to touch the tender spot on his face. âIâve got some in my bag, if youâd like. Though, youâll have to find your own shade of foundation. I think youâre a bit too warm toned compared to me.âÂ
Her bluntness and unabashed reference to the shiner on his eye leaves him chuckling, transforming her coy smile into a small smirk. âYou sound like an expert.âÂ
âI am,â she quips before grinning. After a quick glance around the room, Aelin carefully pulls the collar of her shirt to the side, exposing the side of her neck. At first, John finds nothing of any importance until she points out a line of covered hickies just above her collar bone, fingers tracing it as if lovingly. They grey beneath the concealer and foundation, blurring them to the point theyâve almost vanished. âA girlâs gotta have her fun.âÂ
John likes her humor. Appreciates it, anyway. Maybe thereâs something comforting about knowing a girl like her gets in trouble; albeit, much less violent trouble than himself. A small flicker of hope ignites in his chest at the idea that perhaps thereâs something in common between him and Aelinâthat he has the possibility of even resembling something thatâs normal. Something not drenched in blood.
Itâs a short lived fantasy. When the end of term comes around, and they no longer share classes together, they drift. Aelin keeps her smiles polished while John continues to do the only thing his father ever bothered to teach him. By the end, Aelinâs A-Levels are enough to earn her a trip to anywhere in the country. Opportunities are thrown at her feet and offered up on dainty silver platters that glisten bright enough to reflect the future ahead of her. As for him, his father dies when heâs twenty. Murdered, and in a way thatâs eerily similar to the way his mother had been. Cold, calculated, ruthlessâhis fatherâs existence is snuffed out by a single bullet, leaving behind nothing but a bloodstain coating the pillow that covers his face.Â
The torch is passed downâthe handle is still bloody.Â
Over the years, he grows rigid and battle-hardened thanks to the business of violence that was bequeathed to him by his late father. He builds upon a decrepit empire until itâs thriving with sharp teeth and hired guns. Itâs the only thing his father taught him; how to be dangerous. How to collect teeth and grind them to dust beneath the sole of his shoes. The Price family rises to power. The name forces people to tremble. John Price has nothing to lose but his own life, and even that pathetic amount he can scarcely get himself to care about.Â
The only thing he holds close to him is the ghosts of his past. They always lurk in uncomfortable places, whispering into the shell of his ear, biting at the nape of his neck. It finds him at all hours of the dayâit torments him. Slithers beneath his skin. Even now as he stands in line at the floristâs shop his skin itches, eyes flickering to the exit, fingers twitching for the knife stowed in his pocket.Â
The only emollient he can find in this place is the voice of the woman in line before him. Demulcent and fleeting, he notes the way his heart slows. How the pathetic muscle quivers in his chest as she sweetly thanks the shopkeeper. When the redolence of roses reaches him, he tells himself heâs hallucinating, but when she turns to leaveâsmall bouquet of flowers in her handâhe realizes who it is.Â
Aelin Gilroy.Â
Even after all these years he can still recognize her. The soft slope of her nose, the faint, bouncing curls in her flaxen hair, and her grace. How her chin is held high. How confidence exudes from every pore in her body as she floats toward the exit. Somehow, sheâs even more perfect now than she was when they were children. He steps out of line, forcing the shopkeeper to stare at him with narrowed brows as he follows after her on uncertain feet.Â
âAelin?âÂ
All the air leaves his lungs when she turns to face him. Sheâs grown into her features now. Rosy cheeks and full lips, but her eyes are still the same. Crystalline like a low tide, filtering golden sunlight into fractals. Those eyes stare at him blankly, hands uncomfortably adjusting the bouquet as she traces him without a shred of familiarity.Â
âYes?â she asks tensely.Â
Chuckling, he slaps his hand on the nape of his neck, rubbing out the tension there. âItâs John. John Price.âÂ
Thereâs something about the light igniting in her eyes that has him feeling warmer than he has in a long while. A precious grin breaks out on her lips as she steps closer, now comfortable with his presence. âOh my god, I didnât recognize you! Itâs been years⌠staying out of trouble, I hope?â
âGetting in just enough to keep things interesting,â John counters.Â
Itâs as if no time has passed at all. Sheâs still that star pupil. Still that girl that had every boy tripping over their own two feet. Even now he can still hear her feet tapping against the floor as her pencil fills in test answers.Â
âWhatâs the occasion?â he then asks, gesturing to her bouquet.Â
âOh,â she says. Her voice trips. Fractures. âWell, itâsâermâthe anniversary of my dadâs passing.âÂ
John blinks. He can vaguely recall the news. Rolling clips of the police station and the accident that stole his life away. Somehow he never put two and two together.Â
âIâm sorry to hear that, I hadnât heard,â he quickly apologizes.Â
Despite the terrible awkwardness of the conversation, she still smiles. Always graceful. Always poised. âItâs alright. Iâm⌠making my peace with it.â She pauses, throat clearing with a tense cough. âWhat about you?â
âOh, just some flowers for mum.â
His response makes Aelin smile something small and bittersweet. âHow lovely. I bet sheâll love them.âÂ
âTheyâll make for good decoration.â
Something settles between the two of themâsomething that had never been there before. Not while they were children, growing up with one another in different corners of the world. Itâs unfamiliar. Suffocating. It leaves John floundering, but the warmth it brings is intoxicating.Â
âWell, I ought to get going,â Aelin excuses politely. âGot a few more errands to run. But really, it was good seeing you again, John.âÂ
This is the part where he should say goodbye. Wish her farewell just for her to vanish into a life of fortune where heâd never see her again. If he was a smart man, John would have done just that, but instead he finds his hand diving into his pocket where he retrieves a pen before quickly stealing one of the shopâs business cards to scribble down his number in the negative space.Â
âHere,â he says, holding it out for Aelin to take. âIâm certain you get this a lot, but if you need anything, anything at all, Iâll be there.âÂ
To his surprise, she takes the card without hesitation, aqua eyes scanning his rushed handwriting while quietly thanking him. As she holds the card in front of her, something catches Johnâs attention. Thereâs a glint on her finger, one that reflects the light so brightly it nearly blinds him. Upon closer inspection, he realizes itâs a large, gaudy ring. Something given in poor taste. Something that attempts to steal the spotlight of Aelinâs beauty rather than compliment it.Â
âDid you get married?â John asks in what he tells himself is mere curiosity.Â
âOh. No, not yet. Just engaged,â she says with an odd tone. Aelin glances at the ringâat the small band and large diamond that looks heavy enough to weigh her down. As if she canât stand to look at it any longer, she shoves the card into her pocket before smiling at him. âThank you again, John.âÂ
As Aelin exits the store, she tries not to think about how this interaction with a long lost classmate of hers has her feeling lighter than she has in years. Thatâs all she feels these days. Heavy. Weighed down by a stony gaze that used to look at her with adoration as the looming nature of her own failure hangs over her head as if each step she takes brings her closer to the gallows.Â
There is little reprieve to be found in the cemetery where her father lays. Knees digging into the fresh grass, trembling fingers propping the flowers against his headstone, she does not pay attention to the tears streaming down her face. Sheâs learned to ignore them, if not welcome them. The wind picks up, cooling her feverish face as she traces the engraving of her fatherâs name letter by letter with her index finger.Â
âI miss you so much,â she whispers. âEverythingâs gone to shit since you left. I dunno what to do without you.âÂ
Her days have been foggy. Each waking moment leaves her stumbling through the dark all while she pretends sheâs still the radiant girl sheâs always been. Itâs difficult to keep up the facade when her bed is cold in the mornings, and her fingers itch for the card John Price gave her. Ghosts follow behind her in the bedroom, her rearview mirrorâthe toilet.Â
So then, it should not come as a surprise when she returns home from her motherâs to see the lamp on in the living room. The television drones but no one is listening. A hand on a thigh. Unfamiliar lips pressed against ones she should have memorized but hasnât felt the touch of in months. The woman looks nothing like Aelin. Inky locks cut into a short bob that her fiance weaves his fingers through as his nose kisses her cheek.Â
âAdam?â
Aelinâs stomach drops when they jump, heavy eyes now on her as she stands in the entryway. When Adamâs chest heaves with a sigh, sheâs suddenly in the bathroom again. Hands clutching her stomach as she waddles out. Eyes full with tears as she sees him sitting on the couch, focused on the football match. Itâs the same thing all over again.
