#so simple but beautiful nonetheless

[riverofthought]

i notice autumn is more the season of the soul than of nature ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀friedrich nietzsche

[finelinevogue]

something in the orange

summary - you are harry’s ex and you happen to rekindle at his sisters wedding

word count - ~2k

pairing - ex-boyfriend!harry x reader

🌞✨🌟🌞✨🌟🌞✨🌟🌞✨🌟🌞✨🌟🌞

It wasn’t a complete surprise that your ex-boyfriend was at his sisters wedding, but nonetheless you were still shocked to see him.

You had been friends with Gemma, your exes sister, way before you were dating her brother, Harry, which is probably the main and only reason you had been invited to her wedding.

Gemma and her family were still very nice towards you, even though you broke their Harry’s heart.

Well for the most part.

You had been sat on a table at the back of the reception room for the evening meal, with a couple of distant friends of the groom. You had been trying to make small talk as best you could, but your little introverted heart could only try so hard.

“Are you staying in Italy after the wedding?” You asked a man called Gordon who was sat next to you, with his girlfriend.

“No.”

He then went back to talking to his girlfriend.

You took a sip of your mocktail, glancing around the room to enjoy the happiness of others.

Gemma was happily chatting with Michal, her now husband, whilst Anne, Gemma’s mum, was arguing with one of the chefs that the cake had to be ready in ten minutes. It was quite funny to watch Anne get angry, considering she’s the loveliest person on the planet.

You noticed Harry, of course you did.

He hadn’t looked your way once, or if he had he’d been so discreet about it that he was making you feel invisible.

You didn’t blame him for keeping his distance, after all you had broken his heart. It was a surprise you had even been invited, but friends first and all that.

He looked good.

He looked better than good, he looked ridiculously pretty.

Harry was dressed in a black tuxedo with a bow tie that had now been untucked and was loosely hanging around his neck. He looked tanned and well. He looked happy, you thought.

You turned to a girl next to you and tried to start conversation with her.

“How are you enjoying the Amalfi Coast?” You smiled.

“It’s nice.” She smiled back before turning to speak to whoever was next you.

It wasn’t particularly nice having the people on your table kind of ignore you, but then again they didn’t know you and had no reason to get to know you.

You ate your meal in silence as you simple people watched.

It was nice seeing familiar faces, even if yours was one they’d rather not see.

Once you had finished, people had started to get up to go and dance on the little dance floor on the terrace. It was laden with fairy lights strung high above, along with an abundance of citronella candles that casted a warm orange glow over the area.

You watched as some couples slow danced. A little girl had a dance competition with her dad. Gemma and Michal busted whatever shapes they were doing.

“Have you finished, ma’am?” A waiter asked you, breaking you away from watching the evening continue without you.

“Oh yes. Thank you, it was really lovely.”

“Our pleasure.” They smiled at you, before cleaning up.

You fiddled with your fingers as you watched more and more people get up on the dance floor to enjoy their evening.

You pushed your chair back then, deciding to go to the toilet before you made the decision whether or not to join people out on the terrace.

The wedding location was gorgeous.

A beautiful historical hotel, overrun with flowers cascading down the stone walls, that was built into the cliffside along the Amalfi Coast.

It was no surprise that the wedding was here, considering Gemma and Harry called Southern Italy their second home. Harry had taken you to his house in Maiori multiple times when you had been together and you completely understood why he loved this area.

You missed going to that house. The crazy adventures you’d get up to.

You missed Harry.

You locked yourself in a cubicle before you could make yourself upset over it.

You’d just finished up when you heard some people walk in.

“Did you see Y/Ns here?” They said, but you couldn’t work out who they were - at least it wasn’t someone you recognised.

“Yeah. Wonder why.” You didn’t recognise the second persons voice either.

“Fucking ballsy if you ask me.” They both laughed. “If I’d cheated on my best-friends brother and still been invited to her wedding, I wouldn’t go.”

“Did Y/N cheat on Harry? I heard that she had a mental breakdown when he stopped buying stuff for her and stopped taking her on expensive holidays.”

You sat down on the toilet lid, not finding the courage to go out there and speak up for yourself.

“No. Pretty sure she cheated. Doesn’t surprise me though, she always was a little bit… different.”

“You mean, not model worthy?!” They both laughed again.

You carefully and silently ripped off some toilet paper before using it to dab the tears that were falling from your eyes and down your cheeks.

It was tough, trying to not take things to heart but you were a sensitive person. This didn’t make you a bad person, in fact it just meant that you carried extra love around with you.

It hurt when other people couldn’t see that when you tried to live with your heart on your sleeve as much as you could.

“God… Wonder why she came?”

“Probably to prove that she’s not the bitch everyone thinks she is.”

“Yeah.”

“Harry hasn’t even spoken to her.”

“Weren’t they together for like five years.”

6 years and 3 months, you thought to yourself.

Best 6 years and 3 months of your life.

“Something like that.”

“Poor Harry.”

“Yeah. Must’ve been rough for him.”

“Means he is single though.”

“Wonder whether he’s ready to mingle.” They both laughed again, before leaving the toilets discussing their plan to make Harry see them.

You finished dabbing your eyes free of tears, breathing out a heavy breath before standing up and heading to the sinks to freshen up.

You patted your cheeks with water to cool you down and looked at yourself in the mirror with a smile.

You are okay. You thought to yourself. You know what they said isn’t true. You are a good person.

Once you’d collected yourself, you left the bathroom.

If you headed right you would find yourself back in the main room heading towards the terrace, but it you went left it would lead you to some stone steps carved into the cliff wall that lead down to a private beach.

Of course you headed left.

The night sky was burning a deep orange from where the sun was setting. You couldn’t wait for the stars. Stargazing had always been yours and Harry’s favourite pastime - it grounded you whilst simultaneously reminding you how grateful that you’d found each other in all of this.

The stairs were easy to walk down, even in wedge sandals.

It took you a good fifteen minutes to climb down, but the second your toes felt the cooling sand you knew it had been worth it. Would it be worth the climb back up? Hmm…

You crossed the beach, smiling when you realised you were the only one down here in this small alcove of a beach.

The waves moved in slowly, making that euphoric crashing sound as they folded over and onto the sand.

The water was turning a darker blue under the setting sun, but you knew in the daytime it would be a crystal clear blue - perfect for swimming or snorkelling.

You sat on the beach, toeing off your sandals and resting them beside you.

You pulled your knees up to your chin, hugging your arms around your legs as you sat and watched the waves crash again and again. There was something so therapeutic about it.

As you watched on you couldn’t help but think back to the conversation those girls were having in the toilet.

You didn’t realise what people thought about you being your back. It stung to think people were thinking such horrible things.

The moment your eyes started watering again you knew that what they’d been saying about you hadn’t really registered until now - in the quiet on your own. It hadn’t fully clicked that everyone now perceived you as this horrible, bitch of a woman that broke the heart of a man who is loved by millions.

You sniffled, looking up at the sky to hold back the onrush of any more tears.

“Here.”

“Holy fucking….” You scrambled from where you were sitting and jumped up to find Harry standing beside you, “Harry… My…”

You put your hand over your heart, having been scared shitless from him unintentionally creeping up on you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.”

You then realised he was still holding out his handkerchief for you - the one you thought had been pretend from his suit pocket.

“It’s okay, thank you.” You took this handkerchief and wiped under your eyes with it, dabbing your nose too. “I didn’t realise you were down here, sorry. I’ll leave.”

You bent down to pick up your shoes, but were stopped when Harry gently bent his wrist around yours.

“Please don’t.”

You felt like you had stopped breathing.

Harry’s soft touch against your skin nearly made your heart cave inside your chest. You felt like time had stopped, but you wouldn’t care if you only ever got to see Harry in this moment, in this frame, for ever and ever.

The way the setting sun casted a golden hew against his skin made him prettier than anyone Michelangelo could sculpt. His eyes were just as green and perfect as always, if only with a little extra sadness spreading at the corners.

And those lips.

Well you only wished they were still yours to kiss.

“I don’t…” You started, not moving your hand away from his. “You don’t want me here.” You whispered, tucking your head down.

You missed the way he shook his head softly, furrowing his eyebrows with frustration.

Harry stepped closer to you, making you apprehensively look up again. He was so pretty.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop thinking I don’t want you around. Stop thinking that I never want to see you again. Stop believing that you have done something wrong. Stop thinking that you aren’t still the most important person in my life.” Harry’s eyes were now tearing up.

You shook your head, pulling your hand from his carefully.

“I.. I can’t.. sorry.”

“Y/N…”

You were about to run across the beach, away from Harry when his call stopped you.

“Y/N, no.”

Your feet froze and you turned around slowly to see him standing in place, ever so slightly shaking his head.

“Just no.” He said.

“I… I don’t understand.” You said.

“The last time you ran away, I let you.” Harry said, as you tried to refrain from thinking back to the last time it had been like this.

“I know.”

“Well, I’m not about to make that mistake again.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at that, bottom lip pouting which Harry always used to tease you about.

You stood still, your breath catching when he started moving towards you. You couldn’t move. You were frozen to the spot, like some force of nature wasn’t allowing you to move.

“The last time I let you walk out of my life was the biggest mistake I ever made. I should’ve tried harder - I should’ve begged you to stay, God knows I wanted you to.”

“Harry, please don’t say things you don’t mean…”

“What don’t you get, Y/N/N?” Harry stopped short of you, confused about how you couldn’t quite grasp what he was trying to tell you.

“You don’t want me to stay.”

“What—.”

“You don’t need me to stay.”

“Y/N…”

“No, H, listen to me.” You confidently took a step forwards towards him, still leaving a good enough space between you. “I can’t put you through another breakup like that again.. I… I don’t even think either of us have properly gotten over the last one. I meant what I said and did last time and I still mean it now.”

“Well fuck that. You don’t get to say things like that.”

“Harry…”

“No. Fuck!” Harry shouted, combing a hand through his hair like he did when he was stressed. “Do you understand how much you hurt me?”

You weren’t expecting him to ask you that, so you took a tiny step back in shock. You bravely answered, “Yes.”

“And do you know why?” His eyes were watering now.

“Yes.”

“So tell me.”

“Har—.”

“Just.. humour me and tell me.”

“You were hurt because I broke up with you. You were hurt because I gave up on over six years. You were hurt because I was cruel.”

Your voice was shaky but you stood strong, not wanting to guilt trip Harry into feeling sorry for you.

“No.” He replied. “No. I was hurt because the woman I love, the woman I was only weeks away from getting down on one knee for, broke up with me because she decided she wasn’t worth me loving. Not that she didn’t love me anymore, no, but because she felt unworthy of my love.”

Your eyes started free flowing with tears then as you stood and listened to him speak. Everything he was saying was true but it didn’t make it any more comfortable to hear back.

“I was hurt because I thought we could talk about things like that before the progressed into something we could never come back from. I was hurt because you chose to listen to all the sick and twisted voiced in your head, rather than the one voice that actually mattered; mine. I was hurt because you didn’t communicate. I had to find out from my sister that you were being abused online by, not only my fans, but close girl friends of mine over their jealousy. And I had to find out from my mum that yours had passed away a few weeks before you broke up with me.”

You let out a sob then, everything crashing around in your mind. Too many thoughts and too little left of you to put them all back together.

“Y/N, love, I was hurt because I was there for you when you didn’t believe I could be.”

“I’m sorry.” You sobbed out before your knees gave way and you dropped onto the beach beneath you, crying your what was left of your heart out.

Everything from your breakup, to the hate and losing your mum, the grief had all been collecting inside of your head and it was only now that you felt safe enough to let it all go.

You caved in on yourself, cupping your hands over your face.

It only took a couple of seconds for Harry to collapse onto the floor beside you, scooping your body up in his arms so he could pull you close into his chest. Your chest heaved as you cried, and you could only just hear Harry calming you down with a few ‘sshh’ and the occasional kiss to your forehead.

You kept repeating ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again, not really knowing who you were apologising to.

Harry? Your mum? Yourself?

“Sshh. You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Harry kept repeating in between your apologies.

You let Harry hold you for what felt like hours, but was actually only five minutes, before you had calmed yourself down and you could breathe again.

You emerged from Harry’s hold and gave him a weak smile.

“Probably look like a right state after crying.” You laughed at yourself.

Harry cupped your cheek with his hand and softly ran his thumb there. “Still as pretty as the day I met you.”

“H, you met me when we were less than a year old. You don’t remember that.” You stifled a laugh.

“I don’t remember much, but I remember you.”

You dipped your head with a blush as he said that, his words still having that charming effect on you.

Harry dropped his hand from your cheek, but you were quick to hold it again with yours. You threaded your fingers through his and gave a tight squeeze. He squeezed back.

“I am really sorry, Harry.”

“I know.”

“I have a lot to be sorry for and I’ll find the strength to write you a list of them all one day.” You promised.

“Maybe we can write them together? Perhaps in a couples therapy?”

Your head shot up to meet his at the hearing of the word ‘couples’.

“You want…”

“I want you to be mine again. I may be selfish but screw it, I’m taking this chance to ask you whether, with the right help maybe, we could become us again?”

“Are you sure?” You moved closer to him, knees touching knees.

Here on this little beach, tucked away from the crowds of the party and the rest of the world you felt everything was right again. Almost like a haze had been lifted and you could see clearer now more than even what you wanted - who you wanted.

“Trust me.”

“I do. I promise, I do.”

“Maybe it’ll take some time, but I promise to be there for you, always, and take care of you like I promised your mum all those years ago.”

“You’ve always taken care of me, H. My mum would be proud of you.”

“Like she’s proud of you, too.”

“Don’t make me cry again.” You whispered, eyes locked on his so you could focus on something else other than the tears that wanted to spill.

“So was that a yes? Do you want to try again?”

“Ask me properly.” You leaned closer.

“Y/N L/N.” He said with a smirk.

“Yes.”

“Will you be my girlfriend… again?”

You burst out laughing over that, dropping your head onto his shoulder to hide your blushing face from his.

You smiled to yourself before answering.

“Yes,” You kissed his neck before sitting back up again, “Yes, yes, yes.”

And with the smile on Harry’s face as you gave him your answer you knew that you would be alright this time.

There was just something in the orange of that burning Italian sunset that told you, you and Harry were far from done. In fact, you’d only just started.

[seospicybin]

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE

ROUND 1

Lee Know x reader. (s)

Related chapters: Round 2.

Synopsis: Let's play two truths and a lie, and here goes the first thing about you: You want to fuck your roommate's boyfriend, Minho. (9k words)

Author's note: It's a quick one-shot I made like a year ago but pls enjoy it nonetheless 😊

Content warning: Infidelity.

This is how you play two truths and a lie. You share three statements about you, two being true and one false, and people must determine which is which.

-

So here goes the first statement: You want to fuck your roommate's boyfriend.

A few months ago, you came to the city for your new job and were placed in a housing with a group of unbearable people. Since you've just started working, you tried looking at another option to get a temporary place to stay until you're financially stable enough to rent an apartment.

Long story short, a friend of a friend introduced you to Kim who happened to have an extra room you can rent. She owns the apartment and does not necessarily need the money, she offered her room for the sole reason which is to help you. You're aware that you don't meet this kind of that is to help you. You're aware that you don't meet this kind of person every day and for that, you're grateful for her.

After a week of living as roommates, you learn that Kim is just as graceful as her occupation, a ballet dancer. She's beautiful, kind-hearted, amicable, and ultimately, a very attentive roommate.

The room you're staying in was supposedly her private dance studio but she uses the living room to practice now and you have to adjust yourself to the huge mirror covering one side of the wall in your room.

Not long after that, Minho comes into the picture. A sharp nose, sharp jaws, and feline eyes, a beautiful face that only reminds you that the world is unfair to some people, including you.

"This is Minho," Kim introduces him with a smile

The second your eyes lock in a gaze with him, you feel an instant attraction and it intensifies as he stares back into your eyes.

"My boyfriend," Kim adds a little too late.

It's funny that the word boyfriend doesn't stop you from being attracted to him, if anything, you want him more than before.

Kim and Minho have been together for two years now and they met at the dance academy which explains a lot of things, including Minho's lean and toned body.

How do you know? Because sometimes he stays over and on more than one occasion, you found him walking out of the bathroom with nothing but a white towel hanging lowly around his waist.

That's also when you learn that this attraction is strictly physical, your uterus is acting up when you see him, and lewd thoughts rush through your head. It's all biological. There's no way you want to pursue him romantically, you couldn't even think of a person more deserving to be with him than Kim. They're both beautiful and talented dancers, oftentimes, you get so envious because they have such a lovely relationship.

Like tonight, you hear their laughter the second you step into the apartment, finding Kim and Minho in the kitchen just casually talking to each other while sharing a bowl of fruits. You love how simple yet endearing their interaction is.

"Hey, you're home!" Kim says with a sweet, welcoming smile.

You wave your hand at her and briefly at Minho, "Hi, everyone!" You awkwardly say, feeling like you're interrupting them.

"Have you had dinner?" Kim asks, attentive as always.

"Yeah, I grabbed dinner after work," you lie, but you can always creep your way to the fridge late at night for dinner.

"There's a pie in the fridge. Help yourself to some dessert," she sweetly offers then shoves a piece of blueberry into her mouth.

Without having to look, you can see how Minho looks at you, he has this deep, intense gaze that makes you the slightest bit intimidated.

"I will, thanks," you hurriedly respond, wanting the interaction to end as soon as possible, "I'll just... get into my room."

"Yeah, you should rest," Kim softly mutters.

You hoist your bag higher on your shoulder and head to your room, before you get in, you mutter to them, "Night, guys."

"Night," Kim cheerily says.

You hurriedly get in and catch a glimpse of Minho with his intense stare a second before the door completely closes and clicks in place.

The trick to surviving the night is to wait until they get into the bedroom and put headphones on as you come out of yours, not only to avoid hearing unwanted noises, but you reckon it's only right to take the extra measure to respect their privacy.

As you're listening and catching glimpses of the movie playing on your phone, you walk around the kitchen to prepare your simple, unhealthy dinner: a cup of noodles and a can of soda.

You're quietly eating your dinner by the kitchen counter with the headphones still on and once you finished, you treat yourself to a slice of pie, then put the rest of the pie back into the fridge.

It gets messy as you're munching on the pie while watching the movie on your phone. The cherry filling gets all over your fingers and you hurriedly lick it off before it gets—

"Oh, my God!" You shriek in surprise, seeing someone standing by the fridge. Once you realize it's Minho, you break into laughter.

"I'm just getting a bottle of water," he says, his face illuminated by the glow of the fridge lights.

"I'm sorry," you say while clutching your chest, and a second later, regret for saying it when he should be the one apologizing.

There's something different in the way Minho looks at you, he has one corner of his mouth raised higher than the other, giving you the impression that he's thinking of filthy things when he looks at you like that. He's giving you that look now and it does certain things to you.

He then stops leaning against the fridge, taking the bottle of water as he walks back to the bedroom, leaving his signature faint smirk on the back of your head.

The signals are there, they're subtle yet constantly pinging, asking you to respond. For now, you're going to ignore it like you always do and continue existing like you're not sharing the same space with him.

-

Statement number two: You believe Minho wants to fuck you too.

At first, you thought you imagined it, you want to fuck him so you started being delusional and thinking that he wants to fuck you too. Once you started paying attention though, you realized that what he's been doing to you meant something or some sort of message he tried to deliver.

The first occurrence that came to your realization is when the two of you were in the kitchen, you were enjoying your yoghurt and he suddenly came behind you to get something from the drawer that happened to be blocked by your body. Instead of telling you to step aside, he made you stand there as his hand curved around your waist to get something out of a drawer.

From there, you noticed a lot of things he did, the way he briefly rested his hand on the small of your back as he walked past behind you, his hand that would often brush a part of your body when the two of you are next to each other or the way he would speak close to your ear as if he's seeking to be close to you. Simply put, he always tries to make physical contact with you.

