#so maybe the first floor is where they live and that’s actually where the kitchen is lol

[lazy-ahh]

﹌⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆⊹ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆﹌

Have you ever thought how Mark would react if he had a boyfriend that's husband material? 🤔

Imagine the reader likes to help Debbie out whenever he feels like it, and Mark is watching him help Debbie and thinks to himself, " I NEED husband him up ASAP. "

﹌⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆⊹ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆﹌

This is kinda related to the fic that was about my request but eh!!

– Number 1 fan!! 🌊 anon

HUSBAND MATERIAL

pairing mark grayson x male reader

in which mark grayson realizes two things: (1) his sharp-tongued, emotionally constipated boyfriend is absolutely husband material, and (2) he might actually combust if he doesn’t put a ring on it soon.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro , @cynvia

the first time you met debbie, mark was a mess. not because he thought you wouldn’t like her—no, he knew you’d love her, because debbie was impossible not to love—but because his brain kept conjuring up worst-case scenarios. what if she brought up that time he cried during titanic when he was twelve? what if she mentioned his weird phase where he tried to grow a mustache and failed spectacularly? what if she pulled out the baby photos?

he could already see it—debbie grinning, oblivious, while you slowly turned to him with that razor-sharp look of yours, the one that said "i will never let you live this down." your eyebrow would arch, just slightly, and mark would have to resist the urge to phase through the floor in embarrassment.

but instead, you surprised him. you shook her hand with that same quiet confidence you carried everywhere, offered her a rare, barely-there smile, and said, "it’s nice to finally meet you, mrs. grayson." your voice was even, polite, but there was something underneath it—respect, maybe even warmth.

and just like that, debbie’s eyes lit up. "oh, sweetheart, call me debbie," she said, already pulling you into a hug you didn’t stiffen away from (which, coming from you, was basically a declaration of love).

mark exhaled, watching as you let debbie fuss over you without so much as a sarcastic remark—which, coming from you, was also basically a miracle. there was something painfully tender about the way you tolerated her motherly instincts, how you didn’t pull away when she fixed your collar or how you actually listened when she started rambling about mark’s childhood like it wasn’t the most embarrassing thing in the world.

his chest felt too tight. you were always so guarded with everyone else, all sharp edges and dry comebacks, but here you were—letting his mom drag you into the kitchen to "help" (which really meant her talking your ear off while you chopped vegetables with terrifying precision). and the worst part? you liked her. he could tell by the way your shoulders relaxed just a fraction, by the barely-there quirk of your lips when she laughed.

god, you were going to be insufferable about this later. not because you’d tease him (though you definitely would), but because now you had leverage. now you knew exactly how to make him melt—just by being nice to his mom, of all things.

mark was so, so screwed.

mark leans against the doorway, watching the way your hands move with knife-sharp efficiency against the cutting board. the afternoon light catches the silver band of your watch—the one debbie gave you for your birthday—as your wrists flick in perfect rhythm. there's something intimate about seeing you like this, sleeves pushed up to reveal those faint scars across your forearms, the ones you never explain but he's traced with his lips countless times. your brows knit together in concentration, but your mouth is softer than usual, not quite smiling but... settled. at peace. it's a good look on you, mark thinks.

debbie bumps her shoulder against yours, flour-dusted fingers gesturing wildly as she recounts mark's pancake disaster. "the smoke alarm went off three times," she giggles, and you make that sound—not quite a laugh, just air rushing through your nose as you keep chopping carrots with military precision. but then you surprise mark by muttering, "he still burns toast at least twice a week," without even looking up, and debbie gasps like you've just handed her classified information.

mark's mouth falls open. you're gossiping. with his mom. the same you who usually communicates in grunts before coffee is now quietly adding, "last tuesday he tried to make grilled cheese in the microwave," and debbie leans in closer as if you were whispering the secrets of the universe. "let's just say i have to buy a new one."

"markus sebastian grayson!" she shrieks, while you finally glance up just to shoot him that smug, knowing look—the one that should annoy him but just makes his pulse stutter instead.

it's terrifying how easily you fit here, between the chipped tiles and his mom's laughter. the same way you fit into mark's life without him even realizing—leaving his favorite energy drinks in the door pocket of the fridge where he always looks first, or how you "accidentally" buy too many of those awful snacks he likes whenever you grocery shop. you pretend it's coincidence when you throw his wrinkled shirts in the dryer before school the next day, when you leave ibuprofen and water on his nightstand after particularly rough patrols.

and god, the way you take care of his mom too—replacing her favorite spatula when it breaks before she even notices, memorizing how she takes her tea (two sugars, splash of milk, in the robin egg blue mug because it "tastes better" that way). you roll your eyes when she hugs you but never actually dodge it, and mark's pretty sure you've developed some kind of silent communication system where you just know when the other needs coffee or space or someone to listen.

your knife hits the cutting board with steady thunks, the rhythm syncopated with debbie's laughter as she dramatically recounts more of mark's childhood failures. you're not smiling, not really, but there's something unbearably soft in the way your shoulders relax, in the quiet "tch" you make when she tries to sneak more vegetables onto your cutting board. mark presses his temple against the doorframe, overwhelmed by how badly he wants to freeze this moment—you in his mother's kitchen, sunlight catching the silver in your watch, looking for all the world like you belong here.

mark presses a palm to his sternum like he can physically hold in the swell of emotion threatening to crack him open. it's too much. you're too much. this version of you that exists between the space of his childhood home and his mother's affection, this you that lets yourself be soft in ways no one else gets to see. it makes him want to fold you into his arms and never let go, makes him want to kiss the frown lines between your brows until they smooth out forever.

debbie wipes her hands on her apron, glancing at the clock. "oh! i almost forgot! i need to send some documents to a client," she says, already moving toward the stairs. "don't burn the kitchen down while i'm gone." the wooden steps creak under her hurried footsteps, leaving just the two of you in the warm, spice-scented kitchen.

the rhythmic tap of your knife against the cutting board fills the silence. mark watches the way your fingers curl protectively around the onion, how your wrist flicks with each precise slice. he pushes off the doorway and drifts closer, drawn to you like gravity. when he reaches to steal a piece of carrot from your neat little piles, you smack his hand away without even looking.

"you're staring," you mutter, the knife flashing as you dice the onion into perfect slices. your tone is flat, but mark doesn't miss the way your ears have gone slightly pink.

"can't help it," he grins, crowding into your space anyway. his chest presses against your back as he peers over your shoulder. "you're cute when you're all domestic. look at you, so caring and nurturing."

you elbow him in the ribs, but there's no real force behind it. "shut up. if you're just going to stand there, make yourself useful." you jerk your head toward the pile of unpeeled potatoes in the sink.

mark makes a show of sighing dramatically but grabs the peeler anyway. he bumps his hip against yours as he takes up position at your side, close enough that your sleeves brush with every movement. "so," he says, scraping at a stubborn potato eye, "you and my mom, huh? trading my deepest secrets even though i'm right here?"

you huff, but he sees the corner of your mouth twitch. "she started it." the admission comes grudgingly, like you're confessing to a crime. your knife stills for just a second before you add, quieter, "she's... nice."

the simple words make mark's chest go tight. he watches the way your shoulders relax when you think no one's looking, the careful attention you pay to making each vegetable slice even. when he bumps your shoulder gently, you don't pull away—just grumble something about "personal space" while continuing to let him lean against you.

the potato peelings pile up in the sink as mark works, his movements slower than yours but just as focused. every so often, he'll "accidentally" flick water at you, grinning when you scowl but don't actually move away. the kitchen fills with the sounds of sizzling oil, the scrape of knives, and the quiet, comfortable silence that only comes when two people know each other down to their bones.

mark's voice comes out softer than he means it to, fingers stilling against the half-peeled potato in his hands. "i wasn't lying though," he murmurs, letting his temple rest against the curve of your shoulder. he can feel the warmth of you through the fabric of your turtleneck, can smell that stupidly expensive cologne you pretend you don't care about. when he tilts his head up, you're already looking down at him—and there it is. that fleeting, unguarded expression you only ever wear when you think no one's watching, all quiet wonder and something painfully tender. your knife has stopped mid-chop, fingers frozen around the handle.

"you look relaxed and handsome like this," mark whispers, watching with delight as your ears go pink. you open your mouth, no doubt to deliver some scathing remark, but all that comes out is a flustered huff before you pointedly return to decimating the vegetables. mark doesn't miss how your shoulders hunch slightly, how you're suddenly very invested in making sure each carrot slice is perfectly even. he grins, pressing a quick kiss to your flushed cheek before going back to his potatoes, cheeks warm.

the moment shatters when debbie sighs dramatically from the doorway, arms crossed over. "look at the two of you," she coos, leaning against the counter with a smirk that spells trouble. "peeling potatoes together like some old married couple. should i start calling you my son-in-law now, [y/n], or do i have to wait for the official paperwork?"

you nearly slice your finger clean off. "mrs. grayson," you hiss, voice strangled, while mark chokes on his own spit. but debbie just waves a hand, eyes sparkling as she takes in the way you're both flushed to the tips of your ears, how mark's fingers have tangled unconsciously in the hem of your shirt.

"i'll be looking forward to the day you two get married," she continues breezily, nudging mark with her hip as she steals a slice of cucumber. "that way [y/n] can't make any more excuses as to why he can't call me mom." she pops the vegetable in her mouth with a wink, utterly pleased with herself when you make a noise like a deflating balloon.

mark watches, equal parts horrified and endeared, as you stare at debbie with wide eyes, knife dangling limply from your fingers. your mouth opens and closes several times before you finally manage a strangled, "that's—you can't just—" before giving up entirely, turning back to the cutting board with enough force to worry about the structural integrity of the vegetables.

"mark," you finally grit out after a long pause, shoulders tense, "control your mother."

but mark's too busy pressing his face into your back to muffle his laughter, arms wrapping around your waist as debbie cackles in the background. he can feel your heartbeat rabbiting against his cheek, can feel the way you're trying (and failing) to suppress your own smile. and when you eventually elbow him halfheartedly, muttering something about "insufferable graysons," it's with the same careful gentleness you reserve just for them.

his mom's words echo in mark’s head long after she’s left the kitchen to relax and drink wine. married. son-in-law. the concepts should feel too big, too soon, but they slot into his chest like they’ve always belonged there. the knife slips in his grip, nicking his thumb—invincible, brought to his knees by the mental image of you rolling your eyes at him over shared tax documents.

and that’s when it hits him, sudden and certain as sunrise:

i need to husband him up asap.

because you’re it for him. the way you patch up his wounds after missions with clinical precision but trembling fingers, how you always know exactly where to aim your grapple hook to catch him when he’s falling. the way you pretend to hate his terrible jokes but he’s seen the way you scribble them down later in that little black notebook of yours. you fit against his life like a puzzle piece he didn’t know was missing—grumbling through morning patrols together, bickering over takeout containers in the fridge, your pinky secretly linking with his under movie theater armrests.

mark wants it all. wants to memorize the exact shade of your scowls and loving looks at 6 AM, wants to keep finding your bobby pins (for emergencies like picking a lock according to you) mixed in with his spare change, wants to grow old—

the thought stutters like a skipped record.

because he can't.

you can. you're human—all fragile bones and fleeting heartbeats, temporary in ways that make his ribs ache. the knife slips again, drawing a thin red line across his knuckle, but he barely registers the sting. not when the realization crashes over him like a tidal wave: he'll still look like this when time etches silver into your hair, when laugh lines frame your mouth like parentheses around all your secret smiles. he'll order your stupidly complicated coffee (double shot, chocolate dusting, exactly three ice cubes) for centuries after you're gone, and the weight of that knowledge leaves him breathless.

but then your hands are there—always there—pressing a bandage over his careless wound with that familiar scowl. "idiot," you mutter, but your fingers linger against his pulse point a second too long. and mark thinks—if forever isn't written in the stars for them, he'll carve it into every moment you share. he'll love you with the desperation of a sunflower clinging to sunlight, memorizing the way your eyelashes cast shadows at noon and how your throat moves when you swallow your too-sweet tea.

"what's that look for?" you grumble, swiping a thumb across his cheekbone. there's flour in your hair (from you helping with baking dessert earlier), he notices, dusting your strands like premature gray, and the sight punches a wounded noise from his chest.

mark catches your wrist, pressing his lips to the delicate bones beneath your skin. "nothing," he murmurs against your knuckles, tasting salt and dish soap. "just thinking about how much i love you."

you make that tch sound he adores, but your fingers slot between his like they were made to fit there. "sentimental fool," you mutter, but the way your thumb strokes absent circles against his wrist betrays you.

he chuckles, nosing at the sensitive spot behind your ear—the one that makes you shiver—and you immediately shove at his face with your free hand. "don't you dare—" but it's too late; he's already mouthing at your jugular, teeth scraping just hard enough to make your breath hitch. you taste like home and that bergamot shampoo you pretend you don't carefully select. when he soothes the bite with his tongue, you groan but tilt your head to give him better access, fingers tightening in his hair like you can't decide whether to push or pull. good thing for you (and for him or else you would've kicked his ass), your turtleneck can hide the love bite that was forming.

"asshole," you mutter halfheartedly, but you're leaning into him anyway, the side of your head resting against his when he finally settles for wrapping his arms around your waist and his chin on your shoulder. he can feel your heartbeat against his chest, steady and alive and here.

after a quiet moment, you clear your throat awkwardly. "i... reserved that table at le bernardin. tomorrow. seven sharp." you won't meet his eyes, focusing very intently on rearranging the chopped vegetables into unnecessarily precise lines. "don't be late. again." the unspoken 'i know you've been stressed lately so i got us a table at your current favourite restaurant' hangs between you, soft and vulnerable in ways you rarely allow. good thing mark's good at speaking your language.

mark's throat tightens. this is how you love—in practical gestures and gruff concern, in remembering his favorite comics and hyper fixations and pretending it's no big deal. he presses his smile into your shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of your detergent and that faint metallic hint from your throwing knives. "yes, dear," he teases, just to watch your ears turn pink. now he's thinking if gold would look good on you. of course it would, everything would look good on you. he just needs to find out which one you'd prefer.

and as he watches you meticulously wipe down the counter—always cleaning up his messes, always staying—mark thinks, yeah. he's definitely going to put a ring on it.

heyyy 🌊 anon! finally got to your request and i’m so glad you asked for this because god, we all need more of this soft, domestic fluff in our lives. spent two hours pouring my soul into this 2.8k one-shot and loved every second of it—like, please, i need this. i need markus sebastian grayson’s dumb ahh in my life. and debbie?? absolute queen. would let her adopt me in a heartbeat. would literally lover her as a mother-in-law :']

[akkivee]

do you ever think about the yamada’s fcking microwave above their damn refrigerator and get irrationally angry or are you normal

[hyunsvngs]

𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚! - stepdad!bang chan x fem!reader

wc: 10.2k

cw: chan is your mother's boyfriend and you want to fuck him, chan is 30 and reader is described to be younger & in college, lix is a menace, changbin is a moral compass, you do not care about morals, SMUT MDNI.

synopsis: you're home for the holidays, and your mother - who you can't stand - has a new, young, hot boyfriend. it's such a good idea trying to seduce him.. right?

a/n: it's so here <3 my first commission! i hope u all love it <3 smut warnings under the cut ofc. i also tried a new format with this fic so pls let me know what u think?!?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: dirty talk, breeding kink, mutual masturbation, daddy kink, unprotected sex, creampies, degradation, cumplay if u squint?, humiliation if u squint?, anal fingering (f rec), oral (f rec), edging maybe briefly, sex with feelings

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You hated going home for the holidays.

You were a rich kid, to put it simply. Your mother loved to leech off the men that she was with, marrying them quickly and trying to suck as much money as she could out of them in gifts and straight up cash before they eventually clued on and left her. It had been why your father had left when you were a mere infant, but you’d always lived in luxury due to the incessant payments that he was forced to give. You’d never met him, but there was a plus side - he was paying your college tuition, where you met your best friends.

Perhaps if you thought about it a bit more you’d realise that the only reason you went to college was to get away from your mother. She pissed you off, sauntering around the house in silk kimonos with a maid trailing behind her, pausing to look in mirrors so that she could choose where her next round of botox would hit. She frustrated you beyond belief, but you still had to go home for Christmas. Annoyingly early, too, because she had a surprise for you.

Okay, well, it wasn’t a surprise. She’d FaceTimed you a week earlier, an irritatingly wrinkle-free face popping up on the screen as she sipped mulled wine and revelled in your absence. She had a new boyfriend, she said. You’d love him, she said. Your opinion matters most to me, she said. The last one you knew to be a lie. God, you hated her. 

Still, you lugged your suitcase through the front door and huffed, booting the side with your foot to try and shake some of the snow off. No surprise, she hadn’t helped you in from your taxi. She hadn’t even come to get you from the airport a mere twenty minute drive away. You dropped the suitcase on the floor, giving it another kick just for good measure, and then you were trudging into the kitchen. You’d heard voices from there, so it had to be them.

“Oh, honey!” Your mother chirped upon seeing you. You couldn’t see the face of the man washing dishes behind her, his white shirt sleeves rolled up and back facing you. You didn’t care anyway. “You made it home safe, then.”

“Yeah. The taxi driver was super nice and let me call him mum,” You quipped. She furrowed her eyebrows, lips pursed. 

“Okay, you’re being weird already,” She mumbled, and then shook her head, shrugging it off. She walked to the man by the sink, spinning him around by his slender waist to display him to you. “This is Chan!”

You felt silly, stood in the kitchen doorway in oversized clothes and covered in ivory snow. The man’s eyes found you, shocked by your mother’s harsh manoeuvring, and he blinked with surprise at your figure. You blinked with surprise, too.

Chan was hot. Incredibly so, actually, and he looked young. Younger than your mother, with a big nose you wanted to ride and plush lips parting as he raised one hand to wave at you, still wet with soapy dishwasher. You wanted to lick him clean. The white shirt he wore stretched across broad shoulders, and the sleeves were fit to burst around incredibly toned biceps. You allowed your gaze to wander down, eyes focusing on the thick thighs in the black dress trousers he wore. 

There was no way this was real. “Okay,” You burst out laughing, eyes darting between Chan and your mother. “And, who is Chan? A friend? A colleague? He’s not your boyfriend.”

Chan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “No, I am. I’m your mother’s boyfriend, sweetheart.”

His voice was deep - too deep, deep enough to haunt your dreams and those late night sessions you had in your bed with your trusty vibrator. This was going to be trouble. You were going to be trouble.

“You’re shitting me,” You couldn’t get the amused smile off of your face. No fucking way. Your mother hadn’t bagged that. “You’re fucking with me. You have to be. Mum, he’s closer to my age than he is to yours.”

“I’m thirty, actually,” He mumbled, looking sheepish. Your mother stared at you in shock, jaw dropped at your brazenness. 

“I rest my case,” You concluded, nodding decisively. When the two of them just continued to stare, you bristled slightly, starting to hop from one foot to the other. Awkward. “You… are you actually together?”

“Yes, honey,” Your mother confirmed, still looking shocked. You scoffed.

“Okay, I really need to go, actually,” You gushed, turning around to leave the kitchen. “I’m- I’m going to my room. Really nice to meet you, Chan, really.” 

Shooting upstairs, you completely ignored your suitcase still leaking snow all over the hardwood floors and darted into your bedroom. It still looked exactly how you’d left it, band posters all over the walls and teddies littering the end of your bed. You threw yourself on top of the mattress, fingers yanking your phone out of your pocket and clicking the button on the most recent group call on FaceTime. Immediately, your college best friends picked up.

“There’s already a problem?” Felix scrunched his nose up, face way too close to the camera. Changbin was on the other side, face looking confused in the little square designated to him on your phone screen.

“I just met my mother’s boyfriend.”

“Oh, right, how did that go?” Changbin questioned, tilting his head to the side. You caught sight of your face in your own little square, flushed and appalled.

“He is thirty years of age, Changbin,” You began. Felix gasped, tiny hand moving to cover his mouth. “He is thirty years of age, and he is really fucking hot.”

“Oh my god,” Felix mumbled, muffled behind his hand. “Oh my god, you have to fuck him.”

Changbin choked on air. “She has to- No, Felix, no!”

“No, I can’t do that. It would be fucked up,” You mused. Or.. “Wait, would it even be that fucked up? He is closer to my age. I hate my mother.”

Felix’s hand fell, and he giggled before speaking in his trademark goblin voice - “Fuck him.”

“Don’t!” Changbin shrieked, his phone shaking in his hand. “I really think this is a bad idea.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Felix grinned, looking smug. “I’d do it.”

“There’s not a lot you wouldn’t do,” Changbin retorted. Felix stuck his tongue out at him. You, however, were silent, musing on the situation and staring at your wall. Could you do it? Changbin noticed, sighing. “Baby, please no.”

You licked your lips, nodding. You could do it. You wanted to do it - needed it, even. Those biceps were going to plague your life forever otherwise. “Operation fuck my mother’s boyfriend is a go.”

Felix screamed in delight. Changbin ended the call.

SATURDAY

It was time. Your mother was out at brunch with some friends, and you had plans to invade Chan’s personal space because you had a feeling he’d be too polite to tell you otherwise. You knew he’d set up the spare room as his own home studio, because your mother had delighted in telling you how Chan was a super successful music producer and was often tinkering away in there these days. You were going to let yourself in, try to get to know him a bit.

The knock you landed on the door was anything but subtle. Your fist rapped on the door and you heard a little hum in response, so you swung open the door, eyes landing on Chan hunched over his desk. He looked even younger like this, beanie pulled down over dark curls and headphones positioned on his head. He continued to stare at the file on his computer, head bobbing absentmindedly, so you strode up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He spun around on his computer chair, blinking confusedly at you. “Oh, hello.”

“Hi,” You beamed. “Sorry about last night. I was rude. I was feeling kinda weird, y’know, with the travelling.”

“No, I completely get it,” Chan put his hands up as if to diffuse the atmosphere. You nodded, still smiling. Chan stared at you when you didn’t respond instantly, and you crossed your hands behind your back, pressing against the plaid pattern of the dress you’d chosen for today. It was all part of the plan - the tight, short dress was perfect for seduction. He looked down at your chest, before clearing his throat, reverting his gaze to your eyes. “Um… did you need something, by the way?”

You gasped, as if remembering. “Oh, yeah! I did. My mother told me you were a music producer, and I was really curious. I was wondering if you’d show me some stuff…?”

It was Chan’s turn to smile, nodding excitedly. “Of course. Here, put these on.”

He linked two fingers around his headphones and handed them to you, to which you obediently put them over your ears. He was quieter now, but you could still slightly hear him mumbling as he found a spare chair for you to sit on. Your eyes scanned the files, eventually fixating on a file titled Drive. That one had to be dirty.

“Okay, so. I have this one, it’s my most recent one, and-”

“I want to listen to that one,” You cut him off, pointing at the song. When you turned to look at him, he was biting his lip nervously, pink tinting the ends of his ears and his cheeks. “What is it, Chan?”

“You- that one is a little, uh… heh. A little inappropriate.”

Unsurprisingly, you darted over his desk to grab the computer mouse and double click on the file. Chan squealed, but you ignored him, listening to the song. You were right. It was dirty, the two singers crooning about something that was a thinly-veiled innuendo about driving. It took you a second and then you clicked. One of them was Chan. This was Chan singing, on a song about sex. God, could he get any hotter?

You slid one of the ear cups off of your ear, turning to Chan with a shit eating grin. “This is you singing? You’re really good, Chan.” You weren’t lying. He was really good, and it had you wondering why he was a producer and not singing.

“Yeah, well, it was just an experimental track. Me and my mate were just messing around,” Chan mumbled shyly, hand scratching the back of his neck. You tried to avoid staring at the way his biceps tensed in his tight t-shirt at the movement. He was still blushing, but you had to kick it up a notch.

“It is kinda inappropriate, though, isn’t it?” You chirped excitedly. Chan’s lips parted, as if he was looking for something to say. His eyes stared into your own, piercing and dark and all-consuming. “I think you’re a little dirty, Channie.”

Chan’s eyebrows furrowed at your use of the nickname. “That’s- you can’t say that. That’s inappropriate.”

“What?” You feigned shock-horror. Play dumb. “I can’t call you Channie? Why not?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Chan groaned, pointing an accusing finger at you. You giggled anyway, jumping up and slipping the headphones back onto his head. You made sure to trail your fingertips down his neck after doing so. He shivered noticeably. You smiled.

“That was super good, Channie, thank you.”

You didn’t miss his groan of disbelief as you bounded out of the room. You had him, and it was easier than you’d expected it to be.

SUNDAY

Something was happening. You weren’t sure what, just yet, but something was happening. Chan was acting a little weird after what happened the day before, and you’d already caught Felix and Changbin up on the nonsense plan you had. 

“I think you need to accept that this is just down to you having a fat crush on him and severe daddy issues,” Changbin mused, and you gasped. He was right though. This wasn’t completely about getting back at your mother in a sick, twisted way. You wanted him.

Phase two of your plan was underway as soon as you caught sight of him on the sofa. He was watching some cheesy Christmas movie, your mother tinkering away in the kitchen - when had she ever cooked? - so it was prime seducing time. He had one of the thick throw blankets over his lap, fingers playing with the fluffy fabric absentmindedly. You hopped into the living room in your short pyjamas, frowning at Chan when you felt the goosebumps on your legs.

“Whatcha watching?” You asked, making him jump when he realised your presence. He smiled nonetheless, motioning to the seat next to him, and you took it. You perched and ensured that you left no room between you both.

“Some cheesy film. The woman’s marrying a prince, I think.”

“Sounds awful. I can’t wait to watch it,” You smiled, and Chan chuckled, relaxing on the sofa. You managed to make it five whole minutes before you were rubbing your hands up your legs, trying to create a semblance of warmth. 

Chan turned to you, frowning. “Are you cold, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” You whined, pulling your legs up into your chest. “‘S cold in here, right?”

“C’mere,” He mumbled, reaching for the end of the blanket and throwing it over your lap. You hummed contentedly, inching a little closer under the guise of the cold weather. The blanket was warm. You were kind of jealous he’d been in such comfort this whole time while you’d been thinking of ways to get his cock inside your mouth. 

“Thanks, Channie,” Chan only nodded, continuing to watch the film. You had a feeling he was pretending to be so focused on it, given you weren’t sure he even knew the plot before your arrival. 

You squirmed on your seat, thrashing each way until you found yourself comfortable, hand splayed over Chan’s knee. He tensed under your touch. 

“You’re touching me, sweetheart,” He warned, his voice low and deep. You shivered, turning to him.

“Am I?”

“You are. You’re touching my leg underneath the blanket, aren’t you?”

You hummed. “Is that okay, Chan?”

Chan turned to you, his eyes not even holding any sign of shock. He knew what game you were playing, you realised, and maybe he was playing along. He licked his lips, head back against the sofa, and then he shrugged dismissively. 

“It doesn’t bother me.”

You left your hand there for the whole film. 

MONDAY

The showers at home were something you’d missed. The ones in college didn’t quite cut it - not even now that you lived with Changbin and Felix in your own student home. All three of you were young adults, after all, and that came with you being a little too messy.

At home, you didn’t have to worry about mess. Your mother had cleaners employed with your dad’s money anyway. Admittedly, you realised you were being a little spoiled, so you’d learned to clean up after yourself. The showers were still better, though. Bigger, and the water pressure hit you just right. 

Especially when you detached the shower head and pressed it to your clit. You felt pathetic. You’d only tried to seduce Chan for two fucking days, and there you were, legs shaking at the thought of him. Maybe it was the chase that got you feeling hot, or maybe it was the fact that you might actually be getting somewhere - you might actually be getting close to fucking him, muscles bulging as he ploughed into you. 