She doesnât wait around long enough to hear his excuses. The front door slams shut behind her but the sound is muffled on her ears as she slips into her car and speeds away.Â
Night has long since fallen by the time she reaches the park. When she was a child, her parents used to own a home in this neighborhood and she often came here with her dad. The swingset is painted blue now instead of red, but she makes no effort to approach it as she seats herself on an algid, metal bench.Â
During times like these, Aelin would often go to her dad for comfort. His office smelled like leather and Earl Grey, and he always kept a recliner in the corner of the room for her to curl up in to do homework, or cry about boys at school. He always knew what to say. What to do. Guiding her with a soft hand and sweet heartâshe always wished she was more like him.Â
Nowâwithout the luxury of paternal comfortâshe does something stupid.Â
Fingers haphazardly digging through her bag, clutching the floristâs card, shakily punching in the numbers into her phone; Aelin knows sheâs insane. Insane for thinking John Price is the person to call for something like this. Insane for thinking heâd even do anything at this time of night. Still, he answers. His voice bleeds through the speaker next to her ear like lukewarm wine. Intoxicating. Comforting.Â
The only greeting she can choke out is a sob.Â
By the time John finds Aelin, all of her tears have run dry, having been replaced with a brutal fury instead. A thick numbra clouds the park as the halogen lights hardly hold a torch bright enough to fight off the darkness. Still, he approaches her, noting how her knees bounce just like they used to all those years ago during exam season. Her bottom lip is bright redâirritated and cracked, abused by her teeth.Â
For as much effort as he puts into looking calm on the outside, there is nothing in the world that can settle the nerves fraying within him. Hearing her cry, hearing her beg for him to come and get her scared him more than he cares to admit. The tear stains on her cheeks make his fists curl. If only she knew the dangerous power she holds. The power to say bite and for John Price to respond where.Â
It doesnât take long for him to coax out the truth. The rage swirling within Aelin nearly erupts as she spews every brutal detail. How Adam had been acting strange the last few months, how he used to show her off but has been keeping her locked away like a dirty secret, or something heâs ashamed of.Â
âTwo fucking years, John,â Aelin seethes, teeth gritting so hard that they nearly crack. âTwo years of being with him just for him to do⌠to do that? He moved me into his home, wanted me to quit my job because he said he wanted to take care of me, to take care of⌠ofâŚâ
Terrified that youâll disintegrate before him, John reaches a careful hand out and brushes it against her shoulder. The tension melts beneath his touch, and if he wasnât so concerned, pride would swell in his chest. âEasy, love.âÂ
âI couldâve been great,â she continues, voice cracking as she leans into him. âI was able to go to any school in this country. I got my degree. I couldâve kept at work and been⌠something. And I didnât need to. Not really. There was never anything I was trying to prove to anyone. I couldâve had a few kids with that white picket fence and stayed home to care for them, and I wouldâve been completely happy living that trophy wife life if it meant I was loved. But Iâm not, and it fucking hurts because I know Iâm worth so much more than this.â
She crumbles like dust. The kind thatâs so thin and fine you can only see it in the air when sunlight hits it. Johnâs arms wrap around her, pulling her close, palm cradling her head as she shakes in his grasp.Â
âFuck, Iâm so stupid,â she babbles.Â
âYouâre not stupid,â he attempts to persuade.Â
âAdam only proposed when we found out I was pregnant,â she says. Her voice shatters. Fractures. Each syllable catches in her throat, slices the tender flesh. âT-Then my dad died and⌠It was stupid to think heâd want to stay after I lost it.âÂ
Johnâs blood runs cold. His vision clouds with ichorâvermillion and thick. Itâs so close he can nearly taste it. A violent man to a violent end, he craves it now more than ever. Instead, he holds her closer and gathers enough bravery to kiss the top of her head.Â
âNone of that was your fault, love,â he assures. âYouâre brilliant. Downright brilliant, and heâs a sorry sod for not seeing it.âÂ
It takes a little convincing to get her to agree to stay at his place for the night. Really, thereâs something comforting about being somewhere else. Away from her mother and that house thatâs still haunted with her fatherâs ghost. John gives her an old t-shirt and a pair of joggers heâs been meaning to throw out for some time before ensuring sheâs comfortable enough in his guest bedroom.Â
When heâs certain Aelinâs asleep, John sits in his office, hand over his mouth, teeth grinding as he stares at his phone. It takes only five minutes of deliberation before heâs dialing up the only man he knows he can trust.Â
âYeah?â Simon Riley. His blunt greeting cuts over the line over the sound of thrumming club music and a cacophony of chatter.Â
âRiley, I need a favor. Iâm sending you an address and I need you there as soon as possible,â John says, voice rumbling low and dark as he taps his desk with the tips of his fingers.Â
âWhat for?âÂ
âA friend,â John excuses. âI need any items that seem like they belong to a girl. Clothes, toiletries, things of that sort.âÂ
Thereâs a pause, and John can already see the expression on Rileyâs face. A raised brow, tight lips, and a small huff. âSomethinâ ya canât get yourself?âÂ
âIf I go myself, Iâm breaking the jaw of the bastard who lives there,â he growls.Â
Inhale. Exhale. âThis have somthinâ to do with the girl earlier? The one cryinâ on the phone?âÂ
âYeah.âÂ
A hum. âIâll be there in an hour.âÂ
Much to Johnâs surprise, Aelin doesnât ask too many questions when morning comes. She doesnât push when he gives a vague answer about how he got her items, and she doesnât question where her engagement ring vanished to, or why Adam hasnât bothered to call or text her since she stormed out of the house. He tells her to stay as long as she likesâas long as she needs.