The scariest part of it is not the possibility that the two of you will eventually get caught, but how unfazed he is even when his girlfriend is there. Like that night where the three of you shared the sofa and somehow, his hand found your shoulder and instead of retreating, he continued to caress the nape of your neck with his knuckle.

However, what happens tonight is what makes you believe that he wants the same thing.

After making sure that you're the only one still awake in the vicinity, you make your way to the bathroom to take a nice, hot shower to help you relax and sleep faster. You skip on using the hairdryer since it'll make too much noise and tiptoe your way back to your bedroom.

In the middle of putting on your clothes, you realize that you left the door ajar and you notice Minho is watching through the reflection in the mirror.

Instead of stopping or rushing to close the door, you pretend to not see him there and continue, turning your body to the side, showcasing every curve of your body through the reflection in the mirror.

You arch your back as you put on the night dress over your head and slowly slip yourself in it, shimmying your body as you pull the dress down with your hands. Then you look at him through the reflection in the mirror and make it known that you're aware of his presence.

From the crooked grin on his face, you can tell that Minho is pleased to be caught watching you and you received his signal loud and clear: He wants to fuck you too.

But sadly, tonight's show is over so you walk to the door and close it.

-

Friday afternoon, Kim barges into your room and she rarely comes into your room without knocking on your door. Seeing that she's carrying a dress in her hand, you guess she needs your opinions on her clothing choices.

You sit on the bed and take your headphones off, "What's up, Kim?"

She stands at the end of the bed and lifts the dress with both hands, "What do you think?" She asks.

It's a mini dress with spaghetti straps in a deep purple color and it's a nice dress, you're just not sure if it fits Kim's style that well, she usually opts for dresses with flaring hem and floral prints.

"It's nice, Kim," you say but skip on giving her the detailed explanation.

She puts the dress close to her body and hugs it, "Do you like it?"

"Yeah," you shortly reply, even though it doesn't fit her style well, it certainly will look good on her.

"Good!" She shortly says, handing the dress to you, "Cause you'll be wearing it.

Somehow, you reach for it and awkwardly hold it in front of you, "W-why? Why me?"

Kim goes to your vanity table and flips open your jewelry box, she holds your earrings one by one to find ones that would match the dress.

"You're coming with me to this party," she says, leaving a lot of details in her answer.

"What party?"

"Party at my friend's," she simply answers, deciding on the gold small hoop earrings.

But that's against your plan, you want to steer clear of Minho and party at Kim's friend means that he'd likely be there too.

"Kim, I don't think that's a good idea," you tell her.

She then leans against the desk in your room and crosses her arm together in front of her, "These past few days you refused to hang out with me so you have to hang out with me tonight."

So Kim knows that you've been purposely avoiding her but you need to explain that it's not because of her, "But that's not—"

"Nuh-uh!" She quickly cuts you off again, "Tonight you're going to the party with me," she decides on her own, not accepting any more excuses from you.

"Is it okay though? I mean... it's your friend's party. I don't want to intrude," you meekly say while playing with the strap of the dress.

"Why would it not be okay?" She says, coming to sit on the edge of the bed, "Besides I want to introduce you to Gaspard."

Maybe you owe this one to Kim and hearing a guy's name piques your interest, "And who is Gaspard?"

"A cute guy," she shortly answers with a sly grin on her heart-shaped face, "And you'll like him."

It's not like Minho's presence would bother you that much and Kim needs you, she wants you there, therefore, as a good roommate, you should be there.

"Yeah, okay, I'm in the mood to meet a cute guy tonight," you tell her, not forgetting to show enthusiasm as well.

"That's the spirit!" Kim says with a wide grin dancing on her face.

Well, since you'll be there and possibly meet Minho, Gaspard better be a cute distraction for real.

-

The taxi pulls up in front of a house and you reckon it's where the party at from how many cars are parked outside and the faint thumping of the music playing inside.

The fact that you get here by taxi only means that there's no Minho so you can relax, for now.

Kim excitedly links her arm with you as you both walk into the house and you expect a party with laid-back music and endless glasses of wine but the second you step inside, upbeat music is blasting from around the house and everyone is having beers from red plastic cups.

The party is not what you imagined it would be, but it's what you need.

Kim cranes her neck to find her friends and once she finds them, she raises her hand to signal her arrival to them.

"Come on! Let's meet my friends!" She says.

Please, God, let him be a cute distraction! You repeatedly mutter in your heart as she drags you with her to meet her friends who are gathered in what you guess is a rec room in the house.

When Kim's friends finally come to sight, you put on a smile as you quietly guess which one of them is Gaspard. Kim goes to hug them one by one before introducing you to them.

"This is Ellie, Jena, Paul..." she introduces her friends back to you one by as the mentioned person warmly greets you.

"And Minho," someone adds from behind you.

You immediately look over your shoulder to see Minho standing there, Kim gently slaps his shoulder in response and laughs.

"This is not a roll call, honey," Kim says with a smile and then leans in to give Minho a quick peck on the lips.

Minho is already here and there's no Gaspard yet. No Gaspard means there'll be no distraction. You keep your smile on even though you're slowly descending into distress.

"There he is!" Kim exclaims, pointing at something behind you.

You reflexively turn on your heels and see a tall man with brown hair, striking green eyes, and a scintillating smile. This man will make the perfect distraction.

Please let this man be Gaspard, you deeply wish inside your heart.

Kim comes to your side and puts her arm around you, "This is the man I told you about," she says.

"I hope you only told her nice things about me," Gaspard says with a sly grin that makes his whole face light up.

The universe heard your plea and decided to make it true for you, this is Gaspard, the perfect distraction you want and need.

"Holyfuck..." you lowly mutter in disbelief.

"What's that?" Kim asks, hearing you saying something but doesn't quite catch it.

You've already forgotten where you are and what you're doing. And Minho? Who is Minho? You let out a chuckle and shake these silly thoughts away.

"So this is Gaspard, huh?" You say in all confidence.

"That is me," he answers, returning the confidence with a wide smile, "I'm better than you expected, I guess?"

Gaspard is confident and then gets shy in the next minute which you find charming, you smile at him and say, "I need more time to decide on that."

"That's fair," Gaspard says, offering his hand at you.

You think he's just going to shake your hand but he takes you into the crowd gathered in the middle of the room, dancing.

"A fair warning, I'm a bad dancer," you warn him as he takes your hands in his and makes you stand facing him.

"We still have time to decide on that," he pokes fun at you, taking you by the waist and pulling you close to his front.

Kim is right, Gaspard is cute and you like him already. He has just the right amount of facial hair and it grazes your cheek whenever he leans in to whisper into your ear, giving you a tingling feeling inside and outside.

After a few moments though, you find yourself panting from dancing with him. You should've known this would happen when you're dancing with a real dancer.

Since Gaspard is way taller than you, you have to put your arm around his shoulder and stand on your tiptoe to whisper to his ear, "Hey, how about we get drinks?"

"Drinks?" He asks you in confirmation since the mix of loud music and chatter is filling the room.

"Yeah," you answer while repeatedly nodding your head.

He doesn't say anything but takes your hand and leads the way through the crowd to the kitchen where bottles of liquor are strewn around on the kitchen island.

You intently watch as Gaspard is excitingly making you his special concoction. He finishes it off with a spritz of lemon before handing it to you.

"Thank you," you mutter in gratitude.

"Come on. Taste it!" He encourages you, curious of what you think of his drink-mixing skill.

Well, you've been staring at it long enough to give him the impression that you hesitate to drink it. You hurriedly take a small sip and you don't even have to lie, it's good.

"Wow!" You gasp, impressed with the drink he made.

"I know," he confidently says with a smirk and drinks his drink.

It's so refreshing and sweet like it has no alcohol at all, you hurriedly take another sip.

"It's really good," you tell him.

"Thank you," he says with a grin.

He then offers his hand at you, "Let's find somewhere to talk?"

You take his hand without question, letting him take you wherever he wants because it seems like he knows where he's going. He leads you to the backyard where everyone is hanging out by the pool.

"Hey, you!"

Recognizing the voice, your head snaps toward the source, and see Kim waving her hand at you from the long sofa that curved around a fancy fireplace.

You stop walking on your track and end up leading Gaspard there. You unconsciously let out a sigh of relief after seeing that there's no Minho there.

"Oh, hey," you greet back.

Kim scoots to the side to make space for you on the sofa, "Where have you guys been?"

"Oh, we were just dancing and he made me a drink," you honestly answer, not forgetting to show her the drink in your hand.

"And where were you going to take her, Gaspard?" Kim asks with eyes squinted at him.

"Anywhere but here," he jokingly answers.

"Well, since you guys just got here, it's your turn to play!" Someone says, you can't remember what her name is but she's one of the friends Kim introduced earlier.

"Turn to play? What?" You ask in confusion.

"Two truths and a lie," someone says.

You feel bad for not being able to remember their names, Gaspard's influence is that powerful on you.

"You know how to play, right?" Kim asks.

It's not about whether you know how to play or not, it's just so unexpected that these talented, gorgeous dancers like to play this kind of game at parties.

"Yes, I do," you answer.

Kim turns on the sofa to face you and looks at you in anticipation, "Okay then. Shoot!"

"Right now?"

"Yes," Kim shortly answers with a chuckle.

You admire their eagerness whether for the game or to know something about you, you rake your brain to think of three things about you and one of them should be a lie that would likely fool them good.

"Okay first is uhm... I'm allergic to cats," you share.

There's no response from them but you can see how they're looking at you and probably every detailed facial expression you make that will give away hints about whether you're lying or not.

"Second thing is my mom has a twin," you confidently share with a faint smile.

"Ah," Kim lowly gasps and you guess because you've shared this information with her before.

"Last thing is..." you look around as you think of the last thing to share with them.

You eventually turn to the side and see Gaspard smiling at you, "I think Gaspard is cute," you share the third thing about you.

"That's the one! That's the lie!" Someone excitedly guesses, and you suddenly remember his name as Paul.

You laugh because Gaspard looks so offended by his friend, "No, it's not a lie," you quickly defend him.

Gaspard shoots him a glare and triumphantly laughs, "Just drink, man!"

Paul drinks his beer in defeat.

"I must say the second one is the lie," the girl says again, still can't remember her name though.

"No. Her mom has a fraternal twin," Kim says, learning that information from you on the first day you moved into her apartment.

"Drink up, Jena!" Kim tells her that she guessed wrong and not wasting time but drinks her beer as a punishment.

"Oh, so you're not allergic to cats?" Gaspard asks.

"No, I'm not. I like cats," you answer.

He then sighs in relief, "That's great because I have a cat."

"Oh, wow?!" You utter in disbelief.

Other than being a great distraction, you share a lot in common with Gaspard and that says something.

"I also have cats," someone adds, joining in on the circle.

You can tell by the voice that it's the man you've been trying to avoid seeing tonight. You remain calm and have a sip of your drink.

"Yes, Minho, we all know you're a cat daddy," Jena says, finally knowing her name from Kim.

Kim groans and tosses a cushion at Jena, "Don't say that!"

Minho takes a gulp of Kim's drink and sits with his back reclined and his legs spread open, even his sitting position oozing with confidence and you eat that shit up.

You feel like slapping your face at that thought and have another sip to swallow that thought down.

"Is it my turn to play?" Minho asks around.

Jena shrugs since no one is taking the turn to play, "Yeah, sure, go ahead."

Minho softly scratches his chin before speaking, "I want to kiss someone tonight."

He starts easy but from the faint smirk on his face, you can tell he's brewing something in his mind.

"That someone is not my girlfriend," he calmly says.

Welp, there you go! Minho acts like he didn't just drop a shocking statement while his girlfriend is sitting prettily next to him.

You glance at Kim and she looks calm, but you can see that her jaws are slightly clenched. She's not happy so Minho should stop it.

But instead of calming his girlfriend, Minho looks at you and continues to share the third statement, "The person I want to kiss is one of you."

Your heart skips a beat because he keeps looking right at you and making it obvious for everyone to see who it is. All of a sudden, you feel the urge to exit this scene but walking out only makes it even more obvious.

Minho is sick of doing this to you and Kim, it's like he doesn't even care what it can do to either you or Kim.

"Oh, Minho, that's..." Paul hisses, not able to finish his sentence.

"Why, Paul?" Minho daringly asks him.

"Nothing," Paul says while scratching his head.

Minho leans forward and says, "It's you, Paul. It's you who I want to kiss."

Paul's tense face melts in a second and everyone bursts out laughing, "Fuck you, man!"

"It's you. I want to kiss you," Minho taunts him more, throwing himself at him and jokingly tries to kiss him.

Paul keeps pushing him away, sloshing his drink as he tries to dodge Minho's kiss while everyone else is laughing at them.

Even though it turns out to be a joke, you feel sick in the stomach and feel the need to get out of here.

"I need to go to the restroom," you mutter, getting up from the sofa.

Gaspard puts down his drink, "I can show you—"

"It's okay. I can go by myself," you tell him off, you regret being so crass but you're sure he'll understand.

"Okay," he says, sitting back down on the sofa.

While clutching the hem of your dress, you head back inside the house and find the bathroom to only queue to get inside, you decide to try on the second floor. You can easily find the bathroom as it's wedged between two bedrooms.

It's a party, you're sure the host would be okay with you using their bathroom, you don't even need to pee or something, you just need a space to vent.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you keep muttering to the reflection in the mirror.

When you touch your neck, you can feel a sheen of sweat there so you run your hands under the cold water and tap it to your neck.

This is the first time you realize what it'll do to you when it comes to following your desire. You'll ruin not only their relationship but also your friendship with Kim and she's been nothing but good to you.

"Fuck!" You mutter once again as you splash cold water on your face like it would help to put some sense into you.

Coming here was a bad idea!

But you're already here so you only need to stick to your plan, staying away from Minho and sticking with Gaspard. You allow yourself to spend a few more minutes just to compose yourself before coming out of the bathroom.

As you're about to climb down the stairs, the plan comes to a failure.

You see Minho is coming up the stairs and he seems to be looking for you as well from the way he stops once he finds you.

Instead of avoiding him as you planned, you feel the need to confront him about what happened a while ago. You grab the front of his shirt and take him into one of the bedrooms. The first one is locked so you try the other one and it's empty.

Once both of you are inside, you slam the door shut and push him against it.

"What the hell are you doing?" You aggressively ask, pushing his chest until his back hits the door.

"What? What am I doing?" He plays innocent but that smirk knows it all.

You slap his chest with both of your hands now but all you can feel is how firm his pecs are.

"You just don't care, do you?"

He puts his hands on each side of your waist and draws you closer, not hesitating to plant his mouth on your jaw.

"Minho!" You whine, ending up getting trapped in his hold with his arms wrapped tightly around you.

He glides his lips up and presses a kiss there on the skin under your ear, sending a tingling down your spine as his warm breath brushes your skin.

You helplessly dodge away from his lips yet somehow, he manages to capture your lips in a kiss and oh, you hate it so much! You hate how you like the way he kisses you, so passionately and hungrily, he makes it known that he wants it so much.

Okay, maybe the kiss is a slip-up and you hurriedly pull yourself out of it. You push him and pull away from the kiss.

"You know we can't do this," you mutter but you're looking at his lips, tempted to kiss him again.

He ignores your words and kisses you again, and you fall into it again. You try harder this time and break the kiss.

"Minho!" You whine, looking away to not let the temptation win again.

Using it as an opportunity, Minho plants his mouth on your ear and nibbles on it, peeling a layer off of your sanity which brings you to slip down the slope again.

Your lips are colliding again, harder and deeper, causing even more damage than the previous one as his hands go all over you and pull the straps of your dress down your shoulders.

The two logics in your head are clashing against each other, the one wants to satisfy this desire and the other wants to get out of this situation altogether. If you follow the former then at least, your curiosity will be fulfilled and if you follow the latter, then you get to keep the peace.

As you are caught in that inner battle, you blank out and stiffen against him.

"We have to stop," you mutter to him.

But is that what you want? To stop when you already have your toes dipped in the water?

Minho also takes a moment to assess the situation, he looks at you with his lips red and wet, "it has to stop," he says in agreement.

You take a step back and feel the sudden detachment as he lets go of you and you can't believe that he agrees right away that this is the better decision. You can't help but think that he doesn't want you enough.

He stays standing there, leaning against the door and looking at you with his eyes dark and wide with lust.

"So what do we do now?"

That's such a wrong thing to ask you because what you want to do now is be selfish for the night, for one fucking night, and if you're going to do it, you may as well go all in, right?

Take the chance or pass? Right or wrong? Continue or stop? Now or never?

"Fuck!" you heavily sigh and take down the straps of your dress, sending your breasts spilling out of the front.

"Suck my tits," you order.

It takes Minho a moment to process it and when he finally catches on that you've made up your mind, he goes for it. He comes at you full speed, hands off the brake and head first.

His mouth lathers at your breasts before sucking at them like you asked, taking them in turns, and leaving them wet with his saliva.

"Nibble on my nipples," you command.

You look down to watch him obeying you, using his tongue to nibble on your blossoming buds and alternating it with his teeth next.

"Oh, fuck," you breathlessly mutter as he sucks hard on your nipple.

While his mouth is busy latching on your breasts, his hands are snaking to the back and kneading at your asscheeks, caressing them with his fingers, and teasing your underwear.

This feels so wrong yet so good, you have your inner battle still but your logic is being defeated by your body's needs. You pull him by the shoulder and make him kiss you again so you'll stop thinking.

The rattles on the door startle you both and Minho immediately pushes the door with his back, then holds the knob to not let anyone in. Whoever tries to get it seems to figure out that the room is occupied.

"Sorry," someone says from behind the door.

Minho immediately locks the door while you take a step back from him, he gives you that look again, the kind of look that sees right through you and knows that you feel conflicted inside.

"Kim is my good friend," you tell him, feeling a pang of sadness in your chest that it aches.

He comes at you again and kisses you in which you're returning with the same eagerness. He seems to know that it's the only way to make you stop talking and thinking altogether. He pulls you closer than before his hands snaking to your rear, cupping the ample flesh in his hand.

"This is terrible," you mutter as you break the kiss so you can take your underwear off.

"This is terrible..." you mutter again, pulling him close by the waistband of his jeans and proceeding to unzip his fly open, "Betraying her like this."

It's like your body has a mind of its own, it's doing the opposite of what you're saying.

You impatiently take his semi-hard out of its confine and stroke it in your hand, "terrible," you emphasize the word and nail it deep into your head.

Minho doesn't say anything but follows what your body wants, he kisses you again, sloppily with his hands mindlessly roaming around your body.

"Touch me there," you whisper into him.

Without looking, his hand knows where to go. It goes to where you want him to be, going to the front to that wetness between your legs.

"Put your fingers in."

Minho runs his fingers down your slit repeatedly before inserting his finger into you. One digit is enough to make you moan in pleasure as he pumps it in and out of you.

"Add one more."

He draws his finger out and brings his index and middle fingers, shoving them into your mouth to wet them with your saliva. He brings them back to your entrance and slowly pushes them inside.

"Fuck, oh..." you moan, burying your head in his neck.

Two fingers are going in and out of you and you're already losing it. You start to think of what his cock would be like inside you as it feels hot and hard in your hand, pulsating with so much desire.

His lips nestle in your neck, kissing and lightly sucking on the skin as your body clings to him for support.

"Curl them— Oh!"

Minho knows what to do, he curls his fingers and carefully finds that spot that makes you whine and moan at the same time, and the lewd noise echoes in the dimly lit room.

You look over your shoulder to locate the bed and start steering his body there, walking backward without having to take hands off of each other.

He slowly pulls out and breaks the kiss only to pull your dress up, making the dress hunched around your waist. You plop down onto the bed and get on, you take a moment to continue undoing his jeans and pull it down enough to let his erection free.

