#since that one was turning into a tangle of Too Much Going On (though it's currently at 5k and maybe 70% done; I still plan to finish it)

[confetti-cat]

Twelve, Thirteen, and One

Words: 6k

Rating: G

Themes: Friendship, Self-Giving Love

(Written for the Four Loves Fairytale Retelling Challenge over at the @inklings-challenge! A Cinderella retelling feat. curious critters and a lot of friendship.)

When the clock chimes midnight on that third evening, thirteen creatures look to the girl who showed them all kindness.

—

It’s hours after dark, again, and the human girl still sleeps in the ashes.

The mice notice this—though it happens so often that they’ve ceased to pay attention to her. She smells like everything else in the hearth: ashy and overworked, tinged with the faint smell of herbs from the kitchen.

When she moves or shifts in her sleep (uncomfortable sleep—even they can sense the exhaustion in her posture as she sits slumped against the wall, more willing to seep up warmth from the stone than lie cold elsewhere this time of year), they simply scurry around her and continue combing for crumbs and seeds. They’d found a feast of lentils scattered about once, and many other times, the girl had beckoned them softly to her hand, where she’d held a little chunk of brown bread.

Tonight, she has nothing. They don’t mind—though three of them still come to sniff her limp hand where it lies drooped against the side of her tattered dress.

A fourth one places a little clawed hand on the side of her finger, leaning over it to investigate her palm for any sign of food.

When she stirs, it’s to the sensation of a furry brown mouse sitting in her palm.

It can feel the flickering of her muscles as she wakes—feeling slowly returning to her body. To her credit, she cracks her eyes open and merely observes it.

They’re all but tame by now. The Harsh-Mistress and the Shrieking-Girl and the Angry-Girl are to be avoided like the plague never was, but this girl—the Cinder-Girl, they think of her—is gentle and kind.

Even as she shifts a bit and they hear the dull crack of her joints, they’re too busy to mind. Some finding a few buried peas (there were always some peas or lentils still hidden here, if they looked carefully), some giving themselves an impromptu bath to wash off the dust. The one sitting on her hand is doing the latter, fur fluffed up as it scratches one ear and then scrubs tirelessly over its face with both paws.

One looks up from where it’s discovered a stray pea to check her expression.

A warm little smile has crept up her face, weary and dirty and sore as she seems to be. She stays very still in her awkward half-curl against stone, watching the mouse in her hand groom itself. The tender look about her far overwhelms—melts, even—the traces of tension in her tired limbs.

Very slowly, so much so that they really aren’t bothered by it, she raises her spare hand and begins lightly smearing the soot away from her eyes with the back of her wrist.

The mouse in her palm gives her an odd look for the movement, but has discovered her skin is warmer than the cold stone floor or the ash around the dying fire. It pads around in a circle once, then nudges its nose against her calloused skin, settling down for a moment.

The Cinder-Girl has closed her eyes again, and drops her other hand into her lap, slumping further against the wall. Her smile has grown even warmer, if sadder.

They decide she’s quite safe. Very friendly.

—

The old rat makes his rounds at the usual times of night, shuffling through a passage that leads from the ground all the way up to the attic.

When both gold sticks on the clocks’ moonlike faces point upward, there’s a faint chime from the tower-clock downstairs. He used to worry that the sound would rouse the humans. Now, he ignores it and goes about his business.

There’s a great treasury of old straw in the attic. It’s inside a large sack—and while this one doesn’t have corn or wheat like the ones near the kitchen sometimes do, he knows how to chew it open all the same.

The girl sleeps on this sack of straw, though she doesn’t seem to mind what he takes from it. There’s enough more of it to fill a hundred rat’s nests, so he supposes she doesn’t feel the difference.

Tonight, though—perhaps he’s a bit too loud in his chewing and tearing. The girl sits up slowly in bed, and he stiffens, teeth still sunk into a bit of the fabric.

“Oh.” says the girl. She smiles—and though the expression should seem threatening, all pulled mouth-corners and teeth, he feels the gentleness in her posture and wonders at novel thoughts of differing body languages. “Hello again. Do you need more straw?”

He isn’t sure what the sounds mean, but they remind him of the soft whuffles and squeaks of his siblings when they were small. Inquisitive, unafraid. Not direct or confrontational.

She’s seemed safe enough so far—almost like the woman in white and silver-gold he’s seen here sometimes, marveling at his own confidence in her safeness—so he does what signals not-afraid the best to his kind. He glances her over, twitches his whiskers briefly, and goes back to what he was doing.

Some of the straw is too big and rough, some too small and fine. He scratches a bundle out into a pile so he can shuffle through it. It’s true he doesn’t need much, but the chill of winter hasn’t left the world yet.

The girl laughs. The sound is soft and small. It reminds him again of young, friendly, peaceable.

“Take as much as you need,” she whispers. Her movements are unassuming when she reaches for something on the old wooden crate she uses as a bedside table. With something in hand, she leans against the wall her bed is a tunnel’s-width from, and offers him what she holds. “Would you like this?”

He peers at it in the dark, whiskers twitching. His eyesight isn’t the best, so he finds himself drawing closer to sniff at what she has.

It’s a feather. White and curled a bit, like the goose-down he’d once pulled out the corner of a spare pillow long ago. Soft and long, fluffy and warm.

He touches his nose to it—then, with a glance upward at her softly-smiling face, takes it in his teeth.

It makes him look like he has a mustache, and is a bit too big to fit through his hole easily. The girl giggles behind him as he leaves.

—

There’s a human out in the gardens again. Which is strange—this is a place for lizards, maybe birds and certainly bugs. Not for people, in his opinion. She’s not dressed in venomous bright colors like the other humans often are, but neither does she stay to the manicured garden path the way they do.

She doesn’t smell like unnatural rotten roses, either. A welcome change from having to dart for cover at not just the motions, but the stenches that accompany the others that appear from time to time.

This human is behind the border-shubs, beating an ornate rug that hangs over the fence with a home-tied broom. Huge clouds of dust shake from it with each hit, settling in a thin film on the leaves and grass around her.

She stops for a moment to press her palm to her forehead, then turns over her shoulder and coughs into her arm.

When she begins again, it’s with a sharp WHOP.

He jumps a bit, but only on instinct. However—

A few feet from where he settles back atop the sunning-rock, there’s a scuffle and a sharp splash. Then thrashing—waster swashing about with little churns and splishes.

It’s not the way of lizards to think of doing anything when one falls into the water. There were several basins for fish and to catch water off the roof for the garden—they simply had to not fall into them, not drown. There was little recourse for if they did. What could another lizard do, really? Fall in after them? Best to let them try to climb out if they could.

The girl hears the splashing. She stares at the water pot for a moment.

Then, she places her broom carefully on the ground and comes closer.

Closer. His heart speeds up. He skitters to the safety of a plant with low-hanging leaves—

—and then watches as she walks past his hiding place, peers into the basin, and reaches in.

Her hand comes up dripping wet, a very startled lizard still as a statue clinging to her fingers.

“Are you the same one I always find here?” she asks with a chiding little smile. “Or do all of you enjoy swimming?”

When she places her hand on the soft spring grass, the lizard darts off of it and into the underbrush. It doesn’t go as far as it could, though—something about this girl makes both of them want to stand still and wait for what she’ll do next.

The girl just watches it go. She lets out a strange sound—a weary laugh, perhaps—and turns back to her peculiar chore.

—

A song trails through the old house—under the floorboards—through the walls—into the garden, beneath the undergrowth—and lures them out of hiding.

It isn’t an audible song, not like that of the birds in the summer trees or the ashen-girl murmuring beautiful sounds to herself in the lonely hours. This one was silent. Yet, it reached deep down into their souls and said come out, please—the one who helped you needs your help.

It didn’t require any thought, no more than eat or sleep or run did.

In chains of silver and grey, all the mice who hear it converge, twenty-four tiny feet pattering along the wood in the walls. The rat joins them, but they are not afraid.

When they emerge from a hole out into the open air, the soft slip-slap of more feet surround them. Six lizards scurry from the bushes, some gleaming wet as if they’d just escaped the water trough or run through the birdbath themselves.

As a strange little hoard, they approach the kind girl. Beside her is a tall woman wearing white and silver and gold.

The girl—holding a large, round pumpkin—looks surprised to see them here. The woman is smiling.

“Set the pumpkin on the drive,” the woman says, a soft gleam in her eye. “The rest of you, line up, please.”

Bemused, but with a heartbeat fast enough for them to notice, the girl gingerly places the pumpkin on the stone of the drive. It’s natural for them, somehow, to follow—the mice line in pairs in front of it, the rat hops on top of it, and the lizards all stand beside.

“What are they doing?” asks the girl—and there’s curiosity and gingerness in her tone, like she doesn’t believe such a sight is wrong, but is worried it might be.

The older woman laughs kindly, and a feeling like blinking hard comes over the world.

It’s then—then, in that flash of darkness that turns to dazzling light, that something about them changes.

“Oh!” exclaims the girl, and they open their eyes. “Oh! They’re—“

They’re different.

The mice aren’t mice at all—and suddenly they wonder if they ever were, or if it was an odd dream.

They’re horses, steel grey and sleek-haired with with silky brown manes and tails. Their harnesses are ornate and stylish, their hooves polished and dark.

Instead of a rat, there’s a stout man in fine livery, with whiskers dark and smart as ever. He wears a fine cap with a familiar white feather, and the gleam in his eye is surprised.

“Well,” he says, examining his hands and the cuffs of his sleeves, “I suppose I won’t be wanting for adventure now.”

Instead of six lizards, six footmen stand at attention, their ivory jackets shining in the late afternoon sun.

The girl herself is different, though she’s still human—her hair is done up beautifully in the latest fashion, and instead of tattered grey she wears a shimmering dress of lovely pale green, inlaid with a design that only on close inspection is flowers.

“They are under your charge, now,” says the woman in white, stepping back and folding her hands together. “It is your responsibility to return before the clock strikes midnight—when that happens, the magic will be undone. Understood?”

“Yes,” says the girl breathlessly. She stares at them as if she’s been given the most priceless gift in all the world. “Oh, thank you.”

—

The castle is decorated brilliantly. Flowery garlands hang from every parapet, beautiful vines sprawling against walls and over archways as they climb. Dozens of picturesque lanterns hang from the walls, ready to be lit once the sky grows dark.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen the castle,” the girl says, standing one step out of the carriage and looking so awed she seems happy not to go any further. “Father and I used to drive by it sometimes. But it never looked so lovely as this.”

“Shall we accompany you in, milady?” asks one of the footmen. They’re all nearly identical, though this one has freckles where he once had dark flecks in his scales.

She hesitates for only a moment, looking up at the pinnacles of the castle towers. Then, she shakes her head, and turns to look at them all with a smile like the sun.

“I think I’ll go in myself,” she says. “I’m not sure what is custom. But thank you—thank you so very much.”

And so they watch her go—stepping carefully in her radiant dress that looked lovelier than any queen’s.

Though she was not royal, it seemed there was no doubt in anyone’s minds that she was. The guards posted at the door opened it for her without question.

With a last smile over her shoulder, she stepped inside.

—

He's straightening the horses' trappings for the fifth time when the doors to the castle open, and out hurries a figure. It takes him a moment to recognize her, garbed in rich fabrics and cloaked in shadows, but it's the girl, rushing out to the gilded carriage. A footman steps forward and offers her a hand, which she accepts gratefully as she steps up into the seat.

“Enjoyable evening, milady?” asks the coachman. His whiskers are raised above the corners of his mouth, and his twinkling eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Yes, quite, thank you!” she breathes in a single huff. She smooths her dress the best she can before looking at him with some urgency. “The clock just struck quarter till—will you be able to get us home?”

The gentle woman in white had said they only would remain in such states until midnight. How long was it until the middle of night? What was a quarter? Surely darkness would last for far more hours than it had already—it couldn’t be close. Yet it seemed as though it must be; the princesslike girl in the carriage sounded worried it would catch them at any moment.

“I will do all I can,” he promises, and with a sharp rap of the reins, they’re off at a swift pace.

They arrive with minutes to spare. He knows this because after she helps him down from the carriage (...wait. That should have been the other way around! He makes mental note for next time: it should be him helping her down. If he can manage it. She’s fast), she takes one of those minutes to show him how his new pocketwatch works.

He’s fascinated already. There’s a part of him that wonders if he’ll remember how to tell time when he’s a rat again—or will this, all of this, be forgotten?

The woman in white is there beside the drive, and she’s already smiling. A knowing gleam lights her eye.

“Well, how was the ball?” she asks, as Cinder-Girl turns to face her with the most elated expression. “I hear the prince is looking for fair maidens. Did he speak with you?”

The girl rushes to grasp the woman’s hands in hers, clasping them gratefully and beaming up at her.

“It was lovely! I’ve never seen anything so lovely,” she all but gushes, her smile brighter and broader than they’d ever seen it. “The castle is beautiful; it feels so alive and warm. And yes, I met the Prince—although hush, he certainly isn’t looking for me—he’s so kind. I very much enjoyed speaking with him. He asked me to dance, too; I had as wonderful a time as he seemed to. Thank you! Thank you dearly.”

The woman laughs gently. It isn’t a laugh one would describe as warm, but neither is it cold in the sense some laughs can be—it's soft and beautiful, almost crystalline.

“That’s wonderful. Now, up to bed! You’ve made it before midnight, but your sisters will be returning soon.”

“Yes! Of course,” she replies eagerly—turning to smile gratefully at coachman and stroke the nearest horses on their noses and shoulders, then curtsy to the footmen. “Thank you all, very much. I could not ask for a more lovely company.”

It’s a strange moment when all of their new hearts swell with warmth and affection for this girl—and then the world darkens and lightens so quickly they feel as though they’ve fallen asleep and woken up.

They’re them again—six mice, six lizards, a rat, and a pumpkin. And a tattered gray dress.

“Please, would you let me go again tomorrow? The ball will last three days. I had such a wonderful time.”

“Come,” the woman said simply, “and place the pumpkin beneath the bushes.”

The woman in white led the way back to the house, followed by an air-footed girl and a train of tiny critters. There was another silent song in the air, and they thought perhaps the girl could hear it too: one that said yes—but get to bed!

—

The second evening, when the door of the house thuds shut and the hoofsteps of the family’s carriage fade out of hearing, the rat peeks out of a hole in the kitchen corner to see the Cinder-Girl leap to her feet.

She leans close to the window and watched for more minutes than he quite understands—or maybe he does; it was good to be sure all cats had left before coming out into the open—and then runs with a spring in her step to the back door near the kitchen.

Ever so faintly, like music, the woman’s laughter echoes faintly from outside. Drawn to it like he had been drawn to the silent song, the rat scurries back through the labyrinth of the walls.

When he hurries out onto the lawn, the mice and lizards are already there, looking up at the two humans expectantly. This time, the Cinder-Girl looks at them and smiles broadly.

“Hello, all. So—how do you do it?” she asks the woman. Her eyes shine with eager curiosity. “I had no idea you could do such a thing. How does it work?”

The woman fixes her with a look of fond mock-sternness. “If I were to explain to you the details of how, I’d have to tell you why and whom, and you’d be here long enough to miss the royal ball.” She waves her hands she speaks. “And then you’d be very much in trouble for knowing far more than you ought.”

The rat misses the girl’s response, because the world blinks again—and now all of them once again are different. Limbs are long and slender, paws are hooves with silver shoes or feet in polished boots.

The mouse-horses mouth at their bits as they glance back at the carriage and the assortment of humans now standing by it. The footmen are dressed in deep navy this time, and the girl wears a dress as blue as the summer sky, adorned with brilliant silver stars.

“Remember—“ says the woman, watching fondly as the Cinder-Girl steps into the carriage in a whorl of beautiful silk. “Return before midnight, before the magic disappears.”

“Yes, Godmother,” she calls, voice even more joyful than the previous night. “Thank you!”

—

The castle is just as glorious as before—and the crowd within it has grown. Noblemen and women, royals and servants, and the prince himself all mill about in the grand ballroom.

He’s unsure of the etiquette, but it seems best for her not to enter alone. Once he escorts her in, the coachman bows and watches for a moment—the crowd is hushed again, taken by her beauty and how important they think her to be—and then returns to the carriage outside.

He isn’t required in the ballroom for much of the night—but he tends to the horses and checks his pocketwatch studiously, everything in him wishing to be the best coachman that ever once was a rat.

Perhaps that wouldn’t be hard. He’d raise the bar, then. The best coachman that ever drove for a princess.

Because that was what she was—or, that was what he heard dozens of hushed whispers about once she’d entered the ball. Every noble and royal and servant saw her and deemed her a grand princess nobody knew from a land far away. The prince himself stared at her in a marveling way that indicated he thought no differently.

It was a thing more wondrous than he had practice thinking. If a mouse could become a horse or a rat could become a coachman, couldn’t a kitchen-girl become a princess?

The answer was yes, it seemed—perhaps in more ways than one.

She had rushed out with surprising grace just before midnight. They took off quickly, and she kept looking back toward the castle door, as if worried—but she was smiling.

“Did you know the Prince is very nice?” she asks once they’re safely home, and she’s stepped down (drat) without help again. The woman in white stands on her same place beside the drive, and when Cinder-Girl sees her, she waves with dainty grace that clearly holds a vibrant energy and sheer thankfulness behind it. “I’ve never known what it felt like to be understood. He thinks like I do.”

“How is that?” asks the woman, quirking an amused brow. “And if I might ask, how do you know?”

“Because he mentions things first.” The girl tries to smother some of the wideness of her smile, but can’t quite do so. “And I've shared his thoughts for a long time. That he loves his father, and thinks oranges and citrons are nice for festivities especially, and that he’s always wanted to go out someday and do something new.”

—

The third evening, the clouds were dense and a few droplets of rain splattered the carriage as they arrived.

“Looks like rain, milady,” said the coachman as she disembarked to stand on water-spotted stone. “If it doesn’t blow by, we’ll come for ye at the steps, if it pleases you.”

“Certainly—thank you,” she replies, all gleaming eyes and barely-smothered smiles. How her excitement to come can increase is beyond them—but she seems more so with each night that passes.

She has hardly turned to head for the door when a smattering of rain drizzles heavily on them all. She flinches slightly, already running her palms over the skirt of her dress to rub out the spots of water.

Her golden dress glisters even in the cloudy light, and doesn’t seem to show the spots much. Still, it’s hardy an ideal thing.

“One of you hold the parasol—quick about it, now—and escort her inside,” the coachman says quickly. The nearest footman jumps into action, hop-reaching into the carriage and falling back down with the umbrella in hand, unfolding it as he lands. “Wait about in case she needs anything.”

The parasol is small and not meant for this sort of weather, but it's enough for the moment. The pair of them dash for the door, the horses chomping and stamping behind them until they’re driven beneath the bows of a huge tree.

The footman knows his duty the way a lizard knows to run from danger. He achieves it the same way—by slipping off to become invisible, melting into the many people who stood against the golden walls.

From there, he watches.

It’s so strange to see the way the prince and their princess gravitate to each other. The prince’s attention seems impossible to drag away from her, though not for many’s lack of trying.

Likewise—more so than he would have thought, though perhaps he’s a bit slow in noticing—her focus is wholly on the prince for long minutes at a time.

Her attention is always divided a bit whenever she admires the interior of the castle, the many people and glamorous dresses in the crowd, the vibrant tables of food. It’s all very new to her, and he’s not certain it doesn’t show. But the Prince seems enamored by her delight in everything—if he thinks it odd, he certainly doesn’t let on.

They talk and laugh and sample fine foods and talk to other guests together, then they turn their heads toward where the musicians are starting up and smile softly when they meet each other’s eyes. The Prince offers a hand, which is accepted and clasped gleefully.

Then, they dance.

Their motions are so smooth and light-footed that many of the crowd forgo dancing, because admiring them is more enjoyable. They’re in-sync, back and forth like slow ripples on a pond. They sometimes look around them—but not often, especially compared to how long they gaze at each other with poorly-veiled, elated smiles.

The night whirls on in flares of gold tulle and maroon velvet, ivory, carnelian, and emerald silks, the crowd a nonstop blur of color.

(Color. New to him, that. Improved vision was wonderful.)

The clock strikes eleven, but there’s still time, and he’s fairly certain he won’t be able to convince the girl to leave anytime before midnight draws near.

He was a lizard until very recently. He’s not the best at judging time, yet. Midnight does draw near, but he’s not sure he understands how near.

The clock doesn’t quite say up-up. So he still has time. When the rain drums ceaselessly outside, he darts out and runs in a well-practiced way to find their carriage.

—

Another of the footmen comes in quickly, having been sent in a rush by the coachman, who had tried to keep his pocketwatch dry just a bit too long. He’s soaking wet from the downpour when he steps close enough to get her attention.

She sees him, notices this, and—with a glimmer of recognition and amusement in her eyes—laughs softly into her hand.

ONE—TWO— the clock starts. His heart speeds up terribly, and his skin feels cold. He suddenly craves a sunny rock.

“Um,” he begins awkwardly. Lizards didn’t have much in the way of a vocal language. He bows quickly, and water drips off his face and hat and onto the floor. “The chimes, milady.”

THREE—FOUR—

Perhaps she thought it was only eleven. Her face pales. “Oh.”

FIVE—SIX—

Like a deer, she leaps from the prince’s side and only manages a stumbling, backward stride as she curtsies in an attempt at a polite goodbye.

“Thank you, I must go—“ she says, and then she’s racing alongside the footman as fast as they both can go. The crowd parts for them just enough, amidst loud murmurs of surprise.

SEVEN—EIGHT—

“Wait!” calls the prince, but they don’t. Which hopefully isn’t grounds for arrest, the footman idly thinks.

They burst through the door and out into the open air.

NINE—TEN—

It has been storming. The rain is crashing down in torrents—the walkways and steps are flooded with a firm rush of water.

She steps in a crevice she couldn’t see, the water washes over her feet, and she stumbles, slipping right out of one shoe. There’s noise at the door behind them, so she doesn’t stop or even hesitate. She runs at a hobble and all but dives through the open carriage door. The awaiting footman quickly closes it, and they’re all grasping quickly to their riding-places at the corners of the vehicle.

ELEVEN—

A flash of lightning coats the horses in white, despite the dark water that’s soaked into their coats, and with a crack of the rains and thunder they take off at a swift run.

There’s shouting behind them—the prince—as people run out and call to the departing princess.

TWELVE.

Mist swallows them up, so thick they can’t hear or see the castle, but the horses know the way.

The castle’s clock tower must have been ever-so-slightly fast. (Does magic tell truer time?) Their escape works for a few thundering strides down the invisible, cloud-drenched road—until true midnight strikes a few moments later.

—

She walks home in the rain and fog, following a white pinprick of light she can guess the source of—all the while carrying a hollow pumpkin full of lizards, with an apron pocket full of mice and a rat perched on her shoulder.

It’s quite the walk.

—

The prince makes a declaration so grand that the mice do not understand it. The rat—a bit different now—tells them most things are that way to mice, but he’s glad to explain.

The prince wants to find the girl who wore the golden slipper left on the steps, he relates. He doesn’t want to ask any other to marry him, he loved her company so.

The mice think that’s a bit silly. Concerning, even. What if he does find her? There won’t be anyone to secretly leave seeds in the ashes or sneak them bread crusts when no humans are looking.

The rat thinks they’re being silly and that they’ve become too dependent on handouts. Back in his day, rodents worked for their food. Chewing open a bag of seed was an honest day’s work for its wages.

Besides, he confides, as he looks again out the peep-hole they’ve discovered in the floor trim of the parlor. You’re being self-interested, if you ask me. Don’t you want our princess to find a good mate, and live somewhere spacious and comfortable, free of human-cats, where she’d finally have plenty to eat?

It’s hard to make a mouse look appropriately chastised, but that question comes close. They shuffle back a bit to let him look out at the strange proceedings in the parlor again.

There are many humans there. The Harsh-Mistress stands tall and rigid at the back of one of the parlor chairs, exchanging curt words with a strange man in fine clothes with a funny hat. Shrieking-Girl and Angry-Girl stand close, scoffing and laughing, looking appalled.

Cinder-Girl sits on the chair that’s been pulled to the middle of the room. She extends her foot toward a strange golden object on a large cushion.

The shoe, the rat notes so the mice can follow. They can’t quite see it from here—poor eyesight and all.

Of course, the girl’s foot fits perfectly well into her own shoe. They all saw that coming.

Evidently, the humans did not. There’s absolute uproar.

“There is no possible way she’s the princess you’re looking for!” declares Harsh-Mistress, her voice full of rage. “She’s a kitchen maid. Nothing royal about her.”

“How dare you!” Angry-Girl rages. “Why does it fit you? Why not us?”

“You sneak!” shrieks none other than Shrieking-Girl. “Mother, she snuck to the ball! She must have used magic, somehow! Princes won’t marry sneaks, will they?”

“I think they might,” says a calm voice from the doorway, and the uproar stops immediately.

The Prince steps in. He stares at Cinder-Girl.

She stares back. Her face is still smudged with soot, and her dress is her old one, gray and tattered. The golden slipper gleams on her foot, having fit as only something molded or magic could.

A blush colors her face beneath the ash and she leaps up to do courtesy. “Your Highness.”

The Prince glances at the messenger-man with the slipper-pillow and the funny hat. The man nods seriously.

The Prince blinks at this, as if he wasn’t really asking anything with his look—it’s already clear he recognizes her—and meets Cinder-Girl’s gaze with a smile. It’s the same half-nervous, half-attemptingly-charming smile as he kept giving her at the ball.

He bows to her and offers a hand. (The rat has to push three mice out of the way to maintain his view.)

“It’s my honor,” he assures her. “Would you do me the great honor of accompanying me to the castle? I’d had a question in mind, but it seems there are—“ he glances at Harsh-Mistress, who looks like a very upset rat in a mousetrap. “—situations we might discuss remedying. You’d be a most welcome guest in my father’s house, if you’d be amenable to it?”

It’s all so much more strange and unusual than anything the creatures of the house are used to seeing. They almost don’t hear it, at first—that silent song.

It grows stronger, though, and they turn their heads toward it with an odd hope in their hearts.

—

The ride to the castle is almost as strange as that prior walk back. The reasons for this are such:

One—their princess is riding in their golden carriage alongside the prince, and their chatter and awkward laughter fills the surrounding spring air. They have a good feeling about the prince, now, if they didn’t already. He can certainly take things in stride, and he is no respecter of persons. He seems just as elated to be by her side as he was at the ball, even with the added surprise of where she'd come from.

Two—they have been transformed again, and the woman in white has asked them a single question: Would you choose to stay this way?

The coachman said yes without a second thought. He’d always wanted life to be more fulfilling, he confided—and this seemed a certain path to achieving that.

The footmen might not have said yes, but there was something to be said for recently-acquired cognition. It seemed—strange, to be human, but the thought of turning back into lizards had the odd feeling of being a poor choice. Baffled by this new instinct, they said yes.

The horses, of course, said things like whuff and nyiiiehuhum, grumph. The woman seemed to understand, though. She touched one horse on the nose and told it it would be the castle’s happiest mouse once the carriage reached its destination. The others, it seemed, enjoyed their new stature.

And three—they are heading toward a castle, where they have all been offered a fine place to live. The Prince explains that he doesn’t wish for such a kind girl to live in such conditions anymore. There’s no talk of anyone marrying—just discussions of rooms and favorite foods and of course, you’ll have the finest chicken pie anytime you’d like and I can’t have others make it for me! Lend me the kitchens and I’ll make some for you; I have a very dear recipe. Perhaps you can help. (Followed in short order by a ...Certainly, but I’d—um, I’d embarrass myself trying to cook. You would teach me? and a gentle laugh that brightened the souls of all who could hear it.)

“If you’d be amenable to it,” she replies—and in clear, if surprised, agreement, the Prince truly, warmly laughs.

“Milady,” the coachman calls down to them. “Your Highness. We’re here.”

The castle stands shining amber-gold in the light of the setting sun. It will be the fourth night they’ve come here—the thirteen of them and the one of her—but midnight, they realize, will not break the spell ever again.

One by one, they disembark from the carriage. If it will stay as it is or turn back into a pumpkin, they hadn't thought to ask. There’s so much warmth swelling in their hearts that they don’t think it matters.

The girl, their princess, smiles—a dear, true smile, tentative in the face of a brand new world, but bright with hope—and suddenly, they’re all smiling too.

She steps forward, and they follow. The prince falls into step with her and offers an arm, and their glances at each other are brimming with light as she accepts.

With her arm in the arm of the prince, a small crowd of footmen and the coachman trailing behind, and a single grey mouse on her shoulder, the once-Cinder-Girl walks once again toward the palace door.