But she doesnât leave.Â
Aelin Gilroy lingers in his homeânot as a ghost, but as a dream. Something drifting between his fingers, just out of reach, that he wants so desperately to hold. He finds residuals of her in the shower with her golden hair stuck to the wall and the silage of rose toying with his nose. Sheâs there in the kitchen when he comes home, cooking up a late dinner, asking him to join her for a movie.Â
There is no effort on her end in leaving, just as there is no effort from him in getting her to leave. He would keep her forever if he could. Hold her in his arms like he did that night in the park, cradling her head against his chest. All she would have to do is ask him.Â
But as the weeks meander on, John finds himself sitting next to her on the couch. Thereâs too much wine in their bodies, ichor red and brimming full in his stomach, diffusing the light of the television as it illuminates her skin, her smile, everything. He decides that he likes this. Her. Enjoys the warmth of another human in this too-large house, always a void greeting him when he gets home, a black hole waiting to crush him. He doesnât know how his father could have ever treated his mother so cold when the touch of a woman seems to make this home flourish.Â
She feels his gaze. Heavy lidded and murky with alcohol. She stares back, aqua hue bleeding into something darker, like the depths of the ocean instead of the mere tide lapping at the shoreâunknowingly profound. He has yet to scratch the surface of Aelin Gilroy.Â
Yet he gets close to it when she places her glass on the coffee table and swings her leg over his lap. Bum resting on his knees, her hands steady her swaying body as she grips his shoulders, curls cascading down her back like a waterfall of sunlight. John stares up at her with awe blurring his vision. She smiles like she knows the mess sheâs making of him.Â
âKiss me.â She does not ask. She demands it. Requires it.Â
He leans back until his skull hits the cushion, then shakes his head. âYou donât want me to do that.âÂ
Her eyebrow quirks. âWhy not?âÂ
âIâm not a good man.âÂ
âI know.âÂ
Those words are a baton to his diaphragm, forcefully expelling a chuckle from his throat before he can stop it. She tilts her head and he nearly grabs the nape of her neck to devour her whole. âHow do you know?â
âIâve always known,â Aelin insists. âIâve always been a daddyâs girl. Besides, if you were a good man, youâd be dead by now. The good ones are always quick to go in your line of work, arenât they?âÂ
John wants to pretend that heâs surprised she knows, but of course she knows. Aelin Gilroy, daughter of Sean Gilroy, Chief Inspector, top of her class, the looks to kill and a brain to go with it. It does not take a genius to sniff out the blood that stains his hands. Dirty hands. Soiled hands. Ones he canât help but place on her waist.Â
âIf you know that much, then you know that you donât want me to kiss you,â he insists.Â
âWhy?â Her turn with the questions.Â
âBecuase Iâm not dragging you into a life like this. Iâm not letting you get hurt because of me.â His admission comes with plaguing visions that are so noisome they sting his eyes. Rose pink brains soaking into a mattress. Fingers plucked free of the palms they used to call home. His mother, dead and left to rot like a warning. âYou donât want this.âÂ
âNo. I just want you,â she hums. Aelinâs hands begin to wander, fingertips brushing against his hairline as she tilts her head, curiously inspecting him, spinning eyes hardly able to focus on one part of him before moving to the next. âYouâre not your father, John. You share his name but not his mistakes. You are not a bad man.â Palm to cheek, warmth swelling together against his feverish skinâshe presses her thumb to his lips. Drags down over them until theyâre parted. âYou might not be a good man, but youâre too kind to be a bad man.âÂ
It isnât until her lips meet his that John Price realizes that heâs been caught in Aelinâs trap for quite some timeâsheâs just now decided to rein him in. Itâs the closest to heaven heâs ever been. Even as her teeth sink into his flesh, even as her nails rake across his back, even as she drowns himânothing but a corse floating among stilly waterâhe knows he cannot starve himself of this one desire.Â
After so many years, he finally has something to live for besides the circle of life and death. Besides being a slave to his family name simply because paternal law decrees it. Now, he has something to build. Someone to love. A future that holds more than decrepit bones. A ring covers the old scar on Aelinâs finger. His bed is always warm in the night when he returns home and in the morning when he canât bring himself to wake with the rest of the world.Â
The room she slept in during her first night with him now holds a crib.Â
Itâs made of wood and engraved with pumpkins and rabbits, a project Aelin took upon herself and has been whittling away at with a small carving tool. Hunched over, stomach swelling quietly but still enough to be noticeable in her sundress. The image has been burned into his mind all night while heâs been away at work, hunched over his desk, listening to pathetic excuse after excuse.Â
He leaves early tonight, hands buzzing too much to quiet, fingers screaming for his wife. To hold her face and smooth over her stomach. Sheâs gotten more emotional these days; crying at any kind gesture, or any time she looks at the crib for too long. John hates to see the tears that stream down her cheeks but doesnât mind the excuse to hold her close, to chuckle into her ear, to toy with the ends of her hair.Â
When John steps inside, thereâs nothing but blood to greet him.Â
Watery. Bright red. It stains the couch in the very spot Aelin curls up in at the end of the day with a warm cup of tea and something quiet to put on the television. John stares at it. It spreads, ichor floating through the veins of the couch similar to the way it spreads on a mattress, soaking deepâtoo deep to get out. Deep enough to scar.Â
He panics. Her name rings through the house as he trips down the hallway, following the sparse trickle of blood like breadcrumbs. There is no answer, but he hears her quiet, muffled sobs. Hand clasped over her mouth, eyes squeezed shut as if that could ever stop the tears; sheâs on the toilet. He doesnât even knock before entering, but she doesnât have the energy to chastise him for it as she sits curled over herself, sundress bunched around her waist, arms cradling herself as if she can hold the remaining bits of her child within her shattering womb.Â
âLove,â John breathes. Within an instant heâs on his knees before her, but she wonât look at him. He reaches forward, cups her face in his palms, wipes his thumb at the never-ending flood of tears. Sheâs feverish to the touch.Â
âI-Iâm sorry,â Aelin sobs. Her arms press further into her stomach as she leans forward, head attempting to bow, but John keeps her head above waterâkeeps her from drowning. âI really thought it would be different this time, I just⌠ah⌠John, it hurts so bad.âÂ
Her sobs come unheeded now, and each rattling reverberation that cuts through her shatters his newly mended heart. John holds her with trembling hands. His own eyes squeeze shut, faint tears wetting his eyelashes as he rests his chin on her head. Even against his neck he can feel how warm her forehead isâhow it nearly blisters his skin.Â
After fifteen minutes of his world ending, he takes her to the hospital. Ultrasound visits turn sour now that there is no baby to look at. The bleeding stops. Their child is gone. When they arrive home, all they do is lay in bed with nothing but the sound of their hearts shattering to break the silence.Â
It is the first time, but it is not the last.Â
It happens again.Â
And again.Â
Eventually, after the years, they give up. Their hope flickers and wanes, but the desire still lurks in their eyes every time they pass a stroller during date night or they look at that empty nursery-converted-to-guest-room. John puts that love into the men who work for him instead, and Aelin gives it to her adopted sister. But at the end of the night, no matter how long they were out laughing or chuckling, they come home to a warm bed, desperately searching for the grubby hands of what could have been.Â
But it comes back. It barrels like a bullet into their lives, embedding into deep tissue, nestling too far to rip it out without doing more damage. It arrives as a phone call. A sob. A begging to be free of this torture. John finds it in the bathroom with Aelin, curled forward, ripped boxes strewn across the floor, along with three positive pregnancy tests.Â
She looks up at him as he enters the bathroom, eyes red and irritated, her usually neat hair now frizzy. âJohn, I canât do this again,â she chokes.Â
Wordlessly, he joins her on the floor with an arm snaking around her back. Aelin collapses into his chest, legs slung over his lap, head resting against his collarbone as he cradles her. For a long time, he is silent. Neither of them speak as the weight of the situation begins to crush them under impending pressure. It squishes the blood clean from their bodies, suffocating their brains of all helpful thought.Â
The world is ending all over again.Â
âIâll support whatever you want to do, love,â John murmurs against the crown of her head.Â
Brows furrowing, she stiffens. âWhat do you mean?âÂ
His words get caught in his throat for a long, aching moment before heâs able to choke them out. âIf you⌠want to terminate, then we can do that. Or if you want to keep it then weâll do that, too.âÂ
Aelin is quiet for a long time. There is nothing but soft sniffles and the occasional pule that slips from her lips, but John doesnât rush her. Instead, he holds her until her muscles relax, and sheâs nothing but a limp mess against him.Â
âOne more time,â she decides, malice slipping into her tone as she wipes her nose on the back of her hand. âOne more time, and if it doesnât work, Iâm getting a hysterectomy. I canât keep doing this b-but⌠I just⌠want to pretend to hope for a little while.âÂ
Nodding, John places one more kiss on her head. âOkay, love.âÂ
For the first few weeks, Aelin is near unconsolable. Nesting on the couch, blankets obscuring her body, hugging a pillow to her chest as her glassy eyes watch flashing images on the television. She attempts to distract herself with the company of her adopted sister, but the connection feels severed. Smiling and pretending to be happy when sheâs harboring a secret that will surely demand blood before she has the chance to sing its praise.Â
But that secret keeps growing. And growing.Â
Each passing day that Aelin wakes and thereâs no blood to follow her throughout the day, a glimmer of hope roots in her chest. It burrows and whispers. It promises love and fulfillment. It promises something sheâs never been fortunate enough to achieve previously. Itâs enough to make her skin glow, rosy and golden like the sun kissing the horizon before bed. Itâs enough to make her cheeks swell as shiny, opalesque teeth peek between glistening lips. Itâs enough for now, and thenâ
âOh my god.â Hands on her stomach, smiling through the tears, bottom lip trembling. âJohn, itâs twenty-four weeks. Itâs viability week.â
âand then itâs everything.Â
Time rolls backwards as the guest room is once more turned into a nursery. Bunnies and pumpkins, soft oranges and fluffy whites, and a perfect hint of peach. A changing table with ribbons along the side. A rocking chair for the long nights when none of them will get rest, and it will be worth it to have a sleepless night due to love rather than turmoil.Â
But joy is a meal that tastes better when itâs shared.Â
So, Aelin stands in the kitchen. Film refracts the light above her through the sonogram in her hand, thumb holding the picture so firmly as if sheâs afraid it will slip through her fingers. Heavy feet rattle the floor behind her before she feels warm palms smooth over her stomach and a chin on top of her head.Â
âSheâs beautiful,â he murmurs.