Without thinking, you put his cock into your mouth, take him as much as you can and compensate for the rest you can't take with your hand. You lick and suck, alternating those two as you enjoy every inch of his delicious length with your mouth.

Minho tangles his hand in your hair and gently tugs at it, "I feel so guilty," he says.

Oh, so he's not that selfish after all but the thought of him thinking of his girlfriend with his cock deep in your mouth doesn't make you jealous at all, it makes you feel more aroused than before.

"Oh, so guilty," he says between his hoarse, low moans as he stares back into your eyes.

You slowly pull away and replace your mouth with your hand, restlessly pumping his swollen cock.

"You should be," you tell him, sticking your tongue out of your mouth and swirling it around the pink tip of his cock.

All of a sudden, he grabs your hand and takes it away from his length, he then takes your other hand to pin it against the bed. He hovers above you as he kisses you again, his tongue prying open your mouth to taste more of you.

You can feel him rubbing his length between your folds and you spread your legs open so he can do it more, making you drenched than you already are.

It's obvious to you now that you want him, you want him so bad and what you want is only inches away from you, and you can feel how much he wants you.

"Put it in," you breathlessly say against his lips.

Minho wastes no time to position himself between your legs. He then holds his cock, lubricating it with your essence and giving it a few pumps to finally aims it toward your entrance.

The more time he takes to be inside you, the more impatient you get.

"Put it deep inside me," you demand, opening your legs wider for him.

Yet Minho keeps teasing your entrance, heightening your anticipation and the tension in the room, making you arching your back at him.

When he finally pushes in, he only inserts the tip. It's just the tip but Gosh! It feels good already when he starts thrusting at a slow, steady pace.

"That's it," you say, keeping your waist afloat to take more of him, "all the way in."

Minho is just as impatient. He takes your wish as his command and pushes the rest of his length into you, hitting you deep inside that you blank out and you can't hear your own scream of pleasure.

It only registered to you now that it's all real once you take a look at how his cock is fully buried deep inside you and there's nothing like the feeling of finally having your desire fulfilled. Minho feels so good inside you, every inch of his length fills you perfectly like he was made just for you.

"Oh..." you loudly moan as he starts moving.

You're in and out of you at how hard he's thrusting into you that it reverberates throughout your body and in the middle of it, you manage to look at him, his face is masked with pleasure from the way his eyes are half shut and his lips pressed together.

Maybe the two of you want it so much that the sex feels rushed and a little rough, almost animalistic even. You can feel you're about to cum and so is he.

"Don't cum inside," you warn him before bringing his head close for a sloppy kiss on his lips.

In return, Minho goes sloppy with his thrusts that the bed quakes along with his movements and you're gripping the sheet to hold on to. He's twitching inside you and your legs are shaking. The knot in your stomach keeps tightening and you feel like exploding at any minute now.

He incessantly thrusts into you while you keep gripping the sheet, he probably senses that you're on the brink of climaxing and takes you there, sending you into your release with your eyes screwed shut, seeing white. He cums not long after you and keeps himself deep into you, completely forgetting your warning.

When it occurs to you that he completely forgot about your warning, you slowly push him away and force him to pull out of you.

"I told you not to cum inside," you whine.

Minho's eyes fixated on the way his cum drips out of you, pearly white and glistening wet, inviting him to taste. He finds a way to solve it by settling his head between your legs and licking your mixed juices off of your cunt and not hesitating to swallow it. He sucks on your gushing hole before using his tongue to insert it, he makes sure to not leave any drop of his cum in you.

Watching him eating you and swallowing his own cum is getting you off in the best way, you suddenly don't mind it that much that he cum inside you. If anything, you want him to fill you so you get to watch him do it all over again.

"Stop, Minho! Stop!" You tell him, tugging at his hair to stop him from diving further into your wetness.

He abruptly stops and lifts his head with his mouth and chin glistening wet with your essence. You grab him by the front of his shirt and make him hover above you again. You know you already got what you want and it's time to stop.

What are you going to do now? You ask yourself.

Seize the chance. This is probably the last time you ever had this chance and this could be the one and only chance. You roll him over and straddle him, thinking of having him again for the last time, selfishly.

Taking a moment for this could be the only chance you get to do it, you look at him and his beautiful face, and you allow yourself to kiss his lips. You're running your hands down his clothed chest and patiently unbuttoning his shirt, then part it open to reveal his toned upper half body.

It's only fair if you get to touch him all over too so you do it, using your hands and your lips next, it's just you and miles and miles of his warm, honey skin.

Minho lets you do everything as he lays on his back, watches you kissing every inch of his abdomen, and eventually has him in your mouth again. He props his hands against the bed to see how your lips wrapped around his cock.

After a while, you suddenly pull out and gasp for air, "We have to stop."

He sits up on the bed and puts your hair away from your face, "But I don't want to stop," he says, then continues putting your hair away to the back so he can kiss your neck, chest, and breasts.

They're just words, they've been just words that you say in vain and have no effect to make you stop whatsoever. You only say that just to remind you that this feels so wrong but it feels good to do it.

You sit on his lap and position his cock at your entrance again, slowly, you lower yourself on him. You let out a mewl as you take him in little by little, feeling his girth stretching you out.

"Do you want to stop?" He asks you with his hands cradling your head in between.

"We have to," you sigh with your eyes closed, overwhelmed by his cock that buries deep inside you.

"I don't want to," he breathlessly says, holding you by the waist, guiding you to start moving.

Putting your arms around his shoulders for support, you're switching between pulsating and rolling your hips around him as he latches his lips on your neck and chest.

Somehow, he feels bigger and harder inside you, and he fills you better, therefore, you just want to keep feeling his length around you. However, in the middle of it, your logic fights to come out of you.

"This is wrong," you breathlessly mutter.

"Mmh-hmm," he hums against your lips, mindlessly answering to you.

"This is so wrong, Minho," you say again as you keep moving to chase your high.

If this is wrong then why it feels so good? If this is wrong then you never want to be right. If this is wrong then you want to be a sinner, forever.

"Oh, I can't do this anymore," you cry, it's unclear whether it's the body or your conscience speaking.

"Keep going, keep going," he repeatedly mutters through his gritted teeth, watching you bouncing on his cock.

The sex is more intense and harder than the previous one, you keep holding your breath even though you're running out of air. Your nails dug into his skin, your mouth locked with his lips, and you feel a sheen of sweat forming on your skin.

It all comes down to the one moment when everything hits you all at once. Other than the wave of dopamine and oxytocin that surge through your body, you feel good, you feel light and happy, but underneath that, you feel that bitter feeling, guilt that is gnawing and eating you alive from the inside.

You open your eyes and find Minho looking at you with a soft gaze and it feels tender that you feel like crying, or you're about to as you feel tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

"Oh, God! What have I done?" You roughly brush the hair stuck to your moist forehead.

"It's okay," Minho says, trying to justify this act of betrayal.

"Oh, my God!" You press the heels of your palms to your eyes to stop you from crying.

Minho gently holds your chin and softly presses a kiss on your lips as if he's trying to take the pain away but that's useless because you caused this yourself and he's a part of the problem.

But his kiss no longer holds the same effect, you feel restless the more he kisses you so you slowly pull away and keep a safe space between you and him.

"Let's just stop," you say with a sigh and then rush to get off his lap. You lowly gasp from the sudden emptiness and once your feet touch the floor, you're staggering backward.

Then, you feel it, his hot cum that drips out of you and down your inner thigh.

"I can help you with that," Minho offers.

You immediately hold your hand up at him and firmly say, "Just stop!"

You start fixing your dress, putting your arm in the straps, and pulling them to your shoulders. You look around for your underwear and once you find it, you put it on.

"Kim can't know about this," you meekly say as you pull the hem of your dress and smooth them down.

There's no looking back at it now. You've got what you wanted and now it's time to move on. You turn the door knob and head out without saying anything else.

Rejoining the party downstairs, you immediately head to the kitchen to get a drink but on the way there, someone catches you by the hand.

"Come, dance with me!" Kim says with a grin, pulling you with her to the middle of the room.

"Kim, I–" you can't find anything to say to her without the guilt clogging your throat, "I need a drink."

"Here. Have mine!" She hands you her cup.

"I'll get us drinks and get back to you, okay?" You kindly refuse her but she won't let go of your hand.

"Oh, come on, it's my favorite song!" She pleads with her puppy eyes, making you feel worse than you already are.

Seeing her and how oblivious she is to what you and Minho have done is breaking your heart.

That brings you to the third and last statement: That will be the first and the last time you've had sex with Minho.

-

Things are going back to normal. Or that's what it seems to you.

You're still roommates with Kim and she's still oblivious about what you and Minho did behind her back which means he keeps true to his promise.

And yes, he still comes to the apartment but it doesn't bother you as it used to. You learn that your friendship with Kim is far more valuable than his boyfriend's cock, in fact, you've been taking her kindness for granted.

So for these past few days, you've been trying to avoid them as much as possible. You purposely come home late from work and if you do find them together in the apartment, you make excuses to stay in your bedroom.

Fewer interactions means fewer chances of this guilt from bringing you down further.

The new plan is to get your own place as soon as possible and for that to happen, you have to start looking for it.

Today, Gaspard offers to help you check a few places and it's also the perfect getaway than staying in the apartment. You quietly get dressed and slip out of your bedroom to find Kim catches you while dunking her teabag into her cup.

"Where are you going?" She asks.

You don't want to tell her about it yet that you plan on moving out soon so you make up an excuse on the spot, "Just getting a few things for work, yeah," you lie.

She tosses the teabag into the trash and uses a spoon to stir it, "Just getting a few things for work, huh?"

"Yeah, I need new work shoes," you lie again, seamlessly this time.

"And you think you don't need my help?"

"No, no," you hastily reply, "I just know how much you like staying in on the weekends."

"I would to go out on the weekend too."

Kim keeps misunderstanding you so you decide to tell her, "I'm going out with Gaspard," you admit, but keep the details from her.

Kim lets out a laugh and puts down her cup of tea, "Oh, my God! Why did you lie about it?"

"I don't know. It feels weird," you awkwardly answer.

"Why would it be weird? Cause he's my friend?"

"Yeah..." you meekly say.

She laughs again and comes up to you, "Why would it be weird that my roommate is going out with my good friend?"

That's true, this is nothing compared to fucking your roommate's boyfriend. You swallow the guilt that crawls out of your throat.

"I can lend you my shoes to match it with that cute dress?" She offers, kind as always.

"No, it's fine. It's comfortable this way," you say, opting for the sneakers you're wearing since you're going to do a lot of walking today.

"As long as you're comfortable," she says, fixing your hair as she speaks.

The front door opens and the two of you are turning your heads to see who's coming, it's none other than Minho. You hurriedly sling your purse around your shoulder and ready to leave.

"I'd better get going," you tell Kim, giving her a quick hug.

"You can come home as late as you want," she jokingly says as she hugs you back, "Actually, don't bother coming home tonight."

You laugh it off and pull away while ignoring Minho who walks to the kitchen to get something out of the fridge. You head for the door and wave bye at Kim before getting out.

-

The search for a new place comes to fruition, you have two potential living spaces but the only problem is you can't afford the rent, yet.

You end the day with a hearty dinner also as a treat for Gaspard for being so helpful and patient with you. He's simply a great guy to be with and you wonder why didn't you want to fuck him instead of Minho.

Oh fuck, you think about Minho again and it reminds you that he's in the apartment now so you stay out as late as you can. You consider Gaspard's offer to come and visit his place but you don't want to give him the impression that this is a date.

It's too casual to be counted as a date in the first place but you make sure to promise him a proper one next time.

"Maybe next time when I'm not sweaty and the day is not as humid as today," you kindly refuse the offer.

"I agree," he says as his hair turns a lot curler in this humidity and shyly brushes it to the back.

He walks you to the entrance of your apartment building and you turn on your feet to face him, "Thank you for today," you sincerely say.

"No worries. I had fun today," he coyly says with a smile.

You know he wants to kiss you and you want to kiss him too because he's just so attractive and fun to be with, he's a great guy... you can list so many reasons why you should kiss him so you muster up the courage to do it.

You stand on your tiptoe and press a kiss on his lips, putting your hand on his shoulder for support and Gaspard returns the kiss with so much gentleness with his hand cupping your jaw.

In the middle of it, you come to a realization that you kiss him for so many reasons but not because you like him. You slowly pull away from the kiss and quickly put on a smile for him.

"Goodnight, Gaspard," you mutter.

He allows himself to place a gentle caress on your cheek and smiles back at you as he says back, "Goodnight!"

The walk back to the apartment feels like a punishment. At least, it's late enough that you're sure Kim is already asleep by now so you quietly unlock the door, pushing it open without making any noise, and walk through the living room until you get to the safety of your room.

You kick your shoes off, throw your purse onto the bed, and take off your jacket, just standing there in your dress facing the huge mirror with your reflection staring back at you.

"Do you need help with that?" Minho asks through the cracks of your door.

You hate it that he's still here and you're happy to see him, you're not answering but he comes to your aid anyway. He stands right behind you and slowly unzips your dress for you.

It must be intentional the way his knuckles graze your skin as he pulls the zipper down your back.

The memories from that night come back to you and unlock all the feelings that you try to keep at the bottom of your heart.

Minho then places his hand on your shoulder and looks at you through the mirror, "Do you need help with anything else?" He asks with a voice so low it's almost like a whisper.

You turn your head to the side and meet his gaze, "No."

All sorts of thoughts come rushing through your head but it's the same contradicting questions: Take the chance or pass? Right or wrong? Continue or stop? Now or never?

Those questions going around your head and won't stop bothering you until you make up your mind.

You turn around to face him and notice how close he's standing in front of you, so close that you can feel the heat his body is emitting.

"But I'll help myself," you say and then kiss him.

Well, you guess people can tell which one is the lie now.

-

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[bokutosbiceps]

bodyguard boyfriend

eustass kid/monkey d luffy/roronoa zoro/trafalgar d water law/vinsmoke sanji x gn!reader | fluff | ~900 words

warnings: some suggestive/18+ themes but nothing explicit, cursing

a/n: okay, this was heavily inspired by @pileofmush because she wrote such a beautiful match up for me + zoro that i started to think about how some of my fav boys would be protective over their s/o !! this is more comedic than romantic but i had such a good time writing it :3

18+ MDNI

eustass kid isn't afraid to straight up tell someone to fuck off. he’ll sneer at them through gritted teeth as he stands behind you, keeping a protective hand on the small of your back. if that alone is not enough to send anyone in a twenty foot vicinity scurrying away, he'll approach whoever has their eyes set on you.

“what the fuck do you think you're looking at?” kid will cross his arms and make himself look bigger, which really isn't necessary with his nearly seven foot frame. “get lost, you piece of shit, or i'll make you regret it.”

if this person isn't stupid, they'll immediately obey and never show their face around you again.

you're always oblivious to others’ attention, though, since kid takes care of it so quickly.

“where'd you go?” you’d ask, looking over your shoulder as kid returned to you.

“nowhere, doll, nothin’ to worry about.” he’d say gruffly before assuming his rightful place next to you and draping an arm over your shoulders.

monkey d luffy doesn't ever get jealous! he doesn't mind if you talk to other people who may or may not be attractive to you, and he doesn't mind if people blatantly hit on you. it's not like he’d ever really pick up on the fact that someone's flirting with you, anyway.

there are times when he becomes protective, though, and that is if someone is harassing you relentlessly, despite your attempts to free yourself from the situation. 

he’ll place himself between you and the assailant, his arms outstretched as he herds you behind him. all he has to do is glare at them, and the cheerful boy who'd been by your side is quickly replaced by your strong and capable boyfriend, who’d fight the gods themselves to keep you safe and sound.

“leave ‘em alone.” he'd say lowly, and that's the only thing he’d have to do. afterwards, he'd wrap his limbs all the way around you and rub his cheek against yours, speaking to you in a soft voice but with a huge grin on his face to try and cheer you up.

“you doin’ okay? i got rid of ‘em for ya. you'll never hafta worry about ‘em again!”

roronoa zoro is hyper aware of all of his surroundings. every time you're in public, he notices anyone and everyone who happens to even look in your direction. you'd never know it, though, since he's always good at keeping his cool and aloof in most situations.

“i don’ like the way that person is lookin’ atcha.” zoro would grunt, keeping one hand on his swords and the other wrapped around your waist, fingers pressing into your skin.

“ro, there's no one looking at me. calm down.” you'd say with a chuckle. “be my boyfriend, not my guard dog.”

he'd narrow his eyes at you, a very subtle frown grazing his lips, but he'd comply nonetheless. you're right, after all, there's nothing to worry about. 

so he'd just resort to being glued to your backside, hands on your hips and head on a swivel, glaring daggers at this person until they slink away. once they're gone, he'd smirk and huff a satisfied chuckle, letting himself relax as he rests his head in the crook of your neck and closes his eyes. yeah, he's not too worried about it.

trafalgar d water law doesn't typically get jealous. if he does, he'll hold it in his heart and let it weigh heavy on his chest and just send death wishes to whoever is taking your attention away at the moment. it's very easy for him to get you out of these situations, though. he doesn't really want to deal with conflict, he's too tired for that shit. so he has a very simple solution.

he’ll approach you and the unwelcome stranger, sighing and taking his hands out of his pockets.

“room.” law raises his hand, sending a devious smirk from underneath his cap toward the stranger. “shambles.”

and then the stranger would be gone, simple as that.

you'd turn to law with an exasperated look. “you just can't help yourself can you?”

he would just exhale a chuckle and pull you close with one arm, not saying a word.

vinsmoke sanji becomes aggressively aware immediately after anyone of the opposite sex expresses even the most minute amount of interest in you. it could be a smile that looks just a little to friendly or a glance that lasts a little too long, he's on it.

he won't let you notice, though. he'll keep his loving and cheerful demeanor, speaking to you in a sweet voice and continuing to call you by your pet name whenever you speak to him. but he's going to be stalking around you, blocking the pursuer’s line of sight with his body while keeping his hands on your hips.

“i’ll be right back, darling!” he’d tilt your chin up to place a sweet kiss to your lips before quickly approaching the stranger and grabbing them by their collar, dragging them out of the area. 

he wouldn't physically harm them, but he'd shove them against a wall and threaten the fuck out of them. “if you ever so much as look at my precious y/n-chan again, i will personally deliver you to hell.”

then he'd be off, running back to your arms with such zest and sweet excitement!

taglist: @kingofthe-egirls @chopperwithouthishat @usoppsstar + mush but she's already tagged lolol

[xazse]

Hi!! I love your work. I'd like to make a request, Satoru x Innocent!reader, if you have time you can do it, and if not, then I'll understand. :)

Tw: Satoru x innocent!reader + smut + fem!reader + corruption kink + pussyeating + not a lot of smut I’m sorry! I was just rushed to get this out so you didn’t think I was ignoring you!

Notes: HI IM SO HAPPY YOU LOVE MY WORKS!! (Sorry this took so long I was thinking of a good prompt but here you go I hope you like it!!) and if you didn’t want fem!reader just tell me and I’ll revise it!

I absolutely love the idea of you having some vague information on sex but not a lot, too busy plopping your face in books almost all your life, romance and stuff didn’t interest you when you had parents who wanted you to solely think about school and college.

And when you get to college you’re completely dumbstruck by the relationships around you. Everyone around you seems to have someone special to them but here you are too busy for things like that. Sex handn’t ever crossed your mind that is until you meet Satoru the first ever boy to show actual interest in you, he’s as sweet as they come, clingy but very funny.

A year with him has happened so fast and you’ve felt nothing but bliss with him, he’s truly one of a kind.

Satoru and you are relaxing on your fluffy bed, he’s lounging on your body like he usually is, always needing to be close to you regardless of where you are. But today he’s extra touchy with you, feeling up your waist and burying himself deep in your tummy which in turn makes you giggle.

