#so I can try to do the other two smut ones different

[anglbunny]

FIRST TIME RIDING SUKUNA

smut mdni, hand kink, size kink, visual overstimulation

You didn’t expect it to feel this way.

You’d seen his cock already — thick, veiny, way too big for comfort — but seeing it and riding it were two completely different things. Right now, with your thighs trembling around his hips and your chest heaving from the effort of trying to take just the tip — reality was finally settling in.

He didn’t fit. Not really. Not all the way.

But Sukuna wasn’t known for patience.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice rough with a dark kind of amusement. His hands — those huge fucking hands — were gripping your waist, spanning damn near the whole thing. One twitched slightly, then forced you down an inch further. You cried out, your insides fluttering and squeezing instinctively around him. “That little pussy’s gonna stretch whether she wants to or not.”

You shook your head, fingers clawing at his chest, trying to keep some distance. “I-I can’t—! It’s too—fuck, it’s too big—!”

Sukuna laughed, deep and dangerous, his thumb brushing over your swollen clit in slow, deliberate circles that made your hips jolt involuntarily.

“Oh, you can,” he said, voice all smoke and cruelty. “You’re already halfway there. Just look.”

Your eyes snapped downward — and your stomach flipped.

Only half his cock was inside. And you already felt full, stuffed, stretched wide open. Your lips were spread around him in a taut, obscene O, slick glistening down his shaft, and he still hadn’t bottomed out. You tummy sporting a very prominent bulge from his cock.

“Shit…” you whimpered.

“You’re takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ,” he purred, almost mockingly. His fingers moved again — not just on your clit, but his other hand shifted up to your neck. Not choking, just resting there. Heavy. Possessive. Thumb brushing your throat like he could feel the noises spilling out of it.

“So damn loud already,” he grinned, cock twitching inside you. “And we haven’t even started moving.”

When he did move — when he bucked his hips just slightly, sinking another brutal inch into you — your moan turned into a strangled sob.

“Fuck—Sukuna—!”

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, voice feral. “Ride it. Scream if you need to — scream loud. Let everyone know this pussy’s mine now.”

You tried to lift your hips again, to ease the pressure, but he grabbed you again — both hands on your ass now, big fingers digging in mercilessly as he held you down and thrust up, slamming in deeper, deeper—

You screamed.

Back arched, eyes rolled back, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes as you choked on his name again and again. Your body didn’t know whether to fight it or come.

“Too big,” you sobbed, even as your cunt clenched around him. “I can’t—gonna break—”

Sukuna grinned, all teeth and filth and menace.

“Then break.”

TL: @samm1e13 @syleepy @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @yanderebluelockfan @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @valexqpt @snowsilver2000 @mitsurisupporter @meikstv @ravenbc @mihyas-dieehefrau @laslowchan @ethxrxxlity

A/N: haven't wrote for him in a while

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

Masterlist

[arachine]

the other part of me that beats for you...

— pairing: void!robert 'bob' reynolds x reader

— synopsis: your boyfriend's alternate self pays you a visit, but something's different this time...

— genre: smut, light angst, non canon-compliant (?) bc idk much about his lore

— contents: explicit sexual content, vaginal penetration, oral sex (f receiving), dub-con (not sure about this bc reader and the void have an agreement but tagging anyway just incase), creampie, overstimulation, dacryphilia, unrequited feelings

+ playlist: 'wicked games' by the weeknd, 'in this darkness' by clara la san, 'you' by majid jordan, 'china love' by janet jackson

+ note: really try to suspend your belief with this because i don't know all the specifics about his powers, nor do i care to. when you're on this blog, you're in my domain! :3

bob is an eager lover. all gangly limbs, and hurried kisses. he's inexperienced, in every sense of the word, but endearingly confident and intentional in his actions. he's usually pretty good at keeping up with you but sometimes he'll slip—for lack of a better word—into his other self, the void.

for the most part, the switch is almost seamless...almost. you see, he likes to make an entrance, switches when you're at your most vulnerable—when your eyes are rolling to the back of your skull, and your head's all fuzzy with static. he'll never announce his sudden arrival, no, makes it a game of sorts. likes to make you guess, make you feel the difference—and there is a difference. you always feel him before you see him. and the darkness that accompanies him is ever-present as usual. all-encompassing, all-consuming.

it's intimidating the first few times he slips—but you've grown accustomed to your lover's alternate self these days, though involuntarily.

slowly, you pull away, opening your eyes with the anticipation of seeing white ones staring back at you. they're the same as ever—bright, in comparison to his physical form, almost eclipse-like—yet, devoid of life. empty. soulless. you think if you stare too hard, or hold his gaze for too long, you'll dissipate into thin air. so you break away first, fiddle with a loose thread on the sheets of the bed.

time seems to flow slower in his presence. he's still staring, still scanning, like he's looking for something—anything—(you aren't quite sure what it is), but it feels inquisitive. it makes you squirm. once, twice, almost a third time, but then he finally decides that he's had his fill of ogling. turns his attention to where the both of you are connected, then flits back up to you.

you breathe out a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

"you're early," you state plainly, pushing him back by the chest with your pointer finger. the action is playful, and familiar, maybe even a little too familiar for whatever this little "relationship" is. he allows it all the same, though. lets out a smooth, airy chuckle—which is unexpected, and so unlike your past interactions. you wonder if he's growing used to you too, or if he's simply just tolerating you to reap the benefits of this unconventional arrangement of yours.

he tilts his head to the side, stays in that position for a few before answering.

"not my fault the bastard couldn't keep up," he retorts, but there's still a lightness in his tone. "he knows i have enough stamina for the both of us—knows i please you better."

a beat.

"not true," you spit, but your voice wavers, and you pray to the gods above that he didn't pick up on it. on the way your voice betrays you, on the subtle increase of your heartbeat as it thrums in excitement against your ribcage. the air feels thicker now, like it's been vacuum sealed with the two of you inside. you think you might die.

"lie," he's quick to counter, eyes squinting as if there was another one written in invisible ink on your face. "your mouth says one thing, but your body—oh, your body is so responsive."

before you can blink, he's forced himself into your space. puts his face real close to yours, so close that if you were to move even a millimeter closer, your noses would nudge (accounting for basic anatomy despite not being able to tell by looks alone). still, the swift movement is enough to throw you off kilter, and your breath catches in your throat.

"like," he drawls, a lilt in his voice. he dips his head until his mouth is aligned with your ear. "when i do this." you close your eyes in anticipation, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that sounds a lot like fear, or excitement, reimagined in song. it's like the part in a score where the instruments are in perfect synchronization. it's calm, steady, until it isn't. until it crescendos, and the instruments burst into a cacophony of beautiful, controlled chaos.

that's what it feels like when his lips meet your neck. rough, and angry, and feverish, but beautiful in the way chaos can be in the eye of a storm. he's kissing, and sucking, and grunting into your neck like he wants to consume you. eat you whole. blood, and flesh, and bones and all.

"or here?" slowly, he begins to move down, down, down. finds himself between the pastures and plains of your chests. kisses and sucks until proof of his assaults begin to sprout like flowers in bloom. you can feel him smirking against your skin in between each kiss.

you'd like to tell yourself that you aren't enjoying this, partly because it feels like a betrayal to your boyfriend, but the terrible truth is that you are—incredibly so. you have half a mind to tell him to get on with it, to do what he came to do, though you decide against it. because deep down? deep down, some selfish, sick, twisted part of you wants him to consume you. blood, and flesh, and bones and all.

his lips eventually find their way to one of your buds. he circles the flesh with his tongue, once, twice, before he begins to suck it. every nerve ending in your body buzzes with electricity at the contact. involuntarily, a whimper escapes your lips. you move to throw your hand over your mouth, but he stops it midair. pins your hand above your head and keeps it there, grip firm but gentle enough to not harm you.

there's a nasty, wet sound when he pulls off of you to speak. "told you. your body will always betray you," he says matter-of-factly, "even if your words don't." he continues his attack on your body, moving closer and closer to the place that has come to know him most intimately.

curious, you blink your eyes open hesitantly. once again, you're met with those piercing eyes. only this time, they're blown wide, the irises just barely visible. time moves slower for a second time. you count all of the seconds in between the time it takes for him to slot himself between your legs, and the moment his tongue finally meets your cunt.

and god, you swear you almost cry out. maybe you did.

he hasn't even really done anything yet, but your body's responding so obediently. it's pathetic, really. you know it is, but you can't even begin to trouble yourself with feeling all the woes and throes of embarrassment. all you can focus on is his tongue, and the obscene sounds he's making, and all the sounds your body is making. you think it's making you wetter.

until now, the void has never gone through the trouble of foreplay. partly, because he tends to show up when you and bob are in the middle of fucking; mostly, because he just doesn't see a reason for it. sex for him is purely transactional, instinctual. something to be given and to be taken.

he knows that when he's presenting, you finish regardless of the amount of effort he puts in. your pleasure is "secondary to his"—his words, of course. and for some time, it was exactly that. when his slips were a little less frequent, still, you'd fall right back into rhythm. this never-ending song and dance that the two of you keep finding yourselves in.

but now? now you're confused. even amidst your lust-filled haze, you can't help but to wonder...what's changed? when did this dynamic transition from unwilling, to kind-of-willing participants, to whatever this is? your thoughts are left to disappear into the air when he calls your name.

it startles you. he's never done that before. when your eyes meet his again, he's lifting his head to speak.

"where'd you go just now?"

your brows scrunch in response, a look of confusion settling on your face. "w-what?" is all you can say. he's stopped his ministrations, part of you is disappointed.

"it's my turn right now," he starts, "focus on me, please."

please.

it sounds like a foreign word coming from his mouth. never during any of your interactions has he used that word before. it's a little unsettling, you think. he says it, no—asks it in the most zephyr-light tone ever that it could've been mistaken for a whisper if your heart was beating any louder than it was right now.

gentle and void don't go together. they shouldn't go together. it's a contradiction to his very existence. gentle was bob, your bobby. he's good, and kind, and patient, and sensitive. light incarnate. the void? the void is crass, and unpleasant, and vile, and cruel. he's the embodiment of everything ugly in this world.

you know this, and yet—

"for a night i'd like to pretend that i'm just as deserving of your love as he is...it's my only request. can you pretend?" he queries.

there's an ache deep in your chest. it sounds like he's on the precipice of tears. unconsciously, you nod before you can even really process what he's asking of you. it's hesitant at first, then you do it again, and again, and again, like a marionette being controlled by a puppeteer.

the only thing to still your movements is his tongue when he finally dips back down to taste you. he's kissing, and sucking, and tonguing you like his very existence depends on it—and maybe it does. you always thought him and bob were so different, that he was all of the worst parts of him in physical form. but right now he doesn't feel all that unfamiliar. you see the same brokenness that you see in your boyfriend, the same hurt kid who just needed some love. the only difference between them is that one was lucky enough to get it first.

"d-don't—fuck—don't stop," you cry out, hand flying to the crown of his head, fingers threading through dark silk. he uses your words as motivation to push in deeper, tongue licking from clit to taint, each pass tilting you off your axis just a little more. the way he's licking you should be a sin, but when he adds his fingers—long, thin, and deft—you think this might actually be a religious awakening.

slowly, he forces one in. pushes it all the way to the middle knuckle, then pulls all the way out. repeats this a few more times, rubs your cunt with the flat of his hand too, before ultimately slipping back in. he's teasing you, you're sure. annoying. just as you're about to voice your irritation, he slips in two. pushes them all the way to the hilt, scissoring them slowly but deliberately as if to figure out what makes you squirm.

and he does—figure it out. rotates between scissoring his fingers and curling them. each drag is electric, each thrust intentional. he's fingering you like he's searching for something, anything. salvation? forgiveness? he's not sure, neither are you. all you can focus on is him, and his fingers, and the nasty sounds he's making while eating you out—because he asked you to.

soon, his tongue is on you again. wet, and hot, and precise. he's latched onto your clit, sucking the flesh with purpose, all the while his fingers are still thrusting deep into your core. intermittently, he'll let a groan escape his lips, followed by broken, incoherent sentences. "so sweet," "tastes good," "mine". it makes you dizzy, makes every part of your body tingle with disgust. you're...

"i'm c-close, shit, i'm gonna—!" you pulse around his fingers once, twice, before a surge of ecstasy overtakes you. you're sputtering and thrashing, and his tongue is still applying pressure, fingers still working you in. it's too much, entirely too much, but you're so dazed that all you can do is ride it out, let the tide pull you further. deeper.

"i've got you," he coos, voice syrupy sweet. he places a heavy palm on your lower abdomen while the other rubs slow, lazy circles on your clit. even amidst your post-fingering haze, you don't miss his gentle words. or the way the hand on your abdomen reaches for yours, but decides against it. lazily, you hold it out, flexing your fingers as if the gesture alone was an invitation.

a beat. another. then, hesitantly, he takes it. you flip your hands to where yours is atop his, and you trace the back of his with your thumb. for a moment, the two of you sit like this. chests rising and falling in perfect asynchronicity, breaths ragged. eventually, he pulls away, turns his head to the side as if to ponder. the sudden disinterest makes you sit up on your elbows. you wonder what he's thinking right now—feeling right now.

"where'd you go?" you mirror his words back to him. in this moment you're not teasing, no snarky remarks, or playful smirks—just genuine, raw curiosity. he sits in his silence for a bit longer, like he's trying to choose his words carefully. when he finds them, he returns his gaze to you.

"do you think you could ever...," a pause, "come to love me?" he asks, laying it all out on the table—his vulnerability. that, up until now, you weren't even sure if he was capable of such a thing. the question alone knocks the wind out of you, you sit up fully this time.

you're scared to answer truthfully. partially, because at the crux of it, this little arrangement was just that. an agreement. you couldn't have predicted this outcome, never in your wildest thoughts. this time, it's you who stills for a few moments. you know that whatever you reply with will be disappointing, but you also don't have the heart to dismiss him.

you think back to earlier, recalling the words he uttered so softly, so timidly, as if it scorched his throat just to speak them:

"can you pretend?"

finally, you nod, a small 'yes' slipping past your lips. it's all you can say in this moment—it's a lie, of course. pathetically unconvincing. you think he knows it, too. if he does, though, he doesn't say anything. he asked you to pretend tonight, and that was something you could do.

for just a night, you could pretend to make love to him, pretend to whisper sweet nothings in his ear—pretend to tell him you love him. they'd all be empty, but that's neither here nor there for right now, because when you crawl into his lap and sink down on his cock, you're embracing him like he's your person. gasping, squirming, clutching onto him like he's your tether to this reality.

inch by inch, you take him further, using his shoulders to ease yourself down until he's buried to the hilt. and when he is, you still from the intrusion. giving yourself time to adjust, you let your head fall onto his chest. from where you lay, you can hear the calm thrum of his heartbeat. it's steady, alive. sometimes you forget that this entity shares a body with your lover.

for a few seconds, neither of you move—which is unlike him, because he's never been one for patience, but right now he's cradling you. running his hands down the expanse of your back. holding you like you're porcelain. breathing you in as if to remember your scent, because who knows the next time he'll get to hold you like this. after the stunt he's pulled tonight, bob will surely try to supress him from presenting anytime soon. he doesn't blame him.

when the pain subsides, you lift your head from his chest. carefully, you give one experimental roll of your hips. you shudder, clenching involuntarily around him, and he squeezes the fat of your hips in response, accompanied by a low groan. again, you roll your hips, repeat the movement for a few before beginning to fuck yourself down on him properly.

your arms slink around his neck loosely at first, rhythm steady, methodical. every rise and fall feels electric, like the tension between two particles of the opposite charge. with every drag, you focus yourself on a new sensation, like: the grooves and ridges on his shaft, the way he's unconsciously guiding you down on his dick, the little grunts and groans he's letting slip.

it's all too much. your thighs are burning, exhaustion is creeping up on you by the second, and for once, you think you're the one who can't keep up.

"i can't—" he's already moving before you can even finish your sentence, hand skillfully holding your back while he flips your positions. your hands find his neck again, and you pull him down closer, so close that his full body weight is practically on you.

"you know, i'm just realizing this but, we've never done it in missionary before. not even me on top either. why the sudden change of heart?" you ask with a smile, voice tinged with a sprinkle of mirth and curiosity.

"didn't love you then," he says exasperatedly, "just wanted to fulfill an instinctual need." your eyes widen at the admittance. you prod again.

"when did you realize you loved me?" you ask, this time rocking your hips against him. slowly, teasing. his head droops down to the crevice of your neck, he moans. here he was trying to be vulnerable with you, something he never did, and you were teasing him. he's starting to think you're the evil one.

"i can't remember when exactly," he pulls all the way out until his cockhead is left, "but i saw the way you looked at him, you know, when i was dormant, and it made me jealous," then he pushes back in, in one hard, deliberate thrust. a guttural moan rips through you, your hands fly to his back, claw at it to ground yourself.

"yeah?" you say, voice shaky.

"yeah."

"then make love to me."

it felt cruel—asking him to do that, telling him that you could learn to love him. this whole thing was so vile, and yet, you were on cloud nine. floating somewhere up in the stratosphere, too high to come down, but too low to ignore the guilt clawing at your chest every time he touched a body part of yours with reverence. like you were something to be worshipped and kept on the top shelf, safe from things that would bring you harm.

his head is fully buried into your neck this time, he's kissing and sucking the skin as if to lay claim, as if to leave a piece of him behind. a desperate attempt to show bob that he doesn't wanna be expelled from this reality. his hips are ramming into you with purpose now, his pace increasing gradually, steadily. it feels so good, how deep inside of you he is, how the front of his pelvic bone rubs against your clit.

the room feels like it's spinning, all you can do is hold onto him. lay there and take it as he rams his hips into you, over, and over, and over. at some point, he removes himself from your embrace and sits back on his heels. his hands are cupping the front of your thighs, and he's pulling you back down onto him in slow, unhurried movements.

while he's doing so, his head tilts to the side. he's watching you inquisitively, giving you that same curious look from earlier. you notice that his eyes are blown wide again, irises almost completely overtaken by the black. it feels like you're under a microscope whenever he's looking at you like this. it would bother you under any other circumstance, but right now you can't seem to care. the way he feels inside is permeating all of your thoughts.

"beautiful," he breathes. until now, he's never once said that about you. not that he didn't find you attractive (because you were, or at least in the way he understood human standards), but because he usually liked to take you with your face buried in the pillows. he thought it helped make the act less personal, more easier for you.

but in this moment, he says it without realizing. it's more of a whisper to himself than anything. he doesn't care if you heard it or not, though, it does seem to fall on deaf ears because you don't react. you're so out of it, that the only thing you can hear is the sound of your own whimpering, and the squelches coming from your cunt.

despite how fast his hips are rocking into yours, you feel like everything's moving in slow motion. like time is slowing down for you and him, perfectly encapsulating the two of you in this moment forever. unthinking, and without pause, you pull him impossibly closer to you, encircling his head with your arms and you kiss him. it's something you've never done before, kissing his lips—convincing yourself that it was too intimate. too personal.

it starts out hesitantly, unpracticed. like the two of you are figuring out how to find a rhythm. and it makes sense, you think, because you've never properly shared a kiss. but now that you're kissing him, you realize that he and bob are truly not the same.

bob kisses you with purpose, and passion, and patience. he kisses you with a certain familiarity that is only reserved for lovers. but the void? he's kissing you with a desperation that's so sickly, it has your head spinning. he's kissing you like he's got something to prove—and maybe he does, you think.

gradually, the kiss becomes slower, and he's starting to kiss you with intent. every now and then, his tongue dips into your mouth, teeth pulling on your bottom lip. you find yourself completely melting in his embrace, both from the way he's kissing you, and his thrusts, which have become somehow even deeper. harder.

intermittently, you'll moan into his mouth. wrap your legs tighter around his middle when he hits that sweet spot that makes your back arch and your pussy clench. his thrusts are growing weaker, and your stomach is full of knots. your climax is nearing closer, and closer, and he knows it. feels it.

"waitwaitwait, i'm gonna," you stutter out, arms wrapping tighter around him. the air is so thick, and you feel dizzy. everything feels like too much, but he's relentless. now he's sitting back on his heels, repositioning your thighs and pushing your legs behind your head.

"i know," he says plainly, "so do it."

his reassurance is enough to coax your orgasm. it comes unceremoniously, and without mercy. your entire body buzzes with electricity, all the way from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. instinctually, you tug him closer to you, legs criss-crossing around his back, heels digging into his spine.

still, his thrusts persist. he's leaning forward onto you, trapping you underneath him with the entirety of his body weight. you're stuttering and babbling "i love you"s into his neck, repeating them like a mantra. hoping they'll stick, and that he'll believe them this time.

he's spewing obscenities from his mouth, burying his head into the interstice of your neck as he plunges his cock into your walls for a final time. warm, thick, white ropes of semen fill your cunt, mixing with the slick already pooled between your legs.

you drop your legs by his side and pull him closer once more. all you can hear is panting, and the sound of your heartbeats intermingling as you lay in complete silence. for a few moments, you stay like this. eyes closed, just basking in your post-coital haze, running your fingers through the strands of his hair.

until now, this type of intimacy after sex was only ever reserved for bob. but you suppose just this once it's okay. you continue your ministrations in silence for a little while longer, moving from his hair to swirling your fingertips around the skin of his back.

he leaves without warning, and part of you senses he's gone when the body atop of you begins to stir. you open your eyes to see pale skin and brown, moussey hair.

"mmm, how long was i gone this time?" he queries, voice light and airy as if he's been dreaming, "feels like it's been forever."

"oh forever, huh?" you say, cupping his cheek with your hand. "missed me that much?"

"always," he responds, though it comes out muffled when he repositions himself back into your neck. "was he nice this time?"

"mhm," you say, resting your head atop of his, "really nice." 

© arachine 2025

[zankivich]

Good Boy - Michael "Robby" Robinavich x female reader

Summary: 3.1k Post-finale fic in which Robby comes homes from the Pitt in the aftermath of the mass casualty event. The events of the day hit him all at once until you find him in a full-blown panic attack in your bathroom.

Warnings: 18+ content. angst. panic attack. soft bdsm undertones. smut, explicit content. Hand jobs as therapy. color system. comfort.

a/n: I can't believe it took a 54 year old emotionally stunted white boy with a stethoscope to pull me from the depths of fic purgatory. But a'las....for the girlies. I missed writing for sad boys.

It's the short huffy breaths that let you into what's going on.

You heard the initial thrashing as he closed the bathroom door to put space between the two of you, but that could mean anything. Could mean Robby finally hit his limit or your often smart ass mouth for the evening. Could mean the exhaustion of the shift had caught up to him. Sometimes Robby would shuffle over the threshold with the weight of the world on his shoulders, slightly catatonic until morning. He'd come out of the bathroom with water stains on his shirt and toothpaste in his beard, missing his glasses with that let you see the depths of his eyes. 

All of that would've been normal dealing with Robby. The two of you had been at this for 5 years and even still it sometimes got to be too much – just existing as humans in the world. You'd learned to listen to the signs even when you weren't asked. Let your body rest against the hallway arch closest to the bathroom for just a few minutes, just to check in. The gasping is what clued you in. You don't hesitate anymore. It's not your style. The need to be there overwhelms you every time.

He's still in his scrubs on account of he'd only gotten home from his shift a whopping 20 minutes ago. Long enough to pace around your kitchen while you got him a beer he couldn't slow down long enough to chug. The panic had been clear on his face after all. You'd should've seen it coming from a mile away. 

His back presses against the wall, his head resting shakily between his knees. He keeps trying to force the air past his lips but the rhythm is off kilter. His hands are in fists against his shins. A west gasp echoes in the stillness of the moment and before you know it you're on your knees in front of him.

"Hey. Hey Robby it's me. I'm right here."

Your fingers slide through the thinner parts of his hair at the top spiking the strands roughly in your haste for contact. He pushes into the warmth of the touch and shrugs his shoulders uncomfortably, still not getting the air he needs.

"Robby. I need you to listen to me. Do you want me to take control right now? I need you to use your words."

His chest heaves, the hiss of his lips pulling at the air audible .

"Take it. Take it, please."

And just like that the dynamic of the two of you pulses like a static shift in the air. You cup the back of his neck and pull him in close so that your words can penetrate the sinking hole he's wading in.

"Slow it down for me. I know you're scared. But follow my breaths. You're hyperventilating."

Your free hand works to unfurl one of his fists and lies his palm at the base of your throat. You practice over exaggerating your breaths, letting the rhythm pass between you. He struggles to align himself with you. It’s one good breath for every three that are shaky. 

"It's okay. You're doing so good for me. Such a good boy."

His breath hitches at the same language that typically has a much different effect on him. But now isn't the time for shenanigans, you just need him to fucking breathe. 

And he does. Slowly between chapped lips and his hand pressed firm against your chest. He breathes out, already exhausted, and the blood pulses bright beneath his skin in unevens swatches alerting you to the extent of his panic.

Robby collapses into you and the gasp of his breath is quickly replaced with sobs that come spilling out one after the other. You work to gather him up in your arms, body shifting against porcelain as you both collapse in a heap.

" it's okay. Let it all out for me okay?"

There's a subtle tilt to your voice. One only Robby would ever notice. A bit of authority and grit - enough to say, “I'm in charge right now”. So when you voice a command it is just that. The man who still struggled to voice his opinion on restaurants was left compelled to voice his own pain. Assuming of course he had any capacity at all to stop this wall from crashing down around him. If nothing else it saves him a little embarrassment, protects his pride long enough to get him through this. 

When it’s clear he’ll live to breathe another day, you reach immediately for the jacket shoved up the length of his arms, pushing at the sleeves to start to rid him of a few layers. 

“Let’s get you into the shower. Get you warm, hmm?” 

He doesn’t push nor voice enthusiasm but he does let you move his body like a rag doll. He lifts his arms over his head for you to pull at the scrub top and under shirt. There’s some creaking in his knees when he stands to let you at his bottoms and boxer briefs. You reach for his knuckles and kiss the skin there, dry from years of alcohol-based sanitizers, hand washing and chronic glove wearing. And finally he catches your eye for the first time since you walked into the room. Tears drip following the slanted slope of his nose, drifting down across curved frown lines from years of existential dread. They’re still present, collecting unevenly in the expanse of his beared as you press a kiss to his face.. Robby is tactile on his worst days. Right now, touch is the only thing keeping him from exploding all over your bathroom. 

“I need to get the shower running okay? Just give me a few seconds. ‘Gonna take care of you, I promise.” 

He sniffles and nods working his way through another gasp of air. 

The sound of the water pelting the shower floor just slightly mutes the sounds of Robby cries, though he doesn’t let up in the time it takes to remove your own sweats from a night long forgotten. Not that it matters. You'd let him cry for hours if that’s what it took. His face has found refuge in his hands and you gently pry one off long enough to lead him into the steam of the shower. 

You park him right in front of the heavy stream - letting the warm water do its magic. It gets you a soft grunt for your efforts. You reach for the scentless soap wishing more than ever you’d stuck to your feminine wiles on the use of lavender eucalyptus and lemon blossoms in the bath department. Instead you’d let the old man swap it for more sterile options that did nothing to alleviate the tension pooling in every body part. Also bathtime should be fun. Boo.

Armed with suds you aim first for his hips inching your arms around him from behind to touch at the softness of his belly. It has its intended effect, Robby arching bowed outward like a cat in need of a tummy rub. A man’s tummy is a sensitive place after all, and you wanted nothing more than to add another point of contact to the line up.

He hiccups another tear out and lets your hands sculpt across his form fingers tightening at dense muscle hardened by another day of trauma. His arm. His back. His shoulders. His body is clinging to every ounce of emotion but the dam has finally broken.

“You’re okay now.” you whisper between feather light kisses to his spine. “You’re with me. I only want to make you feel good.” 

There’s a hidden understanding between you. You both do this thing where you let all the ugly and the pain fill you up, high functioning your way through life until it eventually chokes you (sometimes literally). It always becomes too much. It’s destined from the beginning in its failure and yet here you are. And what each of you really needs is just someone to stand there and weather through the storm beside you. To seep away a little of the humiliation of feeling things you don’t want to feel.

He can’t speak yet but lets his hand cover yours against his hip. Squeezes in thanks, alarm even. It’s bad this time. How’d it get this bad again? 

“I love you, Michael.”

Anything to pull him back into his own body, back into the present with you. Even if it’s using his government name. 

Again you earn a little eye contact as he turns his body just slightly towards you, back facing the water now.  You reach for the shampoo he keeps in your shower for those nights he oversleeps and needs to make his shift with no time to stop back home. Your toes grip firmer at the tub as you arch up to busy yourself with washing his hair. The sweet nothings don’t stop. Anything to fill this space between the two of you. Try to replace it with something good.

“You’re perfect to me, you know that? Always do exactly as you're told.” You humm in approval. “I’m so proud of you. My good, sweet boy.” 

His bottom teeth jut out in pleasure, disrupting some of the mask of his pain and his grief. It’s a start. 

Robby lets you rinse the shampoo from his hair. Doesn’t even seem to mind when you scrub your fingers through his beard with that special shampoo you got him for his birthday this year. Typically the beard is sacred. Tonight, nothing is more sacred than your hands on him. 

And when he’s all clean and you back him gently up against the corner out the way of the stream, your hands still sudsy with bubbles, all that’s on your mind is pleasure. 

Your fingers brush against the length of him with more purpose than before. He jolts ever so slightly in your arms. 

“We don’t have to. I can get you straight to bed. You’ll still be good to me.”

He shakes his head. Still doesn’t really have the words to share. But his hands loosen slightly at his sides  and he presses the faintest of kisses against your shoulder blade. It’s the most you’ll get tonight. 

You slide to your knees letting your lips first get at that jut of his hip where the water just barely mists the skin. Above you somewhere you hear a sigh, notice the broadening stance of his legs as he makes room for you. Your knees give a little creak of their own reminding you of the tenuous nature of shower blow jobs. You’d say a prayer or a hail mary but your attention is a bit diverted at the moment. 

Robby thickens in your hand with each passing moment, the sensation alone enough to get him going tonight. Or maybe it’s the need to please you through submission. If only he could be a good boy for the night, then maybe everything else wouldn’t be so impossible in the morning. Breathing wouldn’t be so impossible in the morning. Being wouldn’t be so impossible. 

When your mouth is on him it’s hard to argue the semantics of good vs. bad. Your hand is sprawled against the dip in his sternum as desperate to touch him as he is to be touched. The weight of him on your tongue. The leftover hint of soap. His thigh twitching where your shoulder rests to steady yourself. Before you can fully swallow him his hands are circling your wrists to pull you to a stop. So you do. 

His voice comes out rough, hoarse from panic and tears. 

“Can you just please come up here. I want – want to be close to you” 

He helps you stand, opens his arms so you can step into them, and quickly rests his damp head against your shoulder. It’s certainly easier for your knees. And you’d never say no to the way his chest feels pressed against yours. 

“It got bad . . . I got bad today.” He admits slowly. “I let people down.” 

“I understand. It got to be too much. You got overwhelmed.” 

He nodded gravely. “Fucked up. I’m a fuck up.” 

You pause trying to parse through the last couple of minutes. Nothing with Robby is ever linear and sometimes you have to go backwards to piece it all together.  His hard on pokes against the base of your belly and he shifts to put space between you. You let out a sigh of your own. 

“Are you saying . . . that you aren’t worthy of this? You don’t want me to take care of you?” 

It’s important not to put words in his mouth. You play back what you hear but you’ve gotta let him paint the picture. 

“I’m saying . . . I don’t want you wasting your time on something that can’t be fixed.” 

Great so full blown nihilism would be the flavor of tonight's festivities. 

“Mhm. Color?” 

Robby paused. 

“I need to hear your color Robby.” 

“...Green. It’s green.” 

“Good. So tonight you’re not making decisions on how I spend my time. I am making the decisions. Is that still okay with you?”

He lowers his head but nods. 

“Need to hear you.” 

“It’s okay with me.” 

“Good boy.” 

You reach for the lube that also remains conveniently organized within your shower because the two of you are nothing if not organized. You lean back just enough to slide your hand in-between you and wrap your fingers around the head. The world gets a little quieter and his hands find their way to your hips, eyes scrunched closed. 

“Look at me.” 

His cheeks are blotchy which could be the shower or could be his body’s natural insistence on betraying him in times of anything remotely intimitate. You reach to cradle the swell of his balls massaging gently at the skin. His face lights up at the contact. Bodily reactions it is. 

“I love you. I’ll love you tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. No matter what happens at work. Just let me show you that.” 

The swollen head peaks out of your fist the more you work him over and Robby starts to make the kind of sounds you can get behind. Broken whimpers, shuddering breaths (the good kind), and your name whenever you get the combination of stroke and tug just right. The best part is when he digs his teeth into your shoulder to try and silence himself as if that’s an option. 

“Uh uhh. I need to hear you. Please? I wanna listen to you come apart for me.” 

“Jesus Christ.” 

“Not this time. Just lil’ ole me.” You grin. 

Was there science to suggest an orgasm immediately after a panic attack was clinically proven to return one to homeostasis? Who knows, you were too busy making your boyfriend cum. 

“Please, I–I’m close.” 

You feel a puff of breath against your neck as he ruts his hips trying to get closer to your hand. You couldn’t help but notice how good pleasure looked on Robby. The smile lines tightening in the corner of his eyes. And the way his cheeks puff when he’s struggling to keep himself whole, when all you want is the opposite. Want to make him splinter in his release. It’s fucking gorgeous if you did say so yourself. 

You let go of his balls and dipped backwards towards his perineum thankful to be with a man secure enough if his sexuality to make space for exploration. You place your thumb against the space there, rubbing with increasing pressure while you pump at the head. His arms shoot out to ground himself against the wall and you smile as you watch him tip delightfully over the edge. 

His orgasm comes just as quickly, the last of the panic washing out of him finally until he’s sobbing for a new reason all together.

“Beautiful, you know that? You’re fucking beautiful to me.” You assure him

The water washes away the remnants of the session and it gives you the space to kiss him softly for the first time tonight. His breaths are finally even and his heartbeat calm. It’s all you really wanted since you walked through the door. 

There’s fluffy towels on wet shoulder blades and forehead kisses in the hallway. You ease him back against your bed and he lets you take a moment to stare at him unabashedly at him boneless and sated against your sheets. 

There’s much to say, hopefully some healing to do. But tonight this is enough. Just the two of you here together sharing in each other’s comfort. 

“Thank you.” He mumbles against your chest all wrapped up tight in your arms. 

It's both a protection thing in making him feel surrounded by warmth and affection and all things good. It's also a bit of reinforcements so you know he won't go padding around the house working himself up again. Not your first time at the rodeo.

“You’re welcome. Go to sleep. We can figure it out tomorrow. Together.” 

“M’kay”

The End.

[goquokka00]

You are just the Best at writing so Can u make more minsung smut plsss (if u would like ofc😁)

Abso-motherfucking-lutely!! Hopefully this satisfies the craving...I'll also try to get a bit more Minsung out, too when I have the time! Love you ❤️

The Best Beauty of the Body

Summary: You loved Minho and Jisung. You really truly did. But there were times when they both ended up getting on your nerves. It was mostly when they argued. And this time wasn't any different. Though...the topic wasn't exactly what you expected.

Pairing: Minho X F! Reader X Jisung

Genre: Humor, Smut (18+)

Warnings: Argument about tits vs ass (you can assume who's arguing for what), Dom! Minho, Switch/Dom! Jisung, Sub! Reader, nipple play, fingering, anal (please be careful and do your research with this shiii), double penetration, unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it please!!), begging (from Jisung), creampies, 100% 18+ (seriously like if you're a minor don't read pls and thank you <3)

Word Count: 3.4K

Let's start off with making one thing very clear. You loved Minho and Jisung. A lot. Why else would you be in a poly relationship with them? They were your whole world. Your everything. And you were theirs. It was something all of you agreed on. Besides, the best part of having two boyfriends meant that you had two people to rely on.

Jisung was your emotional crutch. He was a lot easier to talk to, he understood what your problems were and did whatever he could to make things better. Minho was your comfort. He'd make you comforting foods, he'd hold you in your arms until you felt better...And while he was a little more on the difficult side when getting your emotions across, he was still there to listen to you rant about your day.

And the sex...oh, the sex. But...we don't need to talk about that.

Yeah, you loved them a lot. They held a very special place in your heart, and there was no denying it. But the boys definitely had their days when you were ready to strangle both of them and throw them into the Han River.

Unfortunately, today was one of those days.

You had a long day at work and was ready to sit down with your boys and rant, maybe eat some sundubu jjigae, when you heard it. Distant muffled voices in the distance. At first, curiosity filled you. Were Minho and Jisung actually fighting? No way...they loved each other way too much to be full on fighting. And even if they were, it would've been broken up before you got home. Maybe they just didn't realize you were home...

But then, as you went closer to the bedroom where they were, you overheard the conversation a lot better.

"But asses are disgusting! I mean seriously, you shit from an ass!"

"Well it's tighter than fucking a pair of tits!"

"You can do more with tits than an ass, hyung!"

"You can do just as much with an ass, if not more and you know it!"

Oh.

You let out a sigh as you heard them argue like an old married couple. This was unfortunately very normal in your household, and you just learned to deal with it. And so, you took a moment, willing yourself to be strong and not yell at them, and walked in, seeing both of them there.

Both of them were shirtless, Jisung a bit flushed and his hair wet. They probably got back from practice and were taking turns showering, as Minho was still sweaty. But either way, you cleared your throat, crossing your arms as you looked to them.

"Do I even need to ask?" The second you spoke, both of the guys looked at you. But it only took a second for Jisung to speak up.

"Y/n, tell Minho-hyung that tits are better!"

"No way, even if she's the one to say it, I still think asses are better."

"Asses aren't even that great!"

"They're better than tits and you know it-"

"Okay, okay! Stop!" You threw your hands up, going to stand between them both as they let out huffs. It seemed like they had been arguing about this for a while, unfortunately. And that meant that it'd be difficult for them to let it go.

How wonderful.

"Minho, go and take a shower. Jisung, finish getting dressed, please." As you spoke, you watched as both boys glared at each other before going along with what you had said.

"But I'm already dressed-"

"Then find something else to do." And then, you crossed your arms, looking at both of them. "We'll discuss this in the living room in thirty minutes."

With that, you left the room. You swore that these two were going to give you grey hairs if you weren't careful. But it was fine. You were going to help them get through this once and for all.

||

And so, after the two were brought back out to the couches in the living room (Minho sat on one while Jisung sat on the other), you crossed your arms, looking at both of them as if they were kids on time out.

"Alright. Jisung, please share why you think a woman's tits are better than the ass." You looked to him, giving him a soft smile of encouragement, only to hear Minho scoff.

"They definitely aren't-"

"I didn't tell you that you could talk yet. It's Jisung's turn." You were quick to shut Minho down, knowing that it would only start another argument. And after Minho sulked and grumbled, you looked to Jisung, urging him to start.

"Well, tits are amazing. I mean, they're like nature's stress balls. And you can suck on them, too. God, sucking on your tits after a long and stressful day is amazing..." Jisung leaned back, his eyes closing as a dopey smile spread across his face. "And when you get all squirmy from being all sensitive? And the sounds you make? Oh my god...it gets me so hard..."

You hummed, crossing your arms. Jisung definitely had a point. Your nipples were always sensitive, so when he sucked on them, he'd almost always get a reaction out of you.

"And then you have the way they look when you suck my dick...and when you squish them together and let me fuck them...and when I cum on them-God, I might bust a nut just thinking about it right now..." Jisung let out a breath, gripping his already forming tent before you cleared your throat, nodding.

"Alright, it seems like those are some very valid reasons." And then, you turned over to the grumpy cat man, seeing the upset pout on his lips. "Now let's hear your reasonings, Minho."

"Fucking finally." Minho sat up, clearing his throat before speaking. "For starters, as the man who fucks both of you until you can't walk, I firmly believe that the ass is better because first off, seeing the way you both squirm and push your ass towards me when I'm prepping it is fucking adorable. Then, when I'm actually inside you both, the ass is way tighter than any pussy could ever be. Not to mention how the cheeks just feel so good when you grip them and slap them...and when you pound hard enough, the cheeks will actually bounce and ripple better than tits--"

"Whoa whoa whoa, did you just fucking say they ripple?" You blinked, all while Jisung instantly started cackling.

"It's not funny! They do, seriously!" Minho sat up more, determined to get both of you to see his point of view. "The way that the ass moves when you're fucking it is insane!"

"Okay, okay, I believe you!" You couldn't help but laugh, before looking back to Jisung. Time to get back to business. "Okay...Jisung, do you have any counter arguments for Minho?"

"Yeah, I do." Jisung then looked to Minho, crossing his arms. "While the ass might be amazing, it's literally where shit comes from. And you have to clean both the inside and the outside, and its so much work. But with titties, all you have to do is just push the shirt and bra up, and boom. Suckle time, baby."

You instantly facepalmed. These two were hopeless.

"Okay...Minho? Counter arguments?"

"What if the chest is flat?" The second Minho asked that, Jisung's brain stopped working. Minho just smirked as Jisung tried to think of a reason, before Jisung just spoke up.

"W-Well what if...what if the ass was flat? Or boney?"

"Who in the fuck has a boney ass?"

"...Hyunjin--"

"OKAY!" You just let out a sigh, rubbing your face as you questioned your sanity. "Clearly, you both love tits and ass respectfully. Can we just all agree that both tits and ass are incredible in their own right and move on?"

"No!" Both Jisung and Minho yelled it, making you groan. There had to be a way to get them to understand each other. Had to be. Because frankly, you really didn't know how much longer you could handle this.

"Okay...can I tell you what I think?" And after the two looked at each other, they both looked to you.

"I guess..."

"Yeah, sure."

"Okay. Firstly, Jisung has a point with the ass shit. Prep takes forever, and cleaning the inside and outside is a pain in the butt. Literally. But there are nice qualities to the ass, too. Like...When Minho's pounding into either of us and grips or slaps our ass. You like that, don't you Jisung?"

"I mean, yeah...I guess so." Jisung looked away, crossing his arms.

"Great. Tits are also nice, but mine personally make my back hurt. If I'm not wearing a sport's bra, it's hard to move. And men can be so picky with tits, too. I mean, they can be all sorts of shapes and sizes, and even mine aren't perfect." And then, you crossed your arms. "But they have their purpose, too. They can help get me aroused, they help Jisung relieve stress, and Minho, you love watching them when I ride you."

"Yeah, I guess." Minho shrugged, making you sigh.

"So why can't you guys agree that both are good? Or like, agree to disagree or something?"

"It's a man's pride, Y/n. We stand by our beliefs." Jisung then hit his chest with his fist, Minho nodding.

"Yeah, he's got a point. It's like...we have what we believe, and that one opinion is right. There's no other option." Minho's explanation made absolutely no sense. But okay.

"So...it's all because of your pride?" You raised a brow, watching your two boyfriends nod. "You two are impossible."

All they did was smile and laugh a bit. There was that feeling of needing to strangle them again.

"So then, is there any way you two could make a truce?"

"Nope."

"No way in hell."

"And what if I said that if you two make a truce, I'll let you both fuck me right here and now?"

Silence. The two looked at each other, blinked, before simultaneously reaching out to shake each other's hands.

"Y'know, asses aren't actually that bad. I like them a lot more than I let on."

"Tits are pretty cool, too. They really make a woman, y'know?"

Hope. Less.

But hey, they made up. And so, you stood up and walked over to both of them, smiling as they stood up to meet you halfway.

"See? Was that so hard, boys?" You asked, watching as Minho went in front of you while Jisung went behind.

"Oh, it was horrible." As Minho spoke, his hands went straight for your ass, Jisung's finding your tits from behind you. You could feel Jisung kissing your neck, his hands groping and kneading your chest.

"Hated it..." Jisung murmured, Minho guiding you into a kiss. You hummed, kissing Minho back as he lifted one of your legs up to go around his waist. "You'll make it better though, right?"

"Mhm..." You hummed your response in the kiss, before breaking away and going to kiss Jisung in return.

All the while, Minho grabbed your shorts and panties, starting to tug them off. You put your leg down so Minho could get the clothes off before putting it back around his waist. And when you pulled away from the kiss, Jisung was the one to lift your shirt up and over. And he groaned when he realized you didn't have anything on underneath.

"Fuck, I love when you don't wear a bra..." And with that, Jisung turned you around so you were facing him, only to guide you to the couch and onto his lap. All the while, Minho headed off to the bedroom to grab the lube. He'd need it in order to do what he wanted to you.

Not that you minded.

For now, you put your focus on Jisung, who was gently kneading your chest, pinching and playing with your nipples, his cock growing harder by the minute. And you just let out soft moans, your eyes fluttering closed as you looked at him, watching as he played with your chest.

And then, he latched onto your left nipple, his tongue gently rolling and flicking against it. You couldn't help but push out your chest, making him groan and use his finger to play around with the other.

"J-Jisung...God, that feels so good..." All you could do was run your hands through his hair, gently gripping at it, which made him whine for you.

And that was when the sound of footsteps could be heard. You turned and looked up, seeing that it was Minho. And he had the lube in hand, ready to go.

"Alright, princess. Lean forward for me." As Minho gave his command, you did as told. You got up on your knees, hovering your breasts over Jisung's face so Minho could get to your tiny little ass. "Good girl...spread those legs, just like that...there we go."

And with that, Minho took the lube and rubbed it over your perked ass, prodding against the tight hole. You couldn't help but whimper, holding onto Jisung's shoulders before feeling Minho push a finger in.

"M-Min..."

"I know, sweetheart, I know...you're doing good for me, though. So, so good..." Minho's encouragement helped you press forward. He slowly inched his finger in, making sure that he added lube when needed so you were ready to go. And once that first finger was inside, you let out a breath, wiggling your hips. "How's it feel, baby? Good?"

"A...A bit dry..."

"A bit dry, huh? Well, we can't have that." And so, Minho pulled his finger out before lubing his finger up more, as best as he could before slowly inching his finger back in, slowly working to stretch your hole out. "Better?"

"M-Mhm...better..." You gave a soft nod, only to gasp as you felt Jisung nip at your nipple. His eyes were on you, his mouth open as he switched to the other nipple. You knew what that meant. Jisung wanted attention, too. "Ji...it feels good...really good, keep using your tongue..."

And that's exactly what Jisung did. His main priority? Make sure that you were satisfied and feeling good while Minho stretched you out. And as you felt a second finger enter you, Jisung worked double time to make sure you felt amazing. While he suckled your breasts, a finger went to your pussy to play with your clit, making you whine and buck your hips.

"Look at our girl, feeling so good...you're taking my fingers so well, baby..." Minho placed soft kisses along your back, scissoring his fingers so he knew that you were nice and stretched and ready to go. "I'm gonna put one more in, okay? One more..."

And after you nodded, the third finger went in. You whined louder, but Jisung gently pinched your clit to help ground you. And as Minho worked his three fingers in and out of your ass, Jisung looked up at you, smiling softly as his mouth left your breasts.

"Sweet girl...Can I have your pussy? Please? Drown me in your tits while my cock's in that beautiful pussy, please..." God, Jisung was so hot when he begged...You couldn't help but nod, waiting for the okay from Minho to get situated.

"Alright, pretty girl. Let's get you settled on Jisung, okay?" And once his fingers were out, Minho backed away to get his sweatpants off. Jisung did the same, struggling a bit but managing to kick them off. And once he was ready, Jisung lined himself up and let you sink down onto his dick.

"Oh, fuck...you feel like heaven, baby..." Jisung let out a breath, grabbing at your waist before reaching his hands back up to your chest, fondling your breasts to guide them back into his mouth. He really couldn't get enough of them...

All the while, Minho went behind you once more, moving you to where he needed you to be before lining himself up as well, placing soft kisses on your shoulder to make sure that you were all set and ready to go for him.

"Deep breaths, baby...gonna make you feel so full..." And as Minho spoke, he slowly pushed into you, making you groan and grasp onto Jisung. God, it was so much, but it felt absolutely incredible. You hadn't felt that full in your life. But it was a glorious feeling.