[readwritealldayallnight]

It’s been months since Simon has been home

All he wants is to see you, his sweet girl, so much so that he loses track of what the actual date on the calendar is, in favour of counting down the days, hours, and minutes until you’re in his arms again

That’s why Simon’s surprise when he walks in to the local shops is genuine, before quickly turning into annoyance, when he notices that almost all the shelves are stocked with things for Valentine’s Day

Bright red, pink, and purple gifts covered in glitter and sparkles, sequins and jewels, all of them screaming out one word, over and over and over again for shoppers to see

Love

It’s a word Simon tries not to think about too often, in spite of it being part of his daily vocabulary

Yes, while your hunk of a man’s favourite pet name for you has always been love, it’s a word he has yet to say to you outside of being anything more than a name, a word he has yet to say he feels for you, even though his heart spells it out with ease each time he is with you

It’s hard for him because he can remember exactly the last time he told someone that three word sentence

Christmas Eve, a lifetime ago, he’d just gotten off the phone with his brother, sister-in-law, and nephew, hearing the young boy shout out into the receiver that he loved his uncle Si, a light hearted chuckle slipping past the Lieutenants lips before he’d replied back without issue that he loved him too, before he hung up and never heard his family’s voices ever again

He wants to say it to you because it’s true

He does love you more than anything, but he just can’t bring himself to say it

Those memories have become so tangled up in trauma, his mind associating darker times with those three goddamn words, the ones he knows would mean so much for you to hear he just can’t bring himself to speak aloud

He has dreams where he forces himself to say it, where he tells you a thousand times over that he loves you, whispers it in your ear, shouts it from the rooftops, writes it down everywhere for you to see and even etches it into his flesh with a needle and ink, until the dreams become nightmares and he’s yelling those words at your bloody corpse, writing it in the snow dusting your tombstone, waking up in a cold sweat, dreading the day you say those three words to him and he can’t explain why he can’t say them back

And while he can’t yet explain to you all of the demons that continue to call his skull their home, he finds himself not needing to, not with you

With you, there is no pressure to say things that cause him more pain than joy, there is no need to explain things that he struggles to fully comprehend himself, there is no need to perform or act in any way that isn’t true to him, not with you, his sweet girl who somehow understands him more than he feels he understands himself most days

Instead, with you, he gets to say things that are his own version of I love you, no matter how grand or small:

“I see you”

“You’re the best thing I’ve ever had”

“I can’t believe I get to call you mine”

“You make me so happy”

“Let me carry that for you”

“Put your seatbelt on”

“I made dinner”

“I’ll do the dishes, you go sit”

When the 14th of February eventually rolls around, you aren’t expecting anything out of the ordinary, never having acknowledged the upcoming gimmick of a holiday with Simon

Which is why you’re so surprised when you wake up to find the spot next to you in bed empty, noises in the kitchen letting you know Simon hasn’t gone far

Bare feet slowly padding towards the sounds of a grand breakfast being prepared with much frustration from a seasoned soldier who struggles to use seasoning, you can’t help the overwhelming grin that takes over you face when you see nothing more than a simple card standing up on the dining table, no bells or whistles, no flower petals thrown all over the flat, no orchestra serenading you awake, just you and Simon, all you need, all you want

Reading the card stretches your smile further than you thought possible, quickly sneaking up on your love to wrap your arms around him from behind, his own matching smile etched upon his face as he scrambles up the eggs, imagining you enjoyed the card, which reads in his scratchy handwriting:

“ I ♥️ you ”

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends?

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Worried about how his new relationship seems to be changing him, you talk to Azriel about your concerns. Things take a turn when he refuses to listen.

Warnings: some wine sipping, gossiping, angst, miscommunication, friend fighting, jealousy (but no one realizes), az being defensive and blind

Word Count: 5k

(Completed) Series Masterlist | Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

“It’s not that I don’t like her.”

The words tasted as false as they were, and you grimaced the moment they slipped out, already bracing for the look Mor would throw your way. True to form, she didn’t disappoint, her expression halfway between amusement and exasperation.

A defeated sigh escaped as you accepted the glass of wine she offered, watching as she filled her own nearly to the brim.

“You’re better than me, then,” she hummed, settling back onto the couch across from you. “Because I don’t like her.”

You raised a brow. “You don’t like many people nowadays.”

She shrugged, casual as ever, though a smirk tugged at her lips. “True. I’m not exactly lining up for any peace medals, am I?”

You chuckled softly, leaning back in your chair. “I just… have this odd feeling about her, you know?”

Mor tilted her head, letting out a noncommittal hum. “Oh, I know. She drags Az around on a leash.”

You were tempted to say something about the irony in her words—remind her, in a loving manner, that she might've been guilty of that once upon a time, too. But you decided against it. She wasn't wrong.

You swirled the wine in your glass, watching the dark liquid move in slow, mesmerizing circles. The feeling wasn’t new; it had been there since the first time you’d met her. Azriel’s new girlfriend Selene was perfectly fine—charming, even. But there was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. Like a faint hum in the background of a quiet room, just irritating enough to notice but not enough to prove anything was wrong.

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

You glanced up, finding Mor’s bright brown eyes sharp and focused on you, the lazy humor of a moment ago gone.

“I doubt he’ll listen,” you admitted, resting the bottom of your glass on your thigh. “He didn’t listen to you.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s really not.”

Mor raised a brow like she wanted to argue, but she only sighed in response. “He’s been so weird about his love life. Gwyn didn’t work out. Elain’s probably the happiest out of all of us. Maybe he’s treading lightly.”

“Maybe,” you murmured, though you weren’t convinced.

Azriel had changed in small, almost imperceptible ways since everything had settled—since everyone had paired off and fallen in love. Everyone except you. And him.

You were fine with your situation, content in the quiet steadiness of your life. Azriel wasn’t. You knew it. He knew it, though he’d never admit it. So much of his self-worth was tangled up in whether he believed himself worthy of love. And the absence of it—of a solid, undeniable love in his life, of a partner, of a potential bond—seemed to weigh on him. To him, it wasn’t just an empty space; it was a failure.

You’d almost go as far as to say he’d become desperate, living in the shadows and watching his brothers experience loves so profound they might as well have been plucked from stories meant to inspire poets and dreamers.

Mating bonds were rare. You reminded yourself of that often. Your family was just an anomaly, their luck skewed impossibly high. But logic wasn’t enough to soothe Azriel, and it certainly wouldn’t stop him from chasing it. He was obsessive. Stubborn.

Nothing you said or did could change his perspective.

Mor’s voice pulled you out of your head again. “Speak of the devil,” she sang out. “Hi, Elain.”

Your gaze snapped up to the doorway, finding Elain standing just beyond the archway. She looked like a spooked deer, frozen in place with that polite smile you’d come to recognize as her default around company she hadn’t fully warmed up to yet.

“We were just talking about Azriel’s unfortunate romantic history,” Mor said smoothly. You glanced at Elain for her reaction.

It had taken time for that particular history to fade. Maybe it was appropriate to joke about now, but you personally would’ve waited a few more years before bringing it up so flippantly. Mor, however, had little patience for such niceties.

Elain’s expression didn’t shift beyond a faint flicker in her eyes, and you realized how much her composure had improved over the years. Then again, it had been a while since she and Lucien had found each other for good—long enough for their bond to solidify and for them to leave for the Day Court after their mating ceremony.

A twinge of jealousy sparked in you before you brushed it aside.

“We’re just gossiping in general. Want to join us?” you asked, gesturing to the chair beside you. Plush and inviting, it mirrored the one you sat on. “Unless Lucien is waiting for you upstairs?”

Elain’s cheeks flushed crimson. 

“Lucien’s still with Feyre, catching up,” she said, stepping further into the room. “What are you drinking?”

Mor reached for the bottle on the table, plucking it up and turning it in her hand to read the label.

“Something good and expensive,” she replied, with a half-hearted air of indulgence, before tilting her head at Elain with a faint grin.

“It’s from Rhys’s rather gluttonous collection,” you said, sensing Elain’s hesitation. “It won’t be missed at all.”

She smiled at that. “I’d love some.”

“There are a lot of glasses in that cabinet,” you said, pointing to the wood door with ornate carvings. “Grab whichever one you’d like.”

Mor sat up straighter, scooting herself back into the pillows behind her. You hummed, impressed, at her ability to hold both her full wine glass and the bottle without so much as a wobble.

You hadn’t spent much time with Elain one-on-one. Emissary duties had kept you busy during the years the Archeron sisters had adjusted to their new lives. But you liked Elain, from what you’d seen. She had a kind heart. She also had a sharp humor that surfaced at the oddest moments, usually when she and Lucien were whispering in corners, conspiratorial before seamlessly rejoining whatever social event they were at like they’d never left.

Elain returned and sat down with her chosen glass—a delicate crystal piece that gleamed in the soft light. Mor went to fill it instantly. 

“Can I ask why you were discussing Azriel’s romantic life?” Elain asked. Her voice was smooth, certain. No hesitation.

It didn’t faze her anymore, you realized—being such a strange, pivotal turning point in Azriel’s past experiences. She’d made peace with it, the way immortality seemed to demand. Time softened the edges of even the messiest situations, turning them into stories you could recount with startling detachment. Almost humorous, really.

Because how else could you explain being casual about the fact that your best friend had almost allowed his pride—and arrogance—and, somehow simultaneously, his insecurity—to lead him into a blood duel over Elain’s affections? A blood duel.

But now, it was just… something to write off. A distant memory, softened by the years and Lucien’s easy confidence. Lucien was better than you. You would’ve held that grudge against Azriel for many more years—long enough to make it a point of pride. But then again, Lucien had won everything he wanted in the end. He had the girl, the bond, the certainty that whatever lingering rivalry Azriel might feel was entirely one-sided.

It wasn’t important enough for Lucien to waste any more energy on.

You exchanged a glance with Mor, who arched a brow, clearly just as amused by Elain’s openness.

“Y/n doesn’t like his new girlfriend,” Mor said.

Your mouth fell open. “You don’t either.”

“True,” Mor agreed easily. She looked to Elain. “We don’t like her.”

“For clarification,” you said firmly, “I never said I didn’t like her.”

Mor laughed, sipping her wine with an amused grin.

Your face fell flat. “What?”

“Nothing,” she replied breezily. “But if you get a bad feeling about someone, that’s usually dislike.”

You resisted the urge to scowl, already turning over the guilt in your mind. You didn’t want to be that person—the kind who dismissed another female off the bat. Maybe your gut was wrong this time. Maybe her smile had reached her eyes, and you’d been too preoccupied to notice. Maybe her tone hadn’t been as assessing as you remembered, and you were projecting. You wanted to like her. You wanted to be happy for Azriel.

But he didn’t seem happy. He seemed distracted. Busy. Not himself.

And not the kind of busy you’d seen before—the methodical, obsessive focus he funneled into work or training. This was different, scattered in a way you couldn’t quite pin down. It had made sense in the beginning, when things were new and exciting, but now it was starting to feel uncomfortable. He’d started missing things—small things at first, like sparring sessions or those late-night conversations you, Mor, and him would have when you couldn’t sleep. Then came the bigger things. He’d stopped being able to review external court updates with you, even when those meetings were critical for your diplomatic roles.

Azriel had always been the one you could count on. Out of everyone, you considered him your closest friend—even more than Mor, though you’d never admit it out loud. But now it seemed like every time you made plans, Selene needed him more.

And then there was how fast it was all moving. Too fast. At a recent family dinner, she’d casually mentioned that she and Azriel could move in together—offhand, like it was the most obvious next step. Something about leaving the townhouse behind, creating a space with décor that matched her aesthetic. Azriel had just stayed quiet, looked at her like she’d just proposed the most brilliant idea in existence.

You noticed he did that. The way he looked at her. The way he’d looked at Elain and Gwyn back when they were seeing each other. It weirded you out—that tendency to put the people he saw as romantic interests on a pedestal, as though they were flawless. As though they were something he didn’t deserve.

You knew where it came from. That deep-rooted insecurity that even centuries hadn’t managed to erase. He didn’t see it, the way he wore himself down trying to prove his worth to people who, for the most part, had already accepted him. But you saw it. You always had.

And it made it harder to like Selene. To trust her intentions. Maybe that was unfair, but you couldn’t help but feel like she was just taking—taking all the parts of Azriel that used to be all of yours to share, and twisting them into something else. Something that didn’t include his family.

Still, you wanted to try. To let go of the gnawing irritation in your chest and convince yourself it didn’t matter. If she made him happy—truly happy—then none of it should matter. You were adamant on ensuring that you didn’t turn into the stereotypical overbearing female best friend.

Elain tapped her glass lightly. “Lucien doesn’t like her.”

You blinked back into reality. “Really?”

She nodded, a beat passing before she added, “To be honest, I’m not sure I do either.”

Mor leaned forward, grinning like she’d been handed a stack of gold. You almost wished Amren was here to bask in the moment. Amren didn’t like Azriel’s girlfriend, either. Maybe your family really was as unwelcoming as people claimed. Or maybe Selene simply brought out another level of scrutiny. The thought of either option made you feel bad— gross. 

“Why?” Mor asked.

“She was dismissive toward Lucien. And,” Elain hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly, “She seemed… entitled, I suppose. Especially with Azriel. Like she expected him to accommodate her every whim.”

You frowned, turning over her words. “I’m sure she was just nervous. We can be an intimidating group. Maybe she just needs time to settle in. We just want Az to be happy, right? So, if she makes him happy, then I’m absolutely fine with her.”

The silence that followed was thick. For a moment, you wondered if you’d said something wrong. Something weird.

“Are you?” Elain asked, her tone sincere.

“Are you?” Mor echoed at the same time, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You shot Mor a glare, but she only raised her brows and sipped her wine again, infuriatingly unbothered. Exhaling, you willed yourself to meet Elain’s gaze.

“I am,” you said, trying for conviction. “Really.”

Elain pursed her lips. Her gaze shifted to Mor, lingering longer than you liked, and then back to you.

“Alright,” she hummed. “I guess I was wrong.”

You stilled. Elain reclined deeper into her seat, accepting a refill from Mor. Her wine glass remained only half-full compared to yours and Mor’s.

Curiosity burned. You leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

Elain furrowed her brows. “What do I mean about what?”

“You said you guess you were wrong. What does that mean?”

Mor’s gaze bored into the side of your face. Any second now, you were sure she’d make some quip about how bothered you were. But you weren’t bothered. Just curious.

Elain swirled her wine, watching the light catch the liquid. “I’m not sure. Things feel off. Like something’s coming. Az needs help with it, I think.”

You froze. “Off? Like—how?”

She hesitated, thoughtful. “It’s hard to explain,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. “But I feel it. In my chest. My visions sometimes do that. That’s why I asked.”

Well, that unsettled you. You glanced at Mor, whose amused grin had fallen into something more contemplative.

It seemed you might need to have a conversation with Azriel after all.

“I don’t like that,” you admitted, your nose crinkling. 

“I think I heard him get back earlier. Go talk to him,” Mor said, her tone gentler now, though a hint of mischief lingered in her eyes. You didn’t read too much into that. Mor’s eyes tended to be expressive. She also tended to be mischievous when her blood was primarily red wine. 

“Okay,” you said. “Maybe just to check in.”

Elain nodded. “Just to check in,” she echoed, almost reassuring.

“Have fun,” Mor added, her grin returning just enough to be annoying, but not enough to distract you from the unease curling in your chest.

You didn’t respond, instead taking another slow sip of your drink. The glass clinked softly as you set it down on the table before you made your way upstairs.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Mor turned to Elain. “Did you really feel something that unsettling?”

Elain let out a laugh. “No,” she said lightly. “I completely made that up. But she doesn’t need to know that.”

Mor’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. Seconds later, her head tilted back in a laugh just as vibrant as it was unapologetic.

“Genius,” she declared, raising her glass in mock salute.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The walk upstairs was quiet.

The townhome, in general, was quieter nowadays. Aside from the times others came to visit—like Lucien and Elain—only you and Azriel lived here full time.

When you reached Azriel’s bedroom door, your steps faltered for a moment. There was a hesitation in you that hadn't existed before. You raised your hand to knock, but the action felt more awkward than usual. It made you sad, momentarily, that you hesitated. You never second-guessed yourself with Azriel. You wanted to tread carefully in this new era of his life, though. You didn’t want to overstep, to become a nuisance. But whatever this was—whatever had unsettled Elain enough to mention it—you needed to know. Azriel had always been a constant for you, and if something felt “off,” you wanted to understand why.

Your knuckles rapped lightly on the door. “Az?” 

Inside, you heard the shuffle of movement, followed by his low, familiar voice. “Come in.”

You didn’t see Azriel immediately, but the smell of soap and the damp air told you that he recently showered. Shadows slithered across the floor, comfortable and excited, exploring the familiar confines of his room.

You greeted the tendrils as you usually did, letting them brush against your legs as you flopped onto his bed. The bed, like everything else in his room, was simple: plain black sheets, no extravagant pillows, just the bare necessities. It used to drive you mad, the emptiness of it all.  But what was in his room spoke volumes—— bare walls except for a dagger mount on one side, a small uncluttered desk with a well-worn sharpening stone. 

Azriel exiting the bathroom pulled your attention, your eyes settling on him as he rubbed his wet hair thoroughly with a towel. He shook his head slightly, wet curls bouncing onto his forehead, and met your gaze. His eyes flicked to where you lay, scanning your body. He nodded toward your feet.

“C’mon,” he almost whined. “No shoes on the bed.”

You looked down at yourself, grimacing as you realized that your shoes were, indeed, on his clean comforter. A simple set of house slippers, so nothing entirely too dirty, but it had completely slipped your mind. Very comfortable shoes, you noted, maybe you’d get Feyre a pair as a solstice gift.

“Oh whoops,” you said with an apologetic smile. “My bad, clean freak.”

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the quirk of his lips anyways.

For a moment, the old sense of comfort settled over you. But then, a thought crept in—the thought that maybe you shouldn’t lie on his bed like this anymore. It had been fine before, but now… now it felt different. He had someone else in his life. It wasn’t weird, exactly, but it was a little inappropriate.

You sat up straighter.

“Did you and Mor grow tired of rehashing the same centuries old gossip?” He teased.

You snorted, watching as his shadows flitted above his shoulders. They were amused, laughing in their own way. “Never,” you responded, pushing yourself off his bed. You were drawn to the otherside of his room, to the simple dresser against the wall. “Elain joined us this time.”

Your back was to him, but you had a feeling that the momentary silence, the stillness that you felt, was a knee-jerk reaction from Azriel—something reminiscent of embarrassment, shame, or guilt at her name. But all he responded was, “Oh?”

“I like her,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I kinda wish I spent more time with her…”

You paused, your words trailing off quietly as you took in the small details before you. 

Azriel’s dresser had always been the one surface he decorated, not because he cared for decoration, but because it was the only surface large enough to hold anything. Over the years, it had become a quiet testament to the things that mattered to him: a mix of Solstice and birthday gifts, trinkets you’d both collected on missions and trips. You liked seeing what had changed, what had been added. It gave you a glimpse into where Azriel had been, who had been with him. 

Lately, there had been more—more trinkets, more oddities that stood in stark contrast to the weapons displayed elsewhere, the ones mostly hidden away in his closet. A macaroni necklace from Nyx. A horribly made clay version of him you’d created during a drunken pottery night with Feyre, Mor, and Amren.

But now, the dresser was foreign. The once familiar surface had been wiped clean, replaced by delicate perfume bottles, jewelry that looked too fine to be his, and a candle that smelled—oddly—like the puke of a flower faerie. Some of it was new. Most of it was hers.

Azriel’s presence had vanished from his own furniture entirely.

“Huh.”

“What?” Azriel asked.

You glanced over your shoulder. “I see you’ve decorated more.”

Azriel tilted his head, and a few of his shadows slithered down his body, crossing the room to pool around your ankles. “I guess,” he said. “Selene said my room needed more life.”

You leaned forward, brushing your fingers along the ceramic jewelry dish, the cool surface sending a strange chill through your skin. The shadows flickered over your hand, almost as if they were inspecting it too. They moved with purpose, then slowly obscured it, hiding it from view.

You frowned, confused.

Azriel, still silent, was rifling through his closet. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you as he moved, but he said nothing. The shadows returned to his side as you turned to look at him.

"Are you going somewhere?" you asked, trying to break the silence.

Now, Azriel barely spared you a glance.

“Yeah. Meeting Selene,” he replied simply.

After a few seconds of silence, Azriel turned his head and properly held your gaze. “Why? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you responded with a casual wave of your hand, but Elain’s words echoed in your mind. You cleared your throat. “Well, actually, no. I was hoping I could talk to you.”

He frowned, standing up straighter, his wings flexing with the motion. “Is it something serious?”

You paused, carefully filtering through your words. “No, just something that’s been on my mind.”

Azriel studied you, doubt flickering in his hazel eyes. It was the kind of look that always made you feel like he was reading you too easily. He probably didn’t believe you, not entirely—but he nodded anyway. His lips curved into a small, apologetic smile. “Raincheck then?”

You mirrored his smile, though it felt thin. “Yeah, sure. We can talk tomorrow, once we’re back from the Hewn City.”

Azriel stilled. The way his gaze dropped to the floor and lingered felt like a guilty dog, an animal caught in an act forbidden. “Shit,” he said, his tone cautious. “I can’t go.”

You blinked, the words taking a moment to settle. “Seriously? Az, Rhys is expecting an update.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere enough. It didn’t matter. “But you can handle it on your own, you know this.” 

“Are you serious?” you said, the hurt slipping out before you could stop it. “I don’t want to deal with Keir alone.”

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to Rhys, but Selene’s been wanting to—”

“Never mind,” you cut him off, shaking your head. You forced a smile. “Have fun tonight. And tomorrow.”

Azriel scanned your face. After another moment of silence, he sighed.

“Okay, what is it?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You clearly have something on your mind. Tell me.”

You hesitated, holding his gaze. “I actually wanted to talk to you about Selene.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened instantly. He looked away, his tongue running across his teeth as he shook his head. “Not you too. Don’t be like this.”

Your frown deepened, offended by the immediate shift in tone. “Be like what? I haven’t even said anything yet.”

He met your eyes again, his stare almost challenging. “We both know what you’re going to say.”

“Do we?”

“First Mor, then Nesta, and now you.” His voice was sharp, but not loud. “Should I be concerned that the females in my life are so quick to rally against my girlfriend?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms to mirror his pose. “Well, yeah, Az. Maybe you should be.”

He rolled his eyes, the shadows at his feet flickering with the motion. “Fine. What do you want to tell me, then?”

For a moment, you hesitated, the words lingering on the edge of your tongue. Azriel had always been good at looking through you, unraveling thoughts you hadn’t fully formed yet. And now, under the weight of his sharp gaze, you felt exposed.

“I just want to make sure you’re happy.”

Something flickered in his expression, quick and fleeting—too fast for you to decipher. For the first time in a long while, Azriel felt unreadable, like he’d drawn a curtain between himself and you. “Really?” he asked, his tone tight, almost incredulous.

You faltered, a small thread of doubt weaving its way through your resolve. Was he happy? Would he even tell you if he wasn’t?

“Yes, really,” you replied, a defensive edge creeping into your voice. “You’ve been distant lately. Running around at her beck and call. None of us know her. I want to understand what’s going on with you. I want to understand her.”

Azriel’s wings shifted again, his gaze hardening.

“I want to make sure this is the kind of relationship you want,” you finished, quieter now.

The room fell into silence, heavy and still. Azriel watched you as if he was turning your words over and over in his mind. You waited, unsure of what to expect—if anything at all.

“I wouldn’t be in a relationship I didn’t want. Can we drop it, please.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. What a strange, dismissive answer. It bothered you— bothered you more than anything he’d ever told you before. 

“Az, I just don’t want you to change who you are for someone. You don’t need to cater to her every whim.”

His expression darkened, shadows curling tighter around his boots. “I’m her boyfriend. I do what she asks.”

You raised an eyebrow, unable to stop the scoff that slipped out. Azriel had never been so clipped with you. “That’s not the definition of a boyfriend. That’s the definition of a bitch.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his wings flaring in irritation. “Excuse me?”  His voice cut through the room. “Do you really think I’m some incompetent love-sick loser?”

“I think you stop seeing flaws in the people you love.”

The words hung between you, heavier than you’d anticipated. A small part of you wondered if “love” was the word Azriel would use to describe his feelings for her. Another part worried that he didn’t correct you.

“That’s not true.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” he snapped. “I can clearly see that you’re being unfair. Quick to judge, much like Mor. That’s a flaw.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, “You know what I meant. The people you’re infatuated with—”

“Where is this sudden concern coming from?” he interrupted, his shadows now beginning to curl between you like restless mediators, unsure where to settle. “Are you trying to cause issues?”

Something ran hot through your body.

“Seriously? I’m talking to you about this because I care. Because Elain had some cryptic feeling about you—”

“Elain is involved in this conversation, too?” His voice dripped with frustration now. “Gods, Y/n, should I send word for Gwyn while we’re at it? Get her opinion?”

“What the hell has gotten into you?” You took an authoritative step forward.  “I’ve never judged you. I’ve always tried to support you and your messy love life, no matter how complicated. Don’t you trust me, Azriel? As a friend?”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his shadows flickering uncertainly, still deciding whether to retreat or rise.

You gestured around the room. “Look at this place. You’ve erased all traces of your family—of you, of us. Where did you even put—”

“Oh, gods.” Azriel’s voice broke through, and for a moment, you thought he might crumble. His wings folded, and his hand dragged across his face, the weight of his exhaustion sinking in. “She was right.”

You froze. “What?”

Azriel met your gaze, his eyes hesitant for a heartbeat before turning sharp. “About you. Selene said you were jealous. That you had feelings for me.”

The words hit like a slap, and your world tilted on its axis. “What?” you asked again, your voice breaking on the word. Maybe you had misheard him. Maybe he had misspoken.

“I told her she was wrong. But now…” He let the sentence hang in the air, searching your face for something that maybe wasn’t even there.

“Now, what?” Your voice rose, tinged with anger. “You think I’m here because I’m jealous? Because I have some… crush on you?”

His wings flared slightly at your tone, but he didn’t back down. “I don’t know. It’s just—why else would you care so much about this?”

Your stomach twisted, a deep, cold ache settling there. “Why else?” you repeated, the words bitter on your tongue. “Because I care about you, Azriel. Because you’ve been my friend for centuries. Are you seriously confused about this?” 

For a moment, Azriel’s expression faltered, but he didn’t apologize. Instead, he said, “I didn’t ask you to care about my love life.”

“You didn’t have to,” you snapped, stepping closer. “That’s what friends do. But you’re standing there, letting her perception of me—someone who doesn’t even know me—warp your judgment. You’ve known me longer than that. Or at least, I thought you did. And the fact that you’d entertain this—” You stopped, shaking your head. “It’s insulting.”

Azriel said nothing. He just stood there, shadows now curling tighter around him. 

You had no idea how this conversation had gotten away from you, no idea how it turned into this—where this defensiveness, this anger, had come from. This wasn’t Azriel. Loyal, overly so. Impulsive. Protective. 

Or maybe it was. Maybe that loyalty was directed at someone else now—someone who clearly saw you as something threatening. You’d never been on the other side of Azriel before. Never thought you’d see the day. The realization hit like a slap to the face, leaving you shocked, stunned, a pit opening in your stomach that felt too deep to climb out of.

“You know what? Forget it.” You stepped back, the fight draining out of you all at once.

Azriel’s brows furrowed. “Really? That’s it?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your lips curving into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so bitter. “Yeah,” you said, your voice flat. “That’s it.”

You turned for the door, hand on the handle, but paused. The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, sharp and pointed, a petty jab that felt equal parts satisfying and hollow. “Make sure to lock this door when you leave—I’d hate to accidentally stumble back in and throw myself at you.”

Azriel stiffened, his wings snapping taut behind him. For a brief second, you thought he might say something, anything. But he didn’t.

You closed the door behind you with a heavy thud.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: no one tell them they probs have feelings for each other bc they’ll probably fight you (also elains moment is so self indulgent bc i would totally be making shit up based off my powers. like yeah actually you can’t be mean to be :/ powers are saying you’ll die if you are)

Part Two

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[sir-heichou-smith]

Johnny thinks you and Ghost only want him for the sex.

He won't tell either of you he's ass over elbows for both his lieutenant and his girlfriend because he doesn't want to make a fool of himself.

No, he can't tell you because he's the idiot who fell in love with the two people he couldn't even dream of having.

No one else has ever made him feel so cared for or special before you two though, and it confuses the hell out of him to the point where he can't help but think he has to leave after every session.

He doesn't want to overstay his welcome, meanwhile you and ghost think he doesn't want to be with you and only wants the sex, which is fine (you'd really prefer that he stayed for aftercare since it is real important to you, you know how Simon could get and it's not easy coming back up on your own from how far he puts you under) but you know something is wrong when he stumbles out of bed and limps to the door after throwing his pants on, mumbling something about having to get going for some thing or another.

One night Simon and Johnny stumble through the door after a few drinks, their hands wandering and teeth clinking out of desperation while you trail after with a hand on each of them.

Clothes are thrown and kisses are traded all the way to the bedroom. You hear Simon utter praises in the Scot's ear, "such a good boy f'me Johnny. Gonna show the mrs how well you can take it for me? Let's give 'er a show."

He shudders in the larger man's embrace, and you think you see something flicker in those baby blues as he kneels to undo Simon's zipper with his teeth.

But you're tipsy like they are and you can only focus on it so much until Simon pulls you in and groans into your mouth, one of his big hands on the back of your head and the other tangled in the mowhawk bobbing up and down on his cock.

That morning you wake up quietly, before either men, and you take the moment to enjoy having both of them in your bed.

Johnny wakes up quiet too, thinking himself a goddamn idiot for giving in to staying the night when he tried so hard not to.

He does his best to untangle his limbs from Simon's meaty arms and your thick, supple thighs. It's so warm and comfortable and everything he's ever wanted and he doesn't ever want to go, but he has to. It doesn't belong to him, you're not his and neither is Simon and he's just in the way.

God he's so fucking stupid for this, all he's doing is making himself hurt more than what he has to. He just can't take what he's given and accept that he'll never have what his heart truly, unrightfully wants.

While you think nothing of it as he slithers down the bed, (assuming he needs the bathroom and he'll come right back into your embrace) Johnny is pulling on his clothes from the night before as quickly and quietly as he can, tears building up under his lash line and threatening to spill over his cheeks. His breaths come in short staccato so he holds it until he can't, breathing out slowly through his nose and in through his mouth.

He needs to leave, can't be here any longer because he's already overstayed his welcome.

Hes not supposed to feel this way, he's just a toy for you and Simon to enhance your guys' relationship. Your beautiful, loving relationship that he's stupid for wanting to get in the middle of because he'd never expect either of you to return his feelings.

He thinks he's in the clear when he looks back and notices Simon's heavy chest still breathing evenly, taking one last glance at his magnificence before turning around for good because he can't put himself through this anymore, he's not enough and he just needs to accept that now before he can never recover from the heartbreak.

"Johnny?" He's hears your low voice come from the cocoon of warmth he craves with ever fiber of his being. Your precious face looks confused and, dare he say it, a little hurt. "Where are you going?"

His heart shatters. "I-I... I'm heading out now. I didnae mean to stay so long. Sorry 'bout that, bon. Nothin' to wake the big guy over."

Before he gets his shirt on he hears you shift. "Johnny wait-"

"No. No, I cannae do this anymore okay?" His chest heaves with what feels like the weight of the world, and the tears start to fall.