Satoru is going quite mad, he doesn’t know how many times he can see you in those short shorts and tiny camisole for him to finally pin you down and fuck you, everytime he hints at intimacy you just give him the most confused look ever, you don’t pick up on his words and that also drives him crazy. Crazy in a good way. He loves the fact that you don’t even seem the least bit interested in sex, he wants to be the one to take your virginity and him only.

And now feels like the perfect moment, he starts kissing up the column of your neck and you surprisingly don’t pull away though you do sit still as a board whilst his lips wander all over your neck, leaving deep purple hued marks all over.

That night Satoru has a hard time controlling himself with you, he knows he’s supposed to ease you into sex but the way his fingers can barely filt pass your tight hole has him groaning out loud, every hitch of your breath from the pain makes his cock throb. He’s getting off to the simple fact that you’ve never had anything in there.

He pulses his fingers in and out of you in a repeated motion, spurring on those cute whines that slip out nonstop.

He spreads you open further on your bed so he can get the full view of your beautiful cunt, your little clit throbs for attention and he most definitely gives it that attention, the nub twitches nervously every sift of his fingers against it.

He licks his first taste of you directly up the middle of your pussy, dragging against your folds as you buck against his hips. That little action elicits that much from you? Oh Satoru is going to have so much fun ruining you.

You take his cock like a champ, he whispers that bit in your ear while you’re fucked out. It was an extremely tight fit even with all the prep he gave you but nonetheless Satoru fought agaisnt the tight ring of your pussy, he has you cum around him multiple times that night.

[p0orbaby]

A Tide of Tender Mercies

summary: oh, no, i think i’m in love with you

warning: SMUT 18+, oral, fingering (alexia receiving), some angst, reader being stubborn af

a/n: thank you to @muffinpink02 for helping navigate the sexy part ! also i’ve deffo repeated some bits but i cannot for the life of me be bothered to sort it out

word count: 7k

part 1

-

The chalet is…well, perfect. It’s the kind of perfect that only comes from meticulous planning, obsessive list-making, and a kind of restrained indulgence that most people would never understand. Set high above a tiny Swiss village known for its fondue and twenty-something millionaires, it sits against a backdrop of mountains sharp enough to slice the clouds. The exterior is severe, almost aggressively minimalistic: crisp white stucco, blackened wood shutters, and glass doors that could double as showroom installations. The effect is daunting, beautiful, and—if you’re being honest—a bit over-the-top. You chose it, naturally, because it’s the type of place where “just a fling” can occur without a single hint of domesticity.

Inside, everything is pristine, hand-selected, curated to within an inch of its life. You were adamant that the linens be Egyptian cotton, but not the gaudy kind; they’re 800-thread count, light enough to seem insubstantial but woven to feel solid, unyielding. They’re arranged in clinical folds on the bed, starched and pressed in a way that suggests they’re almost afraid to be touched. You’ll mess them up later, but for now, they’re an artwork of restraint.

And then there are the wines, selected with the sort of care that would make a sommelier weep. It’s silly, of course—Alexia doesn’t normally drink during the season, so she will hardly glance at the labels, but you’ve assembled an array that hints at depth nonetheless. An entire wall of Swiss Chasselas, a few rare vintages from Bordeaux, and an stupidly expensive pinot noir that tastes like dirt but cost enough to suggest you know what you’re doing. The idea is that if she gives in to something sophisticated, she’ll find it here. If she doesn’t, you’ll find her something else. Something that says you’ve thought of everything. Which, of course, you have.

The whole thing has a sort of perverse charm, really, how every detail has been obsessively pre-arranged to ensure that she knows you’re not in this for anything serious. And yet, here you are, flying her across Europe to the kind of setting people book for anniversaries and life-altering proposals.

There’s a sort of humour in it, if you’re willing to look. You even laugh to yourself, laying out the spa towels in the bathroom—too thick, too plush, a little too “I love you”—knowing full well she won’t notice them. She’ll think of them as “towels,” and if she does notice, it’ll be because she needs a new one. But that’s fine. It’s all part of the performance, all part of the thing you’ve constructed around this chalet, around her arrival, around the notion that this is—what? Casual? Fun? Whatever word fits it neatly enough to deny what you’re feeling.

And then there are the candles. Oh, God, the candles. You tried to keep them simple, restrained, the kind of scents that evoke a distant memory rather than a specific moment. Sandalwood, bergamot, a flicker of pine; nothing too floral, nothing that says “romance,” but hints of something just familiar enough to feel safe. You even toyed with the idea of an unscented option, just in case the pine felt too… suggestive. It’s ridiculous, but you’ve learned to lean into it, to control it, to package it neatly. If it’s planned, then it’s deliberate, and if it’s deliberate, then it’s just for fun.

“Why all this?” you imagine her saying, eyebrows raised, maybe laughing as she notices the excessive stock of Swiss chocolates in the cabinet. You have them lined up in neat rows, the artisan kind—no corner-shop Toblerone here—and each one is individually wrapped in foil that gleams in the dim kitchen light. You picture her rolling her eyes at the small mountain of truffle boxes, asking if you’ve stocked up for a wedding. And you, of course, would shrug it off, offering some deadpan line about Swiss tourism. Or a joke about Swiss efficiency. Or something suitably bland that keeps the tone right where you want it—on the edge of humour, a step away from real. You’ve prepared for every reaction, really. Which is pointless, because she hasn’t even arrived yet.

It’s the first time she’s been here. The place is new, purchased after a very well-timed therapy session that conveniently rebranded “self-indulgence” as “self-care.” The therapist’s exact words were “If you want to be your best self, find the spaces that let you breathe.” And you took that literally, flying up here for private viewings until this place caught your eye. Well, maybe not your eye. But it was one of those rare places that looked exactly like the pictures, maybe better, and it had the kind of aesthetic that screams “I need nothing from you” while begging for a sense of purpose. You bought it almost instantly.

And now, after weeks of fine-tuning, she’ll be here soon. You catch yourself arranging the books on the side table, pausing over which titles to leave out—a mix of philosophy and modern fiction that says “I read but don’t take it too seriously.” You laugh to yourself at the pretension of it, yet you leave the carefully selected titles exactly as they are.

It’s silly, really, because the goal here is detachment, the freedom to keep things light and uncomplicated. You tell yourself that as you straighten the pillows on the sofa for the second time, catching your own eye in the polished mirror that hangs in the foyer.

“You’re being weird,” you say out loud, imagining her walking in, that quick smile flashing, eyebrows raised in a way that says, “Is this all for me?” You picture her laughing, maybe rolling those pretty green eyes of hers. But you have an answer for that too, prepared in advance, a casual shrug.

“Just a little atmosphere,” you’ll say, as if it’s nothing.

You check your watch. Thirty-two minutes until Alexia arrives. Thirty-two minutes to double-check that every single minutely considered, utterly detached detail says, I couldn’t care less—or, more precisely, I care in exactly the right amount of less. Because she needs to know that this is nothing. That this trip to an over-the-top chalet overlooking a town mostly inhabited by 19-year-olds in cashmere is simply an exercise in relaxation, togetherness, a concept you’re fairly sure you’re allergic to.

She doesn’t know it yet, but you bought the place partly to show her. Partly to remind her, subtly, that she could disappear tomorrow and you’d still have this. Because that’s the problem with Alexia, isn’t it? She’s not really yours. She’s something you can enjoy, display even, but never own. The complete opposite of the real estate you’ve added to your collection. You stand there, glass in hand, the Lagavulin you’ve graciously poured yourself warming your fingers through the crystal, staring out at the Alps with the vague thought that an obscene number of people have had their ashes scattered here, somewhere along this ridgeline. It’s an unsettling idea you rather enjoy.

She texts, something about a delay on the tarmac, and you stare at the message for a beat too long, analysing the exact wording like you’re looking for hidden subtext. As if there could be subtext in the word “delayed.”

A casual fling, you remind yourself, should never be complicated by subtext.

To pass the time, you scan the kitchen once again. The coffee is fresh-ground, of course, from a bag that cost as much as an entire year’s supply from anywhere normal. It’s pre-portioned in tiny glass canisters your assistant found online that look like vintage apothecary jars. The labels are printed in Helvetica Neue because you once read that it’s a ‘subtly superior’ font. Ridiculous. But also, it’s perfect. There’s also a miniature mountain of imported Spanish oranges on the counter, carefully arranged in a hammered copper bowl you don’t remember buying. You could make mimosas, you think, if you didn’t know she’ll insist on starting with a protein shake instead.

You put a bottle of Alpine mineral water in the fridge just for her, chilled to the exact 4.4°C she prefers. Yes, it’s an oddly specific temperature preference. No, she didn’t tell you directly. You overheard her mention it once, offhand, to someone else. Which is exactly why you’re bound to a polite indifference if she asks why it’s there. It’s simply what the fridge was set to. Nothing personal.

Just the thought of her walking in has you adjusting your posture as if she’s already watching. Alexia doesn’t miss a single detail. Once, she commented on the way you have a tendency to pull your sleeves over your hands. You haven’t done it since. Now, you check that every piece of clothing you’ve chosen is deliberately, carelessly oversized—but only to the point that still reads as flattering.

Then, at last, you hear the crunch of tyres on gravel. You scurry to watch from the window as she steps out of the car you sent, and she’s immediately caught in that glacial alpine light, her features so stark and defined that it’s almost cinematic. There’s a sharp thrill—one you won’t admit to yourself—in seeing her here, framed against this scene like she’s the final piece in some high-budget film. The coat she’s wearing is slightly too large, lending her a relaxed, indifferent air, as if she’d picked up the first thing she saw on her way out the door. Effortless, in that way that would feel studied on anyone else.

You stand back from the window just before she glances up, retreating into the comfort of shadows. Timing is everything. You’ve thought this through, down to each calculated second. It’s critical, after all, that she finds you not watching, but instead lingering at a perfect remove, preferably with a slight air of distraction. You’re aiming for a kind of aloofness, as if her arrival is the least interesting event of the day.

She’s about to ring the bell when you move, deliberately slow, to the door, letting it swing open just as she raises her hand. There’s a brief, barely perceptible pause as her eyes meet yours, a spark of something unspoken passing between you both before she raises an eyebrow, a look that hovers between amusement and challenge.

“Missed me?” she asks, dryly, though there’s a glint in her eye that suggests she’s perfectly aware of what she’s doing. She’s close now, close enough that you can catch the faintest whiff of her perfume, something dark and woody and just the right side of familiar.

You tilt your head, giving her a slow once-over, and shrug. “Not especially,” you say, voice low, careful to keep the tone perfectly flat. But you let your gaze linger just a second too long on her collarbone, barely visible where her coat has slipped slightly, enough to make her catch it, her mouth curling up at the edge. It’s a deliberate game, one you’ve both played a hundred times, each move rehearsed, practised to the point of art.

She’s barely through the door when you feel it—that unmistakable tension, thickening the air between you. It’s almost tangible, a static hum just beneath the surface of polite conversation, something that pulls at you like gravity. The moment feels precarious, balanced on the edge of something you’re not quite willing to name, because if you wait too long, the feeling will settle into something more familiar. Something too close to comfort, which is the last thing you want.

She doesn’t seem to notice it, of course, her mind likely on dinner plans or the slow crawl of the evening. You, however, are already teetering at the edge of patience, every nerve just slightly too aware of her. She walks in, drops her bag by the door with a casual grace that feels almost too natural, like she’s done this a hundred times, like she could do this forever if you asked her to. And you wonder if you’d even want that—something so predictably domestic, the quiet comfort of a routine. No. You want her in ways that defy that kind of simplicity, in a way that doesn’t ask permission.

You watch her from the corner of your eye as she takes in the room. Her eyes linger on the minimal, curated details you agonised over: the leather-bound books you never plan to read, the art on the walls meant to suggest a taste for something more sophisticated than it is. She’s oblivious, seemingly caught up in the novelty of the place, and that’s exactly what you intended. She can’t know how meticulously you set the scene, how every pillow and chair is positioned with an almost obsessive precision. All she has to do is be here. You’ll take care of the rest.

There’s a slow, unhurried quality to her movements, an ease that’s infuriating because it’s so at odds with the pulse of urgency rising in you. She wanders over to the fireplace, running her hand along the mantel with a soft, idle curiosity. Her fingers trace over the edge of a photograph you don’t remember putting there, something abstract and distant, chosen for the way it says absolutely nothing about you. It’s maddening, really, the way she lingers in the space, claiming it without meaning to, as if her very presence could overwrite the hours you spent constructing it.

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” she says, her voice light, unaware of the way it cuts through the silence with a sharpness that’s almost physical. There’s a half-smile on her face, something unreadable that you can’t quite shake off.

You shrug, adopting an air of disinterest you’ve perfected over the years. “Thought you’d appreciate the change of scenery”

She raises an eyebrow, still oblivious, her focus now on the bust of Venus of Arles by the window. For a second, you want to laugh at the madness of it, how she’s here, right in front of you, while you’re clawing at the edges of your own restraint.

But she’s still gazing around, her fingers brushing the edge of a table as if she has all the time in the world. As if she doesn’t know what you’re holding back. You take a slow breath, exhale, feel the tension coil tighter inside, and think that if you let this linger for even another second, you’ll start to resent the calmness of it, the quiet rhythm that feels too much like waiting. Like settling into something you’re not prepared to face.

“Wine?” You ask in a futile attempt to keep things just this side of civilised. The offer hangs in the air, a thin layer of normalcy that feels like it could snap at any moment, but she only nods, glancing over with a slight smile, one corner of her mouth lifting in that way that’s halfway between polite interest and something more.

“Sure,” she says, her voice smooth, without a hint of awareness. “You pick”

You turn to the wine rack with an exaggerated casualness, scanning bottles you chose with this exact moment in mind. You could explain the notes of every vintage, how each one was picked not because it pairs with any particular food—because let’s face it, dinner’s not exactly on your mind—but because it suggests a kind of sophistication, a subtlety. You choose a bottle of red, something full-bodied and just slightly bitter, almost as if in silent commentary on the situation. You pour, slowly, setting the glass down in front of her with a kind of precision that’s both reverent and clinical. She reaches for it, her fingers grazing the stem, the gesture infuriatingly graceful.

The first sip seems to surprise her. “Good choice,” she murmurs, eyes meeting yours over the rim of the glass.

The silence stretches on just a moment too long, the air thick with something that isn’t quite tension, more like a coiled spring just waiting for one of you to press down. You feel it building as she shifts, glancing around the room, and suddenly, you realise she’s working up to something. There’s a certain deliberateness in the way she moves, a careful consideration in her stare, and you know—know—she didn’t come all this way just to admire the decor.

“Look,” she starts, her voice softer than usual, carrying a weight that tells you she’s not talking about the view. “I’ve been thinking—”

But you can’t—won’t—let her finish. Not when you know exactly what she’s about to say. You cut her off, leaning forward, your tone light, easy, deliberately dismissive. “Please don’t tell me you came all the way here just to talk, Alexia”

She freezes, mid-sentence, and there’s a flash of something in her eyes, a blend of surprise and—annoyance, maybe? But she masks it quickly, her lips pressing into a tight line. “I thought you’d appreciate me being… honest,” she says slowly, as though testing the waters, watching you carefully.

“Honest? That’s what we’re calling it?” You let a smirk tug at the corner of your mouth, a practiced expression, something designed to be just detached enough to hold everything at arm’s length. “Come on, we’re better than that, aren’t we?”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your deflection, but there’s still a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Better than what? Talking?”

Talking. The word hangs in the air, innocent, innocuous, yet loaded in a way that feels heavier than it has any right to. You shift, taking another sip of wine, letting the liquid burn down, hoping it’ll smother the way her eyes feel like they're peeling away all your practiced layers. It’s one thing to enjoy someone’s company, but the feeling creeping in now is something else, something you’re not used to. It feels inconvenient. Like an itch you can’t reach.

You try to fire back, something witty, something cool, but the words catch in your throat, your mind scraping empty. It’s frustrating, the way she’s caught you off guard, how she’s unraveled your carefully crafted reserve without even trying. You reach for your glass again, swirling the wine, stalling for time, anything to avoid that knowing look in her eyes.

But then it dawns on you, like a spark catching flame—there’s still one thing left to do to regain control. Something you can do that would put you back in charge, bring this uncomfortable vulnerability back into something physical, where you excel. You set your glass down, slowly, purposefully, letting the silence stretch taut between you both.

She watches you with that smirk, that trace of challenge, as if daring you to break this moment of stillness.

“Come here,” you say, low and steady, injecting just enough command to leave no room for debate.

“No”

She says it so simply, so carelessly, that for a moment you’re almost convinced you misheard her. It’s infuriating, really, that one little word has the power to throw you so entirely. Your pulse stumbles, and you feel the ground slipping from under you, just enough to catch you off guard.

“Alexia.” You give her a look that’s intended to be definitive, final, but it lands with all the power of a weak threat. Her smirk widens into a full, infuriating smile, the one that says she’s entirely aware of the effect she’s having on you.

“Just hear me out,” she says, with a kind of softness that’s more unnerving than you’d like. “You’re doing that thing. The thing where you turn everything into—” She pauses, gesturing vaguely with her hand, searching for the right word, “—into some kind of performance”

It’s an odd, unnerving feeling, this loss of footing. Normally, you’d have a witty reply ready, something cutting or clever, but instead, you feel like she’s stripped you bare, left you standing there with nothing but honesty, and you hate it.

“So now you’re the expert?” you reply, finally finding your voice, though it sounds sharper than you meant. “Since when do you—”

“Since I started actually falling for you,” she says, cutting you off, her voice low but clear. It’s not even particularly dramatic, the way she says it, and somehow that’s worse. Like she’s not trying to turn it into anything, not expecting any kind of reaction—just stating it as a fact.

You feel a flush rise to your face, and you mask it with another sip of wine, a hasty attempt to cover up the sudden jolt in your chest. She waits, just watches you with that maddening calm, as if giving you all the time in the world to come up with some kind of response.

The air between you feels thick, heavy with something unsaid and unfamiliar. You feel the urge to laugh, to make light of it, anything to disperse this feeling building between you, something dangerously close to vulnerability.

“You don’t have to make this into… whatever this is,” you say, gesturing between you. “Let’s not get sentimental”

“I’m not,” she says, crossing her arms, looking impossibly patient. “I told you I’m just trying to be honest. I thought that was allowed”

“Honest,” you repeat, as though the word itself is foreign. And maybe it is. Honesty has never been the thing you reach for. Honesty is for people who can afford to look foolish, who don’t mind slipping, stumbling a little. Honesty is… unnecessary. And maybe that’s exactly why it’s got you so rattled now.

You set your glass down, more forcefully than intended, and close the distance between you with a deliberate slowness, a silence that says everything you aren’t willing to say out loud. She watches you, unmoving, waiting, that infuriating patience of hers still intact.

“Fine,” you murmur, leaning in close, your voice barely above a whisper. “If youre falling for me, fucking show me”

Her lips quirk in the barest hint of a smile, a flicker of amusement mixed with something warmer, something that makes you feel like you’re the one being dissected here. It’s maddening, really, how effortlessly she manages to get under your skin, slip past all those careful layers. And yet you’re already reaching for her, pulling her closer, desperate to change the pace, to turn this moment into something you can control.

There’s a split second where neither of you move, holding the charged silence like it might be the only thread of control left. And then it snaps. You reach for her, not gently, fingers curling around her wrist with enough force that she has no choice but to be pulled in. Her smirk flickers, only slightly, and there’s something about the momentary surprise in her eyes that makes your grip tighten further, anchoring yourself as much as her. It’s a flash of vulnerability that vanishes as quickly as it appears, leaving behind nothing but a thin layer of bravado, one you’re keen to shatter.