It had you pressing the shower head harder, your spare hand coming up to pinch your nipple. You whined, bucking your hips into the water stream. The steam was all over the bathroom by now, staining the shower with condensation and making your skin feel pruned and flushed. Or did you feel flushed from the thoughts of Chan? Maybe he’d fuck you the way you liked. He must have experience, you assumed, being a few years older than you. You thought about how he’d make you feel, how he’d touch you, and how you’d feel in his arms. You thought about how you’d feel when you came, and what it would be like to be with him. You wanted to feel him so badly.

Was he as big down there as he was everywhere else? Sure, he’s not too tall, but he’s every part a man. That much was clear. Would he bend you in half, pushing you into a mating press and fuck you raw the way you liked, cumming inside and letting you call him daddy and-

You wailed, legs trembling with one last buckle before you were cumming. You felt wet, too wet even just from the shower, and you belatedly realised you’d have to wash again. Ugh. This plan needed to end, like… yesterday. 

Coming out of the shower freshly washed, you wrapped a towel around your figure and checked the time on your phone. Your thumb slipped around the screen from the condensation in the bathroom, but the plan was going well. If you left the bathroom now, then hopefully Chan would be heading to bed, and he’d catch you in your towel. Ideally, he’d be so hot for you that he’d just have to have you, and then you could get the thoughts of him out of your head.

You burst out of the room in a flurry of steam and movement, almost tripping over your own feet when you noticed that it had actually fucking worked. Chan stood stock still at the other end of the hallway, his eyes fixated on the way the towel wrapped tightly around your chest, at risk of falling. You smiled, waving innocently, and he stalked towards you. He was seeing red. You could tell from the way he cornered you, crowding around you with the small advantage he had on your height.

“You need to stop this,” He mumbled, eyes looking at your mother’s bedroom door. He was playing a dangerous game. You were, too, and you both knew it. “I’m dating your mother. You need to stop this, sweetheart.”

“Stop what?” You tilted your head, acting confused. “I just had a shower.”

Chan scoffed, shaking his head. “I fucking heard you in there.”

Oh. You couldn’t hide your smirk that time. “Yeah, I missed that shower head. Why were you perving on me, Chan?”

Chan rubbed his temples. He wasn’t wearing a beanie today, only a hoodie and baggy joggers. You liked it. You could see his hair like this, dark and curly and frizzy on his head. He looked cute. Wait, what?

He took a deep breath. His eyes moved to fixate on you, tongue running over his teeth. “Why would I be perving on you?”

“Oh, don’t lie,” You crossed your arms over your chest. Chan’s eyes moved down to stare at where your tits bulged over the towel. “I bet you stood there for ages, cock hard in your cute joggers, listening to me moan in the shower. That’s a little fucked up, no? Thinking about your girlfriend’s daughter like that-”

You were cut off by him pushing you to the wall, lips slamming into yours. He bit into your mouth instantly, letting out a deep groan and hands moving to grab your ass through the towel. You let your lips part in a whimper, pushing your tongue into his mouth and running your hands through his hair. It was a filthy exchange of tongue and teeth, and by the end of it, you were gasping, grabbing him by the waist and trying to pull him closer. You pulled away, breathing heavily and your eyes still locked on each other. You both stood there, not speaking, as you both processed what you had just done. You both knew it was wrong, but you wanted it so bad.

Chan stepped back, breathing out a heavy sigh. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

You watched in shock as he turned around, walking into your mother’s bedroom and leaving you there. You were wet again. This was getting ridiculous now. 

In your room, Felix screamed so loud you had to turn the volume down on your phone. Changbin choked on air again. 

TUESDAY

You hadn’t seen Chan all day. You presumed he was in his studio, working away on another track while your mother was in work. You were bored. Felix had been spending time with his family, and Changbin was out doing rich kid things that you could sympathise with. Thrashing around on your bed, annoyed and huffing, you decided you were just going to go and annoy Chan. It was your newly favourite pastime to get under his skin.

Stalking down the stairs to his studio, you paused when you heard a voice. Not just one voice, two voices. Was your mother there? No, no way. She never goes into that room, it’s his work room. You’d been in there though. You tried to suppress a grin at that realisation. 

The other voice was a man’s. Chan had a call on speakerphone, judging by the tinny effect covering the unknown male’s voice and Chan humming every so often. Who was the other man? A colleague, or just a friend?

“It’s fucking ridiculous, mate,” Chan groaned. You could barely hear him, and you held your breath, coming closer to the closed door. “I want her so bad, and it’s so wrong. I- I kissed her last night, Minho.”

There were a few yells from the other end of the phone. “You kissed her?! Chan, you fucking animal. You want her so bad, just fuck her. She’s clearly hoping that’s the outcome here.”

You grinned. You were.

“She’s- it’s outrageous. She walks around in practically nothing, and she’s got such a tight fucking body, man. She makes my dick so fucking hard, I’ve never felt anything like it before. Even when I met her, in the kitchen, she was-”

Chan cut himself off with a sigh. ‘Minho’ hummed, waiting for him to continue.

“She’s so bratty. She’s exactly the type of girl I would’ve gone for, before I met her mother.”

“Seriously?” Minho questioned, and Chan agreed. “You have to do it.”

“Minho-”

“No, Chan. I’m serious,” Minho’s voice was firm. “If she’s fucking you up this bad, you can’t have liked her mother that much, yeah? Just do it. You know it’s going to happen anyway.”

“It’s-” Chan began. You could imagine him rubbing his temples in distress behind the door. “She’s younger than me. I don’t want her to feel as though I’m taking advantage, y’know? The ball’s in her court.”

The ball has always been in your court.

“It sounds like she wants you to take advantage, to be honest,” Minho erupted in a fit of giggles, and you found yourself almost laughing along. Minho was annoyingly right. You only hoped he could get rid of that stick up Chan’s ass and get you a good dicking down.

It meant it was time for the next phase of your plan. You assumed Chan had wanted you, embarrassingly so, but you weren’t quite sure until he’d kissed you the day before. After hearing this conversation? Well, you had to do it.

You returned to your room, scribbling a quick note on a piece of paper. If Chan found this, which he would, it meant that he’d come to your room tomorrow night and you could maybe talk about what the fuck was going on. The sexual tension was too much for you, and now you knew he felt the same. Why were you beating around the bush? You had to make something out of this.

You ignored the stuttering of breath you heard when you slid the note under his door, and returned back to your room with a cocky grin.

WEDNESDAY

Chan hadn’t mentioned the note. You didn’t think he would, but you felt disappointed nonetheless. You’d woken up in the morning, eaten breakfast with him and your mother - cringing when he kissed her on the cheek when she left for work - and you’d even done the dishes yourself, letting him slip off to do some work in the studio. It was prime time for him to mention what you’d written, and he hadn’t. It was pissing you off.

Still, good things come to those who wait. You were confident. Felix had been egging you on all day over text, Changbin had been sending random upset emojis. It was perfect. 

Settling on your sheets at night, you felt a little pathetic. You’d lit a few candles, left the curtains just right on the window so that the moonlight billowed in, and Chan hadn’t arrived. Maybe he hadn’t received your note. No, there was no way - you practically heard his response through the door when he saw it slid under. He got the note. Perhaps you’d made him uncomfortable, made him withdraw from you despite all the progress you’d made. Why had you put in so much effort? You didn’t like him, not like that. Or did you? You felt ridiculous, almost like a child waiting for-

A knock on the door brought you out of your self-loathing thoughts, and you jumped up, swinging the bedroom door open. Chan immediately crowded inside of your bedroom, pressing the door shut softly. You stood there in silence, taking him in. He looked cosy, in a baggy hoodie and plaid pyjama bottoms. It was hard to believe he was dating your mother, especially when he looked so vulnerable like this - dark, curly hair still slightly wet from his shower, and his eyes blown wide with an unreadable emotion while he looked at you.

Chan sighed. “You’re really playing with fire. Do you know how this could look, me coming into your room at night? Do you know how wrong this is?”

You faltered. For the first time since meeting Chan, you felt as though he was angry at you. “I- I heard you on the phone, Channie. I thought you wanted me too.”

You watched in awe as Chan crossed your bedroom, groaning and throwing himself onto the bed. He was hard, erect in his bottoms. You blinked confusedly. He was hard just from being in here?

“I do want you,” Chan said, but it was muffled, hidden behind his hands that he had placed over his face in distress. He let them fall to his sides, staring up at the ceiling. “I want you so bad that it’s pissing me off beyond belief. I know what you’ve been doing too, trying to seduce me. It’s so pathetic it makes me feel hot, y’know?”

You giggled, following his journey across the room and settling next to him on the bed. You sat cross legged, comfortable in your long pyjamas. The candlelight flickered, casting a glow over his face, and he turned to look at you. He licked his lips, and then he let out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

“This is ridiculous-”

“It’s ridiculous that you haven’t fucked me yet,” You responded, quick as a flash. Chan leaned up on his forearms, raising an eyebrow at you. Now was the time. You had to say it. “You know how bad I want you. I touched you up on the sofa, and you let me. You wanted me to, I think. Correct me if I’m wrong, and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but-”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, and you’re not wrong,” Chan admitted. You could see the blush on his cheeks despite the dimly lit room.  He took a deep breath before continuing. “I want you, too.” 

Chan shot across the bed, leaning in and kissing you deeply, his hands tangling in your hair. It made you wet beyond belief that he just felt like he knew what he was doing, hands travelling down to your waist to softly press you into the sheets. His tongue swept into your mouth, pressing against yours and you whimpered, making him groan into the kiss. When his hands went up to your hair, he intertwined his fingers in the strands and pulled, making you gasp and let out a heady, hot breath. He pulled away, lips parted when he stared at you. 

“You are such a horny little thing, it’s so hot,” He mumbled, lips pressing to your neck. He bit your skin sharply, making you keen and spread your legs, allowing him to position his hips between your thighs. The movement pressed his bulge into your core, and you tried not to shift and move your hips in a rhythm of pleasure. His fingers traced over your skin, and he chuckled, a low, sexy sound that made your heart race. He pulled back, leaning back on his legs and staring at you, eyes blown wide with lust. “I want to see you touch yourself.”

You paused. “What?”

“I want to know what you like. Show me how you make yourself cum, and I’ll fuck you tomorrow night. How’s that sound?” He was propositioning you, teasing you, and you were falling for it - hook, line and sinker. 

You gave him a nod. Right. Touching yourself for him - that was something you could do. This was just another Wednesday for you, you loved putting on a show, especially for a man who was rock hard and obviously desperate for you. But with Chan… why did you feel so fucking nervous all of a sudden? You'd spent your whole day waiting to fuck him, and he’d taken back the power, thrown a wrench into your plans.

You leaned back on your bed. How did you sit sexily? You were stuck in your own head.

Chan moved backwards, hand moving over his clothed erection. He’d spread his legs, thick thighs parted for you to see the promising bulge between them. "Pretend I'm not even here, sweetheart," he said, eyes blown wide with lust. You almost rolled your eyes. Easier said than done, when he was sitting there with his dark curls and his thick, kissable lips and his impossibly huge bulge. “Touch yourself like you’ve done before. Show me how you make yourself cum, and I’ll fuck you tomorrow, I promise.”

Fuck it. You'd never let an attractive man break you down yet, and that wasn't going to change. You nodded timidly, hands moving to grip your breasts through your shirt. It made you sigh, and Chan responded with a noise of his own when you impatiently rucked the fabric up to above your chest. Sucking two fingers into your mouth, you whined when you traced the wet digits around your pebbled peak teasingly. 

“Ah, ‘s- I’m sensitive there, Channie,” You mumbled, and he nodded as if he was making a note for it for later. You trailed your fingertips across your nipples, pinching and twisting them almost painfully just to make your hips cant up into thin air. You were too impatient to do this how you normally would, so you scratched your fingernails down your tummy and shoved a hand in your pyjama bottoms. You were met with slick, wet folds, fingers sliding around in the mess you made. 

“Show me,” Chan said, eyes trained on where your hand disappeared beneath the fabric. “Show me that pussy. You’re meant to be showing me everything, remember?”

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” You huffed, and Chan shook his head in disbelief, grinning. You were shocked to see he actually listened, though, pushing his joggers down to his thighs and letting his erection spring out. It was impossibly hard, pearlescent drops accumulating on his cockhead and you licked your lips subconsciously. “I wanna-”

“No,” Chan cut you off, hand moving to wrap around his cock in a tight fist. He was long, thick and heavy between his thighs and you felt your pussy clench sadly around nothing. “Show me your pussy. I’m not asking again, let me take a look at it.”

You whined, pushing your pyjama bottoms down to reveal your slick core. Your clit was swollen, throbbing with need just from a few kisses and Chan’s general presence, and you could feel a rivulet of wetness sliding down between your lips. Chan groaned in approval, hand quickening on his cock just slightly.

“Spread it, show me your hole,” Chan said, and you moved your thighs further apart for him. Reaching down with two fingers, you moved them into a v-shape and spread your folds for him. Your hole quivered under the inspection, leaking more wetness and Chan’s eyes were hyper fixated on it. “Oh, baby. That looks tight. Has no one ever fucked that little pussy right, huh? Tell me.”

“N-No,” You shook your head, thighs quivering when you finally let two fingers rub over your clit. You started with a blistering pace immediately, making your toes curl into the sheets and your back arch upwards. “No, I- it’s only boys from college, I don’t-”

“Ah, I see. You need someone older, yeah? More experienced?” Chan questioned, his breath coming out heavy with every tightly fisted movement on his cock. You whined, nodding, and then you were breaching your hole with two fingers immediately. The stretch made you groan, head falling back against the pillow. “Is that why you tried to seduce me, yeah? Wanted to have my cock stretching you out just right, wanted to call me daddy while I made you cry?”

God, he’d got it. He was right on the mark. “Yes, y-yes, I- I wanted to, oh, I wanted to call you daddy, and- and feel you inside me, and oh, Channie, please-” You cut yourself off with a moan, perhaps too loud as you curled your fingertips up against your g-spot. Chan threw his head back, letting out a grunt as he pinched his cockhead almost painfully. 

“Say it then, baby. What’s stopping you?” He polished the head of his cock, moaning before he took it into his tight grip again. His precum served as lubrication, his hand now making wet slick sounds on his thick length. You gasped when he moved his free hand to his balls, rubbing calloused fingertips over them and letting out his own gasp. “Beg me for my cock. I know you want it, look at you. Fuckin’ desperate, yeah? Beg daddy for his big cock.”

“Oh, daddy,” You whined, moving your free hand to rub over your clit. Everything was so wet, sliding around your pussy and you were honestly surprised you could feel anything - but it felt so fucking good, having him watch you like this, learning what you liked so he could replicate it. “Fuckin’- daddy, daddy, please, can I have it? Been good, doin’ what you asked, I- hnnng, daddy, oh my god-”

“No,” He smiled, a cocky grin while he rubbed one hand over his cock and the other over his heavy balls. “No, baby. Not tonight. Make yourself cum tonight, and daddy will help you tomorrow.”

“I- need more, need more, I-'' Chan surged over the bed, leaning over your figure to press his lips against yours. His tongue dominated your mouth again, and you could feel his closed fist hitting your stomach as he worked himself to his orgasm. The sensation had you whining against his plush lips, fingers thrusting quicker into your pussy and your other hand sliding around your clit messily. When he pulled away, lips digging into your bottom lip teasingly, his lips were quick to move to your neck to suck some dark purple marks into the skin. You felt yourself trembling, your body tense as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge. Your fingers stroked your walls faster, pussy fluttering around your digits in delight, and your mouth opened in a gasp as you felt your body tense and tremble with pleasure. “I’m g’na- g’na cum, gonna cum, please, can I? Can I, daddy? Can I cum for you, please?”

“Yeah, baby,” He huffed, eyes rolling back into his head. He was practically drooling onto your skin, lips parted against your neck as you whined and thrashed on your bedsheets. “Cum for me. Been good for daddy, haven’t you? You can cum, baby, c’mon. Show me how pretty you are when you cum.”

You fell apart around your own fingers, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave. Your thighs tensed with your orgasm, your pussy clenching down impossibly tighter around your hand and flooding down to your knuckles with your cum. You begged and pleaded, your voice a barely audible babble as your body shook with the sensation. 

Finally, when you’d just felt like you were coming down, Chan pulled your wrist away from your pussy. The movement left you empty, your walls still clenching down except now it was around nothing, and you whined, bottom lip quivering in need. 

“Hands off,” He sighed, hand slowing down on his cock. He was trying to last longer for something - you weren’t sure what, but you let your other hand drop from your clit obediently. “Daddy’s gonna cum on this wet little hole, baby, okay? You gonna let me cum here, mark you as mine?”

“Yes,” You moaned, nodding. You couldn’t think of anything better, actually. “‘M yours, I’m yours, daddy, gimme.”

“Dirty thing, perfect little girl,” He grunted, and then he was positioning his cockhead at your hole. With a few more movements, increasing in speed, you watched as his face screwed up in pleasure. His hips bucked, and with a final thrust, he came. You felt his cum drip down your hole as he groaned through his orgasm, thick white cum plastering your pussy. It was definitely the sexiest thing you’d experienced, but you still felt a little disappointed - why couldn’t he have just done it inside you?

“Wan’it,” You whined, pulling your legs back. Chan chuckled upon seeing the pout on your lips. “Why couldn’t you- in me, wanted it in me, daddy.” 

“Greedy bitch,” He mused, and then he was delving down to your core. Your mind went blank when his tongue licked fat stripes up your folds, collecting all of his cum and your wetness in his mouth. You briefly thought you could cum from this, very quickly judging by the way he knew what he was doing, but he simply leaned over you and grabbed your jaw. 

Oh. You let your lips part, tongue lolling out of your mouth obediently, and he spat the mixture of your cum into your mouth. You felt him lick into your mouth again, groaning at the taste of your pussy and his load. He smiled against your lips and pulled away, your eyes wide as you tried to process what had just happened. 

Chan’s lips curved in satisfaction at your state, your chest still heaving with a blotchy rash that bore the truth of what you’d been up to. He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, and then he was standing up and leaving the room, bottoms barely pulled over his hips. You laid there, feeling an intense mix of pleasure and confusion.

What the fuck just happened?

THURSDAY

You hadn’t even processed what had happened last night. In all honesty, you’d run out of the house in the morning under the premise of a coffee date with friends you didn’t even have. You just sat in the cafe on call with Changbin and Felix and screamed way too loudly for a public area. The whole cafe knew of your predicament by the end of it.

Upon your return home, you’d beelined to your room and kicked the door shut as quietly as you could. Unfortunately, your foot slipped on the floor and you’d ended up face down with a groan.

Turning over onto your back, you huffed at the offending item that had caused your decline to the ground. A piece of paper met your eyes, neatly folded and written on with what looked like black Sharpie when you’d finally unravelled it.

Three words. Three words that changed your life and let you know that what occurred the night before had really happened. No, not ‘I love you’ - it was simple, a scrawled ‘your room, tonight’. It did happen. You touched yourself in front of Chan, and he was planning on coming back to your room to continue what you’d discussed.

You wanted to squeal and kick your feet, but beneath it all, you felt panicked. This plan had gone too far, and you’d perhaps started to think about spending time with your mother’s boyfriend - actual time, not just sexually charged meetings. It hurt a little bit, a pang in your chest when you remembered that what was happening really was just sexual. Your little arrangement being anything else just wasn’t fathomable.

Chan was interesting. He was a fucking music producer, for god’s sake. That was just straight up cool. That, and he was older than you - you did have raging daddy issues like your friends had said, after all. His friend had sounded funny on the phone, which meant he had to be funny, too. 

All things serious, you didn’t really know much about him, but you wanted to know. Felix had encouraged you to find out, and you felt like you owed it to him - or yourself, you weren’t sure. 

The knock on your door once the evening fell brought you out of your reverie. Chan didn’t wait for a response, swinging your bedroom door open and walking straight in as if he owned the house. You huffed at his demeanour, yet your eyes were still fixated on the way he walked over to your bed with intent. You threw your phone to the side. Felix would have to wait for your half-typed text message. 

“Back again so soon?” You quipped, and he raised an eyebrow. He was only in grey joggers, the thin material highlighting his thick dick imprint between his legs. The fabric hung low, showing off the body that you knew he worked so hard for. His chest was honey toned, yet covered in light, sparse freckles - you wanted to make yourself acquainted with every single one. You felt a little overdressed in just an oversized t-shirt and shorts.

Seeing the frustrated expression on your face, Chan’s own face fell. “Do you not want me here?” He said, voice no more than a whisper. “I can go, if you don’t want to see me tonight. I just thought-”

“I do,” You nodded, finally raising yourself from your position lying down to sitting up cross legged. Chan laid on the bed in front of you, one arm propping his head up. He gazed at you for a few moments, and you could see the relief in his eyes at your words. “I do want to see you tonight. I want to see you like… a lot. Don’t you think it’s weird though? I’m your girlfriend’s daughter, Chan, and we’ve kissed and- and done other stuff, and-”

He scooted over so that he was next to you, and you leaned into him subconsciously. He pulled you in with his arm around your shoulders, broad and muscled. You felt content, comfortable and most of all safe. It was a feeling you’d never felt before.

“I don’t think it’s weird,” Chan hummed, his chest vibrating beneath where you’d landed when he pulled you in. He chuckled, then, his hand moving to your hair comfortingly. “Okay, maybe it is a little weird. I’m just very interested in you. I know you heard me on the phone to Minho, and yes, you are my type - I want to know more about you. Like, even beneath the sexually charged tension, heh.”

Oh. You licked your lips, eyes fixated on a random spot in your wall. “You do?”

He nodded. “I do.”

You couldn’t help yourself. You raised your head, surging over Chan’s body to press a kiss to his lips. His hair was soft when you ran your hands through it, despite random curls getting caught in your nails and causing him to groan at the pain flooding through his scalp. His hands went to your waist, licking into your mouth while he effortlessly pulled you on top of him. The show of strength had you whimpering into the kiss, hands moving down to his jaw. It clenched and unclenched while he had full control over your mouth despite you being on top. 

You pulled away with a wet sigh, moving downwards to kiss at his neck. He groaned underneath his breath at the sensation of your lips on his skin. Your bed squeaked awkwardly as you moved down it, too quick for the old springs to handle. It felt naughty, kissing him like this in your childhood room - it felt even dirtier than the night before had, and you hadn’t done anything yet.

“I need you, Chan,” You whispered, nipping at his collarbone. “Need you. Please.” 

He gasped as he felt your tongue trace the outline of his collarbone. He flung one bicep over his dark eyes with a deep sigh, allowing you to kiss and bite all over his skin. He looked like he was trying to control himself. You didn’t want him to.

Your hips started to grind against him, and you placed your palms flat on his chest. Both of Chan’s hands moved back to your hips with a surprised noise, but he didn’t stop you. His dick was hardening in his joggers, and it was providing the best clothed friction to your aching, needy clit below your pyjama shorts. You saw how big it was before, yet the length of it still shocked you when you slid your clothed core up and down the shaft.

“Daddy,” You whined, hips starting to buck frantically. You were sure that you had never felt this needy in your life. “Daddy, daddy, I want you so bad. You turn me on so bad, make me feel so hot, please-”

“Baby,” Chan groaned, his head falling back against your pillows. The soft pink bed sheets juxtaposed completely with what you were doing, and juxtaposed completely with him - Chan, the muscled man with dark hair who wore black and grey clothes constantly. It was as if he was corrupting you, and he was in a sense, being so much older. “Baby, c’mere, come and lay on the bed. Let daddy eat you out, yeah?”

“No,” You shook your head, hips still moving on his erection. Chan’s chest had started to accumulate a thin layer of dewy sweat, slick on his skin and making you want to lick it off. “I want your cock. I don’t wanna wait, I don’t wanna wait, please, just put it in, I’m wet enough, I promise.”

He knew you were babbling, incoherent in your haze of lust, but he still entertained you enough anyway. You spread your legs wider when his hand met your thigh, and then he was pushing two fingers beneath your shorts. He was met with your slick folds, and you gasped at feeling the touch of his fingertips, calloused from years of working with music.

“Oh, fucking hell. Dirty girl, dirty fuckin’ girl,” Chan moaned, his eyes almost rolling back into his head. “This pussy’s so fuckin’ wet, baby. All we did was kiss. Are you that much of a slut for me? Are you that much of a slut for your mother’s boyfriend? That’s filthy.”

“Yes!” You wailed, nodding. You reached down, canting your hips backwards a little bit so you could spread your thighs wider before hooking your fingers in your shorts and pulling them to the side. The movement revealed your pussy, clit swollen at the top of soaking wet folds, covering your drippy hole. “I wan’it so bad, so bad, so bad, please, please. Just push it in, make it hurt, I don’t care-”

Chan shoved the fingers of his spare hand between your parted lips, effectively shutting you up. “Shut up. You’ve got to prove to me you deserve it, baby.”

With those words, he was pushing a finger past your entrance. It breached your hole easily, the digit sliding through your wetness and curving up past your g-spot. Chan shook his head in a mixture of disbelief and shock, and then he was pulling his finger out. With a quick movement, he’d yanked his joggers down and let his cock spring out. The coarse hair was trimmed above his long, thick shaft and you couldn’t help but imagine the type of friction that would give your clit - you couldn’t wait.

“You were right. That slutty pussy is wet enough,” He mused, pulling your hips over his bare cock. Your pyjama shorts were slightly in the way, and you pulled them aside even more, letting your folds leave wetness over his shaft. “Lower yourself on it. Stretch yourself out. Slowly.”

You did as he asked, lowering your body onto his length. You felt the stretch immediately. You moaned, loud and ringing off of your walls. You didn’t give a shit if your mother heard. Fuck, you needed this. You wanted to bounce all over his cock until there was nothing left and your hole could do nothing but remember the tight fit. Trying to sit down quicker, Chan grabbed your hips, stopping you while only half his length was in you.

“You're gonna hurt yourself like that, sweetheart. That hole is so tight around me.”

“Please, daddy,” Your head fell into the nape of his neck. You wriggled yourself in his tight hold, trying to get more of his length in your pussy. He shook his head against you, chuckling.

“You want it? Fine, but don't fucking cry to me when it hurts,” Chan said, letting go of your ass. You realised he'd been holding you up, and within a millisecond you'd slammed down onto him. You wanted to scream, the stretch more than you could take. He laughed again, raising his eyebrows at you mockingly. “Too big?”

"N-No, perfect," You retorted. He moaned, spreading his legs and placing his feet flat on the mattress. More. More. Fucking more. You began to raise on him, expecting to ride that perfect cock, but he started to thrust up into you at an unrelenting place straight away, his balls slapping against your ass. You moaned incoherently, almost babbling, hands digging into his toned biceps. He leaned up to nip at your neck, and then he was pulling your t-shirt off of your body.

“No fucking bra?” Chan laughed in disbelief. His mouth went straight to your nipples, biting and sucking on the hard peaks. You jostled on his lap with his thrusts. You wanted to rub your clit, but you felt like he probably wouldn't let you. “Knew you were fucking filthy, sweetheart. You didn't even care about me going raw, did you? You want my load in that dirty hole. And now I find out these pretty tits were only one layer away from me…”

His voice trailed off. You whined, leaning down to try and kiss him again. He shoved his two fingers back in your mouth, making you suck on them. His bruising sucks caused your nipples to hurt, and you fucking loved it. You knew he was marking you up and you'd just have to deal with it.

You tried to start riding him. He didn't let you, manhandling you off of his cock.

“Daddy!” You whined in protest. Chan chuckled. He lifted you and manhandled you so your back was facing him on your bed, and you immediately repositioned yourself so you were face down, ass up. He reentered you in one swift thrust, causing you to jolt in surprise.