Jisung also groaned, pulling back from your tits to look up at his boyfriend, seeing Minho's brow furrowed.

"God, I can feel you entering her...it's making her so much tighter, hyung..."

"Good...that means less work for you, huh?" Minho smirked, knowing how sensitive Jisung's dick was. If Jisung could feel Minho from inside your pussy, then Minho could technically fuck both of you.

It really went to show how the ass was better. But Minho wasn't gonna bring that up right now.

After letting you get adjusted, Minho leaned back, grabbing your ass a bit before looking to you and Jisung, his eyes narrowing.

"I'm gonna move...okay?"

"Okay..." You gave him a soft nod, only to gasp and moan as Minho slowly began to thrust. Since you weren't a freak like Jisung, you weren't as used to anal, let alone double penetration. So he knew he needed to start slow.

"Fuck...oh, fuck, I can feel you moving, hyung...fuck, that feels so good..." Jisung, per usual, couldn't shut up. And you were a moaning mess, turning your head back to look at Minho with glossy eyes. Oh, how he loved that look.

"Feeling good, princess?" Minho couldn't help but smile, knowing that he was making both you and Jisung feel good.

"Y-Yeah, feels good..."

"That's good...I bet you feel so fucking full right now, being stuffed with your boyfriends' dicks..." And with that, Minho leaned forward to kiss you, which only made Jisung whine.

"Hy-Hyung, no fair...! Kiss me too, please? I've been good!" Typical Jisung, always needing attention. And so, after rolling his eyes, he leaned down past your shoulder to kiss Jisung as well, who hummed and rolled his hips up. That made you moan and roll your own hips.

As Minho pulled away, he slowly began to get faster. His thrusts went from slow and deep to hard and fast, making both you and Jisung moan. The more rough he got, the closer you and Jisung got to cumming.

And eventually, Jisung got loud. That only meant one thing.

"Guh-Gonna cum! Fuck, hyung, Can I cum? Pretty please? Please, let me cum! Gotta cum so bad!" And Jisung's begging only made you whinier, meaning that it was getting close for the two of you.

"Fuck, already? God, you really are desperate, huh?" Minho couldn't help but tease, only to let out a grunt, nodding. "Fine, go ahead and fill her up. Don't waste a fucking drop."

And like that, Jisung came. He gripped onto your sides, painting your insides white as he held you close. All the while, Minho kept moving, overstimulating Jisung and getting you closer and closer. And then, finally, you turned to look at him, your eyes silently pleading him.

"M-Min...gonna cum too..." God, you were so cute when you were fucked out. How could Minho say no to you?

"Fuck...go ahead and cum, princess. I'm right behind you..." And so, with Minho's permission and a few more thrusts, you came as well, your body shuddering as you gripped onto Jisung.

And while Jisung cried out as he felt you unintentionally clench around his cock, making his overstimulation get worse, he still made an effort to kiss your cheeks, making sure you felt grounded.

It wasn't long after when Minho came, either. He let out a nice groan, pumping his load into you, holding you up against him to make sure you got it all. And as the three of you calmed down, you looked to both of them, letting out a breath.

"No more arguing about tits and ass, please..." Your voice was raspy. Dead. Fucked out. It was music to the boys' ears.

"I mean...if this is how the argument is gonna get resolved, I think we should argue about it more." Jisung just smiled up at you as he spoke, Minho humming an agreement. It only made you sigh.

"Why am I dating you two?"

"Because you love us."

"And our dicks." Minho couldn't help but add it in. And all you could do was sigh.

Yeah. You did love them.

And their dicks. But...mostly them.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @miss-daisy04 @kayleefriedchicken @wolfs-archive @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @wolfs-howling @rose-w-00-d @skzlover24 @sammhisphere

[saythenametotheworld]

dear reader... again | dy, jn, jh

One island. One daughter. Three possible dads. You just wanted peace and quiet—what you got was chaos, old flames, and a little girl asking for three dads.

Genre: destination au, smut Pairing: NCT Doyoung/Johnny/Jaehyun x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) MDNI Notes: 22k words. Loosely based on the 2008 movie, Mamma Mia!. Sequel to dear reader, but can be read as a standalone fic Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life behave the way they were portrayed in this fic. If you see the same exact fic in a different blog, for ENHYPEN, that is me. I did not plagiarize myself. Otherwise, pls let me know.

The drawing room was a war zone. Empty cups on every surface, leftovers here and there, balloons all over the floor. Your daughter had retreated to her bedroom to play with her new toys, leaving you with a garbage bag in one hand and three ghosts of your past sitting awkwardly on the couch.

You didn’t look at them as you threw another stack of paper plates into the bag. It was a good thing that your friends and two of Emma’s godmothers were keeping the room noisy as they helped you clean up. But at some point, Lea and Amy found a spot far across the room where they could interrogate you.

“Which one is it?” Lea asked immediately, like she hadn’t already asked the same thing three different ways in the past three hours.

Amy nudged her. “Were you listening? She didn’t check which one it was, remember?”

“What are they doing here anyway? Did you invite them?”

You huffed, glancing over your shoulder just long enough to catch the three of them talking. “No idea. They just showed up out of nowhere.”

“On Emma’s birthday? That can’t be a coincidence.”

“Oh, it’s definitely not a coincidence,” Lea muttered, shaking her head conspiratorially.

Unfortunately, she was right. It wasn’t a coincidence. When they showed up on your doorstep earlier, all three of them, the first question you’d asked had been: What are you doing here? And apparently, they had an answer.

Each of them had brought a letter from you. Letters you didn’t remember sending—because technically, you didn’t.

After a discreet interrogation with the staff, you found out how it happened. Last week, while clearing out the attic, you’d accidentally left a box on the counter marked “outgoing.” Inside were things you meant to throw away—old receipts, scribbled notes, and three unsent letters you’d written four years ago.

You remembered them now. You’d written those letters when Emma was in the hospital, and needed a blood transfusion, but her blood type was rare. You were scared. Desperate. You almost mailed them. But she got better before you had to.

Now here they were, delivered years late and right on time to ruin your peaceful little life. Still, that didn’t explain how they got here on the same day, at the exact same time. But when you asked, Doyoung had said:

“Oh, we actually missed the ferry, and Mr. Johnny here was nice enough to offer his yacht.”

You’d scoffed. “Still parading the seas with that yacht?”

“Yeah, no,” Johnny had replied smugly. “This one’s new. Got it just last year.”

Doyoung was the first to speak, stepping forward with a smile. “So... we were wondering,” he said, glancing briefly at Johnny and Jaehyun, “if there might be any rooms available here? Just for a few days while we’re on the island.”

You raised an eyebrow but kept your voice steady. “You’re not leaving yet?”

Johnny chuckled. “Why am I getting the feeling you don’t want us here?”

“Honestly?” you sighed. “Doesn’t matter much to me. But if you’re looking for a room, try somewhere else. I’m fully booked.”

Doyoung cleared his throat. “We’d pay, of course. No trouble.”

You shook your head firmly. “Sorry. You can pay me double, but the calendar will still be full until the end of the month.”

There was a pause as Doyoung glanced over at the other two. You saw Johnny shrug before saying, “The boat’s got plenty of rooms. You guys can crash there while I’m around.”

Doyoung nodded quickly, but Jaehyun hesitated, eyes flicking to you. Johnny turned back. “Guess that settles it. We’ll be on our way, then,” he said, offering a small wave.

“Yes. Please go,” you said briskly, waving your hand dismissively. Don’t come back, you wanted to add—but didn’t.

“It’s good to see you, sweetheart,” Johnny grinned, winking before sliding on his sunglasses and turning away.

You grimaced, rolled your eyes, and went back to your chore. You reached for a trash bag, but someone else grabbed it before you could. It was Jaehyun, and you could still feel the warmth of his presence behind you even after he’d moved away. Doyoung and Johnny had left, but he was still here.

“What are you doing?” you asked, though it was clear he was trying to help.

Of course, he was. You didn’t even have it in you to stop him when he started scraping paper plates into it, like this was just a normal evening in some alternate universe where he was your partner and this was his house, too.

“She’s very lovely,” Jaehyun said after a moment of nothing but silence between the two of you. “Emma, I mean.”

“She is,” you replied flatly despite the nervousness slowly creeping up your chest.

“She’s six?” he asked and you nodded. “Is her dad around?”

You exhaled sharply, dropping the broom. “It’s really none of your business, Jae. I’d rather we don’t talk like we’re old friends. Or act like we knew each other at all.”

Jaehyun sighed, saying your name softly, but you didn’t want to hear it. You walked out of the hall and found something else to do in the kitchen, hoping he’d be gone at some point without you having to interact with him anymore.

You kept yourself busy, moving from one task to the next—stacking empty cups, folding napkins, wiping down surfaces—anything to avoid looking Jaehyun’s way. Every now and then, you caught him quietly working alongside you, silently scraping plates or gathering trash, never saying much.

You thought he would leave if you ignored him long enough, but the hours ticked by, the party noise died down, and still, Jaehyun stayed. You resisted the urge to ask him directly to go, too wary of what might come if you did.

Finally, as the last of the balloons were deflating and the floor was almost spotless, he gathered the last trash bag and gave you a small nod. Without a word, he slipped out the door. Relief washed over you.

Later that night, you sat in the living room with Amy and Lea, nibbling on some ham and cheese from the kitchen. The house was quiet, the staff had left, and Emma was sleeping quietly upstairs. A TV show was playing in the background, but no one was really watching.

“So,” Amy said, passing you the plate, “All three of them are here. Shy Boy, Lover Boy, and Play Boy. What’s going on?”

Lea shook her head, eyes narrowed. “Even with the letter mix-up and fate or whatnot, I still don’t get why now, after all these years.”

You shrugged, chewing slowly. “I don’t know. The universe probably has it out for me.”

Amy leaned back, thoughtful. “You seemed tense around Lover Boy earlier. What’s his deal?”

You glanced at the ceiling, choosing your words carefully. “He’s…” You threw your hands up in the air, frustrated. “He’s Lover Boy.”

“Oh,” said Amy, nodding in realization. “Of course. Yeah, I get it.”

“What is it?” Lea asked cluelessly. “I don’t get it.”

“Jaehyun is Lover Boy,” Amy explained plainly, though it wasn’t enough for Lea. “He’s complicated because, you know, he’s the guy she fell in love with, but then he left her because he was engaged to some other girl.”

Lea gasped. “Oh my god! Yes! I forgot that we called him Lover Boy because she was gaga about him.”

“I was not,” you said coolly, lifting your glass to your lips to hide your lie.

“Were too,” Amy said in a sing-song, smirking. You huffed and slapped her thigh, earning a surprised yelp and a fit of giggles from both of them.

“Whatever. I’m not doing this with you guys,” you said, standing and brushing crumbs from your lap. “I’m going to bed.”

“Who else would you talk to if not us?” Lea called after you, laughter chasing you up the stairs.

You padded down the hallway, quiet now that the party was over and the girls were left to their wine and gossip. Your bedroom door was ajar, but you kept walking past it and down to the end of the hall where Emma’s room was.

You pushed the door open gently and peeked inside. She was fast asleep, curled into a soft lump beneath her blanket, one arm wrapped tightly around the new stuffed animal she’d gotten today. You stepped in and sat lightly on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair from her face. Her breathing was steady. Peaceful. The sight of her always had a way of quieting something wild inside you.

“Goodnight, baby,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

You stood to leave, carefully pulling the blanket back over her shoulder, but just as you turned to go, a small voice cut through the quiet. “Mommy?”

You turned instantly. Emma had stirred, eyes half-lidded, voice thick with sleep. She reached out a hand, and you crossed the room again without hesitation, crawling gently onto the bed beside her. “I’m here, baby,” you whispered, wrapping an arm around her as she snuggled into your side.

She was quiet for a moment, her little fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. Then, softly, “Who were those men?”

You blinked. “What men?”

“At the party. I didn’t know them. The tall men.”

You hesitated, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. “Just tourists, sweetie. They were asking for some rooms.”

“Oh,” she murmured. “Are they mean?”

You frowned. “What? No. Why would you think that?”

“They made you sad,” she said simply, her voice already fading as sleep tried to reclaim her. “I saw you do the forehead thing.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat. That was the thing about Emma. Even when she didn’t fully understand something, she felt it. She had always been so in-tune with you, too sensitive for her own good sometimes.

“No, baby,” you whispered, kissing the crown of her head. “They’re not mean. Just a little complicated.”

Emma hummed, snuggling closer. “I don’t like that word.”

“Yeah, me neither.” She didn’t say anything else after that, and within moments, her breathing evened out again. You stayed where you were, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across her ceiling. You weren’t ready to explain who those men really were. You didn’t even have the full truth yourself yet. And quite frankly, you never really thought about introducing Emma to her dad one day. But then again, life has its own way of kicking you in the ass. With all three of them here, you knew you would eventually have to confront the truth and put a face on the dad you’d kept from Emma all these years. You just hoped she’d be ready when that day came. Or that you would.

The next day, you spotted them before they saw you—Doyoung with a juice in hand, Johnny chatting up the girl at the counter, and Jaehyun lingering by the window like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

Of all the cafés on the island, of course, they came to your favorite one. Amy followed your gaze and made a low, amused sound. “Would you look at that. Shy Boy, Lover Boy, and Play Boy, all in one place.”

“I told them to leave,” you muttered, flipping over the menu board even though you knew you were gonna order the same thing as usual.

Lea, who owned the cafe, leaned over the counter, eyes narrowing at the trio. “Shy Boy’s in flip-flops. I don’t think they’re leaving. Maybe they’re here for my famous croissant?”

“Sure,” Amy snorted. “Croissant. Closure. Co-parenting. Who’s to say?”

“I don’t care. They have to leave,” you huffed.

“Yeah, well, good luck with that,” Lea chuckled, turning to welcome another customer who’d just walked through the doors.

Johnny was the first to spot you, unsurprisingly. He made a show of removing his sunglasses, flashing a smile so wide you wondered how it didn’t split his face open.

“Good morning,” he called, walking over to where you were standing by the counter. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Can’t say the same with you.”

Johnny chuckled like the jab didn’t bother him. “Yeah, I missed you, too. Say, how would you like to join me today? I’m sightseeing.”

“Pass. Some of us have real jobs,” you deadpanned, eyes still fixed on the menu.

“You’re gonna bore a hole in that thing,” Johnny said after a few seconds of watching you stare at the piece of cardboard.

You exhaled sharply and placed the menu down. Behind him, you caught Doyoung’s gaze, and he gave a small sheepish wave. Jaehyun didn’t approach—just gave a slight nod from where he sat, eyes cautious.

“What do you want?” you asked Johnny, arms crossed.

Johnny lifted a brow. “Coffee? A warm smile? To not be treated like a disease?”

“You can have the coffee,” you replied, nodding to the barista. “Smile’s out of stock.”

Johnny grinned. “Where’s Emma?”

“School,” you replied briskly. “Not that it’s any of your business where my daughter is.”

“It’s not. I’m just trying to make conversation.” 

You didn’t say anything to that, just gave him a deadpan expression. Johnny raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to speak, and seemingly trying to gauge if the look meant anything, but when you didn’t, he took a deep breath and shrugged. 

“Well, this place has a nice vibe. We’ll order something and be on our way. No need to panic.”

“I’m not panicking,” you snapped. Which, unfortunately, sounded exactly like someone who was panicking.

They sat at a table in the corner, quietly eating. Doyoung tapped on his phone. Johnny flirted with the waitress. Jaehyun stared out the window. You pretended not to watch them, but your ears picked up every laugh and cough and scrape of a chair.

Amy leaned over again. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, poking at your food aggressively.

Lea leaned in as she pushed a small cup of espresso your way. “Be honest. Are you more mad that they came back, or that some part of you isn’t entirely mad?” You placed your fork down and didn’t answer.

“Oh my god. I can’t decide if I’m enjoying your despair or if I’m terrified of it,” said Amy, tutting as she shook her head at you,

“They’re just tourists,” you said through gritted teeth. “Let’s treat them as such.”

Just tourists, you told yourself. Just tourists my ass.

The sun was too bright for a Tuesday. You squinted up at it as you stepped out of a grocery store, two bags dangling from your arms, the baguette sticking out comically like something out of a cartoon. You walked down the winding road, exchanging smiles and pleasantries with a few people you knew.

Just as you were turning a corner, you spotted Doyoung in front of an old book shop, staring up at the sign with sunglasses far too big for his face. The owner, an old man with a permanent slouch, came out to greet him and usher him inside.

He hadn’t seen you yet. You considered ducking back inside and hiding in the alley between a patisserie and the bookshop, but fate was quicker. Doyoung turned at the perfect moment, smiling as soon as he recognized you.

“Hey,” he called, jogging over before you could pretend to be invisible. “I could help with that,” he offered.

You adjusted the bags in your hands. “No. I’ve got it.”

“Yes, but I insist, please.” He reached for one anyway, and you didn’t stop him, mostly because you were too tired to argue.

You walked side by side in silence for a few seconds. The streets were still sleepy at this hour—too early for tourists, too late for locals.  

Doyoung cleared his throat, shifting the bag in his hands. “So, uh, this place is lovely. The pastry is amazing. I had something yesterday—some kind of tart with fig and honey? It was amazing. I mean, not that I know anything about pastries. Or figs. I’m more of a donut guy, really. But you know—when in Rome. Or, uh, Corsica.”

You glanced at him sideways. He wasn’t looking at you, just staring ahead. He went on. “Also, everyone keeps smiling here. Like, aggressively friendly. One would think you’re not in France at all. Last time I was in the country, I went to Paris, and if someone smiled at you like that, they either want to sell you something or they’re about to scam you.”

That made you laugh, unexpectedly. Doyoung heard it and looked over, clearly startled, then smiled sheepishly. You cleared your throat after a few seconds, still a little red in the face. “You haven’t changed at all, Doyoung.”

Doyoung shrugged like he disagreed. “I did change a little. But you certainly haven’t.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He glanced at you, lips twitching into a small smile. “You’re just as beautiful as the first time I met you.”

You smirked. “On second thought, maybe you have changed.” You pointed to his choice of clothing. “You look more put-together. You must be doing better now.”

Doyoung smiled, that soft, earnest one that you used to find so endearing. “I am, thank goodness. My job is less stressful now. I’m doing much, much better. You, though? How have you been?”

“I’m fine. I’m sure you can tell that much.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he replied, nodding. “And you’ve got a daughter. Emma, right? She seemed really bright. She reminds me of you.”

You frowned. “You don’t know her.”

“I know enough,” he said gently, then added quickly, “I mean—not in a weird way. Just, you know. I saw her for a few hours, and she seemed... like she knows exactly what she wants. Just like you always did.”

You didn’t respond to that. The road curved ahead, and you were quiet again, but it was less awkward this time, more familiar. Like an old coat, neither of you knew how to take off. You stopped walking as your house came into view. Doyoung did too. You turned to face him. “What are you doing here, Doyoung?”

Doyoung looked confused. “Helping you with your bags?”

“No, I mean here here. On this island,” you clarified, sighing. “Why did you come here?”

Doyoung blinked. “What do you mean?”

You shot him a look. “I know you came because you thought I asked you to, but we cleared that up, didn’t we? So why are you still here?”

“Vacation,” he offered quickly. “I’m here on vacation. Sometimes I like to do solo trips. You know? Pick a spot on the map and go there. I’m a spontaneous person.”

“No, you’re not.”

Doyoung chuckled. “No, I’m not.”

You didn’t say anything to that, just shook your head and looked over your shoulder at your house by the cliffs.  “I should get these home,” you said finally, nodding toward the bags.

Doyoung blinked like he’d forgotten he was still holding one. “Right! Of course. Sorry. I’ll, uh—I’ll leave you to it.”

You turned toward the path that led back to your house, but paused after Doyoung called out your name. “It’s really good to see you again,” he said. And you knew he meant it.

You nodded. “Thanks.” Then turned and kept walking.

You thought you’d feel calmer the second you stepped back inside your house. But the moment you opened the door, laughter—loud and familiar—echoed through the hall and made the veins in your temples throb. Johnny was sprawled across your sofa, drink in hand, laughing at something Amy had said.

“There she is!” Amy called brightly the moment she saw you.

“My sweetheart,” Johnny added, getting to his feet with arms outstretched like he expected a warm welcome.

You dodged the hug before he could reach you. “Ames, did you check the mail? Something came for you.”

Amy’s eyes widened. “Already? Wait—what day is it?” She didn’t wait for an answer, scrambling off the couch and disappearing into the study, which you’d turned into your office.

Johnny followed you into the kitchen after Amy left, looking around the place. “Nice place you’ve got. Very you. Minimalist but cozy.”

“Glad you approve,” you deadpanned.

He grinned, tipping back the last of his drink before setting the glass on the countertop. “So... how have you been? You know, since our amazing little summer.”

“I’ve been fine.”

“Just fine?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “‘Fine’ fine, or ‘not fine’ fine?”

“‘None of your business’ fine.”

Johnny laughed, clearly entertained. “Okay, Ice Princess. What did I do? Why am I getting the cold treatment like we didn’t part in great terms on the best of circumstances all those years ago?”

The circumstances he was talking about were definitely not the best for you, but you didn’t wanna get into that with him. “I’m just trying to maintain a quiet life, Johnny. Having you here gives me anything but that.”

Johnny shrugged, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “Alright, fine.”

He was quiet for a minute, watching you pile up the groceries in their respective containers and cabinets. “Village’s changed a lot, hasn’t it?” he said after a while, glancing around. “I mean, there’s a wine bar now. A wine bar. When did this place get so bougie?”

“Not too long ago. More and more tourists are finding this place.”

“Is that why you turned this into a BNB?”

You hummed. “The plan was a hotel, but that takes so much more work, so I’m putting that on hold for now.”

Johnny nodded slowly, then looked at you again, this time more carefully. “Your daughter Emma is adorable. I didn’t know you got married.”

You paused, hand hovering in the air as you were closing an overhead cabinet. “I didn’t.”

His eyebrows rose. “Oh. Huh. I just assumed. You know... kid, house, the whole ‘maintaining a quiet life’ spiel. Is the father out of the picture?”

You huffed, unwilling to have this conversation with him for the most obvious reason. “It’s really none of your business, but if you must ask, no, he is not in the picture. I have a daughter and I’m not married. That’s it.”

He gave a slow, thoughtful nod, like he was tucking that information away for later. “Yeah, I doubt you would have enjoyed being married. You always did like being independent.”

You said nothing, just continued your chore and pretended he wasn’t there. But it was easier said than done.

“I missed talking to you,” he said with a lilt. “Even when you’re being mean.”

“You are bothering me while I’m working. I’m not being mean.”

“Oh, I know,” he chimed, tilting his head. “This is you being civilized. It’s kinda hot.”

You rolled your eyes. “I thought I told you to leave?”

“I’m the master of my own fate, sweetheart. I don’t let anyone tell me what to do,” he said smugly. “Besides, this place is magnificent. Can’t blame a man for staying and reliving the nostalgia.”

You didn’t bother replying. Just turned away and kept unpacking, hoping he’d take the hint. Johnny smirked, clearly enjoying pushing your buttons, but then his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it, sighed, and shook his head. “Well, I should probably let you get back to your kingdom of quiet,” he said, stretching.

You didn’t bother to say goodbye, just kept sorting the groceries. Johnny grinned like he knew he’d won some invisible game and turned toward the door. “See you around.”

You heard the front door close behind him, and the sudden silence was almost deafening. The sound of footsteps signaled Amy’s return. “Johnny’s gone,” she said, placing a letter on the counter. “I guess I’m gone too. But more gone than he is.”

Your brows furrowed. “Whatever does that mean?”

Amy lifted the paper. “They’re summoning me back. I’m afraid I’m gonna have to say goodbye to my little break and go back to working my ass off for a new Chanel purse.”

You chuckled. “You’re your own boss, Amy.”

“Pep talk? Nice. I can always trust you to lift me up when I’m down.”

“No, I mean literally,” you clarified, laughing. “You literally own your company.”

Amy sighed and sank into a chair. “I know, right? Who knew being a boss could be so demanding, too?”

You smiled, placing the last jar of jam in the cabinet. “You always did say you wanted to build an empire.”

“I was picturing more champagne and yachts. Less spreadsheets and back-to-back Zoom calls.” She pouted. “But alas, I must answer the call of capitalism.”

You leaned against the counter, arms folded. “When are you leaving?”

“Couple more days. Figured I’d squeeze in a few more sunsets before I go back to breathing recycled air in my office.”

“That gives us time for at least one more girls’ night.”

Amy grinned. “You, me, Lea, a bottle of wine, and us talking about Emma’s drop dead gorgeous dads?”

“Possible dads.”

She raised her hands in surrender. “Right, possible dads. But seriously… you okay with me leaving?”

You gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’ll survive.”

Amy narrowed her eyes. “You always say that when you’re suppressing deep emotional turmoil.”

“Then you must be thrilled I’m so consistent.”

Amy smirked, then stood to stretch. “I wish I could move here too.”

You shook your head. “Yeah, like you’ll survive the quiet.”

She grimaced, standing up at once and heading for the stairs. You watched her climb upstairs with her heels click-clacking on the marble floor, smiling as she disappeared from view.

You were halfway up the ladder, squinting against the late afternoon sun as you twisted the new bulb into the patio fixture. The scent of oranges permeated the warm air, sweet and delightful, and cicadas buzzed in the distance.

“Hey—careful,” came a voice behind you, gentle but urgent. You turned slightly and found Jaehyun standing near the base of the ladder, brows furrowed. “You shouldn’t be up there,” he said. “What if you fall?”

You huffed a small laugh, focusing back on the bulb. “Then I’ll fall. And hopefully someone will find me before the birds do.”

He stepped closer, placing one hand on the side of the ladder without climbing. “Seriously. Get down. Let me do it.”

“It’s fine, I’m almost—” You gave the bulb a final twist and straightened. “Done.”

He exhaled through his nose like he didn’t quite believe you, but wasn’t going to argue. His hand stayed lightly on the ladder until you made it to the ground. You felt it—the worry in his eyes—before you even looked at him.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

He nodded, glancing up at the light fixture. “You always do these things by yourself?”

You shrugged. “Mostly. The handyman comes by when something major breaks.”

“Don’t you have someone who could help with this kind of thing?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “A partner, or… someone?”

You scoffed. “Why? Because women shouldn’t be doing things like these?”

“That’s not what I said,” he said quickly. “I just meant you should be more careful and leave these tasks to other people.”

“Did you come here to boss me around?” you smirked, walking toward the shed with your toolbox. “Old habits die hard, huh?”

“I’m not bossing you around. I never did that,” he replied, following behind you. “You just don’t like being told what to do.”

“You know me so well,” you scoffed, digging through the shed for shears. “Good for you.”

You turned to him and handed him the shears with a crooked smile. “Here. Since you think I shouldn't be doing everything myself, you can help with the oranges.”

He took the shears without protest, the metal glinting faintly in the late afternoon light. You started toward the nearest tree, brushing your fingers against the low-hanging branches as you walked. The fruit was ripe, some already beginning to speckle with sunspots.

Jaehyun trailed behind, quiet except for the occasional snip of the shears. You didn’t offer instructions—he knew what to do. You remembered that much.

For a while, the only sounds were the rustle of leaves, the snap of stems, and the distant hum of insects. You filled a basket between you in silence, neither of you in a hurry. 

“These trees are doing well,” he said eventually, pausing beside you to drop a few oranges into the bin. “I didn’t think they’d survive the dry season.”

You crouched down to pick one that had fallen between two roots. “They almost didn’t. I had to replant a few.” You dusted off the dirt and added it to the pile. “They’re tougher than they look.”

He glanced at you, and you knew it wasn’t about the oranges. But you didn’t acknowledge it. Jaehyun shifted his weight, rubbing his palm over his neck like he always did when he was thinking too hard. “It’s peaceful here.”

“It was,” you said dryly, then added, “Still is. Mostly.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it faded quickly. He nodded and turned back to the tree, reaching for another cluster of oranges. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. But I figured, when I did… you’d look like this.”

You arched a brow. “Like what?”

He hesitated. “Like… settled. Happy.”

You didn’t respond right away, just adjusted the strap of the basket on your shoulder. “Yeah, life doesn’t just stop for anyone. It keeps going. But you know that already.”

Jaehyun didn’t say anything. Instead, he stepped forward, brushing past you to reach a particularly high branch. His arm stretched over your head, close enough for you to feel the warmth of him, but you didn’t move. He clipped the stem and handed the orange to you quietly.

You took it without meeting his eyes. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he murmured. You placed the orange in the basket, then stood there for a few moments, letting the quiet stretch between you. You didn’t want to open your mouth and speak the words you were dying to say. But you needed to know.

You exhaled softly. “Are you going to tell me what you’re really doing here?”

He looked at you, lips pressed thinly together like he didn’t want to speak. You met his gaze. “Why are you here, Jae? Why now?”

“No reason,” he said, though his voice was softer now. “I just wanted to see the island again. You know what it meant to me.”

You sighed. “I know, that’s why I’m asking you why. You came all the way out here, just to reminisce?”

He didn’t answer right away. You could see it—the hesitation behind his silence. Maybe he was debating what to say, or maybe he didn’t even know the answer himself.

“I don’t know,” he said eventually. “Still figuring that out,” he said quietly.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Then figure it out somewhere else. I want nothing to do with you.”

You placed the basket of oranges down and turned to walk away. But then you paused, sighing to yourself. “Jaehyun,” you said, glancing back. He straightened, eyes hopeful.

“Don’t do that thing where you pretend we’re fine.”

His face fell, just slightly. “Okay,” he said softly. “Then I’ll do the thing where I hope we will be.”

You didn’t say anything else. Just walked away, the sun edging down the horizon, and the memories of your past heartbreak pressing hard against your chest.

In a small, dimly lit pub in the heart of the village, Johnny, Doyoung, and Jaehyun had found a corner table near the back, enjoying the local cuisine and some drinks. It was by Johnny’s recommendation, seconded by Jaehyun, who agreed that this place had the best food.

“So you’re all here by coincidence?” the pub owner asked, appearing at their table with a towel slung over her shoulder. She was in her fifties, with sharp eyes and a playful lilt to her voice.

Jaehyun smiled faintly. “Guess so.”

“I remember you,” she said, pointing at him. “You were here six years ago, weren’t you? Your hair was shorter then. Stayed a few weeks. Always ordered the sardines and left a good tip.”

Jaehyun smiled. “Yeah, that sounds like me.”

She turned to Johnny. “I saw you here before, too, with the fancy yacht.” To Doyoung, she said, “You all know each other?”

Doyoung offered a polite smile. “We didn’t know each other until this week. We all thought she—uh, someone—had asked us to come.”

“Misunderstanding,” Jaehyun added flatly.

The woman let out a long, amused hmm. “Three strangers, all drawn back to the same place, for the same woman? That’s either bad luck or fate.”

Johnny chuckled. “Feels a bit like both.”

The pub owner grinned. “Well, I’ve known her since she moved here. Lovely girl. Strong as hell. We all helped her when she had little Emma—Lord, that was a night.” She laughed to herself, then added fondly, “She did good, you know. Raising her child like that.”

That was when she tilted her head. “So…” she said slowly, eyes darting between the three of them, “which one of you is the dad?”

Silence fell all of a suddden. Jaehyun blinked. Doyoung choked on his beer. Johnny just stared at her, lips parting but nothing coming out.

She laughed, waving a hand. “Oh, don’t all look so spooked. Just thought it was funny—all of you turning up like that. I figured one of you must’ve come back for your kid.”

Doyoung leaned forward. “Sorry—our kid? Are you saying one of us could be Emma’s dad?”

She blinked, then grinned. “So you don’t know?” She looked genuinely entertained now. “You did all sleep with her, yeah?”

The three of them exchanged stunned glances, which only made her laugh harder. “That’s the part I’m having trouble wrapping my head around. Young people really are something,” she said, already turning away. “Just don’t cause trouble for our girl while you’re here, alright?”

The three of them stepped out into the cooling evening air, the sea breeze curling through the narrow streets. They walked in silence at first, shoes scuffing against cobblestones, the buzz of the pub still echoing faintly behind them.

“She’s got your laugh, Johnny,” Doyoung said suddenly. Johnny and Jaehyun both turned to look at him. “I mean—” Doyoung shrugged, a little sheepish now. “Emma. The kid.”

Johnny lifted a brow. “You’ve barely spoken to her.”

“I know,” Doyoung said, hands jammed into his pockets. “But I heard her laugh.”

“You don’t think she’s yours?” Jaehyun asked Doyoung.

Doyoung shrugged. “I feel like she’s mine, but I also think she’s not. I mean, me and her mom only met briefly and you two seemed to have a longer history with her.”

Johnny didn’t answer. He was looking up now, watching the clouds across a lilac sky. “A daughter. My own daughter. How odd.”

Doyoung gave him a sidelong glance. “You think she might be yours?”

Johnny smirked faintly. “The timeline fits. And we did have a wild summer.”

Jaehyun scoffed. “None of that would have happened if I never left the island.”

Johnny stopped walking and watched Jaehyun carefully. “So it was you?”

Jaehyun stopped too, glancing over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

Johnny narrowed his eyes, wagging his index finger. “The guy who left her in that state of despair six years ago.”

Jaehyun didn’t speak, but the way his jaw clenched and looked away made Johnny snigger. “Knew it. Guess I owe you for that. If you hadn’t messed up, I wouldn’t have had my chance.”

They exchanged glances, Johnny with a smug smirk on his lips and Jaehyun with darkened eyes, neither of them saying anything. Just a step behind, Doyoung was watching cautiously. 

“Are you gonna punch each other in the face? Please don’t punch each other in the face,” he rambled. “I’m a pacifist, but physically pacifying two grown men fighting is not my best skill.”

Jaehyun glanced at him and smiled. “No. No one’s punching anyone.”

Johnny nodded in agreement, and Doyoung visibly relaxed. Ahead, near the edge of the orange orchard, he spotted a small figure darting between the trees—Emma, the child they had all heard so much about.

“Emma!” he exclaimed, pointing at the orchard.

They all followed his finger, watching as Emma ran barefoot over the grass with two other kids, her hair bouncing, eyes bright with mischief. They all noticed how she tilted her head just like you did when you were thinking hard, and caught themselves smiling at the resemblance.

Jaehyun exhaled slowly. “We need to talk to her mom.”

Doyoung scratched the back of his neck. “We should, but she clearly doesn’t want us here.”

Johnny nodded slowly, his gaze still on the orchard. “Makes sense now, doesn’t it? Why she was so cold. She’s been raising a kid this whole time and we show up out of nowhere?”

A long silence stretched between them, heavy with everything that needed not be spoken. 

“Hi there,” came a voice behind them. They all turned. Amy stood there, smiling mischievously.

“Amy!” Johnny exclaimed, chuckling nervously. “Didn’t see you there.”

Amy crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Three grown men, spying on a little girl. I wonder what’s going on here?” she chimed, tilting her head playfully.

It didn’t take much to convince Amy. Just one sincere talk beneath the stars, and Amy’s usual knack for stepping into matters she absolutely shouldn’t. 

Okay, there was also a bribe of some sort from Johnny too.

By morning, she and the three men had come to some sort of unspoken agreement, though you’d never hear the details from her. She wouldn’t tell you yet, but Amy agreed to gave the men time to get to know Emma. Little windows of time, a few stolen moments. A chance to see Emma from a distance without disrupting her world. 

The girl remained blissfully unaware, chattering to her friends, running through trees, and sitting cross-legged on classroom floors while three very confused, very quiet men watched her and quietly lost their minds.

Johnny had his time with her first. He was sitting outside the café in the square, dark sunglasses over his eyes, arms crossed as if he wasn’t creepily surveilling a six-year-old. Emma sat three tables away with a coloring book open in front of her and a glass of peach juice beside it—served, oddly, in a champagne flute.

“She refuses to drink from plastic,” Amy muttered, sipping her espresso beside him. “Told me once it was ‘unsightly.’”

“She’s not wrong,” Johnny scoffed.

“She’s six.”

Johnny let out a faint snort. Emma was focused, brows pinched slightly, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she colored inside the lines. Not scribbles—clean, even strokes. Her sundress was bright. Her sandals were spotless. And when a tourist’s kid squealed nearby, Emma looked up with a flick of her lashes that Johnny knew all too well.

“She might be mine,” he murmured, eyes focused on the kid. “What a terrifying thought.”

“Terrifying that she’s yours?” Amy asked dryly.

Johnny nodded. “Yeah. I mean, can you imagine? Me? With a kid?”

Amy snorted. “You’d put her in designer overalls.”

Johnny puffed his chest proudly. “She deserves nothing less.”

Jaehyun saw her later that afternoon, under the fig tree by the orchard. Emma was crouched in the dirt, arranging pebbles into a messy circle around something she’d scratched into the soil with a stick. A butterfly landed nearby. She didn’t move—just watched it in silence, eyes wide with wonder.

A woman came over, offering some pastry to Emma who immediately stood up to look at the food. When she scrunched up her nose at it, Jaehyun smiled to himself, recognizing that stubborn streak.

Amy stood beside him, arms crossed loosely. “She’s very picky. She hates raisins,” she offered. “Picks them out of everything. Cookies. Bread. Throws them at birds, sometimes.”

Jaehyun blinked. “Birds?”

“It’s her favorite animal. Always the highlight of her drawings.”

“She likes to draw?”

“She does,” Amy replied, smiling.

He didn’t answer. Just kept his eyes on Emma as she adjusted one final stone, then stood back to admire her handiwork. A small, crooked flower drawn in dirt, circled with mismatched pebbles. She clapped once, proud of herself.

Jaehyun smiled faintly. “She’s my daughter,” he said, soft enough that even Amy might not have caught it. “I know it.”

Doyoung saw her at the school library. Emma was curled on a beanbag in the corner, a book nearly as big as her lap open across her knees. Occasionally, she’d whisper something to herself, then giggle like she’d cracked a private joke. Her glasses kept slipping down her nose, and every few minutes she’d push them up again with an absent-minded jab of her finger.

“She likes logic puzzles,” Amy whispered from the next shelf. “Reads ahead in class.”

Doyoung watched in fascination as Emma turned a page and promptly bonked herself in the forehead with the stiff cardboard. She made a dramatic little “oof” sound, then looked around—saw no one had noticed—and laughed at herself.

“She’s smart,” Doyoung murmured, smiling despite himself. “And clumsy.”

Amy looked at him knowingly. “Like someone you know?”

Emma had already gone back to reading, entirely absorbed, glasses slipping again. He watched her, chest tugging strangely.

“I feel like she’s mine,” he said finally. “I mean, she’s smart, clumsy. Her demeanor reminds me of myself.”

None of them spoke it aloud to each other. But in their separate corners of the island, in different lights and at different times, they all began to wonder the same thing.

What if she really was my child?

The first time you saw Emma hanging out with one of his potential fathers, you went batshit. You almost lashed out on Jaehyun—who was with her at the time, but Lea was able to stop you just in time before you could make a scene with your daughter present. Lea and Amy had to take the brunt of your anger.

Amy explained that all three of them had heard from someone that one of them could be Emma’s dad. It took some serious convincing—one which involved sitting your down while Lea and Amy held you on either arms to calm you down—before you eventually agreed that they deserved to at least get to know Emma.

That weekend, you watched Johnny and Emma spend time together. They were crouched side-by-side at the back of the bookstore. You sat at the café next door, pretending to read while watching them through the open window. You didn’t like this idea at all, but you wanted to give it a chance.

Emma, legs swinging from the edge of a stepstool, flipped through a picture book while Johnny knelt beside her, pointing at words and asking, “What do you think happens next?”

“She gets turned into a snail,” Emma replied seriously, like it was obvious.

Johnny chuckled. “Solid twist.”

You lingered to watch them longer than you meant to. When Emma eventually noticed you, she ran up to join you with Johnny in tow.  He just smiled at you and said, “We found the weirdest book. It’s kind of amazing.”

You only offered a clipped nod before turning to Emma as she showed you the pictures in the book. Doyoung’s turn came with the weekly beach clean-up. He somehow ended up carrying Emma in one arm and a leaking bucket of seashells and rocks in the other, grinning despite the mess.

“I’m starting a rock museum,” Emma explained when she spotted you. “Uncle Doyoung’s the janitor.”

Doyoung wiped his sandy hands on his jeans. “I asked to be head of security, but apparently I wasn’t intimidating enough.”

You didn’t stay long, just long enough to see him trip over a bucket and nearly fall into the tide. Emma cackled, and you couldn’t help the reluctant smile that pulled at your lips. She was having fun. That’s all that mattered.

And then there was the art fair too. You’d gone mostly for the free churros, but Emma got sucked into the craft tent, and of course Jaehyun was there—already drawing with a group of overly ambitious kids.

When Emma wandered over to him, she handed him a stick of chalk and said, “Can you draw a castle?”

So he did. A sweeping, moss-covered thing, all turrets and arches, delicately shaded like it was made to be hung in museums. Emma crouched beside him, adding a purple dragon with uneven wings. You stood across the square, your heart crawling up into your throat. And when they stepped back to admire their work—her tiny hand brushing his—you had to look away.

Through it all, you kept your distance. Smiled when Emma came home with funny stories. Listened when she said she hoped she’d see “the bookstore guy” or “the rock guy” or “the drawing guy” again. And quietly braced yourself for the moment it would all become real. Because deep down, you knew it couldn’t go on like this forever.

“Uncle Doyoung’s silly. I like him.”

Your heart twisted a little. “You do?”

“Uh-huh. And I like Uncle Johnny too. He said he’s got a big boat.”

You chuckled, running your hands gently through her hair. “Yeah, he does.”

“Your friends are not mean, Mom. They’re okay,” she added, beaming. “And did you know Uncle Jae is an architect?”

“I did.”

“He said architects draw houses and buildings. It’s cool.”

You smiled. “Do you wanna be an architect?”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I want to be a marine biologist.”

“Oh?” you asked, propping yourself on your elbow. “What does a marine biologist do?”

She launched into a surprisingly detailed explanation about dolphins, seaweed, and how sharks weren’t actually evil. You listened, nodding along, trying not to think about how easy this all seemed for her. And how hard it still was for you.

The next morning, you told your friends about your conversation with Emma. It was late afternoon when the three of you gathered on the patio, just far enough from the orchard that your voices wouldn’t carry. You had lemonade in your glass, sunglasses on your head, and your jaw clenched just slightly as you watched Emma zip between the trees, her laugh echoing on the breeze.

Johnny, Doyoung, and Jaehyun trailed after her like oversized puppies. Doyoung was trying to toss fallen oranges into a basket while Emma called out scores like a basketball referee. Jaehyun was crouched beside her, gently brushing dirt off her knees with a folded napkin. And Johnny, of course, was doing the most Johnny thing imaginable—standing a few feet away, watching it all quietly, sipping from a water bottle like he was above the chaos but secretly just shy around Emma.

“It’s Lover Boy,” Amy said, plucking a grape off the plate in front of her.

Lea blinked. “You said your vote is on Playboy.”

“That was when I hadn’t met Emma in the flesh yet,” Amy popped the grape in her mouth. “Now that she’s grown, and I’ve met Lover Boy, I’m pretty sure it’s him. She’s got her hatred for raisins to back it up, too.”

Lea snorted. “Nah. It’s Shy Boy. Emma’s being a massive klutz can only be explained by genetics.”

“Oh, so that’s hereditary now?” Amy asked, chuckling.

“It could be, who knows?” said Lea, shrugging. “I will say, though. She’s got Playboy’s eyes.”

You didn’t say anything. Just sipped your lemonade, eyes tracking Emma as she darted behind a tree, making all three men spin around to look for her.

“She’s got pieces of all of them,” Lea said after a moment. “Honestly, I can’t tell. She’s... Emma. You know?”

Amy nodded. “She takes after her mother a lot. Anyone would have a hard time guessing which one is her dad.”

There was a pause while you all watched Doyoung lift Emma onto his shoulders so she could try to reach a branch. She shrieked with laughter when he spun in a slow circle and nearly tripped over his own feet. Jaehyun instinctively reached out to steady them both, and Johnny looked up from where he was sitting, brows furrowed in concern. The three men exchanged glances—then they all laughed.

“At least the three of them get along,” Lea commented. “Men are more civil than I thought.”

You hummed but said nothing, eyes lingering on Emma as she stuck out her tongue and made a silly face. She was glowing. She had no idea that her entire life might be shifting beneath her feet.

Amy nudged your elbow. “You okay?”

Before you could respond, you noticed Johnny approaching, and quiet fell over your small circle. He slowed when he reached the edge of the patio, giving a polite nod to the others before looking at you.

“Hi,” he said, hands in his pockets.

“Oh wow, would you look at the time,” Lea said suddenly, standing up. “I need to check on the muffins!”

“Right. Muffins in the oven. Burning. Very urgent,” Amy said, scrambling up after her.

Johnny smirked as he watched your friends scramble away on purpose. “I love your friends. They’re very tactful.”

You scoffed. “And very nosy too.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Johnny agreed, sitting on the chair Lea had just vacated. “So, Shy Boy, Lover Boy, and Playboy.” Your brows furrowed, but you didn’t say anything.

“Nice nicknames. Who came up with it?” he grinned, leaning back on the chair and crossing his legs. “Let me guess, Lea?”

You couldn’t help laughing. “Yeah. But where did you even hear that? Have you been eavesdropping this whole time?”

“No, but I’ve heard it a few times in passing. I mean, obviously I’m Playboy,” he said, pointing to himself. “Doyoung’s definitely Shy Boy. And that makes Jaehyun your Lover Boy.”

He turned to you, grinning mischievously. “He was the guy who broke your heart, right? I ought to thank him. That summer changed my life.”

You rolled your eyes. “Are you here to gossip, Playboy?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head and leaning in. “I’m here to ask why you never told me she might be mine.”

Your mind stopped functioning for a second, completely caught off guard by the question and the way he dropped it so casually. You opened your mouth to speak, but didn’t. You just took a deep breath and looked away.

Of course. This conversation was doomed to come.

You’d never seen her this happy. Emma had always been bright, quick to laugh, quick to love, but this was different. This was lit-from-within, cheeks-pink-from-running, never-stopping-to-breathe kind of joy. You’d opted to let the three of them check into the BNB so they could spend more time with her.

Emma tore through the orchard like it had been made for her. Hair in a frizzy ponytail, arms flapping like wings, cheeks flushed from the heat. And trailing behind her like loyal satellites were the three men she’d only just met.

Doyoung was her obvious favorite at first. He’d found an old chalkboard and some planks and convinced her they could build a lemonade stand, even though he had no real plan and kept hammering nails crookedly.

“You’re doing it all wrong,” she scolded, tapping the plank he’d just attached.

“I’m not!” Doyoung said, offended. “I saw someone do it this way and it worked out fine.”

Jaehyun, naturally, had to take over. Inside the house, you pulled the laundry off the line and folded it stiffly. You paused when you heard her laugh again—clear as glass—and glanced out the kitchen window.

Johnny was under the fig tree with her now, holding a clipboard and pencil. He was showing her how to draw a map of the orchard. She leaned close to study his handwriting, her forehead creasing a little in concentration. He watched her like he didn’t want to blink.

When you stepped out onto the porch with a basket of folded sheets, Jaehyun was crouched near the steps, gently wiping dirt from Emma’s scraped knee with a napkin. She sniffled but didn’t cry. He smiled at her, whispering something you couldn’t hear, and she nodded solemnly before getting up and dashing off to find the others.

Jaehyun stood slowly and noticed you. “You’ve got a few loose planks back there,” he said quietly, pointing to a spot behind the house. “I could fix them. It wouldn’t take long.”

You didn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve lived with them this long.”

“I know. But I’m here now.”

That made you look at him. His face hadn’t changed—still calm, still thoughtful—but there was meaning behind those words. Like an apology, or a promise, or both.

“I’m not gonna play house with you, Jaehyun.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” he said calmly. “I just… want to help.”

“Well, don’t,” you replied, lips pressing into a thin line. He nodded once and stepped back.