You pull her toward you, and the air shifts, that faint hint of uncertainty cracking into something far messier. Your hand finds its way to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair with a kind of reckless precision, not even aware of how tightly you’re holding on. You don’t waste time; you’re not even sure there’s time to waste. And as soon as you lean in, catching her mouth with a kiss that’s anything but tentative, you feel her resistance melt, her lips parting under yours with a roughness that’s almost defiant.

She meets you with equal force, as if each clash of mouths, each bruising press of skin, is a way to gain back her own control, and you revel in it, the give-and-take that feels as calculated as it is chaotic. Your hand slips to her jaw, holding her there, your thumb brushing over the corner of her mouth with a kind of ferocity that toes the line between possessive and desperate. You know it’s not going to be gentle; there’s a part of you that doesn’t want it to be.

You’re moving backwards, feeling the edge of the marble island press into your spine, but it doesn’t matter. She’s everywhere, her hands gripping the fabric of your shirt, blunt nails scraping against your skin as if she’s staking a claim, as if she’s finally caught on to the pace you’ve been trying to set and decided to match it.

“Is this what you wanted?” Her words slip out like a slow, deliberate knife cutting through the air between you. The tone, sharp, unfamiliar, though has been the soundtrack to your late-night thoughts. It’s almost as if she knows, like she’s caught you in the act of something that’s always been just below the surface. Her breath comes in shallow gasps, eyes darting between your face and the space between you two, as if trying to read the faintest tremor in your expression. It’s always a game with her, always a step too far.

Yes.

“No,” you manage, your voice betraying you—cracked, thin, like a lie too rehearsed. The words come out wrong, but they come out anyway, forced through a tightening chest.

The moment stretches, each second fracturing, bending and folding into itself. It’s like trying to hold a conversation with a shadow—everything slips just out of reach, and the harder you try to grasp it, the more it seems to twist away, leaving nothing but the sensation of your own breath hitching in your throat. You fucking hate this. You hate the way her fingers curl in the fabric of your shirt, as if trying to remind you of your place, of the expectations that have always followed you both like a silent, mocking echo.

No, you don’t hate her.

Fuck. You love her.

The thought is an ugly, dissonant thing, a weight that doesn’t settle easily, like a slow-moving tide pulling you under. The water’s cold. You can’t feel the bottom. You don’t know which way is up, and the only thing you do know is that, somewhere along the line, you’ve let yourself drown.

Your pulse is almost deafening in your ears, hammering in time with your desperate need for air. There’s something about the way she stands before you—still and deliberate, eyes trained on yours—that makes the room feel smaller, closer. You think you can hear her thoughts. Feel them. It’s maddening, how much she seems to know you, how she’s always known the way you bend. How much she’s learned to manipulate that bend, until you almost forget what it’s like to be anything but this: a response.

You swallow. The taste of her is lingering on your lips, sweet and bitter all at once, like a bad memory. How many times has this happened? You don’t know anymore. The last time feels as far away as the first time—when she leaned in, the weight of her body an invisible promise. But tonight, there’s something different. It’s in the way she watches you, cold, calculating, her fingers still gripping the edges of your shirt, the only real connection between you two in the moment.

She inhales slowly, the rhythm deliberate, like she’s listening to a song you can’t hear. The silence is suffocating.

“You’re lying,” she says, low and accusing, with just enough venom to make you flinch. There’s a tiny smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth, something fleeting, something knowing. You want to reach out, to take her in your hands and pull her close, but the distance between you both feels like a universe. The space feels like a reflection of everything that’s wrong with you: the empty conversations, the meaningless gestures, the ache that’s always there, just beneath the skin. It’s maddening, this tension.

And yet…

You want her. Fuck, you need her. You don’t know if it’s because you love her or because she knows how to make you feel more alive than anything else. She’s become your addiction, your fire, the only thing you can’t quit.

Another shift in the air. Another breath from her, shallow and calculated. It’s not a question anymore, not a challenge—it’s an affirmation. She knows, and you know, too.

You close your eyes for a moment, just long enough to lose yourself in the fleeting memory of something that almost felt like peace. The sound of her voice, the taste of her, the way she touched you. It’s all a blur, a disjointed collection of moments tied together by one inescapable truth: you’ll never be able to walk away.

Not this time.

When your eyes open again, she’s still standing there, eyes not leaving yours, studying you. Everything feels slowed down, almost too slow. Like time is bending around her, twisting the seconds into something thick, sticky. Her gaze doesn’t soften, but it holds you in place, an anchor, a force. The room is silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the background, the dull tap of your own pulse in your ears.

You don’t speak. Not yet. You don’t need to.

Her fingers slide along your chest, trailing down in that same slow, infuriating pace, until they settle on the edge of your shirt again, the same place they started. She doesn’t look away, her lips curving upward in a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

It’s like she’s trying to decide whether you want to hurt her or fuck her. And the problem is, you’re not sure you can tell the difference anymore.

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms like that might keep you steady, like that might stop you from doing the one thing you swore you wouldn’t.

Loving something. Someone. Loving Alexia.

“What are you so afraid of?” she murmurs, her voice low, almost gentle, and it’s the softness of it that makes you unravel completely.

You don’t think—you can’t. One second you’re standing there trying to convince yourself you still have your palms wrapped around this situation, and the next they’re on her, pulling her in with a force that’s almost cruel. Your mouth finds hers, hard and unrelenting, and she gasps into the kiss, her fingers clutching at your shirt, wrinkling the silk, as if you might disappear if she doesn’t hold on.

She tastes like spearmint gum and coffee. You imagine her shivering as she steps off the plane, teeth chattering in the wind, and too polite to mention it. But your driver notices, you pay him to notice, so before her luggage is out of the cargo, a café con leche is being pressed into her gloved hands.

It’s not a kiss. Not really. It’s a collision, hard and unrelenting, her mouth crashing into yours with a force that feels like defiance, like she’s daring you to stop pretending. To stop holding yourself together so tightly you’re liable to snap.

Your hands are already on her, pulling her close, so close it feels claustrophobic, but you can’t stop. You can’t make yourself pull away because then you’d have to look at her, really look at her, and confront the unbearable softness in her eyes. You’d have to hear her voice again, saying the one thing you’ve been trying to ignore since she first murmured it like a needle under your skin:

“What are you so afraid of?”

What you’re afraid of is this. Her. The way she’s stripped you bare with no effort at all, no grand gestures or declarations. She’s unravelling you with the weight of her presence, with the simple fact of her being, and you hate it almost as much as you crave it.

Your teeth scrape against her lower lip, harder than you mean to, and she gasps, but she doesn’t pull away. Her nails dig into your shoulders, gripping onto you while you take your rightful place at the helm of this godforsaken dance.

And she’s letting you. Letting you press her against the edge of the table, her legs bumping into the thick, varnished oak. The table was handmade by some artisan you don’t remember the name of, its surface polished to a high gloss that reflects the warm light overhead. You’d spent weeks agonising over the purchase, debating wood grains and finishes with a level of scrutiny that felt absurd even at the time. It’s the kind of thing people like you do when they’re too scared to focus on what matters.

But now it’s just a table. A thing in the way, a thing that’s caught between you and her.

Her jeans catch on the wood as you push her back, and the sound is sharp, cutting through the fog in your head. You hesitate for half a second, your hands hovering at her hips, fingers brushing the cool metal of her belt buckle.

“You’re thinking too much,” she says, her voice low and breathless. It’s not a reproach—it’s almost amused, like she knows exactly what’s going on in your head, and it’s ridiculous to her that you’re trying to wrestle this into something it’s not.

“I’m not thinking at all,” you say, and it’s true. Or it’s a lie. You don’t know anymore, and you don’t care.

The belt comes undone with a soft clink, the leather sliding through the loops of her jeans in one smooth motion. You let it fall to the floor, the sound of it hitting the tile lost beneath the ragged breaths you’re both taking. Your hands are shaking slightly as you undo the button on her jeans, the metal cold against your fingertips.

She doesn’t help you. Doesn’t lift her hips, doesn’t make it easier. She just watches you, her gaze steady and unwavering, like she’s daring you to keep going.

And you do.

You yank the denim down her thighs, your movements jerky, almost frantic, and it’s not until the fabric crumples on the floor that you realise your hands are still trembling. She notices too, her lips twitching into that infuriating half-smile, the one that makes your stomach twist into knots.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice soft but edged with something sharper, something that cuts right through you.

“I don’t know,” you admit, and the honesty of it feels like a blow to the chest.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, and the words make something inside you snap.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of her underwear, dragging them down her thighs in one swift, unceremonious motion. The damp lace clings for a moment before it slides free, pooling at her knees before hitting the floor. You don’t stop to think. There’s no room for hesitation here, no space for the doubt that’s been clawing at you since this started.

Her scent hits you first, heady and intoxicating, and for a moment you freeze, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it. But then she moves—just slightly, her hips tilting forward in an unspoken plea—and it’s all the permission you need.

You press your mouth to her, your tongue sliding through her folds with a slow, deliberate pressure that pulls a broken sound from her throat. Her taste is sharp, almost sweet, and it floods your senses in a way that makes you dizzy. Her thighs close around your head instinctively, caging you in, and you let out a low, involuntary groan against her skin.

“Fuck—” Her voice is high and breathy, her fingers digging into your scalp now, hard enough to sting. “Don’t stop. Don’t—”

You don’t. You press deeper, your tongue finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at her centre and circling it with a precision you didn’t know you had. She jerks against you, her body arching off the table, and you use the opportunity to slide your hands up her thighs, holding her steady.

The table creaks beneath her, the sound of the wood groaning under her weight mixing with the wet, obscene noises of your mouth against her. It’s filthy and raw, every sense overwhelmed, and you’re not sure if you’re doing this to prove a point or because you can’t bear to stop. Maybe it’s both.

Her head tilts back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat, and you want to mark it, to leave evidence of this all over her skin, but you can’t pull away. Not when she’s gasping your name, her voice breaking like she can’t quite believe what’s happening.

You slide a finger into her, slow at first, just enough to make her hips stutter against your mouth. She’s tight, impossibly so, and you feel her clench around you as you add a second finger, curling them just right. Her moan is loud, sharp, and it sends a bolt of heat straight through you.

“God, you—” She doesn’t finish the sentence, doesn’t seem capable of forming words anymore, and it sends a twisted sense of satisfaction through you. You focus on her clit again, your tongue moving in quick, precise circles as your fingers work her open, the slick heat of her making it almost too easy.

Her legs tremble around you, and you can feel her getting closer, her breathing turning shallow and erratic. You don’t let up, don’t give her a second to recover, pressing her higher and higher until she breaks with a cry that sounds like your name.

Her whole body shudders, her thighs clamping tight around your head as she rides out her orgasm, and you keep going, drawing it out as long as you can until she’s pushing weakly at your shoulders.

“Enough,” she gasps, her voice wrecked, and you finally pull back, your lips and chin wet with her.

You look up at her, and she’s a mess—her hair sticking to her damp forehead, her chest heaving with every ragged breath. Her eyes meet yours, dark and unreadable, and for a moment neither of you says anything.

Then, slowly, she reaches for you, her hands shaking as she grabs at your jumper and pulls you up to meet her. Her kiss is rough and desperate, her teeth catching on your lower lip, and you realise she’s not done.

Her hands don’t go for your own clothes like you’d expected. Instead, they move to your thighs, her grip firm and commanding, and before you can comprehend what’s happening, she’s lifting you. The sudden change knocks the air out of your lungs, and you gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around her waist, locking you against her. The motion is seamless, like she’s done this before—or like she’s always known she could.

You try to tell yourself you hate how easy it feels, but you don’t. You can’t.

Your hands find her shoulders, her jaw, her hair—anything to ground yourself, but nothing works. You’re still dizzy, still untethered, even as her lips crash against yours. There’s nothing gentle about it, nothing controlled. Her teeth scrape your bottom lip, her tongue pushes into your mouth like she’s trying to devour you, and you let her because for once you don’t want to think about what comes next.

She’s walking, you realise belatedly, the steady rhythm of her steps making your body rock against hers. It’s disorienting, the way she carries you so easily, like your weight is nothing, like you’re the fragile thing here.

You kiss her harder to prove you’re not, nipping at her lip until she growls low in her throat, a sound that vibrates through you and pulls a small, involuntary moan from your lips. Her hands tighten on you, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, and it sends a sharp thrill up your spine.

The hallway blurs around you, the world narrowing until it’s just her—her mouth on yours, her hands gripping you like she’ll never let go, her body impossibly solid against yours.

When she finally kicks the door open and lays you down on the bed, it feels like surrender. Not hers. Yours.

You don’t realise how tightly you’ve been clinging to her until she pulls back, your fingers still knotted in the collar of her shirt. The fabric wrinkles between your hands, and for a moment you just stare at each other, the room charged with something you don’t have the words to name.

Her eyes are dark, searching, but there’s no smugness, no trace of victory there. Instead, there’s something softer, something that makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with lust.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs, her voice low and steady, and it undoes you more than anything else she’s done tonight.

It’s too much. The weight of her words, the way she says them like a promise, like she means it. Your chest tightens, and you shake your head, your fingers releasing her collar to press against her shoulders, keeping her at a distance.

But she doesn’t let you push her away completely. Her hands slide up your sides, gentle now, her touch a sharp contrast to the bruising grip she had on you moments ago. She’s watching you, waiting, like she knows exactly what’s going through your head.

You hate her for it. You hate her because she’s right.

“I can’t…” Your voice cracks, barely audible, and you don’t even know what you’re trying to say.

She leans in, her forehead resting against yours, her breath warm against your cheek. “You don’t have to,” she says simply, and the honesty in her tone is unbearable.

You want to argue, to fight, to push her away, but your body doesn’t move. You just lay there, your chest heaving, your hands trembling against her. You feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something vast and unknowable, and for the first time in a long time, you’re not sure if you’ll survive the fall.

Because this isn’t about sex anymore.

It’s about her, and the way she looks at you like you’re something worth holding onto. It’s about the way your body feels like it’s breaking apart under the weight of it, like you’re finally being seen for what you are—what you’ve always been.

A liar. A coward. Someone too afraid to let go, too afraid to feel, too afraid to love.

Her lips brush yours again, soft this time, barely there, and you let out a shaky breath. It’s not enough to drown in. Not yet. But it’s close.

“Let me in,” she whispers, and it’s not a command. It’s an offering.

You close your eyes, and for the first time, you don’t resist.

[ateliersss]

Bandaids and Kisses

Pairing: Yautja x Fem!Reader Summary: One part of motherhood seemed to be patching up your reckless pup after another adventure in the wild against his parents’ wishes. Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 2.885 Before the Blooming Family series

⇨ Hello, you Yautja lovers. With this, we are going back in time, before the happenings of the "Blooming Family" series. I hope you enjoy it! Comments are always appreciated!

⇨ You want to know something hilarious? A Yautja in their early twenties is the equivalent of a human in its 50's/60's, so Akail as a ten-year-old Yautja would be a minus something human baby.

"Oh my God, Akail! Again?"

You were taken to Yautja Prime about fifty years ago, Life-mated to Mi'ytiar for forty years, and an accepted and established member of his clan for ten years now. Ten years, the same amount of time your son had walked, talked, and breathed. Ruling alongside your mate and hunting for food weren't enough to make your contribution. Giving Mi'ytiar a pup had apparently been the only thing that changed your role among them — from an outsider (and even a simple plaything for their leader to some) to what you were now — the female counterpart of a clan leader, the Matriarch.

You had heard of several Matriarchs on Yautja Prime. Like you, they were mated to the clan leader, but unlike you, they were the superior one in their dynamic and even above an Elder or Ancient. You wouldn't dare to assume the same form of authority for yourself and therefore kept to the secondary leading role just as a queen consort on Earth would. You had much more freedom and control than you could ask for, utterly content in the position you were holding right now, and you never felt the need to claim the power of a true Matriarch. The fact that the Females of the Yautja race were viewed much higher in leading roles than the Males was satisfying enough.

Nonetheless, you still had particular obligations and a certain appearance to maintain. You would take part in organizing the journey of the Un-Blooded to become Blooded, ensure the civilized coexistence within the clan by taking on the role of a judge like in court on Earth, approve of every newborn pup that was presented to you and deem them worthy, listen to their requests and suggestions and try to contribute as best as you could, and even had become a beacon of generosity and kindness to the clan for advice and consolation. The list went on and on, but instead of feeling crushed by the vast amount of responsibility, you relished in it. It was an honor, indeed.

Another thing that was expected of you was joining the elder Females in their den and listening to their wisdom with other younger Females. Rather than a bothersome duty you had to force yourself to attend, you absolutely loved their company.

And the den was a beautiful place you loved to spend your time in, a flawless merge between ancient architecture and the futuristic Yautja influence, round in shape and with a high dome-ish roof that was held together by a construct of pillars and beams into which hieroglyphs were carved. Fire was burning in the hollow beams and illuminated the room above the heads of everyone present.

A week of adjusting to your new life had gone by without leaving Mi'ytiar's home — your home the second you had crossed the threshold — before he decided it was time to introduce you to his people. And the place he had brought you to first was the den of the Elders. It had been a tough start, but they were surprisingly objective. Instead of seeing you for what you were, they saw you for who you were. Even if you were among giants, you had felt welcomed.

On this day and decades later, you had joined them as well, taking your place at the fire pit and opposite the entrance on the only chair in the round room. The Matriarch had her very own seat in the den, a throne-like construction made of something that felt like a mix of stone and metal. Meanwhile, the other Females sat on white stepstones on the mossy ground around the pit.

Matheih, the Female that held the unofficially highest rank among the Elders and had been the first you felt comfortable with, was just about to discuss the matter of a Bad Blood who had come too close to the clan's borders when you noticed movement from the corner of your eye. You snapped your head to the entrance and gasped.

Your shocked exclamation had cut Matheih off, causing her to startle. The rest of the Elders either looked at you or your son, who seemed to shrink under the intense eyes of the Females.

You immediately rose from your seat, the others following you swiftly, and you raced around them to Akail, who anxiously fiddled with the charm attached to his loin cloth.

One day, you had noticed the longing gaze of your pup fixed to his father's loin cloth and the trinkets and trophies swinging on his hips. Without further ado, you tailored him something new and decorated it with a thread on which various square stones and animal teeth were strung, the thread sewn into the front of the self-made cloth to the right hip. His eyes had been so bright when you presented it to him.

"Akail, my little warrior." You sighed when you reached your son, kneeling in front of him to be on the same level as him.

You cupped his cheeks and examined his face. There were several cuts across his face — two on his forehead, one under his right eye, and one above his left eye — and fluorescent green blood was smeared around his wounds and coated his mandibles. When you checked his dreads, running your fingers through the short tendrils, he winced.

"My sweetling, what happened?" You asked when you grabbed his hands and scanned his arms up and down.

"I follow a tochi." He mumbled and instantly avoided your stern glare.

A lie.

Placing your pointer and middle finger under his chin, you tilted his head up so he was looking into your eyes again.

"Were you near the borders again?" You pressed on and raised an eyebrow.

Akail pulled a grimace. "Yeah."

Another lie.

"How many times do I have to tell you that it's dangerous?"

Akail looked down like a kicked puppy. "Sorry, Mama."

No. No, you were not allowed to melt right now. You needed to be strong and determined to be angry at him for disobeying one of your and his father's rules. You needed him to understand that running after an animal for the nth time and moving too far away from the clan's land was risky without someone by his side.

But those damn puppy eyes of his, the same look his father sometimes used on you, they made you weak and yielding.

"Come on." You softly smiled at him and stretched out a hand to him.

When you stood upright again, Akail wasted no time to grab your hand while his other arm wrapped around your leg, clinging to you. You turned to the Females, excused yourself, and apologized to Matheih for interrupting her before you and Akail left the den.

Hand in hand, you walked the short route to your home.

"Does it hurt, my sweetling?" You asked him when you entered the grounds of your home.

You whistled at Be'jaa who had started barking at the intruders, as well as the two other Hell Hounds Mi'ytiar owned, Vohtu and Gihn'tha, and signaled them that it was just you and to stand down.