"I know my place, and I keep forgetting it when you hold me so close and tell me I'm your good boy. When you kiss me and it feels like nothin else matters anymore. I never wanted to come between you and Si but I overstayed my welcome now and I need to leave so that I can-"

"What are you on about?" Simon blinks his eyes and rolls onto his back, a thick arm behind his head and the other stretched out across the empty space where Johnny just was.

Blue eyes shut and his pretty face scrunches up in pain, but he turns around before he thinks either of you can see. His shirt is hastily pulled over his head and he trips over himself pulling on a shoe from the night before.

He doesn't get to leave after throwing on the second one. A big paw of a hand circles his bicep almost completely.

"Don't think you're goin anywhere now, mate. What's this about?" Tired honey eyes look up in confusion and concern, their owner now sitting up and the thick comforter slides down to meet his naked hips. Baby blues can't help but trace the movement.

Your feet touch the cold floor as you get out of bed and circle around to the Scot. "Johnny when did we ever say we don't want you too?"

His head whips up in confusion and he looks between the two of you. "But.. But you-"

"Baby, take those clothes off and get back in bed." Simon pulls lightly on the arm in his grasp and Johnny can't help but follow.

"From now on it's non-negotiable, you stay here with us and get your aftercare in before you even think of leaving. Not that we ever wanted you to."

Big hands pull at the hem of his shirt and it goes without thinking. You stand behind him and wrap your arms around his naked torso to unfasten his jeans.

"Such a pretty boy, Johnny. You're our pretty boy and we want you just as much. Please dont leave us again." Your words bring tears to his eyes again, these ones accompanied by a bright perfect smile and a small huff of disbelief.

The three of you fall back into bed, smothering Johnny in all the kisses and words of love he never even fathomed could be true.

Limbs and tongues tangled alike, and the morning was spent mostly in bed, the Scot wedged tightly between you and Simon. As if he'd still possibly think of leaving now.

[08luvmailz]

𓇼 ME MISS YOU . . ਏਓ !

summary 𓍯 which he followed you because he missed you ꒰ 🧾 ꒱ fluffy life with husband

The eerie silence and the harsh wind whispers weaving through the cool night air, though it's only 5:30 in the afternoon. Crouching low, I fisted my hands through my victim's hair and chopped his head off as my breath steadied, eyes locked on the faint rustle of the bushes—a promising sign of tonight's catch.

It's been almost a year of this endless cycle, by day cuddling and having a blissful life with Mr. Crawling as you give him endless affection, or he will whine to death, and by night- killing humans to feed him. As your eyes wandered through your vision toward the unmoving dead body, your mind wavered toward your husband even though you weren't married officially.

You two are together and bonded by our souls, obeying you and listening to you even though there is a gap in speaking, never ceases to stun you every day. He waits at home, is always patient, and is always trusting. The thought of his joy warms you as you tighten your grip on your crowbar and knife.

Back at the apartment, it feels unbearable still. Mr. Crawling gazes through the door—waiting for your return. His fingers relentlessly tapped the tatami board as it echoed through the room. It's been almost an hour since she left him, she always does every day for him.

He still remembered her voice firming when she told him to stay.

He watches her moving to gather her things, his legs tucked close to his body. He knows her too well—the same command she gives every time. Stay. He doesn't think about it but wants more of her touch, only about the moment before her absence, and he clung to her as his large frame wrapped around her waist. He chirped in a low tone, full of worry and protest. His grip tightened slightly, enough to make his point without holding her back.

He pressed his face into your legs, his arms curling towards your leg, "stay" he told her as he snuggled to her, not wanting to let go, “ you’re so stubborn” she murmured, stroking his head. The gesture was a silent reassurance for him to stop worrying though she knew it wouldn't stop him from worrying.

She turns to face him as his face is still smothered to her thighs, his cold lips puckering into her skin. He doesn’t need words to tell her how he feels; the way he clings to her, his body trembles faintly, caught between his instinct to obey and his need to protect her.

As her warm fingers tangled into his hair, brushing it calmly, she told him, " Me back soon; I find food. " she promised, her voice softer now. “You don’t have to worry.”

With a final sigh, she gently pries him off, his cold finger reluctant to let go. “Stay here,” she says, her tone firmer now, though her heart aches at the look he gives her. He didn't move and obeyed her, as she smiled one last time and crouched to his level to kiss his forehead, " I'll be back soon. I Promise," She said one last time to open and lock the door, leaving him in a trance with determination to follow her.

He was hesitant to disobey her requests and always did, lowering his head in submission. But now, in the suffocating silence, he feels the weight of her absence like a stone in his chest. He tried to wait, his attempts to distract himself with television, watching shows that helped him understand her language more, but as soon as his face glimmered when he saw the heroine with her lover cuddling in a scene. It was no use. missing her so dearly that his pull to follow her was too strong, an instinct older than obedience.

She is his world, his reason, and the thought of her out there alone, facing whatever dangers the night might bring, fills him with unease. Even though he knew she was capable of handling herself well, killing those people for him joyed him. He knew she loved him as much as he loved her.

Making his decision wasn't easy for him, he knew he would face the consequences of her ignoring him though he shook his head, he wanted to see her, he needed her now.

He moves swiftly to the door. His movements are precise and quiet, the art of going unnoticed. He knows where she has gone—he’s watched her enough times at the window to remember the path she takes. He follows her scent, a trail as familiar to him as the rhythm of his footsteps. With every step, he feels her grace like a taut thread, pulling him closer to her.

Its darkness yawned wide like the mouth of a beast. He hesitates for a moment, hearing her voice in his mind, Stay. Wait for me. But he presses on.

He moved carefully, his body blending into the dark foliage as his fingers gripped the pole lamp. He saw her gripping tightly to her crowbar and massively hitting her victim, he watched in awe as pride swelled in his chest at the sight of her—strong, capable, everything he admires.

Though he knows the facade she's been growing through back there in his world, he saw her unreality in a tick of time, and by the hanging thread of webs-he had been with her, and he knew she was close to insanity. Was she close? Or she's already been insane nevertheless, he will always be there with her.

She didn't notice him at first, focused on the task ahead. But then a chitter of a familiar voice captivates your attention as you whip your head, your coat shadowing your expression of bloodlust to confusion. There he is, his head tilted with his adoring smile. She shook her head with a giggle, he never listened to her as she pointed him to get closer to him.

He lowered his body as his smile creeped out to his ear, he skitters toward her, his movements quick but careful as he came faster to her and clung to her lower body as his face smothered to her bloodied coat "I miss you, I love you. " he said with a chitter as his cold hands hold her bloodied ones and directly placed into his head.

You sighed in intent and ruffled his hair as you looked down and cupped his face with our bloodied hands "You didn't listen to me, But I forgive you. " You crouched to his level as his hands wandered to your body and cupped your face and smothered a messy kiss on your lips, his cold lips puckering your bottom lip leaving a chitter from him. "Me love you, " he told you as he came closer to your body, his large frame almost hugging your smaller ones. You giggled to him as you corrected his grammar, always forgetting the "I", " I love you, too. "

He chirps, leaning into her touch, his body vibrating with relief, he clung to her like a baby as his face looked at the bloodied streets. "Food?" He questioned her, as his hands never left hers. "Yeah, food for you. " As she pointed to the dead body beside them.

As she stands up to place the chopped meat in a plastic bag with blood, "Let's go home." her hands directing him to hold her, he stands up, his towering silhouette blending with the shadows of the city. His mind is clear, his resolve unshakable. He is with her, the love of his life, and with every consequence they will face, he knows she will be there with him as she is with him.

[cameronsprincess]

reader being a spoiled “good girl” kook who doesn’t give rafe the time of day with his reputation and treats jj like shit when he does work around her house for her dad. at least until jj’s snap story updates with her getting fucked from behind, the hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise having that unmistakable signet ring on it and jj’s moans being heard from behind the camera as his cum starts to land on her tear stained face 😌

OH. this has been rotting since the end of july and i’m sooo sorry, i hope you see this sweet nonnie🥺🩷

CW: smut! 18+ only! threesome, jj posts it on his snap story, piv sex, male receiving oral, facial, praise and degrading. rafe ‘n jj are kinda fucked up for this but oh well.

requests | deadly duo masterlist

You’d always been known as the “good girl” on the island. You never got into any trouble, you steered clear of parties, and you definitely didn’t hang out with people who were constantly getting themselves into some shit.

Rafe Cameron was nothing if not persistent, he’d always tried to hit you up, asking what you were doing, wanting you to hang out with him, but you never gave him the time of day, why would you? He was not a good guy, and everyone knew it.

The same goes for JJ Maybank, the well known, most attractive Pogue on the island. You saw him a lot, seeing as your father had hired him to do work around your house a lot. JJ was also quite persistent, always trying to make you crack, bend your own rules, but your walls you’d spent years building up had you treating him like the no-good Pogue he was.

You treated both men pretty unfairly, at least, that’s what the public saw. No one knew that you were secretly a filthy slut behind closed doors for both the Kook and Pogue kings of Kildare Island.

“That’s it, baby, takin’ Rafe’s cock so fuckin’ good aren’t you? That tight little cunt loves to be pounded from behind doesn’t she?”

JJ’s words have your pussy clenching tightly around Rafe’s thick length, pulling a low groan from him. Your bloodshot eyes look up, finding JJ’s ocean-blues, his phone’s camera pointed right down at you.

Wanting to give JJ something good to watch later, you push your head down further, taking his entire length down your throat, eyes never leaving his. JJ groans, his free hand making its way to the back of your head, fingers tightly gripping at the messy, tangled locks. He holds your head down, forcing you to suck in breaths through your nose the best you can.

He slightly tilts his phone up, capturing only Rafe’s toned abdomen and the way his hands were tightly gripping at your hips. His fingers dig into your skin so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises later, but you’re too fucked out to care. You loved that they were your dirty little secret, loved the way they took turns fucking your throat, pussy and even sometimes your ass. They knew you had a reputation to uphold though, and they didn’t seem to mind the way you treated them in public, so long as they could fuck you like this whenever they wanted, you could do as you pleased in front of everyone else.

“Fuck, Y/N, your pussy feels so goddamn good, gripping my cock like she was fuckin’ made f’me.” Rafe rasps, his thrusts becoming sloppier.

JJ releases your head, allowing you to pull off of him and suck in a much needed breath of air. More tears slip past your lower lashes, making JJ breathe out a dark laugh.

“God, you look so fuckin’ pathetic, cryin’ like a fuckin’ baby while Rafe fucks that sweet cunt and I take this sweet mouth. Go on, suck my cock, princess, it’s aching for you.”

Rafe grunts, his fingers digging into your hips harder as he uses them to pull you back onto his cock, forcing you to meet each of his thrusts.

You lower your head, tongue darting out and softly swirling around the swollen, leaking head of JJ’s cock. He groans, lowering his phone back down to capture you sucking him off again.

“Eyes on the camera, baby. Don’t wanna miss a second of your facial expressions while my cock is down your throat and Rafe fucks you from the back.”

You quickly obey, forcing your eyes to look up and into the camera of JJ’s phone. You begin bobbing your head up and down his length, sucking and licking every last inch of him until you feel his cock pulse inside your mouth.

Rafe groans, slamming his hips forward one final time before his warm, sticky load is filling your pussy. “Fuuuuuck, baby, gonna have you leaking my cum for the rest of the day.” Rafe groans, holding onto your hips as he holds your ass flush against his groin as he rides out his high.

JJ isn’t too far behind Rafe, quickly pulling himself from your mouth and jerking his cock. A low, raspy groan fills the air as his cock twitches, his warm, sticky cum landing on your face and tits. JJ slowly removes his hand from his softening dick, his phone coming down and right in your face as he records the little facial he gave you.

“That’s it, baby. Gotta show everyone whose fucking girl you are, don’t we?”

In your euphoric, fucked out haze, you don’t catch JJ’s words… You just softly nod your head, saying “Yeah… Your girl.”

He and Rafe share a look, laughing lightly between one another before they both remove themselves from your bed, quickly dressing and helping clean you up. JJ tucks you into your bed after they have you completely cleaned up, placing a soft kiss on your forehead and whispering, “Maybe this’ll teach you to be nicer to us in public, baby.”

[yellowbrokenblue]

I fucking own you | RAFE CAMERON

You’ve been working for the Cameron’s for a few months, and a while ago you made the biggest mistake of your life- you slept with Rafe Cameron. And now, it was about to happen again. You were in too deep, and you fucking loved it.

cw: smut, rough sex, bondage, rafe is feral, dirty talk, degradation

“I asked for a drink half an hour ago. Where is it.”

He came closer and closer to you, his eyes dark and filled with pure annoyance. It wasn’t that you went out of your way to disobey Rafe’s orders, but when you had as much on your plate as you did- it became easier and easier to slip up. People have this idea in their head that being a housemaid is a simple job- but when you work for the Cameron family, it’s nowhere near simple.

“Raf- Mr Cameron. You know that my job is not to run around fetching you food and drink whenever you feel about it. I’m here to look after the house, not you.”

He scoffed.

“Talk to me like that again, pogue, and I’ll get you fired.”

Rafe had been threatening to get his father to fire you ever since you made the biggest slip up of your entire life. You prided yourself on being a smart person who always made good choices- but then one night you ended up tangled in the sheets of Rafe Cameron’s bed- and that does not happen to people who make good choices.

After that night you vowed to avoid him as much as you possibly could. You couldn’t afford to get him so angry that he’d rat you out to his dad and loose this job.

But your biggest problem was that no matter how hard you tried to stand up for yourself, you’d always cave in front of him. You’d always end up getting him that drink even though it wasn’t your job, you’d fetch his dry cleaning before your shift simply because he asked you. And worst of all, you let him fuck you.

But it would never happen again.

“I’m sorry, Mr Cameron.” You apologised, nodding your head.

“Good.” He said, before lowering his voice, “Now go and be the nice, obedient girl that I remember, and get me a Scotch.”

You swallowed, nodding.

With shaky hands, you make your way to the bar cart in the corner, placing some ice in the glass and pouring the shot. You might not have had eyes on the back of your head, but you could feel his eyes on you- his gaze was burning into the back of your head.

He treated you like shit, it’s not as if you were unaware of it. Sometimes you got worried about the fact that occasionally it made you want him more.

You turn around, and try to give him the glass. He noticed your shaking hands and smirked. This man has evil written all over him.

“I change my mind, sweetheart.” He said, his tone rude and condescending, “I want my drink in my bedroom.”

“Can’t you just take it up, I-”

He scoffed, “You’re what? You’re telling me to do your job because you’re worried about being next to my bed again? Are you really that weak, pogue?”

Your heart was beating uncontrollably.

“Of course not.” You reply, “I’ll take it up to your room right away.”

“That’s a good girl.”

You leave the room and follow the, what feels like endless, stairs up to Rafe’s room. His section of the house was bigger than your entire apartment on the other side of the island. When he says ‘room’ he really means entire suite. The living area opened up into a huge bedroom with an en-suite, and he even had a small kitchenette to the far left with different cooking appliances. The microwave itself was probably worth more than your entire wardrobe.

You placed the glass on the small table next to the couch, when you heard the door open, close and then lock.

You turn around, rapidly, to be faced with Rafe’s face already only inches away from yours.

“Don’t look so worried, sweetheart.” He said, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling your body against his, “You know I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Rafe, we can’t do this again. I need this job, you know that.”

Instead of a reply, he lent down and attached his lips to your neck, making a b-line for the sweet spot that he must’ve remembered from last time.

You used all of the strength in you to stop yourself from letting out a moan, but then he pressed his crotch against your stomach, and the moan slipped out.

“I knew you wanted me.” Rafe said, pulling away and holding your face with his hands, “I could see it in your eyes, they just scream out how desperate you are for my cock.”

Rafe’s hands reach for the buttons of your blouse, looking at your face, waiting for a signal that it’s okay for him to continue. He wasn’t a good guy, but he had enough good in him to make sure you were okay with this.

You gave him a quick nod, and he made quick work of taking off your blouse, throwing it on the floor.

“The shit my dad makes the help wear is fuckin’ ugly.” Rafe said, “I much prefer when you look like this.”

His hands raked over your body, and over your bra.

“How would you cope if I worked naked every day?” You joked.

“I wouldn’t.”

Before you knew it, your bra joined your shirt on the floor, your tits spilling free.

“Pants off. Lie on the couch.” Rafe demanded, taking a step back, waiting to watch you undress. “I have plans for you before you get my dick. So, be a good girl and do as I say.”

You bite the side of your cheek, unbuttoning your pants and kicking them off.

“Panties too.” Rafe said, “I want to see all of you.”

Once again, you done as he said, peeling your underwear from your body, leaving you completely naked lying on his couch.

It was intimidating lying like this with him watching you while he stood fully clothed. But then again, every time Rafe looked at you there would be some sort of intimidation involved.

“Now,” He said, slowly unbuttoning his white shirt, “I’m gonna tell you how this is gonna go, and you’re gonna listen.”

He took his shirt off and lifted the glass of Scotch.

“You’re gonna lay there nice and still and well behaved, understand? And while you do that, I’m gonna have some fun.” He says, moving his arm so that his glass of liquor was hovering above you, before tilting it and letting the liquid drip over your stomach.

It was ice cold, yet the feeling made your head fall back. The anticipation was killing you, and he knew it. Rafe was taking his sweet time simply just to torture you.

You watched Rafe sink to his knees, dropping the glass on the floor, ice spilling everywhere.

“You’re gonna forget who the fuck you are when I’m done with you.”

His mouth attached itself your breasts, his tongue licking up the alcohol that had dripped onto them, before slowly making his way down your stomach, licking and sucking at every trace of liquor he could find.

Most of the liquid had pooled around your belly button, and as he got closer to that area, he gripped your thigh to steady his body, making sure to purposely brush his fingers over the aching heat between your legs, enjoying the soft moan you let out.

You couldn’t help but groan as he sucked harder at your skin, his tongue all over your stomach. You wanted that tongue sucking at your tits, in your mouth, between your legs. You wanted him everywhere.

“You’re desperate for me. I can tell.” Rafe said, using the grip he had on your thigh to spin you around, so that you were sitting facing him on the couch.

Arousal was dripping down your legs as his hand crept further and further up your thigh.

“I was gonna take my time with you today, sweetheart. But I think you want my cock right now, am I right?”

You nod, desperately.

“Words.” He demands.

“Yes.” You plead.

He shakes his head, “I know you remember the rules. Yes, what?”

You swallow.

“Yes, Sir.”

Even in the bedroom, Rafe had to remind you that you would always be beneath him. His superiority complex would never die, yet your sheer desperation could look past that.

The power dynamic was unhealthy, it’s not as if you were unaware. Technically you were still on shift working at his house right now. But you allowed yourself to look past it simply because of how badly you wanted him.

How badly you needed him.

Next, he told you to go and lie on his bed- and he followed you into the bedroom area but instead of joining you on the sheets he opened the door to his closet, rifling through until he pulled out a long black tie.

“I think you need a reminder today of who is in charge.” He says, coming closer to the bed.

“You.” You whisper, “You are in charge.”

“You’re right,” He said, “But I need to be really sure that you underhand that. So give me your wrists.”

He takes your hands and wraps his tie tightly around them, before guiding your arms to the headboard of the bed, where he looped the tie around and secured your wrists to the bed.

“Tell me if it’s too tight.” He said, a slither of genuine humanity showing through his words.

“It’s fine.” You reply.

It was somewhat exciting, to be here tied up for Rafe. He could do whatever he wanted and there wasn’t much you could do about it. But at the same time, it was nerve wracking.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, so you have to try to be a little less tense, alright?” Rafe said. His words were genuine, but it didn’t come off as such.

He unbuckled his pants, pulling them off and pushing them aside, leaving you staring at him in his briefs.

“Where do I start.” Rafe says, placing a hand on each of your thighs, spreading your legs apart.

“Look how fucking wet you are.” He said, running a single finger over your folds, “I didn’t realise what a desperate whore you were.”

Rafe’s patience thins- his solid erection paired with your dripping wet cunt is driving him crazy and he can’t wait any longer. He quickly flips you over onto your stomach and pushes your ass into the air, keeping your legs spread so he can access.

“Are you still on the pill?” He asks while he massages his cock. He needs to be inside of you. Right now.

You nod. “Yeah.”

With the anticipation, that one single word is all you can croak out of your mouth.

With no warning, you find Rafe’s cock pushing into you with a speed you can’t quite comprehend.

“Your tight little cunt.” Rafe moans, splitting you open, “I bet no one’s fucked you since the last time you had my dick, huh? You keep this pussy just for me?”

You moan, your face pushed into the sheets as you take the full length of Rafe’s dick.

“Agh!” You cry, “You, Rafe, just you.”

He’s thrusting into you with no thoughts in his mind. You knew Rafe fucked rough, but this was a new level of feral you hadn’t seen before- and you were kind of loving. You tugged on the tie restraining your wrists while you cried his name.

“I own you.” Rafe says, “I fucking own you, you understand?”

You moan loudly, his dick still pounding into you.

“I said do you fucking understand?”

“Agh! Fuck!” You cry, “I’m yours, Rafe. You own me, you own me.”

You were so close to your orgasm, clenching on his cock while he thrusted deep inside you.

“I’m close.” You tell him, pushing your head into the mattress.

“Don’t fucking cum until I say so.” Rafe said.

He sped up, reaching for his own release.

“Cum with me.” He growls, his speed reducing as he cums inside of you.

You cry out, your long awaited orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave as you coat Rafe’s cock with your cum.

You might regret this tomorrow, but right now you didn’t have a care in the world.

[kaciidubs]

Wait Your Turn

❣ Summary: If you're going to break the rules, then you have to face the consequences of your actions. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 5.7k ❣ Warnings: Poly! OT8 x Reader, smut, humor, comfort, fluff, Dom/Sub dynamics, bondage, edging, spit roasting, bukkake, creampie(s), cum play, slight spit play, dacryphilia, choking, degradation, implied after care ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Usual first name + pet name references for the members, Reader is referred to as Baby, Princess, Good Girl, Bunny, Pup, Bub, Kitten, Muse, Jagi[ya], Sunshine, Noona, probably the filthiest thing I've written so far, lightly edited ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

Being in a polyamorous relationship with one of the busiest idol groups meant having to apply schedules to the most mundane parts of your life; which dorm you stay at for the week, who wants to go on solo dates and who wants to do group dates, and most importantly, who's the next to get laid by you and when.

Granted, these types of things are only applied when they're in the midst of a comeback - making sure their work life doesn't interfere with your relationship - but when the dreadful time does come around, the struggle truly begins.

Each of your boys were different in terms of their needs, so the schedule was set to alternate between the needier members having more frequent interactions with you throughout the week while the more independent members cashed their time during off days or weekends.

It was a strange system to adapt to, but you all made it work for the length of the comebacks - though, that doesn't mean it always held up. Some of the boys cracked, some deciding to share their time with you and another boy while others asked for trades in their time slots to see you sooner, but they always did their best not to alter the schedule too much.

That is, until week two came and you were begged for a cuddle session from a certain Aussie leader - Changbin agreeing to save his night for another day since Chris only went out of turn when he was really in his head about something.

You slipped into his room easily, getting bathed in the soft purple lighting of his room as you shut the door behind you. "You okay, Channie?"

He turned onto his side, putting his phone on the small table next to his bed before reaching his hand out, "Yeah, just need you in my arms, love."

Your heart fluttered, obliging his request with a smile as you happily rush to his bed, letting him pull you under the blanket and into his warmth - your darling personal heater who rarely wore anything more than boxer briefs to bed.

It doesn't take long until you're settled underneath him, caged between his arms while his slim hips keeps your legs separated, soft lips pressing to your own with barely hidden intent.

"Christopher," you hum against his lips, pulling away just enough to catch a glimpse of his face, "what are you up to, mister?"

"Need you," he breathed softly, pecking your lips once again before kissing just under your jaw, "need you so bad, baby."

A soft moan floated past your lips as he nipped at your sweet spot, a hand coming up to tangle in his hair, "You know it's not your night, baby - we can't."

"No one needs to know, yeah?" His lips continued down, wet kisses left in his wake until he moved back up to your face, eyes lidded and fogged over with lust. "It's just one night, princess, please." Pressing his body against yours, he ground his hips, further enticing you with the feeling of his hard cock against your clothed pussy. "Please, princess, just for daddy?"

In all honesty, you should've stuck to the rules, you should've been the voice of reason, but then his lips were on yours again and all thoughts of rationality went out the window.

When he felt you melt into the kiss he sighed a breath of relief, pulling away to sit himself up on his knees, "I'll do all the work, baby, alright? I just need you to keep that pretty mouth of yours quiet - we don't want to get caught, do we?"

You shook your head softly, shamelessly checking out his chest under the LED lights, "No, daddy - I'll be quiet."

His right hand caught your chin, bringing your gaze back to his with a knowing smirk, "Good girl."

With that, your fate was sealed with the tangling of limbs, breathless sighs of names, and muffled moans of pleasure.

It wasn't until the next morning that you realized the repercussions of your shared decision, waking up to an empty bed and a wall of texts waiting on your phone that sent chills down your spine.

My Loves - GC Min [Cat Daddy]🐈: Meeting at 3Racha + Artist dorm tonight Sun-Bok ☀️: Yep! Binnie Baby 💪🏻: 👍🏻 My Artist 💌: This'll be fun 🙄 Hannie Jisungie 💘: Do we have to?? I kinda had plans.. Bubs [SeungMongMong] 💕: Han. Read the room. Baby Bread 🍞❣️: 😭😭😭

Judging from the lack of reply from a certain leader, you already knew what the meeting was going to be about.

Wonderful.

"Do you know why we're gathered here today?"

You wanted to coo at how cute Felix's 'domineering' act was, but you chose to refrain as you sat next to Chris in chairs borrowed from the dining room.

"Um... No?"

Minho clicked his tongue, sharp eyes narrowing in an expression you were all too familiar with, "Are you sure about that, Kitten?"

Pressing your lips into a firm line, you immediately knew that playing innocent was not in your favor.

"Chan?" He now challenged the eldest, the fire in his eyes unwavering.

The black haired man timidly shook his head, not even daring to open his mouth - he was a terrible liar, and everyone knew that.

"Alright, so we're playing this game." Shrugging dismissively, he turned his attention to Hyunjin and gave him a nod.

Without missing a beat, Hyunjin took out his phone and swiped across the screen before putting it down on the coffee table for everyone to witness what would happen next.

You froze at the sound playing from Hyunjin's phone, eyes snapping to Chris as his feigned look of confusion fell to sheepish embarrassment.

Floating through the small speaker were your moans, his moans, and the faint thumping of the bed you had warned him about before the entire scenario started.

"You recorded us?!" Even though he tried to save face, the blush tinting his ears and cheeks was more than a dead giveaway that you'd been caught red handed.

"You fucked her when it wasn't even your turn!" Hyunjin argued, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You were supposed to be asleep!"

"First of all, I can stay up late as long as I want, and second of all, you two aren't the quietest of fucks in this house!"

"We share a wall and I slept through all of that?!" Jisung suddenly piped up, gesturing wildly to the phone on the table, "Why didn't you wake me up?!"

"I sense we're missing the point here..." Jeongin mumbled, snatching Hyunjin's phone from the table to pause the tantalizing audio.

"Innie's right! The point is," Changbin pointed a finger at their leader, "you tricked my bunny into letting you hit!"

Seungmin scoffed, "Tricked is a strong accusation, your 'bunny' isn't as innocent as she seems, isn't that right, pup?"

As much as you wanted to speak up in defense of yourself, they were completely right; you were in the wrong, no matter how it started and how rewarding the act was, you had broken one of the rules explicitly set for comeback season.

"This isn't all sunshine's fault," Felix butted in, quieting the bickering happening around him, "but it isn't all Chan's fault either - they both did it, so they both need to be punished, right? That's what we normally do when rules are broken, isn't it?"

"Exactly," Minho purred, running a hand through Felix's blond hair in appreciation, "and lucky for you two, we already thought of a punishment."

A chill ran down your spine and you stiffened under his mischievous gaze, noticing Chris opening his mouth to speak from your peripheral but closed it once more.

He may have been their leader at work, but here they were all partners, and the eldest card was virtually useless.

Looking between the two of you, a smug smirk graced Minho's lips as he nodded, "No objections? Good." Turning his gaze to you, he nodded his head, "Clothes off, kitten."

Apparently, the agreed upon punishment must've been a pact for pure torture for you and Chris; the eldest remaining in the same dining chair he sat in during the meeting, wearing only his boxer briefs with his wrists tied behind his back as part of his personal punishment.

You, however, seemed to get the brunt of the arrangement, laid naked on a blanket spread out over the area rug, a few decorative pillows spread around in case you needed the extra support.

Chris wasn't allowed to touch you or himself, nor was he allowed to cum during any point of the punishment; whereas you were allowed to touch anyone but Chris, and you weren't allowed to cum while the remaining members used their designated day to fuck you out of schedule - just like their wise leader and boyfriend had done the night before.

After some thorough - and quite unfair - prep by Jisung that left your pussy covered in spit and glistening for all of the boys to pay witness, Jeongin shuffled his way between your legs.

"Hi, Noona."

You did your best not to giggle at how causal he was, despite being stark naked and fisting his dick for what was to come next. "Hi, Innie."

"I still think it isn't fair you let Channie Hyung break the rules like that," he pouted, shuffling closer to rub his tip against your awaiting folds, drawing a shivering breath from you in the process.

"I-I know, I'm so-rry!" The feeling of his cock sliding past your walls had your back arching slightly, a low moan floating past your lips as he steadily filled you to the hilt.

He groaned softly, hands anchoring at your hips as he began to thrust into you without abandon, eyes locked onto where you were connected as his tongue just barely poked between his lips.

Your peace of getting used to his fast pace was interrupted with a shadow being cast over your face, the sight of Changbin shuffling into view with his signature smirk curving his lips.

"You don't mind taking two at once, do you, bunny?" He hummed, tapping the head of his dick against your bottom lip for emphasis.

A pitiful whimper escaped you, eyebrows sloping as realization quickly dawned on you - if he was using your mouth, then that meant you wouldn't get to feel that delicious stretch you'd been craving for the past week, yet another punishment.