“Fucking tight pussy,” He groaned, thrusting into you with the same vigor as before. You almost screamed, but managed to just moan incoherently. The mattress creaked, the sound of old springs ringing around the room. “Fucking dirty hole. Listen to that, sweetheart. Can you hear how wet your cunt is for daddy's cock? For your mother’s boyfriend’s cock?”

You tried to stop whining and moaning to hear what he was pointing out to you, hearing wet slaps. Your cheeks burned with humiliation, fingernails digging into the mattress. You knew you were dripping for a fact now. You could hear it, you could hear everything, his balls slapping against your clit as well as the wet noise of his heavy cock reentering you. 

You threw your ass back against him, trying to get the tip to hit that special spot inside of you. 

“I think that asshole needs me too, sweetheart,” Chan laughed mirthlessly, his hands resting firmly on your ass, encouraging your bouncing. You moaned in response, clenching your pussy tight. He was going to ruin you for everyone. You'd have to just keep coming back for more. “You want daddy's finger in there? You want me to finger your asshole?”

Oh, yes. “Please, daddy, need to be full,” You said, wiggling your hips against him. You vaguely registered him reaching around you and making you suck on the fingers that had previously been in your mouth. He was going to fill both of your holes, and he moaned loudly at the sight of you sucking his fingers. There was no way that the whole house hadn’t heard you both by now. You hoped they were sleeping.

You sighed in ecstasy, feeling the fingers begin to move inside your ass. His thrusting was now hitting your g-spot in your pussy, given the added pressure from being full in both holes. You felt the orgasm finally begin to build. You liked the way he wasn't rushing you to cum, not like those younger college boys. He was taking care of you and just having good fucking sex. “Feels so fucking good, daddy. Feels so good.”

You were now semi-incoherent, your words all joining together in one long moan. Chan loved it, judging by his moans. His cock was pulsing inside you. You wondered if he was close. You wanted him to fill you up to the point where it was dripping out of you. 

He pulled out of you again, grabbing your leg with one strong hand and flipping you onto your back. You were out of breath from the exertion, despite him doing all the work, and he looked fully composed save for the thin sheen of sweat on his body.

“Feels good, baby?” He asked, looming above you. You squirmed feeling your sweaty back rubbing against the blanket uncomfortably, but you nodded anyway. You wanted to please him. He looked down at your writhing body, letting out another groan. “So fucking sexy. You don’t know how much you fucking killed me, teasing me like that. Touch that pussy for me again, show me.”

He started pumping his shaft quickly, still staring down at you. You reached down with one hand and immediately pressed two fingers against your entrance, collecting the slick gathering outside before diving straight in. You curled your fingers against that spot inside of you, whining out. It wasn't enough. Not after having that fat cock in you. He definitely had ruined you for everyone else, including yourself. Nothing was ever going to feel the same again. 

“Mmm. Looks so wet, sweetheart. Daddy wants a taste, is that okay?” Chan questioned, moving back onto his knees. You pulled your fingers out and tried not to cry at the loss.

“Please, daddy. Wanna cum in your mouth,” You slurred out, pushing his head towards you. He moaned into your pussy, taking his fat tongue and licking one wet stripe up your slit. He pulled your pussy back, exposing that throbbing clit to him, and placed one lick directly onto your button. "Fuck, daddy, feels so good! Suck it, please, suck it. I - please - need to cum so bad!"

“Need to cum, huh, sweetheart? I'll make your little pussy throb for me and then I'm putting my cock right back in that tight hole, where it belongs,” He spoke. He thrust two fingers into your slit, much thicker and longer than yours. You spread your legs, holding them up against your chest. You literally almost purred when he started moving his fingers, curling them up into that spot and sucking on your clit whilst he did so. It wasn't going to take long. The man was clearly amazing at every part of sex. 

You focused on the feeling of his wet tongue rubbing up against your clit and writhed, feeling closer and closer to the edge. He knew what he was fucking doing. Your thighs started to shake, taking everything in you not to just let them go from your hold and clutch around Chan’s head. You wanted him to permanently live between your thighs. Your eyes clenched shut, a deep sigh leaving you. 

“Fuck, I'm g’na cum,” You mumbled out, chest heaving and flushed a shade of crimson. Chan pulled away, causing you to whine. You pouted, reaching up to grab his shoulders. "No, no! You said I could. You said you would help me.”

“What I said was that I'd make it throb for you and then I'm sliding back right in here, sweetheart. Be good for daddy, you'll get to cum,” He positioned his length at your core again, sliding right back into home. You both moaned, and he was fucking you in a mating press this time, almost as if you were a couple in love. You wished you were, and realised this was definitely your favourite position so far. The man fucked like an animal and now he was fucking you like he was going to breed you, and you loved it. He reached down with one hand to rub your clit rapidly, trying to bring you to the edge. “This is my fucking pussy. My favourite fucking pussy, my only girl, the only pussy for me, okay?”

“Fuck!” You cried of overstimulation, hands still wrapped around your legs. “G’na... getting close again, gonna-”

“Cum then, sweetheart, flood my cock. Make a mess for me, come on, do it," Chris encouraged, breathing heavily next to your ear. His eyes were focused on where he was entering you over and over again, taking note of the white ring of slick that had formed around the base of his cock, soaking the hair that rested there. You scrunched your eyes shut, feeling overwhelmed with bliss. “That's it. That's my good girl.”

White hot ecstasy overtook your body. You wanted to squirm, but with the pressure of the muscular man on top of your body, you had nowhere to go. You focused on the feeling of his slick chest rubbing against your sensitive nipples, whining and moaning as the orgasm coursed through your body and made it feel like you were being electrocuted. 

“Fucking clenching on my cock, shit,” Chan groaned, his hand falling away from your clit once your breathing had began to calm slightly. His hands went down to grab your hips, and before you knew it, he was lifting your hips up and fucking you senseless, treating you like a toy. “W-Wanted to be soft with you for our first time, sweetheart. I'm not normally like this, not at all, but this fucking pussy is driving me insane, fuck... I need to fill you up. Will you let daddy fill that pussy with my cum, sweetheart? Let me breed you, make you mine?”

You nodded quickly, unable to speak at this point. Your hole felt raw, sensitive and fucked open, but you needed his cum in you. You thought you might die if you didn't get it soon. His tip jabbed into your g spot incessantly, almost causing you to cum again, but you subconsciously knew you couldn't take another orgasm at the same level as the previous one. You might die. 

“Fucking- g’na breed you, sweetheart. Gonna make you mine. G-Gonna give you a baby, g’na fill you up, fuck!”

With an animalistic growl, Chan’s head dropped to your neck, biting into the skin there and definitely leaving a mark. You felt his hips still and cum flooded out of the tip of his length, flooding your hole with a new sense of wetness. You sighed with content and laid there until Chan’s breathing calmed, his body weight fully on top of you and yet not uncomfortable. 

“I have to be honest about something,” Chan sighed. You looked up at him from your position on his chest, and he looked down at you with an apprehensive look. He looked a lot shyer than he did moments before, when he was fucking you senseless and calling you a slut - he was blushing now, embarrassed. You were sure that’s what you liked about him. “You’re- it’s like you were made for me. I don’t know what the fuck to do, heh. I’m falling for you, I think.”

You blinked, leaning up to rest inches away from his face. Got him. You’d got him. “Well, that’s okay, Chan. You’re closer to my age anyway, right?”

[aangelinakii]

SOME TIME FOR HIMSELF.

— of course he's grateful, but...

summary : of course damian likes that you get on well with his family, he just wishes that maybe they'd let him actually pull you away from them.

note : i always feel like my damian fics are on a whole other level 💀💀 they're so poetic

the first time damian introduced you to his family, inviting you to dinner one night, he had high hopes that you would be a crowd favourite — and he was never wrong about that.

his father had welcomed you into their abode with a tight smile, kind, of course, but rather wary as to what your intentions may be with his son; by dessert (alfred's star tiramisu) bruce was laughing at every joke and grinning at every story.

his brothers — dick, jason, tim and duke — introduced themselves with their most intimidating glares, thick arms crossed over their chests, emphasising their size, and just how much damage they could do if any came to their youngest kin; as alfred's tiramisu was settling happily in stomachs, they found themselves squabbling over who deserved to get you on their team for eight-ball pool. duke won.

that night damian found himself falling asleep quickly, a soft smile plastered to his lips, images of your smile, so comfortable, as you chatted easily with steph as you awaited your turn with the cue. you'd even managed to crack cass out of her shell a little — and it was only tonight that damian realised how big of a family he had.

even alfred had good things to say when damian purposely stayed back to help him load up the dishwasher once dessert was finished.

he couldn't help that warm pride fizzing in his chest.

but that was four months ago, and damian thinks he sees more of your avatar on wii sports than he actually sees of you.

any time you come round his, you're always whisked away by tim wanting to show you the newest issue of a comic you both gushed over a month ago, or steph dragging you up to her room to update you on some gossip she told you about that time you were here last week. sometimes even ace can't help himself wanting your attention.

he doesn't necessarily want to border you from his family, but when you live in a family so big, no one understands the definition of "personal space."

it gives damian the chances to take you out on dates, go out of his own comfort zone; the arcade, the cinema, paintballing, mini-golf. when money doesn't want to be spent, you two can go on walks, or spend your time together at the library getting studying done.

but sometimes chilling at home is nice, too.

sometimes he wants to play wii sports with you, not sit back on the couch, forced to watch you play tennis against jason; sometimes he wants to play one-on-one eight-ball against you, not stand against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for the game to finish.

so today he's going to be sneaky.

it'll be difficult, sneaking around a family of detectives and vigilantes and alfred, but damian thinks he can do it.

as he creaks open the mansion's front door, the alarm disarmed by one alfred pennyworth — the only person damian had told in advance about your being there, as he realised there was nothing you could hide from that man, even if you tried — damian scans the foyer for any bystanders. once he's sure there's no movement, he looks back at you and smiles, pushing the door wider for you to step past him.

"i say let's get some food and take it upstairs, so we have steady rations for the day," damian suggests, taking this slightly more seriously than you expected; the crease in his brow reminding you of an army general checking the bunker's inventory for the week.

with a soft chuckle, you allow damian's soft palm to take yours, his nimble fingers closing around the back of your hand, tight like he hasn't been able to hold it in a long time — and he has, he's just being dramatic.

feet careful against the marble floor when the plush carpet disappears, damian leads you into the kitchen, where a softly whistling alfred is standing with his white sleeves rolled to his elbows before the sink, drying up glass cups with a cloth.

he barely sends you a glance, though the corner of his mouth curls slightly, and his whistling ceases for a moment.

"i had to tell alfred you were coming," damian explains, his voice an undertone in efforts to not attract any adopted siblings or billionaire fathers. he heads to a cupboard and opens it, pulling out a few crackly packets of crisps and other shared-favourite snacks he claims to have gone out and bought just for today. "he knows too well when i am lying, even though i hadn't lied about anything yet — i was just scared he would find out if i had."

back from the sink, alfred's whistling stops, though the squeaking of polished glass continues. "wise decision, master damian, i'm glad i taught you early on."

now he glances back. "i would go quickly now, last i saw, master dick and master jason were on their way up from the gym. if you want to avoid them, as you say, i wouldn't dawdle."

"dawdle? we are not—"

"master damian," alfred's tone lilts pointedly.

"right." and, with that, some snacks in your grip, some in damian's, he shifts the weight of them to one arm, which seems slightly uncomfortable, and carefully takes your elbow to lead you through a passage behind the fridge.

flickering flames crackle as you ascend the winding steps to the second floor.

"i get you want to have one-on-one time, damian, but you know i really like your family," you find yourself saying halfway up. "it's not that you think i dislike them, is it?"

"no," damian's quick to respond, glancing back at you. "it is that i am beginning to dislike them. they disturb our time together. every time."

you're about to reply, saying something about how maybe time together is turning into time with them, which is okay, but a cluster of voices mutters past the suit of armour concealing you in the shadows of the passageway, and damian presses a finger to his lips.

it's certainly steph, being a girl's voice, chipper, unlike cassandra's, and a boy's voice, either dick's or tim's — but there's people there, and damian doesn't want to be found. more so, you to be found.

after a few silent beats, the voices recede, as well as footsteps atop carpet, and damian leads you out from behind the suit of armour.

just as you're coming out from thr passage, your shoulder clings against the metal elbow of the knight, having misjudged the tightness of the gap between him and the wall, and a metallic twang rings out.

in a manor filled with junior detectives, nothing of the sort goes unnoticed or unchecked, and a door opens before damian can even take your hand.

"(name)!" a voice gasps cheerfully — three guesses who — and another one groans, who you know by now is your boyfriend's.

chest torn between wanting to go along with what damian had planned, and responding to steph as she emerges from her room, your instincts respond. "steph! hey!"

"i didn't know you were coming round today," she smiles, absently taking a pack of crisps from the bundle in your arms and opening it up for herself.

behind you, damian scowls, not taking it upon himself to hide it at all. "that was the point."

stephanie doesn't seem to notice damian's tone, or, seemingly, damian's presence at all, and she places a hand on your shoulder. "you'll never guess what happened the other day," she begins, guiding you back towards her room.

"more already?" you laugh, both intrigued, yet glancing back wistfully towards damian, who's been left alone in the hallway.

"like you wouldn't believe!"

just as she's about to close the door, damian appears, hand on the wood, holding it open, the food dropped somewhere back in the corridor, thick eyebrows knitted together like a sweater. "hey!"

"oh, hey, dames," stephanie takes a break in her gossip update as she sits down at the pink swivel chair at her cluttered desk. "just stealing your partner for a sec, i hope that's okay?"

"it's not," he replies before stephanie can turn back to you and continue.

the stone in his tone is abrasive, gritty, something usually unheard of. stephanie could ignore it, but she finds herself mouth open, blonde eyebrows upturned.

"oh, i'm sorry, i—"

"no, you're not sorry," damian cuts her off again, stomping towards you and takes some of the load off your shoulders, taking a few of the snacks from your arms. "you always do this. whenever (name) comes round, you and everybody else in this house take them away from me. they're here to see me, not you. not you, not dick, not tim, not father."

"hey, that's not fair—" stephanie shoots you a guilty look as her sentence is cut off once more by your emotional boyfriend.

"what's not fair is that the time i want to spend with them is diminished by my siblings, who are not even my real siblings, who insist on being utterly... utterly stupid!"

damian storms off in a huff, off into the hallway and into his bedroom, where the door slams, causing you and stephanie to flinch.

by now she's abandoned her open crisp packet, her appetite suddenly gone, and you don't feel too normal sitting on the edge of her bed with a strange array of snacks in your arms. you want to apologise, but now you understand why damian was so intent on having a day just the two of you.

the words are on the tip of your tongue, and you want to meet steph's gaze, but you can't really bring yourself to.

"i... sorry, i..."

"it's okay, i should be the one who's sorry," stephanie dismisses your apology with a small shake of the head, not watching you either. "i think you should go check on him."

you release the bundle of snacks onto stephanie's duvet, which you don't think she minds, and get to your feet.

when you pass through stephanie's doorway into the corridor, a few heads are peeking out of doors, including duke a few rooms down holding an airpod in hand, having plucked it out to eavesdrop. you offer a smile, and he shares it, putting his airpod back in and retreating to the safety of his room.

outside damian's room, you knock lightly and let yourself in, knowing he won't respond, but also knowing no one else would be knocking on his door after something like that.

he's lying face-first on his bed, fists clutching the sheets so tight his knuckles are turning white.

the mattress sinks slightly beside him as you lower yourself down, placing a careful hand on his shoulder blade.

"damian?" you try, voice just as soft as your touch. "i'm sorry i bumped into the armour, it was an accident. i didn't mean to get steph's attention, and i didn't realise how important it was to you that we got to spend time together."

though muffled, damian's voice comes from within his navy, star-speckled duvet. "it's not your apology to give, you did nothing wrong."

he shifts and you can see half his face, eyebrows still screwed towards each other. "it's everyone else. they can be too much. they always ruin our time together."

"i don't think they realise they're ruining it," you suggest softly. "i think they think they're doing good by you, by getting to know me and having a positive relationship with me. have you ever told them it bothers you?"

the gap between your question and damian's reply is long and lengthy, stretching longer and longer, and you already know the answer, that by the time it comes you're not surprised.

"no."

your hand smoothes circles over damian's upper back. "damian..." you sigh. "how can you expect them to know what you want if you don't tell them?"

mouth squishing out in a pout, damian's shoulders shrug up beneath your touch.

"i know it's difficult, and sometimes you feel like some people should know better, but i think you should tell them."

with a sigh, damian pushes himself up to a seated position, eyebrows less tense on his forehead. "i know, you're right."

improving from that pout, damian's lips pull into a small, minute smile, and he leans forward to engulf you in a hug. "i'm sorry for overreacting," he huffs into the crook of your neck.

at the affection, you feel your lips curl in tandem with his, and one of your arms comes around his back to reciprocate. "it's okay, damian, and besides, it's not me you should be apologising to. we can go together, okay? and then you can tell steph how you feel."

damian's body soaks up into yours, and he lets out a content breath through his nostrils. he doesn't respond verbally, but you can feel him nod his head against your shoulder, and your stomach drops in relief.

[notjustjavierpena]

Hello, i hope this isn’t too much but i really admire your courage to write the hard stuff that goes on between javi and his wife. would you ever write something about the struggles they had about conceiving lucas?

Crazy

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Hiya, anon! This was such a rollercoaster to write but thanks so much for giving me the needed push. Also tysm for the compliment 🥺

Summary: Thoughts of infertility take a toll on you and Javier's marriage.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Infertility, arguments, apologies, hurt/comfort, angst, emotional sex, lots of kissing, pussy eating, piv sex, mating press, creampie, pillowtalk, aftercare

Word count: 6k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64569853

Crazy

You can’t help but count the months. Seven long ones with still no baby growing in your belly. Seven and counting since you went off your birth control, a ridiculous thought that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth since it turned out that you hadn’t needed it anyway in the first place. Okay, maybe you had but it is your exhaustion talking, whispering it in your ear.

You remember the conversation that Javier and you had in the kitchen that one time a while back, where he promised you that if everything else failed, you would let Steve and Connie set an example and find your own Olivia. Yet neither of you has dared go into the discussion of exactly when it’s time to stop trying, or if you’d truly be ready to adopt. 

However, now as you anxiously pace around the kitchen, waiting for Javier to come home and cleaning off stains that aren’t actually there from yesterday’s dishes, you wonder if you should call Connie to hear her opinion. 

You stop halfway to the landline to stare at the calendar on the door to the refrigerator. The red circle around today’s date mocks you and you lift your hand up to flip it off, giving it a roll of your eyes now that you’re at it. Seven fucking months of anxiously charting your cycles, tracking ovulation windows, and feeling hope slip away with each negative test. 

What if it never happens at all? Connie hadn’t seemed to entertain your worry the last time you brought it up, had shaken her head with a smile you wanted to wipe off her face, and pulled out her authority as a nurse to reassure you. There’s still plenty of time before you need to start worrying, she keeps saying, and it feels like it is the only reason you are still taking vitamins, avoiding caffeine, and doing your exercises. 

You’ve reached the phone now, your hand hovering over it in midair. It would be so easy to ring Connie right now and tell her every worry that is constantly going around in your head, every frustration of being in a battle with forcibly loving your body when it isn’t working the way it should. But then you think of Javier and decide against it, convinced by the guilt that nags at you. It feels like a betrayal to begin that particular and very tough conversation with anyone else but him. 

You stand there for a moment longer, staring at the phone, silently hoping it will ring and Connie will be on the other end of the line. It would make it easier to justify running your mouth to her. 

“Don’t look at me, it just happened,” you would say and still know it wasn’t okay.

Keys being inserted into the front door and the handle rattling makes you tense up in nervous anticipation. Javier is home from work. This is the day you’ve been waiting for a whole month, the one you’ve rearranged your entire schedule around and taken off work because if there’s any chance of being a mom, it has to be now.

“Baby?” He calls when he’s inside the house. You can hear the thud of his bag hitting the floor and the sound of his footsteps going towards the living room. 

“I’m here,” you answer through the house. You peek into the living room and see him shrug out of his suit jacket, draping it over the back of the couch and letting himself fall into the cushions with a contented sigh. You know you’re supposed to go in there and spoil his relief. 

“Come in here,” he says and taps his fingers on his knees, eyes soft from hoping to see you materialize in the doorway. He always tells you he misses you at his job.

Carefully, you enter the room and approach him with urgency in your body. You have a single mission today and it is a delicate matter. 

Get pregnant. 

Getpregnantgetpregnantgetpregnant. 

Get fucking pregnant.

“Hey,” he says with a tired smile when you stand right in front of him, glad to see you. He holds out his hand for you to take. You don’t reach for it and his smile fades.

“We should have sex,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, staring down at him as he reaches for his tie instead. 

“Baby, I just walked in. I just sat down,” he says softly and tugs at the knot on his tie, pulling it loose with a small noise. There’s an underlying emotion to his voice, a hint of frustration to his tone even if he doesn’t want to upset you. 

Your focus, your tunnel vision, makes you ignore his complaint as if it isn’t a ticking bomb right between your hands, “If I’ve calculated right, it’s been twelve hours since we last had sex, Javi. I’ve read that it’s a good idea to—“

“We have sex all the time, baby. Three times yesterday. Once at night. We fuck a lot,” he reaches up to run both hands over his face, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands afterward. He does a quick inhale and then sighs.

“Yes, but we have to do it today too to be sure. Connie said that—“ you quickly argue but his jaw muscles flex as you talk. Javier pushes himself to stand with exasperation in his next breath.

He pushes past you as if he cannot take being in your presence for a second longer despite just having arrived home, doesn’t even look at you as he throws back a sarcastic comment, “Oh, Connie said? Really? Wow, you really know how to turn me on.”

“That’s not funny. Hey, come back here,” you say as he starts walking towards the kitchen instead, leaving you with your mouth a thin line. You follow him but don’t go any further than standing in the door, “I’m the only one who initiates sex lately. What if my ovulation is peaking right now? The day is over soon.”

He leans against the kitchen counter, reaching back to grip the edge of the table, “The day isn’t over yet. It’s five in the afternoon. I just got home. We can have sex tonight.” 

You finally step fully into the kitchen now and it feels almost like you have crossed enemy lines. You can feel your tears build inside of your chest, crawling steadily up into your throat till they burn but you don’t allow yourself to cry. Why doesn’t he understand the pain of losing another month to grief? Why is it not as important to him? You look desperate, “Connie said it’s best during the day.”

“Stop,” he suddenly commands, causing you to flinch. He looks angry at you, unable to register the impact of the tone of his voice because of his own state of mind but it makes you tremble. He is never this way, “I can’t fucking take another fucking word about eggs and sperm and fertile windows. It’s too much now. You’re being crazy.”

Something breaks inside of you at those words, a beast that’s been hidden inside a cage in your chest threatening to escape and go for the kill. You watch him carelessly turn away to open the fridge, detachment on his face as if he has just argued with you about what you’re having for dinner. He leaves you feeling in complete disbelief and disarray, your heart ticking like a bomb. You need out right now or you might suffocate in the large, childless space that you moved into with the idea that you would be a family of three soon. 

You leave the room with your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The walls feel like they are closing in on you, close to trapping you here in this feeling forever if you don’t hurry up and reach the front door quickly. 

You slam the door behind you, no shoes on your feet, and then suddenly you are close to running down the street, breathing harder and harder while your arms swing along your sides in your haste. 

He has never called you crazy before. The word feels like he has just spat in your face, wrapped you in barbed wire, as if he sees you as just one more woman suffering from hysteria. Dismissible and unserious. Crazy. You swear you can feel all of the women before you right behind you, giving you the wind in your back to run faster than ever even with no destination. You don’t even feel your feet hurt from being bare against the harsh ground. 

However, you are barely a few blocks away from your home when you hear Javier’s voice calling out your name with the same desperation that you have felt since the first negative pregnancy test. 

The second you hear him, you automatically start running faster, determined to escape something you can’t quite pinpoint what is, but it only lasts a few seconds. Eventually, you finally slow down. Not because you want him to catch you but because your chest is heaving and your eyes are burning with tears, blurring your vision and disorienting you. 

He grabs your arm firmly when he reaches you and tries to pull you into an embrace. You resist at first, stiffening against him as he wraps you in his arms. 

“Stop!” You sob violently but he doesn’t let go even when you start crying loud enough to attract attention. Instead, he tightens his grip around you to calm your nervous system. How odd it is to want comfort from the man who also made you cry.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he says repeatedly, his cheek against yours while you try to hit his chest. You can hear the regret in his voice but your pride makes you unwilling to soften. 

You struggle further, almost like a panicked animal, wanting to kick and scream to escape a trap, but the fight is going out of your body quickly, gripped by exhaustion and making you sag. Another sob rips itself from your throat, “If I’m so crazy then there’s no reason we should be together let alone have a baby.”

When you’re less resistant, he cradles your head in his hand to make you look at him, “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean any of it. You’re not crazy. Dios, soy un pendejo (God, I’m an idiot). I’m so sorry, mi amor (my love).”

You sink to your knees but he catches you before they hit the sidewalk.

“I’m not crazy,” you insist weakly as you slump into his embrace.

“You’re not crazy,” he confirms quietly, “I’d take that back if I could.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry too… You were frustrated and tired,” you sniffle and your bottom lip trembles, “I shouldn’t have pushed you the second you walked through the door. I’m just worried that we have to wait a whole month before we can try again because we’re too lazy to have sex. And I hate that it is ruining our sex life because I love having sex with you.”

Javier says your name but it’s clear that it has caught him off guard.

You pull back to look up at his face. His brown eyes are soft and full of apologies, like the impact of his words only hits him now, “Now I’m scared that this is all responsible for you not finding me sexy anymore. I know it’s stupid but what if I’m the reason why we never get there? What if all this pressure makes you stop wanting me? What if I–”

“Now that’s crazy,” he says in an attempt to smooth things over with a joke but that one crease in his forehead, the one that he gets when frustration hits, is back because it doesn’t work.

You compose yourself enough to step back and give him a warning look, a look that says don’t you dare say that word again. He holds his hands up in surrender and then just reaches for your wrist, tugs it until he can entwine your fingers.

“What?” You’re the one to bite now, "I'm serious. I don’t want to lose you in this."

"You're not going to lose me,” he groans in exasperation. A few heads have popped up in the windows of the houses surrounding you. 

“Then why aren’t you upset like I am?” You ask harshly and pull your hand away to hug yourself. You avoid his gaze. 

Javier looks at you as if you’ve cracked him wide open right there on the sidewalk. He furrows his brows, opening his mouth without any words coming out. He turns away then, needs to gather himself without staring at your face. 

You know immediately that you have crossed a line, that you have hit a nerve that wasn’t supposed to be as exposed as it suddenly is. 

“Javi,” you murmur shamefully. 

“Is that what you think?” He turns back to you, the look in his eyes frantic and desperate. He also looks furious but for some reason, you can tell it isn’t directed at you, “That— That I’m not scared or upset enough? I’m terrified all the fucking time but if I let myself be as scared as you are, I’d be fucking useless to you.”

The realization hits you like an oncoming train, making tears start falling from your eyes again. You don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to you. Javier feels the exact same way as you but he simply hides it better.

You want to say something but he beats you to it, pointing at you to stress his point, his chest heaving, “And for the record. There’s no fucking universe where I stop wanting you.”

You don’t know what to say, so you do the next best thing and show him. You reach to cup his face, your thumbs stroking along his cheekbones, and then you kiss his lips. 

