#something you watch on replay but not on live tv

[jupiterpilgrim]

What You Deserve

An Yujin x Male Reader

word count: 13K

Rain pelts the windows of your cramped apartment, a steady gray drizzle that’s been going all afternoon. It’s the kind of weather that makes you want to crawl under a blanket and disappear, and honestly, that’s pretty much what you’ve been doing. You’re sprawled on the couch, still in the same faded hoodie and sweatpants you’ve worn for three days straight, a half-empty bag of Doritos tipped over on the cushion next to you. The TV’s on, some random sci-fi rerun flickering across the screen, but you’re not really watching. Your head’s a mess—has been since the breakup hit you like a truck a week ago. Everything’s fuzzy, like you’re moving through fog, and the ache in your chest hasn’t let up for a second. You keep replaying the last fight, the way she—your ex—stormed out, leaving you feeling like the world’s biggest loser. Again.

The knock at the door jolts you upright, spilling a few stray Doritos onto the floor. You freeze, heart thudding. Who the hell would show up now? You’re not expecting anyone—haven’t even showered since… what, Tuesday? Hesitating, you shuffle over, socks scuffing against the hardwood, and peek through the peephole, then—holy fuck—it’s An Yujin standing there, and your heart does a dumbass somersault right into your throat.

Yujin. Your Yujin—or ex-Yujin, whatever—looking like she just strutted out of some wet dream you’d deny having.

Months—literal months—since you last saw her, and yet here she is, looking like she never left. You fumble with the lock, hands shaky, and crack the door open just enough to see her fully. She’s soaked from the rain, dark hair plastered to her neck, but somehow that only makes her more striking. She’s wearing this oversized black leather jacket, unzipped, over a cropped white tank top that clings to her skin just enough to show off her collarbones and the faintest outline of her bra underneath. Low-rise jeans hug her hips, frayed at the knees, and she’s got these scuffed-up combat boots that somehow tie the whole look together. Casual, yeah, but the kind of casual that screams she knows exactly how good she looks. Water drips from her jacket onto your doormat, and she tilts her head, smirking faintly, like she’s already won something.

“Hey,” she says, voice low and smooth, cutting through the sound of the rain. “Can I come in? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You’re too stunned to argue, stepping back to let her through. She brushes past you, close enough that you catch the scent of rain mixed with whatever expensive perfume she’s still obsessed with. The door clicks shut behind her, and suddenly your dingy living room feels way too small. She glances around, taking in the mess—empty takeout containers on the coffee table, a stack of unopened comics you’ve been meaning to sort through—and then her eyes land back on you. They’re piercing, like she’s already peeling you apart layer by layer.

“Jesus, you’re a wreck,” she says, but there’s a softness to it, a fake kind of concern that you’re too foggy to clock right away. She shrugs off her jacket, tossing it over the arm of your couch like she still owns the place, and flops down onto the cushions, legs crossed, tank top riding up just enough to show a sliver of her stomach. “Heard about what happened. Mutual friends, you know how it goes. You okay?”

You blink, still standing there like an idiot by the door. Your brain's scrambling to catch up. "Uh... Yes. I mean, no. Not really." Your voice cracks, and you hate it—hate how pathetic you sound. You shuffle over to the couch, sinking into it, hands fidgeting with the hem of your hoodie. "It's been... Rough. A week ago. Still kinda blurry."

She nods, leaning forward a little, elbows on her knees. Her eyes don’t leave yours, and it’s unnerving as hell. “I bet. Breakups suck. Especially when it’s someone who didn’t deserve you anyway.” She pauses, letting that sink in, and you feel this weird flicker of warmth, like she’s actually on your side. “What happened? You don’t have to spill everything, just… how you holding up?”

You swallow hard, staring at the floor. The rain’s louder now, drumming against the glass, and it’s easier to focus on that than her face. “I don’t even know. We fought. She left. Said I was too… I dunno, clingy or something. It’s all a mess in my head.” You laugh, but it’s bitter, hollow. “I’m not good at this stuff. Never have been.”

Yujin makes this little sound, like a hum of sympathy, and shifts closer, perching on the edge of the couch now. Her boots scuff the floor, and you can’t help but notice how her jeans stretch tight over her thighs. “That’s rough,” she says, voice dipping softer. “Sounds like she didn’t get you. Like, at all. You’re too sweet for someone who’d pull that crap.” She tilts her head again, hair falling over one shoulder, and it’s unfair how gorgeous she still is, even dripping wet and casual as hell.

You shrug, feeling the weight of everything pressing down harder. “Maybe. I just… I feel like I screwed it up. Like I always do.” Your eyes flick up to hers for a second, then dart away because looking at her too long makes your chest tight in a way you can’t explain.

“Hey, no,” she says, firm but gentle, leaning even closer now. You can feel the heat of her presence, the way she fills up the space between you. “Don’t do that to yourself. You’re not the screw-up here. She didn’t see what she had, that’s on her.” She reaches out, just brushing your knee with her fingers, and it’s like a spark jumps through you. You flinch, but don’t pull away.

You’re quiet for a minute, the room heavy with the sound of rain and your own uneven breathing. She’s watching you, patient but intense, like she’s waiting for you to crack open. And you do, a little. “I’ve just been… sitting here. Feeling like garbage. I don’t know how to shake it.”

Yujin nods, like she gets it completely. “Then don’t shake it alone,” she says, voice dropping again, pulling you in. “You don’t have to. I’m here, right? I showed up because I wanted to see you. Check on you.” She smiles, small but sharp, and it’s like a lifeline tossed into the mess of your head. “Why don’t I stick around? We can talk. Or not talk. Whatever you need.”

You should say no. You know you should. Months ago, she was the one who left you spinning, who made you feel small and needy and not enough. But right now, with the rain and the gloom and the way your whole world feels like it’s caving in, she’s the only thing that looks solid. The only thing that feels like it might hold you up. So you nod, slow and shaky, and mutter, “Yeah. Okay. Stay.”

She leans back, settling into the couch like she never left, and you’re already sinking deeper into something you can’t quite name—but it feels warm, and you’re too tired to fight it.

“Hey,” you say, voice rough from disuse, “you want some hot chocolate or something? It’s crap weather out there. You’re soaked.”

Her eyes flick up to yours, and for a second, you catch this glint—like she’s surprised you’re offering. Then she grins, slow and lazy, and nods. “Yeah, that sounds good. You still make it the same way?”

“Pretty much,” you mutter, pushing yourself up from the couch. Your legs feel wobbly as you shuffle to the kitchen, heart thudding harder than it should. You can’t wrap your head around it—she’s here. Showed up in the rain, no warning, looking like that. You grab a couple of mugs from the cabinet, the chipped blue one she always used to pick and a random green one for yourself. The kettle’s already half-full, so you flick it on, digging out the cocoa powder and a bag of mini marshmallows from the pantry. You’re moving on autopilot, but your brain’s buzzing—why now? Why her?

She calls out from the living room, voice carrying over the hum of the kettle. “You know, I still can’t believe I walked all the way here in this. Guess I just had to see you for myself.”

You glance back at her, catching her stretching her arms over her head, tank top riding up again. “Yeah, well, I can’t believe it either,” you say. The water boils, and you pour it into the mugs, stirring in the cocoa until it’s smooth. A handful of marshmallows goes into hers—she always liked it loaded—and you carry them back, handing hers over carefully. Your fingers brush hers as she takes it, and you pull back fast, sitting down with your own mug cradled in your hands.

She takes a sip, closing her eyes for a second like she’s savoring it. “God, this takes me back,” she says. “You always made this when I was pissed off or whatever. Like clockwork.” She opens her eyes, locking them on you, and there’s this weight in her gaze that makes you squirm.

You shrug, staring into your mug instead of her. “Yeah, guess some things don’t change.” The steam warms your face, and you take a sip, letting the heat settle into you. It’s quiet again, just the rain and the faint hum of the TV, and you feel this pull—like you need to say something, anything, to fill the space. “So… uh, it’s been rough. With her. The ex, I mean. We fought all the time. Like, nonstop. She’d get mad over the dumbest stuff—me staying up late reading comics, or forgetting to text her back right away. And I’d just… I’d try to fix it, but it was like nothing I did was enough.”

Yujin’s listening, mug resting on her knee, her fingers tapping lightly against the ceramic. She doesn’t interrupt, just nods a little, letting you spill. You keep going, the words tumbling out now that you’ve started. “It got worse toward the end. She’d yell, I’d shut down. One time she threw my Switch across the room ‘cause I was playing Zelda instead of, I dunno, staring at her or something. Broke the screen. Then she’d act like I was the one overreacting when I got upset. It was exhausting.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Yujin says, her tone even but with this edge—like she’s pissed on your behalf. She shifts, sitting up straighter, and takes another sip. “She didn’t get you at all. Throwing your Switch? That’s psycho. You don’t mess with a guy’s games.”

You huff out a laugh, small and shaky. “Yeah, right? I was so done by the end. But it still… it still messed me up. Like, maybe I was the problem. Too clingy, too needy, too… whatever.” You trail off, staring at the marshmallows melting into your hot chocolate, feeling that familiar pit opening up in your gut.

Yujin sets her mug down on the coffee table with a soft clink, leaning forward now, elbows on her knees. “Hey, don’t do that. Don’t let her flip this on you. She sounds like she sucked to be around, plain and simple.” Her voice is firm, and when you glance up, her eyes are intense, boring into you. “I heard about her, you know. Mutual friends, like I said. Word is she was never that nice to begin with. Kinda had a rep for being a control freak.”

“You… you knew about her?”

She shrugs, casual, but there’s something sharp in it. “Enough. Heard you were dating again and… I dunno, it bugged me. More than it should’ve.” She pauses, looking away for a second, out at the rain-streaked window, then back at you. “Guess I didn’t like picturing you with someone else. Especially not someone who’d treat you like that.”

Your throat goes dry, and you fumble with your mug, setting it down before you spill it. “I didn’t… I mean, it was quick. After us, I just… I didn’t know what I was doing.” You’re stumbling over your words, and she’s watching you, unblinking, like she’s piecing you together. “Maybe I jumped into it too fast. I’m not good at that stuff—figuring things out on the fly. You know that.”