"C'mon, little bunny, open up for me."

Doing as you were told, you parted your lips to welcome his thick tip, dropping your jaw to accompany the rest of his thick length to slip into your mouth and press against the back of your throat.

He rocked his hips in an opposing rhythm to Jeongin's powerful thrusts, the force simply jolting you into Changbin's dick and helping him fuck your mouth in return.

Any sound you made was turned into vibrations that shot up his spine, while panted moans and grunted breaths flowed freely from them, mingling with the distant sounds of your other boyfriends pleasuring themselves on the side as they waited for their turn.

"Look at you taking Innie so well, gonna make him come, bunny? Make him fill that needy pussy of yours?" The third eldest goaded, his hand sliding down to grope at your breast, running his thumb over your budding nipple.

Jeongin grunted, head bowed with focus as he drove into you with one desire and one only - to come.

You tried to hum out a reply, nodding your head in hopes that it would get noticed through the bobbing of your head until an increase of speed had your eyes rolling in your head.

"I-I'm gonna come, Noona- Oh, fuck-"

Just as you were ready to feel the signature warmth filling you, the presence of him inside of you disappeared and your eyes shot open to see him jacking himself off above you. Within a few passes of his fist, ropes of cum decorated your stomach, starting just above your naval and ending near your breasts.

It was almost as if he could sense your disappointment as he shot you a cocky smirk, "Oh - did you want me to finish inside? Sorry, Noona, I got to pick since it was my turn."

With a tap to your cheek, Changbin brought your attention back to him, "Don't get too upset, you still have five more dicks to go, bunny."

He was right - your punishment was far from over, and with the needy flutters of your pussy, you knew the requirement of not coming would be an uphill battle.

So, with renowned vigor, you did your best to focus on giving the best head you could manage in this position, laving your tongue against the smooth skin of his dick while trying not to mind the saliva that trailed down your cheek.

In the meantime, Chris wasn't faring too well in his seat, his hard on straining in his boxer briefs and begging for some form of attention from anyone in the room - the subtle shifting doing next to nothing to satisfy the pressure he craved.

He watched as Hyunjin guided Seungmin's mouth up and down his cock, a hand tangled in the long golden tresses of the younger's hair while the other half of his attention was focused on slow makeout session Felix had drawn him into; plump lips working against the smaller pair in a way that couldn't be described as anything other than beautiful.

"IN-ah," Minho called out, almost looking completely unphased by the drag of Jisung's lips against the column of his neck if it weren't for the way his hands gripped his slim waist. "Why don't you make sure Hyung doesn't get too bored over there?"

Fuck.

Jeongin gave a dutiful nod as he crawled his way over to the eldest, fox-like eyes sparkling with a glee that made his stomach flip. "Channie Hyung."

"Jeongin."

He pouted at the use of his name, no glittering nickname or endearing title following, "Don't be like that! You know why we're doing this - you'd do the same if it was one of us!"

Of course, he was right, but that didn't mean he wouldn't try to save as much of his pride as he could, not with the way he could feel his sanity slipping as the two-toned blond settled between his spread legs.

"Alright, alright, 'm sorry," relaxing against the chair, he gave a small smile toward the youngest, "hi, baby boy."

Preening with happiness, Jeongin pressed a soft kiss to the inside of his thigh that nearly had him jolting out of the chair, a delighted laugh floating past those daring lips.

"You know... You didn't have to try to keep it a secret," he hummed, planting another kiss higher up the smooth plane of skin, "there's nothing wrong with needing Noona sooner than us, unless..." Sharp eyes looked up at him, a dark glint sending a spark of electricity down the eldest's spine, "You wanted to see what would happen if we found out - is that it, Hyung?"

Chris opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a guttural groan escaping Changbin, pulling his attention toward the main event happening in the middle of the living room.

The buff man shivered, hissing sharply as he pulled his softening dick from your mouth, "Show Binnie, bunny."

You opened your mouth immediately, showing the mess of cum and saliva pooling your tongue.

"Good girl, go on and swallow."

Your puffy lips closed for a moment before parting again to show your now empty mouth, void of any remnants of his seed; as a reward, Changbin bent down and pressed his lips to your forehead.

Next in the rotation was Seungmin, Felix, and Hyunjin - taking on a position that seemed to be coordinated in advance; Seungmin taking post between your legs, Felix straddling your torso with his hands already groping your chest, while Hyunjin lingered beside you.

"Jeongin, did you really have to leave a mess behind?" Seungmin groaned as he dragged his thumb through a still wet line of cum, tapping Felix's cheek with his index.

Following his instincts, Felix turned his head and instantly took his thumb into his mouth, and you watched with lust fogged eyes as he sucked it clean.

"Don't act like you weren't going to do the same thing." The youngest deadpanned, shooting the singer a glare, "You're just mad I did it first."

Deciding to ignore that statement, the second youngest slipped his thumb from Felix's soft lips and brought it down toward your awaiting pussy, putting slight pressure on your neglected clit.

You jolted at the sudden touch, whining pitifully, "Minnie, please, don't tease me."

"I don't think you're in any position to make demands, bub."

Despite his snarky reply, you could feel the head of his dick nudge against your slick entrance, all the while Felix was happily enjoying his time with your breasts; gently kneading the mounds and tweaking your nipples with subtle pinches here and there.

"Come here, my angel." Hyunjin murmured softly, cupping the freckled blond's face before pulling him into a sloppy kiss.

You watched helplessly, forced to be a spectator of the pleasure happening around you; the show above you, the sounds of Jisung's unabashed whimpers from the couch, and the grunted gasps of Chris from whatever Jeongin and Changbin had resorted to doing to him.

When the duo pulled away, Felix leaned over to let a stream of spit drip onto his twitching cock and the valley of your boobs, the excitement palpable from the way he practically vibrated above you.

Without any further preparation, he pressed your breasts together to sandwich his cock and rocked his hips forward, a heavenly groan floating past his lips.

At the same time, Seungmin slipped past your walls with little resistance, sighing happily at the warmth of your pussy finally enveloping him.

Your hands found Felix's thighs, squeezing the flexed muscles as he fucked your breasts at a steady pace - meanwhile, Seungmin set his own rhythm of deep and hard thrusts, practically punching moans out of your throat with each slap of his thighs against the back of your own.

"Sunshine, you feel so good," Felix groaned, eyes flicking between your face and the way the pink head of his dick peeked out from between your boobs on each inward thrust.

"Of course she'd feel good," Seungmin scoffed, his hands gripping the backs of your knees for leverage, "the little slut was made for us, isn't that right, pup?"

You preened at his words, tossing your head back with an unabashed moan.

"So shameless, my muse," Hyunjin smirked, watching you lovingly as he lazily fisted his spit-slicked cock. "You love being used like this by us - but, then again, we love getting to use you, too."

Whining up at him, your dazed eyes glanced down at his length and your lips parted - an offering.

"Nuh uh, beauty, I'm waiting for that sweet pussy of yours."

The clench your walls gave earned you a moan from the singer inside of you, his grip on your legs tightening slightly, "Fuck, stop it, pup - feels too fucking good."

Felix whined, tossing his head back with a shivering breath, "W-What's she feel like, Minnie?"

"Wet, warm, t-tight," a low grunt fell from his lips, "I can tell she's getting close - you know, when her pussy f-flutters-"

"-Y-Yeah, oh, fuck- I'm close." The freckled boy's thrusts quickly began to falter, dissolving into him shallowly humping your breasts.

Hyunjin watched as both boys chased their orgasms, your breathless moans floating through the air like a song while your nails scratched angry red lines down Felix's slim thighs.

"A-Ah, fuck, f-fuck-" Seungmin was the first to topple over the edge, pulling out just as he began to come, the hot release adding to the partially dried mess left behind from his boyfriend before.

With a shaky rut of his hips, Felix came with a short cry of your name, his cum painting your neck and mixing with the mess of saliva and precum in your cleavage.

Dropping your legs unceremoniously, Seungmin shuffled from between your legs to sit breathlessly at your side; Felix managing to shakily slide himself off of your torso and into the former's arms.

"Oh, you poor beauty," Hyunjin cooed, taking in your utterly disheveled form as he filled in the newly freed space, "they made you so dirty, didn't they?"

You jolted at the feeling of his hand ghosting your side, your abdomen twisting so hard you nearly folded over.

"H-Hyune, can I come this time? Please, please, I-I need to, i-it's too much!"

"You're begging the wrong person, my muse." He used his right index to drag through the mess at your sternum and down to the cum coating your stomach, "I can't help you, here." Popping his finger into his mouth, a shivering breath ran through his body, eyelids fluttering before focusing his heated stare back onto you, "Don't worry, I'll be fast - two more after me and you'll be done."

Luckily for you, your orgasm had began to subside and you were barely affected by the graze of his fingertips down your hips and thighs, caressing your skin and massaging the tense muscles as he went.

Chris watched as Hyunjin slipped inside of you with little to no resistance, the sight of your cum stained body arching off of the floor making him strain against the rope keeping his hands behind his back.

"Wish that was you, huh?" Changbin taunted low in his ear, squeezing his shoulders before lightly massaging away the tenseness in his biceps, "Look at her, five dicks in and she's still taking everything we give her."

"Fuck."

Hyunjin had your legs in the air, calves resting against his right shoulder to make the squeeze even tighter, making each drag of his cock that much more devilish for you.

That should be him making you moan like that, he should be the one feeling the squeeze of your pussy around his dick, not the stupid confines of his underwear.

He felt like he was going crazy, and it didn't help with Jeongin's intermittent touches to his restrained bulge that kept him hyper aware of everything happening in front of him.

Your moans grew in pitch, one hand gripping onto the artist's forearm while the other gripped a decorative pillow by your head for further support.

"Oh, god - I c-can't- I-"

"Hold it, kitten." Minho spoke up from his position on the couch, "You have two more to go for your punishment - you don't want to make it worse, do you?"

"N-No, but- Ah!" Your train of thought escaped you as the lithe dancer slightly leaned forward, pushing your legs closer to your torso and brushing against your g-spot in an entirely new angle that had you seeing stars.

"You can do it, my love," Hyunjin panted breathlessly, a fine sheen of sweat beginning to glisten on his skin, "g-gonna fill you up for doing such a good job for us, okay?"

There weren't any words you could find to somehow put together a coherent sentence, so you simply nodded with hiccuped breaths - doing your best not to focus on the burning desire in your abdomen.

It only took a few more strokes until he stilled with a gasp, broken moans happening in time with the twitching of his length, filling your cunt with every last drop of his load.

However, the turnaround this time was faster than you'd expected; Hyunjin pulling out with a still throbbing dick, while the sound of scrambling reached your ears before a new presence filled the void.

"Jagi."

Your heart clenched, blinking up at the man with a desperate gaze, "Sungie, please - I-I can't take anymore."

You were overly aware of the warm sensation of Hyunjin's cum dripping down the curve of your ass and undoubtedly staining the blanket beneath you, and you were beginning to feel tacky from the mix of cum and spit drying on your skin.

"I know, I know, but you're so close, Jagi - you can do it for us, right? Take your punishment like a good girl?"

The feeling of him pushing your legs up and out had you sobbing out a breath, everything from your waist down sore and crying for a break.

Jisung rubbed the leaky tip of his cock against your puffy clit, biting his lip as more cum seemed to endlessly dribble out of you, "Shit, he really filled you, hm?"

Then, just as his boyfriends before, he angled his hips and sunk into your sensitive cunt, your moans mixing together in a harmony.

"S-So good - god, I wish I could stay in this pussy." He groaned, leaning forward to hover over you - keeping your legs hooked on the outside of his arms - before shallowly thrusting into you.

The sloppy sounds of skin against skin and the mixture of cum and your arousal filled the living room as everyone watched on.

"Fuck... I wanna go again," Felix whined, doe eyes trained on where you and Jisung were connected.

Seungmin laughed, squeezing his arms around him, "Yeah? I bet Chan wishes he could go at all."

This comment brought each of their attentions to the man in mention, and the sight was one to be memorized for the time to come.

A light sheen of sweat shined across his forehead and chest, shallow breaths expanding his torso and exposing the slight definition of abs with each exhale, and thick thighs spread to display the bulge stretching the light grey fabric of his boxer briefs - a glaringly obvious stain of precum in the form of dark grey spread around the head of his hidden cock and along the length, defining it more.

"Holy shit, Chan - you're turned on this much?" Hyunjin took in the view with amused eyes, though the faint swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip hadn't gone unnoticed.

The eldest whined, an embarrassed blush adding to the flush of arousal on his face, "It doesn't help that these two," he nodded his head between Jeongin and Changbin, "have been over here touching me the whole time, and- fuck, watching everyone take turns with her, how could I not get turned on?"

"Channie Hyung, you look like you're one breeze away from coming." Jeongin giggled as he pressed his index finger against the outline of his tip, pulling it away to see a faint string of precum follow suit.

"He shouldn't." Minho interjected, watching the small group from the couch, "And you better not make him come either, unless you'd like to be added to the punishment list, too."

Another signature whine fell from Felix as he broke his focused stare to look at the black haired man, "Can we at least see him? Please, Hyung?"

There was a moment of silence - well, as silent as it could be with your and Jisung's moans and whimpers still dancing through the air - before he nodded his head.

"Fine, go ahead."

It definitely wasn't a three person job, but when Felix sprung into action with Jeongin, Seungmin wasn't about to be left out of the reveal - so, with three sets of hands and the help of Chris lifting his hips, they managed to toss away his one and only clothing item.

"Holy fuck, thank you," he groaned, his head falling back and lightly knocking against the backrest of the chair; a wave of goosebumps decorating his skin at the temperature shift and change in pressure.

The sudden sound of Jisung cursing called their attention like a moth to a flame, eyes snapping to see the rapper frantically fucking into you with reckless abandon.

Tears streamed down the sides of your face as you gripped his hair, "Please, please, please, I-I can't- j-just come already, Sungie!"

It wasn't clear if it was the tug on his scalp or your command that had him coming, but he was suddenly shaking above you with breathless whines, fucking his load into you with hard, shallow ruts.

He dipped his head to catch your lips in a less than coordinated kiss, a dazed smile finding its way to his face, "Last one, Jagi."

Sniffling up at him, a harsh realization hit you like a freight train - Minho was the last one to go.

Minho, the one who enjoyed seeing you at your wits end, wearing you down until you were nothing but his brainless little kitten - the one who laughed in the face of your pleas and begs, the one who would catch your tears onto his fingers and make you choke on the same digits.

As Jisung slipped away to join the rest of the spectators, you turned your head to see Minho unmoving from his seat, staring at you with a sinister glint in his eyes.

"Hands and knees, kitten."

You were shocked to find out that you still had power left in you to lift your body from the floor, much less manage to turn yourself onto your aching legs before dipping into an arch you'd perfected in your time with them - ignoring the feeling of now cold cum meeting the fluffy warmth of the blanket where you once laid.

It wasn't long until you felt a large hand grip the swell of your ass before landing a hard slap against the cheek making you scream out a moan.

"What did we learn?" He hummed nonchalantly, spreading your ass cheeks to see the newest mess of cum ooze toward your clit.

"I-I won't k-keep secrets," you sobbed, the pulse of your pussy making your toes curl, "if s-someone wants to skip ahead, w-we make sure everyone knows - P-Please, Min, I'm sorry!"

The only sign of acknowledgment he gave you was a clipped hum, sliding one hand to the base of your spine while the other wrapped around his dick, pumping once and tracing your messy cunt.

"Do you think you deserve to come?"

"Y-Yes! Yes, please, I've been good - I-I didn't come while the others fucked me, I-I let them use me, please let me come, Min!" Hiccuping a sob, your hands fisted the blanket as fresh tears streaked down your cheeks, "Please, please, please, it hurts - I can't keep holding it!"

The stretch of his dick past your sensitive walls had your mouth falling open in a silent moan, eyes rolling as your veins flowed with molten lava - overstimulation beginning to set in.

"Okay, kitten, you can come," he murmured softly, his hand sliding up your slightly sweaty back before wrapping around your neck, his body eclipsing yours as his lips hovered just above your ear, "but only when I say so."

He dragged his hips back before delivering a hard thrust, forcing a choked gasp past your lips as he began to practically fuck you through the floor - broken moans and cries flowing like water in a stream.

"Remember this the next time you decide to bend the rules," hissing in your ear, his hand tightened around your neck ever so slightly, "doesn't matter if its Yongbokkie's charms, Hannie's begs, Jeongin's sugar coated promises - none of them, if you try lying to cover for them, this is what'll happen."

"Minho, it wasn't all her fault." Chris gritted, watching the way you writhed in the second eldest's hold - his dick twitching painfully for any type of relief.

Minho scoffed out a laugh, finally directly regarding him ever since the entire punishment started, "When did I ever say it was, Chan?"

Without so much as a stutter in his rhythm, he sat up onto his knees, bringing your body with his and putting you on full display for the rest of your partners.

"This is a lesson to you, too; don't try to keep things from us - if you want to fuck our girl, you can fuck her." His thumb pressed against the underside of your jaw, tilting your head in their direction, "She obviously loves it, so why put yourself through the stress of making it a secret? You can see her just like this without keeping her orgasm from her, isn't that right, kitten?"

You mindlessly nodded as best as you could, drool trailing out of the corner of your mouth as you tried your best to keep your focus on the man restrained in the chair and not on the six other pairs of eyes taking you in.

"Words, kitten."

"Y-Yes, Sir!" You mewled, your hands holding tight to his arm to keep yourself tethered to your own body.

"Exactly, now, say sorry."

Chris bristled, "Minho, that's-"

"Felix."

On command, the boys occupying the space near Chris's legs moved to allowed Felix between them; Jeongin holding onto one thigh while Hyunjin held onto the other to further restrain him.

The second Felix's soft hands wrapped around the base of his dick, he had to bite his lip to silence the pure moan of pleasure that wanted to rise out of him - but, the instant his lips pressed against a vein, he nearly cried.

"Say sorry, kitten," Minho whispered in your ear, breaking through the fog that clouded your brain, "say sorry then you can come."

A sob wracked through your body as you nodded, "I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Innie and Binnie. I'm sorry L-Lix, Minnie, a-and Hyune. I-I'm sorry S-Sungie," nearly choking on your breath, you cried, "a-and I'm sorry Min, I'm so sorry, sir!"

He hummed, a smirk on his lips, "You're missing an apology, kitten."

The names replayed in your head like a tape on rewind, your brain desperately searching for who you might have missed until it finally clicked.

"C-Channie!"

The call of his name brought his eyes to yours, breathless groans escaping him as Felix licked at him as if he were a popsicle on a hot summer day.

You sniffled, blown out pupils swimming in the sea of your watery eyes, "I-I'm so sorry, Channie - I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry!"

His heart clenched in time with his abdomen, hips canting as best they could with Hyunjin and Jeongin keeping him still. "I'm sorry, princess, you hear me? Fuck- I'm so sorry, baby."

"Good kitten," Minho grunted, his free hand wrapping around your hip to the apex of your thighs, his skilled fingers finding your clit easily, "now, come for us."

There wasn't a singular word to describe the sensations that shot through your veins; euphoria, relief, satisfaction, all you could feel was the wave of your orgasm crashing around you and drowning you in the muffled sounds of your own screams.

It didn't take long for Chris to fall victim to the sinful kitten licks of Felix's tongue, not when he had the view of you and Minho falling apart before his eyes.

"Oh fuck, f-fuck!"

Minho felt you slump in his arms, shallow breaths wracking your body through soft whimpers and hiccups. "You're alright, Jagiya, I've got you."

You slurred out soft words he couldn't catch, though the faintest "Sorry" caught his ear through the jumbled mess.

"No more of that, kitten, okay? I forgive you - We forgive you, just take some deep breaths with me, hm?"

Changbin appeared in front of you with two wet washcloths, and a t-shirt most likely from his closet, "Hey, bunny, it's Binnie - I'm gonna clean you off, okay?"

You hummed softly and he got to work wiping away the dried cum and spit that stained your skin, using the second cloth to get whatever remnants he missed before handing it off to Minho who cleaned away the cum covering your pussy.

Meanwhile, Felix and Jeongin were having a field day of cleaning up the cum that decorated Chris's skin from his own orgasm; Hyunjin lazily running his hands through Chris's hair while Seungmin untied his wrists.

"Hyung," Seungmin prodded, garnering Chris's tired, but attentive gaze, "we know you mean well, and you don't like imposing over us, or whatever," he took a short breath, fighting through the shyness, "but if you need something then say so - it's not like we haven't adjusted our schedules before."

"Yeah, Chan - we're not gonna fault you if you need your time sooner than us, we do it all the time." Hyunjin chimed in, playing with a small curl at the front of his head.

"Some of us more than others."

"You know, I can hear you," Felix deadpanned, looking up at the three of them while licking his lips, "and it's not like I don't offer sharing my time!"

Jeongin laughed, "I don't think they meant it as a bad thing, Lix, you're just the one who uses your time the most, even if you share it."

"Which is, again, not a bad thing," Jisung piped up with a chuckle, walking toward the group with a washcloth and a bottle of water for the eldest, "I think it's a tie between me and you, honestly."

Through the small talk and pre-shower wipe downs - some of the boys dispersing to shower while others searched for snacks - Chris noticed Minho bundling up the soiled blanket while Changbin cradled your sleeping form in his arms on the couch, murmuring soft words he wasn't able to catch.

"She's okay," Minho hummed, catching Chris's soft gaze, "we're going to let her rest for a minute, then when she wakes up Changbin's going to make sure she uses the bathroom before anything else."

He nodded understandingly, stretching his arms and rubbing absentmindedly at his wrists.

"You want to cuddle with her."

Chris jolted, eyes widening, "What? I didn't say-"

"You don't have to say it, you do it all the time after sex, Chan," he rolled his eyes, a loving smirk playing at his lips, "it's nothing to be embarrassed about. Just..." Sighing, Minho ventured over to the chair he still sat in, "Stop being shy about needing love, okay? This isn't about some stupid rule or 'fuck' schedule - you need to know that there isn't any shame in putting your needs first. You have eight partners, which means you have eight people who are open and ready to give you the love you need, Hyung."

Planting a quick kiss on his lips, Minho disappeared down the hall toward the laundry room, leaving Chris to settle with his words.

Nodding softly to himself, he made his way toward Changbin and swapped roles quietly, accepting a temple kiss from his fellow rapper before he headed into the kitchen to join whoever occupied the space.

Laying across the couch, Chris let you lay partially on top of him, his arm wrapped securely around your back while he used his other hand to caress the soft skin of your cheek with his thumb.

Stirring slightly, you cracked an eye open and a tired smile twitched your lips, "Mm... I love you."

You have eight partners, which means you have eight people who are open and ready to give you the love you need.

He smiled at Minho's words, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, watching as you drifted back to sleep.

"I love you too, baby."

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @broken-glowsticks, @s00buwu, @junglyric, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @softkissfelix, @luvyev, @luminouskalopsia

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

[celestiamour]

Ever since squid game s1&s2 wi hajoon character😩 I even saw a clip of his back 💀ok im getting side tracked😭so may I please request a smut with junho x fem reader where he’s stressed trying to find his brother but his wife or gf is there for him to keep him calm. It could literally be any plot😭 just need Jun Ho

ft. hwang jun-ho x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ eating you out after a long stressful day┊0.7k words

setting: season 1, before the 33rd games contains: smut!! dom jun-ho & sub reader┊oral fixation, receiving oral, overstimulation, mentioned nipple play & marking, established relationship

➤ author's note: i need this so bad, the new year depression is hitting and i’m so lonely

being a police detective is insanely stressful on levels he couldn’t even begin to explain, even more so when it’s a case related to him personally. ever since his brother went missing, he’s been relentless in his pursuit to find him, searching for even the tiniest clues that may help push the dead end he’s been stuck at for so long. he comes back a little bit later each night with less and less energy, crashing out on the couch and fall asleep to stop the raging headache from considering all of the possible things that could have happened. 

he still makes an effort to be there for you though, taking time out of his busy schedule to take you out on at least one date per week, not just to remind you that he loves you even with how busy he is, but for him to relax too. there’s nothing better than being comfortable and able to turn off the gears constantly turning in his brain in the company of someone he adores so much, and returning home to rest in your warm embrace is akin to heaven for his troubled mind. 

sometimes he likes to shut his brain down entirely when having sex with you and just thoughtlessly do his own thing. it’s almost therapeutic for him, even though you’re the victim of his ministrations and find your body suffering from too much pleasure (if it’s even a thing, he draws a thin line that makes you wonder).

like he is right now, hands spreading the inside of your thighs with a tight grip to prevent them from closing and his mouth laser-focused on what’s in between.

“i-it’s too much,” you whined, trying to push him away for a second of relief yet making no real attempt to do so, limbs slacking after a mere second of effort. perspiration had covered your skin in a thin sheen, shining under the light of the ceiling fixture and drawing attention to his previous actions: marks from constant sucking and biting into your soft flesh all over your neck and chest area. 

he simply hummed in response, the vibrations sending pleasure straight to your clit and making your whimper, not really listening to you. there weren’t really any thoughts in his head at the moment, only trying to pull another orgasm from your spent body to taste more of your addicting nectar and listen to your cries that sounded like the song of an angel.

you originally wanted to pay him attention before yourself, taking the edge off the perpetual stress he was going through with his climax, yet this was all he wanted to do, sucking on your clit like it was candy until the neighbors knew his name. there was no real skill or technique behind his movements, just pure unadulterated passion and lust as he pulled you even closer than you thought possible with an increased pace of fucking you with his tongue. 

it felt so suffocatingly hot, taking another breath only to let out another pitched moan in a vicious cycle. you didn’t know where to put your hands, alternating from the bedsheets to your oversized t-shirt stolen from his before finally tangling your fingers in his dark locks and tugging which caused him to groan in response. he finally opened his eyes and met your half-lidded ones, but he did not stop his assault on your engorged pearl. truthfully, the sight of you as such a blissed-out mess was almost enough to make him cum untouched, and he’s not even certain if he didn’t.

the familiar feeling of an orgasm washes over you, the intensity of it being your third tonight making your back arch off the mattress and your toes curl with a pitiful gasp. still, jun-ho’s lips stayed latched onto your abused pussy, lapping up all of your arousal like a damn dog until you were all cleaned up with nothing but his spit slicking your folds. you whimpered when he finally let go only to part your swollen hypersensitive cunt with his finger, admiring how it quivered and clenched around nothing begging for more.

it was going to be a long night, but it’s worth it if he gets the satisfaction of carrying you out of bed the next day due to your shaking legs and he finally wakes up with a clear head for once.

[nanaslutt]

Perv!Geto taking care of you while you're sick

note: if you keep up with my perv!geto series, this takes place after reader & geto are together, if you don't, just read this as an established relationship fic :)

—

contains: fem reader, whipped!geto, masturbation, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, teasing, nipple play, panty licking/sniffing, cum eating, fantasizing, slight somno

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Geto had been taking care of you for about a week now, but not in the hot, steamy, limbs-tangled-together-for-hours-on-end way. You had come down with a horrible cold right after Christmas, and being your roomie and boyfriend—Geto was attending to your every need.

It had been exactly seven days since you had first come down with the sickness. At first, it started off as a sore throat and nothing more, but the days following would turn into your own personal hell. Every single symptom of the flu managed to take over you, making you wish Geto would've killed you the night before you got sick when he was choking you out while fucking you dumb.

Geto had been so attentive throughout your whole sickness. He had brought you a cold wet rag every hour, slept with you at night, made sure you were eating no matter how much you didnt feel like it, held your hair when you got sick, and literally carried you all around the house when you wanted to go somewhere.

It even got to a point where he had to help you shower, sitting you down between his thighs on a small shower stool he instructed you to close your eyes while he massaged the shampoo into your hair, not wanting any to go into your eyes—you didnt need to be in any more pain than you already were.

Geto took your temperature every hour to make sure you never got too hot. If it did, he would've rushed you to the hospital in an instant. Luckily your fever broke after the third day, which meant for the last couple of days, you had been able to walk around the house yourself if you needed something. Granted if Geto saw you out of bed he scooped you up and immediately tucked you back into the sheets, demanding you tell him what you need so he could get it for you.

Geto loved taking care of you, he loved pampering you and doing mundane things for you, which is why he didnt mind helping you so much. The only downside to you being sick though.. no sex.

Since the two of you had started hooking up, even before you made things official, the both of you never went more than two days doing something sexual with one another. Of course, Geto felt so bad you were sick, and he wanted you to get better asap just for the sake of you not being sick anymore--but being able to have sex with you again was going to be a nice bonus.

Geto had to seriously restrain himself when you pressed yourself back into him, trying to steal his body heat while you were half asleep. He had to squeeze his eyes shut and think of Gojo in order to not pop a boner right now. Geto doesn't think he's ever thought about Gojo so much in one week.

When he had you naked in front of him in the shower, your body swaying while you tried to keep yourself away as the warm water hit your skin, he was so glad you were facing away from him. You had just spent the entire night being sick in the bathroom, you had a splitting headache and were barely staying conscious for christ sake and here he was, hard as a rock as he rubbed the washcloth over your soft skin, cleaning every inch of your body.

One night, he had woken up in the middle of the night and saw the comforter that was once covering the two of you, was discarded at the edge of the bed--your shaking frame exposed to his eyes. He made you wear only a tank top and panties to bed that night to try and lower your body temperature. You had protested of course, but you must've gotten hot at some point, as there was a thin layer of sweat on your skin.

Geto immediately knew he was hard, he didnt even have to look. Your ass was pressed right against his crotch, cradling his stiff cock perfectly. He knew his erection wasn't going to go away unless he did something about it. Every neuron in his brain was telling him to use your thighs, just slide his cock between your cold thighs and rub it back and forth, rubbing against your panty-clad cunt in the process.

Of course, he knew he wouldn't actually do it, but it wouldn't stop him from fantasizing about it. He slid back from your body slightly, giving himself just enough room to slide his hand into his boxers and pull out his stiff cock, the tip already leaking with pre.

He tried to focus on the curve of your ass in the darkness, wishing you were in a more vulnerable position so he could see your pussy better, but this would have to do. He started stroking his cock slowly, so as to not wake you from the shaking of his arm.