That evening, the lemonade stand had collapsed, the map was unfinished, and Emma had declared herself “Queen of Orange Land.” She demanded a crown. Jaehyun made one out of wildflowers. Doyoung gave her a sticker badge. Johnny carried her on his shoulders as she waved at no one.

From the patio, you watched it all. Arms crossed, with an unreadable expression. You’d spent six years guarding your peace. Six years building a world that revolved around you and your daughter, just you two, always. And now these men had arrived, pulling at old threads. Disturbing your peace.

Doyoung approached you later, holding out a glass of lemonade like a peace offering. “Hi.”

You took the glass without looking at him. “Thanks.”

“She’s a lot like you,” Doyoung said. “Bold, smart, very pretty. She has big dreams, too. Like you.”

You didn’t say anything, just quietly sipped on your lemonade.

Doyoung continued. “Remember in Paris? You said you wanted to run your own hotel and—”

“I don’t remember,” you cut in.

His smile dropped for just a second. “Right. Well… Back then, I said I’m gonna stay in your hotel as a guest. And—”

“Stop it, Doyoung,” you replied without missing a beat. “There is a chance that you might be Emma’s dad, and if you were, you could be a dad to her if you want. But that’s between you and her. That relationship doesn’t extend to me.”

You rose to your feet and left before he could say anything. You heard him call out to you, but you didn’t look back.

Later that night, long after Emma had passed out in bed, you ran into Johnny in the hallway. He was barefoot, hair damp from a shower, heading toward the kitchen.

He noticed you first. “Still mad at me?”

You walked past him without stopping. “No.”

Johnny turned, surprised. “Really?”

“That would require emotion.”

He didn’t smile. “Got it.”

As you walked away, you remembered how he asked you a few days ago why you didn’t tell him about Emma. You remembered being unable to say anything in response. Johnny said it was fine and that he would wait until you were ready to tell him.

“But as you know, I’m a busy man and I’m not very patient,” he’d said at the time, basically giving you a deadline, and you didn’t appreciate that at all.

The sun had set. Emma had fallen asleep after a tantrum over popsicle colors—red was the only acceptable flavor, apparently—and for the first time all day, the house was quiet. You were in the kitchen twisting at a jam jar with far too much effort, when Doyoung walked in.

“Need help?” he asked, smiling.

You jumped a little. “I got it,” you said, grunting once before giving up. “Okay, no, I don’t. I think the lid’s glued shut.”

He took the jar, twisted once, and popped it open. You stared at him like he’d just performed a magic trick.

“I loosened it,” you said defensively.

He handed it back with a smile. “Yes, you did. Great job.” 

The compliment caught you off guard, and you looked down at the jar in your hands, like you had suddenly forgotten why you wanted jam in the first place. Doyoung noticed your expression.

“Sorry. It just came out,” he said after a second. “My fiancee says she doesn’t know if I mean them sometimes, or if I’m just complimenting her out of habit.”

You glanced at him. “Fiancée? You’re engaged?”

Doyoung nodded, almost bashfully. “Since December. She’s great. Very not-me, which is probably why it works.”

“Congratulations,” you said, feeling a genuine warmth in your heart.

He looked at you, serious now. “I didn’t come to bother you or anything. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”

You flattened your lips together and shrugged.

“I was just really surprised to get that letter,” he added, chuckling softly. “And I came because it sounded urgent, and I wanted to help with whatever it was. You didn’t give me details, just that you wanted me to come as soon as I can.”

“I know,” you replied, shaking your head at yourself. “That was kind of the point. And I did need your help at the time, but things got better.”

“What did happen?” he asked, leaning on the counter. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

You sighed and looked at him, really looked at him. Doyoung had been a sweetheart when you first met. He was a clumsy, nervous wreck, but he was endearing. You had your best memories of Paris with him, but he probably had the worst memory of you leaving him with nothing but a note. 

He didn’t deserve the hostility he got from you the first time you saw him again after six long years.

“Emma was sick, really sick,” you confessed. “I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. And for the first time, I thought… maybe she needs her dad.”

You looked away. “But like I said, things got better. So I didn’t have to send those letters after all.”

Doyoung hummed, nodding as he took in the information. “I followed you here, you know. Six years ago.” He said after a few seconds. “But Corsica is a big island and I didn’t know where to look, so, I gave up and went back home.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I wasn’t upset about it,” he chuckled, then paused to think. “Well, I was, a little bit. And it took a while to recover from the bruised ego I got that day.”

He glanced over. “Can I ask you something?” You nodded.

“Did you hate it? That night?” Doyoung let out a shaky laugh. “I just—I’ve thought about it a lot. About how I must’ve said the wrong thing or done something wrong. And I’ve always wondered if you left because of that.”

“No,” you said quickly. “No, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t hate it. I just…”

You took a breath, then admitted quietly, “You scared me. When you said you were in love with me.”

“Huh…” He nodded, seemingly coming to a realization. “I get it. Looking back now, it was kind of a stupid thing to say.”

You snorted. “Yeah. It was.”

“But that’s all in the past,” he declared, exhaling. “And I didn’t come here for a second shot at this, or anything. I just really thought you needed help, and our time might be short, but to me, you’re an old friend. I like helping old friends.”

You smiled at that, genuinely moved. Then he added, “And of course, after finding out about Emma, I had to stay. I needed to stay. The idea that I could be a father is just… I don’t know. Exciting and scary at the same time.”

You didn’t reply right away. Just watched him, this man who used to be a charming, blabbering mess, now standing in your kitchen talking about being a father. “I think you’ll be a good one,” you said at last.

Doyoung smiled, softer than before. “I hope so.”

“Not just with Emma,” you added, and you meant it. “You’ll be a wonderful dad to your kids, Doyoung.”

“Thank you,” he said, bashfully scratching the back of his neck. His ears had turned a little pink. “I’d love me a daughter. I’d spoil her rotten.”

You sighed. “If Emma turns out to be yours, please don’t spoil her too much. She’s already spoiled enough as it is. I can’t even.”

Doyoung snorted. “She’s not that bad.”

You gave him a look. “She threw a fit over popsicle colors. Colors, Doyoung.”

He laughed, loud and boyish. “Right. She did.”

You smiled despite yourself. Just for a second, it felt like old times again—comfortable, uncomplicated, and a little silly. But only for a second.

The night was still and quiet. Cool air clung to your skin as you stepped onto the porch, barefoot, holding a half-empty mug of tea. You’d part ways with Doyoung after a hearty chat, and Johnny was nowhere to be found ever since Emma fell asleep. So, you weren’t expecting to see anyone else.

But there he was, crouched at the edge of the yard, a flashlight balanced between his knees and a screwdriver in his hand, fussing over the fence.

You blinked. “I told you to leave it.”

Jaehyun looked up, startled. “Sorry. Couldn’t sleep.”

You took a slow sip. “Didn’t realize you packed a toolbox.”

He glanced down at the pitiful setup: a multitool, a roll of twine, and what looked suspiciously like a spoon. “Improvising.”

You scoffed under your breath and stepped down from the porch, walking over to the shed nearby. “The toolbox is here.”

He followed you quietly to the shed. You flicked on the light, crouched, and pulled out the battered red toolbox from under a shelf.

“Here,” you said, setting it down at his feet.

“Thanks,” he murmured, kneeling beside it. 

He opened the lid, hesitant, like it felt wrong to accept even this small gesture from you. You turned on your heel to leave, but he spoke before you could take a step.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said. “But I wouldn’t mind the company.”

You considered him for a second, then walked out without a word. He took that as a no. Ten minutes later, you were back with your mug refilled, your sleeves pushed up, and a blanket tossed over one shoulder.

“Is it that hard? Or are you just slow?” you asked flatly.

He didn’t smile, but you saw his lips twitch. “Just trying not to wake everyone.”

You set your mug down on the steps and sat, knees pulled up. You didn’t know why you came back. Maybe it was the quiet, or the way his voice had sounded—not desperate, just inviting.  And familiar.

You watched him work. He was careful with his hands, looping the twine where a nail was missing, reinforcing the base with wood from a broken crate you’d nearly thrown out. He moved quietly, methodically, and with expertise like the handyman that you remembered him to be.

“You still like fixing things that don’t concern you?” you asked before you could stop it.

He glanced at you, surprised. “Only the ones I have a shot at fixing.”

You didn’t reply. But the words stayed with you, nestled somewhere in your chest like a jab you were sure he didn’t mean to throw. “You always did think everything is a fixer-upper,” you mumbled bitterly, looking away and taking a sip.

The night stretched on. A few crickets chirped in the distance. Jaehyun finished tying off the last bit of twine, wiped his hands on his jeans, then came to sit beside you on the steps. Not too close.

“How have you been?” he asked, voice low. “All these years.”

You took a sip of your tea. “Fine.”

He didn’t press. That was how he always was—patient, never pushing. And maybe that was part of the problem. Back then, he’d waited too long to be honest. By the time he said something you needed to hear, it had already been too late.

Now here he was again, waiting. Sitting beside you like no time had passed. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “Emma likes having you around.”

A small smile crossed his lips. “She’s incredible. Bright. Funny. Stubborn as hell. Bet she gets that from you.”

You scoffed, though you were unable to hide your smile.

“She also has a big heart,” he added, looking at you. “And big dreams, like you.”

You looked away. The stars were dull tonight, almost invisible.

“I didn’t think I’d be back here,” he said after a while. “But I’m glad I am.” You said nothing.

“I’ve missed this,” he added, quieter now. “Being around you.”

You looked at him then. At the soft way his features caught the porch light, at the steadiness in his gaze, even when he wasn’t meeting yours. At the man he’d become, or maybe always was, and you just hadn’t seen it through the pain of what didn’t work out.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Jaehyun,” you said quietly.

“I don’t want anything,” he replied. “I just want to be around… if you’ll let me.”

You didn’t respond. Not yes, not no. Just reached for your mug again, letting the warmth seep into your hands, into your chest. It was easier not to go there—not with him, not with anyone. Those memories were too bright and too warm. Too dangerous.

After a while, Jaehyun said, “Sometimes I wonder if I could’ve done anything different. Stayed a little longer. Said something sooner.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t look at him. “I don’t spend time wondering about the past,” you said before rising to your feet and walking away. 

But you did spend time wondering about the past. More often than you cared to admit.

After a restless night and too much thinking, the beach felt like the only place wide enough to hold all the noise in your head. So you walked there early the next morning. The tide was low, and the sand was damp beneath your feet. The breeze smelled like salt and oranges. It was early enough that the sun was still halfway behind the hills, casting a soft glow across the water. You stopped near the shore and closed your eyes for a moment, just breathing it in.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite girl on this island.”

You turned, unsurprised to find Johnny strolling your way—barefooted, linen shirt unbuttoned all the way down, hair a tousled mess like he’d just rolled out of bed and decided to head to the beach first.

“Okay. Second favorite,” he corrected himself. “Emma’s first. Obviously.”

You gave him a look. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“What could be better than running into you on this fine morning?” he asked back, joining you by the water.

You sighed through your nose and kept walking, letting the waves graze your ankles. Johnny fell into step beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I saw you sneak out this morning,” he said. “Fishy.”

“I wasn’t sneaking out. It’s my house, my home. I do whatever I want.”

“Okay, someone woke up grumpy,” he teased. “What happened? Lover’s quarrel with Shy Boy or Lover Boy?”

You turned to give him a deadpan expression. Johnny grinned. “What? It couldn’t be me. I’m perfect. I’d never quarrel with you.”

You snorted. “You’re many things, Johnny. Perfect is not one of them.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He stretched lazily, arms overhead. “So what are we doing today?”

“We?” you echoed, arching a brow.

“Yes, we. Don’t be selfish. Count me in.”

You shook your head, walking faster, if only to end the conversation. “I came here to be alone.”

“And look how well that turned out,” he said easily, falling into step beside you. “Come on. You haven’t eaten, have you?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t. But your stomach wasn’t the one making noise—it was your mind. Still echoing with words left unsaid on the porch. Johnny was watching you like he already knew that.

“Why?” you asked finally.

“Because I’m starving,” he said, like it was obvious. “And I know this place just around the island. Best pastries I’ve ever had.”

You gave him a look. He gave one right back. “And you could use a distraction. Didn’t they say carbs cure everything? Especially for grumpy women?”

You scoffed under your breath. “No, thanks.”

You turned to continue walking, but a loud, unmistakable grumble made you stop. It was coming from your belly, making you place your hand instinctively over it. Behind you, Johnny chuckled in satisfaction. 

“See? You need to eat. Come on.” He grabbed your hand with a smile, and you let him drag you back to his boat just by the docks. You followed reluctantly, but not unhappily.

Guess this was better than returning to the house. To the quiet rooms and the questions you weren’t ready to ask yourself yet.

The boat was different from what you remembered from summers past, but the vibe was nearly identical—sleek, spotless, with that casual arrogance that seemed woven into the very leather of the seats. A floating extension of Johnny himself.

“What happened to the other one?” you asked as he helped you aboard.

“Sold it,” he replied casually. “It was getting boring, so I had to get a new one.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at his unchanging attitude. “Of course you did.”

He laughed, unfazed, and nodded at the captain onboard. They exchanged a few quick words while you looked around, then the engine rumbled to life, and the boat pulled smoothly from the dock. You leaned against the railing, letting the breeze blow through your hair.

It was strange, how easy it was to fall into old rhythms with Johnny. Like no time had passed at all. But time had passed. Years of it. And not all of them kind.

The ride was short, maybe twenty minutes around the island, but smooth and indulgent—like most things in Johnny’s life. He talked the whole time, mostly nonsense, from complaining about the awful airline food he endured on the way here to ranking the best gelato spots in Corsica. He claimed to be an expert, though you were sure he was mixing up two different towns. You didn’t mind. It was welcome noise, and it kept your mind from drifting too far back into the night before.

They docked at a small port just off the main road, where a sleepy little restaurant with blue-striped umbrellas waited, already smelling of butter and espresso. You chose the table closest to the water. Johnny insisted on pulling your chair out with exaggerated courtesy. You rolled your eyes but sat anyway, draping your blanket loosely over your lap. A waitress brought out a basket of warm bread and two menus.

“I’ll have whatever she’s having,” Johnny said as the waitress approached, his tone casual but his eyes still on you.

You didn’t meet his gaze. “You don’t even know what I want.”

“I know you have good taste. I trust you.”

You glanced up at him then, just briefly. Johnny always said things like that. Like none of it ever cost him anything. “You picked this place,” you said, eyes back on the menu. “Shouldn’t you be the one with recommendations?”

He only shrugged, smiling. “Doesn’t matter. I trust you.”

You rolled your eyes again, but the corners of your mouth twitched. After placing your orders, you took a moment to look around. The restaurant had brick walls and wooden beams overhead, mismatched chairs and wobbly tables, potted plants hanging on the eaves. It had that classic Corsican charm—weathered, warm, and beautiful.

You bit back a smile and looked out at the sea. “This place is nice.”

“It’s better with company,” Johnny said, leaning back with his arms stretched along the seat, completely at ease.

You shot him a look. “Well, obviously you’re always surrounded by company.”

“Not your company,” he said smoothly.

You gave a noncommittal hum, breaking off a piece of bread. “Flirting before breakfast. Bold of you.”

“Flirting? Who’s flirting?” he asked, mock offended. “I’m just appreciating the view.”

You gave him a flat stare. Johnny grinned. “Hey, it’s not my fault you’re easy on the eyes. You should apologize for that.”

You snorted. “You haven’t changed at all.”

He reached for a slice of bread, tearing into it like it was a croissant at a Paris café. “Sure, I have. I’ve matured. I drink my espresso black now. I read the news.”

You raised an eyebrow. He grinned wider. “Okay, I skim headlines. But still. Personal growth.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself, and that only made his grin widen. “There it is,” he said. “I’ve been trying to get a laugh out of you for days.”

You looked at him then, caught off guard by the simple truth of that statement.

“How have you been?” he asked when you didn’t say anything.

You hesitated, but only for a second. “I’ve been okay. Busy. Tired. But okay.”

Johnny nodded. “Motherhood looks good on you.”

You rolled your eyes but felt your shoulders loosen just a little. Maybe it was the sun. Or the coffee. Or Johnny’s ridiculousness.

“What about you?” you asked, cutting into your food. “Still cruising through life with no plans?”

Johnny hummed thoughtfully. “More or less. No wife. No kids. No fixed address. You know me. I like the freedom. Wake up wherever I want. Say yes to whatever I want. No five-year plan. No mortgage.”

You raised a brow. “Living the dream, huh?”

“Something like that.” He gave you a slow smile. “Though… I might be willing to settle down. For the right person. You know, someone who cooks. Someone like you.”

You gave him a look, unimpressed but amused. “I don’t cook.”

“Ah,” he said, feigning disappointment. “There goes my dream.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you took a bite.

“I’m serious, though,” he said, grinning. “Don’t you feel lucky? You could be the one to tame me.”

“I think I’d rather wrestle a crocodile.”

Johnny laughed, tossing a sugar packet at you. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

You shook your head, biting into a still-warm pastry and letting the silence settle for a moment. His words echoed faintly in your mind—the right person—but you didn’t give them space to take root. Not now.

The sun had climbed higher now, and the light on the water shimmered like glass. You exhaled quietly, letting yourself enjoy the moment. Just for now.

The breakfast with Johnny had ended the way most things with him did—on a laugh, with one too many compliments. He walked you back to the docks like a gentleman, offered you his jacket when the wind picked up, and only let go of your hand once he helped you down from the boat.

“You sure you don’t want to grab lunch too?” he asked, hopeful.

“It’s nine in the morning.”

“Exactly. Gives us plenty of time to work up an appetite.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “If you know what I mean.”

You scoffed. “Keep your dick in your pants. Don’t just go around brandishing it to every girl you meet.”

Johnny grinned like he was being tickled. “So territorial. Exactly how I like my women.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “Bye, Johnny.”

Back at the house, you barely had time to slip your shoes off before you heard someone knocking out back. You peeked through the window. Jaehyun, holding a sack of soil in one hand and a small potted herb in the other.

You stepped out, and he gave you a small, wordless smile before heading toward the garden bed like it was the most normal thing in the world. When you asked what he was doing, he only said, “The basil was dying. Figured you’d want fresh ones.”

You didn’t say thank you. But you brought him a glass of water anyway.

That became the pattern. Johnny would show up late mornings or just after lunch, always with something in hand—coffee, pastries, once even a new pair of designer sunglasses he claimed were on sale from the mainland. He flirted shamelessly, but never crossed the line.

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever met who looks good rolling her eyes at me,” he said once, after catching you doing exactly that. “Dangerous, really.”

You swatted him with a dish towel. He looked like he might thank you for it.

Jaehyun, in contrast, never announced his visits. He just showed up. Fixing the busted shutter. Watering the trees before you could. Replacing the broken porch light without saying a word. He never tried to be noticed, which just made it harder not to notice him.

When Emma asked Johnny to help with a school art project, he brought glitter. So much glitter. The three of you spent half the afternoon scraping it off the floor. When Emma asked Jaehyun, he brought her to the orchard, showed her how to press flowers between books. Taught her the names of each one like they were old friends.

You found them that evening at the table, heads bent over an album they’d made from scratch. She called it ‘Island Things That Make Me Happy.’ The last page had a pressed bloom labeled Mom’s smile.

You didn’t ask who picked that one.

Johnny took you and Emma on short boat rides when the weather was good. Taught her how to steer while you sat beside them, bare feet up on the seat, pretending not to enjoy it too much.

Jaehyun walked with you both through the orchard when it was too hot to do anything else. Sometimes he said nothing for minutes at a time. And it wasn’t awkward. It was just peaceful and satisfying.

They were opposites in every way. Johnny loud and golden, like the blinding sun at noon. Jaehyun was quiet and constant, like the breeze you didn’t feel until it was gone.

And you? You kept your heart carefully tucked away and you were starting to feel it stir.

In laughter that slipped out before you could stop it. In the way your eyes found them without meaning to. In the little moments between breath and memory, when it felt almost comforting to imagine what might’ve been if things had gone differently.

“So... who’s winning the boyfriend Olympics?”

You nearly choked on your drink. Amy snorted. “Yeah, we’ve been keeping score.”

You gave them both a flat look from across the kitchen island. “That’s ridiculous.”

But even you had to admit, the past few days had taken a turn. Johnny had declared open season on flirtation, popping up everywhere you went—elbowing his way into your errands, offering dramatic compliments every time you so much as tied your hair up. Jaehyun, though he didn’t say much, would always show up when you needed someone, fixing things around the house and helping in any way he could without being asked.

Different approaches. Same intentions.

“She blushes more around Johnny,” Lea whispered behind her wineglass.

“No, no,” Amy countered, eyes narrowing through the open shutters. “Watch her when Jaehyun’s around. She goes all weird and soft.”

Doyoung, who had been half-listening while Emma played with his shoelaces under the table, finally spoke up. “Honestly? I’m just glad no one’s betting on me. That would be a very sad chart.”

Lea laughed. “Please, you’re clearly the fan favorite in the under-six category.”

Doyoung raised both hands in surrender. “What can I say? Emma has excellent taste.”

“Knock it off,” you told your friends as you sat on the chair next to Doyoung’s. “No one’s winning whatever competition you think is happening here.”

Amy nudged Doyoung’s arm with a mischievous grin. “Come on, Doyoung. If you had to choose—Team Playboy or Team Lover Boy?”

Doyoung blinked. “Why are you asking me? And wait, Playboy and Lover Boy? What’s my nickname?”

“Shy Boy, of course,” Lea replied, and that made Doyoung grimace.

“Come on, Shy Boy. Pick a side,” Amy said cheerfully. “You have to because you’re already here… And because you gave up too easily.”

Doyoung frowned. “I didn’t give up. I was never in the running. Didn’t even have the intention of joining.”

“Oh please,” Lea chimed in, eyes sparkling. “You had a head start. You were the first candidate. First night. First everything. And now look at you—sidelined, like a retired soccer player coaching kiddie league.”

Doyoung narrowed his eyes at her. “Wow. Okay. That was a little offensive.”

Amy cackled, clearly delighted. “Look at him. He’s sulking.”

“I’m not sulking,” Doyoung muttered. Then he paused, glanced down at Emma, tangled around his foot, and sighed. “I’m just a maybe-dad, happily engaged, trying to eat a muffin in peace.”

Lea made a show of whispering in Amy’s ear. “He’s sulking,” she said loudly.

You laughed when Doyoung’s brows furrowed deeper. Then, trying to de-escalate the teasing, you told them to stop. “That’s enough, girls. It’s never gonna happen.”

All three of them looked at you. “They could have pieces of Emma. But none of them are getting another piece of me,” you declared, which was more of a reminder to yourself than to anyone else. You caught Doyoung’s gaze beside you. 

You playfully narrowed your eyes at him and pointed with your index finger.  “Not even you, Shy Boy.”

He groaned dramatically. “Oh, come on! I said I’m not—” he huffed, giving all three of you a flat look. “Whatever,” he muttered finally, biting into his pastry with another huff.

The girls burst into laughter again, and Doyoung muttered something through a mouthful of muffin. Outside, the sun climbed higher over the garden, where Johnny’s lounging by the fountain and Jaehyun kept quietly working in the dirt, unaware—or maybe perfectly aware—of the scoreboard inside.

The night was warm and glittering, the sky clear and wide above the orange orchard as lanterns swayed in the breeze. Lea had gone all out with the decorations, stringing up lights between trees, setting up a long table draped with linen and wildflowers. Music was playing from a speaker, and the air was rich with grilled food, wine, and overlapping conversations.

It was Amy’s last night on the island, and she was determined to make it count.

“Come on, one more round!” she shouted, raising her glass from where she stood atop a chair. “Here’s to endless summers and hoping wrinkles and fine lines don’t show on our faces until we’re eighty!”

Everyone laughed and drank to that—including you, seated between Doyoung and Lea with Emma fast asleep in Doyoung’s lap, a flower crown lopsided on her tiny head. Johnny was across the table, looking like he belonged in a magazine spread—tan, teeth flashing, wineglass in hand. Jaehyun stood near the grill, quietly flipping skewers, but he paused to honor Amy’s toast.

You and Doyoung brought Emma upstairs, making sure she was sound asleep before rejoining the party. The night blurred sweetly—giggles and half-shouted conversations, music thumping louder, Amy pulling you into a spin, Johnny joining with a twirl that nearly knocked over a candelabra.

Past midnight, your girls were lying on blankets under the stars, too drunk to form coherent sentences. Amy had pulled Doyoung onto the grass with them, drunkenly urging him to take a group photo.

You wandered away from the crowd, down the winding stone steps to the beach, where the music faded into background noise. The sea stretched before you, dark and quiet, and the breeze carried the faint smell of salt and sand.

“You’re sneaking off again,” came Johnny’s voice behind you.

You turned to see him leaning against the railing of the stone steps, wineglass still in hand but half-empty now. He looked softer in the moonlight. Less like a flirt and more real.

“And you’re stalking me,” you said, scoffing.

Johnny smirked, stepping closer. “Guilty. But only because every time I blink, you vanish. Starting to think you’re avoiding me on purpose.”

“I am.”

That made him laugh. “You’re very honest. Would it hurt to sugarcoat things a little for my heart’s sake?”

You chuckled, then turned your gaze back to the sea, arms folded loosely over your chest. The waves lapped at the sand gently. “Shouldn’t you be back up there? Being charming?”

“I should be, but there’s no point since you’re not there anymore,” he replied without missing a beat.

You let out a dry laugh. “You are such a flirt.”

He shrugged. “Don’t you already know that?”

“Yes, and it still surprises me every time,” you sighed, tutting. “I gotta get better at that.”

You glanced at him then, and he was already looking at you. The smile he gave you was gentler this time. “Think me sticking around would help you get lots of practice with that?”

“Probably,” you said half-heartedly, shrugging.

“No, but seriously,” he beamed, tilting his head as he looked at you. “Would you?”

You snorted. “You’re not seriously talking about staying, are you?”

Johnny shrugged, pushing one hand in his pocket as he finished the contents of his glass. You blinked, genuinely perplexed. “Whatever, Johnny,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

Johnny fixed his gaze to the sea, considering. “Maybe I’m serious. Or maybe I’m just floating ideas. Who knows, I might finally be ready to be someone’s stable domestic guy. You know? Have kids. Grow tomatoes. Settle down.”

You laughed. “Settle down?”

He grinned. “I could even do the whole marriage proposal surprise thing. Maybe a grand church wedding on top of a hill, too.”

You looked at him, trying to read the expression behind the smile. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.” He laughed lightly. “Okay, maybe I am. But it’s not a bad idea. I’d definitely give it a try for you.”

You stared at him, mouth parted slightly, not sure if you were supposed to laugh or run. He was joking. He had to be. It was Johnny, after all.

Johnny, who flirts like it’s his life’s calling—who didn’t do ‘serious’, who didn’t believe in marriage or love, let alone surprise proposals and weddings on hills. And even if he meant any of it, even a little, you didn’t want to believe it.

He took a step closer, but didn’t touch you. Just looked at you like he was waiting for something. You blinked, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

You didn’t answer. And then he moved slowly, reaching to place his hands on your shoulders. You knew what was coming. Could’ve stepped back. Should’ve.

But you didn’t. You stayed frozen in place, caught somewhere between disbelief and curiosity, until his mouth brushed softly against yours. It was fleeting, too quick, almost like it didn’t happen at all.

When you didn’t move or react, he came back for more.

The next kiss was nothing like the first. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer until your body was pressed against his. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been waiting to taste you all night.

You gasped into him, one hand flying up to grip his shoulder, the other threading into his hair. He groaned when your hips grazed him, walking you backwards until your spine hit the stone wall behind you.

Then his hands started moving. His fingers slid beneath your shirt, his palms hot against your bare skin as they roamed your back, your sides, your hips. You clung to him, legs slightly parting to let him press in closer, and he did—grinding into you with a slow roll of his hips that made your breath catch.

“Shit,” he muttered against your mouth. 

You felt drunk, even though you weren’t. Dizzy, lit up from the inside out. Johnny pulled away just enough to look at you and utter your name like a prayer. 

Then you were kissing him again, deeper this time, like you couldn’t help it. His hand cupped the back of your neck, tilting your face to kiss you harder and rougher. His other hand slipped down, gripping your thigh, dragging it up against his hip—and you let him, desperate for more of that friction, of that hard, raging bulge between his legs.

You were losing yourself. You wanted to lose yourself. And maybe you would’ve—if not for that voice in the back of your head. The one that reminded you of the promise you made to yourself.

You pulled back, gasping, lips swollen and fingers still tangled in his shirt. Johnny’s chest rose and fell against yours. 

“Hey,” he said breathlessly. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “I can’t… Johnny, I can’t do this.”

He blinked. The confusion hit first, then frustration. “Why not?”

“Because,” you whispered, stepping back, shoving your hands through your hair. “I said I wouldn’t. I can’t. I’m not supposed to—”

“To what?” he asked, voice low. “Feel something?”

Your heart raced in your chest. But you didn’t answer. You didn’t even look at him again. You needed air. You needed distance. You needed to get out of your own head.

You turned and ran barefoot across the sand and up the stairs, heartbeat roaring in your ears. You continued to run up the path until the music was faded and the lights from the party were nothing but soft specks in the distance.

You didn’t stop until your feet hit sand again. Until the beach opened up in front of you again. And you found someone already there—Jaehyun, standing by the shore, surprised at your sudden appearance.

Great, another storm, waiting for you.

“Hey,” he called out, brows furrowing with concern when he noticed your expression. He stepped closer. “Are you okay? Are you—are you crying?”

You hadn’t even noticed the tears. Not until his hand came up to gently brush one from your cheek. You slapped it away, then turned your back to him, dragging your sleeve across your face.

“What are you doing here, Jae?” you muttered.

“I… I was here first,” he said, voice cautious. He tried to close the distance again, but you took a step back. “What happened? What are you running from?”

You laughed bitterly, wrapping your arms around yourself and looking down at your bare feet. “God, don’t start with that.”

Jaehyun sighed, but didn’t say anything. He walked over to you, taking off his sandals and offering it at your feet. You stared at it for a moment, then at him.

“Please. Just take them,” he said softly. “It’s cold.”

You didn’t take the sandals. You didn’t move at all. Just stood there, arms still wrapped tightly around yourself, refusing to look at him. Jaehyun didn’t insist. He just left them at your feet and turned away, hands in his pockets, gaze flitting toward the cliffs.

Above you, perched on the hill, your house glowed faintly through the trees—lit up like a beacon against the dark cliffs. The old haunted mansion, now bright and lively, strung with fairy lights and memories.

“You remember that night?” he said quietly. “We sketched the plans for your hotel on the back of a pub’s order sheet. I can’t believe I’m seeing it all in real life. Well, part of it.” Your hands curled into fists at your sides.

“We were mapping out every room,” he continued, smiling faintly. “You said you wanted a courtyard with a fountain. But not a flashy one, just something simple and charming.”

“Stop,” you said.

He paused. “Stop what?”

“Stop talking,” you replied bitterly. “Don’t stand there talking about floor plans like we built that place together. Like you had anything to do with it. Don’t act like you get to be part of that story.” Your voice was cold, and you didn’t regret a single word.

“But I was part of that story,” he said gently.

“You were supposed to be,” you smirked, turning to face him. “You said you’d stay. You said you’d be here and that you’d build a life here with me. We made plans. And then you left.”

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to speak—but you weren’t done.

“And I know. I know I told you to leave, but that’s not the point. The point was that you never fought for me, Jaehyun. You never fought for us.”

Jaehyun uttered your name helplessly, reaching for you but you stepped back before he could. You took a deep breath, looking up at the sky in hopes that your tears wouldn’t fall. “You didn’t even try to fix it,” you continued, voice breaking. “You didn’t write. You didn’t call. You just vanished. And I waited—God, I waited so long, thinking maybe you’d at least try. But you didn’t.”

“I tried,” he said softly, you almost didn’t catch it.

You scoffed, mocking.“Well, apparently you didn’t try hard enough!”

“I came back!” he snapped. The sudden rise in his voice startled both of you. “I broke off the engagement and came right back!”

That stopped you. His outburst and his confession—it stopped your from talking, your mind suddenly slow at comprehending his words. You gawked as Jaehyun’s jaw clenched before he continued. “I came running back to you because I wanted to make things right. But when I got here, I was told you were off with someone else!”

You blinked at him, stunned. “What do you mean?”

He scoffed. “Oh, so that wasn’t true, then? You weren’t off having the time of your life with some guy?”

“It was true,” you said briskly. “It doesn’t matter. What do you mean you came back here?”

Jaehyun took a step back, hurt and regret were evident on his expression, and the moonlight glinted in his eyes, wet with tears he was holding back. He took a deep breath, ran his hands through his hair and looked out to the vast ocean.

He didn’t say anything for a few moments. Neither did you, still reeling in confusion and hurt at his revelation, your anger unraveling slowly and painfully. You had built this story in your head, over and over—the story where he just didn’t love you enough to fight. But now, all of a sudden, it cracked down the middle.

You had been wrong, and it hurt.

“I made a mistake,” he said after a while, looking down at his feet. “I was scared, and stupid, and I let my pride get in the way. But I never stopped thinking about you. Not once.”

You looked away. The tears were hot again, the ache crawling back up your throat.

“I never got to tell you,” he continued. “That I came back and that I love you. I thought I was too late. I just… I just went home.”

“I went home,” he repeated, laughing at himself. “My fiancee called me a fool and married me to prove it.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just kept quiet. You just stood there, tired, trembling, toes dug into the cold sand, staring at the man you once thought you’d never see again He took a step forward, close enough for you to feel the heat of his body. He raised a hand, hesitated, then tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes, letting it sink in. Letting yourself feel it for a second. Then you stepped back. “You’re too late, Jaehyun,” you said. But even you didn’t believe it.

The sun was high and bright when the three men boarded Johnny’s yacht, one after another, as if summoned by some invisible alarm. Doyoung had mentioned that it was about time he had to fly back home for work, and they all knew they couldn’t keep avoiding the topic forever. Not when the answer might change all of their lives.

They sat around the polished table on the deck, a bottle of wine already open but no one had poured a glass yet. Doyoung spoke first. “Are we really doing this?”

Johnny leaned back in his seat, sunglasses perched on his head, his face unreadable for once. “It’s now or never, boys. It’s not like we can just stick around the island forever.”

“You’re right, we can’t,” Doyoung agreed, sighing. “I mean, this place is lovely, but like I said, I have to go back soon.”

Jaehyun didn’t say anything. He was standing by the railing, arms folded, eyes fixed on the stretch of sea. The silence hung for too long before Johnny pushed his chair back with a loud scrape and stood.

“Let’s go see her.”

The three of them walked up to the house together—quiet and a little awkward, like kids on their way to the principal’s office. You greeted them at the door, bleary-eyed and exhausted from the night before, but you didn’t turn them away. Emma was at school, and you weren’t sure if it was a blessing or a punishment that this talk had to happen without her around.

You led them to the sitting room. Nobody sat, but you did. Johnny cleared his throat. “We figured it was time to talk about everything.”

You gave a tired nod. “Okay. Talk.”

Doyoung stepped forward, looking as sheepish as ever. “First of all… sorry. We didn’t mean to corner you like this. We just thought it’d be easier if we were all here. Together.”

“Less yelling that way,” Johnny muttered.

Jaehyun ignored them both. “She looks like you,” he said quietly, eyes on you. You weren’t sure if he meant it as comfort or accusation.

“Yes, exactly,” Doyoung agreed. “And that makes it hard to guess which one of us is her dad, so… I think it’s time we figure that out.”

Johnny chimed in casually. “She laughs like my sister’s kid. They could pass as siblings, to be honest.”

Doyoung shook his head. “Have you seen her nose? That’s gotta be from me.”

Jaehyun raised a hand. “She has dimples.”

“Yeah,” Doyoung agreed, though his shrug said otherwise. “But her voice sounds exactly like my mom’s.”

Johnny scoffed. “Your mom sounds like a six-year-old child?”

Doyoung gave him a flat look. “What about her eyes, then? Don’t they look like mine?”

“No, they don’t. But she has posh tastes,” Johnny replied, smirking. “Pretty sure elegance and class are hereditary traits.”

“More like extravagance,” Jaehyun muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” Johnny questioned, glancing at Jaehyun with a scowl.

“Guys, enough,” you chided, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Are you here to argue resemblances or what?”

Johnny shrugged. “We should just check. Get DNA samples and find out once and for all. Although, I would be totally fine with assuming fatherhood if you guys wanna back out.”

“No one’s backing out,” Jaehyun snapped. “This is a serious discussion. You can’t make jokes like that.”

Johnny turned to him, smirking in amusement. “Okay, Lover Boy. Relax.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Doyoung chimed in, raising a hand. “I, myself, would love to find out if she’s my daughter, but… hear me out. I know it’s gonna sound crazy, but I don’t mind being half her father.”

There was a pause. You looked up at them. Doyoung shrugged, smiling. “Or one-third, for that matter. I mean, we’ve all met her. She’s wonderful. I’d rather have a third than nothing at all.”

Jaehyun sighed, placing his hands on his waist. “Sorry to break it to you, Mr. Kim, but that’s not how the world works. You can’t just claim to be one-third of a dad.”

“Why not?” Johnny said. “She’s already got all of us wrapped around her little finger. What difference does it make who passed on the stronger jawline? And finding out she’s not mine would honestly devastate me, so I’d rather not take my chances.”

Jaehyun was quiet for a long moment. Doyoung looked between the two of them, then back at you. “Two versus one? Guess majority wins?”

You scoffed and rose to your feet, exasperated. “Okay, you know what, guys? You need to shut up, all of you. And get out of my house.”

None of them moved, just stared at you in confusion. Johnny was the first to speak and say, “Don’t you think it’s time we find out which one of us is her dad?”

“No,” you replied smugly, tilting your chin up so you could meet their gazes. “You don’t get to come here and demand to be a father to my child. You may have helped create her, but you don’t get to walk in now and play the father card. It doesn’t work like that.”

Jaehyun called out your name softly but you cut him off, pointing a finger at him. “No. I’ve done well by myself and I didn’t need any of you. I went through everything without you. I’m not gonna need you now that she’s older and my life is better.”

“But you didn’t have to do it all alone,” said Doyoung, making you glance at him at once. He looked over at Johnny and Jaehyun, then back at you. “If you had told me… no, if you had told any of us, I think I speak for all of us when I say we would’ve been there for you. We wouldn’t have let you go through all of that alone.”

You stared at him—at all of them—and for a second, no one said anything. Not even you. Then you turned toward the door. “Get out,” you said. “All of you, get out.”

The house was unusually quiet for a weekend. No laughter echoing from the garden, no sound of someone tinkering in the backyard or somewhere around the house. It was just the soft ticking of the old wall clock and Emma’s tiny feet padding into the kitchen, where you were nursing a cold cup of tea you’d forgotten to drink.

She climbed onto the stool across from you, legs swinging, chin resting in her hands. “Where is everybody, Mommy?” she asked.

You smiled, reaching over to tuck her hair behind her ear. “They’re not here, honey. They must have chores and other things to do today.”

“But they weren’t here yesterday either,” Emma said, pouting as she lay her head on the table. “They said they were taking me out to sea today.”

“Who said that?” you asked softly, brushing her hair with your fingers.

She shrugged. “My dads.”

You blinked, hand pausing. “Your what?”

Emma lifted her head to look at you, eyes bright and serious. “My dads. Johnny, Doyoung, and Jaehyun.”

Your stomach turned. You hadn’t heard those names spoken so casually in the last forty-eight hours—not since you threw them out of your house. You set your cup down. 

“Emma, they’re not your dads,” you said carefully, patting her head. “They’re just friends.”

She tilted her head, confused. “But Auntie Amy and Auntie Lea said one of them is my dad.”

You froze. “They… said that?”

Emma nodded. “They were whispering but I still heard them. I have super ears, mommy. I hear everything.”

“Emma, what did Mommy say about eavesdropping on grown-up conversations?” you asked, trying to keep your tone steady.

She looked sheepish for a second, then brightened again. “But it’s true, right, Mommy?”

You sighed, moving around the counter to crouch in front of her stool. “Emma. Do you… want a dad?”

She shrugged again, legs still kicking back and forth under her seat. “I think so. Everybody has dads.”

You smiled softly, cupping her cheek. “Yes, sweetheart. But having no dad is not so bad. You have me, and Auntie Lea, and Auntie Amy and everyone else in the village who loves you.”

“I know,” she said quickly, then added, “but I still want one. Dads are fun.”

You sat back on your heels, forcing a smile for your daughter. “Are they now?”

She nodded enthusiastically, eyes sparkling. “They buy ice cream and ribbons. They show you all the cool stuff. And they can carry you…” She raised both arms way above her head. “This high!”

You couldn’t help the little laugh that slipped out. God, she was too much sometimes. “I can carry you that high.”

“No, mommy. You’re not tall,” she giggled as you scooped her into your arms.

You carried her out of the kitchen, but her voice dropped again, more thoughtful now. “Leo’s dad picks him up and spins him like this,” she said, arms stretched like an airplane. “It looks like flying. Uncle Johnny did that too. I liked it. It was fun.”

You felt your chest tighten. She wasn’t asking for much—just a little bit of wonder. And here you were, too busy shielding her from the past to even consider the possibility of what a father could mean to her now.

And to be honest with yourself, you weren’t sure if you were doing it for her anymore. Or was it for yourself all along?

“Can I have one?” she asked, small voice in your ear. “Just one?”

You looked at her—your bright, curious, heartbreakingly hopeful daughter—and felt your heart break in two. “Do you have a favorite?” you asked, sitting on the couch with her.

Emma thought hard, pressing her finger to her chin. “Not really. Uncle Doyoung is nice and buys me stuff. Uncle Johnny has a cool boat. And Uncle Jae is strong.”

She sighed, frustration painting her expression and you couldn’t help but laugh. She turned to you with a pout, “I like all of them. You have to pick one for me, Mommy.”

You paused, scrambling for an answer that didn’t exist. Before you could say anything, Lea appeared with a box from her café. “How would you feel about three dads?” she asked, setting the box of cookies on the coffee table and sitting on Emma’s other side.

Emma gasped excitedly. “I can have three dads?” she asked Lea, practically vibrating on the couch.

Lea looked at you with a knowing smile. “Of course. What’s better than one dad?”

She turned back to Emma and winked. “Three dads.”

Emma gasped again, absolutely buzzing in her seat. “Three dads! I want three dads!”

You smiled nervously. “Emma, slow down. You can’t just decide that on your own.”

“Why not?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.

You glanced at Lea, then turned back to your daughter. “Because the dads—uh, the men—have to agree to it too. It’s a big responsibility. You can’t just call someone ‘Dad’ without asking first.”

Emma’s brows furrowed. “But they’ll say yes. They like me.”

Of course they do. It wouldn’t take much to convince those three men, but you had to help Emma manage her expectations. “They do like you,” you admitted, heart softening despite yourself. “But liking you and being ready to be your dad are different things. They don’t live here with us and even if they become your dad, you won’t exactly see them every day.”

Lea chimed in. “But they will come see you as much as they can.”

“That’s okay. I’ll ask them,” she said firmly, arms crossed with a serious pout. “I’ll ask all three.”

Lea let out a laugh. “Well, that should be fun to watch.”

You gave her a look, but there was no real hate in it.

The next morning, just as you were folding laundry in the living room, there was a knock on the door. You hesitated. Emma was still in her pajamas, sitting on the floor playing with seashells. Lea had left earlier to open the café. You weren’t expecting anyone.

You opened the door slowly. Doyoung was standing there with a bouquet of wildflowers. Johnny held a box of pastries from the bakery, and Jaehyun just had that awkward, earnest look on his face that you knew far too well.

“Hi,” Doyoung said, flashing that disarming smile. “We, uh, Lea said you wanted to see us?”

Johnny raised the box. “We brought breakfast. Peace offering. Don’t throw us out yet.”

You stepped aside wordlessly, letting them in. Emma looked up and immediately lit up like the sun. “My dads!”

You shot her a warning look, but the guys all froze. “Oh my, god,” you muttered, facepalming as you turned to hide your face.

“Did she just—?” Johnny asked voice breaking so he had to clear his throat.

Doyoung’s hand was on his mouth. “She said dads.”

“She did,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead and shaking your head, still unable to look at them.

Emma ran over and hugged Doyoung’s leg. “You came back!”

Jaehyun crouched down in front of her, eyes soft. “Did you miss us, munchkin?”

She nodded hard. “Mommy said I can have three dads, if you say yes.”

Johnny let out a quiet laugh and stepped forward. “Of course, we’ll say yes. You don’t even need to ask, princess.”

“Hold on,” you said quickly, gently tugging Emma away from them. You looked at the three of them—her dads. “First, let’s, uh… Let’s talk about this. Follow me.”

All three looked at you but followed you anyway when you went to the kitchen. Doyoung told Emma to stay and promised her it wouldn’t take long.

“Three dads?” Johnny asked as soon as you were out of earshot. He chuckled, like he couldn’t believe it. “She’s okay with three dads?”

You groaned. “Oh, you have no idea.”

You placed your hands on your hips, stomping your feet as you stared at the three men before you. “Okay. I care about Emma more than anything in this world. More than my own life.”

“Of course—”

You raised a finger at Jaehyun. “Let me talk.”

Jaehyun nodded, stepping back. Doyoung mimed zipping his lips. You took a deep breath before continuing. “You can check if you want to. I won’t stop you. Or you can do what you said—you can step up. Be her dads. All three of you. I don’t mind, as long as she’s happy.”

“But she’s going to need consistency. She doesn’t need three men floating in and out of her life when it suits them. If you’re serious, you don’t just show up when it’s fun. You show up even when it’s hard. Even when you don’t feel like it.”

Doyoung nodded. “We know that.”

“I’m not asking you to stay here forever,” you added, more gently this time. “You have lives. Jobs. People waiting for you—Doyoung, you’re getting married soon.”

“I’m not expecting you to drop everything and move to this island. That would be unfair. And Emma doesn’t need you to be here every day. She just needs to know you’ll be there when it matters. That she can count on you, even from afar. If you can do that, then,” you paused, raised your hands in surrender, and sighed. “Then be her dad—Dads! Whatever you want to call it.”

Jaehyun looked down, nodding slowly. “Yeah. We can do that.”

Johnny let out a breath. “Long-distance dad duty. Shouldn’t be so hard.”

Doyoung simply said, “We’ll make it work. Promise.”

You smiled, genuinely this time.  “Okay,” you said softly, nodding toward the door. “Go on. She’s waiting.”

The three of them turned to leave, and Johnny laughed out loud when he spotted Emma peeking from behind the curtains. “Oh no. We’ve got an eavesdropper!” he announced, grinning.

Emma shrieked, bolting from her hiding spot, her giggles echoing through the house as Johnny chased after her. You followed behind, just in time to see her leap into Doyoung’s arms, then reach for Jaehyun’s hand, then tug at Johnny’s sleeve, all while talking a mile a minute.

You leaned against the doorframe, watching them with a strange fullness in your chest. You still didn’t know how any of this would work. But maybe it didn’t have to make sense. Maybe love was enough.

The sea stretched wide and sparkling under the Corsican sun, gentle waves lapping against the hull of Johnny’s yacht as it cut smoothly through the water. Emma was practically vibrating with excitement, darting from one end of the deck to the other, yelling about dolphins that no one else could see.

Doyoung and Jaehyun were lounging at the back, one lazily flipping through a comic book offered by one of Johnny’s crews, the other peeling oranges and throwing slices at Emma who cackled every time she caught one in her mouth. Johnny was at the helm, sunglasses on, wind tugging his hair as he grinned.

You sat near the bow, sunbathing on a sunbed with Lea and a half-empty drink in hand, watching your daughter live a little dream. She had three men completely wrapped around her finger and absolutely no idea how rare that was.

“Amy would’ve loved this,” said Lea, sunglasses perched on her nose. “What do you think she’s doing right now?”

“Drinking Dom on some wealthy investor’s superyacht?” you guessed, grinning.

Lea giggled. “Dressed in something skimpy that’s definitely fit for the yacht but wildly inappropriate for the business transaction she went there for.”