Her lips twitch, not quite a smile, but close. “Yeah, I know. You’re not exactly Mr. Impulse. Always overthinking everything.” She says it like it’s a fact, not a jab, but there’s this undercurrent—like she’s pointing out something you missed. “But it’s not your fault she was a trainwreck. You don’t have to carry that.”

You lean back in the couch, running a hand through your hair. “I guess. Still feels like I should’ve seen it coming. I’m not… I’m not good at picking people, you know? Always end up with someone who makes me feel like I’m lucky they even bother with me.”

Yujin’s quiet for a beat, then she slides off the couch, moving to sit on the coffee table right in front of you, close enough that her knee bumps yours. She’s all sharp edges and soft glow—wet hair framing her face, tank top clinging just right, eyes locked on you like she’s daring you to look away. “You don’t need to feel lucky,” she says. “You’re better than that. Better than her. And honestly? You were always too good for me to deserve back then, too.”

You freeze, caught in the weight of her words. She’s so close now, and the room feels smaller, the air thicker. “You don’t mean that,” you mutter, half to yourself, but she shakes her head quick.

“I do. And you need to hear it.” She reaches out, just resting her hand on your arm, and it’s like the heat of her skin jolts you awake. “You’re a mess right now, yeah, but you don’t have to be alone with it. I’m here. I came here for you. In the freaking rain, no less.” She laughs a little, soft and real, and it’s the first time tonight you feel something lift—like the fog in your head’s thinning out.

You look at her, really look at her, and she’s stupidly gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous that makes your nerdy, self-doubting brain short-circuit. You feel that old pull, the one you could never shake with her, and it’s comforting and terrifying all at once. “Thanks,” you say, quiet, barely audible over the rain. “I… I needed this. More than I thought.”

She smiles, small but warm, and squeezes your arm before letting go. “Anytime. You know I’ve got you.” And the way she says it, the way she’s looking at you, you almost believe it’s that simple—even though deep down, you know nothing with her ever is.

“I missed you,” you say, voice low, almost lost in the sound of the storm. You didn’t mean to say it out loud, but now it’s out there, hanging between you like a live wire.

Her eyes flick up to yours, and for a second, she just looks at you—searching, maybe surprised. Then her lips curve into this slow, easy smile, and there they are: those dimples. Two little indents that used to drive you insane, the ones you’d poke with your finger when she’d laugh, just because it was cute and she’d pretend to hate it. They’re back now, and your chest tightens like someone’s squeezed it. “Yeah?” she says, voice soft but teasing, leaning in just a fraction. “You missed me?”

You nod, swallowing hard, because what else can you do? She’s got you pinned with that look, and you’re already sinking. The fabric of the tight tank top hugging her like a second skin. You can see the faint outline of her bra, the way her collarbone catches the light, and your brain stumbles over itself. Your hands twitch, nervous energy spilling out, and you grip the mug tighter to keep them.

She notices—of course she does. Her smile tilts into something sharper, more knowing. “What’s with you?” she asks, tilting her head so her hair falls over one shoulder. “You’re all jumpy now.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first. Your throat’s dry, and she’s just sitting there, looking like that, and it’s scrambling you. “I—uh. You’re just… you look good,” you manage, lame as hell, but it’s all you’ve got.

She laughs, soft and low, and those dimples deepen. “Thanks. But you’re dodging. What’s going on in that head of yours?” She leans closer, resting her elbows on her knees, and now she’s really in your space—close enough that you can smell the rain on her, mixed with that sharp-sweet perfume she’s always worn.

You hesitate, but she’s got you locked in, and the words spill out again before you can stop them. “I mean it. I really missed you. Like… a lot.” Your voice cracks a little, and you wince, but it’s true, and she can tell.

Her smile softens, less teasing now, more real. “I missed you too,” she says, and it’s quiet, almost like she’s admitting it to herself as much as to you. She sits back a little, crossing her arms under her chest—yeah, that’s not helping your nerves—and looks at you with this steady, unreadable gaze. “Way more than I thought I would. You’re so damn low-profile, you know that? No socials, no updates, nothing. Made it impossible to keep tabs on you.”

“Wait. You… you tried to keep tabs on me?”

She doesn’t even flinch, just shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Yeah. Couldn’t help it. You just… disappeared after we split. I’d scroll through your friend’s posts, hoping you’d pop up in the background or something. Pathetic, right?” She laughs again, but it’s self-aware, almost sheepish, and it’s so unlike her usual confidence that you don’t know what to do with it.

“You were stalking me?” you ask, half-joking, but your pulse is racing now. The idea of her—Yujin—digging around for scraps of you after everything… it’s doing something to you, lighting up a part of your brain you’ve tried to keep dark for months.

She smirks, unbothered. “Stalking’s a strong word. Let’s call it… checking in. But yeah, maybe I was a little obsessed. Can you blame me?” She leans forward again, and now her hand’s on your knee, light but deliberate, and your whole body locks up. “You’ve got this way of sticking in my head. Always have.”

Your mouth goes dry, and you’re staring at her hand like it’s burning through your sweatpants. “I… didn’t know that,” you mutter. She’s looking at you like she’s daring you to push, and you’re too weak to resist. “You really thought about me that much?”

“More than I should’ve,” she says, voice dropping lower, and there’s this edge to it—like she’s letting you in on something dangerous. “Kept wondering what you were up to. Who you were with. Kept thinking about how you’d look at me with those big, dumb puppy eyes when I’d push your buttons.” Her fingers flex against your knee, just enough to make you twitch, and she grins. “Like that. Right there.”

You’re flustered now, heat creeping up your neck, and you hate how easily she’s getting to you. “Shut up,” you mumble, but it’s weak, and she knows it. You push anyway, because part of you needs to hear more—needs to feel this wanted. “So what, you were just… lurking? Keeping score?”

She laughs, tilting her head back, and those dimples flash again, killing you all over. “Not lurking. Just… noticing. And yeah, maybe keeping score a little. Wanted to see if you’d crash and burn without me.” She pauses, eyes flicking over your face, and her voice softens. “Didn’t expect to hear you were dating someone else so fast, though. That stung.”

You swallow, caught in the twist of it—guilt and this weird, messed-up thrill. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t like that. I didn’t plan it. Just happened.”

“Yeah, I get it,” she says, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—jealousy, maybe, or regret. “Still sucked, though. Finding out you were with her. Kept imagining you doing all the stuff we used to do. Made me wanna claw my eyes out.” She’s grinning when she says it, but it’s tight, like she’s masking something raw.

Your head’s spinning now, and you can’t stop yourself—you keep digging, chasing the high of her words. “So you were, what, jealous? Obsessed enough to hate it?”

She leans in close again, her face inches from yours, and her voice drops to this husky whisper that makes your stomach flip. “Yeah, jealous. Obsessed, maybe. Whatever you wanna call it. I didn’t like sharing you. Still don’t.” Her hand slides up your thigh, just a little, and it’s enough to set your nerves on fire. “You’ve always been mine, you know. Even when you’re not.”

You should pull back. You should laugh it off, call her out, something—but you don’t. You’re hooked, reeled in by the way she’s looking at you, by the way her confession makes you feel like you’re something. “That’s… kinda messed up,” you say, but your voice is shaky, and your body’s betraying you, leaning toward her instead of away.

“Maybe,” she murmurs, and her lips are so close now you can feel her breath on your skin. “But you like it. I can tell.” She pulls back just enough to smirk at you, those dimples mocking you, daring you to deny it. “Go ahead, tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t miss this—me, right here, knowing you’re all I think about sometimes.”

You can’t. She’s got you dead to rights, and you both know it. Your heart’s hammering, and she’s still got her hand on your thigh, and every nerve in your body is screaming at you to close the gap. “I… I don’t know what to say,” you admit, because it’s true—you’re a mess, and she’s unraveling you stitch by stitch.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she says, voice soft but commanding. “Just don’t pretend you don’t feel it too.” And she’s right—you do. You’re nervous, flustered, but under it all, you’re wanted, and it’s been so long since you’ve felt that. She’s watching you, waiting, and you’re already too far gone to pull back now.

And then, casual as hell, she slides off the table and swings a leg over yours, settling right onto your lap. Just like that, like it’s nothing.

Your sanity cracks.

She’s warm, solid, her weight pressing down on you in a way that shorts out every rational thought you’ve got left. Her tank top rides up slightly as she adjusts, showing a sliver of skin above her jeans, and you’re trying so hard not to stare, not to lose it completely. Your arms stay glued to the couch, fingers digging into the cushions like that’s gonna keep you grounded. She notices, of course, and her smirk deepens, those dimples flashing like a warning sign.

“God, you’re so tense,” she says, voice low and teasing, leaning forward just enough that her breath brushes your jaw. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle me being this close?” Her hands settle on your shoulders, light but deliberate, and you feel the heat of her palms through your hoodie.

You swallow hard, throat tight. “I… uh…” Words fail you, because yeah, she’s right—you’re barely holding it together. She’s sitting on your lap, talking like it’s normal, and your brain’s frying.

She tilts her head, hair falling over one shoulder, and her tone shifts—still playful, but darker, laced with something raw. “You know, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. You with her. Some other girl sitting right here—” she presses her hips down a little, just to make her point, and your breath hitches—“where I used to be. Like she could just slide in and take my place. Drove me up the wall.”

You blink up at her, caught off guard by the edge in her voice. “You… you were that jealous?” It’s a dumb question, but you’re too scrambled to care.

Her eyes narrow, and she leans in closer, her fingers tightening on your shoulders. “Jealous? Try insane. I’d hear stuff—Rei or whoever running their mouth about you two—and I’d picture it. Her on your lap, her hands all over you, her thinking she could have you like I did. Made me wanna track her down and scratch her damn face off.” She laughs, sharp and bitter, but her gaze is steady, pinning you in place. “Stupid, right? But I couldn’t shake it.”