Geto bit his lip to keep himself quiet as he jerked off. Shaky breaths could be heard through the room if one focused enough. Geto reached out slowly to grab your hip, just to feel your skin, to give himself something.

He felt a shock of electricity shoot down to his dick the second he touched you, his lips pressing together to suppress a groan. His hand traveled down further the closer he got to his high. He softly groped your ass, massaging and rubbing the fat there to help him cum quicker.

Your scent was all around him, it was making him dizzy. You were so close, so fucking close, and he couldn't even do anything about it. When he felt himself approach the edge he squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his hand over his cock as he groped you harder, praying you wouldn't wake up right now.

He imagined his hand being your cunt, pulsing and squeezing around his cock as he fucked the both of you towards your orgasms. You would be so loud, crying out for him has he impaled you on his cock. Would you squirt? He bet you would.. he always made you squirt when he fucked you on your side like this.

All he had to do was lift your leg and pull your panties aside and he could slip his cock inside you, finishing himself off deep inside your warm cunt instead of wasting his load in his hand—the load he had wanted to save for you.

He was going to cum so much, and it was going to be so thick he felt bad wasting it like this, but he had no choice. Not when he wanted to cum this bad and he was so close. Absentmindedly, his thumb had slid down to your cunt, and softly pressed it against your clothed hole. When your body shifted forward and you softly grunted in your sleep, that's all he needed to send him over the edge, his orgasm crashing down over him in that moment.

The rush of almost getting caught made him cum ten times harder. His hand retracted from your cunt as he grabbed the tip of his dick, catching his seed in the palm of his hand, careful to not spill any on your bed. He rolled onto his back, still jerking himself off through his orgasm as his body hunched in on itself with the intensity of his orgasm.

He bit his lip hard, nothing but heavy breathing spilling from his nose as he did his best to keep quiet, stroking himself off through the aftershocks of his high. When he started to come down, he let his lip go from the confines of his teeth, sighing heavily into the quiet room.

He was right, his load was so thick and there was so much of it, it really was a shame he had to waste it--he thought as he washed it down the sink, scrubbing his hands clean with your sweet-smelling soap before he crawled back into bed with you.

—

Now it was seven days later, and you had dragged yourself out of bed to grab something to drink, not being able to take lying around in bed anymore. Geto heard the commotion in the kitchen and walked around the corner, watching you standing on your tippy toes, your ass peeking out under his large shirt you wore, the bottom half of your body clad in only a pair of panties.

He swallowed hard at the sight in front of him, reminding himself you were still very much sick as he felt his face heat up while he oggled the soft skin of your ass. "Hey, what are you doin' out of bed?" Geto's voice rang in your clogged ears, his large figure pressing against your back soon after he spoke. "It's okay Sugu, really.. I've been in bed for a week straight I need to move around or I'm going to- *cough* die.." You said, covering your mouth with your arm, your cough shaking Geto's body as he held on to you.

"Still no fever?" Geto asked, moving one of his hands up to press against your forehead, feeling the warm skin. You closed your eyes upon feeling his hand, humming at his touch. "..You're a little warm." He said after a beat, making you sigh. "Sugu I'm fine, really. I'm still pretty exhausted but I feel like I'm slowly getting better." He knew you were telling the truth.

After all, just a couple of days ago you couldn't even stand, and now you were walking around the house all on your own, so you must finally be getting better. "About time." He sighed, burying his face into the crook of your neck and kissing the skin there. You wrapped your arms around his that held your body, letting him rock you back and forth.

"Someone miss me?" You asked, you giggle getting cut off with a cough. It took Geto a second to realize you weren't talking about him. Your boyfriend groaned into your shoulder, keeping his arms around you but pulling his hips back so his erect cock wasn't poking into your ass. "He's always like that when I see you," Geto replied, mumbling into your neck.

His words made you giggle, "You're so cute. Sorry if I've been making it hard for you. I really should've been more careful, I didnt mean to get sick." You spoke in your hoarse voice. Geto raised his head from your neck, his large hand coming up to grab your face, turning you towards him. "No one means to get sick baby, I've been fine really, don't worry about me." He replied, caressing your cheek.

He pressed his lips to your forehead before he pulled away, grabbing the glass out of your hand to fill up your cup with water. Although his words said otherwise, you had a feeling Geto was having a harder time being abstinent than he led on.

You had been pretty out of it this past week and don't remember much, but you did recall the way Geto had averted his eyes every time they dared to linger on your body. He was constantly pulling your shorts and shirts down to cover your ass, and made a point to choose thicker fabric for the top so he couldn't see your hard nipples through the shirt. They were small details, but you had been living with Geto for a while, you had become observant.

When the dark-haired man turned back around, he was holding your glass of water. He held your waist in his hand and pressed the glass to your fingers, letting go when they wrapped around it. You closed your eyes when you felt his lips press to your forehead once more before his touch was gone altogether. "Get back to your room once you finish that, I'm gonna go.. call Satoru real quick, missed his call earlier." He lied through his teeth.

You nodded, and with that, he walked out of the room. That's when you knew that Geto was having a harder time with this than you thought, as he just lied to you. You weren't mad that he lied to you though, because you could piece together the real reason he escaped to his room—coincidentally right after you had pointed out his boner. He really was a terrible liar.

In any other situation, you would chase him down into his room and take his cock out of his hands, helping him out. But Geto was right, you needed to rest. You felt your fatigue creep up on you the longer you stood in the kitchen, taking small sips of your water.

After placing your glass down by the sink, you dragged your body towards your bedroom, stopping by Geto's on the way there, as you had to pass his room to get to yours at the end of the hall. As discreetly as you could, you pressed your ear against his bedroom, listening for any sounds of Geto getting himself off. You cursed your clogged ears, you couldn't hear anything at all.

Maybe he had already jerked off and gone to sleep? You were too tired to think about it any longer. You hadn't heard anything, so it made you feel a little better. If you had heard him pleasuring himself on the other side of the door, you would've felt a little guilty.

Geto held his palm over his lips, listening for the telltale sound of your door shutting before he let his gasps seep into the room. "Fuck.." He groaned, squeezing his cock at the tip, watching the white pearl of precum beat on the slit of his cock before it dripped down, meeting his fist as he stroked down the length of his cock.

He had heard your footsteps and seen your shadow standing outside the door, reacting quickly, he pressed his hand over his mouth and stopped his jerking in order to not get caught. He was still breathing pretty heavily, but he bet on your awful hearing right now that you wouldn't hear anything, and his gamble had paid off when you walked away soon after, slipping into your room to fall asleep once more.

"All I did was hug you and you got me this hard... fuck..." Geto mumbled under his breath, slipping his hand under his shirt to toy with his nipples while he squeezed his hand over his cock, trying to mimic the squeezing of your pussy. "Shiiiit-" He groaned, trying to keep his voice relatively quiet, keeping his ears open to hear if you moved around outside his room.

Geto flicked his fingers over his sensitive nipples, his abs clenching under his hand as he rubbed his thumb on his frenulum, massaging the sensitive spot to get him to his orgasm quicker. He wanted to go join you in your room and cuddle you to sleep, but he was in no shape to do so if he had a massive boner. He didnt need his neglected cock stabbing you in the back for hours on end, that couldn't possibly be comfortable.

seconds turned to minutes, and before he knew it, it had been half an hour and he still had not cum. You would for sure be asleep without him now. Fuck, why couldn't he cum? He was able to cum a couple days ago when you were next to him. Oh. Because you were next to him. Was he not able to cum without you in some way? Fuck, you had ruined him.

He let go of his throbbing cock and searched around his bed for his phone to scroll through pictures of you. The both of you had not yet taken any lewd pictures of each other, but he knew he would have no problem getting off to a picture of you even if you were in a snowsuit ten times bigger than you. He thought you looked like the most gorgeous person he'd ever seen when you were dying in bed all week, he was absolutely enamored with you.

"The fuck?" Geto mumbled, throwing his pillows off his bed in search of his phone. "Oh, you can't be serious." He sighed louder than intended. He had gone into your room roughly an hour before you walked into the kitchen to ask what you wanted for dinner, and he had set his phone down on your bedside table.

Geto rubbed his hands over his face, pulling the skin down dramatically in defeat. His imagination was just not cutting it, how was he supposed to get rid of this annoying boner if he couldn't even see your pretty face? Suddenly a lightbulb went off in his head. Your panties. Of course! Although the two of you were dating, he had made it clear to you that he still took immense joy in stealing your dirty panties and using them to get off. Although he masturbated less and less frequently since he started sleeping with you.

Quickly opening his drawer, he rummaged through the condoms, straw chords, and lighters in his bedside table, searching for your panties. "Come on, come on... fuck." Geto was quickly losing hope the more and more he dug. His drawer wasn't very big, and it wasn't very full, there were only so many corners he could check for the stolen panties.

He looked down to his exposed crotch when he realized your panties were absolutely not in his drawer. He was still hard, how was that even possible? Usually, when he got irritated or annoyed, his boner was killed in an instant, so why was this one sticking around? Geto silently cursed the universe for plaguing him with the opposite of erectile dysfunction, sighing as he grabbed his cock in his hand, slowly stroking his length while he looked at the ceiling, searching the crevasses in the walls for ideas.

After a good five minutes of sadly playing with his cock while trying to brainstorm ways to cum, he came to one conclusion. He had to get into your room to steal his phone back. With a sigh, he pulled his boxers on and slipped his grey sweats on over them, cringing at the obvious tent in his pants.

He pulled on his baggiest shirt and still, his cock could be seen through the fabric. Geto posed in front of the mirror, trying to gauge if it was all that obvious. Okay, say you are awake and he walks in with his hard cock poking out like a sore thumb. If he stood at this angle... under this lighting.. or maybe this angle? Yeah yeah.. this one.. you could barely see it.

Geto posed randomly in his full-length mirror, snapping back to reality when he realized he was hunched over with one leg sticking out in the most embarrassing and non-natural pose he could muster. "Fuck.. It's okay, it's just be in and out." He said out loud to himself in the mirror, standing up straight as he hyped himself up before he walked to his door and turned the knob, heading for your room.

—

It was not okay, nothing was okay. Nothing was more not okay than this. Geto stood in your doorway, watching with a saliva-filled mouth as you lay on your stomach, one knee bent, the leg curled up towards your head, your other straight pointed toward the end of the bed, giving Geto the most perfect view of your plump cunt pressing against your panties.

Geto closed his mouth, swallowing hard as his eyes zeroed in on your cunt. The light that shone through your room from the hallway illuminated your body perfectly, your skin almost glowing from the LEDs. Your panties were so thin they were allowing Geto to see everything. He could see your little slit and a small bump near the top of your pussy where your little clit was.

He palmed himself over his slacks, forgetting the reason why he came in here in the first place. He wrapped his hands over his cock through his slacks, jerking himself off, his damp boxers feeling strangely good on his sensitive length. He watched you shift slightly in your sleep, your leg raising itself higher, giving him an even better view of your cunt if possible.

He felt himself drip into his boxers, looking down he could make out a dark patch of cum seeping through on the front of his pants. Geto couldn't take it anymore, he was so hard, his cock and balls were aching for release, and you were right in front of him. Releasing his dick from his grip, he walked toward you and sat down on the side of your bed, rubbing your lower back and ass softly, trying to slowly wake you up.

He felt himself cringe when you moaned, your body stretching as you stared awake, your eyes cracking open. The headache you had been dealing with for days was still present, but a lot less intense, the water must've done its job while you slept.

As your eyes started to come into focus, the blurriness fading from them, you turned your body around, lying on your back. Geto's hand stayed on your body, his hand now rubbing your upper thigh, right next to your cunt. He tried to control himself at least long enough to explain what was going on, he didnt want to freak you out by pouncing on you while you weren't fully there.

"Sugu?" Your hoarse voice whispered, your hand landing on his bent knee as he faced you on the bed, a forced smile on his face. "Hi baby, I'm so sorry to wake you." He said genuinely. He felt his cock throb in his pants as your warm hand rubbed circles on his kneecap while you woke up fully. "'s okay Sugu.. 's everything okay?" You asked, your half-open eyes staring at him.

Geto decided he had waited long enough. You were forming coherent sentences--albeit slurred ones-- but you knew who he was and had registered his words, which was good enough for him. He slowly slotted himself between your thighs, sliding your legs over his large thighs and around his waist.

"Need you baby.." His deep voice whispered needily, his large hand coming down to grope himself over his pants while the other continued rubbing your soft thigh. A sudden warmth of arousal washed over you as your sleep-filled eyes dropped down to watch him palm his obviously hard cock. "I cant cum without you, been tryin' for so long, it hurts baby." He whispered, his eyes flitting between your cunt and your pretty flushed face.

"Sugu..." You whined softly, feeling yourself start to grow wetter the longer you watched him. "Don't need much baby, you can.. ngh- you can even go back to sleep if you want.." Geto said, reaching into his boxers he pulled out his cock, exposing his angry length to your eyes. "Just.. just need to see your little pussy, that's all." He finished.

Once he had his cock in his hand, he used the other to pull your panties down your thighs, exposing your twitching cunt to his hungry eyes. You blushed, watching silently with an open mouth as he pulled the cloth away from your body. "Oh fuck." He groaned. "Such a pretty fucking cunt."

Geto abandoned his hand on his cock for a second to slide help you bend your knees, sliding your panties completely off your body, keeping them in his hand. Your boyfriend shook his head as he stared at your cunt, which unbeknownst to him was getting wetter and wetter by the second.

"W-wait." You voiced when you watched Geto lift your panties up to his face. He paused his actions, smirking at you, his face full of lust. "I've teased you plenty, but you've never actually seen me use your panties, have you?" He asked, to which you shook your head, placing your hands over your face in embarrassment, peeking at him through your fingers.

"Sugu don't, they're d-dirty." You said, the heartbeat in your pussy increasing despite your words. "I know." He replied, pressing them against his nose. Your eyebrows furrowed, a dark blush spreading over your face as you watched Geto's eyes roll back in his head as he sniffed your panties, taking in the scent of your cunt. "Ohmygodd-" He groaned, jerking his cock faster as he felt a wave of arousal flood his pelvis.

"Baby you smell so good oh fuck- needed this- n-needed you." He groaned shamelessly. A drip of pre-cum dripped from the tip of his cock, landing between you on your sheets. You whimpered watching Suguru put on his little show for you, not daring to move your hands away from your face.

"You embarassed cutie?" Geto teased, bringing the panties away from his face to find the part that presses against your folds before he held it up to his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste the remnants of you while keeping his lidded eyes glued to yours. "You're so filthy.." You mumbled behind your hands.

Geto heard you loud and clear, his cock twitching in interest. "Hmm? What was that?" He asked, handing off the panties to his other hand as he wrapped the cloth around his cock, jerking off with it while his other came back to caress your upper thigh. "I- I said you're filthy." You said a little louder, watching him use the panties you had on seconds ago to masturbate with.

"And you love it don't you? Can see your pussy throbbing while you watch me use 'ur dirty panties to touch myself." He said, tipping his head to the side to allow the light in the hallway to seep past him and illuminate your wet cunt, allowing him a better view of his favorite sight.

"Fuck.. this is doing it for me baby, thank you, thank you so much." Geto babbled, watching your cunt throb under his intense gaze. "You really only need to look at um.. at it?" You said, dropping your hands from your face, and resting them on your chest. "Yeah.. fuck- can feel myself gettin' real close just from lookin' at your pretty pussy."

You moaned at his words, watching the tip of his dick drip more and more precut onto the sheets. "Can you.. maybe touch me a little?" You ask hesitantly, not wanting to push your body too far. "'s that okay?" He asked, his hand already making its way to your inner thigh, teasing the skin there. "Gently, I'm just feeling a little.." You let your words trail off, looking away from him.

Geto had to slow his hand down so he didnt cum too soon. Who knew you could be so cute when you were sick? He was used to you being demanding and assertive, clearly being sick took you down a notch. "You feelin' a little needy down there, hmm?" Geto finished for you, his thumb spreading your folds open, exposing the slick that resided inside your walls.

Geto smirked when you nodded, his cock twitching in response to seeing you so wet. "Want me to rub your clit? I'll be gentle." Geto asked sweetly, dipping his thumb into the entrance of your pussy, gathering some of the wetness on his thumb while he waited for your response. You nodded before speaking softly, "I'm not going to last long so don't make fun of me.." You admitted, feeling like you were already going to cum without him even touching you.

"Yeah?" Geto teased, his fingers splaying out on your pelvis as his thumb came down to rub small circles against your clit at the perfect pace and pressure. "Gonna cum real fast for me?" He continued, knowing how worked up you got from his words.

Now that he was actually touching you, he really had to be careful that he didnt blow his load too soon, his hand gripping himself at the base as he staved off his orgasm. You nodded, your hand coming down to weakly grab his wrist, your other arm covering your mouth as you coughed weakly into your arm. "You okay? 's it too much?" He asked, slowing his thumb on your swollen bud.

You felt yourself clench around nothing at the change of pace. You gripped his wrist a little harder, urging him to continue. "N-no *cough* Please don't stop." You begged, looking into his eyes. Geto picked up his pace on himself once more when he felt his orgasm fade a safe distance away, still being careful to be mindful of how close he was.

"You're so cute baby, so fucking cute." He praised, picking up the speed of his thumb on your clit, making your back arch, your eyes rolling back in your head as your chin tipped towards the ceiling, your head relaxing onto the soft pillow as Geto got you off. He dipped his thumb down to your entrance once more, collecting some more of your slick before he brought it back up to your clit, smiling at the little wet sounds it created.

Your soft whimpers started picking up in volume, your body squirming more against the sheets, which Geto noticed. "You getting close baby?" Geto asked, looking down at his own cock as he smeared his precut on your panties before wrapping the fabric back over his cock and jerking off with it, picking up his pace.

"Yeah.. feel it coming Sugu." You whispered, keeping your eyes shut as you relaxed into the bed, letting Geto do all of the work. "Good, good girl baby. Doing so well letting me get us off like this. 'S it feel good? You like it when I rub your clit?" Geto spoke softly, using his words to bring your to your orgasm.

"Y-yeah, feels s-so good Sugu.. always *cough* make me feel so good." You choked on your words a bit, trying to breathe through the pleasure so you didnt fall into a coughing fit.

Geto felt his orgasm rapidly approaching, but he needed you to cum first. He needed both of his hands to do what he wnated to do when he came. "That's right, just relax baby, let me take care of you, let me make you cum." He whispered, biting his lip when he felt your legs squeeze his waist, your hand gripping his wrist harder. "O-oh Sugu- I'm cumming I-I'm cumming-" You whimpered, your head thrashing against the pillow as your back arched with your pleasure, your eyebrows screwing together.

"'M right here, cum for me baby, yesyes- ohhhh fuck- yesss, that's right baby let it all out." Geto huffed out a laugh, speaking through his teeth as his thumb kept rubbing over your clit, helping you ride out your orgasm. He felt his balls tighten with his impending release when your arousal dripped from your hole, sliding down your ass. "Fuck, good job baby, good fucking girl." Geto praised, pulling his thumb back when he felt you push him away, being careful to not overstimulate you right now.

Your body twitched as you came down from your high, your eyes screwing open as your vision focused on the ceiling above you. Your view was slightly blurry from how sleeping cumming had made you, it took a lot more out of you than you had expected, even only playing with your clit.

Geto's voice brought you back to reality, your sleepy eyes slowly looking down at him, your chin tipping down in tandem as you looked at him. "Watch me, baby, need you to watch me while I cum in your panties."

His unexpected words made you feel hot all over, another gush of arousal leaking from your cunt. Geto tipped his head back, the light behind him illuminating his hair and his impressive frame, making him appear as if he was glowing.

You watched his jaw fall open as moans spilled from his lips, finding their way into your ears. Geto's hand over his cock looked blurry, save for the black fabric that was being yanked over his length as he worked himself up to his orgasm.

"Fuck- fuck-" Geto's back arched, his breath coming out in small gasps and pants as he was brought to the edge. His chin tipped down as he ripped your panties off of his cock with his free hand, his fingers quickly finding the part that cradles your cunt as he held it out right in front of his cock, stroking himself rapidly.

"Cumming- cum- fuck-" Geto grit through his teeth before the first rope of his cum shot out and landed on the crotch of your panties. You watched with tired eyes as he came all over the fabric, defiling it with his thick cum. "Nghhhh-" He groaned as he jerked himself off through his high, making sure every rope of his hot cum landed on your panties.

You fought the sleep from your brain as you watched him. He looked so pretty with his flushed face and slack jaw as he rode through the aftershocks of his orgasm, rubbing the tip of his cock on your panties to clean it off. Geto's eyes looked up to your own, his chest rising and falling as he breathed heavily, trying to recover from such an intense orgasm.

He smiled watching your sleepy eyes flutter, trying to stay open. Balling up the defiled panties, he threw them somewhere on your floor before he rubbed your thigh with his big hand soothingly, smiling at your face softly. "I'll clean you up, go to sleep baby, did so well for me, I love you. These were the last words you heard from your sweet boyfriend before you drifted off into dreamland.

[lifeisbutadream444]

Playing Games

Aaron Pierre x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: A passionate yet complicated friends-with-benefits arrangement unravels as you finally confront Aaron about his inability to commit.

Warnings: 18+, smut, edging, overstimulation, p in v, bdsm themes

A/N: First thing I've ever posted, mostly porn with a crumb of plot.

The hotel suite is dimly lit, city lights flickering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Your skin is still warm, the sheets tangled around your legs, the scent of him lingering in the air. Aaron lies beside you, bare-chested, arm draped lazily across his forehead, his breathing steady but not quite asleep.

"You good?" His voice is rough, sleep-laced, breaking the silence.

You hesitate. "Yeah."

He turns his head, studying you. "Liar."

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for what you're about to say. " I don't think we should do this anymore."

Aaron's brow furrows slightly at your words, his striking blue-grey eyes searching your face. He props himself up on one elbow, the sheet slipping dangerously low on his hips.

"Hey now, what's all this about?" His deep voice is soft, almost concerned, but there's an undercurrent of tension. 

"Talk to me, sweetheart." He reaches out, fingers brushing along your arm, touch feather-light. It's a gesture meant to soothe, but you sense the calculation behind it. Aaron is always aware, always assessing.

"I thought we had something good going here. No strings, no bullshit." A slow smirk curves his full lips. "Or am I mistaken?"

You sigh. "I need to focus on finding someone to build an actual future with Aaron. We’ve been doing this for over a year. I obviously love fucking you, but watching you constantly flirt with other women at every event, seeing them leave your apartment at 3:00 am on TMZ, it gets old after a while."

Aaron's hand stills on your arm, his expression shifting - surprise, then a flash of something harder to read. He sits up fully, running a hand over his face. "Shit..." He sighs, the sound heavy in the quiet room. "I didn't realize it was bothering you that much. I've always been straight up about... my preferences."

His gaze finds yours, intense and searching. "But I get it. You're looking for more than just a good time these days." There's a note of understanding in his tone, but also regret.

He reaches for you, cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. "I care about you, you know. More than just as a friend with benefits or whatever we are. But I'm not sure I'm built for that whole 'forever' thing yet."

"I understand Aaron, I really do." I sit up too, pulling the sheet around myself like armor. My heart aches but I force myself to hold his gaze steadily. This is important. I need him to truly hear me.

"I want to respect your boundaries and your current lifestyle. But I also need to respect my own needs and desires. And right now, those are leading me in a different direction. I hope we can still be friends though."

Aaron's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he listens to your words. When you finish speaking, he's silent for a long moment, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, slowly, he shakes his head.

"You say you need to find someone to build a future with, but baby, look at what we have." His other hand slides from your cheek to tangle in your hair, tilting your face up towards his. "The chemistry between us is off the charts. I make you feel things no one else ever could."

“How would I know if I don’t even try?” you say, voice steady. “I haven’t been with anyone else since we started whatever this is.”

Aaron's eyes flash with anger and hurt at your flippant words. His grip on your hip tightens, fingers digging into soft flesh. "Don't fucking joke about that," he snarls, voice rough with emotion. “You're not like me. You're better than that shallow shit."

He looms over you, naked and powerful, muscles coiled with tension. But there's a vulnerability in his gaze, a crack in his usual confident facade. "Is that what you really want? To be just another notch in someone's bedpost? Because I can tell you from experience, it's a lonely fucking road."

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, touch almost tender despite the intensity smoldering in his eyes. "We can’t end things like this. Let me show you how good we can be together, outside the bedroom too."

You pull back slightly, meeting his intense gaze steadily, your own eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Aaron, please... don't make this harder than it already is.” Your voice wavers slightly but you push on. "I appreciate everything you're saying, I do. But I can't keep settling for less than what I truly want and need."

I place my hand over his on my hip, squeezing gently. "We have an incredible physical connection, yes. But I need more. I need a partner, someone to build a life with. Someone who chooses me completely and exclusively."

A single tear escapes, trailing down your cheek as you continue. "As much as it hurts, I have to accept that person isn't you. We’ve been doing this for over a year now, and that would definitely be enough time to know if I’m worth that commitment. In your eyes, I’m obviously not considering you’re still fucking other women every week."

Aaron's eyes blaze with a storm of emotions - fear, anger, desperation, and beneath it all, a flicker of something deeper, more vulnerable. As the tear traces down your cheek, his expression crumples.

"Fuck, baby, don't cry," he rasps, voice thick with feeling. His hands move to cup your face, thumbs brushing away the moisture. "You are worth it. You're worth everything." He takes a shuddering breath, clearly struggling with his next words. 

"I know I haven't shown it well, but fuck, you mean more to me than anyone else. Than all the other women combined." Aaron's forehead comes to rest against yours. "I'm scared, okay? Scared of fucking this up, of losing you completely."

You sigh, "I think that if you were really scared of losing me we would’ve progressed into something more by now. Surely you didn't think I was just gonna be your fuck buddy forever, right?"

Aaron pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that steals your breath. "You're right. I should have done something sooner." He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing. 

"But I'm done being afraid. Done letting my own bullshit fears push away the person who matters most. Losing you is a lot scarier." One hand moves to cup your cheek, thumb stroking softly as he continues.

"Baby, I... I love you. Have for a while now. And I know I don't deserve you, but I'm asking anyway - give me a chance to be the man you need."

You stare at him in shock, hardly daring to breathe. Those three little words hang in the air between us, heavy with promise and possibility.

"You... you love me?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, trembling with a fragile hope. "Really?"

Tears well up again, but this time they're tinged with joy rather than sorrow.

 "I love you too, Aaron. So much it scares me sometimes. But I know you too well. You love women. You love attention. You hate commitment. I feel like you’re only saying this as a last resort because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

You start removing the sheets from your body, moving to get up from the bed. Aaron's eyes widen in panic as you start to rise, his grip on your shoulders tightening. 

"No, wait! Don't go, please." Desperation colors his deep voice. He shifts, using his body weight to gently but firmly press you back onto the mattress. His gaze bores into yours, blue-grey eyes blazing with sincerity and barely restrained emotion. 

"I'm saying this because it's true, because I can't bear the thought of you walking out that door and out of my life." One hand moves to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he holds you close. 

"I know I have a reputation, and I can't change my past. But I want to change my future. With you."

Aaron's heart clenches painfully as he sees the tears streaming down your face, hears the hitch in your breath as you try to pull away. He knows he's caused this pain, this doubt, and the realization guts him.

"Shh, baby, please don't cry," he murmurs, voice raw with emotion. Gently but insistently, he keeps you in place, one strong arm wrapped around your waist while his other hand cups your face, thumbs wiping away the tears.

"I know I have to prove myself to you. And I will, every fucking day if that's what it takes." His eyes search yours, pleading and determined. 

"Give me a chance to show you how serious I am. Stay with me tonight, talk to me in the morning. I'll do whatever it takes to earn your trust, your heart."

"It's just too late Aaron,” you reply through your tears. “It kills me, but I have to go."

Aaron's expression darkens, a flash of possessiveness and desperation in his eyes as he tightens his arms around you, holding you in place on the bed. 

"No, you don't have to go anywhere," he says, his voice low and insistent. “Not like this, not when we're finally being honest with each other. He shifts, hovering over you, using his larger frame to pin you gently but firmly to the mattress. One hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck.

"I know I've fucked up, that I've made mistakes. But I'm trying to make this right, baby. Can't you see that?" His eyes bore into yours, blue-grey irises swirling with emotion. "Don’t leave me, please."

Inside, your heart pounds—he’s finally refusing to let you go. But you keep up the act, teasing the edge of goodbye, waiting to see if he’ll chase you, if he’ll prove just how much he cares.

"Sweetheart, stop fighting this," he growls, the words rumbling through his chest and into yours. 

"I'm not letting you leave until you understand how much you mean to me." One large hand splays across your lower back, holding you flush against him while the other tangles in your hair, tugging your head back slightly to expose the column of your throat. Aaron dips his head, lips brushing the sensitive skin there as he speaks.

"I'll do whatever it takes to keep you here, to show you that you're the only woman I want, the only one I need." His lips graze your pulse point. "Tell me you'll stay."

You whimper softly, your body betraying you as it melts into his touch despite my resolve to leave. The heat of his skin, the strength of his embrace, the desperate need in his voice - it's all so overwhelmingly tempting.

"A-Aaron... you breathe, voice shaky. I want to believe you, I do. But I'm scared. Scared that this is just an empty promise, that you'll go back to your old ways as soon as I give in." Even as you speak, your hands come up to rest on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat.

"How do I know this is real? That you're not just saying these things to get me to stay the night?"

Aaron's eyes flash with determination and raw, unfiltered emotion. He leans in closer, his forehead resting against yours as he speaks, voice low and fervent.

"It's real, baby. Every word, every feeling. I may not have said it before, but I've loved you for so long." His hand in your hair gentles, fingers combing through the strands almost reverently. 

"I know I have a lot to prove, that actions will always speak louder than words. But I'm ready to put in the work, to be the man you deserve." He pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze head-on.