He sighs against your mouth, his broad palms finding your waist and tugging you as close as possible until he can wrap you in the harbor of his arms. Then he kisses you deeper, several times too, each brush of his lips releasing more of the tension between you. 

You’re here. In the same boat. And you love each other so much. That should be enough, even when it doesn’t feel like it is.

When the kiss is over, you don’t draw away from each other. Instead, he pulls you into a tight hug, holding you protectively close to his chest and stroking the back of your head. You link your arms around him, clinging tightly to him with a few tears staining his shirt because you have hurt each other so much. 

“I want to go home,” you murmur softly into his shoulder while he strokes your hair, “Por favor (please).”

“Okay,” he answers just as gently, placing a kiss on your forehead before drawing back, “We’ll go home.”

You walk home side by side, no words spoken between you. The tension is still there, sizzling in the air but it is charged with something else too. You almost feel like a teenager again, back when you were too scared to speak to the person you’ve decided late at night that you’d go through fire for. 

The first block is spent with your hands brushing as they hang by your sides and the both of you holding your breath when it happens but then Javier laces your fingers together and a quiet understanding settles over you. 

When you enter the front door together, none of you even glance in the direction of the kitchen or the living room. There's no hurry to move on from the storm of intense emotions that you have just been through, no hurry to busy yourself with anything that’ll simply push it down or bottle it up. 

The only urgency now is that storm, your hearts tense but only with the need to reassure each other. His mouth finds yours again, his body pushes you against the wall and the intensity behind his kiss grows from how he had kissed you in the street. Your lips meet in a kiss so deep that Javier coaxes a moan from your mouth. 

For once in all of this, you’re not scared of the outcome of being together, entwined. The need to conceive a child with your husband is still very much there but right now, it is overshadowed by a need to connect fully, to lick each other’s wounds even if you caused them. 

You reach to untie the knot on his tie completely. He hesitates for just a breath, a hand on your wrist to gain your attention. 

“Are you sure?” He asks despite how you still pull the tie out from underneath his collar. 

“Yes,” you don’t hesitate a second and drop the tie on the floor, desire ignited in your belly, “I’m so sure. I want you.”

He lets out a shaky breath with a smile, nodding his head while you move in to kiss his throat where his pulse thrums. His eyes close at the contact, his head tilting back just a little until a soft moan escapes his mouth. Your body grows warm from hearing it and you take it as a cue to move in silence, sharing searing kisses all the way to the bedroom. 

When you get there, Javier closes the door behind you and turns the lock, not because there’s any chance that you will be disturbed but just to keep the outside world at bay for a little while. It feels more intimate like that, like you are the only two people in the world.

You stand by the end of the bed, watching him do it and feeling your heart pounding in your chest from anticipation. You smile softly when he approaches you, too afraid that words might mess up the way that air crackles with intimacy and tenderness. 

He reaches out first as if promising to take the lead of you, curling his fingers around the edge of your top to lift it up. You raise your arms in the air to let him peel it over your head, goosebumps erupting on your skin where his knuckles brush you. He drops your top on the floor. 

You finally reciprocate by moving to undo the buttons of his white shirt. Your hands tremble slightly as you do it but Javier is patient, just reaches to gently steady your wrist by holding it. 

When you have reached the last one, he takes over and shrugs the fabric off his shoulders to reveal his warm and safe chest. You step closer, hands finding his shoulders as you lean in to kiss along his collarbone. He takes the opportunity to unclasp your bra while you’re at it, a palm skimming up your back while the other rests at your waist. 

When your breasts are bare, your nipples have hardened at the sudden exposure to the colder temperature. He undoes his belt and jeans, and when he bends slightly to take them off along with his boxers, he presses a tender kiss right over a nipple and skims his nose and lips across your chest to do the same thing with the other. 

You moan softly. He grabs around your waist and helps lowering you down onto the bed. You sit on the edge but not for long, moving back until you can lay down spread out. He follows you like a magnet, ends up kneeling between your legs so he can undo and yank down your pants. 

You help kick them off and then bend your knees briefly to let him drag your underwear down too. His mouth is everywhere he can reach; your ankles, your calves, knees, and thighs. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs softly on his way down your inner thigh, breaking the silence, and while he says those words a lot, there’s something different behind them today. It is almost like he is telling you something else; you’re not broken, not defined in your femininity by your body’s ability to carry his child.

You hold tears at bay and run your hand over his hair, looking down at the top of his head as his face disappears down between your thighs. Your mouth falls open in a soft gasp when he first mouths along your cunt. 

“Javi,” you sigh a moment later, your head knocking back into the bed so you can look up at the ceiling while focusing on the velvety feeling of his mouth. 

He eats you slowly, the flat of his tongue gently moving over your clit until you can’t help each sigh and moan that falls from your lips. His fingers spread your cunt open, his other hand squeezing your thigh as he pulls your legs further apart to dive in. 

“Please,” you hear yourself say. It’s the moment you realize how long it has been since you last were together like this; he hasn’t gone down on you for months because it doesn’t make a baby. The room is quiet except for your labored breaths and the filthy wet sounds of his mouth teasing you towards the edge. It feels so good to be wanted like this, reassured of how sexy you are without all the pressure to procreate. 

Hearing that soft plea makes Javier wrap his lips around your clit to kiss it repeatedly. He moans into you when your legs start to tremble in his peripheral vision. He switches it up and sucks. It makes you whimper, your back arching off the bed as he worships you between your thighs.

You are sure that he’ll pull away when you lift your pelvis up to meet his mouth further, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he just slides the hand on your thigh down under the small of your back to hold you there, then breathes heavily through his nose and hungrily continues to make you inch closer to the edge. 

Like always, he can hear your orgasm knocking by the way you begin to hold your breath between small gasps of pleasure. He intensifies the pressure and the precision just so, and you slide both hands through his hair - something he has clearly been waiting for with the way he groans - while your toes start to curl. 

When you actually come, it drags a sinful groan out of the both of you. Your thighs lock around his head and you pull at his hair. It’s not pretty and polite. It’s pure release, and it is ripped out of you like it has been buried under your prickly skin, underneath heartbreak, forever. 

You say his name until it makes no sense anymore, swallowing down desperate gulps of air. He lets you ride it out on his tongue, making sure to tease out every little aftershock before releasing you from his grasp. Yes, you needed this but it is almost like he needed it more. 

“You don’t know what it does to me,” he breathes heavily while you come down. He trails off and rests his forehead against your thigh, “You don’t fucking know what it does to me… when you look at me like you did earlier… Like you’re done.”

“I’m not,” you whisper in reply, voice shaky with tears that have finally found release. You cry softly, “I’m not done. Never done.”

“Don’t cry, baby,” he looks up at you with those brown eyes that are so hard to resist because of the silent plead within them. It hurts your chest to watch him so full of remorse, hurts to be loved this much. 

“Come here,” you whisper softly and hold your arms open for him but he wants to take it slow. 

He kisses his way up your body instead - a kiss to your hip, your belly, one right beneath your ribs - and you use the opportunity to slide your fingers through his hair. His mustache is slick with you, scratching just slightly as he treats you like you might not be in his bed tomorrow. 

But while he wants to savor you, you feel the growing impatience within your chest. You need him closer, your hands going repeatedly from his hair to his shoulders and then to his back because you are unsure of where to touch him when you want all of him. 

When he has his knees between your thighs again, he doesn’t crush you with his weight. Instead, he hovers above, eyes roaming over your face to check if you’re still letting him have you. In response, you settle on cupping his face. He automatically turns his face to press a longing kiss into the palm of your hand. 

You pull him to your mouth in a kiss that steals his breath away, his hand cupping the side of your neck. You kiss him like you should have done the moment he came in through the door and he meets your mouth like he needs to feel forgiveness in his very bones. Maybe a kiss like this would have avoided the pain that you inflicted upon each other. You cry in his arms. He wipes tears away with his thumbs and doesn’t rush you. 

Eventually, you are panting from the intensity of what feels like one of the deepest kisses of your life. Your lips are swollen and sensitive, and his cock is hard against your thigh to the point where you think he must be aching. The occasional kiss to your throat makes your whole body tingle with want, your cunt fluttering in interest. The pressing issue, however, is that you need to put all of these feelings somewhere. 

“Fuck me,” you whisper with your fingers in his hair, breathing hard against his mouth, “Please, baby. I need you inside of me.”

Javier swears quietly under his breath as if he has been waiting for those words, nodding repeatedly with his stare fixed on your lips before giving you another desperate kiss. 

He reluctantly pulls away, your hands slipping out of his dark locks, to sit back on his knees. You let your palms lay flat on the sheets and stare up at him, his face full of determination while he slides his hands around the back of your knees. 

At first, you think he wants to drag you down on the bed and closer to himself but then he lifts your legs and you gasp because you immediately know what he is doing with you. He pushes until your thighs are pressed against your chest, your cunt on full display and at his mercy. 

He doesn’t speak as he moves over you again, not stopping until his chest brushes the back of your thighs and your ankles are resting on his broad shoulders. He folds you even further in when he leans down to kiss your throat, the soft sound that escapes you vibrating underneath his lips.

You grip the sheets and hold on for dear life as he enters you slowly, giving you the full length of his cock inch by inch. He holds your gaze as he bottoms out and it makes you so aware of everything he does to you. There's no space between you now. Not physically. Not emotionally. He looks at you as if telling you that you and he belong together, like he is ready to rewrite the last seven months of your sex life. 

You can’t speak, can’t even think because you’re still trembling and sensitive. The stretch of his cock is almost too much inside of you but he is gentle with you, letting you adjust while kissing his way to your mouth again. 

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips. 

You nod as if to reciprocate and then whimper as another tear escapes, “I love you. I missed you.”

“I know, I missed you too,” he whispers and gently kisses away the salty tear. 

The ache of need catches up to you as you get used to feeling him inside of your cunt so fully, the thick head of his cock resting against the spot where you need him the most. An impatient flutter of your walls makes him give in and move inside of you. 

You moan feebly while he takes you slowly and full of precision. The angle of this position has you breathless in seconds, your back arching with each stroke against your g-spot. Your moans mix together with the sound of skin slapping against skin in the otherwise quiet room. You hold onto his biceps, feeling the muscles of his arms flex beneath your touch as he strains his body to give you everything he has. 

“I’ve got it now, mi amor (my love)” he lets you know through ragged breaths, resting his forehead against yours, “You don’t have to start it anymore. No need to ask.” 

“Don’t stop. Javi— oh, don’t stop,” you plead him with a steady stream of teardrops falling from your eyes. They roll down into your hair faster than he can kiss them away but it doesn’t matter, you think to yourself, because you want him to see what he does to you; that his words move you, that you needed to hear them because you’re exhausted and fuck, he loves you so much. 

“Shh, don’t cry, baby, you’re okay,” he coos with another soft kiss to follow. You turn your head afterward to press your face into the side of his head, brows furrowing as the first hints of your climax being within reach show. 

He barely pulls out anymore, just grinds down into your cunt and hits the right spot repeatedly. There’s no talking either. Instead, just the sound of your sweat-slicked bodies moving together, your breath hitching in your throat as your belly tightens even more, and his growls every time your cunt squeezes around him.

“You feel so fucking good, baby. You’re making me come,” he grits out, sweat gathering on his brow and concentration all over his face. 

“I’m close,” you gasp with your thighs starting to tremble from how intense it is going to be. You let your head bump into the mattress, your spine arching in a bow as it creeps up on you and your breathing begins to stutter. 

You come with a silent cry towards the ceiling because all air is knocked out of you. It takes a few moments before noise catches up to you but when it does, you absolutely sob underneath the weight of his body. The intensity makes you clamp down on his cock, your walls going into rhythmic squeezes that make Javier hiss and his pace falter from how you milk him. 

“I’m coming,” he near-whimpers before going off into a satisfied groan while his hips stutter, “Fuck, baby. You’re— I’m coming.”

He buries himself to the hilt before spilling inside of your wet, oversensitive heat. You gasp at the feeling of it, the weight of it settling inside of you. He trembles above you, enough for you to slide your hands up to his shoulders and cup his face. 

He holds himself up with one hand and holds one of yours with the other, breathing rapidly. His chest is broad and glistening with sweat, warm and nearly suffocating but he is yours. You want it like that, want to drown in the intimacy that you feel. 

Without a word, he straightens and pulls out his softening cock. It makes you tense up, looking down where you have been connected with worry on your face. You don’t want it to slip, to not work this time either, but he guides your legs together and then shifts slightly on the mattress. He lays them gently on one shoulder, making sure that no drop spills from you. 

“I’ve got you,” he coos, almost shushing you like a child. His arms cradle your legs, “Don’t worry.”

You can do nothing but whimper. He rubs your belly with his free hand and you place your palm on top of it, an unconscious gesture of hope between you. 

“This is the most important thing,” he says after weighing his words for a moment, “You and I.”

“Javi,” you protest but there’s no exasperation building up beneath the surface this time. He shakes his head to stop any words at the tip of your tongue. 

“I will give you anything you want. A house, a baby, anything you want,” he tells you, whispering it as if there are other people in the room besides the two of you and he wants privacy. It feels safer to hear him lower his voice, “But not if it costs me you. We are not meant to fight like that.”

Your bottom lip trembles because he is right. You’re not meant to fight like that at all, chests heaving with adrenaline and bloodlust from grief over the fact that something is getting the better of you. It feels as unnatural as snow in August and rivers running dry. 

“I want to give you a baby,” you say quietly and feel a tear slide down your cheek. Javier reaches to brush it away with his index finger, shushing you once more with the gentleness in him only reserved for you. 

“And you will,” he promises and cups your cheek afterward, his thumb stroking your face where another tear has fallen, “It’ll happen. This way or another.”

Your eyes flutter closed. You nod. 

“Do you know how much I love you?” He asks and lets his mouth graze the side of your ankle. 

“I love you too,” you say back without much thought that he is actually asking a question. 

“Yes, but do you know how much? Look at me,” he waits for a moment.

Your gaze locks onto him, your eyes big and teary.

“I don’t think you know how lucky I am to have you in my life after all the stupid shit I’ve done back in Colombia. I hurt people. I watched people die. No wonder I wasn’t all here when I came back. I thought I was just gonna float through the rest of my life being angry or drifting in some bar like a ghost. You were the first thing that felt like… like the world could be soft again. And now you think I could ever stop wanting you?” He shakes his head in disbelief, “You’re the only place I’ve ever felt like I could put my feet down and not run. When everything starts to weigh down on me, you breathe life back into me. Whatever happens next, I want it with you, okay?”

You cry with your heart feeling too big for your chest, words lost on you because how can he still love you when this takes such a toll on you that it brings out the worst in you? Probably just how you can love him just the same too.

You sniffle, “Yes, me too.”

He looks serious and soft, “Even if it’s not how we imagined. Even if we gotta go knock on Connie’s door and ask for the number of that adoption agency… or do IVF… or whatever the hell else it takes.”

You nod. When you speak, it is nothing but a squeak, “Yes.”

“But right now,” he caresses the skin of your calf and murmurs into another kiss to your ankle, “I just wanna stay here. In this bed. With my wife… and let the world wait a little while longer. Can we do that?”

“Can I get my legs down, so we can cuddle?” You shift a little, still slick between your thighs and sore in the best way, but there’s no rush to clean up or face anything other than the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

He smiles, “Of course. Lift your legs, I’ve got you.”

He does. He always does.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[butterflybuckethat]

Tiny Red Dress ✯ Part II

Part I

Notes: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader - This is my first attempt at smut 😭 (1.4k words)

Warnings: Smut, no actual sex but pretty close, mdni!

This is for y'all: @lomlbuckybarnes @sisterslytherinog @fandomhopped @ohhdarlingxo @shawnsblue @saltyturtlejudgeflap @callsign-magnolia @calirindo

🦋 Masterlist 🦋

Jake showed up two hours early from your requested time and you were nowhere near ready. The guy was never early, priding himself with being exactly on time—with military precision, of course—but not today when you ignored his knocking for twenty minutes because you were sure it was your horrible neighbor Judy who never seemed to buy her own sugar. 

“You’re early,” you said, still in your oversized Navy t-shirt and sleep shorts. 

“I brought coffee!” He handed you a to-go cup from the hand not carrying a toolbox, much too chipper for 8 A.M. on a Saturday. 

“How’d you get in the building?”

“Tyra buzzed me up.” Jake said, distracted by your apartment. It was the first time he’d been there and hadn’t expected it to be so green. For some reason, he would have assumed you had a black thumb, maybe because you all spent so much time on base. Who’s been watering your plants?

“Another one of your conquests, I’m sure.” You rounded the corner into your kitchen, putting the island between you and Hangman. 

“Am I just some slut to you?” He smiled. 

“Absolutely.” You said and planned to stop there but curiosity got the best of you, “Speaking of which, how was your night?”

—

Jake didn’t want to tell you that he didn’t go home with Daniela. He showed up early because he was sure that seeing you back to normal, bleary-eyed and bed-headed even, would snap him out of whatever that red dress did to him. But it didn’t. Not even a little. “You know I don’t kiss and tell.”

But he did. Frequently. You didn’t want to push but you noticed his smile falter and wondered if something happened. You lingered a little after you walked out of the Hard Deck. You saw Daniela walk up to him. You saw them talking. You left after that, sparing yourself from the scene of them leaving together, but you couldn’t imagine anything happened but that. Did it not live up to his expectations?

Jake saved you from inquiring further by digging through your pantry, “Don’t you have anything besides sugar cereals?”

“What, my Trix aren’t good enough for you?” You reached to grab the box back from him but he yanked it away.

Jake bit his tongue. “Haven’t you heard of a well balanced breakfast?” He towered over you, holding the cereal box well above your head.

“Yeah,” you rolled your eyes. “Sucrose and Red 40. What else is there?”

“I don’t know. Protein, fiber…” Jake trailed off, enjoying himself more in this moment, with you looking up at him like a cat plotting its attack, than he had in a while. 

You jumped, hand outstretched to grab the box, catching Jake off guard. On reflex he tried to catch you, palm slipping beneath your shirt to find the expanse of your back where he should have felt the band of your bra.

He sucked in a sharp breath and the cereal box fell to the floor, scattering little puffed flowers across the kitchen tile. “I-I’ll clean this up,” he stammered. “You go get dressed.”

.

You retreated to your bedroom, at a complete loss for what the hell just happened. Hangman had seen you in casual clothes before, covered in sweat and grime from long training days, bloody and exhausted but he had never reacted like this. Jake had always been calm, collected, and completely in charge. But this was…whole new territory. Did Daniela hurt him? 

“You want to go to the beach later?” You yelled. The main reason you decided to buy this condo was because of its proximity to it. Sure, you were totally house poor now but you spent most of your time at work anyway. 

You couldn’t decipher his response but it sounded something like an affirmative. You had never known him to pass up a beach day; and despite how much he usually annoyed you, you were enjoying his company this morning. So you slipped on a black bikini beneath your cut-offs actually looking forward to the day ahead.

Jake remembered being cool once, maybe. There was a slight chance he’d always been a bumbling idiot and this was his own personal Twilight Zone episode on the perils of an overinflated ego. He texted Bob a quick I’m cool right? And looked under your sink for a dustpan. He was just glad he had dodged the beach bullet.

He had seen you in a bathing suit before, during team building exercises with Maverick, but he wasn’t sure that was something he wanted to deal with right this moment. 

His phone buzzed with Bob’s reply: are you sick??? 

That was probably it, he thought, he needed to do whatever chore you needed done and isolate himself before the brain dead spread. 

“The dust pan is in the front hall closet,” you said emerging from your bedroom. You needed to dig through the pile of freshly laundered clothing on your couch to find a shirt and didn’t think much of Jake seeing you in just your bikini top.

“I thought we weren’t going to the beach.” Jake looked wide-eyed. He felt like he was back in middle school, when his attraction to girls was new and not fully within his control. 

“Oh, sorry. I just assumed—“ You stopped dead once you caught a glimpse of his face. “Oh my god!” You couldn’t help your grin. Suddenly it clicked, why he was acting strange, Jake didn’t find you so plain anymore. “You’re so into me.”

Jake groaned.

“Admit it.” You prodded.

“Admit what?” He rubbed his face, so pained by this entire interaction. 

“That you’re obsessed with me.”

.

You made it your goal to make him absolutely miserable for the rest of the morning and boy were you succeeding. You never did find that shirt, but you did blow out your hair because, more than anything, you wanted him to admit that he found you super crazy scorching hot.

“You know, I have been needing a good drill.” You had your back up against the wall he was working on. The gallery wall was nearly complete, all Jake needed to do now was install the screws and actually hang the artwork. “Really I just haven’t had anyone to teach me.” You bit your lip, “Would you teach me to drill, Jake?”

His hand slipped, the drill bit missing the screw entirely and making a hole in your wall. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, partly in disbelief. You could believe the effect you were having. 

“You think this is funny?” He said, setting the drill on the floor to box you in. 

“Kind of.” You looked up at him through your eyelashes and pushed back your hair to expose your neck. It was as if the character from last night had taken over and it almost scared you how much you liked it. 

This was the most turned on Jake had ever been in his life and you hadn’t even touched him. His initial contact was hesitant, tracing up your arms and along the strings of your bikini. 

He kissed your neck and nuzzled his way down to suck on your pulse point. Your breathy moan went straight to his cock.

God, he couldn’t fucking believe it. Jake got bolder, pulling you flush against him by the belt loops. He kissed your clavicle, breath heavy, and flicked your hard nipple through the triangle of your bikini. 

It was nearly painful how hard his dick strained in his jeans thanks to your breathy whine. 

You turned to face the wall, ass grinding into him. It felt incredible. You felt incredible. 

You pulled your hair aside so Jake could watch as you popped the bow of your bikini knotted around your neck. “Fuck,” he swore as the top fell. “You’re so fucking hot.”

He reached around you to touch your breasts but you grabbed his wrists and moved them down to your hips, letting him control the speed. 

You ground faster and he couldn’t help but buck into you. “Baby, wait,” he whispered, “I’m gonna—”

You laughed, tying back your bathing suit before you turned to face him and his wet jeans. “Did you—”

��Yeah,” he said completely breathless. “I can’t believe it.”

“Can’t believe Plain Jane made you cum your pants?”

Jake actually blushed and satisfaction bloomed in your chest. 

“Find me on the beach after you deal…” You gestured vaguely at his crotch. “And don’t forget to finish the wall!” You said, already out the door. 

[jinwoosbabyboo]

𝙷𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠/ 𝙷𝚒𝚖

Your first year living with your favorite lads man and you get to spend the holidays together. How I imagine they act during this holiday season. [Requested by: 🌻 Anon]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜𝕤𝕘𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘

He’s the boyfriend who stands behind you and guides your hands in whatever food you’re prepping

Still a workaholic up until Thanksgiving day, but will find time to help you cook

Suggests to make more desserts because he can’t control his sweet tooth

makes your plate for you “Eat well my love”

tries to start his meal with a slice of pie ; you have to take it and make him eat some actual food first “Desserts are for after the meal” “Desserts can be a meal” “No”

tidying up behind you so much that you don’t even get the chance to help clean up

would definitely do a video call with you to his parents to wish them happy holidays

if you take him home to your family your parents would fall in love with him immediately

ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤

wants all the holiday sweets and treats

the type of boyfriend who wants to take you to every bakery so you can eat their limited time only holiday sweets

he brings you hot chocolate with marshmallows and a splash of peppermint while you decorate the house

stands by holding the decorations for you

he would definitely still be working during this time but, he would spend every moment he could with you when he’s home

watches Christmas movies with you until you fall asleep and he carries you to bed

hides your gifts in his office at the hospital if you start getting nosy

all over you when you’re baking Christmas cookies, showering you in kisses, arms constantly wrapped around you and sneaking a cookie here and there when you’re not looking

Cozy morning w/ Christmas breakfast before you exchange gifts

ℕ𝕖𝕨 𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕂𝕚𝕤𝕤

Wants to give you that New Years kiss you’ve been talking about

takes you to a secluded rooftop patio where you can see the fireworks and share a kiss “Now we’ll last forever” “There was never a doubt in my mind”

if he’s working he rushes home just to give you that kiss at midnight

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜𝕤𝕘𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘

100% a backseat chef while you’re cooking “You should probably turn the heat down” “Can you go paint or something?”

clingy af he would be all in your face while you’re trying to cook “Are you going to help or are you just gonna hang on me like a koala” “I am helping im here for moral support”

gets extremely competitive when your family pulls out any game “Im about to flip the table” “Please don’t”

Eats so elegantly your parents are wondering if you’re dating royalty (which you are)

ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤

Bought the biggest tree he can find “This is going to take weeks to decorate” “You should just stay here for the rest of the month then”

arts and crafts everything for decorations, he’s painting ornaments with you, anything you can find that you want as a decoration believe he will be making it for you/with you

complains about the cold like he hasn't experienced it before as you drag him to go ice skating or sledding “It’s too cold why is the sun out and i'm still freezing” “Maybe because thats how winter works Raf” “I hate it here”

wakes you up early as hell to open gifts, loves literally anything you buy him

Christmas movie nights w/ face masks, popcorn snacks, and matching pajamas

heavy on the matching pajamas, bought 12 pairs for 12 days of Christmas

ℕ𝕖𝕨 𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕂𝕚𝕤𝕤

watches the fireworks with you through the studio floor to ceiling windows wrapped in a blanket

doesn’t understand why you want a new years kiss so bad, but he’ll gladly do it of course

sips his champagne and pushes the cold liquid into your mouth as he kisses you now you shared a kiss and a drink right at midnight "I call that a two for one deal" "Stop talking"

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜𝕤𝕘𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘

Fighting tooth and nail to keep his ass out the kitchen “Xavier I got it don’t worry” “I can just stir the yams” “No really it’s fine just go relax you had a long day”

You end up letting him slice the turkey and he ends up slicing through the whole damn pan “Why don’t you just set the table….” “Yes ma’am”

not a single leftover because this man ate everything

if you took him home to your family for Thanksgiving your parents are questioning if you starve him “He has a bottomless pit in his stomach” “No I don’t” “Lie again”

ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤

Cold snowy days you two aren’t leaving the bed, he’s curling around you and snoring softly into your boobs

helps you decorate the tree, but asks endless questions “Where do you want this one?” “Just put it anywhere Xav” “Is right here fine?” “Yes right there is fine” “What about this one?” he’s not trying to annoy you he just wants Christmas with you to be perfect

Cookie decorating together, no cooking so it should be safe

late nights ordering in and watching Christmas movies or reading some books that fit the Christmas aesthetic

ℕ𝕖𝕨 𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕂𝕚𝕤𝕤

watches fireworks with you from the balcony with warm eggnog topped with cinnamon

be prepared to stay up late after that midnight kiss because he’s not stopping, both sets of lips will get kissed

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜𝕤𝕘𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘

Spending thanksgiving with him and the boy was like a mini family of it’s own

Luke and Kieran helped you prep and you made Sylus help as well “I need to slow cook these greens overnight so start removing the leaf from the stem please” “Are you telling me what to do?” “Yes …. I am …. is there a problem?”

Sylus constantly sends the twins and Mephisto back to the store so he has a reason to be alone with you while you’re cooking

constantly brings up how the chef should be doing this, but you insist that the whole point is to cook together "You know you can just send a menu to the chef" "No it's more home-y this way"

ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤

hands you his black card and takes you store to store telling you to have fun "I can buy anything I want?" "Anything"

takes you to a privately owned resort (He owns it) for a holiday Christmas trip, bringing Luke and Kieran along begrudgingly because you ‘didn’t want to leave your boys behind’

all those pictures and videos you sent him of fun stuff to do around the holidays he makes it happen

you wanna go snowboarding? he’s on it. Skiing? done. glass blowing Christmas ornaments? done.