Your mouth’s dry, and you’re just staring at her now, the heat of her body sinking into you, making it impossible to think straight. “She… she didn’t compare,” you mutter, almost to yourself, but it’s loud enough for her to hear. “Not even close. She wasn’t you. Didn’t… do what you do. Didn’t make me feel like this.” Your voice cracks a little, and you hate it, but it’s true—she’s got you surrendered, always has, and no one else ever came close.

Yujin’s smirk softens into something dangerous, something triumphant. “Yeah?” she murmurs, shifting again, pressing herself closer so her chest brushes yours. “What do I do to you, huh? Tell me.” Her hands slide down from your shoulders, resting on your chest now, and you can feel her heartbeat through her fingertips, fast and steady.

You hesitate, your arms still frozen on the couch, but she’s not letting you off that easy. She leans in, lips hovering near your ear, voice dropping to a whisper. “Go ahead. Touch me. You know you want to.”

It’s a mistake—you know it’s a mistake. Once you cross that line, there’s no going back, no pretending this didn’t happen. But your hands move anyway, slow and shaky, lifting from the cushions to settle on her. One lands on her arm, the other on her waist, and the warmth of her skin hits you like a shockwave. She’s soft but firm, the curve of her waist fitting under your palm like it was made for it. Your fingers flex, testing the waters, and she lets out this quiet little hum that sends a jolt straight through you.

“There you go,” she says, voice silky, pulling back just enough to look at you. Her eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, and she’s got that look—like she’s already won. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Been too long since you had your hands on me.”

You nod, barely conscious of it, because yeah, it does. “I missed this,” you admit, quiet and rough, your thumb brushing along the edge of her tank top where it meets her jeans. “Missed you. Your body… you look hotter now. If that’s even possible.”

Her smile lights up, dimples popping again, and it’s like a reward. “You think so?” she asks, voice bright with this twisted kind of joy. She shifts in your lap, deliberate, rolling her hips just enough to make your breath catch. “Good. ‘Cause I’ve been thinking about you too. How you’d feel under me like this. How much I missed having you fall apart for me.”

Your hands tighten on her instinctively, one sliding up her arm to her shoulder, the other gripping her waist harder. “Yujin…” you start, but it’s weak, and she knows it. She’s got you wrapped around her finger, and you’re not even fighting it anymore.

“What?” she murmurs, leaning in so her lips are barely a inch from yours, her breath hot against your skin. “You gonna tell me to stop? Or you gonna admit you’re still mine?” Her fingers trail down your chest, slow and teasing, and your resolve crumbles a little more with every inch.

“I… I shouldn’t,” you say, but it’s half-hearted, and your hands are already moving again, tracing the line of her spine through the thin fabric of her top. “This is a bad idea.”

“Maybe,” she agrees, but her voice is dripping with confidence, and she’s closing the gap, her nose brushing yours. “But you’re not gonna stop me, are you? You missed me too much. Missed this.” She presses herself closer, thighs tightening around your hips, and you feel every bit of her—warm, alive, overwhelming.

“Yeah,” you breathe, giving in, your hands sliding down to her hips now, pulling her against you like you can’t help it. “I did. Missed you. All of you.”

She sighs, but it’s not soft—it’s resigned, almost dramatic, like she’s wrestling with something inside her. “God, you mess me up so bad,” she says, shaking her head, but she’s smiling again, dimples flashing as she cups your face with one hand. “I’m out here losing my mind over you, and you’re just… sitting there, letting me. You’re the worst, you know that?”

You laugh, small and shaky, because it’s all you’ve got left. “You’re the one who climbed into my lap,” you point out, your hands roaming now, one slipping under the hem of her tank top to feel the bare skin of her lower back. “Kinda hard to ignore you.”

“Good,” she says, and her voice drops again, husky and intent. “I don’t want you to ignore me. I want you to think about me. All the time. Like I think about you.” She shifts again, grinding down just enough to make your head spin, and her lips are so close now you can taste the hot chocolate on her breath. “Tell me you still want me. Say it.”

Your hands are all over her now—one on her back, the other gripping her thigh—and you’re done pretending you’ve got any control here. “I want you,” you say, low and rough, and it’s like letting go of a weight you didn’t know you were carrying. “Always have. You know that.”

Her eyes flash, victorious, and she leans in, finally pressing her lips to yours—just a graze at first, testing you. But you’re already gone, pulling her in harder, kissing her like you’ve been starving for it. She tastes sweet, like cocoa and something sharper, and she kisses back like she’s claiming you all over again. When she pulls away, she’s breathless, grinning, those dimples mocking you as she whispers, “See? Told you you’re still mine.”

You don’t argue. You can’t. She’s got you—hook, line, and sinker.

The rain’s still pounding outside, a steady roar that fills the room, but all you can focus on is Yujin. She’s got you pinned—figuratively, literally—straddling your lap like she owns you, and honestly, she might as well. Her hand shoots up, grabbing your cheeks with one firm grip, squeezing just enough to make your lips pucker slightly. Her eyes lock onto yours, sharp and unyielding, and it’s like she’s staring straight through you, peeling back every layer you’ve tried to build up since she’s been gone.

“Say it,” she demands, her thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “Say you belong to me.”

You’re already a mess—heart racing, breath shallow, her weight pressing into you like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered. Your hands are still on her thighs, fingers digging into the denim, and you can feel the heat of her through it, steady and real. “I belong to you,” you say, the words spilling out fast, rough, like they’ve been waiting there all along.

Her grip tightens for a second, then loosens, and she tilts her head, studying you. “Good. Now tell me—who do you belong to?”

“You,” you answer, no hesitation this time, your voice steadier even though your pulse is hammering in your ears. “I belong to you, Yujin.”

She smirks, satisfied, and there’s this glint in her eyes—like she’s won some game you didn’t even know you were playing. “That’s right,” she says, leaning in closer, her breath hot against your lips. “And no other girl—no one—better come near you again. ‘Cause I don’t know what I’d do. To her... To you.” Her voice drops, and it sends a shiver down your spine—not from fear, but from how much it gets to you.

“It won’t happen,” you mutter, hands flexing against her thighs, squeezing harder like you’re trying to prove it. “Not again. Promise.”

Her smirk softens into something almost sweet, and she closes the gap, kissing you hard and sudden. It’s not gentle—her lips crash into yours like she’s staking a claim, teeth grazing your bottom lip for a split second before she pulls back, just enough to breathe. It’s a reward, yeah, but it’s also a reminder: she’s in charge. Always has been. Your head’s spinning, but you lean into it, chasing the taste of her—cocoa and that sharp edge that’s all Yujin.

“This is for your own good, you know.” Another kiss, quick and firm, then she pulls back to look at you, her hand still holding your face like you’re something precious she’s molding. “I’m the only one who gets you. The only one who knows how to deal with you—how to take care of you.” Her voice is soft now, almost hypnotic, weaving around the sound of the rain. “No one else understands you like I do. You need me.”

You nod, dazed, because she’s right—you do need her. You’ve been a wreck without her, and now she’s here, filling up every empty space like she never left. Her body’s pressed against you, warm and insistent, and you’re hyper-aware of every point of contact. Your hands slide up her thighs, slow and tentative, and you can feel the muscle under the denim, the way she shifts under your touch. She’s solid, grounding, and it’s driving you insane.

She feels it too—your dick’s already hard, straining against your sweatpants, and there’s no hiding it. Her hips shift, just a little, and she smirks again, that knowing look that always unravels you. “Look at you,” she says. “Already falling apart just from this. You’re so easy.”

You groan, low in your throat, embarrassed but also with desire. Your hands grip her tighter, pulling her closer, and she lets you, settling fully against you now. Her hand slides up, fingers brushing over your jaw, then tracing down the side of your face, slow and deliberate. “You’re such a mess without me,” she murmurs, almost to herself, and her eyes are dark, drinking you in. “My little boy. Mommy’s boy.”

The word makes you shiver—mommy. You used to call her that, half-joking but not really, because she’d always take care of you, always know exactly what you needed. Hearing it now, from her lips, in that low, commanding tone—it’s like a switch flips. Your whole body reacts, a jolt running through you, and she clocks it immediately, her smirk widening.

“Yeah,” she says, dragging the word out, her hand resting on your cheek now, thumb brushing your lips. “Mommy’s boy needs some affection, huh? Some care. Look at you—just sitting there, all needy and lost without me.” She shifts again, grinding down subtly, and you can’t hold back the sound that slips out, a quiet, desperate little noise that makes her chuckle.

“Please,” you mutter, barely audible, and you’re not even sure what you’re asking for—just her, all of her, whatever she’ll give you. Your hands are everywhere now, roaming up her thighs to her hips, fingers digging in like you’re afraid she’ll disappear again.

She leans in, kissing you again, slower this time, savoring it. Her lips move against yours like she’s memorizing you, tongue slipping past just enough to make your head spin before she pulls back. “I’ve got you,” she whispers, forehead resting against yours for a second, her breath mingling with yours. “Always have. No one else can do this—make you feel like this. You’re mine, and I’m not letting you forget it again.”

You nod, helpless under her, and she slides her hand down your chest, slow and teasing, resting it just above your waistband. She doesn’t move further, just lets it linger there, and it’s enough to make you twitch, your dick throbbing under her weight. “See?” she says, voice smug but soft. “No one else gets you like this. All wound up, practically begging just from me talking to you. You missed your mommy, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” you admit, voice rough, hands squeezing her thighs again, desperate for more but too wrecked to push for it. “Missed you so much. Just… need you.”

Her smile’s all victory now, dimples flashing as she kisses you again, quick and firm, then pulls back to look at you. “Good boy,” she murmurs, patting your cheek lightly, and it’s condescending as hell but it lights you up anyway. “Mommy’s here now. Gonna take care of you, give you everything you’ve been missing.” She rocks her hips again, just enough to drive you crazy, and her hand slides back up to your face, holding you there so you can’t look away. “You don’t need anyone else. Just me.”

And you believe her—because right now, with her on top of you, her voice in your ear, her touch burning through you, it’s all you want. All you’ve ever wanted.

You lean in and press your lips to her neck. It’s instinct—your mouth finds that spot just below her jaw, soft and warm, and you kiss it slow, dragging your lips against her skin. She tastes like rain and that sharp-sweet perfume, and it’s intoxicating, pulling you in deeper. Your hand starts moving, sliding down her side, fingers digging into the curve of her waist. She’s thicker now, softer in this way that makes your gut tighten, and you squeeze, feeling the give of her flesh under your grip.