"Not anymore, Mama." Akail vehemently shook his head, putting on a brave face.

You smiled down at him and led him inside, lifted him into your arms, and carried him to the long table that stood in the center of the main room of your home. Behind it and opposite the entrance door, three other doors lead deeper into your home to adjoining rooms like your bedroom. Just like the den of the elders, this room was round with a dome roof made out of orange and light grey glass, but there was at least a meter of additional ceiling going sideways from where the dome ended and from which a ring of rock was hanging down, like a huge ring-shaped lamp circling the whole room.

Just like a routine, you placed him down on the surface, kissed the little space between his nonexistent eyebrows, immediately eliciting a merry purr from him, and got the Medicomp that was stored in one of the box-drawers under the long shelves where your mate displayed his trophies.

You placed the Medicomp next to Akail on the table, sat down, and quickly got to work crushing the plaster and melting it with the burner, adding the blue solvent and mixing it until you got a gel.

"You know the drill, baby. It's going to hurt." You warned him, taking one of his hands into your free one before you started applying the gel to the thin cuts on his face.

Immediately, Akail let out a sharp hiss and squeezed your hand as hard as he could. But he remained still, not wanting to ruin your already careful treatment. His eyes danced across your face, admired the color of your eyes that was so different from his, studied your smooth skin that wasn't as rough or beige and green as his, scanned your mouth that wasn't hidden behind tusks.

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he could even utter the first syllable of his question.

"Be honest with me, Akail. What happened? You don't just get wounds like that because you followed a tochi." You questioned him and placed the spatula to the side before you grabbed the cloth that you had added to the Medicomp and dabbed the blood away from his already healing cuts and his mandibles.

"Stumbled over a stone." He answered in a huff.

Another lie.

"I roll down a slope in a bush."

Lie, lie, lie.

You hummed. "The bad ones near the Stonehenge? I told you to stay away from there. Those statues are unstable and you aren't yet strong enough to withstand their weight should one fall down on you."

"Sorry, Mama." Akail muttered and pulled his head in as if it would help him to escape the shame your words caused him.

You were melting once again at the sincerity in his words and reassurance washed over you. You may have had no idea how to raise a child as you never had the opportunity of doing it before, but you must be doing something right when he was capable of realizing his mistakes and showing remorse. But it wasn't the kind of remorse you were thinking of.

"It's alright, my sweetling. And you did so well in keeping still for me. You were very brave." You cooed and kissed first the healing cuts on his forehead before you turned to the ones at his eyes.

But he wasn't. If he was as brave as you claimed, he would tell you that it wasn't the thorns of the bushes overgrowing the Stonehenge but the still-developing claws of the older Younglings making fun of you that had caused the wounds. Akail had tried very, very hard to ignore their teasing and provoking snides, but when one of them — the tallest of all people — started talking about how glad he was that his mother was a respectable Female of the tribe and not some foreign, lowly pet that warmed the nest of the clan leader and probably pleased any other Male on the side, little Akail saw only red.

He had jumped the older Youngling and bit down on his neck while his claws inflicted as much damage as they were capable of. But due to his smaller size and frail strength, this advantage was turned against him in the next second when he felt his face being scratched open and his back colliding with the ground when he was pushed off by the older boy.

Luckily, before the situation could escalate even more, two Blooded Yautja neared the small group and Akail used the opportunity to quickly stand up and hurry to the den of the Elders where he knew his mother was.

It hadn't been the first time and it will probably not be the last time, but he had promised himself to always protect you from anything that could crush your beautiful heart and kind soul that had shown him unconditional love from the moment he had opened his eyes to take his first-ever look at his mother. It had been blurry and unfocused, but he remembered your smile. That smile.

"Mama?" Akail asked as he watched you packing up the Medicomp.

"Mhm?" You hummed and lowered yourself onto one of the chairs around the table right in front of him.

Instantly, Akail reached for your shiny hair and started fiddling with it, feeling how soft and silky it was. When he was a toddler, he would often play with it while purring, not being able to speak yet but his sweet chatter combined with his wide eyes was enough for you to be reminded how much he was his father's son. Both were enamored, maybe even slightly obsessed with your human features.

Akail huffed. "Why you not look like me?"

"Hm?" You raised your eyebrows in surprise at the topic of his sudden question.

"Why you look like this? Why not like me or Papa?" He pushed further and curled a lock of your hair around his pointer finger.

"My sweetling." You cooed, lifted him up by his waist, and settled him down on your lap, his legs dangling from each side of your thighs. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his face into your chest, close to your throat. "Do you remember the bedtime stories I sometimes tell you?"

You only felt vibrations against your skin and you took that as an answer, a cue to continue, "When I was little like you, your grandmama sat next to my bed and told me the same ones."

Akail pulled his face from your chest and lifted his head to look up at you. "Grandmama?"

I nod. "Yeah. Mama's mama." You cupped his little face and peppered it with kisses. "Those stories are from the place I was born. Earth."

"Are there more looking like you?"

"Yes. Many like me. Earth is similar to home. There are villages all over the planet and they speak different tongues, too. They have a clan leader called a major or a president and they have warriors, but also normal people who work jobs or go to school."

"What is job?" Akail asked curiously and cocked his head to the side.

"A job is something oomans do to earn a living, to build a life. It is a little different here. For example, with a job, you can earn money and buy food, but here, you just go into the forest and hunt. With a job, you can also build a house, but here, you just do it yourself with the resources this planet has to offer." You explained with a soft smile.

"What a ooman?"

"It's what I am, my little warrior. Mama is ooman, a human. That's why I look so different than you or your Papa."

"But why I don't look more like you?" Akail asked and his adorable face became even more precious when he pulled it into a frown.

You hummed as if you were in thought before you put on a bright grin and started to tickle his sides. "Because I wanted someone unique and extraordinary, and I hoped for someone who is as handsome and strong and chivalrous as your Papa. And speaking of your Papa, he was determined to have a pup like you, my sweetling."

Mi'ytiar had been very determined indeed that his DNA took root inside you. It also hadn't been the only thing that had completely dominated you.

"I know I'm not as big and strong and pretty as the other mothers-"

"You more pretty!"

"What?" You asked with raised eyebrows at his offended tone.

"You more pretty! More pretty than other mothers, more pretty than other Females! Say you more pretty!" Akail protested, immediately standing up for you even against your own words.

You had to swallow your emotions during his short rant. This boy had your heart, so precious and pure, and your emotional intelligence, already developed so far for his young age. You had no idea you were able to create something so beautiful and unique.

"I'm more pretty." You repeated his words with a smile, petting the top of his head, and kissed his forehead one, two, three times. "Why don't you go and look for Papa, hm? I bet he loves to teach you a little something about leadership."

Akail climbed down from your lap with a click of his mandibles and was already running out of your home. You had followed him, a little slower than the hazardous speed of his, and leaned with your shoulder against the entrance as you watched him in amusement.

You had hated the thought of becoming a mother. You had hated the thought of how children would affect your health and body. You had hated the thought of giving up your freedom for them. You had hated the thought of limiting your own life to adapt to theirs. You had hated the thought of abandoning every hope you had felt, every plan you had made, and every dream you had envisioned to tend to each of their needs.

God, never had you been happier to be wrong.

Masterlist: here

Tag List

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[sundays-lover]

stupid in love

husband!zhongli x gn!reader — fluff

synopsis: you're a talkative drunk and zhongli is in love.

content warning: reader is drunk and mentioned to have hair (lmk if i missed anything !)

notes: NOT PROOFREAD <3 ; zhongli is a wonderful lover but let's not forget that he is also canonically a menace 🫶 ; i'm writing and posting as much as i can rn bc i'll be inactive this week because of exams 😭

zhongli can't recall a time when he felt this helpless.

as the geo archon, he possesses the strength of a thousand meteors raining from the sky and has emerged victorious from numerous battles. his voice has commanded countless armies and his hands formed the towering mountains liyue is well-known for today. he is a respectable leader who can devise efficient strategies to overcome any obstacle he may face.

however, at this moment, he is not rex lapis, the god of contracts and liyue's archon. he is the simple zhongli, the funeral consultant of the wangsheng funeral parlor and, above everything, your husband.

tonight, his duty is to get you home. unfortunately for him, you don't seem to want to comply.

you notified him this morning that you and your co-workers would be going out for drinks that night to celebrate a successful business deal, with the promise that you would be monitoring how much you'll drink. while he had his doubts, he trusted that you would have a sense of rationality regardless of if you were sober or not and didn't question you further.

in hindsight, he supposes he should have enforced his doubts when he bumped into a co-worker of yours as he clocked out of work, who sounded tipsy, yet sober enough to inform him that you were currently drunk off your mind and needed help getting home.

that is exactly how he found himself trying to calm down a drunk you on the streets of liyue.

you threw yourself onto him the moment he arrived, not even bothering to bid goodnight to your acquaintances who were putting a group effort into keeping you balanced. after zhongli thanked them for finding him and wished them farewell in your stead, they took their leave. as they turn to head to their respective homes, they could hear you loudly thanking your lover for coming get you.

while the area was significantly less populated at night compared to during the day, the unusual sight of the normally collected funeral consultant struggling to bring his drunkenly rambling spouse home caught the attention of whoever was in the vicinity, causing an embarrassed blush to spread to his face which he ultimately chose to ignore.

his experience as a god and warrior never could have prepared him for this situation, he surmises.

meanwhile, you catch the look of powerlessness on his face and stifle a laugh.

“heh, you look so stupid right now~!”

zhongli gapes at you as you burst into a fit of giggles.

“my husband~ so silly~ so dumb~” your hands reach out and cup his face before he has the chance to pull back.

he merely stares at you as you sing what he wants to believe are praises in your drunken tongue. at this distance—or rather, the lack thereof—he can see your details more clearly; your hair is disheveled and eyes droopy. your gaze is unfocused yet fixated on the way his skin squishes under your thumb.

but he thinks you're beautiful nonetheless. the glow of the street lanterns frame your figure and he thinks you look akin to the radiant sun. moonlight shines down upon you and its gleam creates the illusion of you emitting a halo. he takes these as signs from the universe, reminding him to cherish you with his entire being, for they have sent him their best. he is certain that whatever celestia can offer does not hold a candle to you.

this god of stone crumbles to dust from your touch alone…

while you busy yourself with poking and pinching his cheeks.

he regains awareness of the situation and breaths a resigned sigh. you watch his face soften and shift to an expression that almost looks pleading, and you gasp loudly.

“ooh! so handsome!!!” you squeal, attracting even more onlookers. “i want to kiss you on the mouff—”

zhongli beats you to it, placing a hand behind your head and gently leaning in for a kiss as deep as his adoration for you. you think your knees would have buckled if it weren't for the arm he had wrapped around your waist. you think you hear some of the lady passersby coo at your display of romance, but the echo of your heartbeat in your ears drowns them out.

his lips move slowly against yours, savoring the flavor of the bitter remnants of alcohol mixed with the sweetness of your lips. he doesn't think he's ever tasted a flavor as divine as this.

you are dazed when he pulls away, as though bewitched. he notices and chuckles, eyes full of mirth and tenderness as they peer into yours.

he speaks up, almost breathless. “you look very…”

no, no, no! if he starts charming and complimenting you after all that, you might think you’ll consider marrying him for a second time—

“...stupid right now, my love.”

you blink once. twice.

then you burst.

“you…!”

you thrash in his hold and bury your face in his chest, feeling a bashful warmth rise to your face for the first time tonight.

“you can't pull that on me! so mean…” you mumble into the lapel of his coat.

he chuckles again, more heartily this time. ugh, darn that handsome laugh…

“i apologize, my love.” you sense a teasing lilt, but you can tell he's sincerely coaxing you. a hand remains on the back of your head as you lean against him, fingers softly running through the strands of your hair.

zhongli remains that way, patiently waiting for your emotions to settle. when he hears you meekly mutter his name, he turns to you in his hold.

“yes, dearest?”

“...let's go home, please?”

he mentally sighs in relief. externally, he calmly adheres to your request with a nod. “then we shall head home at once.”

he pulls away to position you so that you are held onto his arm as he leads you home, acting as your support while you keep yourself upright.

the walk home is neither dull nor quiet as you relentlessly babble about any and every topic that you can think of. you sway and stumble over the rocky pavement, but your incredibly attentive husband would never let you fall. frankly, he'd be more than happy to carry you if you asked.

a thought briefly flashes in his mind concerning how he's going to peacefully get you washed up and tucked in bed, but one look at you chatting away into the night and he supposes that he can afford to save those worries for after arriving home. until then, he entertains your mindless chatters with hums of acknowledgement and short quips as you walk arm in arm.

[gay-dorito-dust]

hmmm just imagine Jason Todd with a girlfriend pretty and kind like an angel and everyone is just shocked because 'how they're a couple??"

Think I went a little of ask for this one 😂 🦦

Jason calls you his angel for a reason.

You’re sweet, you’re kind, you’re downright beautiful/gorgeous and withheld an equally sweet, kind soul that bleeds through everything that you did or said. When you met Jason he was on the cusp of unconsciousness, finding him just slumped at your front door, severely injured. Anyone else who knew better would’ve left him but no, not you. You brought him -THE RedHood- into your house and home out of the kindness of your heart and patched him up as best as you could.

Heaven sent is another name of endearment that Jason called you and it held true on a plethora of occasions where he would find himself being dragged back at your doorstep, and it wasn’t long after that did Jason finally allow himself to pursue a chance at happiness by your side, and he’d be damned if it wasn’t the best decision he’s ever made in his entire life because being with you had been nothing short of a dream for Jason. A dream he never thought he’d get to live with the fucked up ordeal of having came back from the dead.

However when his family manages to catch wind of this because nothing stays secret for long, not by a long shot, their first thought was; how?

This wasn’t a slight towards Jason or his character but they couldn’t help but feel as though they’ve blinked and missed something extremely pivotal for this to have become the end result. They weren’t the only one to share this sentiment though as even Jason would be taken aback by your differences and often wondered if you were too different for your relationship to work.

It does however and it was one of the only times where Jason was grateful for being wrong for getting inside his own head, and just before he possibly ruins the best thing that has ever happened to him in a long, long while by self sabotage too. God only knows how much Jason would’ve hated himself for doing such a heinous thing to someone as underserving of such treatment as you.

So when Dick asks him one day ‘how did you manage to get someone like them?’ Whilst gesturing to you as you talked with the likes of Duke, Stephanie and Cass and getting along. Jason couldn’t think of a clear answer that would be enough to satisfy his brother’s curiosity because how was he meant to answer that question without it sounding generic and unoriginal.

‘Did you use any offhanded tactics to get them to be in a relationship with you?’ Damian asks and Dick gives him a look, only for the younger of the two of them to shrug his shoulders. ‘It was only a simple question Grayson.’

‘Yeah, just not one you ask when your brother comes home for the first time in months, and in a relationship nonetheless with the epitome of sweetness.’ Dick replied before looking over to Jason who was looking over at you with soft yet protective look on his face, but before Dick could say anything about how nothing was going to happen to you whilst in the Wayne Manor, Jason had already found the answer he has been looking for the entire evening.

‘They saved me.’ In the moment he said those words you looked over at him, Dick and Damian and smiled brightly that it never failed to knock the air out of Jason’s lungs upon seeing it. His angel, his heaven sent, the face he is blessed to see first and last thing in the mornings and late nights where he gently scolds you for staying up for him before kisses you in gratitude for doing so anyway.

Dick seemed content with this answer and meanwhile Damian looked visibly indifferent, he made a noise that said that he was also satisfied with this answer, just in time too as you came over to Jason and subtly held his pinkie with your own as you kissed his cheek. ‘You didn’t to tell me how cool your siblings were Jay!’ You began when Dick decided to join in on it too as he looked as Jason, betrayed. ‘You didn’t? Why not? Is it because you want your lovely partner to always be biased towards you?’ He pouts.

You chuckled and patted Jason on the bicep as you addressed Dick. ‘I’m always going to be bias towards my Jason.’ You admitted, causing a wave of warmth to flood Jason’s entire body upon hearing your confident confession. ‘For he is simply the best man I have ever met and that will never change.’

‘Never?’ Dick asked.

‘Never.’ You answered.

‘Even if he may be in the wrong sometimes?’ Damian asked this time and you shrugged, still smiling. ‘Not all of us are perfect beings and that’s a reality I’d accept rather than one where we’re all without flaw, physical or otherwise.’ Jason felt as though he might combust from your words alone but managed to compose himself enough to press a kiss to your temple to whisper against it. ‘Thank you baby.’

‘Anything for you Jaybirdie.’ You responded in kind, feeling him take hold of your hand, intertwining your fingers together as you rested your head against his bicep as you both continued to talk with Damian and Dick.

Yours and Jason’s relationship may not be what many expected it to be or make logical but why should it when you and Jason were more than happy together?

[satorusugurugurl]

Malevolent Queen

Summary: During his reign in the Heian Era, Sukuna is used to Jujutus Sorcerers attempting to exorsize or seal him. What he wasn't used to was you. You were the strongest he'd faced in a long time. You were so strong, he had to make you his.

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x FAB!Jujutus Sorcerer

Word Count: 1,507

Warnings: Smut, fighting, (corruption kink?)

A/N: This was a fun suggestion submitted by @sukunasfangurl! I had so much fun writing this while I did my infinity hoop. I hope you enjoy!

Sukuna wasn’t at all phased when he heard a commotion outside his chambers. He glanced at the door briefly before laying his head back down amongst the mountains of pillows flooding his bed. It was most likely another puny sorcerer trying to exorcize him. His loyal followers would be able to handle such a futile attempt.

Why should he raise a finger against the weak?

What he had not been anticipating was for his chamber door to fly open, quite literally off the hinges. Which was surprising, seeing as they had to weigh over two hundred pounds from being adorned with gold. But what was even more surprising was catching sight of the person responsible for the destruction.

A puny jujutsu sorcerer stepped into his chambers. Who was a woman, nonetheless? A woman? How did you manage to get past his forces?

“Ryomen Sukuna!” You yelled. Blood splattered your face as tears left streaks through the crimson. “I’ve come to exorcize you!”

“Foolish woman,” he barked, “you will do no such thing! I, however, will be sending you to meet your maker.”

Sukuna moved in a flash, appearing before your eyes. Killing you would be simple; all he needed to do was rip your throat open with his nails. Doing so would allow him to watch your pretty face turn pale as your blood stained his floor. His fantasies shattered the second he towered over you because you slammed a black flash punch directly into his abdomen.

The blow sent him flying back, hitting the wall with a sickening crunch. He remained still, trying to process what had just occurred. You, a woman, had sent him crashing into a wall. Your body was radiating with cursed energy. The raw power had your hair flying back as you approached him. The sight of you drowning in fury had sent blood rushing to his cock.

“You slayed an entire village! One that so selflessly helped me! Every innocent man, woman, and child!!” You unsheathed your katana. “For that, you will pay with your life!!”

Amid your monologue, Sukuna’s eyes trailed over your body, from the curves of your figure to the mounds of your breasts. Your kimono was stained with blood, soot, and dirt. Despite the gore, your beauty was indescribable. Not only were you seemingly strong, but you were far more beautiful than any of his concubines. He might even say the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

You charged at him again, katana slashing forward, embedded with your cursed energy. Sukuna easily dodged your attack this time, and he was happy that he did. Because of your attack, a crater was now embedded in his wall.

“You're strong, human.”

“Coming from you, that's a compliment.” You barked back, slashing again. This time, he blocked it, grimacing as you stared into each other's eyes. “But flattery will not save your head!” You screamed, slashing over and over again.

Sukuna’s cock throbbed as he smirked. He hadn’t been this entertained in months. His grin slowly faded as you dropped to the ground, spinning to knock him off his feet with your leg. While falling, you hit him with another black flash, a scream of anguish following your movements.