Smiling in agreement, Aelin scans every little feature. The curve of the babyâs nose, how her lips part as if already babbling, hands squished up to her face like sheâs trying to chew on her fingers. âJust over halfway there.âÂ
Just as she lowers the sonogram, the baby kicks against Johnâs palms. His chuckle hits her, warm and dripping with adoration. He squeezes back, pulling Aelin against him.Â
âAre you sure you donât want me to come with you?â he questions.Â
âYeah, I think it would be better this way,â Aelin nods. âI feel⌠a little bad. Having been sort of ignoring her these last few weeks. I know Simon is taking good care of her but⌠well, itâll be nice to have dinner with just the two of us.âÂ
She turns her attention to the card before her. The outside is plain. A simple white background with frilly lettering asking Guess what? On the inside, thereâs that same lettering with the triumphant announcement of Itâs a girl! followed by enough space to put a sonogram. Then, thereâs a mini calendar of August, with a circled due date. She shoves everything inside of a light peach envelope before sealing it shut with the tip of her tongue, but as she stares at it, she feels it doesnât quite look right.Â
Inspiration strikes her, and she quickly retrieves a pen from the junk drawer before scrawling Auntie Chip on the envelope. Smiling, she sticks it in her purse.Â
And with that, she is ready for dinner.
follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | get early access to chapters here
325 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Cw: Nsfw (poly 141 x afab!reader, female pronouns)
Calling this anon, HBD and I hope you enjoy this.

âWoke you up, sweetheart?â
Your eyes flutter open when you feel a hand caressing your face briefly, the sunlight seep through the seam of the curtain, basking the bedroom in a scrim of orange as your mind process whoâs beside you when you meet a pair of tender brown eyes.
âKyleâŚâ Stretching out your limbs then roll out from underneath the duvet, you rest your head on his lap before answering him âNot really, was about to get up after all.â
A click from the door turns both of your attentions towards the direction, the doorâs not even open fully, but Johnnyâs voice pops up from behind already.
âWho got the lassie out of her beauty sleep already?â He closes the door behind, and the mattress dips when he joins you and Kyle on the bed. âYe know you can nap a bit more, eh? A perk of being a birthday girl.â
âBefore Simon and John come back from picking up the cake?â You snicker when Johnnyâs eyes widens a bit at your words, but a scoff of laughter quickly replaces the surprise, follow with Kyleâs chuckles ringing from the top of you.
âAlready said that sheâll find out one day, Soap.â He reaches his arms out again, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.
âNot that hard to figure it out when you both started convincing me to have a nap every year around afternoon?â
âaye,â another pair of hands tracing circles on your calf, and you shift your gaze to meet Johnnyâs again. âForgot about we got a smart one for us.â
A shudder leaves you when Kyle gently maneuvers you to sit up, your head rest against his chest while Johnny scoots closer to you on the bed, and you huff out a laughter, feeling Kyleâs warmth seeping through his shirt with Johnnyâs breath fanning on the nape of your neck. âSo this is why theyâre the one getting the birthday cake, and you two are the one staying home with me?â
âWeâre more entertaining than those old men.â Kyle eyes meets Johnnyâs for a brief moment, as if seeking his approval. Yet nothing speaks louder than Johnnyâs hand traveling upwards, stopping at your inner thighs and palming the supple flesh in a sensual manner.
Your hazy mindâs clouded with pleasure, Johnnyâs face burying between your legs, lapping like a starving dog through your wet folds, make sure every spots are taken care of and changes between sucking the swollen nub and teasing your entrance with little swirl of the tip of his tongue. He groans obscenely whenever you squeeze your thighs around his head, chasing each drop of your essence with the same passion of a bloodhound, no way heâs going to waste any drop of those precious juices. Leaning back on Kyleâs body, his hands slipping past the hem of your shirt, his lips pressing against yours hungrily, drinking all your moans elicited by his fingers flicking and pinching your hardened nipples down with his tongue leading you in a deep kiss. Itâs until your back arch upwards, thighs trembling and riding through your orgasm with Johnnyâs lips giving little sucklings to your twitching clit, resting your cheeks on Kyleâs shoulder and recovering from the release, that you finally notice the two hulking forms lurking at the open bedroom door.
âTold you muppets to keep her entertained, not wearing her out before she has her birthday cake.â John chides them with his gruff voice, but the amusement in his tone is obvious, not to say the smirk on his lips when you look at him with glazed eyes.
â 'm just having my cake firstâ Giving a peck to your pussy lips, Johnny unabashedly smirks back to the captain.
âYouâre not even the one whose birthdayâs today, Johnny.â Simon sets down the cake on the nightstand, rolling his eyes before looking down at you, gaze soften a bit at the view of your blissed out face. âBut the princess looks happy enough, guess Gaz and you had take good care of her, huh?â
âCan always count on us, Ghost.â You hum softly as agreement to Kyle words, which gets a snort from Simon, but he sure does approve his statement.
You eyes land on the cake, exquisite decorations with just your favorite flavor, they always spoil you even more when itâs your birthday, from refusing you to do any chores and ushering you to lounging around in the house, to gifts and cake that always make you confuse how these hotheads know that youâve been storing those products in your basket for months but always close the app after staring at the âbuyâ button and hesitating whether you should buy them or not.
âThank you.â Your eyes shift from the cake and the presents, to meet each of theirs. Each of them distinct, convey their love to you in their own unique fashion, yet share the same affection and devotion to you.
âDoes the birthday girl want her cake firstâŚâ John scoops a bit of the whipped cream from the cake, letting you have a taste of the creamy sweetness, then his chest rumbles with laughter when he spots the eagerness in your eyes, thumb slide past your lips and allow you to lick the cream clean from it. âOr she wants her âbirthday giftâ from us first?â
Youâre suddenly aware of how they surrounded you in a circle, John sitting in front of you between your spread thighs, his bulge restrained by his trousers nudging your puffy pussyâstill wet from Johnny eating you out and youâre sure itâs dripping juices and staining the bedsheets now, body heating with desires of all your men drowning you in their scentsâ and Kyleâs cock already poking at the fat of your ass, his arms circling around your waist as he waits for your response.
âDoubt sheâs able to enjoy the cake when she just wants us now.â Ghost tilts your head, tossing his gloves aside before sneaking a kiss from your lips, tasting the remnants of the whipped cream from devouring you in a prolonged kiss. You donât have to give his crotch a glance to know heâs probably rock-hard too from watching your little show earlier.