She sighs, soft and airy, tilting her head back to give you more room, and it’s like she’s melting into you. “Fuck,” she mutters, voice low, her hands resting on your shoulders for balance. “You’re too good at that.” Her tank top’s tight, stretched over her chest, but it’s not enough—you need more of her. Your fingers tug at the hem, and she gets the hint, shifting back just enough to peel it off in one smooth motion. It lands somewhere on the floor, forgotten, and now she’s sitting there in just her bra, black and simple, hugging her curves like it’s doing you a favor.

Your eyes drop, and you can’t help it—you’re staring. She notices, smirking as she grabs your hand, guiding it to her tummy. Her skin’s warm, smooth under your palm, and she presses your fingers into it, letting you feel her. “Been a while, huh?” she murmurs, voice teasing but heavy with something else. “Missed this?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, your hand sliding up slow, tracing the dip of her stomach, the way it curves into her ribs. She moves your hand higher, deliberate, until it’s resting over her bra, cupping her breast. They’re medium, soft, spilling slightly over your palm as you squeeze, and she lets out this little sound—half sigh, half moan—that hits you right in the gut.

“Got a surprise for you,” she says, leaning in close, her lips brushing your ear. “Wanna see?” Her tone’s playful, but there’s a challenge in it, like she’s testing how far you’ll go.

You nod, throat tight. “Yeah. Show me.”

Her smile’s all teeth, wicked and bright, and she reaches back, fingers deft as she unhooks her bra. It’s slow, deliberate—she slides the straps down her shoulders one by one, letting the fabric fall away like she’s unwrapping something precious. When it drops, you freeze, swallowing hard. Her breasts spill free, and there they are—nipple piercings. Small silver bars glinting under the dim light, cutting through the soft pink of her nipples. Your breath catches, and your dick twitches in your sweats, already straining against the fabric.

“Like ‘em?” she asks, voice husky, watching your face like she’s feeding off your reaction.

“Fuck yeah,” you say, raw and honest, eyes locked on her. “They’re perfect.” They’re bold, unexpected, and so her—a little wild, a little dangerous, and you’re losing your mind over it.

She leans back slightly, letting you take it all in, and her voice drops lower. “They’re sensitive as hell now. Took a while to get used to, but… worth it.” She’s smirking again, daring you, and your hand’s already moving, brushing over one breast, thumb grazing the piercing. The metal’s cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of her, and she gasps, sharp and sudden, her body arching into your touch.

“Shit,” she mutters, biting her lip, and you can see it—how sensitive they really are. Her nipple hardens under your fingers, and you roll the bar gently, testing it. She sighs again, louder this time, her hands gripping your shoulders tighter. “You’re gonna kill me with that,” she says, but she’s grinning, eyes half-closed, loving every second.

You hesitate, hand still on her, and glance up. “Can I… suck them?” It’s polite, almost awkward, because you’re so wound up you can barely think straight, but you need to ask.

She laughs, soft and real, tilting her head like she’s charmed by it. “God, you’re cute. Yeah, of course you can. Go for it.” She shifts closer, practically offering herself up, and you don’t waste time.

You lean in, lips brushing her skin first, just below her breast, tasting the faint salt of her. Then you move higher, closing your mouth over her nipple, the piercing cool and hard against your tongue. You suck, slow and careful at first, feeling the way she reacts—her body tensing, a quiet moan slipping out. The metal rolls in your mouth, smooth and strange, and you flick your tongue over it, testing. She groans, low and ragged, her fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer.

“Fuck, that’s good,” she breathes, voice rougher now, her hips shifting in your lap. You can feel her pressing against you, the heat of her through her jeans, and your dick’s throbbing, trapped under her weight. Your hand’s still squeezing her other breast, thumb teasing the piercing there, and she’s squirming, every sound she makes driving you further into this haze.

You pull back for a second, just to look—her nipple’s wet from your mouth, the piercing glinting, and she’s flushed, chest heaving. “So sensitive,” you mutter, almost to yourself, and she nods, biting her lip again.

“Told you,” she says, breathless, her hand sliding down your chest now, teasing the edge of your hoodie. “Keep going. Don’t stop.” It’s not a request—it’s a order, and you’re too far gone to do anything but obey.

You dive back in, sucking harder this time, letting your teeth graze the bar just enough to make her hiss. Your hand’s roaming now, sliding down her side, squeezing her thicker hips, her ass, anything you can reach. She’s solid and soft all at once, and it’s messing with you, how much you’ve missed this—missed her. Every sigh, every little twitch of her body, it’s like she’s pulling you apart piece by piece, and you’re letting her.

“Fuck, babe,” she breathes, voice ragged, her fingers tangled tight in your hair. “You’re so good at that—shit, don’t stop.” The pet name hits you like a spark, lighting you up, and you groan against her skin, pressing your face closer, hungry for more of her. She’s warm, soft, the faint taste of her skin driving you wild, and you flick your tongue over the piercing again, slow and deliberate, just to hear her gasp.

“Yeah, like that,” she murmurs, her head tipping back, eyes half-shut. “God, you’re such a sweet boy, huh? My sweet little babe, driving me crazy.” Her words drip with that mix of affection and control she’s always had over you. You switch to her other breast, mouth closing over it, sucking hard, and she moans, louder this time, her hips rocking against you. “You’re starving for me, aren’t you?” she says, smirking through it, her voice all husky and teasing. “Can feel how much you want this.”

You pull back just long enough to mutter, “Fuck yeah, I am,” voice rough, desperate, before diving back in. Your tongue circles her nipple, teasing the piercing, and she’s squirming now, thighs tightening around your hips. Your hands are everywhere—gripping her waist, sliding up her back, squeezing her breasts—because you can’t get enough. She’s thicker, curvier than you remember, and it’s got you ravenous, every touch feeding this ache that’s been building since she walked through the door.

“Missed my body this much, huh, honey?” she asks, leaning down so her lips brush your ear, her breath hot and uneven. “Can’t keep your hands off me.” She shifts, grinding down harder, and you groan into her skin, your dick twitching painfully in your sweats. You’re so hard it’s borderline unbearable, trapped under her weight, and she knows it—fuck, she loves it.

“Yeah,” you rasp, pulling back to catch her eye, your mouth wet from her skin. “Missed you. Missed this. You’re fucking unreal.” Your hand slides down, cupping her ass through her jeans, and you squeeze, pulling her closer. She sighs, pleased, and runs her fingers through your hair, tugging just enough to make you look up at her.

“Look at you, my needy little babe,” she says, grinning, those dimples flashing as she watches you unravel. “All worked up just from sucking on me. You’re too cute.” She leans in, kissing you messy and deep, her tongue sliding against yours, and you’re drowning in it—her taste, her heat, the way she’s owning you without even trying.

You’re panting when she pulls back, and she’s flushed now, chest heaving, her pierced nipples glistening from your mouth. “Shit,” you mutter, staring, and she laughs, soft and smug, like she’s got you exactly where she wants you. Your hands are still on her, roaming, and your dick’s screaming for relief, pressed tight against her. She feels it—has to—and her smirk turns wicked.

“Poor thing,” she coos, shifting back just enough to slide off your lap, slow and deliberate. “You’re rock-hard, aren’t you? Been dying for me this whole time.” She stands in front of you, close enough that her knees brush yours, and you’re staring up at her, chest tight, hands flexing on the couch cushions because you don’t trust yourself to touch her without losing it.

“Yeah,” you admit, voice hoarse, eyes locked on her. “Can’t help it. You’re… fuck, Yujin, you’re killing me.”

“Good,” she says, and there’s that edge again—possessive, commanding. She reaches down, fingers hooking into the waistband of your sweats, and your breath catches as she tugs, slow and teasing. “Let’s see how bad you’ve got it. Lift up for me, babe.” You do, no hesitation, raising your hips so she can pull them down, taking your underwear with them in one smooth motion. They hit the floor, and you’re bare under her gaze, dick hard and aching, precum already beading at the tip.

She steps back, just a little, eyes raking over you, and her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “Damn,” she mutters, almost to herself, then looks back up at you with a grin. “Look at you, all ready for me. My sweet boy’s been holding out, huh?” Her voice is dripping with mock sympathy, but you hear the hunger in it, and it makes your head spin.

“Only for you,” you say, raw and honest, and her smile softens, just for a second, before that wicked edge creeps back in. She drops to her knees in front of you, slow and deliberate, and your stomach flips as she settles between your legs, hands resting on your thighs.

“Gonna take care of you,” she murmurs, leaning in, her breath ghosting over your skin. “My needy little babe deserves it.” And you’re gone, completely, because she’s got you—every inch, every thought, every desperate fucking heartbeat.

The rain’s still drumming outside, but it’s nothing compared to the pulse pounding in your ears. She leans in closer, her breath hot against your skin, and you tense, every muscle coiled tight, waiting for her to make her move.

“Fuck, babe, look at you,” she says, her eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second before dropping back down to your cock. “This thing’s as big as I remember. Thick too—goddamn perfect.” She licks her lips, slow and deliberate, and you feel it like a jolt, your hips twitching involuntarily. She notices, and her smirk widens. “Missed me that bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, voice scraped raw, hands gripping the couch cushions because if you don’t hold onto something, you’re gonna grab her and fuck her mouth yourself. “Missed your mouth on me. Been too fucking long.”

She hums, pleased, and her fingers finally wrap around you—loose at first, just sliding up the length of your shaft, her thumb brushing the tip where you’re already leaking. “Missed this too,” she says, almost to herself, her grip tightening as she gives you a slow, teasing stroke. “Love how you feel in my hand. So heavy. Bet you’ve been dying for me to suck you off.”

“Fuck yeah,” you groan, head tipping back against the couch for a second before you force it forward again—you’re not missing a damn thing. “Please, Yujin. Need it.”