Watches with the softest smile on his face as you and the twins decorate the big ass tree you picked out “Sylus I need you” “What is it Princess?” “Let me sit on your shoulders so I can get these ornaments on top of the tree” rolls his eyes, but puts you on his shoulders anyway

wraps you up in his arms and a blanket while you four have a Christmas movie night; carries you to bed when you fall asleep

watches Christmas musicals with you as well

living room is overflowing with gifts for you because this man bought you everything you’ve mentioned that you wanted for the past 3 months

his face may look annoyed when you drag him around from store to store and activity to activity, but he’s more than happy to do it as long as he’s with you

ℕ𝕖𝕨 𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕂𝕚𝕤𝕤

Argues with you until 11:59pm just to piss you off “How does good luck factor into this?” “Im not about to argue with you about this” “Too late sweetie you’ve been arguing with me for the last fifteen minutes” “Because you’re being so difficult do you not want-” he’d shut you up with a kiss right at midnight. “I guess this means we’ll last forever now huh?”

[dwaekkicidal]

cw» fem!reader, kitty hybrid reader x puppy hybrid!channie, mentions of p in v, manhandling, there’s a few more but nothing too crazy/out of the blue

cw» not really proofread, but this is for that one anon who asked for kitty reader a few months ago <3 sorry it took so long

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

pup!channie who was very against his owner adopting another hybrid, let a lone a cat of all species. but it's not like he has much of a say in it- it's supposed to be his new "friend" so he's not alone while his owner is at work all day!

pup!channie who scares you shitless before you two even meet. your new owner warned you and told you all kinds of scary things about the dog you'll be living with from now on

but queue faces of surprise, from all 3 of you, when chan's face burns red and his tail starts wagging aggressively the second he sees you

pup!channie who gets addicted to your scent from day 1. he just loooves the way you smell. that and your endearingly cute demeanor only leads to him quickly growing a little crush on you~

pup!channie who surprises you and your owner when he opens his space to you right off the bat- with little to no aggressiveness coming from the boy.

pup!channie who welcomes you with open arms, even going far enough to allow you to lay (and sleep with him) in his bed. your owner was scared at first but quickly grew to trust chan enough that he didn't bother getting you your own bed- simply allowing you to sleep with chan

pup!channie who stares daggers into every person, human or hybrid, who even glances your way. your pretty head is never worried about anything enough to notice the stares, but chan has eyes of a hawk when it comes to you.

pup!channie who scents you unbeknownst to you. sneakily scenting you and your clothes to the point where it's just a natural smell to you- you don't question where it comes from anymore now that you're conditioned to live in the smell- but the smell follows you everywhere enough to scare other hybrids away

pup!channie who is SO easily jealous and refuses to let anybody near you. your owner has to muzzle HIM when you go to the doctor because the mere thought of strangers being so close to you, maybe even touching you makes him seethe.

^ and this is even worse when your owner brings their friends around. the onslaught of questions like "ohh how did you get that mutt to tolerate your new, pretty kitty" was already enough to piss him off, but when the friends try to touch you, he sees red. he actually loses all sense of rationality and will bite the person if they don't back away within his first growl.

and all of this is innocent at first! until its not.

it loses all innocence when mating season comes around, and you both discover your owner wasn't responsible enough to account for the clash of hormones. they thought about the possibility of you getting pregnant and put you on birth control "just in case", but they didn't take into account that the hormones would still be there in full force.

and that leads to what happened at the beginning of the week. your owner is out on a business trip that just so happens to be 2 weeks long, and channie has begun to feel the first signs of his heat. but it wasn't until he came home from a short grocery outing, and smelt your scent for the first time in hours, that he realized his heat was hitting him.

it wasn't until he was standing the doorway of your shared room, groceries long forgotten on the kitchen floor, that he felt the heat start coursing through his veins.

it wasn't until he had your face shoved into the sheet, balls deep in your cunt, that the emotions started to hit him.

"C-Channie! Slow down, p-please-" He shushes you and thrusts harder, his balls slapping against your clit each time he bottoms out. "Pretty kitty- MY pretty kitty."

"Chan~" Your whines only made him growl and push into you harder. He was using both hands to hold you down, one in your hair and the other on your shoulder, but he trailed the lower of the two down to your ass after some time.

His hand comes down on your ass suddenly, making you yelp out of surprise. The yelp turns into a moan when his hand wraps around the base of your tail and tugs.

"A-Ah!?" He doesn't release it. Instead, he tightens his hold on your tail and continues to lightly tug on it as leverage to pull you back onto his cock. Your hand that's not tangled in the sheets goes behind to push his hand away and Chan growls again, releasing your hair to dig his hands into your wrist and hold it above your head in order to get you to stop resisting him.

"You're gonna take it, right baby? Gonna let me fuck you full of my pups?" You attempt to push yourself up with your free hand, only to fall back down when his canines dig into the side of your neck. "Answer my fucking question before I lose my patience, kitty."

"Yes! I'll take it all. Anything for you, Channie…” You could feel the smirk break out against your neck, and it seems like your promise was enough to scratch an itch in his stupid dog brain.

now, days into his heat, you feel your own heat starting up- no doubt thanks to the restless hound that was adamant about rearranging your insides and trying to get you pregnant.

the two of you had barely left the room by the mid point of the next week. your owner had to call in a friend to bring you guys food every night- at first they weren't really aware of what was going on thanks to the vague texts chan sent (in the middle of you riding him, might i add), but boy could his friend smell the sex from the front door.

and channie had absolutely no plan to stop fucking you, even as your owner's friend poked their head in to check on you two for your owner. he simply gave them the nastiest side eye and tightened his grip around your neck, seemingly fucking into you even harder as he held eye contact and growled at the person to leave.

and then once they did leave, he continued fucking you as if the world was ending and the two of your would never see each other again.

“Attagirl, baby. Take this knot and Channie’ll breed your pains away.”

Taglist (red=can’t be tagged):

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @honeyybbuubblleess

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess @kittycatkrissa

@nicora04 @chuuyaobsessed @moonlightndaydreams @velvetmoonlght

@aeri-skzver

[undreaming-fanfiction]

The Corroded Coffin used to think they'd be the new Metallica or Judas Priest. But where their passion and hard work never lacked, their big break just never came.

What did come, however, was an unexpected change of their career path.

It started innocently enough - they went through yet another failed meeting with recording studios, they'd travelled pretty far and it was for nothing. Instead of going back to Hawkins and risking another one of Eddie's road rages, they decided to break into an abandoned house and drink their sorrows away.

That is, until their empty bottles started collecting themselves, something invisible touched Gareth's shoulder and the dusty floor started showing written messages.

Jeff wanted to flee. Gareth to faint. But Eddie and Freak just shrugged. Eddie gestured towards the approximate ghost location and said "by the power of I don't give a shit anymore, I compel you to sit down and stop it, we'll clean the bottles when we leave tomorrow."

The rattling stopped. There was a moment of silence when the Corroded Coffin actually thought it had worked, but then the ghost overcame its shock and physically threw Eddie, his bandmates and their things out.

They sat on the wet grass for a while and contemplated their whole exitence. Eddie was pretty shaken about the whole thing because he'd just managed to royally piss off a ghost and lived to tell the tale. But apart from absolutely terrifying...it was also fun?

And his friends seemed to think the same. Jeff patted his shoulder and said: "not bad for a first touch with the unknown, huh?"

They stayed in the area and tried again. They decided to tape over their promotional video - not so great, they had to admit after rewatching it - and started documenting their ghostly encounters. And maybe it was just the timing, maybe it was their interactions and personalities, but it worked. They showed some of their tapes to a local TV station and they got a cautious yes, more than they ever had with their music.

They got assigned a small crew, Fred with a camera and Chrissy for sound, wrote their own episodes and did plenty of research. And they got to try quite a lot of different approaches with their ghostly friends. Eddie was amazing at taunting the ghosts, making them appear if there were any present. Gareth had a wonderfully calming presence, managing to save the CC's ass several times. Jeff was the brains, he made sure they'd always know the history of the house and the probable identity of the ghost. And Freak decided to dabble in the occult sciences with a terrifying precision. There could never be enough salt in Eddie's van for all the circles he made.

It all went well until they learned of the Creel House in Hawkins. They went there, did their research and before entering the house, they ordered some pizza for dinner. They assumed it would be over by midnight, thinking it was just another sad story of an unresolved murder, but the ghost of Henry Creel was out for blood.

Oh, and he also controlled the spiders of the house. That was new.

To set the scene: The crew had fled the house about an hour ago. Eddie was crouching behind an old table, blocking Henry's barrage of kitchen knives, shouting "IS THIS THE BEST YOU'VE GOT?!". Gareth was behind the table with Eddie, but he went more into the wailing territory with "I DON'T THINK THIS WILL HELP YOU MOVE ON, HENRY!". Jeff had blocked himself in the pantry and kept trying to identify the triggering moment - "I think he's re-enacting the murder of his mother, guys! Does that help?!" (it doesn't). And Freak gave up on salt circles and was now tossing handfuls of salt around the house with a questionable technique but unwavering determination.

Suddenly, a car horn.

Then, a bitchy male voice: "Are you coming to get your pizza or what? I have other customers to get to!"

Eddie gritted his teeth as Henry added heavy pans to the mix and hit his shoulder. "We're a little busy surviving here! Ask Chrissy to pay you!"

There was a muffled and annoyed "ugh" from behind the door and then: "Is it Henry again?"

Eddie just blinked. Gareth was more ready to answer: "Sure is! He's not a fan of our exorcism!"

And the pizza guy didn't leave. He just huffed and said something that sounded suspiciously like "amateurs".

Eddie wanted to punch him.

But before he could do that, the front door opened. Gareth held his breath, half expecting a sound of knives hitting their target.

Instead, they heard a few more steps and then: "What the fuck, Henry?!"

A faint whispering reached their ears, but they couldn't decipher it. But the pizza guy could.

"I don't care they didn't get your permission, Henry. Yeah, it's annoying, but what are you going to do? If more people die in this house, it's going to get demolished. You know that. Yeah, I know the house is old, but it's great for your spiders, right? They'd be homeless. Do you want to make your spiders homeless, Henry?"

They dared to peek from behind the table, and Eddie had to pinch himself. Because in the middle of the dusty dining room stood one of the prettiest young men Eddie had ever seen, hands on hips and arguing with something invisible.

The man completely ignored them.

"That's what I thought. Now, apologize. No, they can't hear you, so get creative."

All four CC members stared as words formed in the spilled salt: "SORRY".

The pizza guy seemed to be pleased. "Good job, Henry. Now, let me get them out of here and I promise I'll get the Party to bring you some new spiders when they capture them outside, yeah? Three knocks, slide them in a glass behind the door. Got it. Take care, Henry."

Only then did he look at Eddie and the others and frowned. "That's your cue to leave. Get your stuff and go, now." And as they were quickly collecting their scattered notes and recording equipment, he added: "and say goodbye when leaving. Don't be rude."

Four rushed "Bye, Henry!" and "Sorry, Henry"s later, the Corroded Coffin was standing on the grass outside, feeling the setting sun on their skin and smelling fresh pizza. Gareth promptly paid for the delivery, and everyone proceeded to thank their mysterious savior.

"I'm Steve," he said after they'd all expressed their thanks, "and you're stupid. Do you really do this without anyone who sees and hears them? Do you just stumble blindly into haunted houses for a fun and stabby time?"

Eddie had to swallow down a very bitchy response of his own. "Sorry to stroke your ego even more, pretty boy, but a man of your talents is hard to come by."

And Steve, to Eddie's massive shock, just cocked his head and fluffed his hair, probably out of habit, but damn. "Well, consider yourself lucky because I'm open to job offers," he said with a wink that brought Eddie back into his teenage fantasies. "You need someone like me, and I assume you pay better than pizza delivery. Do you?"

Turns out, their producer was willing to get one more person on board, especially when they finished processing the leftover footage from the Creel house.

Steve was an amazing addition. He was snarky, self-confident, easy to look at and most of all, he was fun and compassionate. Watching him communicate with ghosts of kids and help them move on made Eddie's icy heart melt.

But one day they were on a site of an unfortunate teenage death, Steve was chatting with the ghost of a 17 year old girl like they'd known each other for ages, he was laughing, cracking jokes, and then:

"No, he hasn't kissed me yet."

Eddie turned around on his heel and stared at Steve, snickering to himself and talking to a misty figure next to him. And worst of all, they were both staring right at Eddie.

"Hasn't even asked me out, no. You'd think he'd be interested, but I guess I'm doing something wrong."

And Eddie's head short-circuited, and all the repressed fantasies from nights next to Steve in their trailer came back with vengeance. He howled and threw himself at Steve, kissing him right on that bitchy mouth. "Doing something wrong?! Steven Harrington, those shorts of yours are doing everything right, but how about you say something, huh?!"

Steve returned the kiss to the cheering of the CC guys, Chrissy's clapping and Fred's disgusted noise, and shrugged when they broke apart. "I knew you'd get it, eventually. Oh, and Heather?" he turned to the ghost. "You're the best wingwoman ever, in this life and after."

Four good things came from this ghostly encounter:

After the kiss, Gareth finally gathered enough courage to ask Chrissy out. She said yes.

The episode with Heather became the most watched episode of the CC's show.

Steve and Eddie remained in an equally blissful and teasing relationship for the rest of their lives.

And finally...

The TV station decided to design official merch for the CC's show: incredibly short shorts that said on the backside: "DOING EVERYTHING RIGHT".

[hotshotsxyz]

where else but here, who else but us?

(8x06 coda) (buddie) (986 words)

Eddie wakes to the smell of bacon frying and coffee brewing, and for the first time in maybe his entire life, he lets himself luxuriate in it. If he’d actually made it to bed last night, he might even go back to sleep.

He stands and stretches, then shivers a little bit as the cool morning air tickles his bare thighs. Eddie grins. He just—

He did something for himself, and the world didn’t end. He did something for himself, and not only did the world not end, it got a little bit bigger and a little bit brighter. He did something for himself and Buck showed up, and that joy he was feeling burned a little bit hotter.

Eddie scoops his phone up off the floor and finds that it’s completely out of juice. He huffs a soft laugh and plugs it in. It’s a silly thought, but—Eddie can’t remember the last time his phone died. How could it, when he’s been so damn determined to avoid anything that might bring him a little joy. Hell, he hasn’t even been letting himself text Buck unless Buck texts him first.

He pads down the hall and into his bedroom and pulls on the softest pair of sweats he owns. He changes into an old, threadbare t-shirt, leans against the wall and exhales.

In his kitchen, Buck is making breakfast. In Texas, Christopher is safe and probably still asleep, and that’s a whole lot more than Eddie’s been letting himself acknowledge.  Here in LA, Eddie is alive and healthy and, if the priest that was maybe hitting on him is to be believed, allowed to forgive himself. He’s not there yet, but he can let himself join Buck in the kitchen.

On his way, Eddie makes a pit stop in the living room. His phone, up to an impressive 8% battery, has already reconnected to the Bluetooth speaker that’s tucked behind one of the photos on the mantle. He queues up a playlist that he and Buck have been curating together for years. Soft music fills the room and Eddie kind of wants to cry.

This is what he’s been denying himself. Easy mornings and raucous evenings and his best friend filling all the empty spaces he’s always been too afraid to try to fill himself. Eddie walks into the kitchen and finds Buck already looking for him.

“Morning,” Buck says, a little rough, like it’s the first word he’s said today. It probably is.

“Hey,” Eddie replies. He steps into Buck’s space and pulls him into a hug, just because he wants to. He feels Buck exhale and melt into him. “You okay?” he asks softly.

Buck pulls back from Eddie’s embrace and bites his lip. “I, uh—honestly?”

Eddie nods.

“I don’t really know,” Buck admits. “I think I just—or, I thought—I don’t know.” He lets out a frustrated huff.  

Eddie slides his hand down Buck’s arm until his fingers are circling Buck’s wrist. “You don’t have to,” he offers.

Buck’s head tips to the side. “You seem different,” he observes quietly.

“I am, I think,” Eddie says.

“What does that mean?” Buck asks

Eddie considers for a moment. “I think I’m just… ready to let some things go,” he says. “Maybe let some new things in.”

Buck smiles, small but genuine. “That’s—I’m glad.”

“Me too.” It’s incredible, but Eddie’s pretty sure he actually means it.

Buck’s gaze slides away from Eddie and hits the floor. “I, um. Me and Tommy. We—or, he—he broke up with me,” he says.

Something clenches in Eddie’s chest. “Then he’s an idiot,” he says.

“Maybe,” Buck says with a kind of hopeless shrug.

“He is,” Eddie says with conviction. “You’re—“ Sunshine. Joy. Perfect. Everything. He lets go of Buck’s wrist and twists their fingers together. “You’re the best person I know,” he says. “If Tommy couldn’t see that, that’s on him.”

Buck blows a disbelieving breath out through his nose. “He said I was going to break his heart.”

“Getting his heart broken by you would be a privilege,” Eddie replies before he can think better of it.

Buck lets out a pained noise. “But I wouldn’t—or, I didn’t want—” He cuts himself off with a frown. He looks up through his lashes and Eddie and Eddie—

Oh, Eddie wants.

“Anyone who’s lucky enough to be loved by you, even for a second, should know it’d be worth it,” he says.

“Eds,” Buck breathes.

“I mean it,” Eddie says, squeezing his hand. “And if you don’t, I’ll believe it enough for both of us.”

Buck laughs wetly. “You make it hard for a guy to wallow in a breakup, you know that?”

Eddie grins. “Good.” He steps back, tugging Buck’s wrist as he goes. “Come here,” he says, and Buck follows easily.

The coffee and bacon are quickly cooling on the counter, but there’s music in the air and Buck’s in his arms and Eddie’s pretty sure he wants to kiss his best friend. And he thinks that might even be a good thing.

“Eddie, what?” Buck asks breathlessly as Eddie puts a hand on his waist and spins them both.

“We’re dancing,” Eddie says, smiling.

“O-okay,” Buck says, clumsily following his lead.

Eddie can’t help the laugh that bubbles from his chest. A small grin spreads across Buck’s face.

“Maybe I would have,” Buck murmurs quietly.

“What?” Eddie asks, spinning him again, just because he can.

“Broken his heart.”

Warmth spreads from Eddie’s chest to his fingertips. “Yeah?” he asks breathlessly.

Buck hums but doesn’t clarify further. Eddie, though, Eddie’s pretty sure he gets it.

He and Buck—well. It’s hard to imagine a world where they don’t choose each other, over and over and over again. It’s them. How could they ever end up anywhere but here?

Eddie wants. He tightens his grip on Buck and keeps dancing.

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

please you can’t mix a/b/o and LaDS. i’ll actually keel over and die. 

i can’t stop thinking about it ….

cw for dubcon kinda and rough sex. fem reader. psuedocest (gege. once shfjsjfj)

caleb in a rut. he grew up pretending to be a beta for your sake, taking as much suppressant medication and as many scent blockers as possible to make sure it was concealed. he wanted you to feel safe, to feel more at ease to the point he suppressed his own body completely

and then everything happens between you and caleb strictly forbids you entering his apartment during his rut. you don’t know it at the time, but they’re still permanently irregular from the whole soup of medications he took during his adolescence. so he has these crazy ruts like once or twice a year where he’s completely not himself.

you only found out he was an alpha recently, as in when he came back as a memeber of the fleet. but you’re partners now, you’re supposed to be equals so you want to help him thru his rut

caleb vehemently rejects you. of course he does. he’s not himself and he never wants to do something you do like.

but you’re stubborn and don’t listen so you go over to his apartment anyway. his scent is so thick it permeates from behind the front door of his place. when he answers it after your persistent yelling - he opens the door and it immediately assaults your senses. he’s shirtless, sweaty, pupils completely dilated. his voice is shot.

“go home. now”

he turns you away at the door. you get in each others face until you finally step on the right nerve and caleb yanks you inside and locks you in. cages your body against his front door with this terrifying look in his eyes, his hand gripping your jaw and making you look up at him “so fucking stubborn,”

you underestimate him when he says it’s bad. you dont realize how bad it is until you’re getting fucked over every surface of the house with little to no prep other that the left over, sticky spit from him trying to lick you open. he takes you first right by the door, your pants barely to your knees while your face is against the floor.

“wish you’d be a good girl and listen but you never do. maybe it’ll be a good lesson for you. remember it carefully”

caleb is always so gentle, so careful and kind but he’s forcing your pussy open like it’s nothing. splitting you on his cock as you cry. and he fucks you so deeply and so intense right from the jump, doesn’t ease you into it at all. he takes you on the floor before he helps you up and bends you over the kitchen counter, the back of the couch, pressed into missionary on the coffee table in his living room, on all fours on the stairs.

he’s being mean about it too. every time your pussy tightens up or clenches around him when he smacks it lightly or when he tortures your clit - he has this laugh that borders on callous. loving but humiliating at the same time

“no matter how much i stretch you open it feels like you’re trying to snap my dick off. do you want it so bad, hm?”

he’s merciless. he’s not himself. he makes sure you don’t hurt yourself when repositioning but you’re so full of cum and so sore you can barely move without limping. covered in these deep bite marks as he just goes again and again. mating like you’re animals until he comes out the haze

“how much cum do you think you have in here?” as he smacks your hip. “stay upright. don’t let it spill okay? since gege was so kind and gave it to you.”

he has moments of sobriety. you can always tell bc he becomes worried and affectionate- lapping at your wounds like an oversized dog. but it’s shortlived. the cycle starts again and your pussys wrapped around him like a sleeve for him to fuck.

you don’t get away from him for three days. it feels like your cunt is gonna stay stretched forever and caleb looks so sad and apologetic after. like a kicked dog

and as crazy as he is during - it’s also kind of . nice to feel how deeply he really desires you. the things he says during his ruts are demeaning but still somehow so lovesick and you kind of like seeing him let loose.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 27

Toji Fushiguro + Weight gain

Did you guys know I love big guys? I do, very much. They’ve been haunting my mind more than usual lately, like nymphs or incubi, and Toji putting on relationship weight makes me froth at the mouth. Im still very sick, but soft Toji has revived me for a moment.

I think this ended up being more fluff than smut, but oh well. Im still sick, and this is what I wanted to write. Readers a chef of some kind.

2024 kinktober masterlist

Toji Fushiguro had never imagined he’d ever be in a happy relationship after the death of his first wife, especially not to the degree where he didn’t feel the need to go out gambling or hustling for money.

Never in the past did Toji think he could lay back in his big fluffy white bed, with more pillows than he truly needed, but had just because he could for once, with an expensive high-quality duvet draped over his middle.

There was a soft scent of something cooking in the air, something sweet from the way Toji felt his tongue salivate. He only started drooling like an animal for few things, one was money, another was you, and the third was something you had pavloved into him. A love for food, and especially sweets.

Up until he met you, eating had simply been to refuel himself. A way to keep going, to keep fighting and stay in shape so he could keep killing, because what else did he have to live for if not to kill? It was just his love that his latest partner, and the one he wanted to stay with for the rest of his life, also knew how to cook, and seemed to have knack for keeping Toji nice and full.

Part of Toji suspected it came from the fact that he had told you about his past and childhood. How he had grown up starved and abused, living for no specific reason other than to give the rest of his clan someone to turn their ire towards.

Or maybe it was that fact that you had caught his eyes lingering on the cakes and cookie displays when you passed by bakeries, if only for a second. Or when Toji allowed himself to hum in satisfaction when he ate something you cooked, not because you just wanted to give him fuel, but because you loved him, and cooking was one of the ways you showed it.

Toji could hear you talking in the kitchen, your voice soft so as to not wake up, but loud enough for your phone to pick up. He could imagine it was laying on the counter as you chopped or kneaded something, the workers at your workplace calling you on your day off to ask questions they should already know the answer to.

A loud exhale left Toji’s lips as he finally pushed himself to sit up, groaning a bit as he swung his legs out over the side of your way too soft bed. Some days Toji still struggled with sleeping in it. It was too soft, too expensive, too… kind.

It was hard to explain, but you never demanded anything of him, or asked too many questions when Toji grabbed one of the towels from the hallway cupboard and slept on the floor instead of beside you. instead, you simply let one of your hands dangle over the side so that he could grab it, or so it would brush against him every now and then, just so he knew you were there and he wasn’t back where he grew up.

He yawned loudly, enough for his jaw to ache as he stretched. There wasn’t a need to work out just as much as he used too, to the point where Toji did nothing but work out, eat and sleep. Nowadays he actually got to enjoy things, even if those things were still similar to what he liked before.

But sitting at home watching horse racing on the tv was so much better than actually being there, mainly because you were there with him most of the time. And if you weren’t home, Toji still wandered around the city, this time taking out different curses that lingered, since he didn’t want them messing with you or your customer base.

As Toji rubbed a scarred hand through his eyes, he finally forced them open. That was another thing he still wasn’t fully used too. Being allowed to feel sleepy and sluggish, to wake up slowly and just take the day as it came to him.

His hair was getting too long, was the first thought through his head as his eyes landed on himself in the full-length mirror you had in your room. You kept it there for when you put on your uniform, but you two also used it for quite a lot of other things. Toji could almost feel the phantom shape of your fingers on his plush hips, or hear your voice mumble how pretty he was against the back of his ear, as you made him bounce in your lap and watch himself.

Feeling pretty was brand new too, and something still so foreign to Toji. He couldn’t see it, even as he stood in front of the mirror and ran a hand over his soft middle and sides. Sometimes Toji jokes about how you were fattening him up to eat him. It wasn’t anything over the top, but the layer of fat on his body made him seem brighter in a way, like the light that had never been there was put inside his eyes.

Hed been extremely insecure in his own way, when Toji realized he had gained somewhat of a double chin. He had immediately wanted to stop eating anything beside the bare minimum, and place himself back on his unhealthy workout schedule.

It took a longer conversation with you for him to calm down. It wasn’t just a conversation about the human body, and how he had been living wasn’t healthy and it was just his body trying to keep up, but also about his mental state. It was clear he had hated talking about anything vulnerable, but he had felt a little lighter afterwards.

He was still strong, as strong as always if not somehow more, now that his body had all that it needed. Plus, there were a lot of powerful guys out there with some pudge, it was just extra padding, you know?

Still though, it was hard to see what you meant when you said pretty. All the scars on his body put together a horrible patchwork, showing how difficult his life had been up until now. There were still signs of the unhealthy body he had carried all his life, and Toji had a feeling it would never fully go away.

But seeing that softness on himself? It made something new brew inside him. There was a saying that people cut their hair after traumatic periods of their life, something that had never worked on Toji since his life was chaos no matter what hairstyle he carried.

Seeing the physical manifestation of your love reflected back to him through the mirror made Toji feel warm and syrupy on the inside, like the sweet, melted sugar you poured over the top of some of your strawberry pastries.

It was thick, gooey, sweet and boiling hot to the point of danger. And yeah, maybe he did think his body was hot like this, sometimes. But that was mainly because of you and not himself, because he knew it was because you wanted to love him and care for him, and because Toji knew he trusted you enough to do so.

The boiling hot of the melted sugar feeling pooled in his gut, making Toji groan sleepily to himself as he got hard very easily. This was another thing he blamed on you. whod have thought that a life of abuse and mistreatment meant you became touch starved, and how should he have known he would grow sensitive and addicted to the feeling of your hands and lips.

With a huff, Toji shuffled into the pair of slippers you had bought for him when he first moved in. “the floor gets cold” you had said, as if Toji hadn’t sleep on ice cold bloody floors for years, and as if he was bothered by the cold floors at all. but he wore them, because Toji knew they were from you, and he knew you wanted him too.