You both giggled, your mind drifting back to sunkissed days on the beach in places you couldn’t even pronounce. Trusting Amy to talk your way into expensive bars where all three of you could charm handsome tourists to buy you drinks. Sneaking into exclusive yacht parties and pretending you belonged there. It all seemed so far away now.

“Wow, we’re old,” Lea sighed. “When was the last time we had fun like we did in college?”

You thought about it. “Probably that summer before we found out I was pregnant with Emma.”

“Right. The summer after college,” she said, then glanced over at the helm where Johnny was. “We were in Johnny’s boat at the time.”

You nodded, remembering the days. “Yeah, we were.”

Johnny had his crew take the day off, so you and Lea had packed food for the trip. At lunch, Johnny grilled fish on the little onboard stove. Doyoung handled the drinks, Jaehyun cut fresh fruit, and Emma supervised them all like a tiny captain. The laughter never died \own. Even you found yourself relaxed, for once—letting your walls down just enough to smile without second-guessing it.

You’d lost count on how many times you had to reapply Emma’s sunscreen because she just kept jumping into the water with Jaehyun. Johnny had the yacht dock at a secluded shore, where Doyoung and Emma spent almost an hour looking for marine life in the shallows and taking pictures of them. The word ‘Dad’ had been echoing all day.

The sun began to dip by the time you made it back to the village. The sky had gone from blue to soft, velvety lilac, and the yacht anchored close to shore for the night. Emma had fallen asleep below deck, wrapped in one of Johnny’s warm blankets and snoring into a pillow. Jaehyun, Doyoung and Lea were still above, playing cards and arguing about the rules of some ridiculous game you’d never heard of.

Johnny brought you another drink and asked if you wanted to sit with him up front, where the sea was quiet and the stars had just begun to wink into view. You followed him. The two of you sat side by side on the padded bench near the front of the yacht, legs stretched out, drinks in hand. The breeze had softened, brushing against your skin like a whisper. Waves lapped gently against the hull. From the back of the boat, you could still hear muffled voices—Lea laughing, Jaehyun protesting something, Doyoung talking over it—but out here, it felt like you were in a different world.

Johnny took a slow sip of his drink, then leaned back, eyes scanning the dark horizon. “Today was nice,” he said quietly.

You nodded. “Yeah. Emma’s probably dreaming of dolphins right now.”

Johnny smiled at that. “She’s a great kid.”

“She is.”

You were both quiet for a moment, just gazing out into the sea and taking in the cool air. Johnny broke the silence first. “About the other night. Amy’s party.”

You turned your head slightly but didn’t say anything. You would rather not talk about it, really, but it wouldn’t be so bad to bring it up now. He shifted, resting his elbows on his knees. “I wasn’t drunk. I know I acted like it, but I wasn’t. I knew what I was doing.”

You hummed, acknowledging him without saying anything. Johnny continued, “And I knew what I was saying. I meant it.”

“Meant what, Johnny?”

He chuckled under his breath. Not the smug kind, the self-deprecating kind. “I meant it when I said I don’t mind settling down with you.”

Your brows furrowed. Johnny glanced at you, more honest than he’d ever been. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I’ve spent years chasing things. Business, money, women, parties, noise. But it’s like I keep coming up empty. Then you wrote to me and it was like a hand was reaching out to me. I thought maybe if I came back, everything would fall into place. I thought maybe you could fix me.”

You stared at the ocean. “You wanted me to fix you?”

“I didn’t think of it that way at first,” he admitted. “But yeah. I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing at first. I told myself it was fate or just some unfinished business. But the truth was I just wanted someone to look at me and see something worth saving. And I thought it could be you.”

Another wave rolled beneath the yacht. You felt the dip and sway of it in your chest.

“I want to be someone better,” he said. “You make people better, you know? You make them want to do things right. I’m willing to change. I’d give up the boat, the business, the whole damn playboy act. I’d stay. If it meant a shot at a different life. A better one. With you.”

You turned to face him. “Johnny…”

He gave a small smile. “I know. It sounds desperate. And stupid. It probably is.”

You hesitated before speaking. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Johnny. But… I don’t think I can do that for you.”

You meant it. He came here chasing something, and you weren’t what he needed. Not in the way he thought. “I’m not what you’re looking for, John,” you said gently. “You don’t need a relationship to fix you. You need to find meaning on your own.”

He nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “I know. I mean, I didn’t, but I know now.” He chuckled. “It was a mistake coming here thinking you could fix me. Only I can fix myself.”

“But,” he added, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “I don’t regret coming. I met the most wonderful girl in the world and became her dad. That’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Your breath caught. “Johnny…”

He shook his head. “It’s okay. I’m not asking for anything else. You were right to say no. But I still get to be there for her. And that means everything to me.”

You smiled, a little teary now. “She’s lucky to have you.”

“I’m the lucky one,” he murmured.

Your chest tightened. He wasn’t talking about you anymore. And yet somehow… it felt like the most honest thing he’d ever said. “I’m sorry, Johnny.”

“I know,” he replied, his signature smirk appearing on his lips now. He relaxed in his seat, taking a deep breath. “Though I bet you would have wanted to be the one who gets to tie me down, don’t you?”

That made you laugh, genuinely, head lolling back and cackling type of laugh. “I don’t think I would’ve been able to even if I tried.”

Johnny shrugged, “Yeah, but you wish you could, don’t you?” he asked, winking.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t hide how it made you smile. “Fine. I would have considered it an honor to have tied down the menace of a playboy that you are, Johnny Suh.”

Johnny leaned back in his seat, that familiar smirk tugging at his mouth, but his eyes were calm now. You mirrored him, your laugh fading into a sigh as you leaned your arms on the railing again, the sea stretching endlessly beneath the moonlight. It was peaceful. Comfortable, even. Until Johnny’s gaze flicked upwards.

You didn’t notice at first. But then his smirk widened, and he clicked his tongue. “Lover Boy’s lurking,” he muttered.

You blinked, turned slightly—and there he was. Jaehyun. Leaning against the side rail up the deck, pretending to look out at the horizon but very clearly trying not to stare your way. One hand holding a glass he hadn’t touched in a while. The wind catching his hair and blowing it out of his face to reveal a slight crease on his forehead.

You looked away too quickly. Johnny laughed under his breath. “God, you’re so bad at this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said briskly.

Johnny raised a brow. “You don’t even realize you’re lying to yourself. That’s the problem.”

You exhaled. “Johnny—”

“Okay,” he said, groaning as he stood up. “But if you don’t do the follow your heart thing and say yes to him, you’re an idiot.”

You scoffed indignantly. “Since when were you an expert at following your heart?”

“Since I flew out here after getting a letter out of nowhere,” he replied, grinning smugly. “I followed my heart and it brought me to my little girl. Who, speaking of, probably needs cuddles.”

Johnny turned to leave and you called out to him. “What she needs is to be taken back home! In her own bed!”

Johnny raised a hand without glancing back. “On it!”

You stood there a moment longer, palms resting on the cool railing, heart beginning to beat somewhere in your throat. And then you tilted your head up. Jaehyun hadn’t moved. He looked right at you, and his gaze made you swallow something in your throat. You gave the smallest nod, and in the next second, he was gone—probably making his way down as fast as he could.

You hadn’t taken more than a few steps before Jaehyun appeared at the end of the corridor, breath shallow like he’d run down the stairs. His eyes locked with yours, and the hallway spun just a little from the adrenaline thrumming through your chest.

“Hi,” he said, voice low. “I just—I.. You called me over. I didn’t read that wrong, did I?”

You took another step forward, smiling. “No.”

Jaehyun smiled, relief washing over his face as he stepped closer. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you echoed.

“How are you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“No, I meant…” he paused, chuckling. “The other night, at Amy’s party. We didn’t get to finish talking.”

“Yeah, we didn’t,” you agreed, looking away.

“I meant what I said,” he declared, seemingly holding his breath. “Every word.”

You studied his face. It was written all over him—the years of regret, the ache of what was lost, the unbearable need to be here with you now. Then he reached for you. His fingers brushed your cheek, ever so gently like you would disintegrate right then and there if he held you too hard. 

“I love you,” he said softly.

That was all it took for your restraints to collapse. You grabbed him by the collar and kissed him—hard, desperately, like it was the only thing that could fill the void in your heart. Jaehyun kissed you back instantly, a low groan slipping from him as he cradled the back of your head, angling you just right like he’d done a hundred times in his dreams.

Your fingers curled in his shirt, tugging him closer until his hips pressed against yours and you could feel every inch of him. Jaehyun pulled back only long enough to breathe, his eyes locked with yours.

Then without a word, he kissed you once more. “Come with me,” he whispered against your lips.

He led you down the corridor with a hand at your back and urgency in his steps. He opened the nearest cabin door and pulled you inside, closing it behind you with a soft click. The room was dim, swaying gently with the motion of the yacht. But you barely noticed any of that. The second you locked eyes, you shoved him back against the cabin door and kissed him hard, fingers working fast on the buttons of his shirt. 

You pressed your palm against his bare chest and exhaled sharply. “I swear to God, if this is a dream—”

“It’s not,” he groaned, pulling your dress over your head in one motion. “It’s not, it’s not.”

You kissed him again, slower this time but deeper, your hands tangling in his hair. He held you firmly by the waist, then lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his hips as he walked you to the bed. You landed with a soft thud on the mattress, your bodies still tangled, his lips dragging down your jaw, to your neck. You gasped when he nipped at your skin, clawing at his back.

It was euphoric, the urgency and reverence—a passionate middle ground where every movement was fueled by something you’d long yearned for. His hands roamed your body like he couldn’t touch enough, couldn’t believe you were real and here and his again. All while you arched under him, pulling him closer, hands mapping the curves of his back, the dip of his waist, every familiar part of him you had tried to forget.

His mouth moved over your chest, your collarbones, your stomach. His hand found the space between your legs, cupping and pressing firmly before slipping into the thin fabric of your underwear. You held your breath—waiting for that familiar touch, anticipating.

But Jaehyun paused, looking into your eyes. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, though you could see the desperation in his expression—as if begging you not to.

“Don’t you dare.”

He smirked and dipped his head almost immediately, tugging your panties off before his lips met your cunt. You arched off the bed, biting your lip hard, your hand gripping the sheets while the other tangled in his hair.

He was slow, testing at first, teasing out every sound you could make. Then he went harder, sucked deeper, and both of your hands clutched his hair, hips bucking into his mouth as you chased more of that delightful sensation. He growled something against your skin and climbed back up to kiss you, mouths hot and hungry and impatient.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, grinning. “But I need you. Right now,” he said, kissing you before you could say anything.

You barely noticed anything, too lost in the heat of the moment and the feeling of his lips in yours. You felt him nudge at your entrance only for a second before he slid in with one smooth, desperate motion.

You gasped into his mouth, legs locking around him, and he cursed softly against your shoulder. It felt too much and not enough—all at once. 

“You feel—fuck,” he groaned into your ear, holding you tighter. “God, I missed you.”

“Jae,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “Jae, I missed you too.”

He moved deep and slow at first, soaking in every sound you made, every desperate plea whispered into his ear. But it didn’t take long for the rhythm to quicken, hips snapping into yours with a force that made the headboard thud lightly against the wall.

You closed your eyes and bit down on your lip to keep from crying out too loud—Johnny’s yacht might be big, but not that big—and  Jaehyun smiled at your expression. He cupped your cheek and kissed your forehead, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “Open your eyes, baby,” he whispered, kissing your temple again. “Look at me.”

You met his gaze, and for a moment, the years melted away. It was just him. Just you. And this. Jaehyun kissed you again and his lips tasted like longing, like something once lost and finally found again. He moved inside you slowly, deeply, dragging every second out like he wanted it carved into memory.

Your hips rose to meet his, greedy for more, and he groaned as he sank deeper. “Fuck,” he whispered, kissing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “You feel the same. No—better.”

He moved faster now, each thrust rocking through you in waves. The headboard tapped lightly against the wall, your hand flailing briefly before gripping the pillow to muffle your sounds. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he murmured, hand sliding up your thigh to pull your leg higher around his waist.

His mouth found your breast, tongue swirling over your nipple until you arched into him, crying out softly. He kissed down your sternum and back up to your mouth, whispering, “I never stopped missing you.”

You kissed him again, open-mouthed, desperate. His hand gripped your hip, guiding your rhythm until you matched him thrust for thrust. Every inch of your skin was on fire, every nerve in your body dancing with every drag and press and pull of his body.

When he angled his hips just right, you gasped, back arching, hands flying to his shoulders. “Right there,” you whimpered.

Jaehyun growled, deep in his chest. “Yeah? You gonna come for me, baby?”

You nodded, unable to speak, your body trembling beneath him. He watched you fall apart, eyes dark and locked on your face, his own breathing sharp and erratic. The climax rushed through you, long and loud and blinding. You buried your face in his neck, biting down on his shoulder to muffle your moan as he pushed deeper, losing himself to the heat and tightness of you.

With a few more hard, ragged thrusts, he followed, spilling into you with a grunt and a trembling curse of your name. His body froze, collapsing into you as you both chased your breath.

Silence. Just the sound of your breaths. Tangled limbs. Sweat and warmth and that aching fullness in your chest. Neither of you moved right away. And he held you, lips pressed to your shoulder, his thumb brushing along your jaw.

Softly, you said, “Say it again.”

Jaehyun hummed, lifting his head to look at you. “Say what again?”

You shifted under him, and he moved to lay beside you on the bed, propping his head on his hand. He watched you fondly, smiling. 

“What you told me earlier,” you replied, turning on your side too.

Jaehyun let out a relieved breath, reaching to cup your cheek. “I love you. I never stopped loving you. I love you then, and I love you now.”

“Wow.” You chuckled, heat rising to your cheeks, making you look away sheepishly. “That’s four times.”

“I love you,” he repeated, your name rolling beautifully on his tongue.

“Five,” you muttered, exhaling. “Okay. Enough. I get it.”

“It’s true,” he said, like he needed to convince you.

You took a deep breath and met his gaze again. This time, you were wearing a stern expression. “And if it is? Who’s to say you wouldn’t leave me again? You said you’re married, didn’t you?”

“No,” Jaehyun said quickly. “I mean—yes, I was. But—”

You gasped and sat up in complete shock. “I just slept with a married man,” you blurted, the fact suddenly dawning on you.

“No. That’s not—” Jaehyun chuckled, sitting up too and pulling you into a hug, then planting a soft kiss on your lips. “That’s not what happened.”

You shook your head and were about to say anything but he shushed you. “I was married, but only for a year. We’ve been divorced for five.”

“Oh,” you muttered, nodding and feeling a wash of relief. “Okay. Good. That’s… That’s very good.”

His hold tightened around you, and you hugged him back, melting into his warmth. You stayed like that for a while, just basking in the aftermath.

“So?” he prompted after a few moments of silence. “What now?”

“Now?” you paused, too shy to say it out loud. “Now you stay.”

Jaehyun lifted your chin so you’d meet his gaze. “I will.”

He smiled, genuinely this time, with more relief and confidence. “I will, love. See, you’re gonna need someone to boss you around this island.”

You scoffed, though your heart was full. “If my memory served me well, I think I made it clear to you that I don’t need a man bossing me around my own property.”

“Yeah, you made it very clear indeed, but,” he replied, pausing to tuck your hair behind your ear. “Wouldn’t you want to be dependent on someone from time to time? From what I can see, our dream hotel still needs a lot of work.”

Our dream hotel. The words echoed beautifully in your ears.

You narrowed your eyes playfully at him. “And you’re gonna lend me your expertise for free? No architect fee?”

“All I ask for is a room, my love,” he grinned, kissing the side of your head. “Preferably yours. I like sharing with you.”

You nudged his shoulder with a smile, cheeks flushed. “You’re asking for a lot, Mr. Jeong.”

“Oh, I’ll give a lot,” he murmured. “I’ll give you everything.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, and then quietly, you said, “Okay. I guess we can share a room.”

Jaehyun smiled, watching you with a slight crease on his forehead, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard it right. But you didn’t repeat yourself. You just laid your head on his chest and closed your eyes.

You didn’t make it back to the main deck. Instead, you stayed in that guest cabin, where the night continued with soft sighs, ragged breaths, and tangled limbs. You didn’t stop at once. Or twice. You lost track somewhere in between kisses and confessions, in the way he said your name like a prayer, in the way you held on to him like he was home.

And by the time sleep caught up to you, your body sore and your heart full, you were curled against his chest with the sound of the sea lulling you into the deepest peace you’d known in years.

The door creaked open, sunlight streaming in just enough to make you wince. You stepped out first, hair still damp from a rushed shower. Jaehyun followed, looking fresh but not fooling anyone—his hand brushing the small of your back as the two of you made your way up to the deck.

The first thing you heard was a gasp. A loud, ridiculous, over-the-top gasp from Lea, who sat dramatically sprawled on a lounge chair. Johnny nearly choked on his juice. Even Doyoung was trying not to laugh, hiding behind a magazine she wasn’t reading. Emma, bless her, was too busy coloring beside Doyoung to notice.

“Really, guys?” Johnny deadpanned. “In my boat? Right after breaking my heart too?”

You raised an eyebrow, brushing past him with a smirk. “Your suite is amazing, Johnny.”

Johnny gasped again, clutching his chest. “In my suite?!”

“Yes, where else?” you lied shamelessly, taking a seat and reaching for the coffee pot. “And your dimmers are cool.”

Jaehyun, behind you, was trying so hard not to laugh. Johnny looked personally victimized. “You absolute heathens,” he declared, hand flying to his mouth for added effect. “I’m gonna throw up.”

You scoffed. “Oh, don’t be dramatic.”

Everyone burst into laughter. Even Jaehyun.

And as you sipped your coffee, Jaehyun sitting close, your daughter now leaning against your arm with her sketchpad, and the rest of your chaotic, unexpected little family chatting around you, you could feel warmth blooming in your chest.

The summer was over. And something better had begun.

[fin]

[chaoswritesthemultiverse]

How to Write a One-Shot that Punches You in the Dick like Chuck Norris

This post is entirely motivated by spite

Hello. This is a piece of writing by an actual human and not ChatGPT doing an impression of a human (do not look beneath the trench coat). There's been a post circulating on how to write a one-shot that is basically just c&p from ChatGPT so in the spirit of being a petty motherfucker I got annoyed and started typing and this is what came out. My qualifications to give this advice are: 1. Not a robot (that I know of) 2. I've written a bunch of porn.

A one shot is a short story. However, short stories, as a form, are incredibly varied and malleable. Some of them, like flash fiction, are around 500 words, and I've seen one-shots that have managed to sustain themselves up to 20k words and didn't feel like they needed a chapter break! That's basically a novella. Impressive! Advice for flash fiction is highly unlikely - though not completely impossible - to translate over to a novella, so trying to give pat advice that suits both forms is going to be difficult and pretty futile. But I'll do it anyway because this is the internet and no one can stop me.

Maybe that's the first step?

Do a vibe check on your piece (aka form... ish) Feel out how long you want your one-shot to be. Mine usually land between 4-7k words which is about average for a short story and I'm a yapper. And if you're anything like me I don't mean plan the word count to the single digits, but have a vague idea somewhere in your mind if it's going to be a tiny little snapshot of an intense moment, in which case you probably want to go with flash fiction, or if it feels like you need more words to say what you want to say. Then once you start writing throw that idea out of the window because it's going to come out however it comes out and suddenly what you thought was only going to be 1000 words has ballooned into a 15k monstrosity and... you get the picture. Right?

Steal stuff* Not actual plagiarism!!! What the fuck is wrong with you??? I mean go back to your favourite one-shots by other authors (or maybe yourself, no shaming narcissism here I love my work) (that's a lie I am cripplingly insecure about my writing please validate me) and work out what you like about them. Is it the language? Characterisation? Structure? Theme? Really really hot smut that made your insides go 'ghdslsndjknsdfhhhh'? Chances are you're drawn to a specific technique or element of the craft and don't even know it. If you don't know force your fellow writer friends to read them and then grill them relentlessly about what they liked and then violently disagree with their obviously wrong tastes. Best way to work out what you like, imo. Then once you've done that you'll have an idea about what works for you, so you can do it your way. NOT COPYING.

Pick a theme or two Alright alright it's probably a decent idea to narrow down what you're writing about to a theme or set of central ideas of some kind. For me this is usually 'pegging' or 'face sitting' or 'spanking' or 'tentacles', but you go nuts with whatever inspires you. Then, for funsies, layer another theme on top. Like 'shame', or 'rebellion' or 'grief' or 'the auto-cannibalistic features of late-stage capitalism'. Even better if it's a theme that's a core feature of one or more of your characters. Example: first theme 'werewolf sex', second theme 'boredom'. Maybe one of the characters is really boring and beige and meeting and fucking a werewolf is the most exciting thing that's ever happened to them. Or maybe it's not and it happens all the time and they need to do something to break out of the rut? (heh, rut) (iykyk) Or MAYBE the werewolf is the boring one and the MC can only stand being around them because the sex is so good and it's the only time they stop talking about crypto?! See, three different short stories already waiting to be written for you right there. Have these prompts. They're for you. Enjoy them.

You don't need to explain everything, or actually anything at all The great thing about a one-shot is you don't have to explain shit to anybody. You're already in the Situation, and your readers are just going to have to deal.

"I can't believe you're horny right now!" Verbenia yelled, clawing at her leg. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you missed that trap on purpose!" Arblerboth sighed, sheepishly adjusting his unfortunate erection. With hindsight, the bear trap had been pretty obvious. He wasn't sure how either of them hadn't noticed the moment they stepped into the cave.

See what I did there? No explanation for why they're in a cave, why they're travelling together, what they're up to, or about Arblerboth's secret bear-trap fetish (it's about the trap not the blood it's a pretty unusual fetish but hey rule 34). But you were invested, right? All the world-building and intricate dynamics and stuff are for you and with a short story they stay as inside thoughts, to be expressed through character action and interaction with the setting - which you also don't have to explain because they're already there. This goes double for fanfiction because everyone reading it will already know the world and setting and characters and you don't need to rehash it.

Now here's where I told a big lie about that last piece of advice because I once spent 2k words explaining how my MC created a magical strap-on before I even got to her pegging anyone with it. But I guess I didn't explain the magic system she was using to make it? Idk.

Google 'how to write a short story' I'm actually serious with this one, there's a ton of excellent articles and resources out there by some brilliant published writers who have written some fantastic short stories. If you're too lazy to type out that sentence c&p it from this post. Take the advice you like and leave the rest.

and finally... WRITE IT.

Soz. You have to do writing to be good at the writing. Sucks, doesn't it?

So there it is, take it or leave it, I'm just someone on tumblr with a keyboard and way too much time on my hands. I'm sorry this post isn't full of easy to action but ultimately meaningless unhelpful clickbait points like "limit the timeline" (you can write an amazing one-shot that spans decades) or "choose one emotion" (we contain multitudes, apparently, have you heard of meta-emotions? Get ready to have your feelings blown out your ass baby), or "use a 3-part/act structure" (there are many different structures to drama - what about 5 parts? or 2? Go check out Aristophanes he's got some wild shit to show you, what a madlad), or "write like it's the last thing you'll ever write" (if this is the last thing I ever write then I hope whatever kills me is fucking awesome like teaching a shark to jet ski while wielding a longsword or something because no way this was worth it) (actually the salt water of the ocean would be really bad for a longsword that's a horrible idea).

Oh and use em-dashes. Every - where. All - over the place - if you like them - maybe you hate them - whatever use them anyway. I fucking love an em-dash. ✌️

[kyoshithewriter]

Pomum. (Part two).

wc: 4.3k

Warnings: There will be themes of violence, drugs, crime, angst, smut (18+)

A/n: Will upload part 3 and 4 soon because they’re complete as well. Enjoy?

The mansion is bustling. Caterers filter in and out in a rush of hurried bodies transporting emerald and silver decorative pieces, plants and food warmers from the trunks of numerous vans parked outside. Her mother, Iris, shouts commands and gives directions to the workers that flood the open house. The woman stands at 5”8, just two inches taller than Sofía, with the same shade of cocoa brown skin. Her frame is a lot more slender than Sofía's, who has a curvier lower half that her mother often jokes the girl inherited from her father’s latin side. Sofía should be excited. It’s her 24th birthday. And this year’s party is going to be the most extravagant yet; however, she can only stand at the top of the stairs and stare blankly. Numb. Not only is Adrian really dead, but he was murdered. They’re throwing a party and the man she has known for almost twenty years was killed a few days ago. She had begged her parents to skip the annual soiree they threw for her, but her father insisted that feigning normalcy was important. “If those fuckers think they can frighten us they thought wrong.” He never told her who those “fuckers” were, but she figured it’s some rival in whatever dirty business he’s dabbling into. In times like this, Sofía longed for Amelia. They attended the same kindergarten where their fingers were always sticky with different coloured play dough at recess. Amelia was always her finger painting partner as well. They stuck to each other through the simple science projects in middle school, to the more complex ones in high school. Amelia is the only friend she has ever had; Sofía didn’t even question how they ended up attending the same prestigious, private institutions. Hell, she didn’t even know back then why Amelia had to move back home to Columbia because her family was apparently in danger. But recently, Sofía’s almost fully developed frontal lobe has been putting the pieces of the puzzle together. The way Adrian and Amelia’s driver always seemed to be having some silent standoff on the school compound, the way her mother insisted she never tell her father that her best friend is Amelia Muñoz, the way both girls could never have a sleepover or even see each other outside of school. Whatever shady business her father is involved in, Amelia’s family was also a part of, and they are clearly not on friendly terms.

“Mama says in this side of the country, Hernandez and Muños do not go together. I don’t know what that means and she won’t tell me why but I can’t come to your birthday party.” Amelia lisped because of her missing front tooth.

“My mama said the same thing. But it’s my party! Why can’t my best friend come but a bunch of strangers in suits and fancy gowns with mean kids who don’t even speak to me can?” Sofía pouted while wiping the tears that glistened on Amelia’s distraught face.

“It’s so unfair.” Amelia’s hiccup broke into a sob.

Sofía hugged her friend’s tiny body tightly while she fought her own tears.

“Don’t worry. I’ll bring you the most gigantic slice of cake. It will be this big.” The little girl momentarily released her friend to make an exaggerated gesture by opening her hands wide. “And it’s chocolate, your favourite. I don’t like chocolate but I asked for chocolate cause I thought you’d come, but it’s okay. I’ll bring it for you okay?” Sofía learned at the tender age of five to never invite Amelia to her parties again but she was always armed with a huge chunk of chocolate cake for her friend after every one.

Sofía has been trying hard to not harbor secret animosity towards her father for the way her life is. He had basically forbidden her from making friends and dating was absolutely off limits since he wanted her to help secure other strong “business partners.” Donavon has made her life a prison and she has a strange feeling he is behind the Muñoz family’s sudden move back to Columbia. It’s hard to swallow the acrid bitterness crawling at the back of her throat. She wants to scream and lash out; because she knows this is hardly even about celebrating her birthday. The real purpose of this party is to introduce her to Romano Ferrante- son and heir of Bruno Ferrante- an Italian “business” giant. The man her father wants her to marry.

Her mother’s eyes light up when she notices her at the top of the double staircase.

“Fifi. Are you excited?”

The woman’s enthusiasm falls flat as her daughter continues to stare at her blankly. Her smile tightens at the edges. She runs an awkward hand through her shoulder length silk- pressed hair then down her perfectly pressed pantsuit, avoiding the wandering gazes from the caterers. She’s not even going anywhere but chooses to dress up to float idly around the house daily. Sofía wonders if it makes her feel a bit more important.

“I guess you’re having party jitters.” She tries an awkward laugh that the others reluctantly return as they try to avoid the tension while setting up.

“I’ll be back in five minutes. Remember to make the bathroom two doors down to your right on the east wing nice. That’s the only bathroom the guests will be permitted to use.” Iris gives her million dollar smile before moving upstairs to her daughter’s looming figure.

“Not very nice to ignore your mother in the presence of strangers.” Her mother looks downtrodden and Sofía immediately feels bad. The woman has just about the same amount of control in this situation as she does.

“I don’t want this.”

“The party? But we have it every ye-”

“And I hate it every year! These parties are never about me! It’s an opportunity dad uses to invite his socialite peers to gawk at his beautiful, untouched-”

“Sofía, don’t say tha-”

“why not? It’s the truth. You’ve heard him say it. It’s like some sick kind of auction to the highest bidder. The man who has the most money and influence that will be able to strengthen his dirty business wins.”

Iris looks momentarily stunned.

“D-dirty business? Your father owns car dealerships honey-”

Sofía dodges her mother’s hand that was about to toy with her fresh sew-in.

“Still treating me like a stupid, little kid huh? Tell me mom, why did Amelia and her family go back to Columbia? Did dad have somet-”

Sofía chokes at the sudden firm grip on her upper left arm.

“You don’t speak of that ever. Do you hear me?” There’s an almost crazed look of desperation in her mother’s eyes. It’s frightening. Sofía nods timidly.

“If your father ever-” The woman releases her grip to rub a soothing hand over her arm instead. The fear on her face immediately melts into a smile that even Sofía thinks is genuine. “Ever knew how nervous you are he’d tell you to relax. It’s going to be great.”

Sofía’s confusion is short-lived as the man makes his appearance from the left wing of the mansion behind her.

“Sofía’s nervous? Don’t worry, it’ll be even bigger than your twenty-third. And Romano is a good kid, you’ll like him.” The man is beaming as he pulls her in to plant a kiss on her forehead. “And I saw that emerald dress your mom got custom made for you, you’re going to be so beautiful.”

She’s aware that the man is speaking but Sofía’s brain has turned to mush. Virgil’s figure looms just behind her father’s 5’10 frame. He has been around even more often since Adrian went missing almost a week ago. Sofía keeps her eyes on her father’s chest so she doesn’t stare like the lovesick puppy he called her. From her peripheral vision she can see the black button down with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his arm full of tattoos. The black slacks fit his long legs so well that it’s unfair.

“Happy birthday, Sofía.” The rich baritone of his voice makes her want to cry.

“Th- thank you, Virgil sir.” She wants to face palm.

“Just Virgil is fine.” Then her father has his attention again as they mutter quietly while ambling downstairs. Sofía can’t help the way her eyes follow him from behind.

Iris clears her throat loudly. Sofía’s cheeks burn at the knowing smirk on the woman’s face.

“Fine specimen isn’t he?”

Sofía blinks at her mother in surprise. She was expecting to be fully chastised for her blatant staring.

“Don’t worry, I get it. A part of girlhood is crushing on a guy a lot older than you and that one is surely a looker. You’ll get over it soon but you can enjoy some eye candy.” Her mother offers a cheeky wink and Sofía can only return a halfhearted smile. If only her mother knew just how long she has been crushing…

“Look just…” Iris sighs; “I know this isn’t ideal at all but these are the cards you’ve been dealt. Romano is a year younger and very very handsome and I wouldn’t lie to you about that. Just get some sleep; there’s still nine hours to the party, you’ll feel better after a nap.”

‘I doubt that.’

But Sofía is not in the mood to argue so she just nods and makes her way back to her room.

*****************

“This dress is… you look… wow.” His eyes are almost the same shade of green as the floor length bodycon dress with thigh slit that Sofía wears. The off shoulder dress has a built in corset that accentuates her figure and shows ample cleavage. Her hair is jet black and parted to the side; it flows down her back in medium loose curls. Her makeup is light apart from the dark brown eyeshadow look to highlight her doe brown eyes. She’s beautiful and really, really bored. The house is absolutely packed and has been that way since 9:30- an hour ago. She’s tired of halfhearted greetings and scathing stares.

“Your eyes are as green as my dress.” She says in a matter of fact tone before taking a sip of sweet white wine from her glass.

Romano’s cheeks tinge pink. His hair is jet black and frames his face in neatly cut curls. It matches his thick, groomed eyebrows and long lashes that curl around his impressive eyes. His nose is prominent and his face angular. He is handsome, every five feet and eleven inches of him.

“Thank you?” His eyes seek hers out in hopes that she confirms that her statement was indeed a compliment.

“Hmm, interesting but I prefer brown.” She slips into the crowd before she gets the chance to witness him being offended. Her father had forced her in his direction as soon as Romano and his father had arrived. Sofía was content to pretend to be interested in having a conversation with him until both men slipped upstairs a few minutes ago. Now she can sneak off into the kitchen for some more shrimp cocktails and hide away in the parts of the house where guests are forbidden until it’s time for her parents’ toasts.

********

Sofía hums quietly to the empty hallway while she exits one of the many guest bathrooms in the house. Darkness shrouds her temporarily after closing the door behind her until her eyes adjust to the dimly lit hallway; she was careful to not smudge her makeup while she did a hurried swish with mouthwash to get the scent of shrimp off her breath. Classical music drifts through the hallway from the party still in full swing downstairs and she fears her eyes will get stuck in her head if she rolls them again for the rest of the night. It’s all so pretentious to her. The faux sophistication as if they’re cultured into opera theaters and ballet recitals. Sofía’s sigh is full of resignation as she prepares to rejoin the crowd. Thump! She pauses, cocking her right ear down the lengthy hallway behind her.

“Please.” A quiet voice calls out. Sofía’s heart squeezes in her chest at the desperation dripping from that one word. Before her brain has a chance to fully process the situation, her feet pivot in the heeled sandals on her feet to take her further down the dimly lit hallway. Another hissed breath reaches her ear. Her eyes lock onto the guest bedroom two doors down.

“Pleaseee.” The voice rings out again. She’s sure now that the voice belongs to a woman. It’s high pitched with an almost melodious lilt. But it’s so so desperate that Sofía assumes the worst.

What if they’re torturing someone in there? People rarely venture this far down the east wing of the mansion. Perfect place for it. Three years ago this thought would have never crossed her mind, but coming to the realization of the kind of person her father might be, Sofía is terrified of what she could find behind the door that’s a few feet away. The sound of a greedy inhale that morphs into a choking sound reaches her ears just as Sofía discovers that the door is cracked open a few inches. The girl prepared herself for the worst: maybe a woman tied to a chair with a gun aimed at her temple; maybe she would have blood all over her face from being carved with a switchblade like the one her father keeps tucked to his side. But she never, ever could’ve imagined what she’s witnessing instead. Moonlight spills into the room from the curtain-less glass windows. It illuminates the glossy, strawberry blonde hair strewn across the plain white mattress in the middle of the room. The furniture in all the guest bedrooms are left bare until they’re in use; whether it be family dropping in town for a visit or a few of her father’s “friends” needing somewhere to lay low for whatever reason. Whoever this woman is, lying face first onto the bare mattress must’ve been desperate for it. Judging by her pleas and quiet grunts as the man drills into her from behind, the mattress is the least of her concern. The silver dress pools at her waist, her panties discarded on the floor by the feet of the man with a very familiar frame. From his height, to his build and the signature way he wears his hair. Sofía feels lightheaded. The man’s suit is in a neat little pile a few inches away from the woman on the bed. He has always been very particular about his appearance, so he definitely removed the suit to avoid it becoming wrinkled. She hadn’t seen him all night and thought that maybe he wouldn’t be attending, but she was wrong. Clearly. Virgil’s naked back is something that will forever be ingrained into her mind. It feels like every second she stands unmoving there’s a needle making an intricate pattern on her brain. A permanent tattoo. It will perfectly capture the image of his long, sinewy legs; of his tight, muscled behind crowned with two deep dimples in his lower back. The fluidity of his hips, as he pulls back and moves forward, as he sinks deep and makes tight little circles that forces the woman to muffle her scream into the mattress steals the breath from her lungs and the moisture from her mouth. His smooth back and broad shoulders and the dark markings along his arm. She’ll remember them all. But what she especially won’t forget, that will probably make her breath hitch a million times even as a memory as it does now, is the look in his eyes as they make eye contact in the window’s reflection. His gaze makes her skin tingle and tighten. The intensity of his eyes, the furrow between his brows, the way he stares like he wants… but that doesn’t make sense because he’s… he doesn’t stop. His hips don’t miss a single beat. He keeps going while he stares. The woman beneath him moans turn into staccato little screams. She’s going to… Sofía stumbles over feet in her haste to dash down the hall.

**************

A few people in the room probably think she’s having a stroke with the poor attempt of a smile she’s desperately trying to display. She raises her glass between her parents as the room erupts in a cheer after her parents’ toast (her father did most of the talking). Donovan and Iris place their hands above hers holding the handle of the blade that’s sunken in the middle of the large, chocolate flavored cake. The knife glides through the pastry like butter and Sofía desperately keeps her eyes trained on the intricately decorated dessert so she doesn’t have to look into the crowd and see him. It’s funny how she always sought him out with her eyes and now he’s the last person in this room she wants to see. The blonde woman had approached her to wish her a happy birthday with a bright smile on her face. Sofía barely reciprocated and wanted to throw up the shrimp in her stomach when the woman linked arms with Romano’s father. Is that his wife? She’s obviously too young to be Romano’s mother but it’s no question that she’s Mr. Ferrante's partner with the sweet kiss they shared. Sofía could only shiver.

“Music!” Her father bellows with a bright smile on his face. The party resumes; people continuing the conversations they paused to give their attention to the family at the top of the stairs a short while ago. Her father gently grasps her elbow with his right hand while he tucks his left in the pockets of his well fitted emerald slacks that match her dress. Her mother opted for a long, straight silver dress that does little to flatter her frame but makes her look every bit as sophisticated that she knows the woman desperately craves.

“Romano, have you wished Sofía a happy birthday yet? Seems like your conversation earlier was cut short because Sofía needed the bathroom.” The man gives a solid pat on Romano’s shoulder.

“I didn’t get the chance to. Happy birthday, Sofía.” The young man says awkwardly.

“Thank you.” Sofía fidgets, praying he doesn’t mention her insolence earlier.

“You two will be spending a lot of time together soon, don’t worry. Sofía is really smart! She’s studying some science degree at Stanford.”

Sofía couldn’t school the scowl of annoyance that pulls at the edges of her lips even if she tried.

“Chemistry, dad. I’m studyi-”

“Doesn’t matter! You won’t be needing that degree anyway because Romano is heir to his father’s business empire. She won’t need to work, right son?”

Romano nods reluctantly.

“Good! Your mother has a degree too you know? Something equally as fancy, smarts run in the family. But what’s important is that you provide Romano with man-”

“Mr. Hernandez.”

The trio’s attention is stolen by the towering man who suddenly appears to their right.

“Ah, Virgil! I was just introducing Sofía to Romano and giving them a little idea of what to expect in the fu-”

“A word please.” Virgil doesn’t wait for his response as he stalks off toward the stairs.

Her father narrows his eyes at his retreating form but follows after him.

Sofía didn’t even notice how tense her form was until she uncurls her hands from the tight fists she made. Little crescents dimple the skin of her palms from her nails. Her father was really going to humiliate her and her mother in front of a complete stranger for conversational purposes. The anger that simmers in her blood makes her skin clammy.

“Look, I don’t know what that was about but I’d never treat you like-”

“I appreciate that, Romano. Excuse me.”

She slowly maneuvers her way through the crowd toward the kitchen where she makes her exit through the door that leads outside.

********

It takes them three hours and twenty minutes to realize that she was missing from the party or maybe they noticed and didn’t want to make a scene. She finds that she cares very little about whichever one it is.

“How long did it take you to find me?” Sofía asks the looming figure in the greenhouse’s entrance.

“Not long, as soon as your father said you were missing from the house I knew where you’d be. He’s not happy that you ditched your betrothed again though.”

Sofía scoffs. “Please don’t use that word. It feels so…medieval.”

Virgil chuckles lightly in return. “It’s true though. He’s not happy.”

“I guess I’m in trouble then. I wonder if he’ll prepare another public speech about how my only purpose is to marry rich and provide my husband with a herd of children.” A shiver of disgust wracks her stooped frame.

“He won’t. We spoke about that.” The man says with finality.

Sofía shivers for an entirely different reason.

“You immediately knew where I’d be huh? I guess you observe me a lot more than you want to admit.” She pretends to be busy checking over her tomatoes that she already knows are in perfect condition.

“Not hard to notice this place is your escape. You can’t go anywhere else.” He mutters nonchalantly.

She can physically feel him drawing closer without looking back at him.

“It is. I put my theories from classes into practice here and it’s so rewarding seeing the literal fruits of my labor.” She chuckles awkwardly. She doesn’t comment on the last part of his statement. They all know she’s basically a prisoner.

Silence stretches between them for several minutes while Sofía moves around the large space observing every single plant. There are a variety of tomatoes, peppers, carrots and colorful cabbages. There are even a few Lemon, kumquats and orange trees that are bearing fruit. The cooks make use of her garden often and it’s so rewarding— feeling useful in some way.

“So… you like them blonde, huh?” Sofía had promised herself she wouldn’t mention it but she couldn’t resist. She has no right to be jealous. None at all. Yet…

“And brunette, raven, red, blue…”

“Oh. So it’s not a preference thing?” She fingers a yellowing lemon on the tree.

“I don’t prefer blondes.” He responds easily.

“What do you prefer?”

He shrugs and takes the time to examine her peppers.

“Seriously though, Virgil. Mr. Ferrante’s woman? Aren’t we supposed to be forming some alliance with them? That’s why my father wants me to marry Romano, right?” She tries seeking out his eyes with her own but the man pointedly ignores her stare.

“You don’t need to worry about that.”

“The hell I do? If you’re going to cause this whatever to possibly fall through then what’s the point? I’m just going to be shipped off to play house with some stranger for no reason! Who knows what they’ll do to me under their roof if they find ou-”

“You need to go back inside. The longer you make him wait the more irate he will become.” Virgil interrupts her anxious rant. He feigns nonchalance but she can see the way his jaw clenches.

Sofía sighs. She knows she’s getting no answers from him. “Is the party still going?”

“No. The last of the guests should’ve left by now.”

“You saw me. You saw me in the doorway and you didn’t stop. You were… you stared, while you… why?”

“Inside, Sofía.”

She huffs but turns to stomp her way across the well manicured lawn towards the house.

********

After almost an hour of being properly chastised by her father, Sofía is so relieved to be in her dark, quiet room that her eyes fill with tears. She drags the dress down the length of her body while she makes her way to the ensuite bathroom. She barely spends ten minutes in the shower despite the blissfully warm water. She’s almost swaying on her feet from the eventful evening she had. Sofía pauses by her dresser. She’s clearly really exhausted if she missed the medium sized white box placed carefully on the edge of her king- sized bed. It lays there, with a pretty though simplistic little white bow on top. Gripping the towel tightly around her waist, she cautiously approaches the box. There’s a note on top. ‘What if it’s a bomb?’ Sofía scoffs out loud at the negative thought then quickly grabs the square piece of paper. She exhales a harsh breath at the silence after making contact with the box. Flipping the card over, she’s met with the neatest cursive handwriting she has ever seen. Happy birthday. That’s it. Sofía places the note down on the bed and lifts the top off the box easily. She audibly gasps at the small pouches she finds inside. Picking them up carefully, they’re all labeled: strawberries, plums, peaches, cherries and loquats. Seeds. Not just any seeds, the seeds she has been begging her father to take to her the garden store to buy for weeks. Every time he’d refuse claiming to be too busy or needing Adrian for a task so the man couldn’t make the almost ninety minute drive.

“Oh…” her throat is tight with the need to cry. She can’t recall the last time she had been gifted on her birthday and with something that she actually wanted. Someone was paying attention to her interests and wanted to do something special for her. Sofía racks her brain for who could be behind it. Her mother loves to give her gifts but they come in the form of expensive shoes or jewelry; she never understood Sofía’s love of “playing in soil” as she would often say. Her father’s idea of gifts are the parties he throws and two expensive suvs that she can’t even drive. Just as she’s ready to draw a blank her brain screeches to a halt. There’s only one person who heard her making the request to her father a few weeks ago; the only one who would even dare to come near her room without permission. Sofía’s cheeks heat and her heart flutters in her chest. Virgil.

[lovescarzz]

Shot Glass Of Tears

— "Tell me, am I ever gonna feel again? Tell me, am I ever gonna heal again?"

WC: 3k

Synopsis: We met in high school. Fell in love under stars, promised forever under skies that now feel empty. — Feat. Jeon Jungkook

18+ MNDI. WARNINGS baddie!reader x jungkook (eventually), jungkook before the fame, slow burn kinda, smut (obviously), break up, happy ending I promise, reckless driving, car accident, clubbing, drinking, smoking, fucking angst that's all I can think of right now

Streaks of sunlight woke me up.

When I looked over at the clock, it read 9:28 a.m. His arms were still wrapped around me.

My fingers were laced with his. I stared down at our hands, tracing the rough skin of his palms, playing with the creases like they could tell me a different story than last night’s.

He shuffled beside me, still half-asleep, before speaking.

"Morning, Princess," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the back of my head.

I turned to face him as he propped himself up on one arm, the other brushing my cheek gently. Two fingers tilted my chin so I’d meet his eyes. Then came a kiss to the forehead — so familiar it almost hurt.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked. I remembered him getting up in the middle of the night. More than once. Probably to smoke.

I didn’t mention it.

“So-so,” I said lightly. “What about you?”

He shrugged. “I’ve slept better.”

A faint smile tugged at my lips. Not joy. Just recognition.

Then: “You wanna go out today?” he asked. “We could hit Victoria’s Secret. I heard there’s a sale.”

And just like that, the guilt-trip started.

That’s the thing about Jungkook — he pretends things are fine, hopes problems fix themselves. He hates confrontation. Can’t stand when people are mad at him. And when things get uncomfortable… he shops.

I bit my lip, quickly searching for a way out. I couldn’t pretend everything was okay. Not yet.

“Actually… I made plans with my sister,” I lied.

He blinked. “Oh. You never mentioned it.” The disappointment in his voice wasn’t loud, but I heard it.

I sat up and stretched. “Do I have to tell you everywhere I go?” I asked, a little sharper than I intended.

"Is it 'cause you're still mad?" he asked.

Fuck. He read me like a book.

I pulled away from him, sitting up at the edge of the bed.

"Nah, not even," I lied, way too quickly.

He shifted behind me, the bed creaking slightly.

"Right… so you’re going out with your sister now?" he asked. "Considering she ain’t a morning person?"

Caught. Right in the lie.

I bit my lip, eyes glued to the window while he moved around the room, already searching for the blunt he rolled last night.

"Nah, I got stuff to do first," I mumbled, turning toward him. Another lie.

He found the blunt sitting on the vanity, nodding like he was talking to himself. He jutted his bottom lip out slightly, a subtle pause before:

"Aight then." He glanced over. "You wanna at least smoke with me, or you smoking with your sister too?"

His tone had that edge — not loud, not direct, but tight enough to cut. The fact that he was lighting up this early said it all. Jungkook only smokes before eating when he’s trying not to spiral. Last night definitely got to him.

"I’ll smoke with you, Jungkook," I said, slipping on my robe and walking past him.

His eyes followed me. Then, with zero shame, he smacked my ass.

"That’s what I thought," he muttered.

"Keep playing with me, passing those smart-ass comments," I called from across the apartment, smiling a little despite myself.

I unlocked the balcony door, the morning air pushing in against my skin. For a second, it almost felt normal. Like this was us again.

But as I stepped outside, that heavy feeling returned — low in my chest, pressing down like a warning.

Maybe a day away from him would help me breathe again.

The morning breeze felt nice — cool against my skin, calming the hot, uneasy pressure in my chest.

He lit the blunt quickly, bringing it to his lips. God, he’s so hot when he smokes. I just wish all of this would go away.

He passed it to me without a word, and I took it, placing it between my lips and inhaling slow. The smoke hit deep. Clean. Heavy. When I turned my head, he was already staring.

That dumb smile. The kind that made it hard to stay mad.

“I know I’ve said this like a million times,” he started, eyes soft, “but fuck… you are beautiful.”

I smiled, couldn’t help it. “Thank you,” I whispered, handing the blunt back.

He took a slow drag, held the smoke in his mouth like he was tasting the memory, then let it drift into the air.

“Remember the first time we got high?” he asked with a grin.

I groaned, covering my face. “Why the fuck would you bring that up?”

He laughed through the smoke, coughing.