She chuckles, low and dirty, and leans in, her lips brushing the head of your cock, just enough to smear the precum across them. “So polite when you’re desperate,” she teases, then sticks her tongue out, flattening it against the tip, licking slow and filthy. Your whole body jerks, a curse slipping out under your breath, and she grins like she’s won something. “Tastes good,” she murmurs, then drags her tongue down the side, tracing a vein, taking her sweet time.

You’re shaking now, barely holding it together, and she knows it—loves it. “Shit, Yujin, stop fucking around,” you grit out, voice tight, hips shifting toward her mouth. “Suck it already.”

“Bossy,” she mutters, but she’s still smiling, those dimples flashing as she opens her mouth and finally—finally—takes you in. Her lips wrap around the head, tight and wet, and she slides down slow, sucking just enough to make your head spin. You groan loud, guttural, your hands flexing on the couch because you want to grab her hair, shove her down further, but you let her set the pace.

“Fuck,” you hiss, watching her—her cheeks hollow out as she pulls back, spit pooling at the corners of her mouth, then she sinks down again, deeper this time, taking half of you. Her tongue’s working the whole time, swirling around the tip when she pulls up, pressing flat against you when she goes down. She’s so fucking good at this—always has been—and you’ve missed it like hell, the way she makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters.

“Mmm,” she hums against you, the vibration shooting straight up your spine, and your dick twitches in her mouth. She feels it, pulls off just enough to talk, her hand stroking you slow and slick. “God, I love this cock,” she says, voice raw, eyes locked on yours as she drags her tongue up the underside, sloppy and shameless. “So fucking big, fills my mouth just right.” She dives back in, sucking harder now, her head bobbing slow and steady, and you’re unraveling, piece by piece.

“Shit, babe,” you groan, head tipping back again, but you can’t take your eyes off her for long—watching her lips stretch around you, her tongue flicking every time she pulls up. “You’re so fucking good—missed this so much.” Your hips buck a little, chasing her mouth, and she moans around you, the sound filthy and perfect.

She pulls off with a wet pop, spit trailing from her mouth to your cock, and she grins, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. “Yeah? Missed me sucking you off? Bet no one else comes close, huh?” Her hand keeps moving, jerking you slow and tight, and you shake your head, breathless.

“No one,” you pant, “not even fucking close. You’re… fuck, you’re everything.”

Her eyes light up at that, all smug and satisfied, and she leans down again, kissing the tip like it’s a tease before taking you back in. This time she goes deeper, throat relaxing as she slides down, down, until her nose is damn near brushing your pelvis. You curse loud, hips jerking up, and she takes it—lets you hit the back of her throat, gagging just a little before pulling back, eyes watering but still grinning.

“Goddamn, Yujin,” you rasp, hands finally giving in, sliding into her hair, not pushing, just holding. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She pulls off again, gasping a little, spit dripping down her chin, and her hand’s still working you, slick and fast now. “Good,” she says, voice wrecked, “then you’ll die happy, babe.” She dives back in, sucking hard and sloppy, her tongue all over you, and you’re barely holding it together, and she knows it, feeding off the way you’re falling apart under her touch. Then she shifts, slow and deliberate, sliding her mouth lower, and your brain short-circuits when you realize where she’s going.

“Fuck, Yujin—” you start, but it cuts off into a groan as her lips brush your balls, heavy and tight, aching from how worked up she’s got you. She doesn’t hesitate—just dives in, sucking one into her mouth, warm and wet, her tongue rolling over it like she’s savoring every second. Her hand’s still wrapped around your cock, stroking you steady and firm, and the combo’s fucking lethal. Your hips jerk up, involuntary, and you feel her moan against you, the vibration hitting you like a shockwave.

“Goddamn, babe,” she murmurs, pulling back just enough to talk, her voice muffled against your skin. “These are so full—been saving up for me, huh?” She switches to the other one, sucking harder now, her tongue flicking and teasing, and you’re losing it, hands gripping the couch cushions so tight your knuckles are white.

“Mommy,” you groan, the word slipping out before you can stop it, raw and desperate, and she freezes for a split second, like it’s flipped a switch in her. Then she pulls off your balls with a wet pop, eyes snapping up to yours, dark and hungry.

“Fuck, say that again,” she demands, her hand pumping your cock faster now, slick with spit and precum. “Call me that again, babe.”

“Mommy,” you mutter, voice wrecked, and she moans, low and filthy, like it’s the hottest thing she’s ever heard. She leans back in, sucking your balls again, her tongue working them over with this skillful precision that’s got you shaking. She’s relentless—alternating between them, pulling one into her mouth, then the other, her lips stretching around you, her cheeks hollowing out as she sucks. All the while, her hand’s jerking you off, tight and steady, and you’re a mess of moans and curses, barely able to think straight.

“Shit—fuck, mommy, you’re so good,” you pant, head tipping back, your whole body tensing as she works you over. Her free hand slides up your thigh, squeezing, nails digging in just enough to sting, and it’s like she’s claiming every inch of you—mouth on your balls, hand on your cock, owning you completely.

She pulls back again, letting your balls slip out of her mouth, wet and messy, a string of spit connecting her lips to you before it snaps. She wipes her chin with the back of her hand, grinning like a goddamn demon. “Taste so fucking good,” she says, voice rough, her eyes locked on yours as she gives your cock a slow, teasing stroke. “Been dreaming about this—getting my mouth on you again. You’re a fucking wreck for me, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you gasp, chest heaving, dick twitching in her grip. “Can’t—fuck, can’t get enough of you.” Your hands slide into her hair now, shaky and desperate, but you don’t push—she’s in control, and you both know it.

She hums, satisfied, and gives your balls one last lick—long and slow, dragging her tongue up from the base to the tip of your cock like she’s savoring you. You shudder, a loud “shit” slipping out, and she chuckles, dark and smug, before climbing to her feet. You’re panting, flushed and sweaty, dick glistening from her spit, and she’s standing there like she’s just getting started.

“C’mon,” she says, voice low and commanding, holding out her hand. “Bedroom. Now. We’re done messing around on this couch—I wanna really fuck you up.” Her eyes flick over you, taking in how wrecked you already are, and her smirk turns sharp, dangerous. “Gonna have some real fun with you, babe.”

You’re on your feet before you even realize it, grabbing her hand, letting her pull you up. Your legs feel like jelly, dick still painfully hard, swinging free as you stumble after her. “Fuck, Yujin,” you mutter, half-dazed, watching her hips sway as she leads you down the hall, jeans hugging her ass just right. “You’re really killing me.”

“Good,” she throws back over her shoulder, not even turning around. “That’s the plan. You’re mine tonight—gonna make sure you don’t forget it.” She pushes open the bedroom door and tugs you inside, kicking the door shut behind you, and turns to face you, eyes glinting with something wild.

“Get on the bed,” she says, and it’s not a request—it’s a order. Your heart’s pounding, dick throbbing, and you’re so hungry for her you can taste it, feel it in every shaky breath. You’re fucked, completely, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, still buzzing from her mouth on you, when Yujin steps back, hands on her hips, eyes locked on yours like she’s about to put on a damn show. The room’s dim, just the faint glow from the streetlights slipping through the blinds, but it’s enough to watch her every move. She kicks off her boots first, casual and quick, then her hands go to the button of her jeans. You’re mesmerized, can’t look away as she pops it open, sliding the zipper down slow—teasing, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath as she peels the jeans off, inch by inch, the denim hugging her hips before dropping down her legs. She steps out of them, kicking them aside, and there she is—just in her panties, black and simple but barely holding back what’s underneath. Her thighs catch your eye first—thick, juicy, the kind of curves you want to sink your teeth into. They flex slightly as she shifts her weight, and your dick twitches, already rock-hard from the sight alone.

She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, smirking when she catches you staring. “You like?” she asks, voice low and cocky, dragging them down slow, letting the fabric roll over her hips, then her thighs, until they hit the floor. And fuck—there’s her pussy, glistening in the low light, already wet like she’s been thinking about this as much as you have. She’s got this neat little patch of hair, lightly trimmed, a perfect pattern that draws your eye right to her, and you’re practically drooling.

She steps closer, slow and deliberate, hips swaying just enough to fuck with your head. You’re still sitting there, hands twitching, when she stops right in front of you, close enough that you can feel the heat rolling off her. Your hands move on instinct, sliding up to her waist, gripping her soft skin, and you pull her in, pressing your lips to her tummy. It’s warm, smooth, and you kiss it slow, dragging your mouth over her, tasting her faintly—salt and that addictive edge that’s all her.

“Mm, good boy,” she murmurs, voice dripping with that dom energy she wears like a second skin. Her hand slides into your hair, stroking it, fingers curling just enough to tug lightly. “You’re already so fucking gone for me, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you breathe against her skin, voice rough, trailing more kisses down her stomach, slow and hungry. You’re standing now, can’t stay still anymore, your hands roaming up her sides as your lips move lower, chasing that scent—that fucking pull—drawing you in like a drug. You pause just above her pussy, nose brushing the trimmed hair, and inhale deep. It’s musky, sweet, so goddamn addictive you feel lightheaded. “Fuck, I missed this,” you groan, almost to yourself, your mouth watering. “Missed you.”

She laughs, low and smug, her hand tightening in your hair. “Yeah? Then stop teasing and eat my pussy, babe. Show me how much you missed it.” It’s a command, sharp and final, and it’s all you need to hear.

You drop to your knees, hands sliding down to grip her thighs—thick and solid under your palms—and pull her closer. She spreads her legs a little, giving you room, and you dive in, no hesitation. Your tongue drags up her slit first, slow and deliberate, tasting her—wet and slick, already dripping for you. She’s tangy, hot, and you groan against her, the sound vibrating through her as you flick your tongue over her clit.

“Fuck, that’s it,” she hisses, her hand shoving your face tighter against her. “Right there—don’t you dare stop.” Her hips roll forward, grinding against your mouth, and you’re all in now, licking and sucking like you’re starving. You swirl your tongue around her clit, teasing it, then suck it hard, letting your teeth graze just enough to make her gasp. Her thighs tremble under your hands, and you squeeze them, pulling her closer, burying yourself in her.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking good at this,” she pants, voice breaking a little, her dom edge slipping as she starts to unravel. “Missed that mouth—shit, babe, keep going.” Her hips buck harder, and you’re drowning in her—her taste, her heat, the way she’s soaking your chin. You slide a hand up, fingers brushing her entrance, but you don’t push in yet—just tease, letting her feel it.