The scent of your cooking grew stronger as Toji finally stepped out of your shared bedroom, his feet carrying him down the stairs and towards the large kitchen you were toiling away in. In the beginning, Toji hadn’t been completely sure how to act in the large home you lived in.

he had grown up in a giant home, but he wasn’t allowed to see it as such. And Toji had dated people before with mansions, but that had been to get money from them. With you he actually wanted to make an effort, surprising even himself.

But over time he grew comfortable, like one of those battle worn tomcats you brought in, with the giant puffy cheeks and barely any ears left. The ones that got so comfortable and purred like an old broken car. The way Toji would drape across your lap truly made him seem like one some days, which always had you cracking a joke even if Toji acted like he hated the nickname.

You had gotten so used to your partner moving around without any noise that you only gave a small jump as Toji leaned against your back, his scarred lips pressed against the side of your neck. “Morning handsome” you hum happily, leaning back against him since you couldn’t use your hands.

Toji just grumbled a bit, still sounding so sleepy and comfortable and he rolled his hips against your ass, just to show you what kind of day it was gonna be. A short smirk pulled at your lips as you made a questioning noise, rubbing back against him to see what he had planned.

But Toji didn’t have the energy or will to do anything extreme, he just wanted to lean his chubby torso against your back, as his soft but still so powerful and deadly arms curled around your waist, and his chin rested on your shoulder.

He snapped up the piece of fruit you held up to him like the hungry tomcat you always compared him too, the kind that always ate like it was its last meal even if it was fed multiple times a day. It always saddened you a bit to think about, but seeing him munch up anything you made with such gusto at least made you smile, knowing all your efforts were appreciated.

And you had a feeling Toji wouldn’t mind too much if you got his help to add a different glazing than you had planned to the fruit you had been cutting up. It was only you two that were gonna eat it anyways, right?

[mintyys-blog]

ANYWHERE TO SEE YOU — sinister! mark grayson x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

INSPIRED BY @halo-chao ‘s COMMENT

WARNINGS: implied sex, mention of abortion, pregnancy, miscarriage, alcoholism, blood, dark themes

PART ONE

You woke up before him.

For a few blissful seconds, you forgot where you were—forgot the weight of his arm draped over your waist, forgot the way your body ached from the night before. But then it all came crashing back.

You were still here. Still trapped in his world, his bed, tangled in sheets that smelled like him.

Carefully, you slid out from under his arm, barely breathing as you moved. Mark was a light sleeper, and the last thing you wanted was to wake him. You needed space, even if only for a moment.

Your feet hit the cold floor, and you grabbed the first piece of clothing you could find—one of his shirts, loose enough to cover you. You didn’t care that it smelled like him. You just needed to move. You stepped into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. And then you stared at yourself in the mirror.

Your reflection looked like a stranger’s. Your skin was flushed in places he had touched, lips swollen from his kisses, your eyes hollow, haunted.

This wasn’t you. This wasn’t the woman your husband—your real husband—had loved. The woman who had once laughed, once lived.

Mark had taken her, too. Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the sink, your breath coming too fast, too shallow. You wanted to scream. You wanted to tear your own skin off, scrub away every mark he had left on you. But it wouldn’t change anything. You were still here. And he wasn’t letting you go.

A soft knock came at the door, followed by his voice, still heavy with sleep. “You sneaking off in the middle of the night?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a slow breath before forcing your voice to be steady. “I just needed a minute.” Silence. Then the sound of him shifting, leaning against the door.

“Hope you’re not regretting last night too much,” he mused. “That would be tragic.” You swallowed the bile rising in your throat. You couldn’t do this. Not now.

“…I’ll be out in a second,” you said quietly.

Another pause. Then, to your relief, the sound of him walking away. You looked back at your reflection, your fingers curling into fists. You could keep playing this game, letting him strip away what little was left of you.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed in the bathroom, staring at your reflection like the answer to everything might suddenly appear in the hollowness of your eyes. But eventually, you stepped away.

Mark was waiting in the bedroom, lounging lazily on the bed, shirtless, one arm behind his head as he watched you with that insufferable smirk. “Took your time,” he mused. “Thought you might’ve drowned yourself in there.”

You didn’t respond. You just walked past him, heading for the closet where he had let you keep some clothes—not because he cared, but because he wanted to maintain this illusion of domesticity. Like you were actually his wife.

Like you were actually his. You felt his eyes on you as you pulled out something to wear, your fingers shaking slightly as you got dressed. He enjoyed watching you squirm, enjoyed the little moments where he could remind you just how powerless you were here.

“Come eat,” he said suddenly. “You’re not skipping another meal.” You didn’t argue. There was no point.

The kitchen was too normal. That was the worst part. He had set the table, plates already filled. You hesitated for a second before sitting down across from him, picking at the food while he ate without a care in the world.

“So,” he said casually between bites, “what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” You kept your eyes on your plate. “Nothing.” Mark hummed, amused. “Liar.”

You forced yourself to take a bite, the food tasting like ash in your mouth. He was watching you too closely, like he always did, like he knew you were planning something. And maybe he did. But it didn’t matter.

The drinking started as an escape. A glass of wine here, a few sips of whiskey there—just enough to dull the sharp edges of reality. But as the days bled into weeks, it became something else.

A necessity. Mark never stopped you. If anything, he seemed amused by it, watching with a knowing smirk every time you reached for the bottle. He never told you to stop, never warned you that you were drinking too much.

Because he wanted this. He wanted you to rely on something—and if it wasn’t him, then this was the next best thing. You weren’t sure when you stopped drinking just to forget and started drinking just to function.

One night, you stumbled into the living room, the bottle of whiskey in your hand nearly empty, your vision blurred at the edges. Mark was sitting on the couch, legs spread comfortably, watching you with amusement as you swayed slightly.

“You’re pathetic,” he murmured. You scoffed, taking another sip. “I wonder why.” His smirk widened. “Oh, don’t blame me. This is all you, sweetheart.”

You clenched your jaw, your grip on the bottle tightening. He was right, in a way. You were the one drinking. You were the one spiraling.

But he had pushed you here. Mark leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What’s the end goal here, huh?” he asked. “You think if you drink enough, you’ll forget where you are? Forget who you’re with?” He tilted his head, eyes dark with amusement. “Or maybe you’re just hoping you won’t wake up at all.”

You didn’t answer. Because that thought had crossed your mind. His smirk faltered for just a second, like he saw something in your expression that he wasn’t expecting. Then he sighed, standing up and walking over to you. You flinched slightly when he took the bottle from your hand, but he didn’t scold you. Didn’t stop you.

Instead, he just pressed a lazy kiss to your forehead and murmured, “You should pace yourself. I’d hate for you to go and ruin all my fun.” And just like that, he walked away, leaving you standing there—empty, broken, and still craving something that would never be enough.

You tried to stop. Not for yourself, not because you wanted to be better, but because you refused to let him be right.

You hated the way he looked at you when you drank—the smug satisfaction, the amusement in his eyes, like he knew you would cave. Like he was waiting for it. So you slowed down. You avoided the bottles. You fought the cravings, the need to numb yourself. And for a while, it worked.

But then came the nights where the silence was too loud, where the memories of your real life, your real husband, clawed at your mind until you felt like you were suffocating. And Mark was always there.

He saw your struggle, saw the way your fingers twitched when you walked past the liquor cabinet. And he enjoyed it. Because he knew—just like before, just like always—you would break eventually. And you did.

The cycle repeated itself, like a cruel joke the universe refused to let you escape. You drank. He watched. He waited. And then you gave in. He never had to force you. That was the worst part.

Because by the time his hands were on you, by the time he whispered those filthy, possessive things against your skin, you weren’t fighting anymore. You let him have you. Again. And again. And again.

And when it was over—when you were lying beneath him, sore and spent, your body betraying you in ways your heart never could—you realized just how pathetic you had become. Because you had nothing left to hold onto. Not your dignity. Not your pride. Not even yourself.

The first time you threw up, you blamed the alcohol.

It made sense. You had been drinking more than usual—too much, if you were being honest with yourself. It wasn’t uncommon to wake up nauseous, your head pounding, your body sluggish. So when you barely made it to the toilet one morning, emptying the contents of your stomach into the bowl, you didn’t think twice about it.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, groaning as you slumped against the cool tile. I need to cut back.

You told yourself that. You even tried for a few days, forcing yourself to drink water instead of drowning your misery in liquor. But the sickness didn’t stop. Every morning, like clockwork, it returned.

Some days were worse than others—violent retching that left you trembling, your stomach twisting into knots. Other days, it was a mild wave of nausea that would pass after a few minutes. You figured it was stress, your body finally reacting to the hell you had been trapped in. It wasn’t just the nausea, though.

The exhaustion weighed on you constantly, a bone-deep fatigue that made it hard to get out of bed. You had always felt tired since coming here—being Mark’s prisoner had a way of draining you—but this was something different. It clung to you, heavier than before, leaving you sluggish and disoriented.

Then came the cravings. At first, you didn’t even notice.

Your appetite had been inconsistent since arriving in this twisted version of your life. Some days you barely ate at all. Other days, you stuffed yourself with anything you could find, desperate for comfort, for something that didn’t make you feel so hollow. But then you started craving things you never had before. Weird things.

One night, you stood by the open fridge, your fingers curled around a cold cup of chocolate pudding. You didn’t even remember grabbing it, but the moment you saw it, your stomach demanded it.

You dug in, shoveling spoonfuls into your mouth without thinking, sighing at the way the sweetness coated your tongue. It felt good.

For the first time in what felt like forever, something actually tasted right. You barely noticed Mark’s presence until he spoke. “What are you doing?”

You froze mid-bite, blinking up at him as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, watching you with mild amusement. You rolled your eyes, licking the spoon before speaking. “Eating pudding.”

“At—” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Two AM?” You shrugged. “Yeah, I’ve been craving it.”

Then you paused. Something in the back of your mind itched, an old memory stirring, but you couldn’t quite place it. Then it hit you. Your fingers slackened around the cup, and it slipped from your grasp, landing on the floor with a soft thud.

“No… no, no, no…” You pulled your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself. Mark frowned. “What’s the problem now?”

You barely heard him. Your mind was spinning, racing back to a time when you had sat in your kitchen—your real kitchen—licking chocolate pudding from your fingers, laughing as Mark teased you about your late-night cravings. Back when you had been pregnant.

Your breath caught in your throat. “I’ve done this before…” Mark tilted his head. “Done what before?”

You swallowed hard. “The cravings. The sickness. The mood swings.” Your voice shook as realization set in, creeping through your body like ice. “I thought the nausea was from drinking. I thought my period was late because of stress but… it would explain everything.”

A terrible silence filled the room. Mark’s expression shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. His amusement was gone. His smirk, the teasing glint in his eye—gone. He stood still, unnaturally still, his dark eyes locked onto you like a predator sizing up its prey. Then, finally, he spoke. “What?”

Mark scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re not pregnant.”

You swallowed hard. “I think I am.”

“No.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. His body tensed, his jaw tightening as he took a step forward. “You’re not.”

His reaction shouldn’t have surprised you, but it still made your stomach drop.

You forced yourself to breathe, to stay calm, even as panic clawed its way up your throat. “Mark, think about it.” You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you upright. “We—we haven’t been careful.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “It makes sense.”

Mark stilled.

His brows furrowed, and for a brief moment, something flickered behind his eyes.

A realization.

A cold, harsh truth that neither of you had considered before.

For weeks—maybe even longer—you had been trapped in a cycle with him. The nights blurred together, filled with rough hands and heated breaths. He had taken you again and again, never once stopping to think about the consequences.

Neither had you. The thought had never even crossed your mind. But now, faced with the possibility, everything came crashing down. His expression darkened. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

“No.” The word came out quieter this time, almost as if he was trying to convince himself. You watched his face, your chest tightening. “Mark…” His hand shot out suddenly, grabbing your chin in a bruising grip, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“I won’t lose you again,” he growled, his voice trembling with something you almost mistook for desperation. “I won’t watch you wither away. I won’t let that thing kill you.” Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them back. “It’s not a thing,” you whispered.

His grip tightened for a fraction of a second before he abruptly let go, stepping back like he couldn’t stand to be near you. He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply through his nose. “You’re getting rid of it.” The finality in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t asking. Your breath hitched. “Mark—”

“I said you’re getting rid of it,” he snapped, his voice laced with something sharp and unforgiving. “I don’t give a damn what you think, what you want—this isn’t up for discussion.”

A bitter laugh bubbled up in your throat, but it came out strangled. “You killed our daughter before she had a chance to live. And now you want me to—” Mark’s eyes flashed with something dangerous, his lips pulling into a snarl. “I saved her.” Your chest heaved, your nails digging into your palms. “You don’t get to decide that,” you choked out.

His gaze locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw it—fear. Buried beneath the anger, beneath the cruelty, was fear. Not for the child. For you. He clenched his fists. “I do,” he said, his voice low and unyielding. And just like that, you knew—this wasn’t a fight you were going to win.

You shook your head, stepping back from him like he was something vile, something you couldn’t bear to be near.

“No!” Your voice broke, but you didn’t care. Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as you clutched your stomach. “This is my chance—our chance! At having my family back! I won’t let you take that from me!”

Mark groaned, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. “Y/N.” He was trying to be patient—his version of it, at least—but you could hear the strain in his voice, the way he was barely holding himself together. “You know what happened to the other you. She died because she got pregnant. I won’t let that happen to you.” Your breath hitched. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

You could hear it in his voice, see it in the tension of his shoulders, the way his entire body coiled like he was preparing for battle. This wasn’t a man having a conversation. This was a man at war. And you were the enemy. “You’re not him,” you whispered, voice trembling. Mark’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“You’re not my Mark,” you repeated, your fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt. “My Mark—he would’ve been scared, but he still would’ve stood by me. He still would’ve fought for me, for our baby.” Mark’s jaw ticked. His lips pressed into a thin line. But you weren’t done.

“You don’t want to protect me,” you spat, anger bubbling up like a volcano. “You want to control me.”

That got a reaction. Mark moved—in the blink of an eye, he was in front of you, so close that you could feel his breath against your face. His hand shot out, gripping your wrist hard enough to make you wince. His face was unreadable, but his voice was deadly calm.

“You think I don’t know the difference between control and protection?” His grip tightened. “I buried you once.” His voice was low, guttural, dripping with something dark. “Do you think I want to do it again?” You inhaled sharply, your chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

His fingers loosened, just slightly. “I can’t—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. His eyes met yours, and for the first time, there was no mockery, no cruelty. Just raw, unfiltered emotion.

“I can’t lose you again.” Something in your chest clenched. For a split second, you saw your husband in him. The one you had loved. The one you had lost. But then the moment passed, and he was himself again. Mark. But not yours. And that was far more terrifying.

You didn’t speak to him for days. You couldn’t.

Every time you looked at him, all you saw was the monster who had stolen everything from you—who had stolen her, the other you, the one who had died at his hands. The thought of him making that decision again, of him thinking he had the right to decide what happened to your baby, made you sick.

So you shut him out. You ignored him when he spoke. You turned away when he entered the room. You barely ate in his presence, forcing down just enough food to keep yourself going.

Mark was used to your defiance—he thrived on breaking you down—but this time, something was different. He didn’t lash out. He didn’t mock you or force you to bend to his will.

He just watched. Every time you passed him, his gaze was on you, unwavering and unreadable. Like he was waiting. You hated that it made you uneasy. You hated that you couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

You spent most of your time in the bedroom, curled up in bed with your hand resting over your stomach. The idea of something growing inside you, something small and fragile, something that was yours… it was overwhelming.

It was terrifying. But it was hope. Hope that maybe this was your second chance. Hope that maybe—just maybe—you could take back some control. You weren’t the other you. You were stronger. You knew your body, you knew you could do this. And Mark—this Mark—wasn’t going to take that away from you.

Even if he thought he could. Days passed in a blur of silence. And then, one night, you woke to find him sitting in the chair across from the bed. Watching you. Like he had been there for hours.

Your breath hitched, your body tensing under the sheets. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the city lights outside, casting shadows across Mark’s face. He sat perfectly still, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.

Watching.

Waiting.

Your throat felt dry. “How long have you been sitting there?”

Mark tilted his head slightly, the movement slow and calculated. “A while.”

A shiver ran down your spine. You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, as if it could somehow protect you from the weight of his gaze. “Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. His expression was unreadable, but there was something unsettling in the way his eyes traced over you, stopping at the place where your hand rested against your stomach.

“You think you can ignore me forever?” His voice was calm, but there was something beneath it—something simmering. You swallowed hard, but you didn’t back down. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Too bad.” He stood abruptly, and before you could react, he was in front of you. His hands gripped the blanket, ripping it away in one smooth motion, leaving you exposed to the cold air. You flinched, instinctively curling away from him. “Mark—”

“I don’t like being ignored,” he interrupted, his voice low, almost a growl. “Especially not by you.”

You glared at him, ignoring the way your pulse quickened. “What do you want me to say? That I forgive you?” Your fingers dug into the mattress. “That I understand? That I’ll just—just go along with what you want?” His eyes darkened. “I want you to listen.”

“To what?” you snapped. “To you telling me that my baby—our baby—doesn’t deserve a chance? That you get to decide whether it lives or dies?” Mark exhaled sharply, shaking his head like you were being difficult. “You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t understand!” You sat up, gripping the sheets beneath you. “I’m not her, Mark! I’m not the woman you killed, and I’m not going to let you kill this baby, either!” His jaw clenched. “I won’t let you die.”

“I won’t die!” you shot back. His hands balled into fists at his sides. He was losing patience. “You think you know that?” he said, voice eerily calm. “You think you’re different?”

“I am different.” Your voice wavered, but you held your ground. “And I’m keeping this baby whether you like it or not.”

Mark’s expression twisted, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes. For a moment, you thought he might lash out. That he might end it right then and there.

But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “You really think you have a choice?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it sent chills down your spine. You shuddered. “Yes.”

Mark inhaled deeply, then—just as quickly as he had approached—he pulled back. His lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. “We’ll see.”

And with that, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him. Leaving you alone. Leaving you breathless. Leaving you afraid.

The fights never stopped. Every interaction was a battle, every word laced with venom. The house, once eerily silent, now echoed with their arguments—shouted threats, desperate pleas, and the ever-growing tension that coiled around them like a vice.

Mark was growing impatient. And your stomach was growing right along with it.

Each time he saw it—each time his eyes lingered on the curve of your belly—his expression flickered. Just for a second. A hesitation, an ache he would never admit to. But then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. And the anger remained.

“You think this is cute?” he sneered one evening, his voice sharp enough to cut through steel. “Playing house? Pretending this is something good?”

You glared at him from across the room, one hand instinctively cradling your stomach. “It is good,” you shot back. “But you wouldn’t understand, would you? Because you’re incapable of seeing anything beyond yourself!”

Mark’s jaw clenched, his fists at his sides. “You’re going to die if you keep this up.”

“You don’t know that,” you hissed.

“I do,” he snapped, stepping closer, towering over you. “I watched it happen!”

You flinched but stood your ground. “Then watch me survive.”

He exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained frustration. He wanted to shake sense into you. He wanted to tear this idea—this delusion—out of your head. But he couldn’t. And worse, he couldn’t ignore the way his chest tightened every time he looked at you.

Every time he saw the growing swell of your stomach, proof of something real. Something his. Something he swore he would never have again. The next time he spoke, his voice was low, dangerous. “I should rip it out of you,” he murmured, almost to himself. Your blood ran cold. But instead of fear, something else took over—rage.

“Then do it,” you challenged, stepping even closer. “Do it, Mark. Kill me. Because that’s what you’d have to do, isn’t it?” Your eyes were wild with fury, with desperation. “I will not give up this baby.”

Mark didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His breathing was ragged, his hands trembling at his sides. You weren’t supposed to say that. You weren’t supposed to call his bluff. Because that’s what it was. A bluff. And you both knew it.

With a growl of frustration, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle the walls. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

Your hands trembled as you pressed them against your belly, feeling the faintest of movements beneath your fingertips. A reminder that you weren’t just fighting for yourself. You were fighting for them. And you weren’t going to lose.

You sat curled up on the couch, knees hugged tightly to your chest, your body wracked with silent sobs. Another fight. Another screaming match that left you hollow and exhausted.

Mark had stormed off, slamming the door so hard the walls trembled, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence of the house.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, staring blankly ahead, your tears drying on your cheeks.

Then, your eyes landed on it. A bottle of wine, sitting on the counter. Mark never touched it. It was likely from his mother’s collection, forgotten and collecting dust. Your fingers twitched.

One glass won’t hurt.

You rose to your feet, moving on autopilot as you made your way over, uncorking the bottle with shaky hands. The first sip burned, but you welcomed it. It was warm, numbing. Comforting. Then another. And another. By the time Mark found you, the bottle was empty.

“Are you serious?” His voice was sharp, filled with exasperation.

You just giggled, leaning against the counter for support. “What’s the big deal?” You slurred, blinking up at him through hazy eyes. Mark sighed, running a hand down his face. “You’re drunk.”

“Very drunk,” you corrected, stumbling toward him. He caught you with ease, his grip firm but not rough. Your fingers trailed up his chest, your lips pressing against his jaw. “Mmm… missed you.”

For the first time in days, you were touching him willingly, clinging to him. The tension between you had been unbearable, each fight driving a deeper wedge between you. And now, you were finally his again.

A small smirk tugged at his lips—until he felt something warm drip down his leg. His brow furrowed. He looked down. And his stomach dropped. Blood. Your blood.

It stained the floor, pooling at your feet, soaking into your clothes. Mark’s grip on you tightened. “Y/N, stop—listen to me—”

But you weren’t listening. Your lips were still trailing along his jaw, your hands tangled in his hair. All you wanted was him. A distraction from the pain, from the helplessness.

He cursed under his breath. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t normal. Without hesitation, he scooped you up, carrying you into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, stepping in with you, his clothes quickly getting drenched.

You hummed against his skin, not noticing the way his jaw was clenched, the way his eyes were glued to the blood mixing with the water. He peeled your soaked clothes away, his own following soon after.

It wasn’t until you finally looked down, hoping to see the effect you had on him, that you saw it. The red spiraling down the drain. Your smile vanished.

“Wait… blood?” Your voice came out small, weak. Your dazed mind struggled to process it, but deep down, you already knew. Mark tensed, his hands tightening around your arms, holding you steady.

“I’m bleeding?” You choked out, your eyes widening in horror. Panic settled deep in your chest, your breathing quickening, the dizziness intensifying. Mark didn’t let you go. He wouldn’t let you go.

“Y/N,” he said, voice firm. “I need you to stay with me.” But you were already trembling, gripping his shoulders like a lifeline.

“No—no, no, this can’t be happening,” you whispered, panic rising. “It was just one glass, I—I didn’t—” Your hands shot to your stomach, desperate, pleading—but the pain was already there, sharp and unforgiving. Mark’s breathing was ragged. His heart pounded in his chest.

“You will be okay,” he swore. But as your legs gave out beneath you, the last thing you saw before everything went dark was his face— And the sheer, unfiltered panic in his eyes.

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled your nose when you finally came to. The dull beeping of a heart monitor echoed in the quiet room. The world was too bright, too sharp, and for a moment, you had no idea where you were. Then it hit you. The fight. The wine. The shower. The blood.

Your hand shot to your stomach, fingers pressing against the hospital gown covering your skin. Empty. No. Your breathing grew shallow. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

“Good. You’re awake.”

Your head snapped to the side. Mark was sitting in the chair beside you, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. He looked tired. More than that—he looked relieved.

You opened your mouth, but your throat was dry. When you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper.

“The baby?” Mark met your gaze, expression unreadable. Gone. You shook your head. “No—no, I was fine. I—I only had one glass, I—”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know!” Your voice cracked, hysteria creeping in. “I didn’t—”

“Stop!”

His voice was sharp, cutting through your panic like a blade. Your breath hitched, eyes locked onto his. Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked exhausted.

“You almost died,” he said, his tone quieter now. “Again.” Tears welled in your eyes. This was your fault. You did this. If you hadn’t been so reckless, if you hadn’t let your emotions drive you to drink, maybe—maybe—A sob tore through your chest, your hands clutching at the blanket draped over you. “I—” You hiccuped, shaking your head. “I killed them.”

Your hands trembled, your entire body shaking. “I—I was so stupid, I should’ve been more careful, I—” Mark exhaled through his nose, standing up abruptly. “It’s done.”

You flinched at his tone. He wasn’t angry. Not like before.

But he wasn’t grieving either. You expected him to scream, to throw something, to punish you—because that’s what Mark did when he didn’t get his way.

But he didn’t. Instead, he was calm. Too calm. His eyes flickered to your stomach before meeting your gaze again.

“This is for the best,” he said simply. Your breath caught. “You—”

“I told you,” he cut you off. “I told you what happened to the other you. I warned you.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “And look where that got us.” Tears streamed down your face. “You’re relieved.”

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t even hesitate. And that hurt more than anything. You had lost your child. And Mark was relieved. Because in the end, it meant you were still his.

[tryingtofindava]

── 𝐌𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥

: ̗̀➛ Back to Source

{[PROXIES X FEM! READER]}

Same routine. Same tired breath.

The buzzing of my alarm clock dragged me back into another day I didn’t particularly want to live. The shrill beeping gnawed at my ears until I slammed my hand down on it, silencing it for the moment. For a second, I just laid there, staring blankly at the stained ceiling, feeling the weight of monotony suffocate me.

Wake up.

Eat.

Get ready for work.

Work for six soul draining hours while trying to fend off Jackson, the human embodiment of a mistake.

Go home.

Eat.

Sleep.

Repeat.

It was a cycle so endless, so crushing, I started to wonder if this was hell after all. Maybe I’d done something wrong in a past life, or hell, maybe even this one, and now I was being punished by being forced to exist in this grey loop forever.

But that’s just life isn’t it?

I shuffled to the bathroom, brushed my teeth mechanically, tossed on my uniform, black jeans, the red Pop’s Diner T-shirt, a name tag that screamed ‘Y/N’ to any creep who bothered to look, and dragged myself out the door.

The diner wasn’t far. It sat on the edge of town, where cracked sidewalks met endless woods. Pop’s had been around forever, the sort of place where the coffee was always hot, the floors always sticky, and the same six regulars clung to the cracked booths like flies to a corpse.

Jackson was already there when I arrived, lounging at the counter like he owned the place. His smirk crawled up my skin like spiders, and I fought the urge to spin on my heel and leave.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he purred, voice thick with sleaze. Just the sound of it was like nails on a chalkboard, not even a full minute in and I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.

I ignored him, brushing past to clock in. Maybe if I pretended hard enough he didn’t exist, he’d actually disappear.

Six hours. Just six miserable hours.

I tied my apron, plastered on my best dead eyed smile, and started my shift.

It was during my third trip delivering a plate of bacon and eggs that the doorbell chimed and the change began.

They strolled in like they owned the place, four of them, bickering loud enough that even the fry cook poked his head out from the kitchen to see what the fuss was.

I couldn’t help myself from sneaking a peak at them, they had only been in for a few seconds and half of the other customers were turning heads at the noise they were making.

The first guy through the door was tall, the tallest in the group and looked like he could either fix your car or knock you flat without breaking a sweat. He had a slight mustache that didn’t quite make him look older, and he wore a black coat over a mustard yellow hoodie. His light brown hair was buzzed short, and when he smiled, and he did, charmingly, like he had no idea how disarming it was. I caught sight of the gap between his two front teeth. His navy blue jeans looked worn in and comfortable, the kind that had seen too many years but still clung to life.