“I pretended to be high the whole time,” he admitted, eyes watering.

“Me too,” I laughed. “We wasted that good weed, man.”

He passed it back to me.

“And you were so scared. What were we, like, fifteen?”

“Sixteen,” he corrected. “Right after exams. I was terrified to go home smelling like weed. My mom would’ve beat my ass.”

We both laughed again, and I shook my head at the memory.

“The thought of your tiny mom slapping you is hilarious,” I said. “You were already, like, a foot taller than her.”

He smiled, but it faded a little slower this time. The quiet settled again, soft but heavy.

He smiled, but it faded a little slower this time. The quiet settled again, soft but heavy.

“What was your first thought of me?” I asked, eyes on the city, not him.

He smiled to himself before answering. “Your ass.”

My smile dropped. I turned to give him a deadpan stare and chucked a pillow at his chest. “Be serious.”

He laughed, holding up his hands in defense. “Alright, alright — don’t get mad.”

“Go ahead,” I said, relighting the blunt. We were down to the roach, and a warm buzz settled behind my eyes.

He leaned back a little, voice quieter this time.

“It was your skin.”

I blinked, caught off guard.

“In Korea, we don’t see a lot of people with your complexion. Seeing someone like you in real life felt… different. You reminded me of chocolate.”

I raised an eyebrow, but before I could respond, he shifted closer on the couch.

“And I had to get a bite,” he grinned, hand gently cradling my face as he pulled me in for a kiss.

I kissed him back — slow, soft — but something was missing. It wasn’t the way his lips moved. It wasn’t the way his hand cupped my jaw.

It was the way I didn’t feel anything.

When he pulled back, I reached for my phone. Opened my messages. Tried to ignore the ache that had been crawling deeper into my chest since last night.

You wanna go to the mall today? I need to talk to you about some things.

Sent.

“I have to go get ready,” I said, standing up from my seat.

He nodded, ashing the rest of the blunt into the tray, the smoke still curling lazily in the air.

The sun had shifted since morning — now it hit my vanity just right, pouring in golden and warm, catching on the mirror and my skin like everything was glowing.

I sat down, sectioned out the 613 unit, and started curling the hair. Outfit on. Jewelry clasped. Edges slicked. Face calm — or at least pretending to be.

My phone buzzed with a message from my sister.

I'm ready. Can you come pick me up? I don't feel like driving.

I rolled my eyes and replied:

Sure.

As I set the phone down, Jungkook walked into the room, pretending to look for something. But I knew that look — he wasn’t looking for shit. He just wanted to see if I was actually leaving.

“How long you gonna be gone?” he asked casually.

I shrugged.

He rolled his eyes and walked out without another word.

I scowled the moment he turned his back. The fuck is his problem?

I grabbed my phone, snapped a few pictures in the light, and posted them to my story with a song that said everything I couldn’t.

Walking out of the bedroom, I called over my shoulder.

“I’m leaving now.”

He came in from the living room.

“Give me a kiss before you go,” he said, pouting.

I couldn’t help but smile. A little soft, a little sad.

As much as we argue, I still love him. Maybe that’s the hardest part.

He stepped in, wrapped his arms around my waist, and pulled me close. With two fingers under my chin, he lifted my face up until our eyes met.

He kissed my forehead first. Then my nose. Then paused at my lips — holding me there, searching me like he was looking for an answer — before leaning in for a deeper kiss.

His hand slid up, grabbing my throat as he pulled me even closer. Soft, slow… intentional.

I knew exactly what he was doing.

He was trying to fuck another attempt to keep me hereMy breath caught in my throat.

His tongue moved against mine, slow and teasing, My hands gripped his shoulders out of instinct

I pulled back slightly, my forehead resting against his. Our breathing heavy.

I let out a breathless laughter

“I really have to go,” I whispered, my voice barely holding together.

His eyes searched mine again, desperate and soft at the same time. But he didn’t stop me.

I slipped out of his hold gently, grabbing my purse and my keys without looking back.

"I Love You" he said staring at the door in his eyes I can see he was pleading me to stay

"I Love You too" I said before closing the door

The elevator ride felt too slow. My reflection in the mirrored doors looked like someone else, someone who was finally choosing herself… or at least trying to.

I got into my car, tossing my bag in the passenger seat. I took one last deep breath before starting the engine.

I immediately connected my bluetooth and my Spotify started playing a random song

"I tried with you… There’s more to life than sleepin' in and gettin' high with you… I had to let go of us to show myself what I could do…"

Absofuckinlutely NOT

I switched the song immediately before pulling out of the parking garage

The drive felt longer than usual. Every red light felt like it lasted forever, every song that came on sounded like it was trying to tell me my own story. I kept skipping, skipping, skipping nothing felt right.

At one point, I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror. My lip gloss was still perfect. My edges were still laid. On the outside, I looked put together. On the inside… I was falling apart one quiet moment at a time.

Once I pulled up outside my sister’s house, I called her to say I was outside. I took a deep breath before she climbed into the car.

Today was meant to be a distraction from everything going on at home. I didn’t want to mention him.

It took a couple of seconds for her to come out. I unlocked the door, moving my bag as she slid into the front seat.

“How are you doing this fine morning?” she joked, setting her bag down in the backseat.

“Bored as hell,” I groaned, putting the car in drive and pulling away from her house.

“I’m surprised you’re not hanging out with Jungkook or something,” she said, looking out the window.

The mention of his name gave me a headache.

“He’s out with his boys,” I said plainly.

She looked at me, making up her face.

“What, y’all arguing again?” she asked.

I swallowed hard. “Nah,” I said, stopping at a red light and looking at her.

“Mmmkay then,” she cocked an eyebrow, turning back to the road.

The light turned green, and I kept driving.

The car was mostly silent during the twenty minutes it took us to get to the mall.

Once I parked and got out, I went to the backseat to grab my bag. My sister reached for hers too.

“So, you here to buy anything specific?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Nah. I just need some retail therapy.”

My phone buzzed in my hand. When I looked, it was notifications from Instagram.

jjk_97 liked your story jjk_97 replied to your story: 😍😍😍 jjk_97 mentioned you in their story

rolled my eyes, shoving my phone into my pocket.

“Let’s hit up Footlocker first — they just got these Jordans I need to buy,” I exclaimed.

She nodded excitedly.

Making our way through the mall, it was as busy as ever: families, couples, groups of teens, everyone out to spend money they probably didn’t have.

I spotted Footlocker and started walking faster. There were already a lot of people inside, and if my shoes sold out, all hell was breaking loose.

Once we stepped into the store, my eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store.

I immediately ran to the sleek black, white, and red shoes with the patent leather.

“Watchu think about these?” I asked, flipping the box to check the price.

I’m breaking my pockets today. I deserve it.

“Don’t you have those already?” she asked.

I rolled my eyes. “I mean, I have the Bred 4s, but these are the Bred 11s. It’s a classic shoe. I have to buy it.”

She shrugged. “Wouldn’t be my money.”

“And that’s why it ain’t,” I said, puckering my lips as I flagged a worker down.

“Can I get these in a size 7Y?” I asked, handing him the shoe.

He examined it before talking into his little mic. “Jordan 11 Bred, size 7Y needed in the front.”

“Someone will bring you a box shortly,” he said before walking away.

I thanked him and sat on the bench. A minute later, they brought me the box.

I slipped them on.

“Immediately yes,” I said, admiring them in the foot mirror. I took them off, put them back in the box, and headed straight to the register.

The cashier scanned the shoes and bagged them. “Your total is $210.15.”

I tapped my phone on the machine. Approved.

I smiled, grabbed the bag, and walked out.

“$210? Shaking my head… you got it better than me, girl,” she said.

I laughed, then felt my phone buzz again.

Jungkook has sent you $210.15.

I rolled my eyes. He’s so damn annoying.

I texted him back:

I don’t need money. Thx ❤️

Keep it. I want you looking good. he replied.

"Victoria’s Secret next! They have an insane sale I need to see," my sister said, tugging at my arm.

Almost $600 later, we practically hit up every store in the mall, walking around with bags from Lululemon to Aritzia.

And every time I bought something, Jungkook sent me the money right back.

My sister definitely noticed me declining his calls and ignoring his texts all day.

As we were walking out of the mall, she finally spoke.

"You ready to talk about why you and Jungkook ain’t talking?"

My eyebrows furrowed at her observation. "What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Don’t think I’m dumb," she rolled her eyes as I unlocked the car door.

Night had already fallen, the air sticky with mosquitoes searching for their next victim. Crickets filled the silence of the parking lot.

She opened the back seat, tossing her bags in. I did the same, then made my way to the driver’s seat.

“Wha—When—How did you even notice?” I asked, trying to remember when I slipped up.

“Please. Y’all been dating for what, seven, eight years? I would know when you’re arguing,” she said, climbing into the passenger seat. “One — he reposted your IG story. He only does that when you mad at him. Two — he keeps calling and texting like you ran out the house. Three — he keeps sending you money every time you buy something and you keep sending it back rolling your eyes. I ain’t dumb!” She counted each point on her fingers.

Damn. She read me like a book.

"I don’t know if I want to be with Jungkook anymore," I said bluntly, closing the car door.

Her eyes went wide. "Sorry, what the fuck? You guys are supposed to get married!"

I slammed my head against the steering wheel. "It’s not that he did anything. I still love him with my whole heart… I just don’t know if we’re enough for each other anymore. We got together so young."

She leaned back in her seat, shaking her head. "Fuck. That’s a lot."

"I knowwwuhhh," I whined, my voice cracking.

"But I still love him with all of my heart," I said, feeling a tear slip down my cheek.

"Well… maybe it’s time for you guys to grow without each other. Discover who you are alone," she said softly.

"But I don’t think I can live without him," I pouted, my lips trembling.

"And that is the problem right there," she said, pointing at me.

My eyes widened in shock.

Fuck she was right

I didn’t say anything putting the car in drive

the 20 minutes back to her house was dead silent

once we got to her house she looked at me

“Do whatever you feel is right I support you through whatever” And with that she closed the car door going inside

I put the car in drive pausing the music I needed to drive in silence

And that’s what I did until I got into the parking garage

Stepping out of the car I took a deep breath

This conversation is happening tonight

I walked to the elevator with determination pressing our floor number

Once the elevator came up to our floor I walked out taking my key and making it to our apartment door

I took a deep breath as I unlocked the door

The house was silent

Im assuming he was in his gaming room

I stood corrected when I he screamed

"WHAT THE FUCK"

I went into my room putting my stuff down

I got my stuff together to go and shower

Once I got out I changed into a silk pyjama set putting my glasses on

I took a deep breath before walking into his room

He looked at me as I opened the door

"Hey baby how was your day" He asked eyes glued back on the monitor

"Uh it was good can we talk?"

[88th-entry]

Brian Thomas

A-Z Alphabet Headcanons ⋆ ๋࣭ ⭑

๑‧˚₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹ A/N:

man this one was way shorter than tim’s. By like 600 words ?? can you tell who’s my favorite lol. anyway this simple hc list gave me SO many ideas for fics. i’m lowkey shit at writing smut, but i’ll try </3

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

- If Brian topped, then he’ll get you water before wrapping you in a bear hug and cuddling you for hours. Sorry, but you’re not leaving his embrace unless you literally beg.

- If he bottomed, he is conked the fuck out. Like, “starfishing on the mattress and snoring like an engine” kind of tired.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

- His favorite part on you is most definitely your neck. Man’ll give you hickeys until even makeup can’t cover it. He’ll say that he can’t help it, that it just sort of happens.

- (He totally means to do it)

- He wouldn’t say he has a favorite body part of his own, but he likes his arms a lot. Loves seeing the look on your face as he switches positions with ease, lowkey manhandling you before continuing.

- This man has STRENGTH.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

- He’s happy to come in you if you’re on birth control. To him, as long as it ends up somewhere on or in you, he’ll be pleased.

- If you don’t want that, that’s fine. He’ll spill onto the sheets instead. He’s not an ass lol

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

- It was about the fifth time hanging out in your apartment, you two watching a movie as you snuggled up with him on the couch. Brian excused himself to the bathroom, but rather slipped into your room and look through your drawers.

- He stole some of your underwear, stuffed it into his pocket and came back like nothing happened. Once the movie was finished, he left and you said goodbye without suspicion.

- He lost track of how many times he jerked off with those in hand. He’s taking that to the grave.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

- Brian definitely gives off some frat guy energy, so he’s had his fair share of one-night stands and “friends with benefits” situations.

- When he entered a relationship with you, he knew was he was doing and acted like it. Not much of a learning curve there.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying)

- He’s a big fan of sleepy morning sex, so a lot of the time you two end up in a spooning position.

- If you were to ask him, he’d say his favorite is probably doggy. But he gets so unreasonably excited if his partner were to ever agree to 69-ing, so that’s probably his guilty favorite.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

- Can’t take shit serious outside of the bedroom, so why would his sex life be any different?

- But yeah. He jokes around the most during foreplay, but calms down enough to actually lead into the fun part. The further you two are into it, the less he’ll joke around.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

- Doesn’t do much to stay shaven, even for a partner, but Brian will shave completely once it starts getting uncomfortable for him. Which is once, maybe twice a month.

- The carpet mostly matches the drapes! Curlier, but still.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

- Of course, there’ll be times where Brian’s all romantic and showing you just how much he loves you.

- But more often than not, he’s huffing against your neck, holding your wrists against the mattress as he bites purple-red splotches onto your neck.

- His feelings for you run deep, but don’t expect to be making love each and every time.

J = Jack Off (Again pretty self explanatory, how often do they get off)

- Like any other guy, Brian’s no stranger to using his right hand to blow off some energy.

- Since getting with you, he’s done it far less. Though there’ll still be nights he uses one of many videos you two recorded together to get off, rewatching a time where he had a fist full of your hair in one hand, the other filming every time he sunk into you at a brutal pace.

- But as long as you’re in the same house, you’re not safe. <- typed in the most consensual way possible

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

- Let me just throw these out there: Recording it, hair tugging, gagging, (slight) exhibitionist. He’s also very willing to try new things, especially if you already like it! Including pegging

- Is it too controversial to say he’s really into dry humping ? </3 (dw bro me too)

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

- Basically on any furniture in the house, long as the blinds are shut. That includes the shower (ゝω･)

- Brian’s also a big fan of the car. Received probably a dozen handjobs from you while he’s driving since the start of y’all’s relationship. Will park the car somewhere remote so you two can fuck in the backseat.

- Yeah, it’s cramped and gets all stuffy back there after a while. But that’s part of the fun, right?

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

- Just you living and breathing sends him for a loop.

- But if he sees you walk around the house wearing his boxers… he is not gonna be able to tear his eyes away. Or keep his hands to himself.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

- While he’s open to try anything once, he won’t have a threesome with someone he doesn’t know. Even if you know them and are well acquainted, he’ll be apprehensive to let some stranger touch you like that.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

- Brian loves receiving, don’t get him wrong! …But MAN if he doesn’t love giving head. And he’s damn good at it.

- He’s going down on you until you’ve come so many times, you’re seeing stars. You’ll have to grab him by the hair and yank him off.

- Which he also fucking loves. Just makes him want you more. But he’ll pull away. Trust, trust.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

- Really depends on his mood.

- If he’s tired, he’ll go far slower, trailing his lips down your neck with tired groans as his hips gently meet yours without haste.

- If he’s a little more pent up, then good luck with walking the next day.

- But his normal pace is hard and slow. Making you feeling him completely, but it isn’t absolutely brutal.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

- Brian doesn’t mind them. Does he wish he could take his time with you every time? Of course! But if the both of you are on a time crunch, he’ll skip the foreplay.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

- Again, he’ll try anything once! If he doesn’t love it, that’s fine. You two could continue in a more familiar way or cut the intimacy short.

- Since he’s into fucking in public, of course he’s a bit of a risk taker. If you really want to, he’ll let you drag him to the bathroom of some rinky-dink bar and rail you in there.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

- Let’s not sit here and pretend this man isn’t buff as fuck. We all saw him in Entry #7. His stamina is HIGHHH

- Honestly, you’ll probably tap out before Brian does. He can — and will — flip positions and manhandle you like it’s nothing. And to him, it is.

- So imagine him above you, plowing into you with the same pace for as long as he can???

- Y’all are gonna be there for hours if you don’t pipe up.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

- It’s not like he owns a chest full of toys or anything, but he’s got a few to use on you or himself.

- And a strap. Just to throw that out there.

- I’m sorry but Brian would totally let you peg him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

- Tease as FUCK !! He will absolutely edge you until you’re on the verge of tears! Acts like a pussy if you do it back to him, though. lolz

- Sends you the nastiest text messages while you’re at work. Stuff you gotta turn your brightness all the way down for.

- And, if you’re lucky, he’ll send you a picture or two.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

- If he tops, Brian’ll try to keep his volume to a minimum; he thinks it’s hotter. Though just know he’s holding back from making the loudest, most vulgar noises you’ll never hear.

- If he bottoms, he can’t help but let it all out.

- YES, HE’S A WHIMPERER!!!!

- His entire body racks with each and every moan you pull from him. He knows he moans like a bitch, but he’ll act like it didn’t happen afterwards. That just means you gotta record it next time.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon)

- …Absolutely LOVES thigh-fucking. It turns him on so much hearing you fall apart while he isn’t even inside of you yet. His hands’ll paw at you and tug you closer than you could’ve imagined, all while he’s trying to not cream two seconds in.

- Also. Cockwarming. That’s all I’ll say about it.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

- On the longer side, with about 7.5 inches.

- Isn’t real thin but also isn’t girthy. Just average, if I’m gonna be honest about it.

- …And fuck does he know how to use it.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

- His libido isn’t through the roof or anything, but he’s definitely initiating things over half of the time.

- And if you two move in together?? Good fuckin LUCK. You are gonna be glued to that bed every night for a month at LEAST.

Z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

- As mentioned in the start, he’ll try to stay up and get some things for you before falling asleep beside you — if he topped.

- But the second you pull out/get off his cock/stop anything where you top, he is gone. Dead to the world. You’re lucky if after you clean up, you come back to bed and he’s still awake enough to wrap his arms around you.

- He’s the worst. I love him

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thank you SO much for reading until the end!

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

a/n - anyway. my next post’ll either be a brian x reader fic or a nsfw alphabet for alex/jay. probably the brian one. i just need him so bad y’all you don’t understand 💔 this shit ain’t funny no more

[sothisblessmysoul]

Different anon but I'd love to see Ashe just because I love him so much (a threesome sounds super fun tho hohoho)

(This is my first time writing this type of stuff so I didn't go the whole way. If this is bad I'm so sorry. Also this is long, probably longer than it should be, you've been warned)

[ Warning: NSFW; Handjob. If you squint there is some Top!Reader and Bottom!Ashe and praise kink, and Reader taste Ashe (does this get marked as a warning?) ]

༓ʚ Sweet Like Candy ɞ༓

Summary: Somehow Ashe was able to be talked into wearing a maid’s outfit by his partner.

Ashe Ubert is the kind of boyfriend that someone brings home to meet the parents, the one that any parent would want their kid to marry. He is sweet like warm honey and soft like marshmallows, and he is almost too sweet that it leaves you with a sugar rush, wanting more and more of him that is so indescribable that you can't explain it.

And, perhaps that sweetness that makes you crave more of him is why you take guilty pleasure in teasing him. To see what his limits are, to see him melt into your hands like chocolate left in the sun for too long, to see him come undone. Like right this very moment as he stands in front of you with a fluffy innocent looking maid uniform with bright blushing cheeks.

His heartbeat was racing as Ashe looked into your eyes, slowly taking in his appearance. The silence in the room was far too quiet for his liking, praying with each breath that the silence would break it, say something, or do something. As if knowing how Ashe felt, you finally spoke, “Come here.” It felt awkward to walk in the uniform almost like he was relearning how to move properly but Ashe took no time to move closer to you who learned against a sturdy wooden office desk.

Your eyes take this moment to look at him closer in an attempt to burn this memory into the back of your mind. His freckled cheeks are flushed in a beautiful shade of red and yet despite the obvious bashful expression, Ashe stares at you openly with love. “Such a good boy,” You hummed, grabbing his hips to bring him even closer to stand in between your legs as the weight of Ashe’s body pinned you against the desk. Ashe sighed shaky, those words making a shiver run throughout his body. One of your hands stays on his hip, rubbing little circles as the other hand reaches up to grab the back of his head, fingers taking hold of his hair to guide Ashe down to your lips for him to claim. 

His lips taste sweet. You think, wondering if the rest of him is sweet too, is a follow-up thought as your tongue against his bottom lip to ask for entrance. When his lips part to allow your tongue to slip in, take that moment to tug on his hair that your fingers were still holding on to. Between your skillful tongue and the pull of his hair, Ashe whimpers quietly. But not so softly that it went unnoticed, making you pull away to smirk up at him, watching how out of breath Ashe is.

Using the hand that was still holding the back of his head to roughly tug Ashe’s hair so his head would go leaning back giving you perfect access to his neck that you began to place wet kisses on. The whole time that this was happening, Ashe welcomed it, each kiss and hair tug making him sigh in pleasure with goosebumps dancing on his skin. Neither you nor Ashe knows if it is subconscious or not but Ashe’s body automatically started to grind his pelvis against yours, letting you know how aroused Ashe is as his hands squeeze and clench your upper thighs. 

The friction that Ashe is making with you made both of you groan. You stop kissing him to now directly impatiently palming him through this maid uniform with the hand that formerly tugged on his neck, as the other hand is holding tightly on Ashe’s hip still. “Where do you want me to touch you?” You whisper, still palming but with more added pressure. He is beyond hard at this point. “Show me.” 

When Ashe didn’t immediately do it, focusing more on the pleasure, you pulled away from touching him. The removal of your touch and warmth made him let out a tiny whimper. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” Ashe moaned breathlessly this time, it sounded so heavenly that you want to hear more of it. However, you waited patiently as possible as he forcibly stopped himself from grinding against you.

His body trembled a little and a blush that even reached the tip of his ears, Ashe slowly lifted his skirt to reveal the white stocking and garter underneath. You touch them, making sure to brush your fingers on the inner space of his thighs, close enough to tease him with the touch that Ashe desperately needs. With remaining willpower, he fully lifted the skirt higher up to his hips this time, showing off the lovely white panties that looked on him that clung to the fully hard erection, the tip of its head peeking out from the panties.

“Such a good boy,” You whispered, staring at his length that you slowly reached out to softly touch with both of your hands that gently pulled his undergarment off to fully expose himself. Ashe shivered from the cold air that touched him, hands tightly continuing to hold the bottom ends of the maid uniform. Struggling to not let go of the skirt, to not reach out and take both sides of your face with Ashe’s hands to pull you roughly for a deep breathless kiss. Ashe wants to kiss you so deeply that it hurts to breathe.

But before the young man gets lost in thought, a deep groan escapes from his throat when your hand takes hold of his length. Soon, in a sort of pattern and rhythm, you moved your hand to stroke him up and down. Everything about him is beautiful from his heart to his personality and physical features. You want to ruin this sweet man. Ashe began to thrust into your hand that’s stroking him, adding more pressure and speed to the movement. He is panting with delicious-sounding moans, getting lost in the pleasure. 

“Your moans sound so pretty.” His eyes lock on to yours after hearing that, attempting to keep eye contact but when you twist your wrist in a way that he likes, Ashe’s head falls back and a whimper leaves his lips as Ashe’s body starts to tremble. “Please.” He whimpered, finally speaking in a whiny and needy voice. Ashe couldn’t take anymore at this point. He needed release badly now. 

“Please what?” You replied, cooing at him as if he was something adorable and slowing down the speed and movement of your hand. God, Ashe was so close. Just needed more attention, more of your touch to him, just anything that you will give him. “Beg for me. Beg for what you want.” “Please let me cum.” Ashe sounded as if he was close to tearing up from the teasing because despite you stopped stroking Ashe, you would rub the tip of his length with your thumb, giving it the right amount of attention so that it begins to release more pre-cum. 

“As you wish.” You smiled, removing your hand from his length to spit your saliva on the palm of your hand to act as lubrication as your hand soon returned to touching him again. It did not take long for your hand to pick up the same speed and movement from earlier as Ashe had enough pre-cum to start to leak that which added more lubrication. Between friction and motion with your hand and Ashe thrusting violently into your hand, it’s not a surprise that he is coming to cum soon. 

Leaning upward to kiss him on the lips shortly followed with leaving kisses and hickeys from Ashe’s neck to shoulders, and even leaving some bite marks that leave him feeling weak in the knees. He groaned when you kissed and licked a new bite mark. Each moan, groan, and whimper from him makes you equally aroused that the place between your legs wants just as much attention. The image of Ashe in between your legs is so realistic that you could almost feel it. The sensation of his soft hair tickling the inner of your thighs as he begs to pleasure you that he’ll have to work till allowed him to touch you. 

To feel his warm wet tongue lick you so much that it is hard to tell whether it is his saliva or your juice. To have his callous slender fingers teasing your entrance hole, fingers curling in and out of you. The image makes a moan of your own to escape, lips parted and trying to not touch yourself because it has to wait, it needs to wait, as the desire to see Ashe come undone in your hand is stronger. 

The sound of your moan was the final push for Ashe as he stared at you with lustful but dazed eyes with his mouth open, panting. Impatiently he took hold of your wrist that’s stroking his length to make your hand grip Ashe become firm, increasing the speed that he is pumping and thrusting into your hand. His action had taken you by surprise since rarely does Ashe do this. The way that Ashe is making you touch, grip, and squeeze him leaves you to wonder if this is exactly how he touches himself and when he does it. Does he do it in his room? And that he pretends that his hand is yours, imagining you touch him in ways that Ashe might be too nervous to tell you. 

The thought makes you more excited as you feel Ashe coming with a full-body tremble and loud moan that the young man didn’t try to cover. Ashe’s semen spilled a little on the floor but most of it ended up on your hand, “Sorry,” He said breathlessly, burying his face in the crook of your neck only to whimper a little at your touch since Ashe is too sensitive at the moment. Even as Ashe needed a moment to breathe, he still placed very affectionate kisses against your neck while you had brought your cum covered hand up to your mouth to begin licking it clean, eyes locking onto Ashe's face who was blushing heavily at the sight. After making sure your hand was clean with a coy smile on your face, there were only two words offered. 

“So sweet.”

[aeyumicore]

captive bird - caleb 夏以昼

tension boils over during the thunderstorm in caleb’s living room—things get heated. what really happens in captive bird when caleb and mc are finally honest with how they feel about each other.

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: caleb x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with plot, porn with feelings/angst, fluff, canon story continuation

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 13.4k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, SPOILERS TO CAPTIVE BIRD (main story), more compliant with original chinese script, not incest (it’s very clear they are not related and do not feel related), unprotected sex, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, virginity loss (male and female), panty sniffing/licking (while on female mc), panty stealing, multiple orgasms, light choking, improper use of Evol, lots and lots of dirty talking (caleb is a vocal man), lots of pet names (princess, brat, baby, babygirl, and the occasional pip-squeak), cumming on stomach, cum…licking?, use of gege, size difference, use of Y/N, lots and lots of main story/lore/anecdote references, lots of feelings and angst, references to caleb’s right arm, bratty mc/brat tamer caleb

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: ao3 | captive bird video (also has entire ch2)

━ ✧.˖ A/N: vomits everywhere DON’T LOOK AT ME,,,,,idk how this got out of hand….i was hoping it would be MAX 9-10k…it’s 13k….anyways i hope you enjoy <3 first of many love letters to caleb, my babyyy. 

if you cannot tell yes caleb is my favorite….far far behind is sylus and then behind him is zayne. but i fear it is not even close. 

this is the first installment of my “””planned””” caleb series - essentially it’ll be smutty moments throughout the canon content: main story, five star mems, bonds, etc. no schedule, no promises. i will write when i feel inspired <3 

lore and plot build up is probably 4k words and the smut is like 9k. It goes lore → smut so you can skip the plot and go straight to the smut if youd like LOL

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

part one | part two |

“Our reporters out in the field confirmed the lockdown will be lifted after being in effect for weeks. The Farspace Fleet assures everyone that the explosion in the Cascade District will not happen again–”

The newscaster is cut off when Caleb shuts off the television, coming up behind you. True to his word, three days had passed and it seemed the situation in Skyhaven was on the cusp of “resolving.” You’d finally be able to return home soon. 

Home–to Linkon. It used to be Caleb’s home too. 

On the other hand, your prickly relationship with Caleb had only tensed further in the past few days. You’d exchanged maybe a handful of words, not for lack of trying on his part. 

After he had clasped the monitoring bracelet onto your wrist, he may as well have locked away the last bit of hope you had that the Caleb you once knew was still under that prim and poised Colonel’s uniform. 

In your time at Skyhaven, he’d proven time and time again that the Caleb you grew up with, the gege you once loved, was gone. And what remained was someone you did not recognize, and didn’t know if you cared to. 

And yet, in the three days you locked yourself in the hollow room of his suffocating home, he’d still cook every meal for you, despite being gone much of the day. Three times a day, without fail, a tray of your favorite Caleb specials would show up at the foot of your door, accompanied by small and ridiculous sticky notes that pulled relentlessly at your heartstrings.

Caleb always loved notes. He used to say it was your guys’ thing.

But now, you weren’t so sure there was a you and him anymore. 

“After all this is over, the Fleet will return to the Deepspace Tunnel. You’ll be safe. For now,” Caleb’s words cut through your thoughts. You nearly jump at the sound of his voice, this being the most you’d allowed him to say to you lately. 

What’s more jarring is the idea that the Farspace Fleet is leaving Skyhaven. You’d forgotten that they hardly ever stationed here–spending most, if not all, their time patrolling the Deepspace Tunnel. 

“So you’re just going to leave again? Without saying anything?” you bite out, overwhelmed by a bitterness you hadn’t quite processed since reuniting with him. 

Caleb smiles, a ghostlike smirk that doesn’t meet his eyes. It’s riddled in self deprecation and pity, “You won’t have to see me anymore. Shouldn’t you be happy?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he chuckles and grabs your wrist, “I’m about to leave. Let’s have dinner together.”

Between the idea that Caleb is leaving you yet again, and him making yet another demand of you, you violently rip your arm away from him. Your words are venomous as you spit them out, “So I have to listen to the Colonel even when it comes to eating and drinking now?”

You storm away from him, sitting on the couch in the living room, hands clenched in your lap. Your gaze is fixed on your angrily quaking fists, and in the corners of your vision you see Caleb seating himself on the ottoman in front of you.

“You can be mad, but don’t let it affect your health,” he holds out an apple in front of you, a silent offering. It's perfectly red opulent skin only makes you bristle with more annoyance. 

“I’m not mad.”

Caleb chuckles knowingly, “Growing up, I knew you better than anyone.”

His voice doesn’t change but there’s an undercurrent of emptiness that makes you look up at him. He doesn’t meet your eyes, his cheek resting on his fist as he turns the apple in his fingers, the ruby skin glinting under the lights.

“I could see through your lies before you could blink. Bite your lip, and I could instantly tell you were upset.” 

He speaks as if remembering something precious he’d lost, violet eyes briefly flickering to yours before they cast downward again, focussing on the apple like it might solve your problems. 

“Then tell me, since you know me so well, what am I thinking right now?” 

Before he can respond, you continue, “I’m thinking…how did you turn into someone I can’t even recognize?” 

Part of you regrets the words as soon they come out. But the other part, the larger part, wants him to see what you see. To feel what you feel. You think that part of you wants to hurt him like he’s been hurting you.

Caleb chuckles darkly, putting the apple back into the fruit bowl on the coffee table with the other perfect and untouched apples, “I know. You’re thinking a chip got put into my brain and it changed who I am, right?”

His shadowed gaze  meets yours, unfathomable emotions shining through the eyes you once found immeasurable comfort in. He reaches out to hold your cheek, his fingers grazing your jaw. The look in his stormy eyes makes your skin crawl, and yet his touch is so unbearably familiar that you can’t help but lean into him. 

“What if I told you…I was always this person?” 

Your breath catches at the inexplicable hope that clashes with the sinister darkness shadowing his face. His deceptively simple words have you unconsciously inching away from him, your mind reeling as you struggle to accept them. Refuse to accept them.

Could he really always have been this person? 

Could you really have been so deluded that you’d fallen in love with a complete stranger? 

No, not a stranger–but someone who never even existed to begin with. 

You recoil, not from his touch–but from his words, your spine hitting the back of the couch. There’s a split second where Caleb’s face falls, a flash of the sweet innocent boy you were yearning for finding its way to the surface. But then his face hardens, his Colonel’s mask slipping back on. 

He stands before you, between your parted knees, his height looming over you like the impending storm that brews just outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the glass cage that was his home. 

Caleb’s voice is so rough you almost don’t recognize it. His fist grasps the back of the couch beside your head, trapping you between it and him. You can’t bring yourself to push him away, your chest pounding at his proximity, eyes instinctively drawn into the curves of his lips as he speaks. 

“It’s you who’s still living in a fantasy, Y/N.”

Those hauntingly beautiful amethyst irises search yours for even a glimmer of understanding. You’re nearly consumed by the stark contrast of the frenzy and despair in them.

“The people who want your power–who’d hurt you. They should all just…disappear.” 

Caleb speaks with such a sinister conviction, as if he’s swearing a solemn oath to you. One that paints your skin with goosebumps at just how serious you can tell he is. How much of his humanity he’s willing to throw away–for you.

“You’re only safe when you’re by my side.”

He smiles at you, a deceptively warm smile that reminds you of the gege who always bandaged your knees and shielded you from the thunderstorms that reminded you of the roar of Wanderers. The Caleb your heart found itself inexplicably yearning for, no matter how much you told yourself you shouldn't. 

But the flickering darkness–the frantic despair in his deep purple eyes pulls you back into reality, like a blackhole swallowing all the light around it. 

“I’d rather be in danger than live like this, Caleb!” the sheer anger you’d held onto from the last three days boils over, tears of frustration pooling in the corner of your eyes. 

Your next words come tumbling out before you can stop them, knowing just how much they’ll hurt him. You’re not even sure they’re true–but once the floodgates open, you can’t shut them.

“I don’t need you!”

Caleb’s gentle smile transforms into one of disbelief as your palm rests on his chest, finally finding the strength to push him away. When he glances away from you, his eyes darting around frantically, he looks hopelessly lost. A plane adrift. 

“Don’t need me?”

His voice is incredulous as he grabs your wrist, holding it above your head. His grip is firm and unyielding, but not enough to hurt you in the slightest. Caleb always knew just how much you could take, after all. 

It doesn’t take much for him to pin you firmly against the couch, leaning in closer to cage you into the furniture. In the back of your mind, you know you should shove him off–slap him even. 

But all you could focus on is the way his long eyelashes are so close you could count them. How you can feel his heated breath fan across your parted lips, practically able to taste him on your tongue.

You can’t find it in yourself to put up a fight, unable to even tear your eyes away from him as the dark expanding universe in his irises searches yours. All you can do is weakly, pathetically, hit his arm. 

“Then tell me, what do you need? I can give you anything.” 

Did you want him to leave?

Your heart pounds at his words, the raw honesty and vulnerability dripping off of them, so serious it was nearly a threat. The desperate glint in his eyes was unlike anything you’d ever seen before. 

You didn’t recognize him in the slightest. 

“You want to return to Linkon? Then we can go back to Linkon.”

Could you return to Linkon with him? To the place where you’d held Caleb’s hand for the first time and inevitably fallen in love with the gege who’d protected you all your life? A man who was now no more than a ghost of who he once was.

“If you want to return to the past, then we can rebuild our old house and live together again.”

House. Not home. Because that’d been destroyed in the same explosion that’d killed your Caleb. 

“And if one house isn’t enough, I’ll build you an entire maze.”

A maze. Designed with the illusion of a way out, but in reality you knew it’d just be another way to keep you caged in like a little helpless bird all over again. Flying around aimlessly–lost.

“I’ll decorate it with everything you could ever want. It will be the most beautiful, stunning garden you’ve ever seen.”

Caleb holds your face possessively as he speaks, as if you might disappear at any moment. His thumb catches stray tears as they descend your cheek. The devotion in his yearning eyes is boundless, a void threatening to swallow you whole. 

A dream world just for the two of you. 

“No one will ever be able to find you ever again. I’ll protect you forever.”

The dream shatters into a million glass fragments, the shards embedding into your heart that had bled and scabbed over so many times these past few weeks in Skyhaven that it was unrecognizable. 

You press your free palm into his chest, pushing back gently. There’s no frustration or urgency this time, just a heartfelt plea that you can’t quite place. 

“Caleb…you shouldn’t do this.”

The words feel foreign as they leave the tip of your tongue. 

“You’re my…” the term feels like acid but you force it out, needing to get through to him. Your open hand on his chest closes into a tightly clenched fist. 

“My…brother. You mean more to me than anything.”

For a long time you hadn’t felt like Caleb was your brother. You don’t really know if you’d ever felt like he was. The only thing you were certain of was that Caleb had become the most precious person in your life. 

And you loved him. Was in love with him.

But it was too late to tell him that now. 

For now, you needed him to see reason. That the world he envisioned for the two of you was nothing more than a faraway dream, and dreams existed only in the whispers of the night. 

Caleb freezes, before biting out a bitter chuckle–halfway between a scoff and a sneer. The Colonel’s mask slips off, fluttering to the floor entirely. The wild look in his eyes is reminiscent of a caged beast that’d been whipped one too many times. 

“Hah–brother?” 

You struggle as Caleb pries your hand off his chest, not really knowing why you’re fighting him. It’s hard to think, with him so close to you, your resolve fading with each moment that passes. 

You vaguely hear the bowl of apples on the coffee table being knocked over, unceremoniously tumbling to the ground. Caleb hovers above you, his face darker than the torrent of storm clouds just outside the glass windows. 

“Y/N, your biggest mistake was believing that I could play the part of your perfect brother forever.”

You can’t tell if it’s the terrifying roar of thunder or his shocking confession that makes your heart pound so violently it hurts. Your fist quivers as you pull back, but Caleb only holds you tighter, unwilling to let you go.

The weight of his words crushes you–stealing your breath away, until there’s nothing left but the wreckage of your resolve. 

“Day after day, I’ve endured. I’ve held myself back. But now…”

His voice is so low that you can barely hear him over the clap of thunder, gravelly with a hungry desperation that makes your toes curl against the carpet.  

“I’m done playing pretend.”

The lightning outside flashes, illuminating his shadowed eyes revealing the depth of his turmoil. Without the carefully knit Farspace Colonel’s mask he always wore, Caleb was an open book, wearing his heart so openly on his sleeve that you could see every twisted thought.

Temptation, desperation, yearning, guilt, sin. All that he had shouldered and endured alone, donning the role of the supposed “older brother” like a shield, unwilling to risk losing the most precious thing in the world to him.

You.

And after weeks of seeing nothing but the cold, faraway, unforgiving Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, you were drawn to this Caleb like a moth to a flame.

Illogically, irrevocably, and so deeply that it hurts you. 

Caleb swears under his breath, shaking his head as if trying to snap out of a daze. His grip on your wrists loosens, but he doesn’t let go. His words come out in a forced choke, almost as pained as his anguished stare. 

“Don’t. Don’t look at me like that unless you’re willing to admit you’re done playing this game too.”

You can hear the blood pounding in your ears, your face no doubt as red as the apples that had tumbled to the ground. Your thoughts race a mile a minute, trying to reconcile what you’d always felt for him, telling yourself you shouldn’t, with what he was confessing to you now. 

What if you were never part of the game to begin with?

“Like what?! I’m not doing anything!” is all you can find yourself saying, almost petulantly, deflecting from what’s threatening to spill over. His skin felt impossibly hot against yours, his fingers nearly branding your wrists, reminding you just how much you’d come to feel for him. 

Reminding you of exactly who your heart was so violently pounding for in this exact moment.

Caleb shakes his head, a dark breathy chuckle escaping his lips as he releases your hands from above your head, instead gripping the couch behind you, boxing you in again. The storm outside fades away, until it’s only him, looking at you with an entire universe’s worth of longing reflected in those lavender halos.

His hand lifts to your cheek, hesitating before he uses the knuckles of his fingers to wipe your tears away, stroking along your jaw. It’s impossibly innocent, and yet you find your thighs clenching against him.

“Tell me I’m insane.”

You blink up at him trying to process what he was asking of you, the same exact things you had been telling yourself for…years. 

“Tell me…it’s all in my head.”

Caleb’s voice is nothing more than a desperate whisper, pleading with you to tell him what he needs to hear. Yes…or no. Whatever it is, he just can’t play this game anymore.

“Tell me you don’t feel…this.”

His long fingers slowly, tentatively, thread into your hair, his thumb stroking your jaw as he gently grasps your face, tilting you closer to him. Your eyes flicker to his parted lips that are so close you could just inch forward and taste them.

You definitely felt it.

“I-I don’t. Caleb…we can’t do this.”

You lie through your teeth, still holding onto the last fray of restraint you had left. The last, dying, part of you that wanted to keep the memory of you and Caleb exactly how it was. In a beautiful crystal box, that you could cherish and protect forever. 

Unchanging, undamaged, untouched.

Perhaps…that’s what Caleb thought he was doing when he kept you here in his glass home. Keeping you alive. 

“Didn’t I say I could always tell when you’re lying, pip-squeak?” 

His amethyst eyes are hooded with a deep swirling caution, warning you. That he can see right through you–he’s always been able to. And he’s never taken well to you keeping things from him. 

You try to bite back the visceral shiver at that sweet little pet name he so effortlessly called you, even when he was looking at you like a lion would a sheep. 

Caleb lowers himself so he’s kneeling before you, his knees pressing into the edge of the couch between your legs. 

“You’re trying to preserve a fantasy–a dream. But I’m right here, in front of you,” he urges, his voice broken and raw. Taking your hand, he presses your palm to his chest–his heart. Even through his shirt, you can feel the ridges of his muscles heaving with the weight of his heavy heart beats.

“Caleb…” you murmur, halfway between a warning and a plea. The feeling of his heart beneath your palm blurs the line between reason and desire. 

Caleb shuts his eyes, drawing a deep and shaky breath.

“Don’t say my name like that,” he growls, his fingers digging into the expensive leather of the couch, so forcefully that it threatens to rip.

“Don’t say my name like I’m already gone. I’m right here.” 

The vulnerable plea in his voice is so thick that you choke, tears welling in your eyes as you stare up at him, his eyes reflecting the same Caleb who used to point out planes as they flew by in the sky, promising you the world. 

Maybe you were the one who’d imprisoned him.

Trying desperately to hold onto the Caleb you knew. Blind to the fact that he was right in front of you, even if he’d shed the feathers you once knew. Forcing him into the tiny suffocating cage of what you wanted. 

He was right here. The Caleb who wore your hair ties on his wrist, the same one who dried your wet hair, who always looked for your face in every crowd.

The same Caleb who always did anything and everything to protect you, ever since he held your hand for the first time. 

And you’d punished him for it.

Your hands come up to hold his face in your palms, holding his gaze with unyielding regret. Caleb’s breath audibly catches at your touch, his face instinctively nuzzling into your palms, eyes shutting in a brief second of respite. 

“I…” you start, trying to find the words. But they escape you, stuck in your throat, where your heart clenches with repentance. Caleb is incredibly patient, stroking circles into the back of your head, not pushing you. 

You try again, “I’m…” You curse yourself inwardly, eyes prickling. 

Why couldn’t you just fucking say it? 

You were the coward, after all. 

Caleb’s thumb brushes against the corner of your mouth, careful not to stroke your bottom lip like he so desperately wanted to. His other hand clenches into a tight fist that trembles with the weight of his restraint. 

He gives you that half smile that’s so effortlessly Caleb that what’s left of your resolve snaps. 

“You don’t have to say it,” he reassures, almost dejectedly, his beautiful bright violet eyes falling, dimming like a burnt out bulb, “It’s okay.”

Even when he’s falling apart at the seams, his first instinct is to protect you. 

His breathing is heavy, lips parted, as his eyes flicker to your lips. The longing is so evident in those amethyst irises, but the light fades with every second that passes. Fighting with every instinct in his body, his thumb brushes along your jaw one last time before he releases your face, getting onto his feet.

“Just…have dinner with me before I go–please.”

Your eyes widen, heart pounding painfully as you watch him back away from you. 

No. 

You were done living in this fantasy you’d built. The dreamland you’d woven for Caleb and yourself. It was just as much of a prison as the one he’d put you in. 

Before you know what you’re doing, you reach out to grab his wrist and yank him back. Taken utterly by surprise, Caleb falls back toward you with little resistance. Almost falling into your lap, his hands shoot out to the couch behind your head to steady himself, his forehead nearly pressed into yours.

“What are you–”

Before your courage fades, you thread your fingers on either side of his face into his soft hair. You lean in the rest of the way, resting your forehead on his, his bangs prickling your skin. Your breaths mingle, his lips so close you could almost feel them–how soft they’d feel against your own.

Do. Don’t think.

You push your lips to his, swallowing his subtle gasp of surprise, pulling him as close as he can possibly get with his knees pressed up against the seat of the couch.

Caleb hesitates, his hands remaining respectfully by your head, his lips still.

But that lasts for less than a fraction of a second before his hands are gripping the back of your head, fingers tangled aggressively in your hair, teeth nipping at your bottom lip, groaning unabashedly into you.

Caleb’s lips are soft, slotting perfectly against yours like two broken pieces of glass. His teeth gently graze against your lip, begging for more. He’s the perfect balance of hungry and tender, demanding and delicate. 

You can tell he’s holding back, adorably so–not wanting to cross any boundaries unless you haul him over those lines. Despite that, he can’t help but cup the back of your head possessively, pulling you impossibly closer against his torrid lips.

Finally giving into what you’ve dreamt of for years possesses you with a boldness you’ve never experienced. It isn’t long before you’re teasing the seam of his lips with the tip of your tongue, wanting in.  

Caleb groans, one hand cautiously shifting to your hips. He hesitates, and you use your own palm to press him into your waist, begging him to hold you tighter. 

In one swift motion, he has your legs swung over his thighs, not going so far as to seat you on his lap. You sit on the cushion beside him, his arm cupped behind your back, the other holding your jaw. Your own hands are looped around his neck, inhaling his breath as your own, your tongue desperately tangled with his. 

To your dismay, Caleb pulls away, his fingers gently holding your chin. He pants, broad chest heaving with desire, tilting your face so that your eyes level with his.

“Tell me you want this.”

He fights with every instinct in his body that tells him to take your lips in his again. The way your beautiful eyes flutter at him, your lips perfectly parted so that he can feel your warmTH fan against him.

He’d spent his entire life forcing himself to look the other way–convincing himself that he should be the brother figure he thought you needed. Resolved his heart to still every time he saw those very fluttering eyes and intoxicating lips.

But now you were unraveling that very carefully crafted resolve, imploding it like a collapsing star. 

“I need to hear you say it, Y/N.”

You were a coward, but Caleb always made you brave.

Swinging your thigh over his lap, you straddle him, pressing him deeper into the couch. Caleb swears under his breath, his hands instinctively resting on your waist, locking your body against his. Holding his face in your hands, you bring him in so close his long eyelashes tickle your cheek. 

“I want this. I want you.” 

Caleb’s swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the intensity of his need, “God, you have no idea how many times I’ve imagined you saying that.”

He weaves his hand into the back of your head, pulling you to him, consuming your moans once more. His tongue claims every inch of you, causing your mind to go blank, throwing all prior restraint and reason out the window. 

Your body rolls instinctively against his lap, gasping when you feel something solid and thick right where your undoubtedly soaked panties press against Caleb’s lap.

His fingers tighten against your hips, threatening to leave fingertip shaped bruises, ripping his lips away with every ounce of self-control he has left.

“Y/N…this is your last chance to tell me to stop,” he rasps, eyes clouded over with a dark animalistic gleam. A desire that could only be born from years of pent up yearning and restraint.

“Once we start…I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop,” he murmurs, holding your cheek so adoringly. It’s clear that, while he’s giving you an out, he prays to the Gods that you won’t tell him to stop. 