âCannae wait to get yer pretty cunny filled with our cum, eh?â and JohnnyâŚthe shameless bastardâs already stroking his dick through his sweat pants while teasing you.
âWellâŚCanât say youâre wrongâŚâ Giggling at them, you admit your wish without hesitation, before getting pulled into a kiss again, relaxing entirely under their touches and indulging in all four menâs pampering.
Because birthday girl deserves all the attention from her lovers, yeah?
#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#john soap mctavish x reader#john soap mctavish x you#soap x reader#soap x you#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick x you#gaz x reader#gaz x you#john price x reader#john price x you#price x reader#price x you#tf 141 x reader#tf141 x you#tf141 x reader#tf 141 x you#cod x reader#cod x you#nighttimealone
683 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Lucifer confessing to an artist reader
ăťâĽ Lucifer gets jealous, and has to prove his love for you
| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |
x: WOW this was a rollercoaster to write. Alastor being petty, a musical number, and.. đ youâll have to read and see!
warnings: Mild swearing

âMreow?âÂ
You stirred slightly under the covers in your bed, waking from the noise. You were so warm and cozy, in your little nest of pillows that you hugged to your chest. Stilling yourself, you strained your ears, listening for whatever had awoken you.
âMreooow,â came that needy, animalistic cry again.
âKeeKee?â You whispered hoarsely.
A high-pitched chirp answered your question.
Grumbling in protest, you grasped the sheets and pulled them from your face. Squinting at the morning light emanating from the large windows on the other end of the room.Â
You rubbed a hand down your face, in an attempt to squeeze out the exhaustion still fogging your mind. With a sigh, you pivoted, placing your feet on the cold, wood floor beneath.
Now where was that furball?Â
You scanned the room, before your eyes landed on the small black and white cyclopean cat. She sat on your nightstand, her tail swishing with happiness as you answered her call.Â
âYou silly kitty, what do you want so early in the morning?â You questioned her, and received another chirp as a response.
You always found it fascinating that the small feline was actually the key to the hotel, created by Luciferâs magic as a gift to Charlie when she took over the place.Â
You could feel it, even now, that warm crackle of energy as it flowed off KeeKeeâs fur. It was faint, but so familiar. If you buried her face in her fur far enough, you could even smell traces of his scent.Â
As you and Lucifer grew closer, so did KeeKee. She had started following around the hotel, always a few steps behind as you traveled the halls. This morning routine of hers wasnât new either. Before, youâd open your door and find her sprawled out on the ground on her back, her belly exposed as she greeted you.Â
You started leaving your door cracked after that, allowing her to enter whenever she pleased. Sheâd make her bed on the same cushion Lucifer was so fond of while you painted, and drift into sleep.Â
Sometimes, youâd use her for practice sketches. Although you could only do so while she dreamed, as she was not as good at sitting still as Lucifer was.
It was almost as if she sensed the connection between the two of you, mirroring your bond with her own loyalty. With a soft smile, you reached out to pet KeeKee, feeling the comforting vibrations of her purrs resonating through your fingertips.Â
Rising from the bed, you made your way into the small bathroom. Twisting the sink handle, you let the fountain of water flow into the drain as it is heated.Â
Your eyes landed on the object next to the faucet, and you smiled unconsciously as you picked up the yellow rubber ducky.Â
âYour new soap dispenser,â Lucifer had stated one evening, âEasily compactible to take it on the go and.. with the scent of apple pie.âÂ
He demonstrated by softly squeezing the sides of the toy, and a small glob of soap left its mouth and landed into the palm of his hand.Â
You had taken it from him and lifted it to your nose, inhaling a deep breath.Â
âDelectable.â You teased, before placing it on the table beside you.
After his little performance at the art studio, Luciferâs affection towards you grew bolder by the day. He often arrived at your room with a gift or two, even more than his silly little ducks.Â
Once, he brought you a small violin, the color pure angelic white with golden strings. You had stared at it in awe when he set it on the table.
âItâs white for you to paint,â Lucifer had explained, âWhatever little fantastical ideas you have to cover this instrument with, I just know itâll be amazing.â
You had blushed, before letting your fingers glide across its smooth surface. Tracing its frame, memorizing its shape.Â
âI was going to get you a fiddle, like my own. But, I believe this best suits the musical pieces you are so familiar with.â
You sat across from each other at the dining table in your room, arms resting lazily on its surface as you sipped from your glass of Spiced Apple Wine.Â
That was another gift he had brought you. Claiming he only enjoyed the taste of fine-aged wine from his personal cellar. You had gotten used to its slightly sour taste by now, but you were glad for that slight pinch on your tongue. It kept you from ogling Lucifer for too long.
The only light emanating from your room was the candles placed around you, their flames dancing, casting shadows across the walls. The soft ting of piano keys thrummed in the air, flowing from a small brown radio on your dresser.
Not too long ago, Alastor had given it to you for your personal use. A very rare gift from a demon like him. You had just assumed it was his way of getting you on his side, your unease of him mustâve been apparent enough.Â
Your years of attempted swindling by potential buyers for your pieces created a sixth sense, the ability to smell when someoneâs words didnât echo their intentions.
Even though you had no animosity towards him, and spoke to him frequently enough that you did not feel any kind of negative intentions from him, his mysterious past and psychopathic tendencies struck you as odd. His presence was dark and cold.Â
Nothing like Luciferâs, whoâs aura was so warm and energetic you could get drunk off of it.Â
Alastorâs? That would sober you up in an instant.
Why didnât you feel the same about Lucifer? After all, he had the same charm that swooped those around him off their feet.Â
âHis ability to love,â you concluded in your head, âthat was why.â
He showed deep care for the people close to him, while Alastor always held people at arms-length. Literally and figuratively.
Your personal feelings didnât mean you werenât going to use the radio, so whenever youâd hear Lucifer nearing your room, youâd switch it to polka. Learning by now that was one of his favorite genres. It played in the background as you discussed the violin.
âI think itâs best if you taught me how to play, I might have some knowledge on musical history, but that doesnât mean I know anything about the instruments themselves.â You had conceded.
He shook his head at that, âNonsense. If there is anyone I know that could pick up skills like this quickly, it would be you.â
âWhat makes you think that?â You had laughed.
âBecause, youâre amazing. Talented, with passion that could take on the world. You and my daughter have more in common than you think. A drive that I wish I had.â
That had stopped your train of thought, your cheeks heating once more. Most times you would try to brush off his comments, and continue on to the next subject, even if those words made it hard for you to fall asleep that same night.
But this time, you let his words linger in the air between you. The faint glow from the candles illuminating his face, his angelic features intensifying.Â
It was your turn to make a move, you couldnât let him have all the fun.
Slowly, your hand traveled across the table, until your fingers grazed his own. Lucifer never pulled back, instead, he accepted your advance. Lacing his fingers with your own.
The two of you didnât speak, you didnât need to. The day could be filled with laughter and quick-wits. But, the night? That belonged to your silent bouts of affection.
Just two pairs of eyes staring out through the large open bay windows, the flickering lights from the city your own little TV.Â
What was he thinking about? You had wondered. You were aware of the divorce of his wife years ago, and the fracture of his family still weighed on him. Even if his relationship with Charlie was improving the day. Did he blame himself for his family splitting?Â
You had never pried him on such things, there was no reason to bring him more pain. Heâd open up about it when he was ready, he always did.
Was that why he was slow to actually ask for your kindness? Your care?Â
Your love?Â
He was a showman, with a drive to impress strangers around him, to win them over with his charm and flare. But you werenât a stranger, not anymore.Â
There was this tiny parasite that gnawed at the back of your mind, whispering such horrid things of him leaving you if you made the first move.Â
âHis pride is too great to let him be swooned completely by a lower demon,â it hissed, âHe just wants something casual, nothing truly real,â
Was that true? Would he reject you and move on? Surely, there were much stronger, much smarter demons than you in Hell that he could choose.Â
Maybe, youâd just have to grow a backbone and ask him.Â
âSoonâ, you promised.