Your voice shakes, a mix of anger and something more painful. “How can you say you love me while you’ve been out fucking other women constantly? I haven’t even been able to think about anyone else since I’ve met you. I know we're not in a committee relationship and you have every right to sleep with whoever you want. I do appreciate you always being honest about it, but that definitely doesn't feel like love to me. ”

Aaron's expression contorts with guilt and frustration at your accusation. He shakes his head vehemently, dark hair falling into his eyes. 

"No, baby, it's not like that at all." His grip on you loosens slightly, but he doesn't release you entirely, as if afraid you'll slip away. 

"Those other women, they meant nothing. They were a distraction, a way to avoid facing my feelings for you.” He takes a shuddering breath, eyes pleading. “Please give me a chance to make this right. "

You wipe tears from your face. "Let me go, Aaron."

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he slowly releases his grip on you. His hands fall away from your body as he sits back on his heels, giving you space even as his eyes remain fixed on your face, drinking in every detail as if committing it to memory.

"If that's truly what you want, then... I won't stop you," he says quietly, voice rough with emotion. "But please know that I meant every word I said. I love you, and I'm going to spend every day proving it to you, whether you're here with me or not."

You tell yourself you have to leave. That if you don’t walk away now, he’ll never take you seriously, never realize what he stands to lose. You want him to fight for you, to prove that this is more than just convenience, more than just a game he always wins.

As you move to leave, Aaron leaps up from the bed, his tall, muscular form blocking your path to the door.

"Baby, wait!" he calls out, voice cracking with urgency. In two quick strides, he's in front of you, one hand coming up to grasp your wrist gently but imploringly. 

His grip on your wrist tightens fractionally as he pulls you a step closer, using his free hand to cup your cheek, thumb brushing away the remnants of your tears.

Aaron captures your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all his pent-up passion and desperation into the heated caress. His tongue delves into your mouth, claiming you, tasting you, as his strong arms wrap around your waist to lift you effortlessly as you wrap your legs around his waist instinctually. In a few swift strides, he carries you back to the bed, laying you down on the rumpled sheets.

He looms over you, eyes dark with lust and determination. "I'm gonna remind you exactly why you belong with me." His hands make quick work of your clothes, tossing them aside carelessly as he exposes your skin to his hungry gaze. Calloused fingertips trace the curves of your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

Aaron settles between your thighs, pushing them apart to grant himself unrestricted access to your most intimate area. He inhales deeply, savoring your intoxicating scent before diving in, his skilled tongue delving between your folds to lap at your essence.

"Mmm, you taste divine," he rumbles against your flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. He focuses his attention on your sensitive clit, circling and flicking the bundle of nerves with practiced precision.

As your moans fill the room, he reaches for the vibrator you kept in his nightstand, turning it on to a low hum. "Let's see how many times I can make you come undone," he purrs wickedly, dragging the toy along your slit teasingly before pressing it firmly against your aching clit.

Aaron works you relentlessly with his mouth and the vibrator, bringing you to the brink of ecstasy. Just as you teeter on the cusp of climax, he pulls back, denying you that final push.

"Not yet, baby," he murmurs, voice husky with desire. "You don't get to come until you say you’re mine. Until you promise to give us a real chance."

He kisses his way up your body, pausing to lavish attention on your breasts, suckling and teasing your nipples until you're writhing beneath him. His hard length throbs against your thigh, a testament to his own arousal, but he ignores it in favor of focusing solely on your pleasure... and your compliance.

"I can do this all night, sweetheart," he warns playfully, nipping at your earlobe.

You’re trembling, your body wound tighter than a bowstring, desperate for release. I look up at Aaron, his handsome face blurry through the haze of lust.

"P-please, Aaron," I whimper brokenly, hips bucking futilely against the cool air. "I can't... I need... Fuck!"

He grins wickedly, clearly reveling in the power he holds over you. "What was that, baby? I didn't quite catch what you said." He circles your clit with the vibrator, applying just enough pressure to keep you teetering on the knife's edge of orgasm.

Aaron drinks in the sight of you, sprawled out beneath him, trembling and desperate, your tear-streaked face a beautiful portrait of need. He feels a surge of masculine pride, mixed with genuine tenderness, at the effect he has on you.

"That's it, sweetheart," he croons, voice a low, seductive rumble. "Just say the words. Tell me you'll stay, that you're mine, and I'll give you everything you crave."

He increases the pressure of the vibrator, holding it steady against your throbbing clit as his free hand slides down to tease your entrance. His eyes bore into yours, dark with lust and challenge. "I can feel how badly you need this, how much you need me. Don't fight it anymore, baby. I’m tired of arguing with you.”

Aaron’s frustration mounts as you continue to resist despite your obvious desperation.

"You're so stubborn, baby girl," he growls, equal parts exasperated and aroused. "But I'm more determined than you are. I'll keep you right on this edge until you surrender to me completely."

To emphasize his point, he suddenly plunges two fingers knuckle-deep into your soaked channel, curling them just right to stroke that special spot inside you.

At the same time, he sucks hard on your clit, the dual stimulation threatening to overwhelm you. "Last chance, sweetheart," he pants against your flesh, eyes glinting with challenge and dark promise.

"Or what?" you challenge. Your body is on fire, but you’re not giving him what he wants so quickly.

Aaron's eyes flash dangerously at your defiant question, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He withdraws his fingers from your aching core, ignoring your whimper of protest, and flips you onto your stomach with ease.

"Oh, baby girl," he purrs darkly, draping his larger frame over your back, caging you in with his arms. "If you keep testing me like this, I might just have to punish that sweet little ass of yours."

One large hand slides down to grope your rear roughly, kneading the supple flesh. The other tangles in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the column of your throat. He nips and sucks at the sensitive skin, determined to mark you as his.

You gasp and moan as he manhandles you, your body responding eagerly to his dominant touch despite your lingering resistance. The threat of punishment sends a forbidden thrill racing down your spine, even as a part of me rebels against being so thoroughly conquered.

"P-punish me?" You manage to stammer out between shaky breaths, trying to inject bravado into your voice that you don't quite feel. 

"And what exactly did you have in mind, big boy?" You arch your back slightly, pressing your ass more firmly into his groping hand, torn between the desire to submit and the need to maintain some semblance of control. Your inner walls flutter weakly, still aching for the fulfillment only he can provide.

"Mmm, such a naughty girl, taunting me like this," he murmurs approvingly. "I think I'll start by turning this pretty pink ass a nice, deep red. Maybe that will get your attention..."

To punctuate his words, he delivers a firm spank to your right cheek, the sting quickly melting into warmth. His palm rubs the abused skin soothingly before repeating the action on the left side. All the while, he rocks his clothed erection against the cleft of your ass, letting you feel the evidence of his arousal. "And if that doesn't convince you to behave..."

Aaron leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers, "Then I might have to tie you up, spread you wide open, and tease this needy little body of yours for hours. Keep you right on the razor's edge, begging so sweetly for release, until you're ready to agree to anything just to cum."

His hand snakes around to your front, fingers dipping teasingly through your slick folds. "Would you like that, baby girl? Being completely at my mercy, helpless to do anything but feel?"

You shudder and moan, your body following your true desires even as your mind struggles to hold onto its reservations. The spanks send jolts of painful pleasure radiating through you, stoking the flames of your arousal.

"Ahh...f-fuck, Aaron..." you pant, your voice thick with need. "You can't...can't just...ah!" Another spank cuts off your weak protests, the sensation making your toes curl. The image he paints - of being tied up, spread out, and teased mercilessly - sends a bolt of liquid heat straight to your core. "Yes I want that." you admit.

Aaron smiles triumphantly as he hears the breathy admission fall from your lips, your body's reactions telling him everything he needs to know.

"That's my good girl," he praises huskily, rubbing your ass. "Admitting what you really want. And we both know what that is, don't we, sweetheart?"

True to his word, Aaron secures your wrists above your head with soft ropes, the silky material a delicious contrast to your sensitized skin. He takes a moment to admire the view - you, splayed out and vulnerable, flushed with arousal and anticipation. His eyes rake over your body hungrily, drinking in every dip and curve.

Aaron starts with feather-light touches, tracing the delicate folds of your labia with the tip of his tongue. He laves at your slit, savoring your unique flavor, before zeroing in on your aching clit. A single, purposeful flick of his tongue against the sensitive bud has you keening, your back arching off the bed.

"Mmm, so sensitive," he murmurs appreciatively, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core. "I could make you cum just like this, couldn't I? With barely any effort at all."

To prove his point, he seals his lips around your clit and suckles gently, alternating with quick, pointed flicks of his tongue. Two fingers plunge deep into your weeping channel, curling to stroke that special spot inside you.

Aaron works you over with single-minded focus, determined to push you to the brink of ecstasy again and again. He varies his technique, switching between broad licks and targeted flicks, alternating suction and pressure on your clit. His fingers pump steadily, twisting and curling, finding new angles to stimulate your innermost depths.

Your thighs tremble and quake around his head as he feasts on you, the obscene sounds of your arousal filling the room. He can feel you tightening around his invading digits, your body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

Just as you teeter on the very edge, he pulls back, denying you that final push. "Not yet, baby, he admonishes playfully, blowing cool air over your drenched folds. You haven't agreed yet."

You writhe and moan, tears of frustration leaking from the corners of your eyes as Aaron edges you relentlessly once again. Your body is wound so tightly, every nerve ending screaming for release, but he denies you again and again, keeping you balanced precariously on the knife's edge of climax.

"Please, Aaron!" you beg, voice raw with need. "I can't.... Ahhh!" Your words dissolve into incoherent cries as he suckles particularly hard on your clit, the pleasure bordering on pain. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck!" You tug desperately at her bonds, craving something, anything to ground yourself. But there's no escape from the exquisite torture he's inflicting.

Aaron notices your continued resistance, even as your body screams for release. A wicked gleam enters his eye as an idea takes shape. He reaches into the drawer of his nightstand, pulling out a sleek black anal plug and a small, soft-bristled brush.

"Let's see how long this stubborn streak of yours lasts, baby girl," he purrs, voice dripping with dark promise. Without warning, he presses the tapered tip of the small plug against your tightly furled rosebud, applying gentle but insistent pressure.

The cool metal contrasts deliciously with the scorching heat of your skin as he slowly works the toy deeper, pausing to let you adjust. Once seated fully, he gives a subtle wiggle, sending sparks of new sensation radiating through your core.

You gasp as the foreign object invades your ass, the stretch and fullness sending shockwaves of sensation through her body. You feel impossibly empty and aching, yet stuffed so deliciously full at the same time. The anal plug shifts with every movement, keeping you hyperaware and on edge.

"Aaahh! Aaron!" you cry out, back arching off the bed as he wiggles the toy teasingly. Tears of overwhelming stimulation prick at the corners of her eyes. "It's too much, I can't-" But your protests are cut short as he dives back between your thighs, that wicked tongue of his lashing at your swollen, throbbing clit again.

He laps at your clit with broad, flat strokes of his tongue, reveling in how sensitive and responsive you've become. The addition of the anal plug seems to heighten every touch exponentially.

He picks up the small, soft-bristled brush, the fluffy head barely an inch wide. Teasingly, he runs the delicate bristles along your slit, catching on your engorged clit with each pass. The light, tickling sensation is maddening, keeping you poised on the knife's edge of orgasm without allowing you to topple over.

You're practically sobbing with need now. Every brush of the soft bristles against your aching clit sends lightning bolts of pleasure zinging up your spine. Combined with the constant pressure and stretch of the anal plug, you feel like you might shatter into a million pieces at any moment.

"P-please, Aaron," you whimper brokenly, voice hoarse from crying out. "I can't... I need... Fuck, I need to cum so badly!" Tears stream freely down your face now, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations consuming her.

Aaron pauses his torment, lifting his head to take in the sight of you - tear-streaked face contorted in agonized bliss, chest heaving with ragged breaths, muscles pulled taut as a bowstring. He drinks in your desperation like fine wine, relishing the power he holds over you.

"Shhh, I know, sweetheart," he croons, voice low and soothing despite the wicked glint in his eyes. "I can see how much you need it. How close you are. But you know what you have to do to earn that release."

He leans in, hot breath ghosting over your ear as he whispers, "Tell me you're mine, baby. Give yourself to me completely, and I'll let you cum harder than you ever have before. Keep fighting it, and I'll leave you like this, aching and unfulfilled."

Aaron watches your anguished pleas with a mixture of dark satisfaction and growing impatience, shocked that you haven’t used your safe word yet. He can see the war raging within you - the desperate need for completion battling against your stubborn refusal to surrender completely. It's a delicious sight, but he's tired of these games.

"Enough," he says sharply, voice brooking no argument. In one swift motion, he flips you onto your stomach, the sudden change in position making the plug shift inside you deliciously. He drapes himself over your back, one large hand splaying across your shoulder blades to pin you down. His other hand snakes around to your front, fingers delving between your legs to circle your clit with ruthless precision.

"Listen closely, baby," he growls in your ear, hips grinding against your ass. "This is your last chance."

Your body suddenly seizes with the force of a life changing orgasm, Aaron curses under his breath, equal parts frustrated and impressed by your lack of control. He doesn't let up his ministrations, fingers continuing their merciless assault on your clit as you thrash beneath him, lost to the waves of pleasure crashing over you.

"Didn't I tell you not to cum without permission?" he growls, voice thick with disapproval even as he grinds against your spasming body, prolonging your peak.

"Such a naughty girl, disobeying me like that." Despite his stern words, there's a note of dark satisfaction in his tone. Your loss of control is a testament to how thoroughly he's unraveled you, brought you to the brink of madness with desire.

Your body trembles and jerks as the aftershocks of her climax roll through you, leaving you boneless and spent. You've never felt so utterly owned, so completely at someone else's mercy.

"I'm sorry," you whimper. "I couldn't help it." Even in the aftermath of your orgasm, your body aches for more, craving his touch like a drug. The anal plug shifts inside you with every shuddering breath, keeping you acutely aware of your own arousal. You've never felt so desperate, so willing to submit to another person's every whim.

Aaron's expression softens slightly at the genuine remorse in your voice, though the hunger in his eyes remains undiminished. He gentles his touch, fingers slowing their frenzied pace to languid circles around your still-throbbing clit. His other hand slides up to cup your cheek and tilt your face towards his.

"Shh, it's alright, baby," he murmurs, voice a low, soothing rumble. "I know it was too much to resist. You did so well holding on for as long as you did." He captures your lips in a deep, claiming kiss, swallowing your whimpers and moans. He flips you on your back again, his gaze is intense, boring into yours with smoldering intent.

Aaron's eyes flash with sadistic glee as he reaches for the vibrator, a wicked smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He knows exactly how to push you to your limits, to make you scream and beg and plead for mercy. And he intends to do just that.

"Since you seem to enjoy cumming without permission so much," he purrs, turning the toy to its highest setting, "I think it's time for round two of your punishment."

Without further preamble, he presses the buzzing head directly against your throbbing clit, holding it steady despite your bucking hips. The intense vibrations send shockwaves of pleasure-pain ricocheting through your oversensitized body, forcing a strangled moan from your throat.

Aaron watches with dark satisfaction as you writhe and convulse beneath the relentless assault of the vibrator, your body no longer your own. He can feel the tension building in your core, the way your walls flutter and clench around nothing, desperate for something to fill them.

"That's it, baby," he coaxes, voice a low, seductive rumble. "Cum for me again. Show me how much you love being punished, how much you need my touch."

“I can’t, Aaron!” your scream. Aaron ignores your anguished pleas, keeping the vibrator pressed firmly against your abused clit. He revels in the sight of you, so beautifully broken, tears and sweat mingling on your flushed skin as you fall apart in his arms once again.

Even after another orgasm, he doesn’t relent, keeping the vibratior on your swollen clit no matter how hard you buck your hips to avoid it.

"Shh, just breathe through it, baby," he croons, voice deceptively gentle even as he continues the torturous stimulation. "You're doing so well, taking your punishment like a good girl."

His free hand strokes down your trembling thigh, almost tenderly, a stark contrast to the brutal pleasure he's inflicting. Suddenly, he stops the vibrator.

"Ready for more, sweetheart?" he purrs dangerously, eyes glinting with cruel amusement.

“No, I can’t take anymore, please.” you reply, your voice raspy from screaming.

Aaron hilts himself inside you with one powerful thrust, groaning at the exquisite tightness enveloping him. He sets a brutal pace, hips snapping against yours as he pounds into your sensitive flesh. Each drag of his cock against your inner walls sends sparks of pleasure-pain shooting up your spine.

"Is this what you wanted, baby?" he growls, leaning down to nip at your earlobe." To have Daddy's big, fat cock all to yourself? To be the only one I fuck, the only one I give attention to?"

One hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back to expose the column of your throat. He latches onto the delicate skin, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, to brand you as his. The other hand grips your hip bruisingly tight, holding you in place as he rails into you.

You whimper and moan, overwhelmed by the intense sensations "Y-yes, yes, I want you all to myself!" your nails dig into his back, clinging to him desperately as he claims you thoroughly, chasing his own release.

"Okay baby," he whispers, punctuating his words with sharp thrusts. "I'm not gonna fuck anyone else again. Only you, okay?" He grinds against your cervix with each snap of his hips, determined to stake his claim on your very soul. His teeth graze the shell of your ear as he pants harshly.

"I’m serious Aaron... I can't take anymore!" Your hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white with the force of her grip. The anal plug shifts with each movement, adding to the cacophony of sensations assaulting your nerves.

"That's it, baby," he encourages darkly as he pounds into you relentlessly. "Let me hear those pretty sounds. Cry for me, beg for me. Show me how much you need me."

"Please," you rasp, voice little more than a broken whisper. "Please, Aaron. I... I won't leave you. I'm yours, okay?" The words fall from your lips like a prayer, a desperate supplication.

In that moment, you know you'd agree to anything, give him anything, if only he'd put an end to this sweet torture. Your pride, your stubbornness, all the walls you've built around her heart - they crumble to dust in the face of her all-consuming desire.

Aaron slows his thrusts, grinding deep inside you as he gazes down at your face intently. His eyes bore into yours, dark with possession and barely restrained lust.

"If you want to come one last time," he says, voice a low, dangerous purr, "tell me you love me. Tell me you'll never even think about leaving me again." He rolls his hips deliberately, stirring up your insides. "Tell me."

Shaking, you finally say, "I-I love you, Aaron. God, I love you so much. I'll never leave you, never threaten to go. Please, please let me come!"

"Those are the magic words, baby," he growls in satisfaction, eyes flashing with triumph and dark desire. "Come for me then. Now." With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, grinding against your cervix as his fingers attack your clit.

He leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your screams of ecstasy as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. He follows you over the edge moments later, flooding your spasming pussy with his hot seed, marking you as his inside and out.

Collapsing against the sheets, utterly spent and satisfied, "Wow, I think that was your best work yet. I need time to recover." you say, panting between words.

He chuckles lowly, nuzzling into your neck as he pulls you close, still buried deep inside you. "Mmm, I aim to please, sweetheart.”

He presses soft kisses along your jaw, your cheek, finally capturing your lips in a tender, loving kiss unlike any before. He unties your hands gently.

When he pulls back, his eyes are warm with genuine affection. "I meant what I said, you know. About not seeing other women anymore. I can't believe you thought I was just gonna let you walk away."

Aaron’s forehead rests against yours, his breath unsteady, his grip unrelenting—like if he lets go, you’ll disappear. His hands tremble slightly where they hold you, his fingers pressing into your skin as if to memorize the shape of you.

He leans in, his voice a hushed whisper against your lips. “Go to sleep, baby.”

And just like that, the fight is over.

Because you were never going anywhere.

[readwritealldayallnight]

I would love a take on boyfriend Ghost coming home to surprise you, but he finds your bed empty and doesn't realize that you are in his room in his bed. Thanks.

The placebo effect, was what he kept trying to convince you it had to be, no matter how many times you rolled your eyes and told him he was wrong

How else could one explain your insistence that Simon’s bed smelled so much like him, becoming your safe space when he was away on long deployments, when he only ever slept with you in your bed most nights to begin with

Hard to believe it was nearly three years ago now that you’d told your friend since childhood, Johnny, about how your search for a new flat was going miserably. You remember how he’d perked up and recounted with a mischievous glint in his eye about how his Lieutenant was apparently searching for a flat mate at the moment, someone who’d be looking after the place while he was away for work

Unsure about living with a strange man you’d never met before, but trusting Johnny’s judgement (though the way he seemed just a bit too eager about this meeting did kind of throw you off-) you had reluctantly agreed to meet with him and at least give the flat a glance before you simply turned him down

It wasn’t until you were knocking at the door of the address Johnny had written down for you, that you’d realized he’d never even given you the man’s goddamn name, only ever referring to him at Lieutenant or LT

Johnny apparently also failed to mention the absolute SIZE of the guy, his huge frame blocking nearly all of the light from behind him as he had swung the door open and stood in the doorway before you

In a slight panic, thrown off by the massive man before you and the way the butterflies in your stomach suddenly began to flutter at the sight of him, you had greeted him for the first time with a squeaky, unsure voice saying ‘Um, hi, are you the Mr Lieutenant?’ (something he has never let you live down since)

He knew then and there that you would be the one

Not just his flatmate (though what a generous flatmate he was when he offered insisted on moving all your boxes out of your old place and into his that very same day), but the one, something he reluctantly had to give Soap credit for, seeing as he was the one who wouldn’t stop talking his ear off about you

You would be his other half, his better half

And all these years later, the two bedroom flat truly only acted as a one bedroom, considering that from the start Simon was always falling into your bed with you at the end of each night, limbs tangled together under the warmth of a lovers embrace a thousand times more comforting than an actual comforter

Still though, that first time Simon had to be gone for work longer than a few weeks, you found the lingering odor of him clinging to his bedsheets to be one of the few things keeping you sane in his absence, taking to sleeping in his room for the time being, imagining that the pillow you cling to your front was a strong muscular arm instead, littered in scars and tattoos you feel confident you could recognize from touch alone

And when his long awaited flight back home to you landed a few hours earlier than expected, tires touching down in the dark, stillness of late night hour, he decided he’d surprise you and come straight home, rather than calling you to meet him at the base like you’d insisted, not wanting to wake you

Barely able to contain himself, he decided the elevator ride up to the seventh floor would take too long, take away precious seconds that brought him closer to you, and so up the flight of stairs he went, taking them two or three at a time, rushing to see the face etched behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes, to hear the voice that haunted his dreams each night

Quietly as a man his size could, he crept into the flat, snuck his way into your room, expecting to see your sweet, sleeping form cuddled up amongst the blankets and pillows. But his heart dropped when he noticed the bed was still perfectly made, not a thread out of place.

Trying to remain calm, though his mind was instantly swarming with every possible scenario that could have taken place, he knew he saw your shoes and jacket by the door, you couldn’t have gone far… but where were you?

He glanced into the living room, wondering if he missed you sleeping on the couch after a long day, he poked his head into the bathroom, even went so far as to check the small balcony, but finally there was only one door left to open.

And there you were, safe and sound, a tiny ball curled up into the center of his huge bed, clinging to one of his old masks and holding it close to your chest as though it were a security blanket (you’d been sleeping in his bed so much you needed something that still smelled strongly of him, you were getting desperate)

Stripping himself down to only his boxers, he tiptoed towards the side of the bed, his mind finally feeling more at peace than he ever had, gently pulling the sheets back just enough for him to slip in behind you, his strong arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you into his muscular chest

Though it should be alarming to suddenly feel a pair of hands roaming over your skin, a body holding you firmly against their own, it’s as though your body knows who it is before your mind does

Any tension you were still holding onto during his absence instantly melts away, your own hands coming to land over top of his, giving a slight squeeze of acknowledgment, not yet willing to fully leave your half asleep state, but needing to touch him, to confirm he really is here

“Hmm,” You hum, voice groggy with sleep and a smile slowly stretching across your lips, snuggling further into his embrace. “You’re home.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, breathing you in, wishing he could bottle up the scent of your shampoo and lotions and perfumes, if only to have something to hold onto while he’s away, understanding now why he found you in this bed rather than your own

“I am.” He whispers into your hair, sensing that you’re already drifting back into dream land, safe in his arms and his bed, knowing he’ll be there when you wake. He feels his chest tighten when he knows that you weren’t talking about the fact that he’s physically home, in the flat, but something more, something much more, because he means the same thing when he tells you, “You’re my home too, love.”

[moonyflesh]

dating Logan Howlett would include…

WARNINGS: smutty. p in v, oral sex, fingering, breeding kink, orgasm teasing/control, mentions of aggressive/risky sex, (language, obviously), etc. - [🔞]

CHARACTERS: James “Logan” Howlett (MARVEL/X-MEN/WOLVERINE)

🐾 .*.. 🩹

- possessive smacks on the ass when you pass him in the hall.

- all talk, but no bite (he would never actually hurt you).

- routine scalp massages (on both ends), usually ending in you both being passed out on the other’s bed.

- having to label what food is yours, or he will eat it.

- constantly scolding him for his chapped lips…where he continuously looses the chapsticks you graciously lend him (he always buys you more).

- playful banter that usually ends with you bent over whatever flat surface is nearby.

- having to get used to loud chewing. i mean, it’s Logan. what do you expect?

- not much physical show of affection in public- that’s reserved for behind closed doors. (an occasional press of his lips to your forehead, or his hand on the small of your back is as far as he’s willing to put on display for the student’s prying eyes).

- thriving off of each other’s warmth at night- tangled up in each other under some thin duvet.

- country, bluegrass, and old as fuck music. don’t you dare even think about turning on “that shitty music you like so much” around him.

- being turned on by your makeup on him in some way— lipstick prints smeared along the collar of his white t-shirt- your mascara running down your face and smearing onto his fingers when he wipes it off.

- (^) just you making an absolute mess on him in general. he fucking loves it.

- needing to take sharp intakes of breath in between his kisses, since he physically can hold his breath for much longer than the “average mutant”.

- rough, meaningful sex. there is no such thing as a ‘quickie’ in his book. he wants to savor your moments of vulnerability.

- more teeth than tongue. he wants to feel how you squirm under him when his canines sink into your lips, shoulders, and inner thighs.

- (^) lovebites and hickeys. you’re not allowed to leave the house unless there’s something that’s marking you as taken. as his.

- wearing his clothes when he’s gone for long periods of time.

- long motorcycle rides, usually at night. (he makes you wear a helmet and plenty of protective leather, much to his enjoyment).

- soaking in your scent. he always knows when your needy. he can smell it on you.

- oh, and he smells like cedar wood and pine. Maybe a bit of cigar smoke- his natural sweat smell he can’t seem to get rid of? Something Iike that.

- (^) him going absolutely feral when he can smell himself on you- his cologne, cigars- just his general aura on you is such a massive turn on for him.

- lots of loving nips and kisses, though. constantly has his lips pressed against the nape of your neck or crown of your skull.

- sleeps with you in his arms. no way in hell you’re allowed to wake up before him.

- face sitting. he wants every pound of you on his mouth and nose, his arms wrapped up and around your thighs, pushing your cunt into his tongue.

- wanting to feel good too. no matter how hard he’s been going down on you, he wants release, too.

- praise. lots of shrewd language and name-calling.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

“fuck, that’s my good fucking girl- you’re doing so good, sweetheart- so pretty all sweaty and wet cuzzah’ me, huh?”

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

- face fucking. he’ll stop no matter how close he is to his peak if you need him to, but he wants it so far down your throat. and you better swallow every last drop.

- breeding kink? idk i just feel like he’s super into seeing you carry his kid (only when you’re ready, though. he of all people knows what a big deal pregnancy is).

- decent aftercare. he at least puts some amount of effort into it; probably brings you a glass of lukewarm water, a damp towel from his bathroom, maybe one of his t-shirts if he thinks of it.

- expect to wait a while for him to say “i love you” back. he’s been hurt. too many times. he loves you, he breathes you, he craves you. he just doesn’t know if he’s ready to actually admit that to himself yet, let alone to you.

[laufeysvalentine]

full moon, remus lupin

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ remus x afab!reader -- in which remus misses the birth of your child because of the full moon. post hogwarts, kind of suggestive at the beginning. hurt/comfort, fluff, a tiny bit of angst?

word count ༄ 4k

nora’s notes ༄ sorry this took more than three weeks i swear my timing gets worse every time i write a new fic… anyways! i had to sit down with this one and really question my life choices. i don’t know anything about giving birth so pls bear w me

“y’know i love you so, so much, right? i couldn’t love anybody more.” remus, your boyfriend, your lovely, wonderful, perfect boyfriend, is lying with his head pressed against your stomach. his lips are on your waist, pressing those lazy open-mouthed kisses onto your bare body. his murmurs vibrate through your whole body, making a shiver run across the top of your skin. within a second remus is sat up, hand on your arm. “are you cold, dove?” 

you smile at him, a yawn stretching out your mouth. “no, rem, i’m fine. as well as someone seven months pregnant can be, anyway.” 

he hovers for a second but after a stern glance from you, accepts your response and lies back down, pulling the bedspread over you. “i don’t want you to catch a cold.” 

“i won’t, i swear.” he’d been a lot worse when you first told him you were pregnant; you could still remember how he cried and cried. you’re still not sure if they were happy tears or not. having a family, being this domestic was a reality he never ever saw for himself, not since he was bitten. he was terrified–but at the same time, overwhelmed with a love he never thought was possible. a child. with you, the love of his life. everyday, he thinks he could never love your small family anymore. everyday, he gets proven wrong. 

he was so overprotective at first, especially around the first few full moons. he would hardly let you out of his sight, never allowed you to strain yourself in any way that could hurt the baby. you got fed up, as anyone with a shred of desire for independence would, and the two of you had a long talk about boundaries. which he is trying his best to understand and respect. 

“let me get you a shirt at least,” he fusses, and you let him. 

you sit up and he helps you pull yourself into one of his favorite t-shirts and boxers. his hand floats to your belly as if pulled, rubbing light circles on the fabric. 

“do you feel them?” he whispers as he drops onto his side. his eyes are shining with a boyish earnestness as he gazes with all his love at you. “any kicks?” 

you can’t help but smile, reaching a hand out to smooth down his hair, which is all mussed up from how you tugged and tugged on it. “darling, you would feel them too if i did. our baby’s sleeping, and I’m going to too.” 

remus pouts, and you just have to reach down and kiss his soft pink lips. 