Behind him came a guy who looked like he’d fought a war just to get out of bed this morning. Third tallest, with a grumpy scowl permanently carved into his face. He wore a red flannel shirt, the top two buttons undone, and dark blue jeans to match. His hair was dark brown, nearly black, and messy like he hadn’t bothered with a comb. A scruffy beard shaded his jawline, and he had the kind of heavy lidded, exhausted eyes that screamed of nights lost to bad dreams.

Next to him, practically glued to his side and pestering him nonstop, was another younger boy. Second tallest, though only by a little. He had a wide, awkwardly placed bandage slapped across his cheek, and I couldn’t help but notice how he twitched and stuttered when he spoke, like his body and mouth weren’t always in agreement. His clothes were plain, an old, boring brown hoodie and, of course, blue jeans. Seriously, what was it with these guys and blue jeans? His raggedy gloves looked ready to fall apart at the seams, practically cartoonish in how desperate they were to stay together.

The last of the group was a girl, the only girl, and she looked about two seconds away from dying of boredom. She had a white zip-up hoodie, hands jammed deep in the pockets, and a red shirt peeking out underneath. Black jeans clung to her legs, her black hair a tangled, charming mess like she’d rolled out of bed and dared the world to say something about it. Her dark eyes scanned the room lazily, clearly unbothered by the bickering boys beside her.

I didn’t realize I was staring until the customer who had ordered the bacon and eggs coughed to get my attention, I looked down mumbling an apology and I set the food in front of them.

They became regulars after that, not only just becoming familiar faces in Pop’s, but in town too. Almost every shift I worked, they were there, corner booth, same bickering, same reckless energy. And… subtle flirting. Not from all of them, but enough to notice. Or maybe I’m just delusional in desperate need of attention…

They were here so often that I knew all four of them by name. There was Brian, Tim, Kate, and Toby. A dynamic group that I couldn’t help myself but be drawn towards.

Brian would catch my eye sometimes, offering a small smirk like we were sharing an inside joke. Tobias loved calling me over just to tease, tossing out stupid pick up lines through his stutters that made me roll my eyes so hard they almost got stuck, he did it just for my reactions I bet.

Even Tim, gruff, grumpy Tim, had his moments. He’d grumble out a “Thanks” or a “Looks good” about the plain black coffee or Cherry pie, and it would sound like the most sincere compliment I’d ever heard.

Kate was more reserved, but there was something about the way she would subtly smile at me, a quiet approval that felt… nice. Like I was included in their weird little club.

They were… strange, though. Little things started to stick out.

Brian flinched when a tray clattered to the ground behind him. Tim’s hands would tremble sometimes, so subtly it was easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention. Tobias was constantly watching the door like he expected something, or someone to barge in at any moment. Kate seemed the most composed, but she was always quietly scanning the room, muscles taut under her hoodie.

It wasn’t normal behavior. It was… survival instincts, made you wonder if they were ex military soldiers. But weirdly enough, it didn’t scare me. It intrigued me.

Maybe because my life was so boring, so achingly dull, that even the scent of danger felt intoxicating.

Of course, not everything was sunshine and rainbows, Jackson hadn’t taken the hint yet. If anything, he was getting worse.

He’d linger at the counter even longer, his beady eyes tracking me across the floor like a predator. His ‘compliments’ had gotten grosser, slimier. Sometimes he’d even lean over the counter just to breathe down my neck when I passed by.

I made it a point to keep distance between us. Pretended to be busy. Took fake phone calls in the backroom. Anything to avoid him.

He was getting bold, though. Too bold.

Last night, when I was cleaning up after close, I caught him waiting outside by the dumpsters, cigarette glowing between his fingers, grinning that horrible grin. I pretended not to see him. Darted around the other side of the building and practically ran to my car.

My hands had been shaking when I finally locked the doors and drove off. ‘If I just ignore him, he’ll eventually lose interest and leave me alone.’ I kept telling myself, though it was all just a silly wish that he’d finally disappear.

Today, though, my focus was elsewhere.

The diner was buzzing with the afterschool crowd, teens jammed into booths laughing over milkshakes and greasy fries. Pop’s was never really clean, but it was alive tonight, and that helped. I needed the distraction.

The four were already in their booth when I came on shift, arguing as usual.

“Y-Y/N!” Tobias called, waving dramatically like I couldn’t see him from across the room. “Cuh-come save m-m-me from -chirp!- these idiots.”

I snorted and sauntered over, pad and pen in hand. “I can’t save you. You’re too far gone.”

Brian chuckled under his breath. Tim just shook his head like he was embarrassed to be associated with any of them, especially Toby.

Kate nudged Toby, a silent warning of ‘cut it out.’ “We’ll have the usual,” she said, cutting off Tobias’s protests.

“Coming right up,” I said, scribbling it down.

As I turned away, I heard Brian mutter something about “Cute when she smiles,” and Tim elbowed him in the ribs. I pretended not to hear, but my cheeks burned.

The shift passed in a weird, almost pleasant blur. At one point, Kate spoke up when I refilled their coffees. “You should be careful with him,” she said, nodding subtly toward Jackson, who was perched at the counter leering at me. “Guys like that don’t know how to take no.”

I stiffened. “Yeah. I know.”

Her expression softened slightly. “You ever need anything… let us know.” I blinked, caught off guard by the quiet fierceness in her voice.

“Thanks,” I said, and meant it.

The night wound down. The teens left. The kitchen lights dimmed. I wiped the last table, exhausted but lighter somehow.

As I hung up my apron, I caught a glimpse out the window.

The four were standing by an old, beat-up RV, arguing over directions probably. Tim gesturing wildly, Tobias laughing like a maniac, Brian shaking his head with a fond sort of exasperation, Kate rolling her eyes like she’d seen it all before.

I smiled.

Maybe life wasn’t so normal anymore. Maybe it was about to get very, very strange.

But for the first time in a long time…

I wasn’t completely dreading tomorrow.

IKKK THIS IS SHORT PUT IM REALLY JUST TRYING TO SET A STORYLINE IN PLACE!!!

I’ve got the next few chapters plot lines mapped out and I’m so excited to finally be posting abt this au!! :3

[kitoshii]

Omg i just love your first fan fic definitely needs a part 2 maybe where bunny reader finds out that they actually got pregnant with mr.wolf and reader is just so confused but he decides to tell mr.wolf the news and mr.wolf is just watching t.v when bunny reader comes in and wolf is just so horny that he drags bunny reader to their room and do the cha-cha but this is just an idea write you're fan fiction how you want to write it

hellooo nonnie ! so your request did help me decide on a part two, but i changed some things ‘nd cut the pregnancy part, i really hope you don’ mind ! | pt 1 here

whos ? subbot ! bunny hybrid ! male ! reader x domtop ! wolf hybrid ! male ! character

lovin ? heavy orgasm denial , predator / prey themes , hair pulling , breeding , size kink , marking , overstim , full nelson , feminization , readers dick referred to as a clit

stretching your arms over your head as you lean back in your plush gaming chair, a soft pop echoes from your wrist. the sound makes you shake your ears, before standing up and closing your laptop carefully.

tugging your shorts down your legs, the soft click and thump of the front door had your ears twitching in attention, a little smile gracing your face as you assumed it was your mother coming home.

you opened your door, quickly flitting down the stairs with your moms name at the top of your tongue, before skidding to a stop, your socks slipping on the slick wooden floor, falling on your butt at the last stair. a loud squeak escaped your mouth, and your hands flung out, attempting to grasp onto the tight shirt of the tall wolf in front of you.

your hands retracted as quick as they had come, delicate fingers clasped against your chest. there was a moment of silence before your wide eyes nervously looked up, only to find him already staring down his nose at you with narrowed eyes. to your fear ridden mind, it seemed like they were glowing with a predatory urge and your breath hitched, suddenly reminded that you were in fact a prey animal.

a smirk spread across his lips, his eyes narrowing further for just a second before turning to his father, who peered around him curiously.

“he slipped.” he muttered, watching as the older wolf nodded, a concerned look on his face before walking to join your mother in the kitchen.

your eyes were still locked onto his frame, and when his met yours again you flinched, realizing you were still on the ground. shaky legs planted themselves on the ground, your arms attempting to push yourself up before a large hand was tucked under your arm, pulling you to your feet. you stumbled forward into his chest, face planted there until his other hand carded through your hair, tugging your head back to look up at him.

“you’re clumsy, cottontail.”

you almost whimpered at his actions, closing your thighs together without thinking, trembling hands coming up and grabbing onto his shirt. your eye contact only faltered for just a second when he glanced down, a cocky - and slightly predatory - smirk one again gracing his face. he tugged on your hair harder, leaning down so his lips were next to your ear.

“run, little bunny.” he whispered, his words accentuated by a deep, quiet growling that seemed to come from the back of his throat. his grip on you faltered and you were still for a moment, before you stepped back, foot slipping on the steps, and suddenly you were scrambling up the stairs, reaching your room ‘nd slamming the door behind you.

“what was that?” your mother called, peeking out from behind the wall to the kitchen, making eye contact with the younger wolf.

“it’s nothing.” he smiled, waving his hand ‘nd walking to the living room to sit on the couch, leaning back ‘nd manspreading his legs with the remote to the t.v in hand as if nothing had happened.

his father and your mother passed by the couch, his hair being ruffled by the small woman. “your dad and i want to go out for a bit, is that alright with you ?” she asked sweetly, leaning over the armrest of the couch, his father playing with her bent ears idly.

“thats fine,” he grunted, sitting up from his slouched position. “how long will y’ be gone?”

“don’t know yet. we’ll text Y/N when we’re on the way home, kay?” the youngest nodded in acknowledgment, and his father patted his head before they were on their way, the front door shutting behind them with a soft click.

you came walking down the stairs not long after, your steps slow and tentative. you noted the lack of shoes by the front door, coming to the quick conclusion that the adults had left - and you had half a mind to go back up to your room and not come out, but you had caught his eyes quickly and now his attention was on you.

offering him a nervous smile, you kept your head down and walked quickly to the far side of the couch, sitting down and focusing on the television. a short chuckle left his mouth as he took quick notice of something.

“what happened to the pretty pink shorts you were wearing earlier?” he asks, his eyes still trained on the tv in front of him, and you could only look down, embarrassed, because you had in fact changed your shorts to some plain black ones after soiling the others - but theres no way you could tell him that.

“.. they were too small for me.” you mumbled after a few moments, and he looked over to you, his eyes trailing down to your thighs and back to your face with an eyebrow raise and you realize how stupid that excuse was because these shorts are also tight - hugging your dick and squeezing your thighs.

your face flared in red, crossing your legs and tugging your sweater down.

“let me ask you again, doll,” he started, reaching out and tugging you towards him by your waist, his body moving so he was facing you, one knee resting on the couch. “why’d you change your shorts?”

you stared at your hands that were on your lap, holding your sweater down over half of your thighs.

“i… i told you..” you stumbled over your words, breath hitching when you felt his hand tighten around your waist. you only heard him grunt before you were stumbling on your feet, a harsh grip around your wrist.

your back hit the mattress, his large hands pulling you towards him roughly, plush thighs resting over his muscular ones. a whimper from you made his fluffy ears twitch, sharp eyes narrowing as he ran his big hands over your thighs, reveling in the way your body jerked.

your soft ears perked up as he began to talk, his deep ‘nd demanding voice sounding ominous to your muddled mind.

“now, i can either….” he started, big hands running under your sweater ‘nd across your stomach, “abuse your poor little clit,” he continued with a chuckle, squeezing your small cock to accentuate his words, making your back arch, “nd use you for my own pleasure without lettin’ you cum once,” he pushed up your sweater, flicking your nipple harshly, “or you can tell me the real answer, ‘nd i’ll fuck you like a good boy deserves to be fucked.”

you panted harshly, closing your eyes tight and gritting your teeth, your knuckles turning white as your small hands fisted the sheets under you.

“i- i… i fuckin- told you!” you gasped out, shaking your head as he flicked your dick with a sigh.

“well, i did warn you.”

“h-hnghh !” you squealed, voice muffled as your head was pressed into the mattress by his strong hands, struggling to breathe between your heavy breaths and lack of space.

he’d been fucking you for a while now, harsh teeth marks clear around your nipples, on your neck, and even your arms. you felt completely ruined, your hard, leaky, and red cock bouncing underneath you with every thrust, the hairtie around the base of it stopping you from cumming throughout this whole session, although you’re sure you’re multiple dry orgasms in.

his big cock presses against your prostate unrelentingly, strong arms pressing into you at different areas as he holds his weight against you, his thrusts so harsh ‘nd so fast you can barely tell apart his thrusts in and slides out of your poor, ruined hole.

a loud sob is ripped from you when his hand that was holding your head down is suddenly wrapped around your cock, his finger teasing the tip.

“you wanna cum, bunny?” he asks with faux sympathy, teasing the area around the hairtie, his cock still fucking into you with no mercy.

“y-yes! g-gna cum ! cum - please!” you squeak, your legs kicking up from the bed, feeling your gut twist once again with the painful need to release, your body convulsing under his as he only grins with pride.

“that’s too bad, isn’t it?” he practically coos in your ear, his voice lust filled, condescending, and predatory. theres a grunt from behind you and suddenly you’re being lifted, your chest to his back, legs slipped from under you, his muscular arms holding them in the crook of his elbows, and he wastes no time in pummeling back into your ruined hole in that position, cock kissing places you didn’t even think existed inside of you.

you feel like the breath is knocked from your lungs and you attempt to scratch at his arms because your small cock is so fucking ruined, ‘s pathetically leaking precum like a faucet, bouncing against your stomach as it loses some of it’s hardness - simply because the dry orgasms have taken so much out of you.

“look at that.. little clit’s showin’ me just how useless it really is.” he growls, biting deep into the marked skin of your neck afterwards, his swollen knot pressing against your puffy hole as his dick twitches inside of you, his head spinning and overwhelmed with the need to bulge your belly with his puppies.

“shit, bunny.. got me cummin’ so soon.” he huffs, a sloppy grin on his face as his hips never falter , even with how daringly close he is to teetering over the edge ‘nd filling your hole up.

his head shakes, ears twitching as his breathing picks up heavily, trying to center his mind, as it runs to fucking you until you pass out, using your pretty holes till youre filled with his cum and covered in his scent - his strong arms and hands increasing the grip he had on your legs.

he adjusts his arms so your legs are practically touching your ears, his hand coming up to shove large fingers in your mouth, his own baring his fangs into your shoulder - thrusting deep ‘nd hard into your little cunt, filling your stomach with his cum.

a loud wail is muffled against his digits, sobs wracking your chest as you convulse so harshly you’re practically pushed out of his arms, your head shaking back and forth.

“shit..” he mumbles, barking out a laugh. “forgot you had that on.” theres a large grin on his face as he sets your legs down, turning you onto your back. his hands work at untying the hairtie from your dick - rutting back into your hole with a few deep, rough thrusts once it’s off, bathing in the scream you release.

“y’said you wanted to cum, yeah?”

ahhh, i did it ! y’guys proud of me? ૮꒰ˊᗜˋ ꒱ა

[haeiheart]

na jaemin — operation: catnapped by @haeiheart

summary! You agree to pet-sit your friend winwin’s cat, easy job and it’s only for a few hours plus you’re getting paid— Except somewhere between the third floor and your unit, you accidentally kidnap a completely different cat. A few hours later, there’s a knock on your door, and standing there is… an honorary frat house member?

pairing! cat owner! jaemin x reader

genre! strangers to friends to lovers, neighbors (same apartment), college au!, comedic (hopefully), fluff, mutual pining, crush as first sight?

warning? mentions of juyeon from tbz, frat house behavior from the boys (frat), mentions of sex (in dreams), making out? kinda idk but yea, flustered defensive jaemin and very flirty reader hehe. states jaem has 3 cats but only mentioned one cz i got super lazy oopsie

note! this was actually an idea for an smau i had in mind but i decided to make it a story instead and have haechan be the next smau after mark is completed hehe but hopefully this was executed well, also um not proofread so hopefully there isnt too many mistakes. enjoy!!! >_<

word count! 7.8k (yippee not bad)

You were promised an easy day: pet-sit your neighbor’s cat, feed it snacks while winwin is gone, try not to let it die. you get paid. Simple.

He gave you clear instructions and details in advance “She’s a white cat. Usually just waits outside my door. Super chill. You literally just have to bring her in.” Now despite being his friend you never actually met the kitty but she shouldn’t be hard to spot right? So when you trek up to the fifth floor and see a fluffy white cat lounging between doors 412 (winwin’s) and 413, you don’t think twice. She blinks at you, yawns, and casually rolls onto her side like she owns the building. Seems pretty chill to you. Must be right.

“She’s cuter than I expected,” you mumble, crouching to scoop her up. She lets you with no resistance, no judgment, just a soft little meow that honestly sounds kind of smug. You carry her downstairs like a proud thief. You wish you could keep her because look at this cutie.

Back in your apartment, she immediately makes herself at home and leaps onto your bed, circles three times, and flops down like she’s royalty. You toss her a few treats (which she devours like she hasn’t eaten over a week), set out a water bowl, and even try to introduce her to one of your throw pillows, which she promptly rejects by batting it off the bed.

You spend the next hour scrolling your phone while she naps beside you, occasionally stretching like she pays rent. How cute. At one point, she headbutts your arm, and yeah, you kind of melt. Maybe this is your new emotional support animal. Maybe this is fate. Maybe this is the start of something wholesome and healing.

What you don’t know is that this isn’t Winwin’s cat.

This is Luna.

And Luna is not your problem.

Yet.

Jaemin doesn’t panic easily.

He lives with his three adorable cats, Luna, Lucy, and Luke, and over time, he’s learned to handle chaos like it’s a lifestyle. Fur on every piece of clothing? Expected. Broken mug? Classic Luke. Midnight zoomies that sound like a herd of toddlers on Red Bull? Routine. He should be awarded with the title of best cat dad, at least that’s what he thinks.

But today, something’s off.

He walks into his apartment, sets down his iced milk tea, and is immediately greeted by Luke’s judgmental stare from the kitchen counter and Lucy’s dramatic flop onto his shoes.

“Where’s your sister?” he mutters, already scanning the room. That’s weird usually she should be easy to spot…

Silence. No jingle of a collar, no dramatic meow, no Luna launching himself off a shelf or tables for no reason.

That’s weird.

“Luna?” he calls out, already checking under the couch. Nothing. Behind the curtains. Under the bed. Inside the laundry basket (which, to be fair, she has claimed as her personal mini studio apartment before). Still nothing.

Then it hits him.

He left the door cracked earlier when he ran downstairs to grab his drink delivery.

He checks the hallway.

Jaemin sighs. “No. No way. Winwin wouldn’t catnap her. He isn’t even in town.” Then it hits him, if he isn’t in town then who’s taking care of HIS cat?

By a gut feeling, as you would call it fatherly instinct, there’s no way this is happening. There’s no way someone actually looked at Luna and thought, “Yep. That’s the one I’m supposed to take care of.”

So he calls winwin.

It rings twice before Winwin answers, voice staticky but calm. “Hey, what’s up? Is something wrong?”

Jaemin blinks. “Yeah. Luna is gone.”

A pause. “Gone?” Winwin repeats.

“She’s not here,” Jaemin says, deadpan. “Luna. She was here this morning. I come back, she’s gone. Vanished. Poofed herself into thin air.” He says with a pout forming in his face.

“Jaemin. Luna is your cat.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you calling me?”

“Because I think if your cat sitter lives in this apartment she or he must’ve stole him.”

The silence that follows is so long, Jaemin checks the screen to make sure the call didn’t drop.

Then, Winwin laughs. Like really laughs. The kind of tired, amused laugh that says “this isn’t my problem, but I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”

“Oh my god,” he wheezes. “She took Luna?”

“I think so.”

“Bro,” Winwin says, barely keeping it together, “she’s never met my cat. I told her she’d be waiting outside my door. Luna was probably lurking again.”

Jaemin closes his eyes. “So she just saw a random white cat in the hallway and picked him up.”

“Yep.”

“And took him.”

“Yep.”

Jaemin exhales through his nose, long and dramatic. “I’m knocking on her door.”

“Be nice,” Winwin says, still laughing.

“No promises.”

Click.

As he makes his way to your apartment unit as winwin has informed of your whereabouts. You were busy dressing Luna up in the most adorable outfits to imagine. Man you could get used to pet sitting.

But you take that back the moment u hear loud footsteps in your hall, followed by exaggerated door knocking on… your door? Taken aback, you place Luna down on your couch and hurriedly made your way to your door, opening it to see… Jaemin?

He scans you as you’re wearing an oversized hoodie, socks with cartoon ducks on them, and a slightly panicked look on your face like you were mid-heist.

Jaemin blinks.

His brain does a hard reset.

You are… very cute. Distressingly so. Not what he was expecting at all. For a second, he forgets why he’s even standing here.

You tilt your head. “Uh. Hi?”

Right. The cat. Focus. He thinks.

He clears his throat, straightens his back, and holds up the can of tuna like it’s evidence. “You have my cat.”

You blink. “I— what?”

“You took my cat,” he says again, trying to sound assertive, but his voice betrays him with just the slightest edge of disbelief. “Her name’s Luna. Not yours. Not winwin. Mine.”

You glance over your shoulder at Luna, currently curled up on your couch, still in her tiny yellow bumblebee costume. She looks content. A little too content.

You fold your arms, trying not to laugh. “Okay, first of all, I thought she was Winwin’s. Second of all… she looks adorable.”

And for a second, Jaemin forgets his mission all over again. Because yes, his cat has been kidnapped, humiliated, and renamed— but now he’s standing in front of the girl responsible, and for some godforsaken reason, he’s not as mad as he really should be.

“Well” he says, looking away with an exaggerated pout, “I guess I can forgive you. Even though you stole my child, changed her name, shoved her into a tiny insect outfit, and clearly tried to emotionally replace me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re so dramatic.”

“She’s dramatic. We match,” he retorts, stepping inside like he owns the place. His eyes immediately land on Luna, who’s now lounging on your throw pillows like she’s at a one way vacation spa. Somehow she loafs perfectly into your cushions. Weird.

“Luna,” he calls, crouching and holding out his arms like a proud cat dad. “Let’s go, princess. Daddy’s here.”

Luna blinks at him slowly. Then turns away. Entirely.

You snort. “Wow. Rejected.” You bite back a laugh, watching the way Jaemin’s face twists in exaggerated betrayal.

Jaemin tries again, softer. “Baby, come on. Don’t make this weird. Let’s go home. I have snacks. Your favorite tuna—the one with the stupid little fish on the can.”

Luna stretches. Rolls over. Completely ignores him.

Jaemin looks personally wounded. “Are you serious right now?”

“She loves me now,” you say, smug. “We bonded.”

“You bribed her with a bee costume.”

“She purred for thirty minutes straight after I gave her a belly rub. I’m basically her soulmate.” Luna skips over and rubs her head against your leg, purring like she agrees.

Jaemin stares at Luna, betrayed. “I raised you better than this.”

You laugh as Luna curls around your leg like she’s claiming you in a custody battle.

Jaemin glares at his cat. “You’re dead to me.”

Luna meows innocently.

Jaemin looks back at you, arms crossed. “Okay, new deal. You stole her, you keep her but only for now. Which means I’m now legally required to supervise all visitation hours. I’ll be dropping by.” Maybe he said it with the intention of seeing you again. But who cares he can if he wants to.

You raise a brow. “That so?”

“Mhm,” he says, already sitting on the edge of your couch like he’s lived here for years. “This is what co-parenting looks like. Don’t fight it.”

And just like that, you’ve accidentally adopted a cat and invited a very dramatic boy into your life.

There’s a brief pause before both of you suddenly freeze, eyes widening slightly.

“…Wait,” you say.

“Winwin’s actual cat,” Jaemin finishes, blinking.

You both glance at Luna, still purring like a traitor at your feet.

You clear your throat. “We should probably… go get her.”

Jaemin nods. “Yeah. Before she starts thinking you abandoned her too.”

A week later, you haven’t seen Jaemin since that weekend. Winwin’s back now, which means no more cat sitting… or accidental naps with stolen cats.

You step into your favorite coffee shop, finally free for a few hours, and grab your drink at the counter. As you turn around, your eyes land on a familiar figure sitting alone by the window, Jaemin. He’s dressed slightly nicer than usual, button-up shirt, hair pushed back like he actually tried… but the expression on his face is pure discomfort. He’s stiff, eyes flicking to the door every few seconds, like he’s waiting for something or someone.

You hesitate, then approach casually, pretending to look around like you’re not analyzing him facially before. “Hey… Jaemin?”

He looks up quickly, a little startled. His face shifts from surprised to sheepish in two seconds flat. “Oh. Uh. Hey.”

You point at the seat across from him. “Can I?”

He shrugs, but his ears are red. “Sure. I mean—yeah.”

There’s an awkward beat of silence before he finally mutters, almost like he regrets it instantly, “I was supposed to be on a blind date.”

You blink. “Oh?”

“She’s not coming,” he adds quickly, like saying it faster makes it hurt less. “Or she forgot. Or maybe she saw me through the window and ran. Whatever. I’m not emotionally invested.”

You try not to smile even though you admit he looks cute all pouty. “You definitely sound not emotionally invested.”

Jaemin glares playfully, then sighs and leans back in his chair. “This is why I don’t do setups. My cats have better taste in people.”

You hold back a laugh. “Well, lucky for you, I’m here. I can sit awkwardly across from you and pretend this is still a successful date.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You offering to fake a date with me?”

You grin. “Only if you buy me slice of cake and others.”

He scoffs and smiles lightly which you almost miss but didn’t. “Knew you had an ulterior motive, you thief”

You grin, leaning on the table. “What can I say? You looked like you were one sad song away from having delusions out the window dramatically. I had to step in.”

Jaemin lets out a loud, offended gasp. “I do not look dramatic.”

“You dressed up for a blind date and got stood up,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. “It’s giving a tragic second lead in a romance drama.”

You tilt your head, eyes scanning him playfully. “Though honestly, I can see why someone would set you up. You clean up pretty well.” You knew your intentions and you knew the affect it would have on him.

Jaemin blinks, clearly not expecting that.

“You trying to soften me up now?” he asks, flustered but pretending to act cool.

You smirk. “Just saying… if I’d known you could look like that, I might’ve set myself up.”

He coughs into his drink, ears turning very visibly pink. “O-Okay. Wow. That’s—uh, bold.”

You grin, watching him squirm. “What? Too much for your heart to handle?”

He glares at you, flustered. “I’m not—! I mean, I can handle it. I just… wasn’t ready.”

You laugh. “Relax, Jaemin. I’m just being nice.”

“Sure you are,” he mutters, hiding behind his cup again. “This is payback for the cat thing, isn’t it?”

“You’ll never know,” you say with a wink.

The rest of the afternoon unfolds like an unplanned scene from a movie, comfortable, light, and quietly magnetic. You stay at that coffee shop far longer than either of you intended. What starts off as you teasing Jaemin just to see him flustered turns into a back and forth rhythm you both fall into naturally. You keep flirting, endless little jabs and compliments disguised as jokes, like it’s second nature. And maybe it is, but this time, there’s real meaning hidden underneath your playful tone.

You’re trying to tell him, just a little, that you think he’s cute. That you like the way he smiles even when he’s trying to hide it, and how his laugh catches in his throat when he’s caught off guard. But Jaemin, oblivious as he is, just assumes it’s your usual personality, like it’s something you hand out to everyone without thinking.

Still, he listens to every word you say. Laughs at all your dumb stories. And when you gently nudge his foot under the table or casually lean in too close when you show him a meme on your phone, he notices, but convinces himself you’re just naturally like this. That you don’t mean anything by it.

But you do. You really do. He is just slow and blank, just like his cats.

You and Jaemin start talking more after that day. What was once a chaotic meet cute over a cat turns into something softer, steadier. Weekly texts turn into daily ones. Inside jokes multiply. A meme here, a random “you won’t believe what just happened” there, until talking to him becomes part of your routine without you even realizing it.