She moans loud, shameless, her grip in your hair turning rough. “Fuck, don’t play with me—eat me like you mean it.” You do—tongue plunging deeper, licking up every drop, sucking her clit until she’s shaking. Her pussy’s pulsing, slick and swollen, and you’re obsessed—drinking her in, feeling her thighs clamp around your head. “Yeah, just like that—my good fucking boy,” she growls, and it hits you right in the chest, fueling this desperate need to please her.

You pull back for a second, gasping for air, lips and chin dripping. “You taste so fucking good,” you mutter, raw and wrecked, diving back in before she can even respond. You’re licking harder now, sloppier, tongue everywhere—her clit, her lips, dipping inside just to feel her clench. She’s cursing, moaning, starting to ride your face, and you let her, hands gripping her ass now, guiding her as she bucks against you.

Your tongue’s working overtime, lapping up every bit of her, and she’s so fucking wet it’s obscene—her juices coating your lips, your chin, sliding down your neck. You groan into her, the sound muffled against her skin, and it’s like you’re drunk on her, hunger spiking with every taste.

“Fuck, babe, you’re killing me,” she mutters, voice rough and shaky, but she’s not pulling away—she’s leaning into it, giving you more. She shifts, lifting one leg and planting her foot on the bed, spreading herself wide open. Her pussy’s glistening, creamy now, this thick, delicious slick starting to leak out, and it’s driving you wild. You can see it—white and sticky, clinging to her folds—and you dive in deeper, tongue plunging inside her, chasing it like it’s your fucking lifeline.

“Shit—oh my god,” she gasps, her hand tightening in your hair, shoving your face harder against her. “Yeah, just like that—get in there, fuck.” Her hips roll, grinding against your mouth, and you’re surrounded by her—her heat, her scent, that addictive cream coating your tongue as you dig it in, scooping it out. It’s filthy, messy, and you’re loving every second, sucking hard, letting it smear across your lips as you tongue-fuck her with everything you’ve got.

She’s melting, you can feel it—her thighs trembling, her breath hitching in these sharp little bursts. “You’re so fucking hungry for me,” she moans, half-laughing, half-wrecked, her leg wobbling on the bed as she opens up even more. “Can’t get enough of my pussy, huh? Look at you, drowning in it.” You groan again, louder, pressing your face so deep into her you can barely breathe, licking up that creamy slick like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted—because it is.

You squeeze her ass harder, pulling her closer, fingers sinking into her thick flesh as you keep going, relentless. Her pussy’s pulsing around your tongue, soaking you, and you’re a fucking mess—face shiny, lips swollen, chin drenched. You slide your tongue out, dragging it up to her clit, sucking it hard, then dipping back down to thrust inside her again, catching more of that cream. It’s coating your mouth now, sticky and sweet, and you’re growling against her, primal, desperate, completely lost in her.

“Fuck, don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop,” she pants, voice breaking, her hips bucking harder, practically riding your face. “You’re gonna make me—shit—” She cuts off, moaning loud, her whole body tensing, and you double down, tongue plunging deep, sucking her inner walls, nose grinding against her clit. Her pussy’s so creamy now it’s spilling out, dripping down your chin, and you’re licking it up, swallowing it, starving for every drop.

She’s shaking hard, leg slipping a little on the bed, but you hold her steady, keeping her open as you push her over the edge. “C’mon, mommy, cum for me,” you mumble into her, voice muffled, needy, and that’s it—she snaps. Her hips jerk, a loud, ragged “Fuck!” ripping out of her as she cums, hard and messy. Her pussy clenches around your tongue, flooding you with more of that thick cream, and you’re drinking it, lapping it up through her shakes, her gasps, her nails digging into your scalp. She’s trembling, falling apart, and you don’t stop—sucking, licking, letting her ride it out until she’s boneless, breathless.

You finally pull back, face drenched—her juices glistening on your mouth, your chin, even your nose. You’re a fucking sight, shiny and wrecked, and she looks down at you, chest heaving, eyes dark and satisfied. She grabs your face, rough but slow, and leans in, tongue darting out to lick across your lips, then your chin, tasting herself on you. It’s filthy, hot, and you just sit there, dazed, letting her do it.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” she murmurs, voice low and raw, dragging her tongue up one last time before kissing you hard, sloppy, her taste all over both of you. She pulls back, smirking, wiping her thumb across your wet mouth. “Such a good boy for me—look at you, all shiny and fucked out from eating my pussy. Did so good, babe.”

You grin, still catching your breath, hands still on her thighs, feeling the heat of her skin. “Anything for you,” you say, and her smirk softens just a little, that dom edge giving way to something softer, something proud. She ruffles your hair, still panting, and you’re sitting there, heart hammering, completely fucking gone for her.

She stands up, all curves and confidence, and nods toward the bed. “C’mon, babe,” she says, voice low and commanding, like she’s summoning you. “Get over here. Time to give you what you deserve.”

Your legs feel like rubber, but you’re up fast, stumbling after her like a fucking puppy, too wrecked to play it cool. She’s already climbing onto the bed, and you follow, heart pounding, dick still hard and aching from everything she’s already done to you. She turns, lying back against the pillows, then pats the spot beneath her, eyes glinting with that dom energy that’s got you hooked. “Lie down,” she orders, and you do—no hesitation, flat on your back, staring up at her like she’s a goddamn goddess.

She swings a leg over you, straddling your chest first, and fuck, the view—her thighs framing your face, her pussy still glistening, her pierced nipples catching the light. She slides down slow, deliberate, until she’s hovering over you, her weight pressing you into the mattress. “This is how it should be,” she says, voice dropping, dark and possessive. “You under me, obeying me, worshiping me like the good boy you are. That’s what you want, right?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, hands twitching at your sides, dying to touch her. “Fuck yeah, Yujin. Always.” Your voice is shaky, raw, and she smirks, loving how gone you are—how you’re hers without even trying.

“Go ahead then,” she murmurs, leaning down so her lips brush your ear, her hair tickling your face. “Touch me. Show me how much you’ve missed this.” Your hands move fast, sliding up her thighs, feeling the thick, warm muscle under your palms, then higher, over her hips, her waist, that soft tummy you kissed earlier. She’s solid and real, every inch of her screaming power, and you’re just… lost in it, fingers roaming like you’re trying to memorize her all over again.

She shifts, grabbing your cock with one hand—firm, no bullshit—and you groan, hips jerking up at the contact. “Easy,” she warns, smirking down at you as she lines you up, the tip brushing her pussy, wet and hot and so fucking close. “You’re gonna take what I give you, yeah? No rushing me.”

“Yes, mommy,” you mutter, half-dazed, and her eyes flash, that word lighting her up. She sinks down then, slow and deliberate, and you both sigh—her pussy’s tight, slick, swallowing you inch by inch like it’s meant to. You’re stretching her out, and she’s gripping you so good it’s like she’s pulling you apart. “Fuck,” you gasp, hands clutching her hips now, digging in, and she moans, low and sweet, settling all the way down until you’re buried deep.

“Goddamn, you’re big,” she mutters, almost to herself, adjusting her hips a little, and you feel her clench around you, hot and wet and perfect. “Missed this cock—missed you.” She leans forward, hands braced on your chest, and you still can’t believe it—your Yujin, back on top of you, fucking owning you like this. Her hair falls over her face, and you brush it back, needing to see her, those sharp eyes, that cocky little grin.

She starts moving then, slow at first, rolling her hips like she’s testing you, seeing how long you can last under her. “Look at you,” she says, voice dripping with control, “just lying there, taking it like a good boy. You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” She lifts up, then drops back down, harder this time, and you groan loud, hands sliding to her ass, squeezing, trying to pull her in deeper.

“Anything,” you pant, staring up at her, completely fucking surrendered. “You’ve got me—fuck, you’ve always had me.” She’s riding you now, steady and relentless, her pussy gripping you so tight it’s almost too much, cream leaking out, smearing your hips as she moves. Her thighs flex, muscles working, and you’re just holding on, letting her set the pace, letting her use you.

“That’s right,” she growls, leaning down closer, her voice rough against your ear. “You’re mine—my good little boy, letting me fuck you like this. No one else gets this, you hear me? Just me.” She speeds up, slamming down harder, and you’re a mess—moaning, hips bucking up to meet her, but she’s in charge, pinning you down with her weight, her hands digging into your shoulders.

“Fuck, Yujin—mommy, please,” you whimper, and she grins, wild and triumphant, loving how you’re breaking under her. She straightens up, sitting back, bouncing now, her breasts swaying with every thrust, those piercings glinting, and you’re just watching, worshiping, hands roaming her body—her thighs, her ass, her tummy—anywhere you can reach.

“Keep saying it,” she demands, voice sharp, hips grinding down, working your cock so deep you’re seeing stars. “Call me that again—tell me who you belong to.”

“Mommy,” you moan, hands gripping her ass tighter, feeling her clench around you, wet and filthy and so fucking good. “I belong to you—only you. Fuck, Yujin, I’m yours.”

“Damn right,” she snarls, and she’s moving faster now, slamming down onto you, the bed creaking, her pussy soaking you, dripping down your thighs. “Gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t think straight—‘til all you know is me.” She’s relentless, dominant, and you’re surrendering completely, lost in her rhythm, in her heat, in the way she’s taking you apart piece by piece. You’re hers, and she’s proving it, and all you can do is moan and hold on as she rides you into oblivion.

Yujin’s still riding you, hips slamming down with that steady, punishing rhythm that’s got your whole body buzzing, the bedframe creaking like it’s about to give out. She’s in total control, her pussy gripping you tight, wet and hot, cream dripping down your cock, pooling on your hips. You’re a fucking wreck beneath her—moaning, hands roaming her body, completely surrendered to the way she’s owning you. Then she shifts, leaning forward, her face hovering just above yours, close enough that you can feel her breath on your lips.