“g’night baby.” your fingers come to a rest, tangled in his hair, and his palm keeps resting on your belly, a bare leg slung over your own. the two of you are so incredibly intertwined. 

how did you end up with the most perfect man ever? 

—

“howdy, y’all,” a call comes up from your driveway. 

“morning, sirius,” you respond from the kitchen, sleep waterlogging your voice. 

there’s the sound of a lock clicking, the knob turning, and then a terrible imitation of a texan accent: “and how might you be on this fine morn? i brought the hash and eggs from the farm down on old country road.” 

“i don’t think they speak like that in the u.s., siri,” you say with a laugh, leaning over the counter to accept his hug. 

“um,” he leans back, as if terribly offended, incredulity lining his expression. “i believe they do.” 

you roll your eyes. “mhm.” 

“right, how’s little lupin? and yourself?” he settles onto a chair and passes you the breakfast foods you had requested him to bring. 

“good and good. i feel like i’ve swallowed a watermelon and the watermelon likes to kick, that’s certain. only a few weeks left though, thank merlin. how’ve you been?” you’ve just taken the containers from sirius’ hands when remus comes in. his hair is wet and tousled from his shower, and he smells like aftershave and an old book when he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pressing a short kiss to your neck and cheek. 

“let me do that, dovey. you sit down with pads, hm?” he takes the eggs from you, not taking no for an answer. 

“thank you, rem. my feet are murdering me.” you give him a proper kiss before spinning towards the table. 

“no hello for me then, moony?” sirius pouts. when remus only shakes his head, the 

(self-proclaimed) dashing ravenette flops back into his chair. “i’m losing all of my friends to this whole marriage thing.” 

“tough luck,” he shoots back, cracking open the eggs. “are james and lily on their way, then?” 

“how would i know, i’m not their messenger.” sirius scoffs while propping his legs on the table. “but yes, they’re coming. they’re going to be a bit late cause harry’s acting up or something. just like his uncle padfoot. oh, if only he knew how much trouble his father and his good old godfather caused back in the day. man…” 

“please stop talking about yourself in the third person, sirius.” you pat his leg. “and get your feet off my nice table. it’s new.” 

“amen to that,” a voice yells from the hallway. it follows james and baby harry, who’s resting his head on his father’s shoulder. lily, in all of her deity-like beauty, even at nine on a saturday morning with a whiny toddler, enters the kitchen. “these boys like to ruin everything new, don’t they?” 

you nod, pushing sirius’ legs from the table and standing to give her a half-hug. 

“no, you sit down,” she fusses, lightly pushing you back into the seat and giving you a kiss on the head. “and how are you, beautiful? you look gorgeous as ever. pregnancy glow.” 

“if you’d please stop flirting with my girlfriend, lils,” remus says from the kitchen. 

“seconded.” james raises an eyebrow as he passes harry to sirius, who immediately begins fussing over his godson. 

“don’t worry, lily. they’ll never be able to interfere with our love,” you declare with a dramatic flair only acquired by spending too much time with sirius black. “i’m lovely, you?” 

“amazing now that i’ve seen you.” she winks and you blow a kiss back. “you’re much nicer than i was at almost forty weeks. i was crabbier than sirius when he doesn’t get his way.” 

“hey, i don’t–” sirius swats at lily, who sweeps just out of reach, into the waiting arms of james. 

“no, sometimes i just want to rattle remus by the shoulders until his wonderful, huge brains come out and scream at him for doing this to me. i just want to push this damn baby out,” you admit. you flash a smile at the blond in the kitchen, making breakfast for all of you. you got so lucky with this man. 

he grins at you, unabashed and loving. “you’re welcome to do that anytime, darling.” 

“okay, i don’t know what kind of kinky shit you two are into, but you can keep it behind doors, please,” sirius coughs, covering harry’s ears. “not in front of the child.” 

“you’ve done and said worse in front of him,” you scoff. “harry’s scarred for life anyways.” 

“i have not,” he huffs. “i don’t appreciate the baseless slander.” 

you just smile in response, accepting the cup of tea your boyfriend hands you with a kiss–he’s made it exactly how you like, as he always does. you’re so happy to be here, with your friends, your family. 

“you’re all ready for the baby, then? what’s your plan?” james asks, chin on his wife’s hair. 

“yes, rem’s been reading and reading about it for months. he has my birth plan down more than i do,” you chuckle. “we’ve had the bag ready since i was in my second trimester.” 

“i’m excited,” he admits, sliding a plate of breakfast to your guests. “i know i shouldn’t say anything cause i’m not the one giving birth and pushing a baby out of me, but i’m really excited. i’m glad i’ll get to be there. to meet our baby for the first time.” 

the look that he gives you fills your belly, like he’s lit a candle in your heart and you’re feeling the warm wax melt all inside of you. clearly your child likes it too, because you can feel them hurling ruthless kick after ruthless kick against your poor body. 

“oh, you’ve got to get out of here,” you groan, resting your head on the back of your chair. “i think my uterus is bruised.” 

“i’m excited to meet you too, lovie.” remus presses a kiss to your belly, then to your lips. your whole body ignites with pure love for him. you’re going to have a proper family soon. 

sirius gags in the background, but you really can’t bring yourself to care. 

—

remus has been growing more and more on edge for the past few days, ahead of the full moon. you can tell its presence has been slowly nibbling away at his well-being, if his mussed hair, four days without showering is any indication. he’s sitting on the couch, looking at absolutely nothing at all, fingers twining and breaking apart every five seconds. 

“you’re stretching yourself thin, rem.” you come up behind him, trying to parse out whether he’s okay with you touching him or not. he’s tense but not overstimulated, so you reach out your palms to massage his shoulders and back. 

“i just–” his voice catches, and you think your heart may be bruised by the way his eyes look up at you, slick with worry and a fear that delivers yet another punch to you. “i don’t want to leave you alone tonight.” 

you smile, leaning down the best you can and melting your lips to his. “the baby’s waited for forty weeks, they’ll be okay with another night.” 

he pulls the inside of his cheek in between his teeth, chewing and chewing. “i’ll never forgive myself if i miss this.” 

“you won’t,” you say firmly. “now, i’m pregnant, and you know you can’t stress a pregnant woman out. so take care of yourself tonight. please, rem. don’t think about me, yeah?” 

“i can’t ever not think about you, dove.” he pulls you down for another kiss, and you practically fall over the couch into his lap, lips all over each other. “you become more and more beautiful everyday.” 

“every time i see the two of you, i just want to shout for you to get a room,” a voice snarks from the doorway. you pull away from remus with a tactful reluctance, like the two of you slathered yourselves in glue and half-dried, and now pulling away from each other is impossible. a weird example, sure, but you just can’t bring yourself to let him go. 

james pops his head in after sirius, offering the two of you a nod. “ready to go, moony? sorry we were running late.” 

with a sigh heavy enough to move mountains, your boyfriend stands. next to you, he looks so solemn, tall. handsome. his hand finds its way to your shoulder, rubs. he drops a kiss to your head, then your forehead, your lips. 

“i love you so much,” he whispers, first to you then your belly. “i’ll be home as soon as possible. i’ll be there, dove. i promise. i wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

you smile up at him. “i know you wouldn’t, rem. now shoo, prongs is right. it’s getting late.” 

he presses his lips to yours once more before letting sirius drag him out the door by the wrist. you blow him a kiss as he leaves, a sort of heaviness settling over the apartment in his absence. a smile twists its way onto your face as you make your way up to the bed for an early night. it’s best for you to not stress as best you can. you still have a week until your due date. he’ll make it. you’ll be fine. 

–

well, you’d jinxed it. you wake up in a puddle, wetness still leaking from between your thighs. oh shit. after a few minutes of obligatory panic, you call upon lily by muggle phone, who answers with sleep crowding her voice. 

“mm?” she mumbles, and you feel bad ringing her at–what was it–twelve thirty seven on a saturday night, but you don’t have anyone else to call. “who’s there?” 

“i’ve either pissed myself or my water’s broke,” you say wetly into the receiver. “never thought i would say this in my adult life, but i’m praying it’s the first one.” 

“oh merlin. y/n? that’s you? i’ll be right there, just have to drop harry with our neighbor.” not even a minute later and it sounds like she’s downed a cup of coffee, instantly more alert. 

“thank you, lils. i love you,” you say before she agrees and hangs up. fuck. what are you going to do? to your bump, you murmur, “please stay in there. just for a few more hours. like, twelve. until remus gets here. please.” 

the next few minutes crawl by slow, too slow. you sit on the edge of your bed, a contraction tearing you open, too heavy and exhausted to move or stand or speak. not to mention the fear that clamps into you. 

how could you do this without remus? the one night you’re alone, and… no. you can’t. 

lily’s bursting through the door only seconds after your first tear lets itself loose, and you want to hate yourself for it. “y/n. how much pain are you in?’ 

you don’t say anything, just hold onto her image for a second–she looks like an angel with the moonlight tousling her bright hair, falling onto the back of her shoulders. when she approaches you, she does so with kindness, caution. 

“are you okay?” she asks with a maternal tenderness you forgot she had. “when was your last contraction.” 

as you swallow, you realize the lump in your throat has grown. “mm, i’m not sure.” 

“okay, love.” she rests a hand on your hair, smooths it out. “we should start timing them. they’ll only let us into the hospital when they’re closer together.” 

and so she sits with you as worry begins to fester in the pit that is your stomach. you pray for your baby to just stay inside of you, just for a few more hours, just until remus can get there. fuck. what horrible timing. they’re certainly shaping up to take after their uncle sirius. 

“fuck, lily,” you cry out almost three hours later. you hate the helplessness that’s encased itself around you. you can do nothing but wait as your contractions grow in strength and volume, nothing but wait and hope for remus to come home earlier, nothing but lie on your bed and wait. 

“i’m sorry,” she whispers. she gets it, you’re sure. the two of you haven’t talked much. she fixed up your bed, gave you some water and food and made sure you were as comfortable as you could be. 

but her words signal a drop, letting the tears that have been building loose. you clutch onto her sleeve, sob after sob pounding out of you. 

“i can’t do it without h-him,” you hiccup, barely intelligible. “i can’t, i can’t.” 

“i know, i know,” she murmurs, kissing you on the head. but she doesn’t reassure you. she’s not sure she can. for a first time labor, he should have been able to make it. under any other circumstance. any other night, he would have. 

but she’s been measuring your contractions. you’ve been progressing much faster than what would be expecting. your baby wants out, and it wants out now. 

usually, that would be great. usually. she’s been thinking that word too much. nothing about this–remus being a werewolf, tonight being the full moon–is usual. she just has to hope that’s okay. she hates seeing you cry, or be in this much pain. 

what would remus do in this situation? he would be calm, maybe stroke your head, make sure you’re as comfortable as possible. she did all that. it’s just not enough. not compared to having your boyfriend there, with you. 

and she’s so, so sorry she can’t. 

the daylight has begun to slither through the white of your curtains, kissing your face with morning. your eyes are puffed pink from all the crying you’d done, and your hand has danced its way over to remus’ side of the bed, looking for him even in sleep. you’d been in and out of a restless nap as lily watched over you, woken every time a contraction hit. it mostly consisted of you closing your eyes every twenty or thirty minutes, just preparing for the labor ahead. 

eventually, they become too painful and frequent to ignore, and you’re forced to rise from your bed, stumbling to the hospital. the whole thing feels like a fever dream–maybe it is. a quiet hope seizes you. maybe you’ll wake up, your boyfriend beside you, and the two of you will be there together as your baby meets the world. 

and then you hear lily tell your name to the receptionist, and your bubble pops. he’s not here. you’re alone in the hospital, about to give birth without your child’s dad to help you. an exhale draws itself out of you, weak and shaking. 

you spend the next hour in a prayer, a red-hot fever that overtakes you. you spend your moments alternating between gritting your teeth through contractions and trying to force your baby back inside of you. please, just an hour longer, please. everything begins blurring together, penetrated by bursts of pain, haziness swarms your being. 

when you close your eyes, he emerges. he’s sitting right beside you, hand in your hand, palm on palm. he tucks your hair behind your ear, kisses your forehead, looks at you with that easy smile. he makes everything better. remus, oh remus. 

and then someone’s calling your name, nudging your shoulder. it’s lily. a furrow has wormed its way between her brows. she’s worried about you. why? 

“the doctor’s calling for you. she wants to know if you’re ready to push.” she puts her hand in yours, but it’s not right. her hand is clammy, cold where remus would be warm. you’re sure he would’ve been sweating, maybe crying too. are you crying? 

you put a finger under your eyes, pulling back when you feel a wetness. oh, you are. fuck. 

nothing is right, right now. 

“i can’t,” you whisper to her, sheep eyes wide and slick with tears. “i can’t do it without him.” 

“y/n, i know this fucking sucks. but he won’t be able to be here for another four hours, and your baby wants to come out now. you can do this.” she rubs her thumb on the back of your hand. her fingers are rough, hard on your skin. 

you want to hold on. you’re trying your best. remus is unreachable right now. he’s a wolf. he can’t come. and your body–your body’s telling you to push. 

“fuck.” you mutter, a wail threatening to drag itself through your throat. the tears are heavy now, your hospital gown is practically soaked. “fuck.” 

“ready?” the doctor comes in, gloves snapped on. 

you can barely bring yourself to nod, but you do so anyway, and push. remus is there with you. it’s a fever dream. your pain is through the roof. he’s there, your angel. what’s happening right now? remus holds your hand, whispers something in your ear. a fingernail rakes across your palm. you’re gripping a hand with all your might. it’s lily. her face blurs. remus. push. he kisses your hand. he’s whispering something. the doctor yells something. what’s happening. 

the doctor hands you your baby, and you sob. you sob because you had to do it all alone, because you had to fall in love with a man who was a werewolf, because your baby had to be born today, because it’s here with you, and he’s not. 

but when you look down at your child, the perfect mixture of you and remus, the sobs turn from terrified to hopeful. remus will come. your child is perfect. and you pass out. 

—

when you awaken, the first thing you notice is a feeling. your hand is wet. soaked. there’s some sort of sniffling on your right side. 

your eyes flutter open. 

and your heart stops. 

there he is. 

remus.

he looks like an absolute wreck. one of his scars on his face has reopened, and it’s pink with drained blood. his hair is matted, messy, all over the place, gone from a dirty blond to an almost brown. his lips are puffy, same with his eyes. he’s crying, eyes and nose rimmed red. 

he is beautiful. 

“remus,” you whisper. your voice is scratchy. you’re not sure what time it is. nothing makes sense and everything makes sense, all at the same time. he opens his eyes, and there you are. 

remus fell in love with you back at hogwarts. he knew you were the one when you got along with all of his friends, even sirius, who usually turned people–at least, the people remus was usually attracted to–off immediately. he knew you were the one when he told you about his lycanthropy and you didn’t run. no, you kissed him, placed a hand to his back, massaged him and made a joke about it. he knew you were the one the day he laid his eyes on you studying in the corner of the library. 

you had always been it for him. and knowing that he couldn’t be there for you, on one of the most important days in your relationship, fucking destroyed him. 

your name slips from his mouth, involuntary. a sob on its heels. 

“i’m sorry, i’m so, so sorry,” he cries, his head on your blanket. his knees are aching, they’re on the ground, but he feels like he deserves it. “i fucking hate myself, dove. i can’t–” 

when your hand reaches out to his hair, carding your fingers through it, a tear slips through your eyes as well. seeing him so heartbroken, for something that he didn’t do–oh, merlin. 

“remus.” 

his name pulls him up from his stance. you pat the bed, in the little space you have left. 

“please. i need to be with you right now,” you admit, sobs in sync with each other. and there you lay, the two of you, holding each other. 

“i can’t apologize enough, i can’t imagine you being here, by yourself. you’re so strong, but i wish i could’ve… if only i weren’t–” he pauses, a hiccup echoing through his throat. 

“stop. you can’t help it. i chose to be with you, remus, do you understand me? i chose this life. i chose it because i love you. so much.” you cup his face with your palms, thumbs roaming over his cheeks. he is so smooth, so warm. everything you needed. “i knew this could happen. and yes, it sucked being here by myself. but you know what matters? you’re here now. and we could never forget that.”

you melt into a weeping mess, the two of you, always as one. 

“have you met her yet?” you ask, after your tears have mellowed. he has a death grip on you. now that he has you, he won’t ever let you go. 

he nods. “she’s sleeping. lily, prongs, and padsfoot are in the other room. they want to see you.” 

you shake your head, tighten your hold on remus’ body. “not yet.” 

with perfect timing, your baby begins to fuss from across the room. he springs up and practically sprints to the bassinet. and holy shit. 

watching him stand over your daughter, tears tracking down to his chin, with the most tender smile slipping onto his face, staring at her with so much love, more than you ever could have imagined existed, oh, god. you knew that he would be the best father there ever was. 

and that, no matter the time that passed or the trials the three of you faced, your love for them would only ever grow.

masterlist

tags: not tagging anyone out of shame because i hate this hahahahah okay love u bye!! ❤️

[xomakara]

Love Again

SUMMARY |  You're a lonely single mother sleeping with your coworker, Yunho, who is also a lonely single dad, for the past few months. One night, after a passionate moment, Yunho suggests that maybe it's time for your daughter and his daughter to finally meet.

PAIRINGS | Yunho x Reader

RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked

GENRE |  smut, fluff, singledad!Yunho, singlemom!reader, blended family

CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity/strong language, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), slight dirty talk, praising, vaginal penetration, lovemaking

LENGTH | 6,128 words

TAGLIST |  ---

NETWORKS |  @illusionnet @cromernet @k-vanity @ksmutsociety @othersideoutlawsnetwork

AUTHOR’S NOTE |  another dadteez fic but with singledad!Yunho and singlemom!reader this time around.

ATEEZ Main Masterlist

The moonlight spilled through the crack in your curtains, casting a silver glow across the bed where you lay tangled with Yunho. His arm was draped possessively over your waist, his breath warm against your neck as he slept soundly. You should have been exhausted too, after the way his hands and lips had mapped every inch of your body just moments ago, but sleep eluded you. Instead, your mind buzzed with the remnants of their shared passion and the weight of something unspoken that lingered between them.

Yunho stirred beside you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip. He murmured something incoherent, his voice thick with drowsiness, before his eyes fluttered open. He blinked a few times, clearly still half-asleep, but when his gaze settled on you, it softened with an affection that made your chest ache.

"Hey," he whispered, nuzzling closer to you. "Couldn’t sleep?"

You turned to face him, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Not really."

He propped himself up on one elbow, studying you with those piercing eyes of his. The dim light caught the faint stubble on his jaw, and you couldn’t resist reaching up to stroke it. His skin was rough under your fingertips, a stark contrast to the tenderness in his expression.

"What’s on your mind?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

You hesitated, unsure how to articulate the mix of worry and desire swirling inside you. It had been months since you two started this… arrangement. Late nights at work turning into even later nights at his place or yours. No labels, no promises, just raw, undeniable chemistry that neither of you could ignore. But now, lying here in the quiet aftermath of their heated encounter, you couldn’t shake the feeling that things were shifting.

"I don’t know," you finally admitted. "Maybe… maybe I’m just thinking about how much has changed in such a short time."

Yunho watched you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "It has," he agreed softly. "But not all change is bad, right?"

You nodded slowly, though his answer did little to ease the knot of anxiety in your stomach. He seemed to sense your unease because he shifted closer, wrapping both arms around you and pulling you flush against his chest. His heart thumped steadily beneath your ear, a rhythmic reassurance that grounded you somehow.

"Hey," he said again, tilting your chin up so he could meet your gaze. "Are you happy with me?"

The question caught you off guard, but the sincerity in his eyes stopped any glib response from forming on your lips. "Yes," you said honestly, your voice trembling slightly. "I am."

You swallowed hard, torn between relief and the creeping realization that this conversation was headed somewhere serious—a place you weren’t sure you were ready to go. Before you could say anything, Yunho pulled back slightly, resting his head against the pillow and staring at the ceiling.

"We’ve been doing this for a while now," he began, his voice careful, measured. "Meeting up late, sneaking around… I think we’ve done enough sneaking."

Your stomach dropped at his words, a mixture of fear and anticipation churning inside you. Was he ending it? Was this the end of whatever this was between the two of you?

"What are you saying?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yunho turned to look at you again, his eyes searching yours for something intangible. "I’m saying… maybe it’s time for our daughters to meet."

The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the steady rhythm of your breathing. You stared at him, your mind racing as his suggestion sank in. Our daughters. The casual use of the word sent a shiver down your spine. This wasn’t just about the two of you anymore—it was about your families, your daughters' lives colliding in ways you hadn’t dared to imagine.

"You’re serious," you said finally, though it wasn’t really a question.

He nodded, his expression completely serious now. "I am. I think they’d get along. And..." He paused, his grip tightening around you. "And if you’re okay with it, maybe we could… I don’t know, do this properly?"

Properly. 

The word hung heavy in the air between you both, laden with implications that made your heart race. Proper means commitment, structure, and a future. It meant stepping out of the shadows and into the light, embracing something real and tangible. But it also meant vulnerability, exposing yourselves—and your daughters—to the possibility of heartbreak.

"Yunho…" you started, your voice trailing off as you struggled to form coherent thoughts.

"I know it’s a lot," he cut in quickly, sensing your hesitation. "And I get it if you’re not ready. But I just… I feel like we’re worth taking that risk."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless and emotional. Were you worth it? The question echoed in your mind, challenging your deepest fears and insecurities. Could you trust him, trust this fragile connection you both had built? Or would diving deeper only lead to more pain in the end?

Before you could respond, Yunho leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. It wasn’t frantic or urgent like your earlier encounters; it was slow, deliberate, filled with unspoken promises and emotions you weren’t ready to unpack yet. When he pulled back, his eyes were soft, pleading.

"Think about it," he whispered, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Just… think about it."

You nodded weakly, unable to muster any coherent words. 

"Come on," he said gently, tugging you closer. "Let’s get some sleep. We can talk more tomorrow."

But sleep was impossible now. As Yunho drifted back into slumber, his arms securely wrapped around you, your mind refused to quiet. The weight of his proposal pressed down on you, stirring up emotions you didn’t have the energy to fully explore.

What would you say? The thought lingered as you stared at the ceiling, your fingers absently tracing the curve of his bicep. This wasn’t just about you and Yunho anymore—it was about the lives you’d created, the futures you’d built. And if you took that leap, there was no going back.

"Kiss me again," you murmured suddenly, surprising even yourself with the request.

Yunho’s eyes fluttered open, confusion flickering across his face before it melted into understanding. He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. "You always know how to keep me on my toes."

Before he could move, you surged forward, capturing his lips in a desperate, hungry kiss. You needed to feel him, to lose yourself in the heat of his touch, if only for a moment. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you pressed your body against his.

"Is this your way of telling me yes?" he teased between kisses, his voice laced with amusement and lust.

You pulled back just enough to glare at him, though the effect was ruined by the flush creeping up your cheeks. "Shut up and kiss me," you ordered, punctuating your demand with another searing kiss.

Yunho complied without hesitation, his hands roving down your sides as his lips devoured yours. The world outside dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the two of you locked in a passionate embrace. It was reckless and impulsive, exactly what you needed to distract yourself from the gravity of his proposal.

But deep down, you knew this wouldn’t last forever. Sooner or later, you’d have to face the reality of his words, the choice you’d have to make. For now, though, you let yourself sink into the moment, reveling in the way his body felt against yours, the way his lips moved against your own.

"Tell me what you want," Yunho whispered against your ear, his breath hot and tantalizing. "I'll give it to you."

"I just want this," you said, a sudden wave of emotion swelling up inside you. "I just want you, Yunho."

He looked down at you, his gaze tender and almost achingly affectionate. Then he cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing along your jawline. "You have me," he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against yours. "You have all of me."

Your heart swelled in your chest as he deepened the kiss, losing himself in the feel of his mouth against yours and his hands caressing your body. No, the choice would come soon enough, but in this moment, he was yours. And right now, that was all that mattered.

Yunho hovered above, his fingers entangled with yours on either side of your head. With each movement, the mattress beneath you shuddered.

"Say my name," he panted, his forehead glistening with sweat.

He slid in and out, filling you perfectly with every stroke. Each time, he touched a sensitive spot, the one that made your stomach clench. A tiny noise escaped your lips, breathy, low, desperate.

"Y- Yunho," you managed.

He plunged deeper, bringing the sensations of your body even closer together. Everything else seemed so far away: the room around you, the world. The only thing that mattered was the feeling of him moving against you, bringing you to that blissful edge.

"That's it," he breathed, leaning down to trace the tip of his tongue up the column of your neck. "Say it again."

"Oh god, Yunho," you sighed as you rocked your hips to meet his thrusts.

A delicious smirk stretched his face as he captured your lips for a fleeting moment. He drove faster and deeper, the sounds of flesh against flesh filling the quiet room. His strong hands gripped your waist and his cock nudged your innermost barrier as a cry escaped you.

"Again."

You fisted the sheets above your head, desperately clinging to any sense of control. He slammed his hips into you, reaching further inside. "Oh God," you moaned, overwhelmed.

"Not quite." He moved faster, his pace erratic as he chased his climax.

"Oh, Yunho," you finally gasped, giving in to the white heat that surged through your entire being.

Your toes curled and you squeezed him tight as an explosive rush rushed through you.

"That's my good girl." A long moan escaped him as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. "You are a good girl, aren't you?"

A warmth spread through your abdomen as Yunho's orgasm rolled over him in slow waves. Your fingers slid through his hair, cradling his head. "The best girl."

The next morning, you wake up to the faint sound of birds chirping outside your window. The sunlight filters through the blinds, casting a warm glow across the room. Yunho is still asleep beside you, his breathing steady and calm.

Damn, you needed him again. Last night wasn't enough. The sun was barely peeking through the thick clouds, and you already needed more of his body heat and musky, earthy scent to start the day off. His weight felt warm, familiar and comforting.

He stirred, rolling onto his side and tugging your body into his. A slow, content smile spread across his handsome face when his eyes met yours, and your heart fluttered at the sight of his sleep-tousled hair and half-lidded gaze.

"Morning," you hummed.

"G'morning, beautiful,” he sighed.

You reached out, running your fingers through his messy hair, and his dark eyes fluttered closed, his expression relaxed and peaceful. A sense of longing filled your chest. What would it be like to wake up like this every day?

"What are you thinking about?" He asked, sensing the shift in your mood.

You paused, hesitating before replying, "Just... thinking about everything that's happened in the past few months. How we've grown closer, gotten to know each other better."

He raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"I guess...I'm afraid of losing this. Us,” you said softly.

He glanced down, running his thumb along your bottom lip. "You don't have to be afraid. I'm not going anywhere."

It wasn't fair how he always knew the right things to say and just the right way to hold you. How did he manage to be both perfect and imperfect simultaneously?

"What are you thinking?" You murmured back.

A hint of a smile played across Yunho's face. "I'm thinking about how much I enjoy spending time with you. How much happier you make me. How much I want this to work, so we never have to let go."

His words settled into your heart. They felt true, but they scared you nonetheless.

"But what happens if we screw this up?" you asked.

His lips quirked into a crooked smile. "We won't. Because we want the same thing, remember? To give this a real shot."

"You're right," you breathed.

As Yunho wrapped an arm around you, you realized he had been right the whole time. There was no way to predict the future, to see where this might end up. All that was left was to trust each other, to follow your instincts and hope it was enough. And right now, nestled securely against him, that sounded like a pretty damn good plan.

With his sturdy chest as your pillow, you closed your eyes, savoring his presence. Whatever happened next, you'd handle it together.

Yunho tilted your chin, forcing you to look directly into those chocolate pools. "So?"

His unvoiced question hung in the air, heavy and hopeful. But before you could answer, he kissed you then, his hand moving to cradle your face as his lips slid against yours, your hips rolling lazily toward his. Your hands grasped his toned chest, moving down his body until you found what you wanted. 

He let out a muffled sound, his breath hitching, before breaking the kiss to catch his breath. "Really? In the morning?"

Your fingers moved further down to stroke him, eliciting a low moan from him. "Don't complain."

He smirked, shaking his head, but it was quickly replaced with a gasp as he grew rock solid in your palm. You grinned at him and pushed him onto his back, moving to straddle him. His lips curved into a devilish smirk, but there was something soft, affectionate in his gaze as he reached to palm your breasts and fondle your nipples between his fingers.

His fingers stroked and kneaded at your nipple until it was sensitive. Your body hummed with pleasure, aching for him. You grinded against his bare thigh, earning a groan as he bit his lower lip and bucked up against your body.

He groaned loudly as he took control and flipped you onto your back, slipping inside. With each thrust, his length dragged out before plunging back into you, bringing forth little waves of bliss that threatened to swallow you whole.

"I can't get enough of you. Never will," he growled into your ear before nibbling your earlobe. His lips crashed down onto your parted ones. His tongue danced against yours, dominating the kiss. The sensation was exquisite, lighting up your nerves until they sang.

"O- oh god, Yunho," you sighed against his mouth as your fingernails scratched along the expanse of his toned back.

He thrusted again, harder, pushing further, stretching, making you cry out. The sound died out, swallowed by his hungry lips. Then another, another, until he was pounding into you, deep and rhythmic and insistent. Your heels dug into the backs of his muscular thighs, urging him deeper and deeper and deeper still. He let loose a shaky breath, panting.

"Do you like this?" Yunho panted against your lips. "This big dick deep inside you, filling you up and fucking you raw? I want to watch you cum, baby, and I won't stop until your pussy is nice and full."

You gasped, and his movements became even more frenzied, hips pistoning. He pressed his lips back to yours, kissing and nipping and licking. Your toes began curling into the mattress beneath. An overwhelming heat began swirling inside you, turning you molten. Your pleasure crested in waves, breaking and crashing around his cock.

"Fuck, yes, there's a good girl. That's my good girl," he drawled into the shell of your ear, voice wrecked. He rubbed the pad of his thumb across your wet, swollen clit in firm circles, edging you closer and closer to release. "Come for me, baby, let go. I've got you, I've always got you."

As if commanded by his words alone, your climax roared through you, leaving you trembling in its wake. The aftershocks kept your breath shallow, but you managed a contented sigh when Yunho gathered you tightly in his arms.