With a pointed roll of your hips, earning you a delicious breathy moan from him, you grip the back of Caleb’s head, tugging on his hair. You pull his head against your chest, cradling him affectionately.

Caleb inhales a sharp breath at the sound of your pounding heart against his ear. How many times he’d stayed up, fraught with haunting nightmares, listening to this very sound, to your steady breathing, grounding him to this reality.

“I’m done playing pretend, Caleb.”

You can feel his entire body go rigid beneath you, his thick muscles tensing with heated desire. He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours, his thumb swiping against your bottom lip with reverence. 

“Then…let me show you what’s real.”

With very little effort, Caleb picks you up, gripping your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist. You squeal, looping your arms around his neck, hanging on for dear life.

“A little warning next time would be nice,” you grumble as he walks you, presumably, to the bedroom he had given you. His bedroom.

Caleb chuckles, his frustratingly infectious laugh, pressing a wet kiss into your jaw, “You used to beg me to carry you like this all the time. Suddenly you don’t like it?”

Your cheeks heat up at the memories of all the times he’d carried you around when you feigned being too exhausted to move, “It’s different now.”

You find your back being pushed against the cold and hard surface of the bedroom door.

“You’re definitely right about that. Back then…I couldn’t do this.”

He presses his lips into the curve of your neck, biting down with just enough force to make you clench against his solid body, crying out in surprise. Your reaction elicits a deep and warm chuckle from him. He kicks open the room of the bedroom and sets you down gently on the plush of the mattress.

He keeps his fingers pressed firmly into your thigh, keeping it hooked against his waist. Your chest heaves with desire, looking up at him expectantly. He hovers just an inch above you, kneeling between your legs, elbow pressed into the bed beside your face, caging you in.

“You’re…” he rasps, fingers digging into the plush of your thigh. He trails off, at a loss for words as his eyes rake down your lips, to your wonderfully exposed neck, to the defined curves of your collar. He clenches his fist, trying to calm down and stop himself from absolutely devouring you.

Breathtakingly beautiful.

“I’m what?” you tease, biting your lip at the way his eyes travel down your body, like it was his first time seeing the sky. Your hand travels from his jaw to trickle down his pulse, fingers teasing the bare skin where his silver necklace normally sat, the dogtag forgotten somewhere on the living room couch.

He groans, knees buckling under your touch. You gasp when you feel his excitement against you, your body instinctively arching up to grind against him. The sensation feels so mind numbingly intense that you can’t help but let out a soft moan, your eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment. 

Caleb hisses, his fingers digging in, almost painfully, to your thigh. His hips chase the feeling, bucking against you again, making both of you groan. He holds your jaw tenderly in one hand, forcing you to look at him, his voice rough with lust. 

“You’re a brat,” he murmurs, sinking down to your neck, “Gonna be the death of me.”

He trails a kiss of heated kisses down your pulse point, using his tongue to draw the most beautiful moans from your kiss-bitten lips. When he reaches your collar, he laughs into your burning skin.

“Nothing else to say, princess?”

You whine at his condescending tone, never a fan of losing to him. Mustering up your courage, you trail your hand lower until they tease the waistband of his pants. You don’t give him a chance to protest before you slip your fingers in, gasping when they meet the hot leaking tip of his cock. It’d hardened to the point that it could practically sit at his belly button, so you didn’t have to reach very deep for what you wanted. 

You revel in Caleb’s string of choked expletives, biting back the moan that threatens to escape your own lips when he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, desperately trying to stave off the orgasm you’re already building in him. 

Years of yearning, restraint, and being completely and utterly uninterested in anyone that wasn’t you had truly eaten his stamina.

It only encourages you to wrap your fingers snugly around him, giving him just one single languid stroke. 

Caleb’s fingers find your wrist, closing tightly enough to stop your ministrations, a dangerous warning reflected in his eyes. You can see his pulse pound in his neck, his breath coming out heavy and forced.

“Let’s not forget who’s in charge here, hm?” he grits hoarsely, deceptively calm, trying his best to hide how completely unraveled you have him with your pretty little fingers wrapped around him. When he has you panting so divinely beneath him, like he’d dreamt of for years.

With your hand caught in his, your eyebrows furrow in challenge. Your free hand weaves into the back of his head, pulling him back down so you can press a teasing kiss into his neck. When he stiffens above you, you sink your teeth in, marking him as yours, which he’d always been. At his hiss of ecstasy, your hips buck up to drag against his bare erection, nearly able to feel how wet you’d gotten through your panties and through your jeans.

“Such a tease,” he grounds out, his purple eyes burning with a dangerous desire, “Who taught you to be such a brat? Cause I know it wasn’t me.”

Your eyes flare with indignation, despite how badly your body literally quivers for him

“Not a brat. You’ve just always been a sore loser,” you taunt, pressing another heated kiss into his pounding jugular, this time letting your tongue tease him.

With a feral growl, you find both of your hands pinned above your head with just one of Caleb’s bigger hands, his grip punishing and addicting. He pushes his cock right into your inner thighs, giving you a taste of what’s to come. 

“You’re going to regret that, baby.”

With his free hand, he undoes the buttons on your blouse, yanking it open. Your coat had long been forgotten, probably somewhere on the couch, leaving you completely naked before him. You hadn’t worn a bra since you’d been stuck inside for the last three days, and with Caleb being at the base most of the time, you didn’t see the point. 

You yelp as the cool air-conditioned breeze hits your bare nipples, not noticing the way Caleb’s eyes widen, his pupils dilating like he’d been concussed. 

“Why aren’t you…” he trails off, his eyes doing their damn best to stare into your eyes and not at the soft plush of your breasts. The way your beautiful skin leads up to your hardened nipples that are just begging to be tasted. He doesn’t finish his thought, swearing like a sailor. 

Caleb’s violet eyes search yours, pleading with you. 

“Tell me one more time.”

You trace his jaw with your fingertips, trying to ignore how painfully exposed you feel. His eyes flutter shut, his cheek nuzzling into your hand. Like a puppy.

But when his eyes open again, there’s a ravenous fire that reminds you more of a rabid wolf than a sweet little house pet. 

“Tell me you want this. Because...” he pauses, his fingers tracing down your collar, stopping right before the swell of your chest.

“I can’t go back to playing house. I can’t go back to pretending to be your big brother. Not when I’ve tasted you.”

Your heart flutters, core tightening, at his simultaneously sweet and filthy words. Gently wriggling one hand free, you grab his finger that rests on your collar, guiding his hand down. Caleb’s breathing grows incredibly heavy and off-beat as he watches you lead his hand to cup your breast.

You bring his face to yours, whispering, “Caleb…”

“Please. I can’t wait anymore.”

Caleb’s eyes widen noticeably, cursing, “God you–you’re so fucking beautiful. Especially when you say my name like that. You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

With one hand still pinned above you, the other holding his hand to your chest, you crane your neck up, pressing your forehead to his.

“Show me, Caleb.”

At the sound of his name rolling off your perfect tongue yet again, Caleb snaps. Gone was the chivalrous restraint he’d been hell bent on exhibiting. 

He brushes his thumb across your bottom lip before pulling your chin to his, consuming you in a mind numbing kiss. You’re so distracted by his tongue against yours that you don’t notice when his fingers close around your nipple, rolling it torturously. 

You tear your lips away with a moan, your back arching into him. 

Caleb chuckles, between trailing kisses down to your chest, “Needy little thing, huh?”

You’re about to snark back at him until he takes one of your nipples into his lips, letting his tongue circle it tenderly. You bite your lip to stop the embarrassing sounds that threaten to escape, the warmth of his mouth driving you to insanity.

Caleb snakes one hand to your lip, gently unfurling it from your teeth. He’s still attentively devouring you when he forces himself to tear away for one second.

“Don’t you dare hide those pretty sounds from me,” his voice is commanding, every bit of the Farspace Colonel you’d come to know. Except this time, the Colonel makes you shiver with desire and not fear.

His thumb presses deeper, teasing your tongue. Growing impatient with how you hold back your cries, he sinks his teeth into your hardened nipple.

“Nngh–Caleb!” you all but scream. You can feel him smiling against your chest before he alternates to the other, drunk on the noises you cry for him. The taste of your skin on his tongue.

“You always were so good for me.”

With his lips latched onto you, he uses his free hand to unbutton your pants, tugging them down until you’re in nothing but your soaked panties. His fingers trickle down, teasing the waistband. Before he goes further, he grips your chin, bringing your hazy eyes to his.

“More?” he murmurs tenderly, trying to get a temperature check on how you feel. He’d be damned if he ever made you unhappy again.

You sit up on your elbows, peering down at him. He’s flushed from his cheeks to the tip of his ears, his lips shiny with saliva. You let yourself revel in how devastatingly handsome he is, a sinful thought you’d denied yourself many times before.

God, you needed him so fucking badly.

Desperate to make up for years of lost kisses, you pull him in for another. When you finally pull away, you press his forehead against yours, your breath uneven, noses touching.

“More. Please.”

Caleb grins, “That’s my girl.”

Pushing you back against the bed, he sucks a trail of hickeys from your neck, to your breasts, down to your stomach. 

In between his kisses, he murmurs, “Let me worship you like I’ve always wanted to.” You whine when he gets to your legs, sucking a bruise into your inner thigh. Your instinct is to pull away, acutely aware of how close he was to your soaking panties.

But Caleb’s fingers dig into the plush of your hips, effectively locking you against his desperate breath and wild eyes. He continues his relentless attack on your quivering thighs, purposely letting his nose brush against your panties, using his fingers to tease them to the side, letting his warm breath caress your most sensitive parts.

“You’re fucking soaked,” Caleb growls, almost in awe, “God, you spoil me.” He’s so close that he can smell you, his mouth literally watering in anticipation.  

You whine, at your wit’s end, “Caleb, don’t tease.” 

“Always so impatient,” he chuckles with a crooked grin, “I didn’t hold myself back for nearly a decade just to rush this.”

You groan in frustration, tears nearly forming in your eyes from the pure desperation, “You’re such a–hnngh!”

You cut yourself off with a breathy cry, more of a screech, when Caleb presses his tongue into the soaked fabric of your panties, nearly wedging himself into your leaking lips. 

He groans as he tastes you. Even through the fabric you taste like a fucking drug. If heaven had a taste…this would be it. 

“I’m such a what, princess?” Caleb chuckles breathlessly into your pussy, using your same teasing taunt from earlier. 

You’re about to reach over to smack him when Caleb finds your clit, even through the underwear, his lips sucking obsessively. Your hips buck up into his mouth, back arching off the bed, only to have Caleb press his big hand into your stomach, pushing you back down. 

“Dreamt about this, you know?” he grunts into you, practically taking a deep inhale of your intoxicating pheromones, his nose pressed into your underwear, as his tongue works you into a frenzy. He renders you unable to speak, even though you want to beg him to move your panties to the side.

He licks another stripe, this time between your lips and all the way until the tip of his tongue strokes your clit, making you squeal.

“Dreamt of how you’d smell.” He can’t help but breathe in a shaky breath, intoxicated by you, drunk off your scent. 

“Dreamt of how you’d taste.” He finally tugs your panties down your thighs, nearly cumming right then and there at the sight of your naked core, glistening for him. Like a hormonal teenage boy. 

“Hah–Caleb!” you’re cut off when his lips latch onto your bare clit, suckling gently as his fingers start to tease your folds, gathering up your copious slick with his fingertips and smearing it around.

“Dreamt of how you’d call my name. Just like that, babygirl.” He continues to devour you like a five course meal, better than any recipe he’d ever perfected. You tasted so divine on his tongue, he feared he’d never come back from this. Never be able to be without you. Always wanting to dive in between your legs, devour you until the only thing that dared leave your lips was his name. 

“God you taste…” he can’t even complete his thought before his tongue is wedged between your slit again, lapping you up greedily. You’re too lost in your own pleasure to tease him, your eyes fluttering backwards.

“Can you take a finger, princess?” he groans shakily, practically begging. His breath is hot on your sensitive core, making you tremble. 

“Y-Yes–mmf–please,” you huff, fingers carding through his hair as he nuzzles happily between your thighs. Like a bear with a honeypot. 

“That’s my girl,” he breathes against you before slipping one finger into you. You gasp, the sting from just one digit taking you by surprise–thicker and longer than your own. But it doesn’t necessarily hurt. 

Caleb bites the inside of his cheek, trying to focus on licking up the honey between your legs and not how unbelievably tight you are around just one finger. His cock leaks with the urgent need to feel you, and with how beautifully you’re unraveling for him, he has to fight from cumming untouched.

“You’re so…tight,” Caleb groans, almost in awe. He only had one finger in you. And you felt like that. You can only respond in a string of strangled moans, completely lost in the sensations that ripple through every nerve ending.

“Sh-shit,” he mutters, imagining what you’d feel like wrapped around his length as you clenched against his one finger. You were dangerous.

“Gonna need to stretch you out. Can you take another, sweet girl?”

You nod, not really knowing what he’s saying–too lost in this whole new world of ecstasy Caleb is introducing to you. But you trusted him with your entire life. 

Gently, Caleb adds another one of his lengthy fingers. You wince at the stretch, the pain ebbing over the pleasure, causing tears to spring to your eyes. Caleb instantly stills, suddenly hovering above you, his fingers still deep inside you. His purple eyes are crinkled in concern, his free hand brushing the stray strands of hair off your cheek. 

“Hey,” he murmurs tenderly, his thumb catching stray tears, “You with me?”

You writhe, still adjusting to the stretch of his second finger, the pain dulling slowly. His still fingers start to feel unnatural, the need for friction growing with every passing second. 

“I’m–angh–I’m good,” you pant, “C-Caleb–please. Move.”

Caleb nearly chokes, his cock lurching at your tearful and needy plea. He slowly starts to move his fingers in and out of you again with the utmost gentleness.

“You’re doing so good for me, Y/N,” he pants, trying to keep his own orgasm at bay, “So wet and–hah fuck–warm.”

You whine at his praises, your gut knotting in excitement, the sensation returning back to a tingling pleasure. 

Caleb gently scissors his two fingers, pressing his tongue against your core once more, desperate for another taste. 

“I can feel you squeezing my fingers,” he rasps in between sucking at your sensitive bud, “Feel good, princess? You like it when I praise you?”

You whine, nodding as best as you can, too far gone to feel ashamed. Your heart squeezes when you suddenly wonder just how Caleb had become so skilled with his fingers, with his tongue. 

But you’re pulled out of those thoughts when the man in question starts flicking his tongue with renewed vigor and passion. An overwhelming pressure builds in your gut that makes you writhe with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

Caleb presses you back down, flat against the bed, “Tell me, baby. Let me hear you.” He jerks his fingers, simultaneously flicking his tongue against your clit. His hips buck repeatedly, groaning into your core as he fucks into the mattress.

The lewd sounds of his fingers inside you makes your cheeks burn with want. The vibrations that roll off his tongue and straight into you send you reeling.

“C-Caleb, it feels–I-I can’t..take much more,” you squeal, feeling like your abdomen is going to burst. You almost want to shove him off, overwhelmed by your impending orgasm. Yet you can’t get enough of his hand, his mouth, on you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against you, fingers still inside you, “Cum for me, Y/N.”

Your breathing grows erratic, reduced to nothing but cries and moans, as he quickens his pace, curling his fingers to a hypersensitive part inside you. Your eyes go wide as the tension in your belly combusts, pleasure searing through your entire body like a wildfire.

Your fingers dig into the comforter, your back arching off the mattress. Caleb groans as he listens to your unabashed cries, his name on your tongue like a prayer. 

“Angh–Caleb! Oh God,” you whimper as he continues to devour you, even when you’re gushing. If it didn’t feel so mind blowing you’d be embarrassed that you were dripping quite literally on his face. 

“Fuck–dreamt of how you’d fall apart for me, just like this. But you’re…so much fucking better than my silly little fantasies.”

His fingers start to slow as your body trembles with overstimulation. You watch as he withdraws them, entranced by how they glisten and drip with you. With how exquisite you taste, intensified by just how many times he’d fantasized about this very scenario, he can’t help but lick his fingers absolutely clean. 

You shakily sit up on your elbows, a mix of mortified and turned on watching him drunk off your slick. Your chest and gut both flutter, your teeth clamping down on your lip.

You wanted to taste him too. 

Standing on your knees with him, you wrap your arms around his neck, taking him by surprise as you press your lips to his. His grunt is swallowed by your eager tongue, the taste of yourself confusingly arousing as you kiss him fervently. 

His hands hold your waist tight against him as he kisses you passionately, reverently. You can feel his massive erection against your stomach, his skin soft and burning against yours. It leaks profusely, smearing against your naval. 

Eagerly, breaking away for only seconds, you lift Caleb’s shirt up, scrambling to get it off of him, wanting him to be as exposed as you. 

While you have him off guard, you weave one of your hands with his, clasping your palms together. Resonance always came effortlessly to Caleb and you–as natural as breathing. Using your Evol, you manipulate Caleb’s gravity Evol, flipping him beneath you and onto the bed. Your tongue is still tangled with his as you lay atop him, swallowing his chuckles. Your cheeks warm as you try and summon your most alluring self, pressing soft and heated kissing down his jaw, into his thrumming pulse, his thick shoulders.

“You’re so damn cheeky,” he groans, voice gravelly with pent up need, inexplicably turned on by the way you can control his Evol like second nature. His cock twitches as your lips make their way down his body, needing to be buried inside you more than ever. 

As you descend further, lips at his abdomen, your intent becomes clear to Caleb. And while the thought of your lips around his dick makes him twitch like a virgin, which he unabashedly was, his impatience to be inside you grows to a painful peak.

He sits up, his hands finding your chin and tilting you to look at him. His voice is ragged, barely holding back the animalistic desire he feels for you. 

“Hey, no. You don’t have to. Let me worship you today.”

He doesn’t mention that the feeling of your lips on his burning skin, nearing his painfully hard erection has him just about ready to come undone. Untouched.

You roll your eyes, shoving him back down. You don’t push very hard but he lets himself fall back, weak to your every want and whim. 

“Haven’t you always wanted this, gege?” you grin teasingly, unsure where your confidence comes from. Your lips brush against the veins on his pelvis that lead to his very excited member. He jerks involuntarily, cursing under his breath–the familiar pet name now carrying an entirely new meaning.

“Sweethe–fuck,” Caleb chokes as your lips find their way around his thick leaking tip, deliberating shutting him up. 

You do your best to pull your teeth back, not having much experience doing this, especially not with one so…big. 

But big was an understatement. Caleb was…massive. He had girth as well as length, two prominent veins painted across the pink skin, standing incredibly tall against his abdomen. 

Maybe you should be scared–terrified, of how that would fit inside you later. But it only makes you want to please him more.   

Caleb’s fingers unconsciously find their way into your hair, tugging ever so gently. He does his best to stop himself from thrusting up into your impossibly tight throat.

“Hah–s’fucking…” he groans, voice haggard and forced as if he can’t breathe, “God, always knew that pretty little mouth would be perfect.”

His words encourage you to dare further, your tongue flicking against his leaking head, lapping up the leaking beads of his arousal. It’s surprisingly sweet, tinged with saltiness, no doubt from his addiction to apples, which makes it easier for you to take him deeper.

Caleb’s hips thrust up gently, his inexperienced excitement nearly controlling him completely. You relish in the way he almost uses your throat for his pleasure, slightly ashamed to think about how many times you’d imagined Caleb using you roughly.

Your thighs clench at the thought, a throaty moan escaping. Caleb’s hips stutter as the deep vibrations of your cry push him closer to painting your mouth milky white.

His voice comes out hoarse, almost harsh, “That’s enough, sweetheart. Come here.” He gently lifts your chin, his impossibly thick cock still buried down your tight throat. 

You whine, not stopping, wanting him to come as undone as he had rendered you. Your whine only sends Caleb closer to the edge with a strangled hiss.

You feel the familiar feeling of his Evol wrapping around you, lifting you off, and throwing you under him. You roll your eyes as he hovers above you, his eyes level with yours. 

“Always throwing me around with your Evol,” you grumble as if you hadn’t done the same thing moments ago. 

Caleb grins, the entire room nearly lighting up with his handsome smile. His fingers trace down your lip to your throat, his hand wrapping around it gently. 

“Would you rather I throw you around myself? That can be arranged.”

Your breath hitches as he pulls his pants the rest of the way down, giving you a brief reprieve to really admire his naked body. Caleb had always been well built, even in high school. But now, as he hovered above you, you were painfully reminded of just how much Caleb had grown up.

There was a reason Caleb attracted women left and right all throughout your lives. It literally got so excessive to the point he’d ask you to show up to campus and pretend to be his girlfriend to stop the countless advances. But now, after the explosion, after assuming the position of Colonel of the Farspace Fleet…

He was unreal.

Caleb chuckles, a teasing glint in his violet eyes as he grazes his thumb against the corner of your mouth, “Careful pip-squeak, any longer and you might start drooling.”

When you only respond with a silent glare and a gentle punch to his chest, his very muscled chest, Caleb grins and presses a tender kiss to your pouting lips.

“Later, we will discuss why you’re so good at that. For now…” he trails off hoarsely, entirely serious, despite his teasing tone. 

“For now let me show you what you’ve done to me, hm? How utterly you have destroyed me for anyone else.”

Your heart flutters at his words, throat prickly with emotions. Was it really possible that the two of you had felt the same way about each other for nearly your entire lives, both unwilling to speak up?

“How many times I told myself I was crazy, that I was just supposed to be your gege.”

He takes the base of his thick erection into his hand.

“How I had to physically remove myself from the house when you’d wear those god-forsaken shorts.”

He drags himself up and down your leaking core, gathering up your arousal and lathering it against his burning cock. God you were so unbearably wet he had to fight from diving back face first in between your legs.

“How painfully I’d ache when you curled up next to me, claiming to be scared of the thunder.”

He intentionally presses his tip harshly into your clit, making your eyes roll and your hips buck, a strangled moan of his name escaping your lips.

His voice grows strained as he lines himself up with your entrance. While you were anxious of what you knew was coming, your body craves him like no other, your hips instinctively grinding, as if to impale yourself on him. 

“How completely you own my heart.”

Caleb captures your lips in a searing kiss, eagerly consuming your cries of satisfaction as he gently rubs his engorged head against your unbearably tight heat. The anticipation eats at you, but you find yourself pulling your lips away. 

“I-I’ve never…” you murmur shyly, trailing off, hoping he gets the message without needing you to spell it out. You grip the sheets nervously, your knuckles white.

Caleb’s eyes snap to yours, so quickly his neck nearly cricks. There’s an unprecedented swirling fire in his irises. He hisses, a string of curses that you can’t quite make out, the hand holding the base of his cock shaking.

“You can’t just…You’re trying to kill me aren’t you, pip-squeak?” he growls, restraint hanging on by the thinnest of threads. He buries his face into your neck, taking deep breaths of your intoxicating scent.

“Is that bad?”

He lifts his head from your shoulder, holding your face in his hands, letting his erection rub freely against your slicked pussy.

“No. No. But you’re making it impossible not to…” he groans, slamming his palm down onto the bed.

He sits up, taking your jaw into his hands, cupping your face with all the adoration in this world and the next. 

“I haven't either. I’ve only ever wanted you. In high school, at the Academy…In this life, and every life after.”

“Ever since you held my hand for the first time, I’ve been yours.”

His words are so utterly devastating–sincere and painfully raw. It makes your chest constrict, your breath choked off. You find yourself rendered speechless again, despite how many confessions of your own were swirling in your mind, threatening to burst. 

Instead, you pull him towards your lips, only able to convey the depth of your own devotion with your actions. Caleb grunts into you, relenting as you demand entrance to his mouth. You lose yourself in him, guiding him to reposition himself at your entrance. 

Caleb nips at your bottom lip, his painfully hard dick in his hands once more, pressing gently into you.

You rip your mouth away in a pained squeal as he enters you, stretching you in ways you’d never fathomed. You’re so lost in the sting you don’t even notice the way Caleb’s knees buckle, his palm shooting out to catch himself before he falls on top of you, a string of hoarse expletives escapes him.

Caleb’s fingers gently brush away the hair that's fallen onto your face, the graze of his soft skin momentarily distracting you from the burning ache. His touch is so unbearably tender, it completely masks the way he’s falling apart at the seams, fighting his body’s instinct to explode white and hot inside of you.

“I’ve got you, princess,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting from your jaw into your neck, “You’re so perfect for me. Can you take a little bit more?”

The muscles of your thighs quiver violently at the strain of your body trying to accommodate his stupidly large dick. And while it burns like nothing you’ve ever felt before, you can’t bring yourself to tell him to stop. 

In the mush that he’s rendered your brain, you can vaguely hear yourself babbling, “C-Caleb–nngh–I-I can take more. Always wanted you–ngah–s’bad.”

Caleb’s amethyst eyes blacken, his jaw tightening sharply. 

“Y/N…you can’t just say things like that–say my name like that and expect me to–hah–keep it together,” he rasps, the thin thread of restraint, on the verge of snapping.

Your eyes squeeze shut, the tears spilling from the corner of your eyes. Your fingernails dig into the thick ropes of muscles in his shoulders, pulling him closer. The sting makes his teeth clench, inadvertently sinking another inch into you. 

“Mnngh–need you Caleb, I’ve always n-needed you,” you whimper, lips against his ear. Caleb stiffens.

“Fuck–okay baby. I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you everything.”

You look down as he sinks yet another inch into you, his vein throbbing as it tries to nestle into you. Even through the searing stretch, you’re mesmerized by just how big he is, and how he’s fitting himself so perfectly inside you. The muscles of Caleb’s abdomen tremble with restraint, doing his best to keep from pounding into you.

Caleb kisses your cheek, softly licking up your stray tears.

“G-God the real thing is so much better than anything I could’ve ever dreamt up,” he grunts, squeezing your hips tenderly as he tries to bottom out, “Wanted this–wanted you for so damn long.”

The initial pain had ebbed into a dull ache that was quickly bleeding into the same ecstasy he’d just given you with his tongue. 

“Ngah–wanted you since I can remember Caleb,” you confess brokenly, thick with the release of imprisoned emotions. You do your best to reach your shaky hand up to his perfect face, moving his sweat-dampened hair out of his eyes. He leans into your touch on instinct, that boyish charm returning to his face as his eyes shut in pure adoration.

“A-always…hah–have. So badly.”

Caleb groans at the genuinity in your confession, his normally purple eyes blackened almost entirely.

“So–nngh–you feel so incredible. I shouldn’t have wasted so much fucking time,” he groans, thrusting the rest of the way, bottoming out in your perfect little cunt.

Your cries are half way between a squeal and a moan as you feel him hit your cervix, pain blending overwhelmingly with the vast sea of pleasure.

“Caleb, s’too big–it’s too much,” you wail, feeling nearly split in half as his cock throbs inside of you, pulsing with the primal need to mark you. You look down and nearly yelp when you see his massive erection buried between your thighs–it was far too massive.

“You can, baby. You can take it,” he groans, bucking his hips ever so slightly, desperate for the feeling of your heavenly walls wringing him.

“Be a good girl, yeah? For me?” Caleb murmurs, his teeth nipping at your pulse, which earns him a beautiful moan from you. Your stomach flutters at his deceptively innocent pleas, your deep-rooted desire to please him, your perfect gege, taking over. 

Your eyelids feel unbearably heavy as you stare into his heated irises, nodding eagerly.

Caleb exhales a shaky breath, bending down to press a burning kiss to your lips. You return it with equal fervor, whining when he pulls away, too quick for your liking.

He chuckles breathlessly, wiping the drool from your lip tenderly, “Say it, sweetheart. Need to hear you say it.” He punctuates his demand with the slightest shift of his hips, causing the thick head of his cock to brush against a particularly sensitive spot in you. 

“Oh god Caleb–! I can take it, I can take it, please!”

Caleb hisses as his hips start to move. He hikes your thigh up, and you instinctively wrap your legs around him, caging him against you. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your rear, holding you impossibly closer to him as his pelvis snaps into your skin. The sound of wet skin colliding against each other rings loudly in your ear, lewd and filthy. 

His thrusts are erratic, trying to find a suitable rhythm without losing his mind and taking you like a rabid beast. His other hand kneads at your breast, fingers toying with your perfectly pebbled nipples. 

“Hah–taking me so well, always–nngh–knew you’d be absolutely perfect wrapped around me. Thought about it so many damn times.”

You bite your lip so hard you think you might draw blood, squeezing your eyes shut as his movements quickly blur the line between pleasure and pain. Your eyes flutter open when you feel Caleb’s thumb against your lip, prying your teeth away.

“Look at me Y/N. Let me see those beautiful eyes.”

Despite his rough movements, his eyes are jarringly tender, looking at you so adoringly–as if he wasn’t rutting into you like a madman.

You force your eyes open, blinking rapidly with the weight of the ecstasy raining down on your body. You briefly look down at where he’s connected to you, too fucked out to even notice the reddish-pink sheen coating Caleb’s member.

When your eyes flutter shut again, Caleb tsks, pressing his palm against the hypnotizing bulge against your stomach. Physically being able to see where he was buried so perfectly inside you drove him just to the edge of cumming, unable to stop himself from touching it. 

Your eyes widen, squealing as you feel your walls harshly clamping down on his cock, nestled right at your g-spot. Caleb himself falters at the sensation, growling as he twitches uncontrollably inside you. 

That was a mistake. You were already impossibly tight as it was, making you bare down on him only served to push him headfirst into the climax he’d been staving off.

“Baby,” he pants raggedly, “Nngh–shit–!” His hips stutter, knees buckling, burying himself into the curve of your neck. He bites down on your pulsing skin, forcing himself to pull out of your warm embrace, as he releases seemingly endless ropes of thick milky cum onto your beautiful stomach. 

You whine at the loss of him buried inside of you, your core fluttering around nothing. You prop your chin up, getting lost in the way he paints your stomach, fisting himself furiously through his climax. 

“Can’t control myself around you,” he grits through his orgasm, jaw slacking, “Not anymore.” Every defined muscle of his toned body quivers with the power of his orgasm.

Shivering at the sensation of his burning release splattering on your abdomen, you reach up to cup his face as he cums. Of course, he leans into your touch on instinct, the onslaught of emotions intensifying his climax.

Your body aches at the hollowness, but it quickly dissipates as you watch Caleb’s face, beads of sweat pebbling his skin, contorted in a pleasure so intense, a pleasure you’d given him. Squirming at the sight of him, still spurting cum, your fingers find your clit desperately.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you touch yourself to the image of him writhing above you. Not even a split second later, you feel the pull of gravity, your wrist being yanked away and pinned above your head. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You whine as Caleb presses back against you, his cock replacing where your fingers had just been, “Y-You already–You don’t have to force yourself Caleb. I can–”

Your words are caught in your throat when Caleb lines himself back up with you, smearing the combined arousal messily around, teasing you relentlessly. 

“You’re crazy if you think I’m done with you,” he grins widely, using his clean hand to realign himself. You glance down and realize Caleb is still unbearably hard, even after the absurd amount he’d painted your stomach with.

He slips back into you, your eyes rolling back at the familiar stretch. Except it’s so much more intense this time, your body knowing just what Caleb could do to you, and craving it like nothing else. 

“Oh God just like that, Caleb–please!” you cry, pride gone with the wind, as he starts an earth-shattering rhythm, hips rolling into you with precision and purpose. 

Caleb curses, the oversensitivity heightening every sensation, every desperate thrust into your perfect angel cunt, “Tell me, princess. How do I make you feel?”

You try to force your mind to cooperate and find the words that you want to say, “Feels…feels so–mnngh–Caleb!”

You can vaguely hear him laughing warmly as your mind goes blank, the thick head of his leaking cock pounding into you ruthlessly. He’d practically mapped out every sensitive nook of your pussy and he fully intended on taking advantage.

He gently grabs your throat with his free hand, applying pressure with only his fingertips and not his palm. 

“Hm? Feels like what, sweetheart?” His thrusts slow to a tortuous pace, enough to have you squirming for more but not enough to push you over the edge of release. And he knows it.

“Caleb, don’t fucking tease me,” you whine breathlessly, “Hah–Pleease.” Your hips move against his pelvis, trying to chase the pleasure yourself. 

“Needy little brat,” he murmurs affectionately, “You know I can’t say no to you.”

With those words Caleb starts pounding into you with renewed vigor, hell-bent on making you cum just as hard as he just did. His fingers wedge between your joined bodies, easily finding your clit and rubbing just how he knows you like. The familiar tension in your gut builds at an alarming speed, your body desperate to release after being even slightly edged.

“In return, you can show me how much you’ve wanted this, hm?”

His knowing words, the underlying authority in them, make you whimper with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. The combination of his relentless touch, his filthy whisperings, 

Fuck, the Colonel of the Farspace Feet was your absolute undoing. 

Caleb’s own muscles tense as his sensitive cock, hardened beyond belief again, starts to twitch inside you once more. You’d literally just milked him dry and he still couldn’t get enough. He probably never would.

“Oh god, so c-close Caleb!”

“Yeah? Show me how much you’ve wanted me to fuck you senseless, baby.”

He punctuates his demand with a twitch of his fingers against your clit,  driving so deeply into you that you nearly choke. Your back arches so deeply it hurts, the cold feeling of his cum still painted across your stomach, a long forgotten sensation in the back of your mind. 

“How much you want to cum on your gege’s cock.”

Your body shudders as you come undone explosively against his violent thrusts. Your fingers dig into his biceps, making Caleb hiss with satisfaction, his eyes unable to tear away from your gorgeous face as you cum on him. 

“Oh god–please! Mnngh Caleb, c-cumming. Wan’ to cum for you s’bad! Don’t stop–please!” 

Caleb groans at your filthy words, his own hips stuttering as he fucks you through the endless waves of pleasure, feeling every contraction of your perfect little cunt. 

“Juuust like that, give it to me sweetheart.”

Your thighs tremble violently as he rocks you through the unprecedented pleasure. With your eyes rolled back, your tongue slightly lolled out, crying out for him repeatedly. Caleb can’t stop himself.

In your fucked out state, you can vaguely feel the caress of his gravity Evol, his hands still busy working at your clit and your breasts. It maneuvers your thighs so that they’re pressed firmly into your chest, nearly folding you in half. He uses his Evol to grab a pillow, throwing it under your lower back, completely changing the angle at which he ruts into you.

“C-Caleb–” you gasp, eyes wide as the pleasure turns sharp, “S’too much. Feels…”

Despite feeling unbearably sensitive, your eyes still flutter in bliss. You want to tell him to stop, but your body physically refuses, still curling up to meet his thrusts. At this new angle, your knees nearly on either side of your head, his cock practically buries itself into your throat. 

“I’m sorry,” he rambles, “I’m sorry.” But he doesn’t stop. “A little more, yeah? You can take a little bit more for me, right baby?” Just by his voice alone, you can tell he’s on the verge of another powerful orgasm. 

Something about the way his violet eyes bleed with desperation, with devotion. Your body finds its way inexplicably bending to his every will, readying itself to take more of him. Even through the sting of overstimulation, even through the ache of how deeply he has your body folded into a mating press.

Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of his cum smearing messily across your stomach, you sit up to press your forehead against his, your hips screaming in protest as your body is bent even further. 

“Cum–mnngh–Cum inside me Caleb, want to feel you. Need you s’bad.”

Caleb’s eyes widen, his rough movements nearly stuttering to a complete stop.

“What? Don’t play with me right now, Y/N,” he seethes through grit teeth, willing his hips to stay still, “You can’t just–hah fuck–say that.”

Your eyes roll at Caleb’s slow and controlled thrusts, each one deeper and more punctuated than the last. You force your mind to cooperate, fingers weaving into his hair, “M’serious. Please Caleb, for me?”

Caleb swears, picking up his pace again, each thrust deliberately bruising past your g-spot, stretching you to your breaking point. 

��God, you know I can’t say no to you,” he growls, “You know how many times I’ve thought about filling you up?”

“You can say—nngh—no, you just don’t want to,” you playfully quip through your tear-blurred vision. Caleb’s jaw ticks at your blatant teasing. 

“The mouth on you…” he nearly murmurs, voice gruff and controlled, “Let’s give that filthy little tongue something else to do.” 

You let out a high pitched whine when Caleb thrusts harder. You feel him trail two fingers along your stomach, the moist sensation of him catching some of his cum making you convulse as you near another orgasm. 

When Caleb brings his right hand up to you, slick fingers brushing against your lips, you can’t even protest. Because you want it. But he absolutely did not need to know that. 

“Open,” he murmurs, clean thumb stroking your chin, two dripping fingers so close they almost graze your lips.

You want to curse your traitorously submissive body because your mouth parts on instinct, allowing Caleb to put two fingers into your mouth, pressing gently onto your tongue. 

The taste of his salty-sweet pearly essence renders you a submissive desperate mess, your hands coming to grasp his forearm as you clean his digits, peering at him through your eyelashes. 

He groans, a strangled curse on the tip of his tongue, as he watches you suck on his fingers. His pupils are blown, drinking in the sight of you, hips faltering, overwhelmed by how fucking beautifully you fall apart for him. How effortlessly you unravel him.

“Just like that, princess,” he coos, “God, it’s like you were–hah–created in a lab to drive me insane.”

You whine against his fingers, feeling an orgasm more violent than a hurricane brewing in your core. Your pelvis aches with the weight at which he fucks you into the mattress but all you can feel is him. And the otherworldly sensations he rains down upon you, your body’s pleasure already second nature to him. 

“Now be a good girl and cum again.” 

His skilled thrusts, his animalistic demand, his smoldering purple eyes that watch you with a terrifying blend of obsession and devotion–it’s all enough to send you plummeting towards your third climax of the night. 

In your nearly blacked out state, you don’t even remember that Caleb’s fingers are still toying with your tongue when you bite down to stay conscious amidst your explosive finish. He chokes, knees buckling, but doesn’t flinch–nor does he withdraw his hand. In fact, he only seems to fall deeper into the abyss that is you.

“Shit–shit, Y/N!” Caleb’s moans wash across your lips, his damp forehead against yours, letting you bite down on the fingers of his right hand. Reveling in the sensation of your teeth digging into his digits, your perfect gummy walls fluttering around him.

“Gonna fill you up,” he rasps, the pain pushing him over the edge, “Take it all for me, yeah? You can do that for me right, baby?”

His words make your entire body tighten up even further, biting harder, squeezing tighter. The wet sounds of your arousal against his pelvis, pounding into your thighs, mixed with your screams of his name have him all but combusting, exploding white, hot, and plenty inside of you. 

“I can–I can!” you practically beg, drunk off the feeling of him exploding inside you, “W-Want it–want more.” His fingers fall from your lips as you speak–much to his dismay.

Caleb groans, unable to stop rutting inside of you at your heated pleas, using the frictionless thrusts to push his cum as deeply inside of you as he can. 

“There’s my perfect girl–nngh–take it all. Look at you, taking every last drop for me.”

Your hips ache in protest, but in your fucked out bliss you can’t find yourself saying anything but his name, repeatedly, tenderly, reverently. The feeling of him inside of you, the bulge of his cock visible on your naval, the warmth of his cum almost ebbing to even your fingers, his unbearably sweet and filthy words.

“Caa–leb,” you moan brokenly, the intense overstimulation clearing your hazy mind.

Caleb presses his lips to yours, still gently thrusting into you. You whine into his mouth as he pushes your thighs deeper into your chest.  

He kisses you absolutely breathless, a line of spit trailing from your lips to his as he pulls away.

“Yeah, princess?”

You desperately tap his broad chest, “Heaavy.”

Caleb chuckles, shifting his weight off of you, leaving his dick inside you still. You moan when you can finally put your legs down, every muscle in your body aching and trembling.

“Sorry pip-squeak, got carried away,” he murmurs tenderly, shifting all his weight onto his elbows, still hovering above you, cock still nestled inside you. 

You squeak when he twitches inside you, feeling incredibly sore.

“Caleb, if you don’t pull out of me right now…” you grumble with a playful glare, “Say goodbye to your penis.”

Caleb chuckles, forcing himself to pull out of you despite how his body aches to stay inside you. He groans as he slips out, a moan of your own escaping as you flutter emptily. 

“Always resorting to violence.”

You briefly peek at him, still kneeling between your legs. He’s still hard, faint streaks of pink mixed with both your essences. With his Evol, he catches a box of tissues in his hand, tenderly cleaning the mess between your legs, and then himself. You wince at the sight of blood on the tissues and look away.

You shut your eyes, enjoying the afterglow of each other’s last night together. You don’t see when Caleb grabs your used panties, wet with your arousal and his saliva, stuffing them into the side of the mattress. To retrieve later. 

Caleb flops down beside you. You’re about to lay your head on his chest when you feel him lifting you, with his arms this time and not his Evol.

“Hey!” you yelp, but he only gently places you on top of him, pressing your cheek into his chest, right where his heart thrums. Your previous resistance dissipates, as you hum happily, nuzzling into his embrace.

He laughs breathlessly, running his fingers through your hair gently.

“You’re like the stray cat that would show up at our door every morning. Hissing and swatting when we tried to pet her, purring and mewling when we gave her our breakfast scraps.”

You smack his chest lightly.

“Ow,” he chuckles lightheartedly, “Nevermind, at least that cat was nice sometimes.”

The silence washes over the pair of you. It’s comfortable and warm, but a heavy tension hangs in the air, both of you knowing the bubble will pop once the unspoken words are uttered.

“Caleb…” you start gently, but he squeezes you tighter against him.

“Don’t,” he says firmly, almost a plea, “Just…don’t say it. Not yet.”

Your heart clenches at his vulnerability, not knowing how to console him. You both know what’s coming. 

Pressing a tender kiss into his chest, you prop yourself up to look at him, his amethyst eyes bright under the soft ambient lighting. 

“I can’t stay in Skyhaven.”

You choose your words carefully, but Caleb and you both know what you’ve left unsaid. 

I can’t stay with you.

Caleb is silent, though his grip on you tightens imperceptibly, his heartbeat quickening alarmingly. 

“I know.”

His voice is small, arms holding you tighter. As if you might disappear right then and there. To him, you might as well be. 

“I know I can’t keep you here, even if it’s for your safety. No matter…how much I want to.” 

He strokes your naked back, trying to commit every ridge, every goosebump to memory, “I…I don’t know how to take care of you anymore.”

Your chest throbs inexplicably at his words. That’s what you’d wanted him to see all this time, isn’t it? That he’d stuffed you into a cage, plucking your feathers until you could no longer fly. 

“You could come back with me,” you say, “Linkon is your home too.” You're only half serious; you knew he couldn’t just leave the Fleet. 

Caleb smiles up at you, but it’s a haunted, bittersweet smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. In fact, his eyes are as hollow as you’ve ever seen them, almost staring right past you, into a blackhole behind you. 

“I can’t leave.” 

Those three simple words, raw and unfiltered–his soft and broken face, remind you of the Caleb you thought you had lost. The Caleb you were so desperately trying to get back. 

He really was right in front of you.

Like the sun finally coming out after a day of rain, it dawns on you that maybe Caleb had never been your captor–the one who locked you in a gilded prison and watched from outside as your wings fluttered into the golden bars. 

You realize that Caleb was a captive bird in that same cage, preening your ruffled, fraying feathers as you struggled, bound by the same fate that chained you.

Except Caleb’s wings were also clipped by the weight of your expectations, imprisoned by the image of him that you’d so desperately clung to. That you forced on him–punishing him when he didn’t fit the mold.

And while you were being set free, he’d stay locked inside that glass cage, watching you fly through the clouds.   

Watching the thunderstorm outside, you reminisce, “Do you remember that nest of baby birds in the big tree in front of the house?” 

Caleb is taken aback, but he nods, laughing softly, “Yeah. I remember we’d always worry when it rained if the fledglings would be okay.”

The rain patters against the massive windows, just like the days after the birds had hatched. 

“You’d always wonder…if the baby birds would fly off once the rainy season ended–going their separate ways. It always made you so sad.”

Caleb stops breathing for a second, unsure why you remember those musings from your childhood. He’d intended them to be inconsequential; he’d never expected you to hold onto them. He keeps his eyes on the unending crystal raindrops streaming down the windows. 

“Yeah. I’d always wonder if the birds would come back–after leaving the nest.” 

He briefly ponders if you were awake those nights–when he was awakened by nightmares and the only way he could breathe again was to sit by your head as you slept, weaving his fingers with yours. Watching those same baby birds from your window.

You look at him, your chin propped on his chest, leaning into his palm when it comes up to tuck your hair behind your ear. Your voice is tender and melancholic when you finally find the words, pressing a soft kiss to where his heart beats under yours. 

“Sometimes, they come back.”

© aeyumicore 2025.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[madamechrissy]

Pour it Up Masterlist / Stripclub Owner Sukuna headcanons

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight (final)

Pairings: Stripclub Owner Sukuna x Stripper F!reader

Summary:- You are a single mother, your baby daddy is not just worthless, he also is actively trying to sabotoge you, so you go out on your own and raise your kid by yourself. Struggling your ass off, a friend of a friend named Toji decides to offer you a hell of a deal, a few hours a night at a strip club to make BANK. While there, you meet the other owner, Sukuna, and the moment he sees you? You annoy him how beautiful you are, how much he wants you, pushing him to insanity. He knows he must have you- no matter whose ass he needs to beat.

Warnings:- reader is a mom, lowkey/highkey Yandere Sukuna behavior (He's obsessed) recreational drug use, drug dealing Sukuna (the club lowkey a front lol) Mafia ties, EXPLICIT sexual content, blow jobs, cunnilingus, fingering, masturbation, teasing and mafia related violence, some former trauma of reader, lots of smut and also fluff, watch Kuna morph into a softie hehe.- Ties into the Satoru x reader story Losing Control Now

FInished- WC 54k - ao3 link here - Playlist

Headcanons/story preview below!

Stripclub Owner Sukuna- who loves what he does, the money he makes, the women, the entire atmosphere. What more could he really need in life?

Stripclub Owner Sukuna lights up a blunt with his co owner, Toji, as they lounge back on one of the bright red Sofa's, watching their girls dance around them while they hold business meetings. Sukuna certainly doesn't mind beautiful women, nor does he mind snorting coke right off them.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna throws back a shot, when suddenly he sees someone so different, so fucking pretty it makes his heart thud in his chest. He can barely stop himself from yanking you right away from this. He's slicking back pastel hair when Toji introduces you so casually, wearing a pretty silver bikini that shows too much of your sexy body. You look shy? You look nervous?

Stripclub Owner Sukuna takes your hand then, smirking at you, watching the blush decorate your cheeks, when he finds you're going to be a dancer, he immediately wants to say no, dance for just him, a level of possession he's never even felt with his girlfriends. Sukuna's shared plenty of women, but if he got you!?