Meet ups happen more often too. First under the excuse of “cat visitation rights,” then because he found a new café and thought of you, then because neither of you really bothers making excuses anymore. It’s easy with him. Effortless, even when he’s being overly dramatic or you’re teasing him into a blush.

Eventually, you start noticing the way other people notice you when you’re with him. Like the two girls whispering near the campus fountain or the way someone in your psych class did a double take when Jaemin showed up to walk you out. You almost forgot he’s kind of known around here. Thanks to his stupidly attractive face, his magnetic energy, and the fact that half his closest friends are in the loudest frat on campus.

You both start hearing the rumors, of course whispers floating around campus about how you and Jaemin are totally dating. People make comments, some subtle, some not. But honestly? Neither of you really care.

If anything, Jaemin seems to like it. He doesn’t say much about it directly, he finds himself smiling when someone calls you his “mystery girlfriend” in passing. He leans into it just a little too well, doesn’t correct anyone, and never seems bothered by the assumption. If anything, he’s happy that it gives him an excuse to be closer to you. To linger longer after your hangouts. To text first. To act a little too comfortable.

Because the truth is, even with his popularity and his easy charm, Jaemin never really explored much outside the world of his small circle— his friends, his cats, his usual routines. But then you showed up, loud and teasing and full of unexpected softness, and maybe the rumors make it easier for him to pretend. To be a little delusional. To imagine that maybe, just maybe, you like him back.

But right now you’re currently set at Jaemin’s kitchen island, textbooks spread open, highlighter uncapped and forgotten as you read the same sentence for the fifth time. Jaemin’s behind the counter, half-focused on the pot in front of him, cooking up something that smells suspiciously like instant noodles with way too much effort.

“You’re really putting your whole soul into that ramen,” you say without looking up.

Jaemin hums. “It’s called love, thank you.”

You glance over. “It’s called MSG.”

He points his chopsticks at you like he’s offended. “I’ll have you know, this is gourmet. I added an egg.”

You snort, turning a page. “An egg doesn’t make it gourmet, Gordon.”

He shrugs, plating the food like he’s on a cooking show. “Well, Gordon doesn’t have three cats who judge his every move. I work under pressure.”

You smile, eyes drifting to Luna lounging on the windowsill, tail flicking lazily. “I think she’s your harshest critic.”

“She is,” he says, setting a bowl in front of you. “But she also likes you more than me, so I try not to take it personally.”

You look up at him, brow raised. “Aw. Jealous of your own cat?”

He leans on the counter across from you, resting his chin in his hand. “Maybe. You do flirt with her more than you flirt with me.”

You smirk. “So you have noticed.”

His eyes widen just a bit before he looks away quickly, ears turning pink again. “No comment.”

Just as you’re about to tease Jaemin again, the front door swings open without so much as a knock.

“Yo,” comes Winwin’s voice as he steps in, nose already in the air like a bloodhound. “I smelled something fire and figured you weren’t the one cooking it.” Clasping his hands together as he rubs it acting like he’s ready to devour a whole table.

Jaemin groans dramatically. “Do you have to use your emergency key every time you get hungry?”

Winwin ignores him completely, eyes locking onto you instead. “Hey! Didn’t know you’d be here.”

You grin and hop off the stool to greet him. “Winwin!” you say, giving him a quick hug.

Winwin hugs you back easily, then nods toward the food. “You cook this?”

“Jaemin did,” you say with a smile, while Jaemin stands stiffly at the counter, chopsticks in hand and expression unreadable as his eyes slowly scan that hand. The hand that’s hugging your waist. Winwins hand.

Winwin’s eyebrows wiggle, noticing jaemin’s behavior. You watch him transforming his face to something you know he makes when he’s about to joke. “Might come over more often if it’s a free chef and a cute food buddy.” He lifts his hands up to pinch your cheeks which he does to actually bully you relentlessly considering you both always had a sibling dynamic. But jaemin doesn’t know that.

“Goodbye,” Jaemin deadpans, turning back toward the stove like he’s about to cook again just to distract himself.

You glance at him, then back at Winwin, amused. “I think he’s offended.”

“I think he’s sulking,” Winwin says, dropping onto the stool you just left like he owns the place. “Didn’t know you were this sensitive, Jaem.”

“I’m not sensitive,” Jaemin mutters under his breath, a little too sharply. “I’m just reevaluating who gets to walk in my apartment uninvited and steal my guests.”

You blink. “Wait… I’m the guest?”

Jaemin glances at you, then quickly looks away, muttering, “You were until someone else got a hug first.”

You laugh, eyes lighting up as you lean over the counter. “Aww, someone wants a hug. Well, come here then.”

Jaemin freezes mid-turn, eyes narrowing. “I don’t— I didn’t say that—”

But before he can escape, Winwin already standing, arms outstretched with a shit-eating grin. “Yeah, come here bro. Let it all out.”

“Don’t you dare” Jaemin backs away, but you’re already walking over with your arms open too.

“Group hug!” you announce cheerfully.

“No, no, no—stop—ugh!” Jaemin groans as both you and Winwin pull him in, squeezing him between you like he’s the stuffing in an overly affectionate sandwich.

He squirms dramatically, arms stuck awkwardly to his sides. “I hate this. I hate this.”

“You love it,” you say into his shoulder.

“You’re so warm,” Winwin adds mockingly.

“I’m removing both of you from my emergency contacts,” Jaemin mutters, but there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, despite all the whining.

Eventually, the ridiculous group hug dissolves into laughter with Jaemin still dramatically complaining, Winwin pretending to wipe a tear from his eye, and you leaning against the counter, giggling like the chaos didn’t just start with you.

Winwin sticks around for a “quick bite,” which, unsurprisingly, turns into him stealing half of Jaemin’s pantry while requesting snacks you didn’t even know Jaemin even had. Somehow, that quick visit turns into all three of you lounging on Jaemin’s couch, half watching a movie playing in the background while Luna nestles herself between you and Jaemin like the princess she is.

Thirty minutes into the movie, Winwin sighs loudly and flops sideways onto the cushions. “Okay, I’m bored.”

“You picked the movie,” Jaemin points out, raising a brow.

“Yeah, well, I was hoping something would explode by now,” Winwin says. “This is just people talking about their feelings.”

You laugh. “It’s a rom-com win.”

“Exactly,” Winwin says, sitting up suddenly. “We need something more fun. Let’s play a game or something.”

Jaemin side-eyes him. “What are we, twelve?”

“You’re the one still wearing cat socks,” Winwin replies, already reaching for the TV remote.

You and Jaemin both freeze.

“…You told him about my socks?” Jaemin mutters to you.

You shrug with a guilty smile. “I might’ve mentioned it. Once. Or twice.”

Winwin smirks. “Now shut up and play. I’ve got ideas.”

Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “Let me guess—Truth or Dare?”

Winwin grins. “Bingo.”

Jaemin sighs, but doesn’t protest. Which is basically consent.

You shrug, already intrigued. “Fine. But if anyone makes me eat something cursed, I’m leaving.”

“No promises,” Winwin says, rubbing his hands together like a villain. “Alright, I’ll start. Y/N. Truth or dare?”

You roll your eyes. “Truth.”

Winwin doesn’t hesitate. “Do you think Jaemin is cute?”

Jaemin nearly chokes on his drink, turning to you with wide eyes.

You smirk, unfazed. “Obviously.”

Did you really just call him cute that casually? Like it was no big deal? Like it wasn’t currently short circuiting every brain cell in his head? He swears he can feel his ears heating up, and now he’s gripping his cup like it personally betrayed him.

Winwin cackles while Jaemin tries to act cool, suddenly very busy petting Luna like his life depends on it. “Y-You say that like it’s no big deal.”

You stretch out on the couch. “It’s not. You’re cute. Everyone knows that.”

Jaemin mutters something under his breath, probably a prayer.

Winwin’s already delighted. “Okay Jaemin, your turn.”

Jaemin glances at you, then sighs. “Y/N. Truth or dare?”

You pretend to think, then grin. “Dare.”

His eyes narrow slightly, a spark of mischief returning. “I dare you… to tell me your most recent dream.”

You raise a brow. “What kind of dream?”

He shrugs casually. “Any kind. Unless you’re scared.”

You lean back against the couch, letting your lips curl into a lazy, mischievous smile. “Alright. You asked for it.”

Jaemin lifts an eyebrow, instantly wary. Winwin sits up straighter, sensing drama.

You stretch your arms with a nonchalant hum. “I had a dream about you, actually.”

Jaemin blinks. Winwin visibly perks up.

“In the dream, we were… in your kitchen,” you continue slowly, eyes flicking over to Jaemin, watching the way he starts to stiffen. “Except you weren’t wearing a shirt. And for some reason, I was sitting on the counter.”

Jaemin makes a noise in his throat that could only be described as panicked curiosity.

You grin. “You said something dumb like, ‘wanna try my special sauce,’ and then—well, I’ll spare the details.”

Winwin’s losing it. “NO, DON’T SPARE THE DETAILS—”

You ignore him entirely, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Okay, so then, in the dream… you came closer. Still shirtless, obviously. You leaned in and said something stupid like ‘bet I taste better than the ramen.’”

Jaemin chokes. Again.

Winwin is wheezing on the couch, halfway to tears.

“And then,” you say, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous, “you kissed me. Right there in front of the stove. It was very Intense. Steamy. Heavy breathing. Your hand may or may not have ended up on my thigh.”

Jaemin is frozen. Fully red. His soul has left his body.

“I’m… I’m gonna pass out,” he mutters, hand over his mouth.

You shrug innocently. “Hey, you dared me.”

Winwin could not hold in his laughter any more, not that he was even trying in the first place. “knowing you this was probably made up to tease him”

You giggle yourself. “i guess we will never know then”

Jaemin’s still staring at nothing. Processing. Possibly glitching.

And you? You just smile sweetly, sipping your drink like you didn’t just blow his mind wide open.

Jaemin sits there, stunned, his brain short circuiting in twelve different directions. You, one of his closest friends, the girl who teases him relentlessly and steals his cat’s affection on a daily basis, just casually admitted to having a sex dream about him. Like it was no big deal. Like you weren’t currently flipping his entire perception of reality upside down.

But… was it real? Or were you just messing with him again, like always? Your tone was playful, sure, but the way you looked at him when you said thigh… was that acting?

His mind races: were you flirting or just being you? Was this a bit or a confession? And why, in the name of Luna’s fluffy tail, was he kind of dying either way? Because no matter how close someone may be to another, somebody who is just a friend wouldn’t act like this.

Jaemin spent the next couple of days thinking about you more than he usually does. And that’s saying something, because even on a normal day, you took up an annoyingly large portion of his brain. But now? After that dream confession? It was like you had crawled into his subconscious and set up permanent residence. He couldn’t eat ramen without hearing your voice. Couldn’t walk into his kitchen without picturing you on the counter. Couldn’t even pet Luna without wondering if you actually preferred him over the cat.

So eventually, he cracks.

“Okay, I need to tell you something,” he says, sliding into the seat across from Jeno at their usual café table.

Jeno blinks, mid-sip of his iced Americano. “Okay? What’s up?”

“I need to tell you something,” Jaemin says, already bracing himself but Jaemin stays oddly quiet trying to build up the courage to even speak on it.

Jeno eyes him, then sips his drink. “Is this about Y/N?”

Jaemin stares. “How did you—”

“Because you’re being weird,” Jeno says, calm as ever. “You only get this dramatic when it’s about her.”

Jaemin sinks lower in his seat. “She said she had a dream about me.”

“Okay…?”

“A dream dream.”

Jeno’s eyes narrow. “As in—”

“There was kitchen counter. Shirtless me. Thighs may have been involved.”

Jeno snorts into his drink. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Jaemin leans back with a heavy sigh. “I don’t even know if she was serious. It was during a dumb truth or dare game. She said it so casually, like it was a joke. But it’s messing with my head.”

Jeno gives him a look. “You like her.”

Jaemin doesn’t answer.

“You really like her,” Jeno adds, smirking now.

Jaemin mutters something under his breath, fiddling with the straw in his drink. “I’m so screwed.”

Jeno leans back, arms crossed, eyeing him like he’s waiting for Jaemin to catch up to something obvious. “Okay, but what’s actually stopping you?”

Jaemin frowns. “From what?”

“From getting her,” Jeno says bluntly. “You like her. She clearly likes you. You hang out all the time. She literally told you she dreamed about you shirtless. What’s the holdup?”

Jaemin lets out a breath, leaning forward. “I don’t know, man. What if she’s just playing around? What if that’s just how she flirts with everyone? What if I try something and it ruins what we have?”

Jeno raises an eyebrow. “And what if you don’t try and someone else gets her while you’re busy being scared?”

Jaemin pauses.

Jeno smirks. “Exactly.”

He takes another sip of his drink before adding casually, “You should invite her to the frat pool party this weekend.”

Jaemin blinks. “You know I’m not even in the frat.”

“Yeah, but you’re frat-adjacent,” Jeno says with a grin. “It still counts. Plus, everyone’s gonna be there. Chill vibes, music, food. Could be a good move.”

Jaemin taps his fingers against the cup, thinking.

Jeno shrugs. “Just sayin’. Would be a shame if someone else hit on her while you were hiding behind your cats.”

Jaemin groans. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I’m right,” Jeno says smugly. “Text her.”

Jaemin bites his lip, hesitating for just a second before grabbing his phone. “Okay… okay, I’ll do it.”

Jeno raises both brows. “Right now?”

Jaemin nods, already typing. “Might as well rip the Band-Aid off.”

He hovers for a split second, then hits send. The second the message is out, he visibly tenses, shoulders rising, eyes wide, phone clutched like it just self-destructed in his hands.

“Oh no,” he mutters. “What did I just do? Why did I do that? I’m sweating. Am I sweating?”

Jeno bursts out laughing. “You haven’t even gotten a reply yet.”

“That’s the worst part!” Jaemin hisses, already dramatically slumping over the table. “What if she thinks it’s lame? What if she doesn’t even like pools? What if she leaves me on read and then ghosts me forever and Luna hates me out of secondhand embarrassment—”

“Bro,” Jeno cuts in, grinning as he reaches over and pats Jaemin’s head like he’s a panicking child. “You’re so down bad it’s actually adorable.”

Jaemin groans into his sleeves. “I need emotional support cats immediately.”

You got the memo about the party, and you agreed because why not? It sounded fun, and if you were being honest, the text from Jaemin asking if you’d come had your heart doing something stupid in your chest. So you said yes.

You even found the cutest two-piece to wear, pairing it with a breezy skirt and a cropped tube top to throw over it. Casual, but cute. The kind of outfit that said, “I just showed up,” even though you definitely spent too long picking it out.

Now all you gotta do is wait for jaemin as he said he would pick you up.

Jaemin pulls up in front of your apartment right on time, windows down, music low, one hand lazily draped over the steering wheel like he wasn’t lowkey nervous the entire drive over.

You hop into the passenger seat, adjusting your skirt as you settle in, and he glances over only to freeze for half a second. His eyes drag down, then snap back up way too quickly, and you don’t miss the way his ears turn a little pink.

“You, uh…” he clears his throat, gripping the steering wheel with both hands now. “You look pretty.”

You smile, pretending not to notice the way he avoids eye contact for a solid five seconds.

“Thanks,” you say, leaning back in your seat. “You clean up alright yourself, Mr. Not-a-frat-boy.”

That gets a soft laugh out of him, and the tension eases just a bit. But the blush? That stays.

Soon comes your arrival to the party.

Jaemin pulls into the driveway, the thump of bass growing louder as you approach the familiar chaos of the frat house. People are already spilling out onto the lawn, some with solo cups in hand, others half-soaked from the pool in the backyard. It’s loud, messy, and alive with energy but when Jaemin glances over at you, he looks like he’s only focused on one thing.

“You ready?” he asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You nod, opening the door and stepping out with a bit more confidence than you actually feel. But it helps, walking beside him.

The second you step through the gate to the backyard, the air shifts. Music blasts from speakers near the pool, drinks flow freely, and laughter echoes from every corner. A few people wave at Jaemin, some call his name, and you realize once again how known he is here. Not a frat boy, but somehow still the center of it all.

And now, you’re right beside him.

You barely make it ten steps into the backyard before a familiar group huddled near the drinks table notices Jaemin.

“Yo, finally!” Jeno calls out, waving him over with a plastic cup in hand. “We thought you bailed.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes, guiding you through the crowd. “I’m literally on time.”

A few heads turn as you both approach. Renjun, Haechan, and Mark all lounging around like they own the place. Jeno’s the first to raise a brow as his eyes flick between you and Jaemin, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

“Wait,” Haechan says, straightening up. “Is this Y/N?”

Jaemin rubs the back of his neck, already bracing himself. “Yeah.”

“This is the cat thief?” Renjun grins, then eyes you up and down. “Damn. Pretty cat thief.”

You blink in surprise, lips twitching upward. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, it is,” Jeno jumps in smoothly, nodding. “Jaemin’s been suspiciously protective over his cats ever since, but like… if you were the one stealing them? I get it.”

“Can’t even blame Luna for choosing her,” Mark adds, sipping his drink. “She’s got taste.”

Jaemin looks like he’s about to explode. His ears are already red, and the second you turn to glance at him, his expression is half panic, half please stop talking right now.

“She’s standing right here, guys,” Jaemin mutters, clearly flustered.

“That’s the point,” Haechan says, grinning wide. “Let her know how down bad you are.”

You cross your arms, amused. “Down bad, huh?”

Jaemin glares at his friends, then looks at you with his face burning, voice barely steady. “Ignore them. They’re insufferable.”

“You’re not denying it though,” you tease, raising a brow.

He opens his mouth, closes it, then groans and mutters, “I hate everyone here.”

You just laugh, heart fluttering, and Jaemin silently prays the ground opens up and swallows him whole.

After the wave of teasing finally dies down, the group breaks off to mingle. The music’s picked up, the grill’s going, and someone’s already cannonballed into the pool. It’s the kind of party that has a rhythm of its own, easy to fall into.

Jaemin gets swept into a conversation with some upperclassmen you don’t recognize, laughing and catching up like he hasn’t seen them in years. You give him a quick smile before peeling off toward the snack table, figuring you’ll let him do his thing for a bit.

That’s when someone taps your shoulder.

“Hey,” a voice says, smooth and casual. You turn to see a tall guy with soft brown eyes and a ridiculously charming smile. “Sorry, just realized I’ve seen you around a couple times but never got your name.”

“Oh,” you say, caught a little off guard but not in a bad way. “It’s Y/N.”

“I’m Juyeon,” he says, offering a hand. “Cool to finally meet the girl who made Jaemin show up to a party early.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that what I’m known for now?”

He grins. “Among other things.”

You laugh, easing into the conversation. Juyeon’s easy to talk to, friendly, flirty in a light, non-serious way, but nothing that makes you uncomfortable. He’s just… genuinely nice. And kind of funny. You chat about random classes, music tastes, and somehow end up debating over who has the best fries in town.

And from across the yard, Jaemin glances your way mid conversation, mid laugh and goes completely silent when he spots you talking to Juyeon. His smile falters, just a bit.

You and Juyeon somehow end up posted near the snack table for way longer than expected. It starts with light chatter, but before you know it, you’ve both slipped into full gossip mode like you’ve been best friends for years.

You’ve learned two very important things about him so far:

He has a grudge against any professor who gives pop quizzes on a Monday.

He once had a big, fat, tragic crush on a girl he just realized is your friend, someone you dormed with in your first year of college.

“You’re lying,” you laugh, nearly choking on a chip. “That’s who you meant?”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I didn’t know she was your friend, okay? Now this is awkward. I’m going to have to pretend I didn’t memorize her entire class schedule sophomore year.”

“Wow. That’s so stalker coded of you.”

“It was one semester! I was delusional and only eighteen!”

You both burst into laughter again, shoulders bumping. From across the yard, Jaemin glances over just in time to see you wiping a tear from your eye, laughing at whatever Juyeon just said, looking far too cozy for his liking.

Mid convo or somewhere between Juyeon ranking the best campus bathrooms and you defending your controversial fry opinion, he suddenly glances past you and tilts his head.

“Not to ruin the fun,” he starts, eyes flicking toward the backyard crowd, “but your boy’s been staring over here for a solid five minutes.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Jaemin,” he nods subtly. “Been looking like he wants to join but doesn’t know if he should. Or like he wants to throw a grape at my head.”

You follow his gaze and, sure enough, Jaemin’s standing a few feet away, pretending to listen to someone talk, but clearly distracted, gaze flicking between you and Juyeon like he’s calculating the distance for a casual interruption.

“Oh.” You try to play it cool, sipping your drink.

Juyeon grins, eyes narrowing teasingly. “Sooo… what’s going on there?”

You shrug, a little too fast. “Nothing.”

“Mm. That’s not what it looks like.” He leans in, voice playful. “You into him?”

You pause, a knowing smile creeping up your face. “And if I said maybe?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Then I’ll keep my bestie status and not get in the way. But damn. No wonder he looked like he was gonna throw hands when I offered you the last cookie.”

You snort. “He did not.”

“He definitely did.”

After you and Juyeon part ways with numbers exchanged because hello, who wouldn’t want a gossip loser nerd buddy like him, you make your way toward the edge of the yard, debating about finding a drink refill.

That’s when Jaemin appears, seemingly out of nowhere, a little flushed and noticeably tipsy. Not in a sloppy way, just enough that his eyes are softer than usual, his pout exaggerated, and his footsteps a bit too dramatic for someone who’s only walking ten feet.

He stops right in front of you and just stares.

“You were gone forever,” he mumbles, brows furrowed like you personally betrayed him.

“I was at the snack table,” you say slowly, raising an eyebrow. “You saw me.”

“Yeah. With him.” He squints, swaying slightly. “Who was that? He smiled too much.”

You blink, trying not to laugh. “You’re sulking.”

“I’m not sulking,” he sulks, arms crossing like a toddler who didn’t get picked for a game.

“You totally are.”

Jaemin sighs, head dropping back dramatically before tilting to look at you again. “Okay, fine. I’m jealous. Visibly, apparently.”

You try to hold it in, but laughter bubbles out of you anyway. “Wow, big moment. Admitting it out loud.”

He rolls his eyes, but you catch the way his shoulders loosen just a little.

You reach out, nudging his arm. “You know I wasn’t actually entertaining anyone else, right? I mean he’s cool. But he’s not you.”

That gets his attention.

His brows lift slightly, the pout dropping as he stares at you with wide eyes. “Wait. You’re serious?”

You just grin, turning to walk backwards toward the house. “C’mon, you’re tipsy and dramatic. Let’s go somewhere quieter before you start confessing more things in public.”

Jaemin blinks, stunned for a beat before jogging to catch up, a dumb smile already forming on his face. “Hold on wait, are you serious serious?”

You shrug, laughing. “Guess you’ll have to keep following me to find out.”

You and Jaemin slip away from the buzz of the backyard and into the quieter halls of the frat house. The noise fades into a dull hum behind you, replaced by the soft creaks of the old floorboards and distant laughter echoing through the walls.

“This one’s always empty,” Jaemin says, pushing open a door like he’s done it a hundred times. “Guest room. I’ve crashed here more times than I can count.”

You step inside, taking in the slightly mismatched furniture, the faint smell of detergent and cologne lingering in the air. It’s cozy in a weird, half lived in way.

Jaemin flops onto the edge of the bed with a quieter sigh this time, elbows resting on his knees, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“You know,” he starts, voice lower, a bit rougher than before, “when I saw you with him earlier… it wasn’t just jealousy. I think I was scared I missed my shot.”

You pause, hand still on the doorknob, caught off guard by the shift in his tone.

Turning slowly, you walk over and sit beside him, your thigh brushing his. “Jaemin.”

“I know I joke a lot,” he says, not looking at you just yet. “But I wasn’t joking when I said I wanted your attention.”

You glance over at him, expression softening. “And here I thought I was being obvious.”

He finally looks at you and there’s this unspoken mix of surprise and relief behind his eyes.

“You were?” he says, like he genuinely hadn’t let himself believe it.

You bump his knee with yours, offering a subtle smile. “I don’t flirt with just anyone, you know.”

His lips twitch, eyes dropping to your hand resting near his. “Guess I’m gonna have to take you more seriously now.”

You lean in slightly, voice still light but layered with something more intentional. “I’d prefer it.”

You shift a little closer, resting your chin on your hand as you glance sideways at him, tone light but with that same softness lingering beneath.

“You know,” you start, “I always thought you were just the pretty guy who hangs around the frat that parties every week.”

Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “Wow. Off to a great start.”

You grin. “Let me finish.”

He quiets, watching you now with a curious look.

“I always thought you’d be one of those effortlessly cool people,” you continue, voice calm, “y’know, the kind that everyone likes but never really knows. Like you’d be all charm and no depth.”

Jaemin hums. “Okay, still kinda sounds like an insult.”

You nudge his knee. “But then you started showing up. And you were… weird. In a good way. Soft. You care about your cats like they’re your kids, you pout when someone finishes the last snack, and you give really stupid but oddly specific advice.”

He snorts under his breath, but you can see the way he’s trying not to smile.

“And honestly?” you say, more gently now, “I like that version of you way more than whatever image I had before.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment and just watches you, like he’s trying to memorize everything about the way you’re looking at him right now.

“…You really think about me that much?” he says finally, voice quiet.

You nod, scooting a little closer, your hand lifting to gently cradle his cheek. “Yeah. More than you probably realize.”

Your thumb brushes along his cheekbone as his eyes flicker to your lips, and just when you’re both leaning in, barely a breath apart, he suddenly hesitates, pulling back an inch.

“Wait okay uh,” he starts, blinking fast. “Just so you know, I haven’t really kissed anyone in a while. Not that I’m bad at it! I mean, probably not— I just haven’t done it recently and I don’t want it to be weird or, like, awkward—”

You giggle, already leaning forward again. “Jaemin.”

He swallows. “Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

And then you kiss him. And he melts like you’d been waiting your whole life just to do that.

The kiss starts soft and warm, like both of you are still processing the fact that it’s finally happening. His lips move slowly against yours, testing, savoring, and when your fingers slip into his hair, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for weeks.

But then he kisses you again but deeper this time and your hand slides to the back of his neck, pulling him closer until there’s no space left. His hands find your waist, gripping gently like he’s still afraid you’ll disappear, and before you even realize it, you’re moving, shifting until you’re straddling his lap.

He stiffens beneath you for half a second, eyes wide as you lean back in with a grin, and then he’s kissing you like he forgot anyone else existed. It’s all slow-burning heat now, messy, breathless, your fingers fisted in his hair while his hands squeeze at your hips like he’s making up for lost time.

And just as things start to blur at the edges—

“YO JAEMIN— OH MY GOD—”

The door flies open and you both jolt back like teenagers caught in a bad romcom. Standing at the door is Chenle, holding a Red Bull and a bag of chips, staring with full disbelief.

You burst into laughter, dropping your forehead to Jaemin’s shoulder as he groans dramatically.

“Chenle, why.” Jaemin nearly whines, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Bro, lock the door! I didn’t sign up for trauma tonight!”

You’re shaking with laughter now, arms around Jaemin while he glares over your shoulder, still hiding in the crook of your neck.

Chenle backs out slowly, still talking. “No, yeah, enjoy your moment, cat thief lovers. I’ll just be repressing this until graduation.”

The door shuts.

Jaemin groans again. “I’m moving out of this country.”

You just giggle, tilting his face back toward yours. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Not dramatic enough,” he mutters. “I was just about to make out with my favorite person and the frat loser shows up.”

You grin. “Well, lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere.”