The calming scent that wafted from the candles around the room pulled you away from such thoughts. Instead, you used your free hand to lift the wine glass to your lips, downing the remaining liquor. Your body blooming with warmth as it traveled down your throat, and your head turning fuzzy with bliss.Â
A gentle thump as KeeKee landed on the counter pulled you back to reality. You finished washing your face, and placed it into the cool embrace of the small towel in your hands.
Turning away from the sink, you walked back into the main room. KeeKee trailed you as you rummaged through your dresser, plucking out items of clothing as you began to change for the day.Â
âCome, KeeKee,â You called, clicking your tongue at her as you strided to the doorway of your room.Â
She responded with a chirp and raced past you, out into the hallway. You watched her scurry down the stairs as you headed for the lobby. You were supposed to finish the season of RuGaulâs Drag Race this morning with Angel Dust, and honestly, it was a pretty good show.
Unfortunately, the raised bump in the carpet right in front of your foot had other plans.
âFuck!â You hissed as you fell forward, your arms instinctually raising to catch your fall.
You hit the ground with an oomph. Luckily, you caught yourself in time to not face any serious injury. Except the sting of your pride. You lay there defeated for a moment, the ache in your arms subsiding slowly.
âWell, hello down there, my friend!â Came a familiar call, static trickling from their voice.
 âHello, Alastor.â You greeted the Radio Demon with a painful sigh.Â
âIt appears youâve gotten yourself into a bit of a pickle, hm? Let me help you with that.âÂ
Black tendrils gathered around you, they were unnaturally cold and you squirmed against their touch.Â
They tightened around you and lifted you up, up, and up until the soles of your feet were steady on the ground. They flowed off of you, disappearing like a shadow into Alastorâs form.
âThank you, Alastor. That was very kind of you,â you spoke as you brushed dust off your clothes. Youâd need to talk to Nifty about coming to your side of the building more often to clean.Â
âIt was no problem, my friend. I could not just sit by and allow you to take such an attitude from that silly carpet.âÂ
Alastor snapped his fingers, and the tiny lump in the carpet that had delivered the tripping blow vanished. Leaving behind a nice, smooth surface.
His head snapped back up to you, that large smile still plastered on his face. You were about to open your mouth again when his gaze landed on something behind you, past the railing.
âAh, I see you have finished another one of your paintings! What a wonderful piece this is, yes, truly remarkable!âÂ
He walked forward, and placed one hand on the railing. On the opposite side of the room, at eye level to the second floor, was a painting depicting a very large, glittering lake. A tall forest surrounded it, with massive snowy mountains as the backdrop.Â
Small winged-angels sat near the waters, feasting on grapes and wine as they enjoyed the summer sun. Some stood near white-freckled fawns as they fed them fruits and nuts, their faces lit in joyful smiles.Â
âYes, it took me forever. Water is a pain to get perfect. Do you.. think it fits?âÂ
âOf course it does, my dear!â His enthusiastic voice not missing a beat, âI think Charlie choosing you for this job was a marvelous choice! You must have taken much inspiration from some of the classic artists.. Perhaps Edgar Payne?â
A look of surprise crossed your face. He knew about the famous western landscape artist? Alastor didnât seem like a fine arts kind of man to you.
âI used some of his techniques, yes. I didnât know you had such knowledge, Alastor.â You responded, a hint of questioning in your tone. Prompting him to speak more about the subject.Â
Alastor waved his hand in the air in a brushing motion, as if it was no big deal.
âOh, here and there. When I was alive hosting my radio show I once toured an art gallery for an advertisement. His pieces were on display, and I suppose his work has been imprinted in my mind ever since.â
âThatâs very interesting, actually. I shouldnât be surprised though, you seem to be in favor of many classic mediums.âÂ
âMm, yes. I just canât stand the way modern society has seemed to falter from its most creative forms. Iâm sure soon theyâll just start paying robots up there to make art for them.â
You doubted that, people using robots to make art? What was the point of it if not created by the human hand?
It was then you caught his eyes darting to something behind you, towards the staircase. Did his eye just twitch?
Alastorâs toothy grin widened further, which you thought couldnât be possible. Before you could turn around and get a look at whatever had captured his attention, his gaze landed back on you.
He quickly sidled much closer to you, and placed his free hand on your shoulder. Your eyes widened at the touch, heâd never been brazen like this before. Let alone being this close to you.Â
Suddenly, he let out a loud, boisterous laugh at nothing particular. His head slightly shook from side to side like he just heard the funniest story in his life, which made you lean back slightly at his very odd actions.
âOh, my dear, you are such a charm. Truly. I always enjoy our little talks about your ideas. You are so very passionate about your work.âÂ
Your eyebrows raised in suspicion at his behavior. What was this man up to?Â
âWe should definitely continue our talks sometime, perhaps, in the comfort of your study?â He questioned, placing his other hand on your shoulder, âMaybe, you could even teach me some of that history you have trapped in your noggin, mmm what was that era called.. the Renaissance?â
Your mouth parted slightly as you contemplated his words. He wanted to learn from you? You had never graced anyone with your teachings other than Lucifer, and you kind of liked it that way.
âWell.. I donât know if-â
âAhem.â Came a familiar, male voice from behind the two of you.Â
Your words caught in your throat. Uh oh.
You watched Alastorâs grin deepen into a knowing smirk. His eyes snapping to the figure behind you, eyebrows raised.Â
You pivoted, seeing the familiar pale face staring intensely at you, practically into your soul. You tried to smile at him, your teeth clenched painfully as you stood besides Alastor. His hand still on your shoulder.Â
You tried to speak through your eyes, desperately trying to tell him this was not something you had asked for. You werenât sure whether he could read it.
Luciferâs gaze diverted to the hand on your shoulder, and you could feel a crackle of scorching hot energy in the air around you.
âWhy, hello there, your majesty.â Alastor greeted him with mock enthusiasm.Â
âWhat a surprise to see you here,â Lucifer responded, a slight growl in his voice. He straightened his back, leaning slightly forward on his staff, as though the scene before him was not a bother. He was terrible at hiding it though.Â
âIndeed. My dear friend and I were just discussing their paintings, arenât they a wonder?â
âOf course they are.â Lucifer responded.Â
âWe have such good conversations, you know, about their vast knowledge on the subject. It makes me envious really.âÂ
He released your shoulder from his grasp, and you scooted an inch away from him.Â
âPerhaps, one day, you would care to join us? But I'm sure their line of work isnât something you are interested in, hm?â Alastorâs words left his lips, and Luciferâs teeth bared at that.
Alastorâs smile intensified as his own energy filled the room, an invisible dual of power was beginning to emerge between the two demons. It reminded you of what happened when Lucifer had arrived at the hotel for the first time, when they had fought for the position as Charlieâs father figure.Â
Alastor wasnât an idiot though, Lucifer could eradicate him at any moment. Was just simply irritating the fallen angel his only motivation?
Was Alastorâs initial conversation with you just to pull the strings of what was happening now? Did he know Lucifer was coming to see you? That sly asshole.
Alastor turned away from Luciferâs glare, and met your gaze.
âHow is that radio doing that I gave you? I hope youâve been putting it to good use, I was trying my hardest to
think of the perfect gift for you, and I just knew that you would be interested in it.âÂ
âIt was.. nice, thank you.. Alastor.â You responded, afraid what would happen if you ignored his question.Â
âMy pleasure, dear friend. Weâve been through thick and thin, you and I. Itâs only right I share with you a piece of my.. admiration towards you.â
Admiration?Â
Lucifer stalked up to the two of you, staring daggers in Alastorâs back. Clearing his throat, he let out a dark chuckle.