Stripclub Owner Sukuna smacks Toji for even bringing you here later, and Toji scoffs. 'She has a kid and shit, she'll make top dollar here' Sukuna falters at such news. 'Don't ya think she'll make bank?' 'Tch, of course she will... it's just she's so...' Toji snorts. 'you got the hots for her, huh? Well she ain't some easy girl, I know her'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna knows he must have you, when you're stepping around the stage, and he's eyeing you, sitting right in front of the stage as you get on your knees, crawling toward him and smiling shyly. 'how're you a shy stripper, huh? not gonna work' he huffs, and you tilt your head, hand slipping down his tie. 'No allure in a shy dancer, Mr. Sukuna?'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna loses his mind when he hears his name spilled from your glossy lips, as he thinks of shoving his cock deep inside that mouth, so close to his when you turn. You bend over, ass right in the air, begging for a smack as you look back at him, hair falling over your face. 'Why're you here?' he demands, eyeing the curve of your back, cock hard like he's some pathetic teenager or something.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna tenses when you say - 'I need the money, isn't it why everyone does this?' 'Toji says you got a kid' you tense then, turning toward him nervously, as the stagelights glimmer all over your skin. 'That a problem?' Sukuna shakes his head. "Nah, lots of girls here do...' You exhale. 'I'm a single mom, my friend can watch her at night, why not work while she's asleep? I can spend my time with her'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna admires the fuck out of you as you dance your pretty ass off, but he hates the men that see you, see you in just your little bottoms and tassells, breasts bouncing, ass jiggling as you shake it, as you move. You're a whole star quickly, the few hours a night you come in you make bank, but as soon as you leave, he's in his office, jerking it to you, imagining those nipples, that pussy he sees hints of with your spandex panties.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna On one particular night forgets to lock the door, you're still out there dancing but he can't take it, you're too fucking sexy, he's picturing burying his face in that nice ass of yours as you step inside, shutting the door quickly when you see it, his enormous dick in his hands, covered in precum. You gasp, looking away quickly. 'shit I'm sorry, it's my ex... he's such an ass and I didn't want him to see me...'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna pauses, in shock as you look back down at him, licking your lower lip. 'I'm interrupting...' you come closer though, watching, breath catching in your throat. 'Want me to beat him the fuck up? ruin him?' Sukuna murmurs, voice husky, when you keep walking towards him, and he slowly strokes, from the base to the tip of his veiny length, acting so casual. 'No, you don't have to do all that, you're already so good to me' he laughs then, shaking his head. 'You are, maybe I should... be good to you?'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna can't form a thought when you're stroking his cock, leaning so close, lips just a breath from his, taking two of his fingers and sucking his precum off them, cheeks hollowing. Sukuna loses his control then, using those two fingers to slip so deep you cry out, earning his groan, uncaring if anyone heard. He's curling them up in your walls as you stroke, his eyes laser focused on your pretty face when he grips your hair by the nape of your neck. 'wanna suck me, huh brat?' he tries to keep it together, but when you nod eagerly, on your knees, he can't take how good your throat feels.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna has his cock fucking up into your throat, his salty precum against your tongue, and he wonders if it's some dream it has to be, you're too fucking beautiful to just be doing this, you shouldn't even be working, he thinks. He'd like you just naked around his house, to fuck you on every surface, fill you up with so many kids you'd never leave. Sukuna is groaning while you suck him greedily, looking up at him with dilated, beautiful eyes, making him simultaneously want to fuck you and want to make love to you, stupid insane shit that irritates him.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna stutters when you suck harder, and he's cumming deep in your throat, not meaning to. No he wants to fuck your pussy, not this, but you make him cum so fast it's stupid, swallowing him with a pretty smile, as you lean up on shaky legs. He presses a kiss to your lips, desperate and messy, tasting all of his cum all over your mouth. You're gasping, until the door opens, and you pull apart, seeing an amused Toji. You are losing your mind later as you clean up to go home, wondering what's gotten ahold of you, when Sukuna is waiting right outside.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna loves it when you look down so shy and pretty, you're biting your lower lip to death, he releases it from the grip of your teeth. 'you free tonight, brat?' you blink in confusion. 'you want...' 'want you at my place, spread wide f'me, yeah?' you gasp at the thought, shaking your head then. 'I'm not, I have to get home to my kid... but tomorrow night?' he nods, ushering you to your shitty car, picturing you in something so much better soon, leaning over with a smirk as he seatbelts you in.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna now that he's had a taste, he can't stop thinking of you, when you're at work the next day you're quickly in his office again, this time he's got you grinding on his lap, slick arousal pooling in your little outfit. 'I'll fuckin pay you triple, take the day off' "Mr. Sukuna...' 'Take. The. Day. Off.' Sukuna finally gets you home, having you bent over his couch before you can blink, ripping your pretty costume to shreds, pumping you so full of his cock you're trembling, shaking, head falling back as he fills you so good, slamming your cervix.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna has never felt anything like you, like your cunt pulsing around his cock, like his balls slapping your twitchy little clit, as you're sobbing it hurts so good, tears streaming down your pretty face while he rails his cock so deep. Sukuna busts deep in you as he wraps a big hand around your throat, fucking into you over and over, feeling you milk his cock for all he's got. 'Gonna fill you the fuck up, huh brat? gonna drip on the goddamn stage'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna has your pussy on his mouth when he's busted in you, starting to lap all the gooey white cum from your pretty pussy. 'Sukuna! ah!' you've never felt like this, so fucked out as his tongue scoops all your cum out, he's leaning over you, spitting it right into your mouth, chuckling. 'pathetic, just how I fuckin need you'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna is pathetic for you, he doesn't let you leave, he pays you for another day, fucking you in every position, at some point he's holding you upside down, you're bobbing on his cock as he's gripping your ass, moaning against your hole, you're falling apart, so weak and sore. when you finally have to go home, because you have your kid, Sukuna can't stop thinking about you, about how he wants you to have his babies, to be under him every goddamn night, so excited when you come into work, only to see you devastated.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna demands to know what's wrong, only to see your shady ass ex, who wants to saunter up to him like he's shit, you shake your head, but soon Sukuna is beating the fuck out of him. 'you have no clue who he is, Mr. Sukuna...' you tell him then, earning Sukuna's chuckle, his big grin. 'You don't know who I am, baby'

Buy me a glass of wine🍷 - Gen Masterlist - ©All works by Madamechrissy you may not reproduce

[sceletaflores]

HALF YOUR BRAIN JUST AIN’T THERE!

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｡𖦹°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x babysitter!fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ WC: 11k

｡𖦹°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, pov switching, trailer park joel awooga wooga, tommy miller appearance because daddy i love him, joel is kinda sleazy and pervy, large girthy age gap (53/early 20s), and it’s very much brought up, finding joel’s porn drawer because he’s vintage, reader is called jailbait like once, reader is also a little creep lmao, just two freaks coming together praise, masturbation, fingering, brief allusions of fisting, the BAREST hint of ass play, p in v, rough sex, riding, pussy pronouns, spanking, finger sucking (told you i can’t stop), erectile dysfunction? yeah we don’t know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he’s twenty, porn with too much fucking plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S NOTE: i blame tommy gunn for this…and my period for rearing its ugly head and making me act like an animal. i don’t know i guess my brain is just fully rotted, but y’all’s are too so here’s a nice little gift from me to you, i’m lovingly placing this on your dash xoxo. this isn’t really based on manchild sorry for the false advertising babies, i just thought the lyric was super cute and it’s been stuck in my head so yeah here we are lmao. hope y’all love it, mwah!

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S HEADPHONES: Manchild - Sabrina Carpenter

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics! plus the delicious icon from @iamasaddie!

joel miller needs a babysitter, you’re back in town…

Gruene hasn't changed much. Not really.

You're not sure how much different it'd be after only a couple years away, but still. Something in you had expected it to feel even smaller—like the way old t-shirts shrink in the wash when you’re not paying attention.

The air felt the same when you first stepped out of your beat up Chevy, heavy and humid like a wet mouth. The pavement in front of your house still burned the bottom of your shoes, and the cicadas were buzzing in the dry grass like they never stopped.

You left for college thinking you’d never come back. And yet, here you are. Spending summer back in your hometown, a little more than half a degree under your belt, flat broke, and bored to death.

Your room’s the same, maybe just a little smaller now that you’ve lived other places, slept in other beds. All the posters are still up, faded from the sun and curling at the corners. Your mom left your old tennis trophies on your dresser, like maybe she thought you’d want to see them. You don’t, not really. You appreciate the effort anyway, at least she didn’t turn it into a yoga room or a place to keep extra boxes and Christmas decorations.

You try not to spend too much time at home, even though you technically don’t have anywhere else to go. You kill time with long drives down the streets you memorized years ago, past beat up gas stations with sun bleached lotto signs and eighteen wheelers parked in the back.

You try your hand at some half-hearted job hunting at a few different places that promise to call but never do. And you sit in the back booth of an old diner where you and your friends used to sneak fries from abandoned tables and smoke paper wrapped joints in the alley out back.

Every place you go feels like a ghost town version of what you remember. Familiar, but all hollowed out.

“You know who might be looking for help?” Your mom says one morning, standing at the stove fussing over a pan of bacon. “Joel Miller, you remember him don’t you?”

You pause, your fork stuck hovering just above the plate. “Sarah’s dad?”

“Mhm. I ran into him at the market a couple weeks ago and we got to catching up. He’s needing to pick up some extra work, and it’s just him, you know. Sarah’s starting high school in the fall but he’s still not wanting to leave her on her own. He looked stressed, poor thing.”

You hum warily, pushing your eggs around your plate to distract from the way your stomach flutters.

Joel Miller.

You haven’t heard that name in years. Not since you stopped babysitting Sarah, not since you left. It has something low and guilty stirring somewhere deep inside you.

You shouldn’t be surprised that it’s floating back into your life like cigarette smoke—all pungent and sour and impossible to ignore. In a town of less than two thousand people, you were bound to circle around some old memories sooner or later. And Joel Miller was a big one.

Mr. Miller was a few years older than your mom, a single dad that lived with his daughter in the trailer park a few miles past the city limit. You met him when you were seventeen and trying to save as much as you could for college, when your puny part time job flipping burgers and serving ice cream cones wasn’t cutting it. 

He needed someone to pick up Sarah from school and watch her until he got home from work, you needed the extra money. It seemed like a perfect fit.

But Joel was always…different. He scooped you up off the gravel and carried you into his living room to bandage up your knee when you took a bad fall outside his trailer. He never ratted you out when he caught you smoking one of his Marlboros in his backyard after you put Sarah to bed one night. He drove you home when you got too drunk at a field party and couldn’t stomach the thought of calling your mom. 

You can still remember the way his truck smelled—gasoline, sunbaked leather, sawdust. 

He didn’t say much, just kept his gaze trained on the road as you watched him through glassy eyes while Johnny Cash floated through the cab. He looked back once, slow and quiet, like he was really thinking something over. 

It’s been a long time since you thought about that night, but the reminder of it resurfaces sharp and sudden, like a thumb pressed into a bruise.

Now, your mom’s pouring more coffee into your cup and saying his name like it’s no big deal, like she didn’t just drop a live wire into your lap. Like he didn’t take up way too much room in your seventeen year old imagination.

“You should go down there and talk to him sometime,” she says, casual. “It might be a good way to make some money while you look around for something else.”

You bite back a grimace, conflicted. “Isn’t Sarah old enough to stay home alone by now?”

Your mom shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Maybe, but like I said Joel’s always been a little…anxious about leaving her on her own too many nights. She’s at that age, you know—boys, phones, lord knows what else.”

You frown, stabbing at your eggs. You only remember Sarah as the sweet little girl who’d beg to stay up and watch Disney with you, who was more interested in her Barbie dolls than any screen. You used to braid her hair while she did her times tables, let her wear some of your lip gloss when she begged.

You take a sip of coffee, the burn of it trickles down from your throat to settle somewhere deep in your chest. “You really think he’d hire me again?” 

Your mom shrugs again, plating the bacon. “I don’t see why not. Sarah always loved you, Joel too. He’s asked about you once or twice, said you were a real good girl. Very responsible and all that.”

You try not to laugh at that. 

Good girl. Responsible. Right.

You nod vaguely, standing to clear your plate into the trash even though it’s still half full. “Maybe,” you mutter. “I’ll think about it.”

Later that night, alone in your room, you find yourself scrolling through Facebook like an angsty teenager. 

You kicked your sheets off a while ago, cracked your window open to let in the cool breeze swirling outside. Crickets sing quietly in the background, only drowned out every once in a while by the sound of cars passing your street.

Joel’s profile is still public, but it’s sparsely updated. A new truck photo here, a blurry picture of Sarah’s eighth grade promotion there. She looks the same, maybe a little older. Her hair’s longer, but still curly as ever.

There’s no recent pictures of Joel anywhere. Not posted by him or any of his friends. You can’t tell if the feeling that blooms inside of you is disappointment or something else entirely.

You’re about to exit the app when finally, a tagged post catches your eye.

A post by an account with the name Henry B. attached to it. It’s just a grainy photo of someone’s backyard littered with wood pallets and stray tools, Joel standing in the middle of it all with a few other people you don’t recognize.

His account is tagged in the caption underneath. Big thanks to my buddy Joel Miller for the extra set of hands tonight. Saved our ass! It’s dated June 13, 2023.

You pause, your thumb hovering over the screen. So he’s still handy, you think distantly, chewing on your bottom lip.

You remember that much. There were always new projects cluttering the yard in front of his trailer. A crib for the expecting couple a few doors down, a rocking chair with ornate vines and flowers carved into the armrests, a soccer goal for Sarah to practice with when she started getting serious about it in the fifth grade.

You zoom in on the picture, just a little.

The angle’s weird and it’s overexposed as shit. Joel’s face is half shadowed by an old Longhorns baseball cap, but even still—there’s that jaw. That mouth. That same broad width of his shoulders you used to trace with your eyes when he’d lean on the doorframe after he got home from work. 

It’s still an older picture, and you can’t help but wonder how much he’s changed since.

You breathe through your nose, one long uninterrupted breath before you close the app and toss your phone face down on the mattress.

Joel Miller was handsome when you were in high school and stupid and still biting your nails. 

He was a late forty-something, tired around the eyes. Always in pair of ratty, stained jeans and those soft, worn down flannels with the sleeves rolled up. Sarah’s dad. The hot one, according to the girls at school. The divorced one, according to the snooty moms at the PTA. He was tall and strong, thick arms with dark hair dusted along veiny muscle. Big hands that were calloused and rough to the touch when he slipped you a couple folded twenties at the end of every night. 

You haven’t seen him since the summer after you graduated, but sometimes you still think about the way he used to look at you.

Like he shouldn’t.

Like he knew he shouldn’t, and did it anyway. 

You can still feel it. That heat, that weight. The way his eyes always lingered a little too long when you bent down to grab your homework off the coffee table. The way his voice got low and syrupy when he asked what you were doing that weekend.

You were young then, but now?

Now you’re not sure who you are, not entirely—but you know you’re not that same girl. You’ve lived. You’ve done things he couldn’t even guess at.

You’ve grown up. And you wonder if Joel would notice too.

You don’t plan on going. Not really.

The next day, your mom leaves a note taped to the fridge that says she’s out running errands and won’t be back until later. You stare at it for a while, then glance at the clock.

It’s barely noon.

You have nothing to do. No plans. No job. So you get into your boiling hot car, roll the windows down, and drive.

You’re not sure what makes you do it. 

Maybe it’s the antsy feeling that’s been worming around under your skin since you got here. Maybe it’s the way Joel’s name has been bouncing off all the corners of your mind like a moth against glass ever since your mom said it.

Either way, you find yourself veering onto a familiar exit off the highway, tires crunching under gravel until it turns to dirt when you pull into the same trailer park on the edge of town. The same one you spent most nights back in high school.

You sit in your car for a little longer than necessary, keys still in the ignition, engine ticking quietly as it cools.

The place hasn’t changed much either. Same sloped roof, same white paneling, same wind chimes clinking together on the porch. There’s a pair of muddy work boots by the steps, and your stomach knots.

You didn’t bother calling ahead. You don’t even know if he has the same number. You’re regretting that now.

You should leave. You really should. But you’re already pulling the car door open and stepping into the dry afternoon heat. The air’s thick again, the sun sitting high and mean in the sky. Your shirt sticks to the sweaty skin along your spine as you walk through the gate and up the short gravel path.

You hesitate at the foot of the stairs, clenching and unclenching your fists a couple times like that’ll magically relive all your nerves. You wonder, and almost hope, if Sarah will be the one to open the door. If she’ll even remember you.

Then, the screen door cracks open before you can knock.

Joel’s standing there. He looks the same as the last time you saw him.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he mutters, opening the door wider. He’s in jeans, barefoot, nothing but a tank top clinging to his chest, a dark patch blooming at the collar where it’s damp with sweat. “Look at you.” 

No, not the same.

Older. Broader, somehow. More worn in, like a favorite jacket that’s been well loved. His hair’s longer than you remember, messier. His beard is thicker too, dusted with more gray, and there’s a little more weight around his middle. But his eyes are just the same—dark, steady, and sharp in a way that makes you feel instantly, achingly seventeen again.

He looks you over once. Not quick. Real slow. Real deliberate. A single drag of his eyes from your flip flops to the shorts you maybe shouldn’t have worn. His gaze sticks when it reaches your chest, lingers there a beat too long before flicking back up to your mouth. And then, finally, your eyes.

You shift your weight, offering a small smile. “Hey, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes narrow, and there’s the ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Don’t start with that ‘Mr. Miller’ bullshit. You’re grown now.”

Your stomach tightens.

“I, uh...my mom said you might be looking for help,” you say, fighting the urge to squirm where you stand. “With Sarah, I mean.”

He leans against the doorframe, one hand gripping the wood above his head. The movement lifts his shirt just enough to show a strip of his stomach, a trail of dark hair disappearing under the waistband of his sweats. “She did, huh?”

You nod, still frozen in place at the bottom of the steps.

Joel lets the silence hang in the air, heavy and charged. Then he huffs a quiet breath through his nose—half amusement, half something else—and steps aside. “You comin’ in or what?” he asks, jerking his head impatiently, giving you another long, lazy once over. “Ain’t polite to keep an old man waitin’, kid.”

Your heart beats wildly against your ribcage, and with one last quick, steadying breath you hope Joel doesn’t notice, you climb the stairs.

Joel hadn’t expected to see you again. At the very least like this, showing up at his place in the middle of the day—standing at the bottom of his porch like a mirage in the heat, older and more grown in all the places a man like him shouldn’t be noticing. 

And sure as hell not in those shorts.

He watches you walk past him into the living room, slow and uncertain, that little sway in your hips you maybe don’t even mean to have. Or maybe you do.

Either way, it’s a goddamn sight.

Joel closes the door with a soft click, dragging a hand over his mouth like that’ll help wipe the look off his face. It doesn’t. The look of you—bare legged and smiling, sun kissed and back in his house after all this time—sticks to the inside of his skull like syrup. 

You look around the room with a small smile, eyes scanning the familiar furniture. Some of it’s new, some of it’s the same. Joel’s never been much for decorating. You pause in front of the bookshelf he built a few years back, Sarah’s old school pictures still sit in a few mismatched frames next to a couple of paperbacks.

He clears his throat, scratching at his beard so he has something to do with his hands as he walks to the kitchen. “You want somethin’ to drink? Water, iced tea? I think I got Coke in the fridge somewhere.”

“I’m good, thanks.” You follow slowly, looking younger somehow in the kitchen light. You rest your hip against the doorway, eyes watching him as he walks to the fridge. “I won’t stay long. I just figured I’d stop by real quick and see if you still needed some help.”

Joel pulls the fridge open anyway, grabbing a beer from the half empty six pack. He cracks the tab with a soft hiss and leans back against the counter. “Sarah’s mostly independent now. She don’t need a sitter like she used to, but I still get caught up workin’ late. Don’t like the idea of her bein’ here by herself too often. 'Specially not with some of the boys sniffin’ around lately.”

You laugh, soft and bright. “Well, I’ve got time,” you say, toying with a loose thread on your cutoffs. “I don’t know how much help you actually need, but my schedule’s pretty much open. I can do evenings, weekends, whatever you want.”

Joel has to bite back a grin. Whatever he wants. 

If you only knew the half of what he really wants.

Joel shifts his weight against the counter. “It wouldn’t be every night,” he says, shaking his head. “Just the evenings I pick up extra hours, or if I get called out for a job.”

You nod. “I can help. You don’t have to worry about paying me a whole lot. I’ll just be happy to keep busy.”

His mouth pulls into something that might be a smile. “I’ll pay you,” he says, almost gruff. “You’re doin’ me a favor.”

The silence that follows feels familiar. Not awkward—just full. A little tight around the edges. 

He’s always known how to talk to you, but now there’s something different to it. You’re not seventeen anymore. Not biting your lip and looking away when he catches your eye. You’re standing there calm as you please, looking straight at him, like you already know he’s thinking things he shouldn’t.

Joel watches you from across the kitchen, beer can sweating against his palm. The ceiling fan spins lazily overhead, stirring warm air that doesn’t help much with the heat climbing under his skin. You’re standing there across the way from him like nothing’s changed, like you never left. Like no time has passed at all.

Except that it has. And it shows.

“You still in school?” he asks, voice rougher than he means it to be.

You blink, head tilting to the left. “Yeah. I’m up in Chicago now, Northwestern.”

“Big shot,” Joel whistles low, nodding appreciatively. “That’s a ways away from here.”

You shake your head, smile small and bashful. “It is. It’s expensive as hell too, my scholarship’s the only reason I’m there.”

He makes a soft sound in his throat, impressed. “Smart girl.”

“I try.” You shrug, but there’s pride under it. “I’ve got one year left, usually I stay for the summer to try and make as much as I can in the city. I—I just needed a breather, I guess. Some time to figure shit out, you know?”

There’s something soft in your tone when you say it, an openness he didn’t expect, and maybe shouldn’t pry into. But part of him wants to. Always has.

“You don’t seem like the type that needs figurin’ out,” Joel says, voice a little quieter now. “Always thought you had your head on straight.”

Your smile flickers into something crooked, something secret. “That’s because you didn’t really know me.”

He chuckles, deep and rough. “No, sweetheart. I think I knew you just fine.”

Your eyes lock for a second too long after that, thick enough with heat and history to make the air feel heavier than it already is.

You look away first, your eyes flicking to the living room. “I, uh–sorry, do you mind if I use the bathroom?”

Joel gestures vaguely with his free hand. “Go ahead, you remember where it is.”

You push off the doorway with one last grateful smile and duck down the hallway, footsteps silent against the linoleum. Joel watches until you disappear around the corner, his gaze dipping low without shame.

He waits until he hears the click of the bathroom door shutting behind you to exhale a slow breath, setting his beer down on the counter harder than he has to.

Jesus Christ.

She’s not a girl anymore, he thinks to himself. And you’re not, you’re far fucking from it.

But that feeling, that ugly one churning deep down in Joel’s gut, it’s still there. It feels just as dangerous as it used to, maybe even worse now. All because of you. 

The look of your glossy lips forming around the words whatever he wants. The shape of your thighs, those damn shorts clinging to you like a second skin. The way you were looking at him, eyes all wide and shiny under his shitty kitchen light. 

Joel can’t help himself, he thinks back to a few years ago. You, curled up on his couch every night when he got home from a long build, looking so soft in the hazy glow of the TV. Barefoot and sleepy, blinking up at him in those skimpy little after school clothes you’d always throw on.

It was a vision, something to settle his aching bones.

He thinks about how he started looking forward to it, coming home to you. It was sick, he knew that much, the fucked up little game of house he played, projected onto you. An old man like him leering at you, thinking of you long after you’d left, waving sweetly from the window of your moms car.

Joel should’ve known better. Should’ve done better. But that never stopped him before, not when it came to you.

A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts. Two quick raps, followed by a heavy creak.

“Joel?” Tommy’s voice fills the trailer before he can even move, loud in the quiet. “You home?”

Joel sighs, brows pinching together as he pushes off the counter. He didn’t even hear the damn truck pull up.

Tommy rounds the corner, sweaty and covered in dirt. He’s got a ratty bandanna hanging from his jean pocket, sleeves pulled up around his shoulders and a pair of aviators covering his eyes.

“You ever heard of callin’ before you just barge in on someone?” Joel doesn’t try to hide the annoyance in his tone, brow arched as he stares at his brother.

“Hello to you too, jackass.” Tommy just walks past him like he owns the place, opening up one of the cabinets above the sink. “You gettin’ memory loss already, old man? You said Saturday.”

“Yeah, well now ain’t a good time, Tommy.” Joel cuts his eyes to the hall, to the light bleeding out from under the bathroom door.

Tommy just snorts, still rifling through the cabinet. “Yeah right, you got a woman over or somethin’?”

Joel doesn’t answer, eyes still fixed on that thin sliver of light glowing under the bathroom door like it might give him away.

Tommy catches on, turns slow with a shit-eating grin already stretching across his face. “You do have someone here.”

Joel gives him a hard look, one that should tell him to shut the hell up—but Tommy only laughs, knowing.

“C’mon,” he drawls. “Didn’t know you were even seein’ anybody. You been holdin’ out on me?”

“It ain’t like that,” Joel mutters, too fast, too defensive.

Tommy tilts his head, chewing on that like a dog with a bone. “Huh. So she’s not yours then?”

Joel doesn’t get the chance to answer. Before he can shoot back with something mean enough to shut him up. From down the hall, the bathroom door opens with a quiet click, and then—

Then you're back, smoothing your hands down your thighs as you reappear around the corner, voice drifting back into the space.

“Jesus, that sink is still running freezing cold water? I nearly put my-oh…” You’re clearly caught off guard, your eyes catching on where Tommy stands in front of the sink. “Tommy?”

Joel watches it click in real time—your eyes lighting up with recognition, mouth parting into a surprised smile like you’ve just stumbled on an old friend. Which, in a way, you have. Tommy was around a lot back then. Backyard beers, watching football on the TV, leaning against Joel’s truck while you wrangled Sarah inside for dinner.

“Well shit,” Tommy says, slow and low, pulling his sunglasses down. “That isn’t the little babysitter, is it?”

You smile, sheepish and sweet, and Joel feels something sour twist in his gut. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.” Joel watches Tommy take a good long look at you just like the one he did, eyes wide as his gaze rakes from your head down to the bare skin of your legs and back up all over again. “No kiddin’.”

It makes the space behind Joel’s ribs burn with something hot and ugly, Tommy’s eyes on you. Shameless and obvious as all hell. He might just be the biggest hypocrite in the country for it, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” Tommy goes on, leaning in like he can’t help himself. “You home for the summer?”

“Yeah, just for the summer,” you say brightly. “I thought I’d see if Joel needed help with Sarah again.”

“Oh, I bet he does,” Tommy says, and Joel’s had about enough of this.

“We were just finishing up,” Joel cuts in, his voice sharp enough to slice through the air. “She was about to head out.”

You don’t seem to notice the tension, if you do, you ignore it with grace that makes it worse somehow.

Your eyes flick to him, and for a second, Joel thinks maybe you notice something’s off. But your smile is still easy. “Yeah, I should probably get going.”

Joel gives a short nod and steps toward you before Tommy can open his mouth again. “I’ll walk you out, honey.”

You look between the two brothers for a second longer, then nod and head back into the living room, Joel right behind you. The sound of Tommy’s boots are hot on his heels, following.

You bend down to swipe your keys off the coffee table, not by much, just enough for your shirt to ride up and your shorts to dip low. Joel nearly swallows his tongue at the sight of lace. Bright pink, thin. A pathetic little scrap of fabric clinging to either side of your hips.

Joel’s throat goes dry, heat rolling under his skin like a slow burn, thick and unrelenting. You straighten back up, smooth the hem of your shirt down, but the damage is done. He feels that familiar ache stirring low in his belly, his cock twitching with interest in his sweats.

He doesn’t look at Tommy, he doesn’t need to. The quiet crunch of a beer can bending under a tight grip is all he needs to know that he isn’t the only one taking that lace peeking out from under those damn shorts as a neon sign flashing all the wrong kinds of welcome.

Joel barely has enough wherewithal to drag his eyes up to your face when you turn back around—that sweet, oblivious smile still pulling at your lips.

“Okay.” Your fingers toy with your keys, the metal soft and jangling in your palm. “Ready.”

Joel gives you a short nod, jaw tight. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Tommy, of course, steps in the silence, voice syrupy. “Hey, don’t be a stranger, alright? Good seein’ you again, sweetheart.”

You glance over your shoulder, lips parting into a lazy little grin. “You too, Tommy.”

Joel holds the door open for you, watching the way the light hits your shoulders, the back of your thighs, the little shadow that dips right at the curve of your spine.

The cicadas are buzzing, your car parked half crooked along the curb. You walk slow, gravel crunching under your sandals. Joel stays beside you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The sun’s lower now, soft gold spilling across the lawn.

You open the car door, pausing with your hand on it. “That was…fun.”

Joel nods, biting back a frown. “Yeah, sorry about him. Tommy hasn’t got much of a filter.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s okay, I missed you guys.”

Joel’s heart kicks hard in his chest. He’s not sure what to do with that. 

“You know where to find us,” he says finally.

You nod, climbing into the car. The engine kicks up and the window rolls down.

“Thanks for the talk,” you say. “And the job, I’ll call you?”

Joel leans down a little, arms resting on the open window frame. You’re so close like this. Too close. He can smell the sweet perfume mixing with the bright tang of sweat on your skin.

“Of course,” he says, eyes flicking down to your lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

You smile. “It was nice seeing you, Joel.”

Joel watches you drive off, his reflection shrinking in your side mirror until he’s nothing but a speck in the dust your tires kick up.

He lets out another long breath, turning to walk up to steps. When he comes back inside, Tommy’s on the couch now, feet kicked up on Joel’s coffee table.

Joel shuts the door a little too hard behind him.

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I told you,” Joel says, low and firm. “Now ain’t the time.”

Tommy’s grinning. “No shit it ain’t the time. Jesus, Joel. She’s what—twenty? Twenty one?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel says, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Oh, well never mind then, that makes it fine,” Tommy says, laughing. He cracks open the beer in his hand, taking a slow sip. “You’re outta your fuckin’ mind, you know that?”

Joel clenches his jaw, not bothering with an answer. His heavy silence speaks louder than any words could.

Tommy watches Joel closely, taking his silence for what it is and grinning wide enough to show off the sharp point of his canines. “She filled out real nice though, didn’t she?”

Joel shoots him a warning look, brows pinched together. “Don’t.”

Tommy holds his free hand up in surrender, but he’s still smirking. “All I’m sayin’ is—I remember when she was this pretty little thing runnin’ around here. Now—” He makes a vague gesture at his own chest. “—jailbait’s a whole lotta grown.”

Joel takes a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his side. “Watch your goddamn mouth.”

Tommy raises a brow, and the air goes real still between them for a beat. Joel knows his little brother—knows he’s testing the waters, seeing just how deep the river runs.

Joel shakes his eyes off him, walks to the kitchen and snatches his forgotten beer off the counter.

He hears Tommy chuckle again, more to himself than anything, his voice is louder so Joel can hear him. “You better watch yourself, man. That one? She’s trouble.”

Joel downs the rest of his beer in one long, bitter swallow, eyes peering out the window—locked on the road your car disappeared down. His voice, when it comes, is low and final.

“You got no idea.”

It’s almost too easy, falling back into the routine of it.

A few nights a week, just like before. Joel calls. You come over. The knock on the door doesn’t even feel necessary anymore, since Sarah already knows it’s you when she yanks it open and launches into talking before you’ve even stepped inside. 

You know where the snacks are. The remote. You know how to work the tricky thermostat and still have all the emergency contacts scrawled on a paper tacked to the fridge memorized.

It all comes back like muscle memory—like no time has passed at all. 

Sarah’s older now, a little more sarcastic. Witty and bolder in a way that surprises you sometimes, just enough edge in the way she talks to you that reminds you how much time has passed since you used to sit on the same couch and color. She’s brimming with the kind of secrets she’s aching to spill to someone she knows won’t tell her dad.

You’re still not quite a “grown-up” in her eyes, but you’re not a kid anymore either. You’re in that sweet spot—a cool older girl with her own car who lets her say things like shit and dickweed when Joel’s not around.

You’re not supposed to let her stay up this late, but you both pretend not to notice the clock. She’s curled up next to you on the couch, draped over the armrest only half watching the reruns you turned on with her chin propped on her palm.  

"Can I ask you something?” Sarah says suddenly, grinning. 

You narrow your eyes at her, mock suspicious. “You can, but I’m not promising I’ll answer.”

She laughs, kicking you gently with a socked foot. “Did you ever, like, sneak around when you were my age? Steal beer? Hook up with anyone?”

“Jesus, Sarah.” You raise your eyebrows, but she’s too amused to be embarrassed. You toss a throw pillow her way lazily. “You know your dad would kill me for answering that, right? He’d think I’m giving you ideas or something.”

“That’s not a no,” she sings, smirking.

“No comment.” You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself. “I don’t need to give you any blackmail material to use on me later if I piss you off.”

“Please,” she huffs with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I’d never narc on you like that. Besides, Dad still thinks I’m eight, I don’t even think he knows that I know what “hooking up” means.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you turn your attention back to the TV. “You’re his baby.” You shrug as a new episode of Daria starts. “It makes sense that he’s treating you like one.”

“Gross,” Sarah huffs again, letting her head fall back against the cushion to stare up at the ceiling. “He’s just so overprotective sometimes. I mean, I guess I get it but, come on? I’m basically in high school now, I’m not really a baby anymore.”

You glance over at her, and she isn’t. Not really. Not the gap toothed little girl who used to fall asleep on your shoulder watching Finding Nemo. She’s growing up in the kind of terrifying, beautiful way that makes your chest ache a little—already too smart for her own good.

She cracks her eyes open a bit, peering across the way at you. “Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently.”

You blink. It’s not the words that shake you—it’s the timing. The way they hit, low and close to the bone. 

Because yeah, you did notice. You still do. Especially now. Especially here.

Before you can say anything, the alarm you set on your phone blares loudly, cutting through the quiet.

“Alright!” You push her feet off your lap and stand, happy for the distraction as you clap your hands together. “That’s curfew.”

Sarah groans, but she rolls off the couch with no argument and starts down the hall. 

You busy yourself with tidying up the living room as she brushes her teeth, pointedly ignoring the growing pit in your stomach. Her words ring in your ears like church bells, her voice tolling a little too close to something you’ve pointedly ignored since you got back. Something half buried and dangerous.

Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently…

You breathe out slowly, shutting off the TV and dropping the remote onto the couch a little harder than necessary. You shouldn’t read into it. She didn’t mean anything by it. Just a kid mouthing off, reaching for connection, for understanding. 

But it rattles you more than you want to admit, especially here—especially in his house.

You swallow hard, clearing the dirty dishes off the coffee table and walking into the kitchen. You just won’t think about it anymore, it’s that easy.

You're just being ridiculous. Paranoid. That's all.

A little while later, you’re still tidying up.

The dishes are all done, washed and drying in the rack next to the sink. The living room looks better than when you got here. It’s damn near pristine. 

Sarah went to bed almost half an hour ago. You crane your head down the hallway as you fold an old blanket, her door is cracked open enough that you can see the light from her alarm clock shining in the dark. The soft sounds of waves drone quietly from her noise machine.

You smile, a warm fondness blooming in your chest.

That fuzzy feeling doesn’t last long, not when your eyes drift almost on their own, landing on Joel’s door. 

Joel’s room.

It’s cracked open too, just like Sarah’s, but there’s no light shining from inside. You keep folding the blanket, distracted. It’s not like you haven’t been in Joel’s room before, you have. Passing through it with clean loads of laundry or sneaking his phone charger from the plug near his nightstand when your phone died.

But you’d never gone in alone, and you’d never stayed long. Sarah was always hot on your heels, catching your wrist in her tiny hand to drag you back out—following you around like an overexcited puppy. Not to mention it was always in the light of day, never at a time like this. When the moon is shining high in the sky and the stars are scattered across vast velvety darkness like spilled sugar.

You drape the folded blanket along the arm of the couch, eyes still glued to the door. The cogs in your mind turn and turn, spitting out an idea that has your stomach clenching with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, eyes cutting to the clock above the door.

11:53

Joel told he’d be a while tonight, before he left. He said they’d be short a man, that the job would drag on because of it.

That’s not an excuse, you know that.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

Your feet are moving before your brain can catch up to how bad of an idea this really is.

Your steps are silent on the linoleum, barefeet not making a sound. The wood of his door is dark and shiny, cool against your hand when you lay your palm over it. You give Sarah’s room another sideways glance, you can see the shape of her beneath the covers. Sound asleep.

The door creaks when you push it open, just barely. The sound isn’t enough to scare you off, and you step inside. The carpet is plush under you, it silences your steps even more as you walk to the nightstand and flick the light on.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you take it in. The messy, unmade state of Joel’s bed. The covers are thrown back, there’s a dip in the pillow where his head rests. The nightstand has a paperback open and laying face down, a pair of wiry reading glasses resting next to it.

The room smells like him. 

That scent that used to cling to you by accident when you were younger—clean cotton and cedar, a little motor oil and sweat, and whatever body wash he’s been using for years. It hits you all at once.

It has something stirring in your core, the familiarity of it. You look around some more, greedy eyes taking in every tiny detail you can. There’s a few paintings and framed pictures littering the walls. Pictures of Sarah, of Tommy, all kinds of different Texas landscapes. 

An old guitar rests on the wall across from you, you can see that it’s a little beat up even from where you’re standing. The glossy wood chipped and well loved.

Then your eyes land on the dresser.

It’s old, stained a light brown. You wonder distantly if he built it himself.

Your gaze catches on the top drawer, the pull handle worn with use.

Again, you know it’s wrong. That you’ve already crossed every line imaginable by just being in here, but you seem full to bursting with bad ideas tonight. 

You’re across the room with your fingers resting gently on the handle before you can even blink. Slowly, like something’s pulling you on a leash, you slide it open.

Socks. Boxers. Old, ratty belts. It’s nothing special, but heat climbs up the back of your neck all the same.

The next drawer has shirts, old band tees and fancier button downs that really should be hung up. You press your hand against one of them, feeling the starchy fabric beneath your skin.

The third drawer sticks a little, enough that you need to yank on it harder than the last two. It slides open with a dull thud. You wince, your eyes flicking to the door like Joel could be standing there, catching you rifling through his underwear like a sick little perv. 

The darkness of the hallway is all that greets you. Quiet, empty.

You take a steadying breath, but your hands don’t stop trembling as you tug it the rest of the way open.

You’re not sure exactly what you’re looking for, but then, you see it.

There, tucked toward the back under a couple old flannels, a small stack of magazines. 

Playboys. A couple Hustlers. From the look of them, they're mostly 90s, maybe early 2000s. It’s so vintage, so Joel. The covers are glossy, edges curled and worn. 

Your breath hitches. The heat between your legs is instant, sharp and impossible to ignore.

You pull one out, heart hammering, and flip it open carefully. Your eyes skim over picture after picture, some of the pages sticking together as you thumb through them. The scent of paper and dust and something faintly musky drifts up, and the centerfold you finally land on is obscene—posed, yes, but raw in a way that makes your thighs press together. 

Legs spread wide on a bearskin rug, pink mouth parted, full bush and glossy nipples.

She’s brunette, hair poofy and curled up to Jesus like they used those big old school rollers. Her eyes are the same color as yours, half lidded and covered in a sparkly blue shadow.

You glance down at the caption under her photo. 

“Turn-ons: Older men. The kind that know how to use their hands.”

A shiver rolls down your spine.

You should be laughing. Maybe grossed out. But instead—

Instead you imagine Joel, sitting in this room, flipping through these pages alone. Hand between his legs. That rough, big, calloused hand. Not fast, not frantic. No, you imagine him slow.

Measured.

Probably gritting his teeth, because he seems like the type who doesn’t let himself sound desperate even when he is. Grunting softly. Breathing hard. Coming into a tissue or his palm or maybe just letting it land on his stomach. Because there’s no one here to see. No one to touch him. Just him and the sound of paper turning.

You shut the magazine too fast. Slide it back in place, heart pounding.

Before you can push the drawer closed, your eyes catch on one of the flannels that covered Joel’s little secret.

It’s an old one—soft looking, broken in, a faded green and black. You should put it back, lay it down exactly where you found it so there’s nothing even hinting at you digging around in places you shouldn’t.

Instead, your hand closes around it, and without letting yourself think too long, you hold it up to your nose.

God. It smells like him. Like his detergent, like summer sweat and wood and something faintly smokey. Warm and safe and so damn inappropriate in every possible way.

It’s too much, it’s not enough. It’s obscene.

You can’t help yourself, you push the rest of the flannels back over the magazines, but the one in your hand gets tucked under your arm.

You don’t even try to justify it. You don’t even look back.

You don’t touch yourself right away.

You wait. You ride the buzz all the way home. Eat a popsicle standing barefoot in your kitchen, flannel in a heap on the counter like a loaded gun. You pretend to forget about it. You go about your night like normal. Shower. Brush your teeth.

Then you’re in bed and it’s just there. Laying on your mattress.

You unfold it. Run your fingers over the soft, worn fabric. You should feel guilty. You do, but that doesn’t stop you from pressing it to your nose and inhaling a deep lungful. You crawl into bed, tearing your shirt off and kicking your shorts down your legs all at once.

You lay back against your sheets, flannel still clutched in your hands. You rub it along your chest, over your peaked nipples, down your stomach. Rubbing Joel’s scent into your skin like it’s your own personal brand.

Your free hand slides down your body, down the lacy fabric of your panties. You’re already wet. You’ve been wet since the minute you opened that drawer.

You close your eyes, fingertips teasing along the wet expanse of your pussy as you let your mind go there—

To the thought of Joel finding you like this.

His flannel draped over your face. Your hand between your thighs.

Would he be mad? Would he punish you for it?

Would he take it back? Rip it out of your hands?

Or would he make you put it on—just so he could see you wear it while he ruined you?

You want to come like this. Wrapped up in something of his. Want to ruin yourself in it. You dip your fingers into your underwear and finally—finally—brush them over your clit.

The gasp you let out is sharp.

It’s not just his cologne. It’s his scent. That hot-skin smell that clings to the inside of his hats and his truck and his work boots. It’s Joel, soaked into the fabric like he’s holding you down.

You rub slow circles over your clit, hips twitching. You can’t stop picturing him. Not just his face, but the sounds he’d make. The weight of his body over yours. The way his voice would rasp against your ear if he caught you doing this.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl, so desperate you’re gettin’ off with my dirty laundry?”

You slide two fingers inside yourself and gasp, mouth falling open. You imagine his hands instead. Rough, thick, calloused. Bigger than yours. Slower. Crueler.

“Oh fuck, Joel—” you whisper without thinking, the name catching on your teeth like a sin.

You come hard, pressing the flannel to your face, thighs trembling, biting down on soft cotton as you ride it out. It rolls through you in hot waves. Shame, lust, guilt, need—all tangled up.

When it’s over, you lie there panting, the room silent except for your heartbeat in your ears. You relax your jaw, the flannel falling from between your lips, fabric soaked with your spit.

You drift off with it clutched to your chest. Still wet between your legs. Still aching. Still imagining what he’d do if he ever found out.

And you sleep better than you have in weeks.

You don’t think anything of it when you see Joel’s truck parked in front of the trailer. It’s not out of the ordinary, he’s almost always there to make sure you get in safe before he leaves.

You climb the creaky steps and knock like usual. Three little raps, your knuckles against the thin aluminum of Joel’s door, already shifting your weight to the side as you wait for Sarah to yank it open and start catching you up on all the latest gossip from her last summer soccer practice.

Only—it doesn't swing open. Not right away.

You frown, Sarah’s usually opened the door before you can even raise your fist to knock again. It’s only then that you notice how quiet it is. 

No music thumping out from her window, no light flicked on in her room. No hum of the TV playing. No voice yelling “Just a second!” from down the hall. Just the light hanging above your head buzzing faintly and the dull thud of your knuckles against the door.

You knock for a fourth time, less sure.

A few more seconds go by. One, two, three, four. 

You count all the way to ten before the door creaks open, the screen with it. Joel fills the frame, one shoulder leaning against it. The light floods out from behind him, a warm yellow glow spilling into the dark and haloing around his broad shoulders. 

He’s not dressed in work clothes, just an old grey short sleeve and a pair of jeans that ride dangerously low on his hips—a beer bottle held loosely in his left hand. He doesn’t even have shoes on.

You’re hit with a violent wash of déjà vu, your traitorous mind thinking back to the first day you saw him again. 

“Hey,” you say as casually as you can, shifting on your feet. You peer around him into the living room. Empty. “Where’s Sarah?”

Joel doesn’t move, head tilting as he watches you. “She’s stayin’ over at a friends.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” The corner of Joel’s mouth raises slightly, it’s not quite a smirk, but it’s close. “I texted. You didn’t check your phone?”

You shake your head slowly, but you can’t help the way your brows furrow. You had checked it, right before you left your house, like you awake do. No calls. No texts.

“I must’ve missed it.”

Joel gives you a lazy once over, eyes dragging down your front like a slow lick. “Huh,” he says, but it’s far away. “Guess you might as well come in anyway, wouldn’t want you to waste your time comin’ out here for nothin’.” 

He steps aside, holding the door open expectantly. 

“It’s fine, really.” You laugh, but it’s awkward. “I can just go—”

“Come inside.”

He says it low. Not a suggestion.

You hesitate for half a second, nerves suddenly scraping just beneath your skin. But you step in anyway, brushing past him into the cool dimness of the trailer, the familiar scent of cedar, beer, and Joel hitting your nose all at once. 

The door shuts behind you with a heavy click.

Joel walks past you, sets his beer down on the coffee table before his eyes find yours again. You can see his face better in the light of the living room, his eyes are hard. Dark in a way you haven’t seen in a long time. It has your stomach clenching tightly, the sour edge of alarm churning with arousal inside you.

“It’s good you’re here. We oughta talk.”

You open your mouth, then shut it. His tone is strange—off—but not angry. Amused, almost. You wring your hands behind your back anxiously. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, rough, “I been meanin’ to ask you somethin’. Just been waitin’ for the right time.”

You frown. “Ask me what?”

Joel drags the silence out. He watches you try not to squirm, mouth tilted in another half smirk. 

"You go through my shit, baby?"

Your heart trips three times over in your chest, stomach dropping down to your feet. “I—what?”

Joel huffs hard out his nose, that smug smirk spreads. It’s all teeth now, feral and amused. “Did I stutter?”

You’re shaking now, hands trembling in time with the frantic beat of your pulse. “I just thought—I didn’t think you—”

Joel clicks his tongue, cutting you off. “Yeah that’s the problem, ain’t it? You didn’t think.” He takes one slow step toward you, eyes locked on yours, heavy and dark and hot enough to burn.

“It’s real funny,” he says offhandedly, too casual—like you’re talking about this week’s forecast. “There’s only a few people who’ve been in and outta here lately. And I know Tommy ain’t the one riflin’ through my drawers, takin’ shit that doesn't belong to him. I ain’t dumb, baby.”

Your mouth opens and closes desperately, mind racing to say anything. To lie, to defend yourself, to beg for forgiveness. Nothing comes out. Your throat works around nothing, and your hands are clenched so tightly behind your back they’re going numb.

Joel just hums. A low, throaty sound that vibrates down your spine. His fingers curl under the hem of your shirt, lifting it slightly, just enough to show the little strip of skin above your shorts. “You touch yourself in it?”

The question punches the air from your lungs. You don’t need to ask him what it is.

“I—Joel—”

“Don’t try lyin’ to me.”

Your face burns. You can’t bring yourself to nod, let alone speak. You don’t have to. 

Joel laughs—dark and low, like he already knows the answer. He trails his hand along the skin of your stomach, his touch featherlight. You can’t hide the shiver that wracks through you, goosebumps pebbling along your skin.

His hand falls away, only so he can drop down onto the couch behind him. Legs wide, thighs spread, jeans tugging tight across them as he leans back like he’s settling in for a show. His voice is pure gravel. “Go on, then. Show me what you did.”

You just stand there. Eyes wide. “What?” 

Your voice shakes, quiet and small in the tension. 

Joel shakes his head, sighing like he’s dealing with a stubborn child. He hooks one finger in the waistband of your shorts, tugging. You move without thinking, stepping into the space between his spread thighs.

“See, I don’t wanna have to ask you again, baby. So, are you gonna show me?” he says slowly, his touch dipping low enough to brush over the lacy edge of your panties. “Or am I gonna have to make you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, heat flooding your body in less than a second. “Joel—”

He cocks a brow. “What’s wrong, sweet thing? You were bold enough to sneak into my room, go through my drawers, take what don’t belong to you. Don’t get shy now.”

You feel it then—that impossible to ignore, deep, slick throb between your legs. Shame and heat twisting up your insides. Your whole being pulses with heat, phantom flames lapping over your skin.

You don’t know if you’re more humiliated or turned on—your body doesn’t seem to care either way. Joel hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

There’s no way out of this. And you’re not even sure if you want one.

You bite your lip, cheeks burning as your fingers trail down your belly, under your shorts and down between your thighs. Already wet. Slick with the shame of it, slick with how bad you want him watching you.

Joel swats your hip, not hard enough to sting. Just enough to make you feel it. “No ma’am, none of that shit. Shorts off.”