The pure rage in your eyes had Sukuna in awe as you tossed your katana to the side. Your movements were fast, like a viper, and Sukuna watched you straddle his hips, holding your kunai against his throat. He waited for you to say something instead, but words seemed to evade you as your cheeks turned a bright red.

For the first time since you had entered the room, you let your guard down. All because you could feel a hard cock pressing against your ass. You had to be dreaming; this wasn’t real. The King of Curses was not erect right now. But as you pushed back against the bulge, he groaned out loud, smirking.

“I can confirm that it is, in fact, my cock.”

“You’re disgusting!”

Sukuna’s large, calloused hands rested on your hips, holding you in place. “Me? Not in the slightest.” He admired your features, not that you say above him. “Those villagers you were so distraught over, they were disgusting.” When all you did was cock your head in confusion, Sukuna's smirk grew wider. “They tried offering me their children in exchange for safety from the Jujutsu Sorcerer they claimed to have saved.” Your look of shock had him chuckling. “So I just took it upon myself to kill them all. Imagine my disappointment when I didn’t find a sorcerer there.”

“You’re a lair.” You gritted out through your teeth.

“Don’t believe me? I’m happy to show you the letter they sent.”

Curses were liars, and this specific one happened to be The King of Curses! He would lie about anything to save his skin. It would be better for you and the rest of the world to end his life right now!

His words, however, struck a chord in you. So you allowed him to show you said proof, which he had. Reading the words over and over again soured your stomach. How could they offer their children to beg Sukuna to get rid of you after they had sheltered you and tended to your wounds?

“Humans truly are such parasitic creatures.” Sukuna all but cooed next to your ear as you dropped the letter. “Willing to sacrifice one another just to continue their messily pathetic lives.”

His words had you turning towards him. “They were monsters.” You grimaced at the thought of their children being sacrificed.

“The world is better off without them,” he whispered in your ear, “I want to make this a better world for people like me. A world I would like to keep you in.” His tongue darted out, trailing down your neck. “You’re the strongest, most brutal woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of fighting. What do you say about ruling by my side? Together, we can rid this world of these parasites. What do you say, my malevolent queen.”

You wanted to deny him, to tell him that he was insane. He would never stoop to his level, but you had seen the proof, the cold, hard evidence. That proved humans were just as bad as curses. If not worse.

He was right.

Which was how you ended up on his bed, bouncing up and down on his cock. “Fuck~ yes, take what you want! Show me your power.” Sukuna’s hands gripped your hips so hard you were certain that you would have marks there, along with the rest of your body. You would be a tapestry of his kisses and bruising fingertips.

“Lord Sukuna~!” You screamed as he hammered his cock up into your cunt with such power and speed that it had you seeing stars.

“Take my cock~ take it inside that tight wet cunt!~”

“Yes, my lord!” You cried out as he reached his hand up, choking you. “S-Sukuna!” You cried out as you slammed yourself in tandem with his thrusts.

“You’re mine now, little sorcerer. Together, we will rule the world, my queen!”

Between his words and his hand wrapped around your throat, you stood no chance against him. It was as though he was made for you. His cock hit your G-spot perfectly. The two of you fit together like two shards of broken glass. It was hard to imagine wanting to kill him now that he was inside of you. He had shown you the truth.

A truth you would not stand by.

Sukuna smirked, his free hand reaching down and rubbing your clit back and forth. He could see the darkness, the blood lust in your eyes. The desire to rule with him, to make this a world for the two of you! He had never been so thrilled someone had come to kill him.

“Cum on my cock Y/N~ cum for your king!”

Sukuna squeezed your throat harder, cutting off your air as your body jerked, as you squirted all over his crotch and ab’s. The intensity of your orgasm sent Sukuna into his own. His nails dug into your skin as he brutally fucked you. His cock slams into your cervix with each thrust. You gasped for air as he used both his hands to slam you down on him, your bodies conjoined in the rawest form.

Your eyes fluttered, exhaustion from the fighting and the sex overcoming you. Your palms pressed firmly against his chest as you sighed, happy to finally rest. The rest was short-lived asSukuna laughed maniacally, flipping you over, pushing you into the blankets that smelt of sweat and sex.

“We’re far from being over. I don’t plan on stopping until your cunt has every vein of my cock memorized Y/N.” You cried out in pained pleasure as Sukuna snapped his hips into you. Sukuna grinned. You had no one but yourself to blame. You were the strongest he’d faced in a long while, and you would be able to handle this.

[libertyybellls]

KISS IT OFF ME !

pairing; finnick odair x f!dist4!reader

summary; finnick can’t take his eyes off of you in any crowd- but he can take care of you, what’s new?

contains; FLUFF, established relationship, finnick is still pining for reader, alcohol consumption- but positively i guess, reader is anxious in the beginning, objectification by the capitol as per usual.

a/n: i hope im not misunderstood but when i put specific photos or outfits/hairs in the headers of my works that is not directly what i am picturing the reader as! its more-so the hairstyle, or the outfit- or simply the aesthetic of the picture. not the race, hair nor body type. ur all cutie pies. ok anyways onto the fic kiss kiss.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

“well would you look at that!” your stylist squeals in your ear, “from the moment you won your last games i have just been dying to design for you again and… here we are!” she ushers you to spin around.

she’d always been kind to you, perhaps less kind to your dignity- always wanting to flaunt you like a show pony- but nonetheless her support had always been there.

“it’s beautiful, thank you.” you smile small at her. so bittersweet, she was oh-so ecstatic to dress you up once more but to you- this meant less serenity to you. more agitation, more distress, more death.

it felt like a paradox, to be adorned in this sweet, innocent, baby pink before you’re sent away to a grim world once again- you’d already gone off on a tangent to finnick. you’d both sobbed solemnly about the cruelty of it all, how you would never be able to live in peace.

but finnick just wanted you both to have this one night, to indulge in the capitol before you were sent of to your deaths, obviously he would see the brighter side of thing- blabbering about plutarchs plan and how he only needs to protect you, katniss, and peeta until he can get you out of there.

sounds so very simple doesn’t it?

once you’d finished your interview you attended a party, a celebration for the third quarter quell. how ironic, what was there to celebrate?

you’d seen the food platters, the spiked drinks, and indulge you did.

your brain had been fuzzy by the time you’d escape the overbearing class of the capitol citizens, who wanted to know every detail of your life.

it was then- finnick had spotted you- so inebriated you’d genuinely laugh at something the woman next to you said.

feasibly being that she’d said something so pretentious you couldn’t help but tilt your head back in laughter. but nonetheless he admired.

he admired your dress, your smile, the way your eyes slightly disappeared when you laughed, the way your hair was laying down your back. he was simply under the spell of you.

it was then your eyes met his smitten ones, so love drunk- or possibly just drunk- that you’d excused yourself and made a beeline straight for him.

he’d encaptured you with warm arms, a leather corset-like article of clothing consumed his waist- followed by his white buttoned down that seemed to be unbuttoned.

you noticed the way his eyes consumed you- not like the others did. not like you were a piece of cake, not like you were something they had to have for the night, but someone who lit his chest alight.

“you look beautiful.” he murmurs into your hair, his hands around your waist.

“i hardly feel that way- im scared, i think.”

he shook his head, pulling you from his warm embrace much to your dismay. “don’t be. you’re with me right now.” finnicks plush lips lay atop your forehead now.

you laugh as he continues to peck your face, giggles leaving your lips.”so beautiful.”

it was only when you nearly toppled over your unnecessarily long pumps that he took not of your consumption.

“so head over heels it seems you’ve had a little to much to drink. what do you say i get you back to your room now? hm?” he straightens you back up. “run you a bath?”

you let out a muffled mm into his chest, your other hand placed on the side of his chest holding you steady. “love you s’much finn.”

it was his turn to laugh now, there was no mockery, no heinous act behind it, just you and finnick. “i know baby.”

-

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (23/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: There's nothing sweeter than unexpected visitors.

Warnings: 18+ (just be prepared for some words), fluff (like a lot), Pascale is the sweetest thing on this planet, teeny tiny bit of angst

Word Count: 3.2k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: hello everyone! I hope you all are doing okay after the Ferrari-Carlos-Lewis thing, because I'm still in denial. this is mostly fluff, because I couldn't manage you dealing with more bad stuff this week. love you! feedback is appreciated!

Before you can say anything or even react, the blonde woman lets go of your hands and snatches one of the magazines lying on the coffee table in front of you. She rolls it up with her slender fingers before smacking Charles across the back of the head. 

"Maman!" he exclaims angrily, rubbing his head. "What are you doing? Are you crazy?"

The woman holds the magazine under his chin so that the Monegasque has no choice but to look her in the eye and return her stare. "That's no way to talk to your mother." She puts the magazine back in its rightful place before turning to you again. "Try again, chéri."

Your friend has to hold back a grin before he spreads his arms out and hugs his mother. "Good morning, Maman. It's really good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, mon chéri," she replies lovingly, stroking his broad back once with her hand before releasing herself from the tight embrace. She puts her hands to his cheeks to study his face. "I didn't know you were back home."

Charles tilts his head, his mouth forming a thin line. "I'm sorry I didn't let you know," he replies meekly, taking her hands from his cheeks so that he can press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "I've had a lot on my mind."

"I can see that." She pulls her hands from his and then turns to face you. When she looks at you, you stiffen. All of a sudden, you feel as if you're naked in Charles' clothes, she's looking at you so piercingly. "I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself properly yet. I'm not usually as rude as my son." Charles rolls his eyes as her smile is affectionate and gentle. Then she wraps you in a hug that is careful, but firm nonetheless. It's a good hug. "I am Pascale. It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise." After you've also introduced yourself, you return her smile. 

"Now that you two have met," Charles interrupts your conversation. "How do we come to be honored with your company, Maman?"

As if it was her own home, her own four walls, Pascale leaves the hallway and goes into the kitchen, where she grabs a cup and makes herself an espresso at the coffee machine. Like two lost puppies, the two of you follow the beautiful woman. "I was called in tears last night." When the loud buzzing of the machine stops, she takes a sip of her coffee before placing it on the countertop. "Can someone explain that to me?" With her eyes glued to her son like an annoying price sticker on a new plate, you're off the hook. 

"I didn't think she'd call you."

She?

"And I didn't think you'd just kick her out of the apartment without giving her some warning," Pascale replies sharply, raising an eyebrow to show her disapproval of Charles' behavior. "She called me in the middle of the night, upset with you and crying bitterly because you kicked her out of the apartment with a simple text message."

Something flashes in your mind. When you followed Charles back to the bedroom last night, he was typing away on his cell phone. And when you told him that he'd be crazy if you went with him to the apartment where his ex still lives, he assured you that she wouldn't be there. 

You didn't expect him to just throw Annika out of the apartment so that you would have a safe place where Raphael couldn't harm you.

"Maman." Charles raises his hands placatingly. "It wasn't like that."

"So you didn't send her a text message telling her to pack her things and leave within thirty minutes?" When Charles doesn't reply, but simply stares at his mother open-mouthed, she runs her fingers through her hair in bewilderment. "I didn't bring you up like that. Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Maman -"

"No 'Maman'." Judging by the look on her face, she would like to hit him over the head with the magazine again. "Do you know what the consequences could be?"

"Maman -"

"She could go public with it!"

"Maman -"

"And - and damage your reputation! She could -"

"Maman!" Charles almost shouts at his mother to break out of her mental spiral. She looks angrily at her son, who takes a small step towards her. He lowers his hands. "Annika cheated on me."

As if all the air had escaped her body, Pascale plops down on the chair where you were eating pancakes just a few minutes ago. She puts her face in her hands and takes a deep breath before looking at her son again. She tries to blink away the tears in her eyes. "Is there anything I can do for you, mon chéri?"

Without answering, Charles closes the distance to his mother and holds her tightly in his arms. He rests his cheek on the top of her head and closes his eyes. "It's all right, Maman. Please don't worry, okay?" He squeezes his mother a little tighter as her arms wrap around his middle. "It's all right. I'm all right. I'm in good hands here."

Pascale's gaze flickers to you and a small smile crosses her beautiful face. You recognize Charles in it. "You'll take good care of him, won't you?"

You feel the blood rush to your face. Suddenly it feels wrong to be witnessing this loving conversation between mother and son. "Of course." With everything I have.

"Very well, chéri," Pascale finally says, gently pushing her son away. "Your brother is coming to visit tomorrow. As you haven't seen each other for a while, I'd like you to come to dinner. He would definitely be happy to see you." She looks at you again. "You too, sweetheart."

Before you can respond, Charles looks at you and shakes his head, barely noticing, so you don't turn down her invitation. "All right, maman. We'll be there." He nudges her lightly with his elbow. "As long as there's pasta e pollo."

Pascale rolls her eyes. "You're incorrigible, Charles." She smiles at him anyway. "Your new girlfriend gets to decide. After all, she's the new addition to our family and I want to make a good impression."

"Maman, she's -" Charles tries to explain himself, but his mother merely raises her hand to silence him. When Charles and your eyes meet, you feel warm. And when he pushes his lower lip forward, he looks so cute that you can't help but agree with him. 

"Pasta e pollo sounds great."

Pascale gets up from her chair. "Very good. Then I'll get everything ready for tomorrow." She strides past you towards the front door and you follow her again. "I'll see you tomorrow evening. I'll let you know the exact time, mon chéri." She kisses Charles' right and then left cheek before repeating it with you. "Tomorrow we'll have enough time to talk about all this. And to get to know each other better."

"I can hardly wait," you answer her honestly.

"That's very nice. Then I'll see you tomorrow evening. Bonne journée," she wishes you before disappearing from the apartment just as quickly as she came in. As the door closes behind her, you both exhale deeply.

"I'm so sorry." Charles turns to face you.

You cross your arms in front of your chest. "Sorry for what exactly? Your mother suddenly showing up here?"

He runs his hand through his hair and leans back against the closed door. "That you're now forced to spend the evening with my family. And that I didn't make it clear that we're just friends."

You run your tongue along the inside of your teeth. "It's okay, there's plenty of time for that." Then you smile. "Your mom seems nice. I have no problem spending time with her."

He laughs briefly and then leans his head against the white wood. "It's not my mom that worries me. It's my brothers. They can be really - you know - brothers sometimes."

You walk towards him and lower your arms. "Why? Are they that bad?"

He grabs one of your hands and plays with your fingers. His eyes search yours. "I think it's better if you make up your own mind about them."

"So they're that bad?" you joke, allowing him to pull you closer so that you're standing between his legs. "If they're anything like you, I think I'll get on well with them."

His free hand rests on your hip. Despite the layers of fabric, you can feel the warmth of his skin. "Then you'll hate Arthur." His fingers press gently into your flesh before something behind you catches his attention and he releases you - too quickly for your liking. As you turn around, the piano catches your eye and the roses standing on it. 

"What's the plan for today?" you ask him, trying to draw his attention back to you. You release his hand from your hip, but only to pull him into the kitchen so he doesn't have to look at those stupid roses anymore. "Do you have to do anything? Gym? Or do you have any appointments?"

Charles sits down in his chair and fishes his cell phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants. "I don't think so," he answers and takes a look at his online calendar before placing his cell phone on the counter in front of him. "I don't have any appointments or commitments to meet until after Christmas. Until then, I'm all yours." His smile is sweet as sugar and your heart skips a beat.

You want to grab him by the collar of his shirt, pull him across the worktop and kiss him until you can't breathe. Touch him until the countertop is used for something other than cooking, but this morning you convinced yourself that this friendship is the right and, above all, the only way this can work. And that you wouldn't do anything to sabotage this friendship.

"How about we use this time wisely then, huh?" You reach for Pascale's coffee cup and rinse it. 

"Do you have an idea?" He raises an eyebrow and has to stifle a smile when he sees your grin. "Of course you have one. Otherwise you wouldn't have asked like that. Fire away."

"So," you start and put the cup back in its place in the cupboard. "We've finally spoken and we've agreed to stay in this apartment together."

"As friends," the Monegasque confirms the thought you just had, even if you don't understand why he has to say it out loud. 

Your eyes dart towards the hallway, knowing that the white piano with the red roses is just a few meters away. "What do you say we go out today and buy some new things for the apartment?" you suggest. "Then I could get things for my room and maybe something else to make it feel a bit more like home."

"You mean to make it feel like it's your apartment too?" Charles leans back in his chair a little and runs his hand through his hair. 

"Only if that's okay with you. After all, it's your apartment and I could understand if you wanted to leave everything as it is at the moment and -" you babble nervously without thinking about what you're saying. You look at him worriedly and try to read his face to see if you might have crossed a line. 

"That's actually a good idea," Charles finally replies, smiling at you. "But are you ready for it?"

"For what?" you ask, confused, leaning against the countertop, which - unfortunately - is only used for cooking.

Charles shrugs his shoulders. "For being seen outside. With me." He looks at you like a kicked puppy that's been abandoned on the street in the middle of the night.

"I told you I have no problem with that," you assure him and walk around the kitchen counter to sit next to him. You reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers. "We're friends, Charles. We know we're friends. And I don't care what anyone else thinks they know about us." You tilt your head a little to one side. "Our friendship is real - and that's why we're going right out there to buy some new stuff for the apartment."

His smile almost makes your heart stop. "For our apartment," he corrects you, his green eyes twinkling.

"Our apartment," you repeat softly. 

"Okay." He lowers his gaze to your hands, and the way his fingers wrap around yours makes it feel like they're perfect for each other. The two of you spending time together shouldn't make you this happy. "But we'll only go on one condition."

"What's that?" 

"We're not going alone. We're taking Pierre and Kika with us so that it doesn't look like we're shopping for furniture for our apartment as a couple in love." The fact that he doesn't want to go out alone with you feels like a punch in the gut. When he notices the hurt look on your face, he squeezes your fingers gently twice. "It's just to protect you, Y/N."

The fact that he doesn't trust you to do this hits you harder than it should. How many times do you have to tell him you're ready? That the opinions of others don't matter to you as long as you have Charles by your side? Does he really think you're that weak?

"I don't need to be protected," you reply sharply and take your hand away from him. 

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," he tries to reassure you, but the fact that he's talking down your feelings doesn't make things any better. 

"Maybe not," you say annoyed and get up from your chair. "But there will come a point when we're on our own. And then everyone's going to be talking shit about us, I get it. And I get that it's going to be bad." You don't care that you're acting like a defiant child. The fact that Charles doesn't want to be seen alone with you hurts more than you would ever admit. "So why not today?"

The young man in front of you looks away from you with a crestfallen expression before also rising from his chair. When he reaches for your hand again, you allow it. "I want you to be able to turn away from me if it gets too much for you. I want you to have the chance to live a normal life if you do decide against me." His other hand rests against your cheek and you snuggle up to him as if it were a reflex. "I don't want you to regret meeting me."

The fact that he thinks you could ever regret befriending him stabs straight through your heart. He wants to protect you from something you both have no control over, and although you'd like to stroll through Monaco holding hands with him, you can understand him.

He is trying to protect both you and himself. And you can understand that all too well. 

"All right," you give in and smile gently at him. "Then ask them if they're free and up for it today. It could be fun."

Charles lets go of you and the warmth that had been flowing through your body immediately disappears. While he talks to Pierre on the phone, you go back to your room to get changed and think about what would look good in your room. 

Different curtains wouldn't go amiss, and some candles and a small mirror would look good on the white chest of drawers opposite the bed. You might also find some new bedding that -

"Y/N?" Charles' voice echoes through the apartment. You find him in the doorway of the master bedroom, where he glances over his shoulder in your direction. "Pierre and Kika are about to head out, then we'll leave together." 

"Okay," you reply, glancing past him into the room. There are a few things lying around that are definitely not his, and the decor doesn't suit him very well either. "So this is your room?" 

"Uh-huh." He wrinkles his mouth a little. 

"What's wrong with it? Apart from the obvious, of course."

He crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Everything. I don't see anything in it that I wouldn't change."

You'd be only too happy to set the whole room on fire if it would certainly help him. Just like the roses that have burned themselves into your memory. You nudge him with your elbow. "Then we've got a lot planned for today." You look at each other and when he reaches for your hand, you have to smile. "You don't have to go through this alone, Charles. We can do this as long as we're together."

His gaze flickers briefly from your eyes to your lips. "Together," he says softly in return, leaning down a little towards you so that you have to tilt your head back to look at him. His warm breath caresses your face as his free hand finds its place on his hip again to pull you against him. You feel his hard body against yours, his heartbeat under your fingertips as you place your hand on his chest. You feel his warmth as his nose bumps against yours, his hip against your stomach as he presses you against him. You feel his -

"Are you ready?" Pierre's voice comes out of nowhere as he and Kika walk through the front door. Thank God the bedroom is further back so they can't see you. 

Instead of letting you go, Charles presses you tighter against him so that you can feel him everywhere. "I think we need a new door lock," he breathes, leaning his forehead against yours. "Then no more uninvited guests can come in when we're together." 

When he finally breaks away from you, you have to take a deep breath. Although you've decided that you don't feel anything for him apart from friendship, he triggers something in you that no one before him has ever managed to do. 

You desire him. From the top of your head to the soles of your feet, you crave him, his touch, his skin on yours. And his words echo in your thoughts, making you dizzy. 

Together. Together. Together. 

You rub your face once and look after Charles, who briefly disappears in the direction of the living room, the opposite direction from your friends.

What you can't see, however, is him shoving his hand into his pants to control his raging boner, which is pressing almost painfully against the seams of his boxers. How is he supposed to put up with that when you live together?

Together. Together. Together.

[ihfmseatsoch]

okay so here it goes, imagine this. reader is a hard-working member at pony express and one of the most well liked, looked upon employees there. here it goes, self glazing time, reader is also unfathomably attractive and charismatic and everyone was starting to suspect why they of all people would join freaking Pong express when they could easily get scouted as a high end supermodel.

Now here's the thing, during one of their hauls with the crew, the crew members are just casually going on and about and somehow stumble on to the reader's room, ( think maybe to call them for something ) but the reader isn't there, and the crewmates get a lil nosy and decide to snoop around. and what they find rocks them hard ( quite literally if all goes well )

they find one of those Playboy magazines with the reader literally on the front page and whole sections dedicated to them, and as it turns out the reader used to be a Playboy Bunny/ Gravure Idol. And decided to quit their modelling career to aim for bigger and better things over at space.

What would the crew members reactions be? Would they confront the reader? Would they use the magazine as jork material? Would they use the information to their advantage? ( Iykyk ;)

Tyy! <3

Apologies for the long wait on this !! 💖

warnings/content: nsfw, blackmail, coercion, everyone is a PERVERT!!!!

(gn!reader)

—

Curly –

• I don't think he would confront you because, for one, he's ashamed that he snooped around in the first place. He wouldn't want you to know he was in your personal space.

• And two, it's obvious you've turned over a new leaf, so why would he reprimand you for something you did in the past? He doesn't feel the need to bring up your old job, when that's not who you are anymore.

• Nonetheless, he's a bit more awkward around you now, uncharacteristically stumbling over his words because he just can't get that image of you out of his mind. Curly thought you were beautiful before, but god, now he physically can't restrain his thoughts from running wild.

• Tries so hard to maintain his professionalism. He's your Captain, for christs sake! He can't be fantasizing about his subordinate like this, it's plain wrong. It's perverted, and he's not a pervert.

• Okay, maybe he is. But he's in denial about it.

• He only jerked off to the thought of you ONE time and that was because he was stressed and not in a proper headspace. Nothing more. Mhm. Nothing at all.

• Jk he wants that cookie so fucking bad it's pathetic

Jimmy –

• Literally the worst guy ever about it -_-

• Slutshames you when he first discovers it, but he still pocketed the magazine and beat his dick to it harder than he ever has.

• Confronts you in like. A very creepy and invasive way.

• "So... what was it like in the modeling industry? They really make you eat tissue paper for dinner, or what?"

• "What, you thought we'd never find out? Everyone knows. Why d'ya think Daisuke can't even look at you anymore?"

• "Don't be embarrassed. The crew's fine with it. But... I wonder what the big guys at Pony Express would think. Y'know, that kinda background ain't what you'd call... professional."

• Literally holds it over your head constantly to get you to do what he wants, or else he threatens to report you. It goes from making you do simple tasks he can't be bothered to do himself, to asking you for sexual favors.

• Makes you suck him off and films the whole thing, just so he can have even more against you.

• "Wouldn't want anyone to see you chokin' on your co-pilots dick, would you? Didn't think so."

• Forces you to let him take nude photos of you, even recreating some of your old photoshoots, except you look much more unhappy in these ones.

• He makes your life a living hell, basically. Unless you're into this. Then it's fantastic for the both of you! Yay!

Daisuke –

• Oh lord, his hormones have gone haywire. His downstairs longnose is having a field day.

• Definitely uses the magazine as masturbation material. In fact, it's all he has to get off, given there's no wifi on the Tulpar. He's eternally indebted to you for blessing him with this.

• His rambling is even more nonsensical in conversations with you now. Lots of run-on sentences that just sound like word salad.

• "What would you do if like, um... y'know, like, if you were like, um–" BOY SPIT IT OUT !!!!!!

• His eyes drift down to your chest a lot. It's a subconscious reaction. You can't blame him for being unable to get the thought of your half-naked body out of his head, since it's practically all he thinks about anymore.

• Doesn't know if he should bring it up, even if he reeeaaalllyyy wants to. Not so much in a horny way, he just has a lot of questions he's itching to ask you. Maybe it's best if he doesn't say anything at all, because he'll talk your ear off for hours.

Anya –

• SOMEONE HELP HER

• She gets sooo flustered every time she looks at you now. Actively avoids you for this reason. Tried so hard to push down the memory of the way you looked on the cover of that magazine, which ended up being a futile effort.

• It's not like she wants to push you away!! She wants to remain close with you, but she doesn't know how to bring it up without feeling terribly awkward. She already feels guilty enough for snooping, now she feels even worse for acting weird :(

• It's not that she dislikes you now, it's just that she can't stop thinking about you in ways that are. Y'know. Inappropriate. She can't be thinking about her coworker that way! Mentally smacks herself and goes BAD ANYA BAD!! if she finds herself falling too deep into her fantasies.

• Eventually, she'll get over it. The embarrassment and awkwardness fades over time, and she'll go to her grave without telling you that she knows about your previous occupation.

Swansea –

• Sighs. Shakes his head. Puts his hands on his hips. He's got a less favourable opinion of you now.

• He's not gonna confront you, but he does silently glare at you with more judgement than before.

• He's judging you because he believes you have a lack of self respect, to have done something like that willingly, and allowed yourself to be pornography for random men.

• He's just got an old fashioned mindset. Don't take it to heart.

• Secretly finds you incredibly hot. But he'd rather keel over and die than admit it outright.

—

[pastryfication]

Hi! I'm sorry to add to your request workload but you write Oscar so well that I couldn't help myself! So recently, I took the plunge and bought myself a home pottery kit after wanting one for absolutely ages so I wondered if you could write something about Oscar and his girlfriend having an at-home pottery date night?

hi!! thank you for the request 🫶 i’m absolutely terrible at pottery but for this one i brought out my inner talent 🤞

pottery date | oscar piastri

convincing oscar to try and do pottery with you wasn’t hard. he agreed to almost everything you wanted and did it with joy too, because he just liked seeing you happy. if he could contribute to that, he would do so enthusiastically.

he had put on an old shirt, an alpine academy polo, that he didn’t mind ruining, and sat himself expectantly at the table, awaiting your instructions.

you smile at the sight of him as you hand him a lump of clay and start explaining the basics. you're not much more experienced yourself, but he listens intently to you nonetheless.

the instructions are simple enough, and soon you're both sitting across from each other, the clay cool and malleable under your fingers. you glance up to see oscar's tongue poking out in concentration, and you can't help but laugh.

"what?" he asks, looking up.

"nothing," you say, shaking your head. "you're just cute when you're focused."

he grins brightly at you for a second before he goes back to his clay. you can see he's enjoying himself, and his contempt is contagious. the soft music playing in the background, the warm light of the kitchen, and the simple act of creating something together—it’s all perfect.

as you work, you talk about everything and nothing. he tells you about a funny incident at work, and you share a story from your childhood. it's comfortable and easy, the kind of evening you cherish.

an hour later, your hands are covered in clay, and you’ve both created lumpy, misshapen bowls. you laugh as you compare them, realizing neither of you will be winning any pottery awards.

"hey, it's the effort that counts," oscar says, holding up his bowl proudly.

you nod, still giggling. "absolutely. and i think these are beautiful in their own way."

“definitely,” oscar replies, smiling at you from his seat. you look absolutely stunning in the glowing light from the kitchen and he thinks to himself that this is exactly how he wants to spend the rest of his life. with you.

[joeyfranchise]

𝟙𝟚 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕗𝕚𝕔-𝕞𝕒𝕤: 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕨𝕠

cindy lou who…

ex!joe x fem!reader

summary: the boy that you love is with someone new…

warnings: none, it’s just sad. sfw, but minors please do not interact with my page.

word count: 1.2k.

note: based on the song cindy lou who by sabrina carpenter. i also drew inspo from harry styles’ cover of girl crush, and heather by conan gray.

it was christmas eve again, and you were all alone in your apartment, deciding against traveling to be with your family.

with a glass of wine in hand and your coziest robe on, you sat on the couch ready to get comfortable and watch a christmas movie. for most of the day you moped around, sad you’d be spending christmas alone… but it was up to you to change that.

you scrolled through the endless amount of movies before settling on a favorite, love actually.

you sipped at your wine as the movie began to play, trying to immerse yourself in it. you thought about getting up and making a snack, but your phone buzzed, and that took all your attention. it was a text from your sister, nothing that really required your attention, but you opened it nonetheless.

attached was a picture of herself and her boyfriend in front of a gigantic beautifully lit christmas tree. she was smiling from ear to ear, and her boyfriend was looking at her so sweetly. the message along with it read “we miss you! wish you were home!”

you love reacted the message and responded back with a simple “miss you!” but all it really did was remind you how lonely you were. you exited out of your messages and turned your attention back to the movie briefly before opening up instagram, ready to doomscroll. movies could never really keep your attention, but you needed the background noise.

when you looked back at your phone screen, the breath was almost knocked from your lungs. the first post was from your ex… you weren’t sure why you still followed him.

in the photo, joe was standing in a grandeur hallway, poised in front of a beautiful archway that was decorated with beautiful lights and red and green holly. next to him was a beautiful girl, the one who you could only assume replaced you.

she had long, silky, perfectly curled hair. her hand was on his chest, her beautifully manicured nails painted with tiny candy cane designs. her makeup was gorgeous as she smiled up at joe, the wing of her eyeliner was perfect, her lips the most beautiful glossy red you’ve ever seen.

he looked so happy as he stared into the camera, and it broke your heart for a moment knowing that you weren’t the one creating that happiness. you swiped to the next photo. it hurt even worse than the first.

in this photo, joe’s hand was pressed to the small of her back and he was pulling her into him. he smiled down at her, and you could almost feel the love and adoration beaming from his eyes onto her.

you knew how it felt. he used to look at you that way.

you wondered how they met, what she did to pull him in. you wondered what it took for her to break down that hard exterior he had, how she was able to melt him down, how she got him to smile like this... to post photos like this. you felt physically sick looking at it.

you swiped to the last photo. she stood there between joe and robin, with joe’s dad on his other side. they all looked so happy, smiling in the christmas lights. you could feel the bile rising in your throat.

there he was, the man you loved, smiling so happy and in love with someone else. you wanted to hate her, but how could you? sure, she was doing things you used to do, but it seemed like she brought the light back to joe. you hadn’t seen him that happy in a while, especially not the last few months of your relationship.

you reminisced on christmases you’d spent with him, how it used to be you taking photos with his parents. how it was you who woke up with him in his old bed, underneath his star wars themed sheets and bedspread.

how you’d help his mom cook breakfast, you’d spend time with his brothers’ families, you’d open gifts with him. you giggled at how you’d sneak upstairs late after everyone was asleep to have a christmas treat, trying not to laugh too loud and wake everyone up.

you tried not to throw up as you imagined them kissing under the mistletoe that’d be hung above the hearth, just like you used to. you thought about how beautiful a ring would look on her finger, about how elated joe would be to give it to her.

you remembered everything you felt for him, when he won the natty, the heisman, when he was drafted.. you were there, you were in love, but the fire began to die. joe was becoming more and more unhappy, and you had to let each other go. and now, as you sat lonely, without even your family, here was joe. happy and in love with a beautiful girl, someone who wasn’t you.

you wondered if it was snowing in ohio, you were almost sure of it. would he take her outside and spin her around in the snow, just like he did with you?

it stung, but all you could do was force yourself to be glad for him. he deserved love, you knew that. you wanted that for him, even if it was with someone else. you wondered everything about her. what did she smell like? was her skin soft? what does her voice sound like?

she was everything for joe that you couldn’t be, but that was okay. you had to be okay with it. you noticed joe tagged her in the photo, but you wouldn’t bother scrolling her page, or if it was private, you wouldn’t send her a request. her life with joe was none of your business, even if it hurt.

you didn’t know if it’d be messy, but against your better judgment, you liked joe’s post. you were going to be happy for him, no matter what. you locked your phone, placing it face down on the couch as you stood to go make yourself some popcorn.

once you returned, you focused your attention back to the movie which left you bawling by the end. you finished your wine as well, and you gathered your dishes to take them to the sink before pulling the curtains closed. you stopped for a moment to admire all the lights outside before you had them fully closed.

you picked up your phone as you got ready to head to bed, your heart sinking as you noticed an instagram notification on your lockscreen. when you opened it, your hand instinctively flew to cover your mouth, your legs feeling shaky, almost like jello.

joeyb_9: merry christmas, y/n.

that was all it read, but it nearly ripped your heart from your chest. what made him message you, you weren’t sure. you started to sob, the cries wracking through your body. it took everything in you to respond, but you did, you had to tell him one last thing.

y/n: merry christmas, joe. i’m so happy for you.

and with that you were off to bed, dreaming of joe and his cindy lou who… the girl who wasn’t you.

all photos and dividers used are not mine. credit to original owners.

taglist: @slimshiesty @starsinthesky5 @kykysinlovewithafairytale @burrowdarling @joeyb1989 @loveyatopluto @toterry @unhingedfangirl @superheroprincess22 @burreauxsworld @definitelynotdomanique @samanthamark5 @superstarshitblog @fa1ry03 @wickedfun9 @xbriexx @venic-bxtch @burrowdarling @angels555 @idbe-theman @yelenasbraid @ladyluvduv @joeburrowshaircurl @joeybisbootiful @livinobx @blairsworld22 @jarring-behavior @joeyburrrow

[ohithankyou]

there was a poll that went around last week asking who's better at flirting between buck and tommy and it got me thinking how different they are on that front and so i did sort of an analysis on their flirting styles and compatibility because why not, i guess? it is kind of long because brevity? i don’t know her. i’m not sure if anyone will find this interesting but nonetheless:

so, when it comes to buck, he’s natural flirt. he’s not a “fuck-boy” but flirting is an almost natural way of communicating for him. it's not always about attraction, romantic or sexual, and arguably, majority of the time it's an unconscious practice. buck would flirt with the sweet old cashier at the grocery store, his next door neighbour, or the bartender at the club in simple conversation and not realize he's doing so because it's just the way he talks. it’s second nature to him, you know? (note some of buck’s interactions with different characters and you’ll find the presence of a flirty energy.)

and this is because buck’s got a flirty personality. flirty body language. he's a sweet talker. he's playful. and sometimes he can even be a little awkward but it’s endearing. however, while buck is a natural flirt, it doesn’t mean that his flirting with the people he’s attracted to is meaningless or lacking in sincerity.

and when it comes to the physical nature of his flirting, when he's attracted to someone, buck flirts with his entire body—not just with his twinkly eyes and bright smile. he has big physical gestures. he sways into their space. he tilts his head. bats his eyelashes. follows their eyes. he moves around. he talks with his hands, with his arms. and sometimes it’s deliberate but other times, it’s his body’s natural response to attraction. overall, buck is not subtle when he flirts and it really works beautifully for him (most of the time).

tommy — albeit we've only gotten to see him interact with buck in this context — is completely different. he's charming, but he's not a natural flirt in the way buck is, and possibly, his charm may be an acquired taste for some. tommy is also more reserved (sometimes awkward), more contained, and more conscious of/with his flirting. he's not going to be "flirty" with anyone and everyone. however, although he's reserved, he can still flirt well and his flirting is not contrived by any means—he's just very deliberate and pointed with it; particularly in the early moments of his and buck's relationship, and especially before tommy knew for certain that buck was interested in him.

and like buck, there's also a playfulness to tommy's flirting but it's more subtle and something that's grown overtime in their relationship. and when it comes to his body language, tommy's more contained and subtle on that front as well. he largely flirts with his face—his eyes (insane, pointed eye contact), his eyebrows, his smile—and through his voice (shift in tone, volume). and tommy does enter buck's space when he flirts (ex: when he adjusts buck’s shirt after their first kiss) but in less "big" and "bold" ways than buck enters his (ex: buck reaching out and grabbing tommy’s shoulder after the cruise ship rescue). again, tommy's approach to flirting is more subtle but the impact it has is not subtle.

and the most important and beautiful part of this is that their flirting styles complement each other so well. buck's bold and naturally flirty nature gave tommy the ultimate sign and confidence to make The Big Move (kiss buck for the first time) and that’s a chance that i imagine tommy wouldn’t normally take. and for buck, tommy's deliberate flirting has been a grounding force in the moments he's become overwhelmed, nervous, or been in a state where he was trying to process and understand his feelings. for instance, when buck was word vomiting on their first date, tommy's, “so i guess it's just me that makes you nervous," not only made buck blush, but it refocused him, getting him to slow down and pause. it was earnest but deliberate flirting.

and beyond that, buck's cheeky playfulness when he flirts blends perfectly with the more piercing, and sometimes, old-school romantic energy, tommy brings; see the "you're a vision in a cone," moment. they ping-pong off each other in such a seamless way during that scene — with buck being a little cheeky and playful and tommy being dorky and intense. this scene also serves as a great example of buck's big and bold body language movements when he's flirting vs. tommy's more subtle ones. tommy gently knocks his shoulder against buck's to get his attention and keeps it there, where as buck spreads one side of himself—arms, shoulders, legs—into tommy's space, almost pinning tommy with his body.

and of course, these things change depending on time and place. concerning time, from season seven to season eight we saw buck and tommy become more comfortable and domestic with each other so their flirting developed an almost casual-ness to it (ex: “my own boyfriend won’t even kiss me”/ “well that’s not true” and “my spumoni,” / “no, not your spumoni”). and concerning place, there’s a greater forwardness to their flirting when they’re alone, especially with tommy who’s more reserved (ex: “god i hope so” in 710 and the ‘down to fuck’, “what’s up” in 806). and specifically, i think we see a more bubbly flirty side of tommy when it’s just him and buck together (ex; them in 805 and 806 pre-breakup, the “what’s up” mentioned above is one example of this).

overall, the way they both flirt has clear (positive) effects on the other and it's a big reason as to why their chemistry and connection is always so palpable.

and tldr; i think in a general sense, others may find buck to be the better flirt because of his outward bubbly personality versus tommy’s more reserved nature—but when it comes to the context of their relationship, i wouldn’t say one is better than the other. tommy’s definitely making buck blush and giggle in a way buck hasn’t before but buck is also making tommy feel things he hasn’t before. and they were both definitely flirting each other up on the daily when they were together.