âIâm sure your little relationship is over-exaggerated,â He said, his tone passive aggressive, âIâve hardly seen you in the same room together, let alone have such meaningful conversations.â
âBut, of course we do! I was there the first day they walked through those doors. I was the one that welcomed them to their new home, and it was I who furnished their room in the first place. Seeing as barely anything has been changed or moved around, it is safe to say our connection is much deeper than you may think.â
You heard Lucifer growl again. His eyes flickering to a shade of red.
âWell, itâs too bad your gift is useless now.â Lucifer hissed, âThey have an instrument of their own, which I have provided them.â
Alastorâs ear twitched at that, and he turned to you in mock fascination.Â
âOh, an instrument? Did you know I used to play in a band?â He turned to you, his questions armed with ill intentions, âI would love nothing more than to give you a lesson or two!â
âI am going to teach them, actually.â Lucifer snapped, âI couldnât imagine the terrible noises that would come from you plucking strings like a tone-deaf banshee.â
Alastor laughed at that before reaching out and grabbing your hand. You had the growing itch to rip it away, but his stare whispered dark things, and you relented. Allowing him to grip your wrist loosely.
âWell, this has been fun, and I would like to continue our talks,â He addressed you, âBut I have important business to attend to within the hotel, as your faithful hotelier. Perhaps, later tonight?âÂ
Your smile faltered for a second, giving him a slight glare. You weren't going to let him think you were falling for his games.
âSuch a shame you have so much attention on you from so many others, those demons on the streets really look at you with such enamoration. My word, just practically begging for your attention! If only you would share all your ideas and knowledge with just me, youâd know how fantastic of a listener I am.â
âOthers?â Lucifer asked incredulously.
Alastor ignored him, instead, he did something that you never expected.
He gingerly pulled your hand closer to his face, before leaning down slightly and placing a quick peck to your knuckles. You gasped, placing a hand over your mouth to cease it quickly.Â
It was meaningless, you could tell. An act to simply further spur on Luciferâs rage.Â
âWhy you pompous little fucking-!â Lucifer roared, but was cut off by Alastorâs maniacal fit of giggles.
Suddenly, the red demon evaporated into a large green cloud of smoke. A gust of freezing wind rushed you as he vanished. Behind you, Luciferâs large hat was carried with the gust of wind, and he was left practically frothing at the mouth, his hair disheveled from the wind. His eyes still a dark sickly-red.Â
You strode up to him, placing a hand on his arm. Trying to get him to look at you.Â
âI promise you, we were not talking genuinely just then, Lucifer.âÂ
âDo you have conversations with that creep when iâm not around? Have you been telling him the same things youâve shared with me?âÂ
You rolled your eyes, letting out a breath of hot air.Â
âDonât be ridiculous, heâs just getting under your skin. Iâve barely spoken with him.â
âWhat did he mean by âothersâ? You have suitors that iâm not aware of?â
You leaned back, confusion spreading across your face. Was Lucifer.. jealous? Was the thought of other demons trying to get intimate with you.. bothering him?
âWhat? Well, I donât know, maybe. Itâs not like I-â
âItâs me who knows almost everything about you. Iâm the King of Hell, what can anyone offer you that I canât?â
What was this? Heâs never spoken a word about courting you, which is why your feelings towards his affection were mixed. But now, he wants to?Â
âAnd here I thought I could make it to the overlord meeting in time,â He growled. Before his gaze was renewed with fresh determination.
He grabbed your hand, pulling you closer, and snapped his fingers.Â
Before you could blink, the area around you melted and transformed into a beautiful restaurant. You were sitting at an oak table, candles lit around you. A wine glass in front of you.
Lucifer materialized at the seat across from you in a very tight, clean black tuxedo with a red bow tie around his neck.
He gave you a playful smirk, before another figure strode to your table. You looked up, and saw.. Lucifer? Again? This time in a classic waiter outfit, an apron tied around his waist. He held a plate of food in one hand, before setting it down before you.Â
âYouâre favorite dish, catered by yours truly.â Waiter Lucifer spoke confidently.
You looked down at the foodstuff on the plate, your mouth watering. It really was your favorite dish. You reached out to grab it, before you were thrusted into darkness again.
Where were you now?!Â
You were sitting on a very comfortable cushioned chair, and as you whipped your head around, noticed that there were rows and rows of the same kind of chairs.Â
âWhat the hell is going on?!â You yelled to the scene, but received no answer.Â
Placed in them were more.. Lucifers? They all whooped and cheered, clapping at whatever was in front of you. You turned your head, taking in the sight before you.
It was a lit stage. The curtain was closed, so you were unable to see what was on it. Suddenly, the curtain lifted, and there was Lucifer again, he held a Violin, similar to the one he gave you, but this time in pure gold.
He looked at you before gliding the bow across its strings, the echoes of its chords filling the room. You perked, recognizing its tune.
It was âInnsbruck, I must leave theeâ! The same one he had asked you about when you caught him humming that one time.
Did he learn it⌠just for you? Your heart fluttered. Was this grandiose display just him trying to prove that he cared about you and your interests?
It continued for a moment longer, the strings on his instrument singing with raw power. It was a beautiful sound, and for a moment you were lost in it. Emotions from your past bubbling inside of you.
And then, he let go of the violin and it began playing on its own. It floated in the air gracefully as its tune continued. He leapt off the stage and landed right in front of your seat. He extended his hand, waiting for you to take it.Â
You hesitated for a moment, unsure of where you would be taken next.
âLuci..â You said, giving him a questioning look.
He only smirked at you, his eyebrows raised playfully. You shook your head, a smile blooming on your face at his theatrics, and laced your fingers with his.Â
Instead of being thrown into darkness like before, gold flashed around you as he teleported you somewhere distant.
This time, you were on the roof of a very tall building, you shook your head to rid yourself of the dizziness before taking in the sights around you.
You were in Pentagram city, Heaven high above you, itâs white glow helping to light the rooftop like a stage.
Your hand was still gripping his, and he did not pull away. Neither did you.Â
Suddenly, a tune began once more. Unfamiliar this
time, and you twisted your head to find where it was coming from, but to no avail. It seemed to be emanating from the entire space around you.
Was there a faint musical number playing in the background, or was that just your imagination?
Lucifer pulled you closer, his classic red and white hats by vest clung to his frame. His hat and overcoat nowhere in sight.
âLucifer, what are youâŚâ You trailed off, right as he opened his mouth and started to.. sing.
With treasures untold and riches divine,
I offer you the world, to make you mine.
His voice was like velvet, that boisterous playful demeanor apparent as he circled you around, you turned with him, never releasing his hand. He continued, his eyes never straying from you as he sang.
I can offer you kingdoms, castles of gold,
Mountains of riches, for you to behold,
Diamonds that shimmer, like stars in the night,
With every breath, with every sigh,
Iâll lavish you with riches, until the end of time.
His singing ceased, and you were rushed back into reality. You looked at him in awe, enamored by that pretty voice of his. It was ethereal, just like God has designed him to be.
You stood there for a second, eyes fixed on Luciferâs hand as it entwined with yours. Your gaze traveling to those big, beautiful golden eyes that practically begged for your response.Â
In that moment, as the sun above illuminated his pretty face and his shining hair flowing in the gentle breeze, you realized how much you adored- no, loved this man.Â
Summoning all of your willpower, you answered. Your lips parted as your tongue began to form words of your own design. You didnât call up any lyrics from pieces of past design. These words needed to be yours. Needed to say everything you desired and more.Â
I donât want your magic,
I donât want your gold,
I want your eyes on me,
Until we grow old,Â
The words left your lips, soft and buttery, as your confession rang through the air. You desperately hoped your voice didnât sound like nails against a chalkboard, that it held some resemblance to his own angelic vocals.Â
His eyes widened for a moment, before they softened. A sparkle shining in them that wasnât there before.Â
A genuine, heart-melting smile crossed his face as he listened to your words flowing from your tongue so gracefully, like water cascading from the Fountain of Youth.