Her eyes lock onto yours, dark and commanding, and one hand slides up your chest to your throat. She wraps her fingers around your neck—not hard, but firm enough to make your pulse jump under her grip. “Open your mouth,” she orders, voice low and sharp, like she’s daring you to disobey. You don’t even think about it—your lips part fast, jaw slack, ready for whatever she’s got.

She smirks, pleased, and leans in closer, tilting her head just so. Then she lets it happen—spit pooling on her tongue before she lets it drip, slow and deliberate, right into your waiting mouth. It’s warm, slick, landing on your tongue, and you shudder, tasting her, feeling it slide down your throat as you swallow. It’s filthy, raw, and it’s got your dick throbbing even harder inside her. Before you can even process it, she crashes her lips onto yours, kissing you hard and messy—tongue diving in, mixing her spit with yours, her teeth grazing your lip like she’s claiming you all over again.

She doesn’t stop riding you—not for a second—hips rolling, grinding, keeping you pinned beneath her as her mouth moves against yours. You’re drowning in it—her taste, her heat, the way she’s squeezing your neck just enough to make your head spin. Your hands slide up her body, desperate for more, landing on her breasts. You squeeze, fingers sinking into the soft flesh, and she gasps into your mouth, a sharp, sweet moan breaking free. Those piercings make her so damn sensitive, and you can feel it—the way her body reacts, the hitch in her breath, the way her pussy clenches tighter around you.

“Fuck, babe,” she mutters against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you, her hand still on your throat, thumb brushing your jaw. “You’re so fucking good—playing with my tits like that.” She’s still moving, hips circling, riding you deep, and you squeeze again, harder this time, rolling your thumbs over her nipples, tugging lightly at the piercings. She moans again, louder, sweeter, her dom edge cracking just a little as the sensitivity hits her full force.

“Shit, that feels—mmph—so good,” she groans, head tipping back for a second, exposing her neck as she rides you, her hand loosening on your throat but still resting there, keeping you in check. You’re obsessed—hands kneading her breasts, feeling the weight of them, the way they bounce with every thrust she makes. Her nipples are hard against your palms, the piercings cool and firm, and you pinch them lightly, just to hear that sound again—that soft, desperate moan that slips out of her.

“You like that, huh?” you rasp, voice hoarse, watching her unravel a little, your hands working her over as she fucks you. “So sensitive, mommy—fuck, you’re so hot.”

“Don’t get cocky,” she snaps, but it’s breathy, half-lost in the pleasure, and she squeezes your neck again, leaning down to kiss you rough, shutting you up. Her tongue’s aggressive, licking into your mouth, tasting her own spit still lingering there, and you groan, meeting her halfway, kissing her back like you’re starving for it. All the while, she’s riding you hard, pussy soaking you, tight and slick, driving you insane—but you’re not cumming yet, not until she says so. She’s got you locked down, and you’re loving every fucking second of it.

You keep playing with her breasts, squeezing, teasing, rolling her nipples between your fingers, and she’s melting into it—moaning into your mouth, her hips stuttering just a little as the sensitivity catches her off guard again. “Fuck—babe, you’re gonna make me lose it,” she gasps, pulling back, her lips swollen, eyes dark and wild. “Keep touching me like that—don’t stop.”

“Never,” you mutter, hands roaming her chest, obsessed with how she feels—soft and heavy, the piercings adding this edge that’s got you hooked. She’s still in charge, still dominating you, but you can feel her slipping, her moans getting louder, her pussy fluttering around your cock with every move. You’re surrendered, completely—hands worshiping her, body pinned beneath her, just taking it, letting her ride you into the fucking ground.

Yujin’s riding you like she’s lost her damn mind, hips snapping down faster now, harder, like she’s chasing something she can’t quite reach. The bed’s groaning under the pressure, sheets tangled around your legs, and the room’s thick with the smell of sex—sweat, her, you. She’s a fucking vision above you, hair wild, skin flushed, those pierced nipples bouncing with every thrust. Her pussy’s soaked, gripping you tight, slick and creamy, and you’re so deep inside her it’s like she’s pulling you in, refusing to let go.

She leans forward, her breath hot against your face, and you catch the shift—her dom edge is cracking, slipping into something rawer, needier. “Fuck, babe,” she pants, voice shaky, her hand sliding from your neck to brace against your chest. “You feel so fucking good—don’t stop touching me.” Her thighs are trembling, muscles flexing as she grinds down, and you can feel her getting close, that desperate edge creeping in.

You don’t waste a second—your mouth latches onto her breast, lips closing around her nipple, the cool metal of her piercing pressing against your tongue. You suck hard, flicking it with the tip, and she gasps, loud and sharp, her whole body jerking against you. “Shit—yes, like that,” she moans, her voice breaking, hips stuttering as she rides you even faster. The sensitivity’s killing her, you can tell—those piercings amplifying every move, every graze of your teeth, and she’s losing it, moaning louder, more demanding, like she can’t get enough.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking sensitive,” you mutter against her skin, switching to the other breast, sucking just as hard, your hand squeezing the one you left behind. She whimpers, sweet and needy, and it’s got you reeling—your dick throbs inside her, the heat and pressure building fast. Her pussy’s squeezing you so nice, wet and tight, and you’re right on the edge, barely holding it together.

“Fuck—I’m close,” she gasps, leaning down, her forehead pressing against yours, her eyes half-lidded and wild. “You’re close too, huh? I can feel it—your cock’s fucking pulsing.” She’s panting now, her breath hitching with every thrust, and you nod, words caught in your throat because yeah, you’re right there with her, teetering on the brink.

“Cum with me,” she says, voice dropping low, almost a growl, her hips slamming down mercilessly. “Want you to cum inside me—give me a creampie, babe. Fill me up.” And fuck, that’s hot—your ex never let you, always made you pull out, but Yujin? She’s begging for it, demanding it, and it’s driving you insane. “You want that?” she asks, smirking even as she’s falling apart. “Wanna pump me full?”

“Hell yeah,” you groan, hands gripping her hips now, pulling her down harder, your voice rough and desperate. “Fuck, Yujin, I’d give you anything—gonna fill you up so good.” She moans at that, loud and needy, her pussy clamping down on you like a vice, and you know it’s coming—both of you, barreling toward it together.

She’s relentless now, riding you fast, wild, her hips rolling and grinding like she’s trying to milk you dry. “Come on, babe—cum for mommy,” she pants, voice strained, her nails digging into your chest. “Give it to me—now.” Her pussy’s squeezing you so tight it’s almost painful, wet and hot and pulsing, and you can’t hold back anymore—your whole body locks up, a hoarse “Fuck!” ripping out of you as you cum, hard and deep inside her.

The second she feels it—your hot, thick cum spilling into her—she’s done for. “Shit—yes!” she cries, her voice breaking into this gorgeous, desperate moan as she cums too, her pussy clenching around you, sucking you in deeper. You can feel it—the way your load pumps into her, the way her walls flutter around you, taking it all, and it’s fucking beautiful. She keeps riding you, shaking, her hips jerking as the orgasm rips through her, and you’re gasping, overwhelmed, watching her fall apart on top of you.

“Fuck, Yujin,” you mutter, voice wrecked, hands sliding up to her waist as she slows, still rocking against you, milking every last drop. Her pussy’s dripping now, a mix of her cream and your cum leaking out, smearing across your hips, and she’s trembling, chest heaving, those sweet little moans spilling from her lips as she rides out the aftershocks.

She collapses onto you, heavy and warm, her body pressing you into the mattress, her head resting on your shoulder. You’re both panting, sweaty, and you can feel her heartbeat against your chest, fast and wild like yours. Your hands roam her back, tracing the curve of her spine, and you’re still inside her, still hard, her pussy pulsing faintly around you. For a minute, it’s just that—the quiet, the closeness, the rain tapping the window—and then you open your mouth, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

“I love you,” you say, soft and raw. It’s not planned, just spills out, and you feel it—how much you mean it, how much she’s got you twisted up inside.

She lifts her head, slow, looking at you with those dark, sharp eyes, and for a second you think maybe you fucked up, said too much. But then she smiles—those dimples popping, soft and real—and it’s like a weight lifts off you. “I love you too,” she says, voice quiet but steady, leaning down to kiss you, slow and deep, her lips lingering against yours. “You’re mine, you know that? All fucking mine.”

It’s intense—romantic and possessive all at once, and it hits you hard, makes your chest tighten. “Yeah,” you mutter, hands tightening on her hips, pulling her closer even though she’s already plastered against you. “Yours. Always have been.” And it’s true—she’s got you wrapped around her finger, always did, and the idea that a girl like her, this fucking goddess, wants you? It’s insane, a damn miracle, and drives you up the wall.

Then she shifts, slow and deliberate, lifting herself off you with a wet, filthy sound as your cock slips free, still hard, glistening with her cum and yours. She glances down at it, smirking like she’s proud of the mess she’s made, then slides off the bed, standing tall and beckoning you with a lazy flick of her hand.

“C’mon, babe,” she says, voice hoarse but dripping with that dom edge, her dimples flashing as she grins. “Get up. We’re not done—got something else for you.” Her thighs flex as she moves, slick and shiny from the orgasm, and you’re already stumbling out of bed after her, legs shaky but too fucking hooked to care.

She turns, facing you, and steps close—real close—her chest brushing yours, her breath hot on your neck. Then she shifts, spinning around so her back’s to you, ass pressing against your hips, and fuck, the view—those long, juicy thighs, thick and glistening, still wet from everything you just did. She looks over her shoulder, smirking, and reaches back, grabbing your cock with one hand, guiding it right between her legs. “Stand still,” she murmurs, voice low and teasing, as she closes her thighs around you, trapping you there.

“Shit,” you groan, hands flying to her hips on instinct, feeling the soft, warm flesh squeeze your dick tight. Her thighs are soaked—your cum, hers, all mixed together, slick and messy—and it’s fucking perfect. She starts moving, slow and sensual, sliding her thighs back and forth, and it’s like nothing else—soft, juicy, gripping you just right. “Yujin—fuck, that feels so good,” you mutter, voice rough, already half-lost in it.