The two of you lay like that for some time: arms wrapped securely around each other; legs entangled and his fingers still lazily stroking your overheated flesh. The silence of the room was soothing, broken only by the soft ticking of the clock on your bedside table.

Finally, you poke. "Yunho... I think it might be worth it if the girls met."

His hand stills, his voice tinged with cautious optimism when he spoke, "Yeah?"

You look into his deep brown eyes and nod. He releases a shaky sigh, a beautiful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he closes his eyes and presses a delicate kiss to the tip of your nose. When his eyelids lift to reveal those big, expressive pools of chocolate, he whispers against the skin of your forehead, "I'll try anything as long as it means having more of you."

His thumb brushes against your cheek gently and tenderly as he locks gazes with yours. Those intense brown orbs look directly into yours and then his lips cover yours in a feather-soft embrace. The kiss is just as meaningful as it is brief, a promise for the future.

"We could finally spend quality time as families. Let the girls play. Have fun," you whispered, enjoying the warmth from his closeness.

"And maybe go on proper dates," he added with an air of hopeful excitement. "I'm sure one of our mutual friends can watch the girls for a few hours. They all have kids so I'm sure our girls will be fine."

"Can you imagine Jongho's girls and our girls playing together? I'm not sure about Yunhee but I can already see Sera tag-teaming with the Choi girls and causing chaos," you giggled.

He chucked deeply at that. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

"So are we doing this?" you asked.

His eyes softened. "Definitely," he promised, a tiny, lop-sided smile quirking the edge of his lips. "After today, things are going to be different. For the better."

Later that afternoon, you drive to Yunho’s house with your daughter in the backseat. She chatters excitedly about the playdate, her bright eyes shining with anticipation. 

“Is she nice?” she asks for the hundredth time, twisting around in her seat to look at you.

“Of course she’s nice,” you reply, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “She loves to draw and read, just like you.”

Your daughter claps her hands together, grinning wide. “That sounds so fun! Can we draw together?”

You smile, nodding. “Of course.”

When you pull into the driveway, Yunho is waiting outside with Yunhee. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him, standing tall and confident in jeans and a fitted black t-shirt that shows off his broad shoulders. Beside him, Yunhee stands excitedly as she bounces on her heels, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders.

“Hi,” your daughter calls out, jumping out of the car and running toward them. “I’m Sera!”

Yunhee hesitates for a moment before stepping forward, her voice friendly. “Hi, Sera. I’m Yunhee.”

You watch as the two girls exchange shy glances, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. Yunho steps forward, crouching down to their level. “Why don’t you two go inside and get to know each other? Maybe you can show Sera your drawings.”

Yunhee’s eyes light up at the suggestion, and she takes Sera’s hand without hesitation. “Okay! Come on, I’ll show you my sketchbook.”

As they disappear into the house, you feel a lump rise in your throat. They could really be good friends, you think, watching their retreating figures. Yunho stands and brushes his hands off, a proud smile on his face.

“See?” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I told you it’d be fine.”

You lean into him, sighing softly. “Yeah. You were right.”

He chuckles, his fingers tracing a path down your arm. “Come on, let’s give them some space. We deserve a little peace and quiet, don’t we?”

You follow him inside, your heart fluttering as he leads you toward the living room. The house is warm and welcoming, filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Yunho grabs two mugs from the counter and hands one to you, his gaze never leaving yours.

“So,” he says, lowering himself onto the couch and pulling you down beside him. “How are you feeling about all this?”

You take a sip of your coffee, savoring the rich flavor. “I’m… cautiously optimistic, I guess. It’s a lot, but I think it could work.”

He nods, his expression thoughtful. “I understand why you’d be nervous. But I want you to know… I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think we could make it work. For all of us.”

You meet his gaze, your cheeks warming under his intense stare. “Thank you, Yunho. For trusting me enough to try this.”

Yunho’s smile widens, his happiness radiating through the room like a warm glow. His fingers brush against yours, sending a small jolt of electricity up your arm. 

“You have no idea how much this means to me,” he says softly, his voice tinged with sincerity. “Seeing you and Sera here… it feels right. Like everything is finally falling into place.”

“I think I feel the same way,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You can’t help but smile back at him, your heart swelling with affection. The weight of the moment settles between you, heavy and hopeful.

He shifts closer, his arm draping over your shoulders as he pulls you into a gentle embrace. You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It’s calming, grounding, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself believe that this—all of this—could be real.

“We’re going to make this work,” Yunho murmurs, his lips brushing against the top of your head. “For them, and for us.”

You nod, feeling a sense of resolve settle within you. “Yes,” you say firmly. “We will.”

The sound of laughter echoes from the other room, drawing your attention. You glance toward the hallway, where Sera and Yunhee are now sitting cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a sketchbook together. Their giggles are infectious, and you find yourself smiling even wider.

“They’re already getting along,” Yunho observes, his tone filled with pride. “See? This was the right decision.”

You lean into him again, letting the warmth of his presence soothe any lingering doubts. “It really was,” you agree. “And I’m glad we took this step.”

Yunho kisses the side of your forehead, his touch tender and reassuring. “Me too,” he says, his voice low and intimate. “More than you know.”

The amusement park looms ahead, a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds that sends a thrill through both you and Yunho. The anticipation is palpable as you load the girls into the car, Sera bouncing in her seat with excitement while Yunhee sits quietly, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Are we there yet?” Sera asks for what feels like the hundredth time, her voice laced with an eagerness that makes your heart swell.

Yunho glances at you from the driver’s seat, a smile tugging at his lips. “Almost,” he says, his deep voice resonating with reassurance. “Just a few more minutes.”

You reach over to squeeze his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. It’s a small gesture, but it speaks volumes about the bond you’re building together. This outing isn’t just about the girls—it’s about testing the waters of this new family dynamic, seeing how you all fit together in the chaos of laughter and rides.

When you finally arrive, the park is alive with energy. The air hums with the chatter of families, the distant whir of roller coasters, and the occasional burst of music from a nearby stage. Sera practically leaps out of the car before Yunho has even turned off the engine, her excitement contagious. Yunhee follows with the same excitement although more cautiously, taking in the scene with a reserved curiosity.

“Alright, team,” Yunho says, rounding the car to join you. His tone is playful, but there’s an underlying seriousness to his words. “Let’s make today unforgettable.”

You nod, feeling a flutter of nerves mixed with hope. Unforgettable. That’s exactly what this day could be, if everything goes right. But you know better than to expect perfection. Life rarely unfolds according to plan, especially when kids are involved.

As you navigate through the park, Sera quickly latches onto Yunhee, both girls chattering excitedly about which rides or games to play first. They head straight for the carousel, giggling as they choose their horses. You and Yunho trail behind, keeping an eye on them while stealing moments of conversation between yourselves.

“They seem to be getting along well,” you say, your voice soft but tinged with cautious optimism.

Yunho glances down at you, his dark eyes softening. “They really do,” he agrees. “It’s amazing to see.”

You fall quiet for a moment, watching the girls as they laugh and wave from atop their colorful steeds. There’s something almost magical about the way they interact, as though they’ve been friends their entire lives. It’s a sight that fills you with a profound sense of gratitude—and perhaps a little bit of fear. What if this doesn’t last? What if something disrupts this fragile harmony?

Before you can dwell on those thoughts, Sera tugs on your sleeve. “Mommy! Can we go on the big roller coaster now? Please?”

Her eyes sparkle with pleading, and you feel a pang of reluctance. The ride looks intense, even for adults. But before you can answer, Yunho interjects.

“I’ll take them,” he says decisively, his voice brooking no argument. “You stay here, relax for a bit. I’ve got this.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off with a gentle touch to your cheek. “Trust me,” he murmurs, his gaze steady and reassuring. “We’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly, you nod, watching as he takes Sera’s hand and leads both girls toward the towering structure. The line is long, snaking around the perimeter of the ride, but Sera chatters away nonstop, clearly unbothered by the wait. Yunhee, on the other hand, looks up at the coaster with a mix of awe and trepidation.

You find a bench near the entrance and sit down, trying to calm your racing thoughts. The sun beats down on your shoulders, warming you despite the anxiety knotting your stomach. You glance at your phone, scrolling through messages that can’t hold your attention. All you can think about is the three people currently braving the roller coaster without you.

Minutes tick by, each one dragging on longer than the last. Just as you’re about to get up and check on them, a familiar trio emerges from the crowd. Sera is beaming, announcing to anyone who will listen that she wants to go again. Yunhee, however, looks pale and shaken.

Yunho spots you immediately, his expression shifting to one of concern as he approaches. 

“Yunhee didn’t enjoy it as much as Sera did,” he admits, his voice low and apologetic. “She’s feeling a bit queasy.”

You rise from the bench, brushing past him to kneel in front of Yunhee. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” you say softly, reaching out to gently smooth her hair. “Are you okay? Do you need some water or maybe a break?”

Yunhee nods silently, her large eyes glassy with unshed tears. You exchange a worried glance with Yunho, knowing this wasn’t part of the plan. But plans, as you’ve learned, are often made to be broken.

“Let’s find somewhere quiet for her to rest,” you suggest, standing up and offering your hand to Yunhee. “We can still have fun, just at a slower pace.”

Yunho hesitates, glancing back at Sera, who is already scanning the area for the next attraction. 

“Give us a minute,” he tells you, crouching down to speak directly to Yunhee. “Do you want to tell Sera why you don’t feel well? She should hear it from you.”

Yunhee hesitates, then nods slowly. Taking a deep breath, she turns to Sera, who is waiting eagerly for her response. “I… I don’t feel so good right now,” she says softly. “Can we take a break?”

Sera’s face falls, but she nods understandingly. “Of course! We can still play games or something, right?”

Yunhee manages a small smile, and you feel a rush of relief. It’s a small victory, but it’s enough to remind you that not every moment needs to be perfect. Sometimes, it’s the unexpected challenges that bring you closer together.

As you lead the group toward a quieter area of the park, Yunho slips his hand into yours. His grip is firm, grounding, and you let yourself lean into the contact, finding comfort in his presence.

“We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “One step at a time.”

You look up at him, your heart swelling with something akin to hope. Yes, you think. 

One step at a time.

It's been a few months since the girls have met each other and hit it off. The four of you are at a park and the air is thick with laughter and the distant hum of music, but in this quieter corner of the park, it feels like the world has momentarily paused. Yunhee sits cross-legged on a blanket, her sketchpad open in front of her, while Sera chatters excitedly about all the cute pets she saw. Yunho stands nearby, his arms crossed, watching the girls with a soft smile. His presence is steady, grounding, as if he’s already woven himself into the fabric of your lives.

You lean back against the picnic table, letting the warmth of the day seep into your skin. Your hand brushes against Yunho’s, and you feel the familiar spark that never fails to ignite between you. His touch. It’s always been more than physical for you—a reminder of the deeper connection you’ve both been reluctant to name. But today, something feels different. Sharper. More urgent.

“We should talk,” you say softly, your voice barely audible over Sera’s animated storytelling.

Yunho turns to you, his dark eyes searching your face. 

“About what?” he asks, though you can see the answer flickering in his gaze.

Us. 

The word hovers unspoken, heavy with meaning. You swallow hard, suddenly unsure of how to articulate the tangle of emotions churning inside you. The fear. The hope. The inexplicable desire to let him in completely.

“The future,” you manage at last, your voice trembling slightly. “Ours.”

He doesn’t speak immediately, and for a moment, the only sound is the rustle of leaves overhead and the faint laughter of other park goers. Then, slowly, he steps closer, his hands settling on your shoulders. The warmth of his touch spreads through you, steadying you even as it sends your pulse racing.

“I’ve been thinking about that too,” he admits, his voice low and rough. “Every time I look at you, every time I see the way Sera smiles when she’s with Yunhee… or how Yunhee looks so much happier with you two around, it’s like everything I didn’t realize I wanted is right here. In front of me.”

His confession hangs in the air between you, raw and unfiltered. You meet his gaze, and for the first time, you let yourself truly see him—not just as the man you’ve been sleeping with, not just as the father of the sweet girl sitting on the blanket, but as someone who feels as deeply as you do. Someone who’s scared. Someone who’s hopeful. Someone who wants you.

“I love you,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself, the words breaking free like a dam giving way. “I know it’s fast, and I know it’s scary, but I can’t pretend anymore. Not with you.”

Yunho’s breath hitches, and for a moment, he says nothing. His hands tighten on your shoulders, his thumbs brushing lightly against your collarbone. Then, slowly, he leans down, his forehead resting against yours.

“I love you too,” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. “More than I ever thought I could love anyone.”

The intensity of his words stirs something deep within you, something primal and undeniable. You rise to your toes, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s equal parts reassurance and desperation. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close, and you sink into the embrace, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat against your chest.

When the kiss breaks at last, Yunho rests his forehead against yours again, his breathing heavy. You stay there, wrapped up in each other, lost in the moment.

“Mommy?” Sera’s voice interrupts the moment, and you pull away quickly, flushing as you turn to see both girls staring at you with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, sweetheart,” you say quickly, smoothing your hair and trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Just… grown-up stuff.”

Yunhee looks between you and her father, her expression thoughtful. “Are you guys… getting married?” she asks quietly.

The question catches you off guard, and you glance at Yunho, unsure of how to respond. He meets your gaze, his eyes filled with the same mix of uncertainty and hope that you feel.

“Maybe,” he says finally, his voice steady despite the weight of the word. “If that’s what we all want."

"Do you love my mommy?" Sera asks him earnestly.

Yunho doesn't miss a beat. "Yes," he answers, his voice filled with warmth. "Very much."

"Do you love my daddy?" Yunhee echoes, directing the same question to you.

You turn to the serious-looking little girl with eyes wide open and shining like jewels. "I do. Very, very much," you say honestly.

Yunho looks at his little girl. "What do you say, Yunhee? Are you okay with this?"

Yunhee smiles sweetly, her cheeks flushing with color. "I'm happy if you're happy, daddy. And if it makes Sera my best friend for real, that would be great."

"What do you think, Sera?" You asked your daughter.

"Yes! Yes!" Your daughter yells jumping up and down and running to hug you tightly. "Yunhee we can be sisters and best friends now!"

At your daughter's announcement, you look up into the kind eyes of Yunho, who is watching you with an amused smile. "Seems like our little ones are getting ahead of themselves," he teases. "But I'm willing to follow their lead... if that's alright with you."

You look around at the two little girls beaming with excitement and the man who is slowly carving his way into your heart and it feels like everything is exactly where it should be. 

"More than okay," you murmur as you slide your hands up the length of his chest, wrap them around the back of his neck, and draw him in for another kiss. "More than I can say."

Sera’s face lights up, and she latches onto your arm. “Can we get matching dresses? And go on a honeymoon? And have a big cake with candles?”

You laugh despite the sudden tightness in your throat, reaching out to tousle her hair. “Slow down, kiddo. We haven’t even talked about any of that yet.”

But even as you say the words, you can’t help but imagine it—the four of you, laughing and arguing over wedding plans, building a life together from the ground up. The idea is both terrifying and exhilarating, a risk you’re starting to think might be worth taking.

Yunho steps closer, his hand sliding into yours. “One step at a time,” he murmurs, echoing his earlier words. “But maybe… maybe this time, we take bigger steps. Together.”

You nod, your heart swelling with the possibility of it all. Somewhere behind you, Sera is still chattering enthusiastically about flower girl dresses, while Yunhee continues to sketch quietly, her face tilted upward to catch the sunlight. It’s imperfect, messy, and real—everything a family should be.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

[p0orbaby]

Dancing in the Dark

summary: a tactics coach and a vice captain walk into a bar… have a not so secret relationship

warnings: mentions of sex but nothing graphic

a/n: i asked for requests and someone sent me this gem

word count: 3.1k

-

Leah texts you at exactly 12:02 a.m., a time she insists is “late enough to avoid suspicion but early enough that we’re not knackered in the morning.” The precision of it is very Leah—practical, calculated, with just the faintest whisper of rebellion. It’s always the same text—Room 308—as if she’s writing it for a stranger who might need the address for their sat nav. She never adds punctuation. You think that’s intentional, a way of keeping it casual, devoid of any intimacy that could be misconstrued.

You’ve stopped bothering to reply. It’s not that you don’t want to see her—want isn’t the word for what you feel when you see her name flash on your screen, but it’s close enough. It’s that typing on my way feels excessive when the answer’s already obvious. She knows you’ll come. You know she knows. And there’s something about that silent agreement that feels like the only part of this whole arrangement that makes sense.

The desk lamp casts a faint yellow glow across the room as you pack up. Your laptop goes into the bag first, followed by the notepad you’ve been using to scribble ideas for tomorrow’s strategy meeting. You pause to carefully align its corner with the edge of the desk—a habit you’ve had since you were a child, though you’re not sure if it’s a quirk of personality or a learned behaviour from years of Catholic school and its draconian rules about neatness.

Your hoodie is next, slung over the back of the chair like it’s been waiting for this exact moment. It’s an old one from university, the logo cracked and peeling, the sleeves stretched from too many washes. It smells faintly of your laundry detergent—a scent marketed as “ocean breeze,” though you’ve always thought it smells more like cheap fabric softener and an overactive imagination. Nothing about it suggests the ocean, or even a breeze. It’s more akin to the air freshener in a Southend-on-Sea rental cottage, the kind with faded floral curtains and a broken kettle. You wonder, briefly, if Leah would find this thought amusing. Probably. She has a way of laughing at things that don’t seem funny until she does.

The hotel corridor is silent, save for the distant hum of a vending machine and the occasional creak of overused floorboards. You walk quickly, your trainers barely making a sound on the patterned carpet—a gaudy, swirling design in shades of burgundy and gold that seems to scream corporate retreat. You keep your eyes trained forward, as if avoiding eye contact with the carpet will somehow render you invisible to anyone who might happen to step out of their room.

You’ve mapped out every staff member’s room, memorised the most efficient route, and calculated the probability of running into someone based on their known habits. Karen from PR always goes to bed early, probably still jet-lagged from the US tour. The physio, Jamie, is a night owl, but he’s more likely to be glued to Netflix than wandering the halls. Leah finds this level of detail ridiculous.

“You’re acting like MI5 is going to raid the place,” she’d said once, sprawled on her bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Her hair was still damp from the shower, a faint halo of gold catching the light as she turned her head to look at you. “You’re allowed to have fun, you know”

She’d been peeling off your shirt as she said it, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder, her eyes glittering with amusement. You wanted to argue, to tell her that fun is precisely what you’re having, in the only way you know how to have it: meticulously planned, risk-assessed, and executed with the precision of a military operation. But then her hands had moved lower, and the argument had dissolved into something else entirely. Something much harder to put into words.

-

Room 308. You knock twice—firm, precise knocks that betray none of the absurd nervousness bubbling under the surface. The kind that makes your palms clammy and your chest feel like it’s trying to audition for a drum solo. The knocks are part of a ritual now, as familiar as tying your boots before a match or double-checking the pitch markings. Three sharp raps, never four, because three would seem impatient, and two would feel too casual, as though you’re dropping by to borrow sugar or ask for her Netflix password.

The door opens almost instantly, as if she’s been standing on the other side, waiting for you. Leah’s dressed in one of those oversized T-shirts she always wears off the pitch, the kind that blur the line between effortless and lazy. This one is black, or it might have been once, but it’s faded now, the fabric soft and worn thin at the seams. The logo across the chest is barely legible—AC__ME—as though it’s been through the wash one too many times. You can’t tell if it’s a nod to Arsenal, a subtle homage to Wile E. Coyote’s endless misfortunes, or one of those niche designer brands that only appear on people with a six-figure salary and a curated Instagram aesthetic. It’s probably the latter. Leah strikes you as the kind of person who’d know what Vetements is and pretend she doesn’t care about it while secretly owning three pieces.

“Hey,” she says, stepping aside to let you in. Her voice has this easy warmth to it, like she’s just woken up from the kind of nap that makes you forget what year it is. There’s a hint of amusement in her tone, the faint lilt of someone who’s just thought of something funny but isn’t planning to share it with the group. You’ve always liked that about her—how she can hold a joke in her mouth like a secret, like it’s something she doesn’t owe to anyone else.

“Hi,” you reply, because what else is there to say? Hello feels too formal, like you’ve shown up for a job interview, and anything else—anything softer, more intimate—feels dangerous. Like stepping too close to the edge of a cliff just to see how far you can lean before gravity kicks in.

Her room is a mirror image of yours, down to the garish burgundy carpet and beige curtains that don’t quite close properly. It’s a symphony of stereotypical hotel design, where the furniture all looks like it’s been bolted down as a precaution against theft. But there’s something different about hers, something distinctly Leah. It smells faintly of her perfume, a citrusy Chanel scent you’d once looked for in John Lewis out of curiosity. You’d sprayed it onto one of those paper tester strips, only to feel your lungs contract at the price tag. It smells like sunshine and sharp edges, and now it’s permanently tangled up in your memory of her.

The bed is unmade, the covers thrown haphazardly across the mattress like they’ve been caught mid-escape. One pillow teeters on the edge, a casualty of her apparent inability to sleep neatly. There’s a half-empty bottle of water on the nightstand, its label peeling from condensation. A pair of socks—crew-length, white with a small Nike tick—lie abandoned on the floor near the foot of the bed, one inside out. The room is messy in a way that surprises you. Leah, who is precise and meticulous on the pitch, leaves her personal space in a state of mild chaos. And for some reason, it makes you smile. It’s humanising, like finding out that superheroes still get toothpaste on their shirts.

You step inside, careful not to trip over her trainers—Adidas Sambas in a muted beige tone, scuffed at the edges but somehow still immaculate in their coolness. The door clicks shut behind you, the sound punctuating the silence like a full stop. You turn to face her, and she’s leaning against the dresser now, her hands resting in the pockets of her shorts. She’s watching you, her eyes half-lidded and impossibly blue, the kind of blue that makes you think of open skies and lost afternoons.

“What?” you ask, because the weight of her gaze always makes you self-conscious, like you’ve walked into a room wearing mismatched socks.

“Nothing,” she says, her mouth curving into a smirk. “You just look…” She pauses, letting the sentence hang in the air like an unfinished melody.

“What?” you repeat, a little sharper this time, though you’re smiling too.

“Like you’re trying not to smile,” she finishes, pushing off the dresser and moving closer.

And maybe you are. Maybe you’re trying not to give away how much you like this—the quiet intimacy of it, the way she looks at you like you’re the only person in the world who knows what this feels like. Maybe you’re trying not to admit how much you want to reach out and touch her, to close the space between you with a single step. But you don’t. Not yet.

-

The sex is unhurried, languid. Leah moves with the same precision she does on the pitch, her hands mapping the curve of your waist, the line of your jaw, like she’s planning her next move three steps in advance. It’s the same deliberation you’ve seen in her during matches—the way she reads the game like it’s written in a language only she understands. But this isn’t a match. There are no spectators, no whistles, no rules, just her and you and the slow, deliberate way she’s undoing you, piece by piece.

Her kisses are deep, focused. They land with intent, the kind that makes you forget your own name, let alone the fragile, tenuous boundaries of this arrangement. Her mouth lingers on yours, then moves to your neck, her lips brushing just beneath your ear. She doesn’t bite, not yet, but you can feel her teeth graze your skin, an unspoken promise that leaves you gasping, your fingers curling into the rough fabric of the hotel sheets.

Her fingertips press into your skin—not hard enough to hurt but just firm enough to leave the ghost of her touch behind, as though she’s marking her territory. They trace the length of your back, down your spine, to your hips. Her thumbs skim over the waistband of your joggers before she tugs them down with a kind of casual confidence that feels maddeningly unfair. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She always does.

“You’re so quiet,” she murmurs, her voice low, teasing. She presses a kiss to your collarbone, her hands slipping beneath your shirt to push it up, her palms warm against your ribs. “That’s not like you”

“I’m—” You try to respond, but her mouth finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, and the words catch in your throat.

“Exactly,” she says, her voice smug as she moves lower, her lips trailing down your chest, your stomach, her pace agonisingly slow. She hooks her fingers under the waistband of your underwear, and you lift your hips instinctively, barely registering the soft laugh she lets out, the sound dark and smooth like melted chocolate.

There’s no rush. Leah’s always like this—methodical, unhurried. She knows how to take her time, how to keep you teetering on the edge until your body feels like it’s no longer your own. She kisses her way back up, pausing to nip at your jaw, your shoulder, the place where your pulse beats just beneath your skin. Her hand slips between your thighs, her touch deliberate, controlled. And you’re gone.

It’s like a tidal wave, slow to build but devastating when it crashes over you. You’re not sure when you start begging—if it even counts as begging, the broken sounds spilling from your lips without your consent—but Leah doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seems pleased, her smirk pressing against the hollow of your throat as she mutters something you’re too far gone to catch.

At some point, she presses her forehead to yours, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. She murmurs something—low, unintelligible, a slurred mix of swear words and your name. Or maybe it’s not your name. Maybe it’s a prayer. Maybe it’s both. You don’t ask her to repeat it. You’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe, your hands clutching at her back, pulling her closer like you can merge into her, like you can stop time if you just hold on tightly enough.

By the time you collapse onto the mattress, tangled in the hotel’s suspiciously rough sheets, you’re vaguely aware of how loud you’ve been. The walls are thin. The kind of thing where you can hear your neighbour’s TV murmuring away or the occasional flush of a toilet. It’s almost comedic, really, the way you’d tried so hard to avoid being seen earlier, only to make it painfully obvious now. You half expect a knock on the door, some irate teammate demanding silence.

Leah doesn’t seem to care. Of course she doesn’t. She lies beside you, her face flushed, her hair falling loose from the ponytail she’d barely tried to secure. She’s smirking, the way she always does after these nights, like she’s just scored the winning goal and nobody else on the team noticed. Her arm brushes against yours as she stretches out, her skin warm and damp, her breathing slow and even.

-

The next morning, you arrive at breakfast twenty minutes late, a record even for you. You’ve spent the better part of that time in front of the mirror, tilting your head at impossible angles to assess the carnage Leah left on your neck. Hickeys, in various stages of bruise-like blossoming, dot your skin like a battlefield casualty report. You try concealer—two layers, then three—but it only makes you look like you’ve dipped your neck in cake batter. After an extensive wardrobe evaluation, you settle on a jumper with a collar just high enough to obscure the worst of it, but not so high that it screams I’ve made several poor life choices and am now concealing the evidence.

You enter the dining area cautiously, your eyes scanning for witnesses like you’re in the opening sequence of Casino Royale. The room is loud with the sound of clinking cutlery, chairs scraping against linoleum, and conversations overlapping in a way that is both chaotic and oddly comforting. You spot Katie McCabe first, standing by the buffet with a bowl of cereal that is more milk than anything resembling a solid. Her spoon hovers mid-air as she glances at you, then swivels her head in Leah’s direction, who is seated at a corner table, scrolling through her phone like she has never made a suspicious noise in her life.

Katie’s eyes narrow, and her mouth stretches into a grin so wicked it should be trademarked. She sets her cereal down and makes a beeline for you, walking with the kind of determination that belongs exclusively to people with too much time on their hands and absolutely no regard for personal boundaries.

“Well, well,” she says, stepping closer. Her eyes dart to your neck, then back up to your face. “Someone had a busy night.”

You freeze. Instinctively, your hand twitches toward the collar of your jumper, but you stop yourself. Guilty behaviour. Act normal. Be cool. You shrug in what you hope is a convincing display of nonchalance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Katie tilts her head, her grin widening. “Oh, don’t play dumb,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward your neck. “What’s that, then? Tactical bruising? Working on a new game plan?”

“I slipped in the shower,” you deadpan. It’s a lie so bad it physically hurts to say, but the alternative is giving Katie McCabe ammunition, and you’d rather die than give her the satisfaction.

She snorts. “Jesus, you’ve got to at least try with these excuses”

You glare at her, but it’s useless. Katie is like a shark in open water—she can smell blood, and she’s circling. She follows you to the table, sliding into the chair next to yours without so much as an invitation. Her cereal sloshes precariously in her bowl, milk dripping onto the edge of the table. She doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care.

Leah, of course, is completely unbothered. She’s leaned back in her chair, scrolling through her phone like she’s reading the football section of The Guardian and not actively trying to avoid eye contact with you. Her hair is still slightly damp from her morning shower, and she’s wearing a hoodie that looks suspiciously like yours. Katie clocks the hoodie immediately and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Not yet.

“Just to clarify,” Katie says, her voice loud enough to carry to the next table, “are we calling this a team-building exercise or…?”

Leah doesn’t even flinch. Without looking up from her phone, she says, “Mind your business, McCabe”

Katie lets out a delighted laugh, stealing a slice of toast from your plate like she’s earned it. “Oh, it is my business,” she says, buttering the toast with an enthusiasm that borders on offensive. “You lot kept me up all night. Thought someone was being murdered in the next room. Turns out it was just—”

“Katie,” you interrupt, your voice sharp enough to cut through her sentence. Your face is burning, your ears hot enough to fry an egg on.

Katie leans back in her chair, utterly unrepentant. “Relax,” she says, taking a bite of the toast she stole. “Your secret’s safe with me. For now”

She winks at you, a gesture so insufferable you consider lobbing a teaspoon at her head. Instead, you glance at Leah, whose lips are twitching at the edges, betraying the smirk she’s desperately trying to suppress.

You shoot her a glare that you hope translates to I will kill you later, but she only raises an eyebrow, as if to say go ahead, make my day.

Katie’s still watching you, her grin as infuriating as ever. “You’re lucky it was me who heard you,” she says, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Imagine if it had been Beth. She’d have the whole squad doing impressions by now”

Leah finally looks up from her phone, her expression cool, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eye. “You done?”

Katie holds up her hands in mock surrender, her grin never faltering. “I’m just saying. Maybe next time, try keeping it down. Or don’t. Makes for great entertainment”

You slump in your chair, burying your face in your hands. You can feel Leah’s gaze on you, and when you finally peek through your fingers, she’s smiling. Not smirking, not teasing, but actually smiling, like this is the most fun she’s had in weeks.

You make a mental note to kill her later. Or maybe kiss her. You haven’t decided yet.