You took his other hand, pulling him backwards, as you danced across the narrow rooftop, like ballerinas, your footsteps synced and graceful.Â
Suddenly, he turned you towards the edge, your heels mere inches from the ledge of the roof. For a moment, you felt like youâd slip and plunge into the depths, but those eyes of his held you steady in your mind.
Until his wings appeared behind him, beating softly, giving you air as he spun you slightly off the rooftop. A pulse of warm energy hit you, and your legs lifted out from under you. Like you were Jane with your Peter Pan, and his magic fairy dust was going to send you gliding off to Neverland.
For a moment, you felt like you had wings of your own. That feeling of absolute freedom, unchained from the ground as you floated for a moment before Lucifer pulled you back to reality.
Your feet hit the rooftop once more and you were breathlessly aware of your heart beating in your throat. Your gaze snapped back to Lucifer once more, and you felt one of his hands lowering to your hip, the other still entwined with yours.
Lucifer leaned forward, and you with him. Your back curved into an arch as he leaned above you, your lips inches from brushing against each other. You felt like exploding, those butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach threatening to burst.
Both your mouths opened at once, and your words entwined with his as your lips moved once more.
Your caring touch abundantly clear,
Itâs all iâve ever known,
With you my dear,Â
I surely fear,
My heart will never be my own.
As your song ended, you felt your heart and mind clear instantly as your truth had finally been told. The look of pure adoration in his eyes was enough to have you trembling under his touch.Â
Lucifer pulled you back onto your feet, his breathing heavy and the feathers on his wings ruffled.Â
With both hands on your hips, you reached forward and cupped his face. Heat spread across your body as your fingers grazed across the small wisps of hair that curled around his ears.
âDarling, I-â
Before you could let him finish his sentence, you squeezed your eyes shut, and planted your lips against his. He froze for a moment, his breath hitching, before his hands around your waist tightened and he deepened the kiss.
You moved your hands from his face and instead wrapped your arms around his neck, grasping at his shirt collar with hungry desire.
His scent washed over you, and you drank it in with desperation. A sweet, crisp dose of apple cinnamon mixed with faint traces of roses. You thanked Heaven in that moment, for releasing them from their grasp, and right into your arms down here in Hell.Â
Your knees hit the ground the same time as Luciferâs, and you felt the soft touch of his wings as they wrapped around you. Blanketing the two of you from the prying eyes of all the realms.Â
He pressed his face harder into yours as he cupped the small of your back. His teeth grazed the bottom of your lip, and you parted your mouth slightly, locking the two of you together even more intensely.Â
His lips left yours, and he planted feverish pecks across your cheek all the way to your earlobe. He bit tenderly on it, and you had to squeeze your lips together to stop from whimpering. He continued, trailing down your neck with hungry kisses, before burrowing his face into your shoulder blade.
You felt his teeth graze the artery in your neck, and you gasped, grasping at his hair desperately as pleasure coursed through your veins. His breath hot against your skin, tickling it.
âFuck,â You moaned, and his response was to push you farther into bliss as he suckled on your neck. Waves of pleasure hit you once more, and you began to sloppily kiss the top of his shoulder, slightly exposed from your roughhousing.
Lucifer tightened his grip around you, pulling you as flush to his body as he could manage. You both sat there on your knees in a mix of breathless gasps and hums of pleasure.
You did not want this moment to end. Finally, the both of you had opened yourselves up to your true feelings. You smiled at the thought, and planted a kiss on his earlobe as he lifted his head slightly from your neck.
Suddenly, the watch on Luciferâs wrist buzzed violently, and you heard him curse under his breath.
âIs that for your meeting?â Your voice came out in a hoarse whisper.
âUnfortunately,â He grumbled, before switching off the noise. He didnât move from his position though, and you realized he was going to try and skip out on it.
âYou should go.â You spoke, almost a command.
âWhy? Theyâve been fine without me for this long.â
âYouâre the king,â You retorted, meeting his gaze sternly, âGo do your job, iâm not going anywhere.âÂ
His look of distraught at having to depart sent another wave of butterflies into your body. You couldnât help but smile before giving him another quick peck on the lips.
âGo.â
âFine.âÂ
You both stood up, and his wings uncurled around your body, disappearing into his back. His fingers still with yours, as he reached down for his hat that lay on the ground beside you. You released his grip and fixed his bow tie. Pulling his overcoat back neatly onto his frame, and adjusting it slightly.Â
You wiped the sweat off his forehead and smoothed down his hair. Attempting to tidy him up as quickly as you could so he wouldnât be late. He smiled warmly as you fussed over him.
âNow, if you donât mind,â You spoke softly, batting your eyelashes at him, âI need a way off this roof.â
He smirked, before grasping his staff and tapping it against the ground.Â
A flurry of gold wafted around you, and that same energy tickled at the back of your neck just like it did at the art studio. His face blurring from the cascading waves of warm light that wrapped around you.
âSee you soon, My Love,â His voice echoed as your eyes shut and you felt that pull of energy. That feeling of floating on thin air hit you again, as you were warped away.Â
âThere you are!â Angel dust threw his arms in the air in exasperation a few feet away from you, as the particles of gold that floated above you disintegrated. You blinked a few times, letting your eyes adjust to the lights in the lobby.Â
âWhere were you this morning? I had to watch the final episode all by myself!â
Shit. Thatâs right. You placed a hand on your forehead, berating yourself silently for forgetting. Although you werenât too regretful about missing out on it for Lucifer.
âIâm so sorry, Angel. I just got.. busy, I guess.â
He shrugged, brushing off his slight irritation.Â
âItâs alright, ainât nobody hurt from it.â
He was going to turn away, towards the bar where Husk was readying drinks for the two of them, before his gaze narrowed in somewhere on your figure.
âWait, what the fuck is on your neck?â He asked suddenly, his eyes giving you a questioning stare, as he motioned towards it.
You looked at him confused, before reaching up and running a few fingers down the side of your throat. Your eyes flew wide open in surprise, and your hand cupped your mouth as you felt it. Your cheeks set on fire instantly.
Apparently, as a final gift, Lucifer had left a rather large hickey in the crook of your neck. Both Husk and Angel leaned in to get a better look at it, their eyes widening in surprise.Â
âThat dickhead finally did it, huh?â Husk spoke up, a knowing smirk on his lips as he cleaned glasses behind the bar.
Angelâs eyes lit up in delight, and he squeezed his own cheeks as realization dawned on him.
âFucking finally! Does that mean you two are a thing now?â
You contemplated for a moment, before meeting Angelâs gaze once more. A smirk growing on your lips.Â
KeeKee appeared at your feet, rubbing at your ankles in greeting. You gingerly reached down and picked her up. She was so soft to the touch, and you caught the faint scent of Lucifer once more as she nestled into your chest.
âI guess so,â You finally replied once you situated the cat into your arms, âNow if you excuse me, gentleman, I need a breather.âÂ
Angel whistled flirtatiously behind you as you walked away, and you couldnât help the growing heat that hit your cheeks once more.
ââ
a/n: let me know your thoughts!! i almost didnât added the little singing bit but i cracked my knuckles and summoned the lyricist in me to have some fun. I mean, it canât be Hazbin Hotel without a song right?
tag list: @ohnoivefallen @doodlebob2726 @coleisyn @loslox
#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer morningstar#iâm tired yâall iâm taking a nap#im writing this fic like im getting paid for it đ¤Ł#over 6k words too?!#hazbin hotel
2K notes
¡
View notes