You freeze, your hand still buried under the waistband, your pulse thudding in your ears like a war drum. Apparently, you don’t move fast enough, not for him, and Joel’s already leaning forward, hands on your hips as he yanks them down himself—your shorts and panties in one brutal tug.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he mutters, almost to himself, dragging the fabric down your thighs and letting it pool at your ankles.

Your breath hitches as he sits back again, arms draped lazily over the back of the couch, dark eyes fixed on the wet heat between your thighs like he’s starving.

You step out of your clothes, naked from the waist down, cheeks burning, heart beating so hard it’s making you lightheaded.

Joel tips his chin toward the floor. “Go on.”

Your stomach flips. You’re sure he can see it, the way your chest heaves, nipples pressing hard into the thin fabric of your top. Your hand drifts between your legs again, slow and shaky. Joel’s eyes follow every motion. Every tremble.

Your middle finger dips down and slides through your folds, slow. You let out a shaky breath. You brush over your clit, and twitch, hips jerking without meaning to.

“That’s it.” Joel nods, his hands clenched into fists. “See how easy it was, sugar? Feel’s good, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice threadbare. You’re rubbing yourself faster now, pressure building fast. “It feels so good, Joel.”

Joel groans at his name falling from your lips. “I bet it does. Bet you fucked your fingers into that tight little cunt while smellin’ me on the collar of that damn shirt. You nasty little thing.”

You nod, barely, lips parted as you circle your clit again, breath hitching on contact.

“I should spank your ass red for that,” he growls. “Should bend you over my lap like a fuckin’ child. You need discipline, don’t you?”

Your knees nearly give. “Joel. Please—”

He cuts you off again, gesturing lazily to where your hand disappears between your thighs. “Open her up. Let me see.”

You press two fingers between your folds, spreading them apart so he can see your glistening pussy, sticky and swollen from just a few strokes.

“Goddamn,” Joel groans, reaching down to adjust the thick shape of his cock hard under his jeans. “She’s fuckin’ drippin’. That for me, baby?”

You nod, lips slack as your thighs tremble.

“Yeah,” he drawls, stretching the word like out taffy between his teeth. “That’s real pretty.”

You moan at that. Loud and desperate. Your touch dip that much lower to push one finger inside. Then another, like you just can’t help yourself. You’re so wet there’s no resistance, your pussy welcoming them in like it’s done this a hundred times thinking of him. Slick drips down your thighs, shining under the light of the lamp.

Joel licks his lips slowly, deliberately. “Look at that.” He leans forward, pupils wide and dark as an oil spill. “Just a little rub like that, a little stretch and you’re already makin’ a mess.”

You whimper, hips rocking against your hand. “Joel, I—”

“Give yourself another finger. Show me how you take it”

You grind down onto your own fingers, mouth slack with soft moans that breathe to life before you can muffle them. You press in a third finger. The stretch burns, but you don’t stop. You’re panting now, skin dewy, hips jerking forward to meet your hand. Joel watches like a man starved.

He grins, smug and handsome and infuriating. “Yeah, three feels nice don’t it, honey?” He reaches out, his hand sliding up your thigh in one slow motion, lazy and unhurried through the slick. “Bet you could take my whole fuckin’ fist if you wanted it real bad.”

A pathetic little whine fills the air, more of a mewl than anything. It takes you a second to realize you’re the one making the noise, so desperate and gone from the tiniest amount of touch. It makes your walls clamp down harder around your fingers.

Joel sees. Joel knows.

And it’s all he needs to finally break.

“Come here,” he growls suddenly, jerking his head impatiently.

You scramble over, straddling him, bare thighs spread over his denim clad ones. Joel undoes his belt with one hand, the clink of the metal making your pulse trip. He pulls himself out of his soaked boxers, hard and straining, the rosy head drooling precome onto his shirt when it slaps up to rest against his stomach.

Your mouth falls open at the sight of it, flushed and big. Bigger than you’ve ever seen, outside of guilty late night porn searches. 

Joel chuckles darkly, taking himself in his hand. He strokes himself slowly, twisting his wrist over the head. “You think you can take all this?” he taunts meanly, dragging the tip through your folds, wetting himself with your slick. “You’re just a baby, sweetheart. You think you can handle this dick?”

You moan as he rubs himself over your sensitive clit, warm and wet. Your hips twitch down, desperate for more. Your pussy clenches around nothing, overwhelmingly empty.

He slaps your ass, hard. He kneads the tender skin in his rough hand after, dragging out the sting. “How old am I? Tell me, honey. Say it.”

You gasp, eyes screwing shut in embarrassment. “Fifty–ah! Fifty three,” you breathe, not looking Joel in the eye as you say it.

You can’t, not with the humiliation coursing through your veins like pure kerosine. It’s white hot, burning so bright, but it’s still not enough to stop your pussy from dripping sticky all over his cock like a broken faucet.

“Damn right,” he growls. “Old enough to be your fuckin’ daddy.”

Joel thrusts into you in one brutal push.

You scream. Your nails dig into his shoulders hard enough that you feel the thin material of his shirt straining under it. The stretch feels like it’s tearing you in two, like your fingers didn’t do anything to prepare you for his cock carving a place for itself inside you.

Joel kisses you, sucks the noise right off your tongue. He tastes like beer, like sweat and salt and something that’s only him. You moan into his mouth, your fingers threading into the soft hair curling at the nape of his neck.

He pulls back, a string of spit connecting your lips until it bends and breaks under the weight of gravity. “Come on, darlin’.” He slaps your ass again—once, twice—and you squeal, the burn sharp and perfect. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you couldn’t keep those thievin’ hands to yourself, huh? Well now’s your chance. Fuck me, give it to me good.”

You don’t ease into it, too worked to even think about starting slow.

You bounce on his lap like you’re possessed, thighs slapping, slick drenching his jeans. Joel groans with every roll of your hips, low and drawn out. He lets his head fall back against the couch, the tan column of his throat on display.

“Been waitin’ for this,” he pants. “Since the day you showed back up. Actin’ all grown. Look at you now. Cryin’ on my cock.”

You’re drooling. Dizzy. Brain turned to static as you ride him, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know you’ll bruise.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he growls, raising his head to watch you. “This pussy wasn’t made for boys your age. Needs a man to stretch it out. To ruin it.”

You whine, your pussy tightening around the throbbing length of his cock. Joel notices, of course he does.

His hands grip your ass, urging your hips up and down faster. “You like that, sweet thing? You like lettin’ an old man fuck you raw like this?”

“Yes,” you whine, tears burning at your water line. “I love it, want you to come inside me so bad Joel, fuck-”

“I know, baby.” Joel kisses your cheek, softly. Too soft, too tender. “You ain’t ever gonna want some college boy after this. You’re gonna be thinkin’ about how Mr. Miller fucked you open better than they could.”

Your moan is muffled by his fingers pushing between your slack lips, filling your mouth. You whine at the taste of yourself coating his skin, sucking obediently as he presses them down on your tongue.

“Gonna make you mine,” he pants. “Mine. No more sneakin’ around, no more stealin’ my shit—you want something, you ask for it like a big girl, and I’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

You shake your head, babbling around his fingers. “Yes—yes, only you. I’m yours—”

You can feel your orgasm building deep in your belly, the coil of pleasure tightening and tightening until it threatens to snap.

Joel rips his fingers from your mouth with a dark growl, reaching back down to grip your ass again. He spreads you open, the cool air making you gasp. One finger, wet with your own spit, rubs over your rim. 

He doesn’t push in—just teases, circling, pressing, tugging—enough to make you clench and cry out as he starts pounding up into you. His hips lifting off the couch and filling the room with the loud noise of skin on skin as his balls slap against your ass with every thrust. Your pussy squelching around him with dirty, wet noises would make your ears burn if you weren’t so far gone already.

“You gonna let me play with this too?” he murmurs, lips brushing against your. “You lettin’ me train this hole next?”

That’s it. It’s all you can take.

You shatter with a scream, pussy squeezing so tight it makes Joel snarl and buck wildly up into you. He grabs your ass, choking out a strained string of  “fuck, fuck, fuck—”

He curses, pulls you down hard onto his cock one last time as he spills inside you, so deep you swear you feel it behind your ribs. His head drops to your shoulder, breath ragged as he comes and comes. 

It feels endless, spurt after spurt of hot spend flooding your walls until it’s forced to leak back out along the fever hot skin of his cock, slipping down his balls to drip onto the couch.

It’s filthy.

It’s obscene.

It’s exactly what you wanted.

You both lean into each other, breathless and spent as you come down. Sweat drips down your back, rolling down your spine as your hands stay buried in his hair.

Joel strokes your thigh lazily, still inside you, watching the mess drip down where you’re spread open around him.

“You’re stayin’ the night,” he says simply.

You can’t fight the tiny, secret smile you press against the sweaty skin of his throat as you nod wordlessly, thighs still shaking violently around his hips.

You’d never make it to the door anyway.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: what's so funny to me about this is that i didn't realize how much i actually missed writing for joel until i took a little mini break to work on my other frankie and harry fics like it’s so dramatic truly, but baby we’re so back! back and hopefully pissing off the joel age gap haters!

shoutouts to baby rylea for giving me the flannel idea cause this fic might have been lost without it. it was rescued from being just another abandoned wip and instead turned into a literal monster which was never supposed to happen but uh that's chill i guess…two fics over 10k words in one month? that’s literally unheard of over here. ALSO my first venture into ass play to spite @ebodebo and @yuenity sooo that’s fun. i love them both really LMAO

once again it's four a.m because i just can't function like a normal person. thank you to femme bot by charli xcx, pink red bull, and ofc my geeky bar for letting me power through and finish this mess. okay i'm done now sorry for talking so much, i just love yapping to you guys :(( thank you so much for reading, love you!

[sunniques]

— ¡ 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 !

in which your sister’s boring party takes an exciting turn.

❥ PAIRING: lee heeseung x female reader x park sunghoon

❥ GENRE: threesome au, smut

❥ WORD COUNT: 3.8k

❥ CW/TW: threesome, infidelity, voyeurism, small age gap, oral sex (f & m), unprotected sex, spit roasting, multiple creampies

NOTE: don’t like, don’t read.

“Y/N, will you do me a favor?”

You roll your eyes at the question as irritation crawls up your skin. It’s one of the questions you hate the most, especially coming from your sister. “Another one?”

“Don’t be a bitch. You staying for my party is not even a real favor,” she scowls at you. 

“It actually is because mom and dad won’t let you have it unless I’m here,” you scowl back as your irritation grows. “And I literally had plans today.” 

“I told you you could invite your little friends,” she snaps angrily. “It’s not my fault they didn’t want to come!”

You don’t blame your friends for not wanting to hang around your sister and her friends. They were vapid and annoying. Tolerating them was always a challenge, but at least you would be able to hide in your room this time.

“Whatever. What’s the favor?”

“Will you hang out with Sunghoon when he gets here? He’s gonna feel awkward without Gayoung around, and he actually seems to like you.”

“Heeseung isn’t coming?” You ask, surprised that the two friends who are always attached at the hip aren’t coming together.

“No, he is, but…” your sister’s expression turns a bit bashful. “We’re probably gonna be hanging out alone, and I don’t want Sunghoon to feel awkward. You know how he is.”

You frown at how thoughtless her actions are. Some friend she is. 

It’s likely that Sunghoon declined her invitation since his girlfriend won’t be coming, but obviously your sister’s obsession with Heeseung pushed her to berate him into coming and bringing her crush along. She didn’t handle rejection well which is why she’s still latching onto the hope that Heeseung will finally see her as more than a friend.

A losing battle if you ever saw one.

“Fine,” you say slyly. “I’ll make sure Sunghoon has a great time.”

Sunghoon is the first to admit that he’s a little bit of a pushover. He’s always been one to go along with other people’s whims even if he didn’t necessarily want to. That’s how he ended up at a pool party he didn’t even really want to be at. Initially, he came because he was unable to reject his friend’s invitation. Literally. She didn’t take no for an answer, and she insisted that he bring Heeseung, who she’s liked for a long, long time.

Now, Sunghoon had no problem being a wingman, but unfortunately for everyone involved, Heeseung doesn’t feel the same way about his friend. It’s painfully obvious to their entire friend group, and if Sunghoon hadn’t mentioned that you were also going to be at the party, he knew Heeseung wouldn’t have agreed to come. Somehow his friend doesn’t realize that her longtime crush likes her younger, prettier sister. A cruel irony, really.

“Don’t leave,” Heeseung manages to say through gritted teeth before he’s pulled away by his admirer to do shots.

Sunghoon feels awkward at first. He hardly knows anyone aside from Heeseung and the girl clinging onto him. He’s always been bad at small talk which is all he would be able to have with some of the familiar faces surrounding him. Luckily for him, a very pretty knight in shining armor saves him just as he’s about to check his weather app.

“Hoonie!” You exclaim happily as you throw your arms around his neck affectionately. “I’m glad you came! How have you been?”

Usually, it’s awkward for him when people he hasn’t spent a lot of time around try to act friendly, but with you it’s different. You’re always genuine with him, and right now he can tell you’re trying to make him feel less uncomfortable. It’s something Sunghoon has always appreciated about you. You’re so sweet and considerate that he’s never had any issues getting along with you. That’s what makes it so easy for him to talk to you.

“I’ve been good,” he gives you a pretty smile that makes you swoon internally. “I just finished up my internship last week which means I can finally enjoy my summer.”

“That’s great!” You say in a congratulatory way. “I’m surprised, though. I didn’t think my sister’s parties were your idea of enjoying summer.”

“They’re not, but Gayoung said I should come since she’s out of town.”

You don’t ask about his girlfriend because you don’t really care and because anything else you might say will lead back to your sister basically forcing him to come because she wants to hook up with his best friend. Sunghoon is nice enough not to mention that at least.

Taking a glance around your backyard, you realize that now would be the perfect opportunity to get away without being noticed. 

“Let’s go inside,” you tell him after your sister’s friends start to get more rowdy in the pool.

Sunghoon can’t ignore how pretty you are or how good you look in your skimpy bikini. So he nods like he’s bewitched. Your grin is lovely, and he refuses to deny how right it feels when you grab his hand to lead him into the house. Maybe it’s not right for him to allow you to do so, but Sunghoon would do anything to please you. That includes following you into your room.

“Don’t worry,” you say as you go to sit on your bed. “No one will notice we’re gone.”

Sunghoon watches, entranced as you sit on the edge of your bed with your alluring smile. Before he can think of something to say, you’re slipping off your bikini bottoms like it’s not fucking scandalous. His cock twitches when you toss the tiny swimsuit at him and it lands on his shoulder. You spread your legs and part your pretty folds to show Sunghoon how wet you are. He might’ve thought he was dreaming, but the throbbing ache in his cock reminds him that this is all too real.

You’ve been horny all day, and having your sister’s pushover friend fall into your lap like this is an opportunity you can’t just ignore.

Plus, you’re only doing her a favor like she asked.

“Look how wet you made me, Hoonie,” you say through a needy whine. 

“Y/N,” Sunghoon groans, feeling his cock come alive at the sight of your pretty pussy all spread just for him.

“I want you to fuck me. Right here, right now.”

Sunghoon’s cock twitches, and just as he contemplates on how to navigate this delicious development, you say something that makes his control snap.

“You know you want to.”

You smirk when Sunghoon quickly discards his swim trunks before yanking you to the edge of the bed. His long, thick cock is practically throbbing, and you lick your lips in anticipation. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. I didn’t know you were such a slut.”

Your grin is tantalizing, and Sunghoon can’t resist anymore. Gayoung is never this forward when they’re intimate. Maybe it’s because she was a virgin before she started dating him or maybe it’s because she doesn’t like sex as much as he does. Either way, Sunghoon can’t care about his prude little girlfriend at the moment. Especially with how you’re dripping all over yourself and eyeing his cock like it’s the one thing you want more than anything.

And it is. Right now, there’s nothing you want more than Sunghoon’s big dick drilling into you. Your cunt pulses just knowing he’s about to fill you up and stretch you out on his cock.

“Are you sure you can handle it? You think I’m gonna fit in this tight little hole, baby?” Sunghoon wonders as he slaps his cock down on your wet pussy. “Fuck. I’m gonna stretch this pretty pussy out nice and good.”

Again, Sunghoon slaps his leaking cock on your pussy and gently slides it between your slick folds. His fat tip brushes against your clit and makes you whine in need. He gives you a teasing smirk before he slowly sinks into you. The moan you let out is almost as loud as his own groan. Your cute little pussy is hot and tight and so fucking wet. Sunghoon knows that he won’t last long if he just starts pounding into you like he wants.

“God, you’re so big,” you mewl, eyes rolling back when he finally bottoms out inside you.

Sunghoon fucks you slowly, using his thumb to rub your puffy bud. The sounds you’re letting out are driving him insane, and the way your molten pussy grips him is like absolute heaven. This is already better than any of the sex he’s had with his girlfriend, and he knows this definitely won’t be the last time he has you like this. 

You squeal when your bikini top is abruptly yanked off. The way Sunghoon’s dark eyes are locked on your bouncing tits makes you clamp down on his dick and soak it with more of your arousal. Just seeing your juices painting the length of his cock makes him throb inside you.

“Shit. Are you already close?”

“Mhm, yeah,” you whine, moving your hips to grind your pussy on his cock. “Your cock feels too good, Hoon.”

Even though he’s fucking you slow, you’re creaming on his cock in seconds and with a loud cry of his name. You beg him to keep fucking you, and that’s how Sunghoon finds out that cumming once is never enough for you. He grins, loving how cockdrunk you already are. He’s more than happy to indulge you, not caring that he’s betraying two of the closest people in his life by indulging himself in your tight pussy.

That’s why he starts drilling his meaty cock into you at a punishing rhythm, letting you feel every single inch of his hard dick. The only thing Sunghoon can feel is your cunt wrapping perfectly around him, his leaking tip slamming into your spongy cervix every single time he snaps his hips. He plants needy, open-mouthed kisses all over your neck before he goes further down, desperately latching onto one of your pretty nipples. You cry out loudly when he flicks and sucks on the sensitive bud before gently biting it.

Sunghoon’s thrusts are deliciously brutal. It’s like you’re his personal fucktoy and he’s only using your little hole to make himself cum. His tongue circles your nipple before he starts suckling it again, desperately trying to fuck his cock deeper inside you. His hips crash against yours, slamming into you without care until he’s shooting ropes of thick, hot cum right into your awaiting pussy. 

Meanwhile, his best friend is downstairs having the worst time of his life.

Heeseung knows what’s going on. From the moment he got separated from Sunghoon, he saw how you went and cozied up to him. How you pressed your pretty tits together and gave him all of your attention. He can admit he’s jealous. It’s impossible for him not to be when he’s wanted you from the moment your sister introduced you to him.

Your sister had been talking his ear off when he saw you leading Sunghoon inside. Heeseung didn’t hear a single word she said from that point on because his eyes were locked on you and Sunghoon’s intertwined hands.

At the first opportunity he gets, Heeseung goes inside to see just what you and Sunghoon are up to. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, feeling his cock twitch. Despite all the noise from outside, he can still hear you clearly. The way you’re begging, moaning, cumming. Heeseung is jealous and harder than he’s ever been in his life. 

Looking back to make sure no one decided to come inside, Heeseung slowly climbs up the stairs. He stops in front of the wide open door to your room. It’s sick, but he stays to watch Sunghoon fuck your brains out. You sound and look so sweet, just like he imagined you would. Heeseung palms his dick over his swim shorts as he admires your beautiful body and how it bounces every time Sunghoon fucks his cock into you. The remnants of spit on your hard nipples make him envious that his best friend got to taste them first.

“If you’re going to keep staring, you might as well come in.”

It takes you a moment to realize Sunghoon isn’t talking to you. Your dazed mind slowly catches up and finally notices Heeseung standing in the doorway. Seeing him there with a huge bulge in his swim shorts while looking at you so heatedly makes you clench down Sunghoon’s cock, staining it with more of your cream.

You whine when Heeseung walks over to the bed. Especially since Sunghoon keeps fucking you like his friend isn’t watching. It’s nasty, but you feel so good because you love being on display. Heeseung gets on the bed and starts to rub and pinch your puffy clit.

“You’ll let me watch, right, baby?”

It’s easy to nod with a moan. Heeseung smirks and continues to pinch and rub your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your puffy clit is so soft and wet that he thinks he can cum just from touching it.

You can see how hard he is through his trunks, and you remember overhearing your sister and her friends talk about how all of Heeseung’s exes would say how big his dick is. How they all wished they could find out for themselves. You lick your lips and reach over to tug at his shorts. Too bad for your sister and her friends, but you were going to find out first since you obviously can’t pass up this opportunity.

Heeseung doesn’t hide his smirk and helps you take off his swim shorts. He frees his cock easily, and you can’t help but stare. He’s thick and big, easily as big as Sunghoon. You lick your lips and look up at him expectantly.

Like you, Heeseung doesn’t hesitate to take an opportunity that’s in front of him. He taps the tip of his dick against your lips, grinning when you open your mouth eagerly. Sunghoon watches you swallow his friend’s cock with an eagerness that makes his cock throb. He’s never seen anything so hot in his life, and he has to slow down his thrusts because he’s so close to blowing his load. 

“Shit, Y/N. You’re such a good fucking girl,” Heeseung groans, watching your throat bulge as he fucks it. “That’s it, baby. Swallow my cock.”

Your eyes cross when Sunghoon and Heeseung’s thrusts start to sync up. They’re both moaning in tandem as they fuck you, and all you can do is lay there completely fucked out as it happens. It’s easy to cum again as they use you for their pleasure.

“Fuck. I bet her pussy’s nice and tight,” Heeseung hisses in delight. “Cum inside her, Hoon.”

Just hearing those words coming from Heeseung is enough to push Sunghoon over the edge. His head falls back as he empties his load into you. “Fuck, Y/N!” He groans as he fucks his cum deeper into you without stopping.

“That’s it, baby. Take every drop of our cum,” Heeseung moans as cum fills your mouth. 

You’re all panting by the time you’ve ridden out your highs, and you surprise the two friends by asking for more.

Sunghoon smirks as he looks over at Heeseung. “Just wait until you feel this pussy. Our pretty girl’s so fucking tight.”

That’s how you end up on all fours, sandwiched between them. Sunghoon grabs the back of your neck as he smacks his cock against your lips just like his best friend did. You part them with a needy moan, tongue lolling out to entice him. He slaps his leaking tip against the slick muscle with a low groan. God are you hot. Way hotter than his girlfriend could ever be.

“So eager to suck this dick,” he murmurs. “Dirty fucking girl.”

Whining, you lap at the tip of his cock, eagerly tasting the remnants of your orgasm and his cum leaking from the slit. You moan at the taste as you start to lick up and down his cock. 

Your pretty pussy is dripping with Sunghoon’s cum and your own arousal. He sees you get wetter when you fully take his best friend’s cock into your mouth. Seeing you drip with arousal makes Heeseung’s cock throb. Finding out what a needy slut you are just made you hotter in his eyes. You’re absolutely perfect.

“Didn’t expect you to be so greedy, baby,” Heeseung laughs. He rubs his cock across your slit before tapping the head against your swollen clit. With a pleased sigh, he slips his dick inside your fluttering hole. 

Your eyes roll back as you get filled on both ends. It’s a dream to have your mouth full of Sunghoon’s cock and your pussy stuffed full of Heeseung’s dick. The sound of your messy, wet cunt makes Heeseung fuck you harder. Your juices are running down your thighs and his. The wet slapping sounds mix in lewdly with all the moans and groans.

“Fuck, she’s so tight,” Heeseung moans as his hands squeeze your ass. It makes you clench down on the cock spearing you open.

Your eyes take in Sunghoon as he strokes his cock with your throat. His dark eyes filter periodically between you and his friend. He throbs every time he watches Heeseung pound your sopping wet cunt. The two share a filthy smirk while you whimper in pleasure. Your mouth and pussy are stuffed full, and you’ve never felt better.

Heeseung fucks his dick deeper into your cunt with a deep groan. Your slick walls flutter and squeeze his thick cock as he roughly kneads and slaps your ass. Just feeling how tightly you’re gripping him makes Heeseung pump his cock into your clenching pussy with a rough tempo that slams against your g-spot and makes you squeal around Sunghoon’s dick.

Your eyes roll back as Sunghoon shoves his cock deeper down your throat. He hisses at the feeling, cock flexing against your tongue as he keeps rolling his hips. Drool falls in thick strings from your open mouth and slowly drip down the cock you’re sucking. Sunghoon moans and caresses your face, loving how you look so pretty with tears in your eyes and his dick in your mouth.

You’ve never looked so hot, bouncing back eagerly on his friend who’s splitting you open on his cock. Heeseung groans, praises spilling from his lips every time he thrusts his cock back into your sloppy cunt.

“Fuck, baby. You have such a pretty little pussy. All tight and wet just for us,” his words make the coil in your stomach tighten. “Could stuff this sweet pussy all day.”

Your orgasm hits hard and fast. Heeseung grunts loudly, hips stuttering against your ass as your soft pussy walls milk his cock. With a loud whine, your body arches and your eyes roll back in ecstasy as you choke on Sunghoon’s cock. 

“Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart. Now I’m gonna fill your hot little cunt,” his heated voice sends a sick thrill up your spine.

“God. I’m gonna cream in your sloppy mouth, pretty girl. Swallow it all for me,” Sunghoon says as one of his hands grips the back of your head.

Moaning around his dick, your head and hips move to help them reach their own highs. The two friends grunt and groan as they chase their own releases. Sunghoon spills first, cum thick and hot as it coats your mouth and throat. Heeseung follows not too long after, shooting his load deep inside your spasming cunt. 

As Heeseung slowly starts to pull out of your pussy, he curses under his breath when you pulse and flutter and squeeze him even tighter. “Fuck. This sweet little pussy doesn’t want to let go.”

Regrettably, he pulls out of your clenching heat with a wet schlick, making both of them groan at the noise. It rivals the way you start to choke on Sunghoon’s cum. He too pulls out reluctantly, but not before wiping the tears from under your eyes.

So much cum is leaking out of your pretty holes, and the two friends decide that they’re going to spend the rest of the party stuffing you full.

Heeseung lightly smacks your messy pussy. “Don’t think we’re done yet, baby. The day’s still young.”

Your sister pouts petulantly as she walks upstairs to the restroom. It’s been almost an hour since she last saw Heeseung, and now he’s ignoring all her calls and texts. She hasn’t seen you or Sunghoon either. Briefly, she wonders if you hadn’t kept her friend entertained enough to keep him at the party. If Sunghoon left, then his best friend had definitely followed suit. She scows as she thinks about how she’s going to get you back later. It wasn’t the first time you inadvertently ruined her chances with Heeseung, and she’s sick of it.

Just before your sister can get to her destination, she hears moans. Loud, filthy moans.

They’re obviously coming from your room, and she wonders if some of her guests were using your room to have sex. Fuck. You were going to murder her.

She approaches your room with a purpose, wanting to get whoever it was out of your room before you found out. However, she stops at the doorway when she sees something ten times worse than strangers having sex in your bed.

Her longtime crush is sitting at the edge of your bed, bouncing you on his big cock while her friend kneels in front of you two as he eats your pussy. Heeseung is giving you a filthy kiss as he gropes your tits and helps you fuck his cock. She can see cum dripping down his heavy balls as he splits you open. Sunghoon is holding one of your hands as he laps at your clit. Your sister doesn’t miss the way he’s tugging on his cock while you tug on his hair. He’s moaning into your pussy like he’s never tasted anything better.

Your room reeks of sex, and her heart breaks when she realizes it’s because the three of you have been fucking for a while now. When you finally break the kiss, Heeseung starts to trail wet kisses down your neck, still oblivious to her presence. You, however, lift your head and make eye contact with your horrified sister.

Unlike she expects, you don’t snap out of your sex-crazed lust. You only smirk at her. It’s mean and vicious—a smirk that she’s seen countless times before. Usually, it’s her directing that cruel, victorious smirk at you. But now that the roles have switched, she can feel her heart break.

You toss your head back with a loud moan, not caring that your sister is crying because you’re bouncing on Heeseung’s cock while Sunghoon licks your pussy. If anything, this is her fault for thinking her plans took priority over yours. It’s not like she ever had a chance with either of them, anyway. You were just making her see that once and for all.

And so, instead of confronting the three of you like she should have, your sister turns on her heel and walks away to go back to her party.

[cherrygirlfriend]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ examination table

pairing: gynecologist!rafe x reader synopsis: you go to get artificial insemination. your gyno has a different method. warnings/tags: smut, artificial insemination, unprotected piv, breeding kink, public sex, small surprise at the end, MDNI! wc: 1.2k a/n; aside from having to do a strange amount of research about ovulation, iui and me overall being against male gynos; this was fun.

rafe masterlist ♡

you couldn't resist the urge to tap the heel of your boot against the linoleum floor - rolling your golden wedding band so you wouldn't bite your freshly manicured nails. it felt like your heart was going to thump thump thump out of your chest and land on the floor in front of you.

there were only three other people in the waiting room, a few posters related to women's health decorating the otherwise plain, dull, light green walls of the office, the tick-tock of the clock and the hushed whispers of the two nurses behind the front desk being the only thing you could focus on, along with the overpowering stench of chanel no 5 that was wafting from the other customer waiting for her appointment browsing through an age-old copy of cosmopolitan.

you nearly hopped to your feet when the door to one of the offices opened, clutching your purse like it was the only thing keeping you afloat. "come in." doctor cameron said with a small smile on his lips, gesturing towards his office.

you followed the tall man into the sterile, white office, holding your arms tightly against your chest, your shoulders hunched. when doctor cameron noticed how skittish you were being, he offered a small smile, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder before using it to cup your cheek and lifting it up so you were forced to look at his freckled face, "there's no need to be nervous. this is a pretty regular procedure. you can change into the gown and lay down on the examination table."

when you let out a reluctant nod, the doctor walked further into his office, giving you some privacy. while you listened to him rifle through papers, slowly, you tugged your sweater off along with your jeans, leaving your underwear to cover your skin that was now in goosebumps while you covered yourself with the blue rustling hospital gown, until it came time to slip them off.

you took a few tentative steps towards the examination table, walking on your heels as your gynecologist turned to face you, your chart in his hands, his blue eyes skimming over the details as you sat down onto the examination table, the paper sheet rustling against the paper gown in a way that made you cringe.

"so, how many days ago did you take your last dose of clomid?"

"eight days ago." you said with a tight smile, fiddling with the hem of your gown, "and i did an ovulation test before i left home, and it said my ovulation should be at its highest."

"you've really done your homework." he chuckled, placing down the clipboard, placing his warm hand on your bare knee in a comforting gesture. "are you ready to get started? i've got your husband's specimen prepared. don't worry, the catheter won't hurt, you might just feel a bit uncomfortable for a moment."

you took a deep breath, closing your eyes and laying back as you steadied your breathing, trying your best to get comfortable. "ready." you whispered softly, opening your eyes to look up at the slightly yellow-tinted fluorescent light above you.

"it helps the sperm to travel if you've got your pelvis propped up." doctor cameron said in a slightly hushed tone, lifting your hips up and placing a pillow underneath your hips, his hands pressing your hips down to meet it, keeping them there as he looked down at you with a small smile. "there you go. are you comfortable?"

"it does." you swallow dryly, fiddling with the paper sheet underneath you, sighing. "i hope it works out. we've been trying to get pregnant for a year now."

"yeah?" he looked down at you, his eyes crinkling slightly, the feel of the pads of his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he drew small patterns to the hem of your hospital gown. "you know what people say helps with getting pregnant?"

"what?" you almost whispered, your thighs starting to form goosebumps under doctor cameron's fingers as they slowly slid under the crinkly god-ugly gown.

"orgasms." his hand continued to slide up your inner thigh, the metal of your doctor's wedding ring a pleasing contrast against your warm skin, "it's never been proven to be accurate, of course." his hand was just under your crotch, drawing infinity-symbols on your skin, a pondering look on his face as he cocked his head to the side, a small smirk appearing on his face, "but it never hurts to be thorough, right?"

doctor cameron had you folded over on the examination table, holding your legs at your sides, his warm lips placing sloppy, hot kisses on your neck as his cock slid out of you before slamming against your cervix, the man letting out a soft breathy laugh at every little gasp or moan that managed to escape your lips.

"how many times do i have to tell you, sweetie?" he mumbled against your skin, rafe's words intensified by the pace of his hips snapping against yours increasing, a loud yelp leaving you, "you don't need to try and keep quiet. no one's gonna hear us." he breathed out.

the pad of his thumb found your your clit, starting to draw small circles on it as the room was filled with your unsteady breathing combined with the lewd squelch of your pussy every time his hips met yours, "come on, let me hear all those pretty little noises... it's not like this is the first time we've fooled around here."

rafe tried pulling away from your neck, but you tugged him closer by his hair, holding him there as tightly as possible "god, rafe..." you moaned out, the doctor letting out a pleased hum against your skin.

"come on, sweetie... tell me how much you want me to put a baby in you, yeah?"

"so badly..." your back arched off the examination table while rafe's long fingers slid up to your breast, teasing it with small kneads and pinches before his left hand found your hand, your fingers intertwining with his, your matching wedding bands meeting.

"i love you so much... i can't wait for you to be all pretty and pregnant." he smiled against your skin, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

MEANWHILE….

"i wonder what's taking dr. cameron so long..." the receptionist wondered aloud with a frown on her pouty lips, turning to look at the clock on the wall as she tapped her pink fingernails against the desk, "i mean, it's almost lunchtime."

the other receptionist let out a snort, interrupting the movement of the file against her long nail, turning to look at the other girl with raised brows, chewing gum. "what, you don't know?"

"know what?"

"oh, this is good." the receptionist laughed, throwing her head back with laughter in her office chair. "you don't know who she is."

"what?" the other girl asked, huffing in annoyance as she grabbed a cheeto out of the bag sitting in front of them.

"that client is mrs. cameron."

"as in-"

"yup, that was doctor cameron's wife." she let out a loud snort of a laugh as she shook her head, grabbing a cheeto before going back to filing her nails. "guess she gets special treatment."

[angelfrombeneth]

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT, RIGHT? - N . CHAVEZ

Mature Content Ahead

Nicholas Chavez x F!Actress Reader

Warnings: SMUT

Summary: You and Nicholas are costars in a new show - Grotesqueire. When it is time to film a sex scene, you aren't ready; awkward tension takes over, but you know what they say; Practice makes perfect.

Note: I just want to say thank you so much for 1k followers and I hope you enjoy this one - and if you are new here, check out my other works. I have new stuff coming, feel free to request in my inbox for a specific character.

If you are looking for a part 2, please read this post as it explains my reasonings behind not making a part 2.

The filming for Grotesqueire has been underway for a few weeks now, this is your first big role in any media which you are extremely excited for. The show has an extremely interesting script, which is one of the reasons you wanted to put your all into your audition - which got you here.

"Y/N, I need you on set B in 5 minutes" Someone shouted from outside the trailer.

You sat up, taking your glasses off as you put them aside as you grabbed your contact case, quickly putting your contacts. You grab your veil, before exiting your trailer and walking towards the set. Crew preparing sets around you as you pass through different hallways, so much going on in one place but somehow you still felt at home.

"I was wondering where you were" You heard Nicholas laugh behind you as you turned to face him.

You laughed, turning to him as you smiled. Nicholas was your co-star playing a weirdly odd but kinky priest - and well, he was definitely lovely to look at.

"Nicholas, what are you doing?" The costume leader came scrambling over. "That isn't your costume for this scene- come!" She grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the set.

You laughed at Nicholas getting dragged away before walking upon the director and listening to your scene directions.

You sat upon your position on the set, the hairstylist coming to fit the veil upon your head properly, fixing your hair under it as you noticed Nicholas enter the set from the side of your view. You turn to look at him, your eye quirking up at his costume- well lack of costume.

"Nicholas why are you wearing just a towel?" You laughed.

"I have no idea- This is what Marissa gave me-" He spoke but was quickly cut off by the director on the megaphone.

"Alright! So can we get Talia on set please!"

You watched a girl walk up to you and Nicholas, smiling as she held a clipboard. "Y/N! Nicholas! I am very grateful to meet you, I am Talia your intimacy coordinator"

You blinked. You read the script you knew it was coming but you didnt realise it would be so early on. Nicholas shared a similar face to you.

"Now, don't worry, we will go over the main aspects and go over any boundaries the pair of you have" She smiled.

The next twenty minutes were spent with you, Nicholas and the intimacy coordinator. You were still shocked. It wasn't that you couldn't do it - Nicholas was attractive, and all, and the attraction for the scene was definitely there; it was just the awkwardness of it.

After talking Talia deemed you guys to be okay to proceed, the horn sounded round the studio as the pair of you prepared for your scene.

The tension loomed in the air as you stared at Nicholas from the doorway, reciting your lines.

"Can you dry my back sister... please" He hummed, passing a folded white towel over to you. You took it, walking behind him as he kneeled infront of the bed. You took the towel, slowly sliding it over his back full of gashes, cleaning the blood from his back as your finger ran over the bumps. You let your hand reset to his shoulder, softly gripping it as he hummed, it was what was scripted but it felt.. awkward.

"CUT!-" Shot through the studio as alarms sounded once more. Talia and the director came over, looking at you and Nicholas.

"Maybe lets take a break, you two talk through the scene and try and coordinate something. It feels.." The direction tapped his chin as he spoke.

"Awkward. It was very tense and not good tense" Talia sighed.

The pair of you nodded, walking out of the studio and towards the trailer as you groaned, flinging open the door as you tore the veil off your head yet again.

Nicholas sat on the couch looking up at you snickering as you groaned, sitting beside him, tossing your legs over his as you leaned back on the couch.

"I had no clue we were filming.. that today. It's just.. awkward" You looked at him, watching his body face yours completely as he held your full attention. The way his eyes stared into yours as you spoke.

"I mean if it makes you feel any better, I was pretty nervous. I didnt really know what to do and its just unfamilar i guess, its not a regular sex scene its gotta be.. kinky" He chuckled.

He made you feel comfortable. No pressure at all, the awkwardness was lifting bit by bit, showing the light under the fog.

"I mean what if we just.. you know" You blurted.

"If we just what?" Nicholas looked at you confused. "Fucked?"

"I mean you said it not me.." You looked around the room, trying to break the obvious tension as he laughed at your reaction. "I mean, for the scene right?" You smirked.

"Yeah for the scene." You sat up and looked at him as he spoke, crawling towards him slightly. You paused just before him. One of your hands gripping his thigh as the other held his shoulder.

The pair of you looked at each other for a brief moment, the balance of friends and coworkers about to be broken. As much as you wanted to chant in your head, 'it's for work, for work,' it wasn't, was it.

Your lips softly connected with his, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulled you in, sitting upon his lap, your legs wrapping and encasing him between. His lips mimicked your movement, slowly moving against yours, matching your pace and rhythm.

You pulled away briefly for a moment, looking at him. "This is work right..?" You chuckled.

"Definitely work" He smirked, pushing himself up, sending you up as he pulled apart your dress, the top clasps undoing as you kissed him forcefully. Your arms flew around his neck as he tugged the dress down slightly.

Your lips interlocked as you kissed each other hungrily, your hands combing through his locks as he slid all over your torso, pinching and grabbing at the flesh.

You both wouldn't admit it, but this was a long time coming. With the subtle flirting on and off set, you both were excited for the sex scene to finally be able to 'get a taste' as Nicholas said - but you didn't expect this.

You pulled away, gripping the waist of the dress as you dragged it up your body, pulling it up over your head as you dropped it to the floor, allowing yourself to fall back against the couch, your arms around his neck as you guided him ontop of you.

"Fuck-" Nicholas groaned, towering above you as he stared down as you adored in your black lace set as you stared up at him. "Is lingere supposed to be apart of the costume.. I mean stockings? Really? The dress covers it" His hand slid down your thigh to your calf, feeling the silky sheer material covering your bare skin.

"Personal touch" You smirked at him, your hands holding his shoulders as he licked his lips.

Nicholas's head turned to the side, kissing the wrist of your hand as it held his shoulder, taking the hand as he kissed up your arm slowly, gaining closer and closer.

You pulled him down towards you, rubbing his neck softly as you pecked his lips softly. "Nick- This is mad" You laughed out.

A smile covered his lips as he kissed your cheek, to your jaw and slowly down your neck, nipping occasionally. "Its practice... for work of course"

"The for work excuse has been.. overused~" You melted into his touch, your hands resting softly upon his hips above the towel that fixed upon his body. You tugged his hips closer, noticing his lips depart from your collarbone as he peered up at you.

He licked his lips, sitting back upon his knees as he stared down at you, that cheeky grin on his face. "Now, got to act suprised in the scene, I'll give you a little preview" He snickered.

You reached forward for his towel, tugging it as it puddled at his knees. You gawked for a moment, you didnt expect him to actually be pare naked under the towel - acting and all, you'd think he'd have some sort of cover.

"The director thought it would be more authentic to be completely naked under the towel.... For gravity purposes" He winked, his hands sliding down your waist, hooking his fingers through the sides of your underwear, slowly pulling them down your body.

"That's a terrible excuse" You laughed as you lifted your feet out of your underwear as he dropped them on the floor. You sat up, pushing his chest as he sat back on the couch.

"Calm down, cowgirl", He snickered, leaning back as he stared at you; one of his heads reached to rest upon your hip, the other clasped around himself as he gradually began to pump.

You reached back, unclasping your bra and sliding it off slowly as you threw it at him, the pair of you laughing. The sight of him leant back against the couch, hot and bothered as he stared at you while touching himself was all too much, it was making you hot and bothered.

"Fuck me, you are so hot Nicholas" you brought your hands to your face, covering your eyes as you let out a loud drawn out sigh.

"Genes.. what can I tell you" He smiled, as you leaned forward pecking his lips softly a few times. His grin seeping into the kiss as you stared at him, your noses touching eachother slightly.

You leaned in, capturing him in a soft kiss, instantly reciprocated as both his hands gripped your waist. You sat in his lap, softly grinding down against him - humming softly within the kiss at the friction.

You noticed his eagerness as his hips would occasionally buckle up against yours, one of his heads to your neck, gripping it softly as he pulled you closer - the pair of you intensely making out.

Your hands raked through his hair, tugging and stroking it as his hand tested with pressure around your neck as you hummed softly, lightly moaning within the kiss.

You pulled away abruptly, looking down as you took him into your hand as you slowly guided him into you as you let out a light and soft moan, which was sounded out by his own moan.

"Fuckkkk-" His head fell backwards as his hands fell upon your waist, guiding you slowly.

You looked down at him, your hands holding his shoulders as you slowly rutted your hips against his, grinding down against him. Watching his face twitch in pleasure as his breathing stuttered at each movement.

"You are so vocal" You laughed, pecking his lips softly as you rested your forehead against his, continuing to grind down against him, watching his body for every single twitched movement.

"Cant help it- Does it bother y-you.." He stared up at you, slightly breathless as he grinned, his eyes half lidded.

"Absolutely not.. turns me on if anything" You chuckled, kissing his cheek softly as you leaned down to nibble on his ear lobe as you continued to ride him.

Nicholas continued to groan in your ear, making you smirk as you speed up your movements, dropping your body weight down against him harshly as you bucked your hips back and forth. Cusses spewed from his lips as you continued to do so. 'Fuck' 'Shit' 'Holy Fuuuck-', continued to fall from his lips as you hummed softly, soft moans leaving yours.

You watched him intently as his eyes rolled back, his eyes staying hooded as he tried to steady his breathing. Smirking as you noticed the effect you had over him, especially how cocky he is normally.

Your movements slowed down as you panted softly, leaning against him for balance and he noticed. Nicholas picked you up, causing you to yelp momentarily as you pushed you up against a desk.

"Getting tired?" He smirked, pressing his hands against the wall behind you, as he thrusted harshly forward - causing you to gulp back a moan. Your fists clenching as you stared up at him.

"I thought-" You groaned, at each thrust he made, pressing your hands against his chest as you steadied your breathing.

"Mhm.. You thought wrong; I was definitely enjoying before, though.." He pecked your lips softly, leaning to your ear. "My turn now" He whispered.

His hands hooked under your thighs, lifting your lower body up slightly as he continued to thrust into you. You yelped out, shutting your eyes as you tried to control yourself from the overwhelming feeling of pleasure, trying hard to not let go so soon. His lips harshly locked against your neck, as he sucked and bit down against the flesh.

"Nicholas-" You gasped out, moaning softly as your fingernails clawed down his back harshly.

"Shhhh" He cooed, as he licked up your neck, his hips continuing to slam against yours as the desk rocked below the pair of you.

"So fucking good- holy-" You gasped, staring at him as you laughed out slightly, his lips curling up into a smile as he continued to thrust, his hands holding your hips up just above the desk as you locked your legs around his waist tightly.

He dropped you harshly against the wood, placing a hand on your neck, kissing you roughly as you raced to reciprocate. His tongue halfway down your throat as your hands slid down his chest, your fingers feeling between the crevises of his sculpted chest. His free hand, cupping your breast as he squeezed it occasionally.

You hummed needingly into the kiss as his thumb pressed pressure against the front of your throat, causing you to tighten - which he felt. You could feel the smirk on his face as he kissed you, his tongue exploring your mouth as you helplessly allowed it.

You felt his whole hand clamp down on your neck with pressure. Your breath hitched for a moment at the sheer shock as he pulled away, your foreheads resting against one another, beads of sweat falling and mixing within each other as you gasped, staring into his eyes as he thrust deeply, holding himself within you.

"...Nick.." you croaked out as he stared at you, his eyes blown out with lust as he leaned in, biting your lip between his teeth as he held his eye contact with you, his thumb still pressed hard against the front of your throat.

He took his free hand, sliding his middle finger and index finger past your lips and into your mouth as you stared at him. You gave him no indication against it which caused his dick to twitch. He began to thrust against yet this time harder but slower. Your body rebounded each time, pushing yourself into the wall that you could've meshed into it. You sucked on his fingers, tugging his hair as you run your hand down his face, caressing it as you let out a guttural moan as he trusted once more.

"Good girl.. cum for me" He whispered, withdrawing his fingers from your mouth and removing his hand from your neck as his face flew to yours, your lips instantly crashing upon one another as he gripped your hips, pulling you forward and roughly thrusting into you.

You moaned into his mouth, panting heavily as you drew closer and closer to your high. Your leg twitching as you threw your head back as his lips sucked and nipped at your neck as you screamed out loudly. Your hands clawing down his back as you came undone.

You were too dazed in your high, groaning and panting as Nicholas pulled out, groaning as he pumped himself watching as your whole body twitched.

Your legs flung closed as you stared at him, exhausted as he whined before he came on your thigh, whimpering and panting as he did so, his arm leant against the wall behind you as it supported his weight - his face mere centermeters away.

"Holy fuck-" You chuckled, out of breath as you stared at him.

His chest rose and fell as he stared up at you with hooded eyes. His finger swiping his cum off your thigh as he held it up to you.

You smirked, leaning forward and sucking it off his finger as you looked at him. He smiled at you before pushing himself off the wall as he stumbled back to the couch, laying back on it as he sighed - catching his breath.

"That was more of a workout than my actual workout sessions.. jesus Christ", Nicholas groaned, his arm resting up above him.

You pulled yourself off the desk, your legs slightly wobbly as you slowly approached him. You sat beside his head, lifting it and resting it against your thigh as you sighed.

"I think we've got the sex scene down, don't you.." You laughed, running your fingers through his hair.

"Oh, definitely" He smirked up at you.

It was safe to say, when the pair of you finally caught your breath you showered and got rechanged into your costumes. You had to cover up all the marks on your neck but for Nicholas it was fine, he was already marked by makeup so hopefully no one could tell the difference.

When the pair of you got to set, you definitely delivered the sex scene, going beyond the script. Hair pulling, finger sucking, tit grabbing, ass grabbing - the lot. Safe to say everyone was impressed.

"CUT! That was exactly what we needed, guys!" The director clapped as you and Nicholas stared at each other, panting slightly. You smirked, looking down at the tent under the towel Nicholas was wearing.

"Please don't move- it'll be so fucking embarrassing", Nicholas begged. You chuckled, patting his chest.