“Yeah?” she says, glancing back, her voice dripping with dirty satisfaction. “You like this, huh? My thighs fucking you—look at you, babe, already a mess again.” She tightens them, squeezing harder, and you hiss, hips twitching as the pressure hits just right. Her thighs are long, wrapping you up completely, and the way they slide, slow and deliberate, wet and warm, it’s got your head spinning.

“Goddamn, you’re unreal,” you pant, hands sliding down to grip her hips tighter, feeling the muscle flex under your fingers as she works you over. “Missed these thighs—fuck, they’re so soft, so juicy.” You’re babbling now, too caught up to care, and she laughs, low and smug, loving how you’re falling apart.

“Thought you’d like it,” she says, voice husky, picking up the pace just a little, her thighs gliding over your cock, slick and tight. “Gonna keep you right here, babe—nice and cozy between mommy’s legs. You love that, don’t you? Trapped like my good little boy.” Her words are filthy, possessive, and it’s lighting you up, every syllable sinking into you, making you harder, needier.

“Fuck yeah,” you groan, leaning into her, your chest pressing against her back, hands roaming her sides, her ass, anywhere you can reach. “Love it—love you, Yujin. You’re fucking killing me.” Your dick’s throbbing, slick with her juices, and the way she’s got you locked between her thighs, it’s slow torture—sensual as hell, every slide dragging you closer to the edge but not quite there.

She tilts her head back, resting it against your shoulder, and you can feel her smirk, feel the heat of her skin against yours. “Poor thing,” she teases, voice all mock sympathy as she squeezes her thighs again, making you curse under your breath. “Can’t get enough of me, can you? Bet you’d stay like this all night if I let you—fucking my thighs ‘til you’re begging.”

“Please,” you mutter, half-joking, half-desperate, your hands digging into her hips, pulling her back so your cock slides deeper between her legs. “I’d fucking beg for it—you know I would.” She’s got you so wound up, the softness of her thighs, the wetness still clinging to them, it’s unreal, and you’re losing yourself in it, in her.

“Dirty boy,” she murmurs, voice low and pleased, her thighs tightening again as she moves, slow and deliberate, dragging it out. “Look at us—both dripping, all messy from earlier, and you’re still so fucking hard for me. You’re obsessed, babe—fucking obsessed with your mommy.” She rolls her hips just a little, enough to make her thighs shift, and you moan, loud and shameless, because yeah, she’s right—you are.

“Fuck, Yujin—can’t help it,” you say, voice wrecked, leaning forward to kiss her neck, tasting the salt of her sweat. “You’re so hot—so fucking perfect. These thighs—shit, I’d die right here.” Your hands slide up, cupping her ass, squeezing, and she sighs, soft and sweet, like she’s enjoying it just as much.

“Mm, keep talking,” she says, voice dipping lower, her thighs sliding faster now, still tight, still wet, the friction building slow and steady. “Tell me how much you love it—how much you love me.” She’s demanding, controlling, and you’re giving in, every word spilling out raw and unfiltered.

“Love you so fucking much,” you pant, hands roaming her body, fingers sinking into her flesh as she works you over. “Love these thighs—love how they feel, how they’re squeezing me. Love your pussy, your ass, every fucking inch of you. You’re a goddess, Yujin—my goddess. Can’t believe you’re mine.” Your lips brush her shoulder, her neck, needy little kisses as your cock throbs between her legs.

She moans, soft and low, her thighs trembling slightly as she keeps going, the sound of her skin against yours wet and filthy. “Fuck, babe—that’s it,” she says, voice breaking a little, her dom edge softening into something needy. “Keep telling me—keep worshiping me. You’re so good at it—my perfect boy.” She tightens her thighs again, slowing down just to tease, and you whimper, hips jerking, desperate for more.

“Shit, you’re amazing,” you mutter, voice hoarse, hands sliding up to her waist, pulling her back against you as she moves. “So fucking sexy—so strong. Missed this—missed you. You’ve got me so fucked up, Yujin—can’t think about anything else.” Your dick’s sliding between her thighs, slow and sensual, and it’s driving you insane, the softness, the warmth, the way she’s got you locked in.

“Good,” she growls, picking up the pace a little, her thighs flexing as she squeezes you tighter. “That’s how it should be—you thinking about me, needing me. No one else gets this—gets you—like I do. You’re mine, babe—fucking mine.”

“Yeah—yours,” you gasp, hands gripping her harder, feeling the tension building, your cock throbbing with every slide. “Always yours—fuck, Yujin, I’d do anything for you.” She’s got you so close, the slow drag of her thighs, the wetness still clinging to her skin, it’s all too much, but you don’t want it to end—you want to stay here, wrapped up in her, forever.

She turns her head slightly, lips brushing your jaw, her breath hot and uneven. “You’re so fucking cute when you’re wrecked like this,” she murmurs, voice soft but still commanding. “All needy and hard for me—bet you’d cum right now if I told you to, huh?”

“Fuck, yeah,” you groan, hips twitching, your dick pulsing between her thighs as she keeps that tight, sensual grip. “Just say it—please, mommy, tell me.” You’re begging now, shameless, and she laughs, low and dirty, loving how you’re breaking under her.

“Not yet,” she says, voice firm, slowing her movements just enough to keep you on the edge. “Gonna make you wait—gonna make you earn it. You’re gonna cum when I say, and not a fucking second before.” Her thighs squeeze again, and you moan, loud and ragged, your hands sliding up to her back, clutching her like she’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“Shit—please, Yujin,” you mutter, voice cracking, your whole body trembling as she keeps you there, teetering. “You’re so fucking good—so perfect. Love you—fuck, I love you so much.” It’s spilling out, raw and desperate, and she hums, pleased, her thighs sliding slow and deliberate, keeping you locked in that sweet, torturous rhythm.

“Love you too, babe,” she whispers, turning her head to kiss you, slow and deep, her tongue teasing yours as she keeps fucking you with her thighs. “My good boy—my perfect little toy. Gonna take care of you—gonna give you everything.”

Yujin’s got you pinned in this tight, sensual cocoon of her thighs, and it’s like she’s crafted this moment just to drive you fucking insane. Your dick’s rubbing right up against her pussy now—not inside, just grazing her lips, teasing her clit with every pass—and she’s moaning, soft and low, this needy little sound that’s got your head spinning. The wetness of her, the heat, it’s all mixing with your cum from before, dripping down between her thighs, making everything so goddamn slippery and filthy. You’re a mess, hands shaking, and they fly up to her breasts on instinct, fingers sinking into that soft, sensitive flesh.

“Fuck, babe,” she groans, her voice rough and thick with pleasure as you squeeze her tits, thumbs brushing over those pierced nipples that make her whole body jolt. “Yeah—keep doing that, keep touching me.” Her thighs tighten even more, squeezing your cock harder, and you can feel her pussy lips parting slightly, your shaft sliding right along her slit, catching every bit of her slickness. She’s dripping again—her arousal mixing with the cum leaking out of you—and it’s driving you wild, the way she’s grinding against you, her moans syncing up with every slow, sensual drag.

Your hands knead her breasts, rougher now, pinching those sensitive nipples just to hear her gasp, and she’s losing it—her dom edge softening into something raw and desperate. “Shit—your cock feels so good,” she mutters, head tilting back against your shoulder, her hair sticking to your sweaty skin. “Rubbing me just right—fuck, I could cum like this.” She speeds up, thighs working you faster, wet and messy, and you’re groaning, hips bucking up to meet her, your dick throbbing so hard it’s almost painful. The friction’s intense, her pussy lips slick and hot, sliding over you, and you’re leaking a lot now—precum oozing out, dripping down her thighs, mixing with everything else. She glances down, sees it, and moans louder, voice breaking into this dirty little laugh.

“Goddamn, babe—look at that,” she says, panting, her thighs squeezing tighter as she watches your cum run down her legs. “Leaking all over me—fucking love that. You’re such a mess for me, huh?” She’s reveling in it, the way you’re losing control, the way she’s got you spilling without even cumming yet, and it’s pushing her harder, her movements getting sloppier, more frantic. “Gonna milk you dry like this—fuck, you’re so hard still.” Her words are raw, filthy, and it’s got you reeling, hands gripping her tits, thumbs rolling over her piercings again just to hear that sweet, needy moan spill out of her.

“Fuck, Yujin—don’t stop,” as your hips jerk, chasing the rhythm she’s setting. She’s moaning too, her pussy quivering against your cock, and you can feel it—she’s close, teetering on the edge just from this teasing, grinding tightjob. But then she shifts, pulling away just when you think she’s about to lose it, and you groan, half in protest, half in desperation. She turns her head, smirking down at you, her eyes dark and wild. “Not yet,” she says, voice hoarse but firm. “We’re switching it up.”

Before you can even process it, she’s sliding off you, your cock slick and shiny from her thighs, still leaking, still aching. She grabs your arm, tugging you gently but with that no-bullshit strength, and you follow, stumbling to the edge of the bed. You sit there, legs spread, chest heaving, and she steps right up between them, turning so her back’s to you again. “Stay right there,” she murmurs, glancing over her shoulder with that cocky little grin, dimples flashing, and you’re nodding, too wrecked to argue.

She grabs your cock, firm and sure, giving it a slow stroke that makes you hiss, your hands flying to her hips. Then she lines you up, her pussy hovering just above you—wet, creamy, glistening—and sinks down, slow and deliberate, taking you in inch by fucking inch. You both sigh, loud and shaky, as she settles onto your lap, her ass pressed tight against your hips, your cock buried deep inside her. “Fuck,” you groan, head tipping back, hands gripping her waist like you’re afraid she’ll vanish again. “You’re—so fucking tight, Yujin.”

“Yeah?” she says, starting to move—small bounces at first, testing you, her pussy squeezing you so good it’s got your eyes rolling back. “I love this cock stretching me out, babe.” She’s still got her back to you, and it’s a goddamn sight—her ass bouncing, her thighs flexing, all that juicy thickness working you over as she rides you reverse. Your hands slide down, cupping her ass, squeezing, and she moans, picking up the pace, slamming down harder now.

“Shit—look at you,” you mutter, voice rough, watching her move, the way her pussy swallows you whole, creamy and dripping, leaving a slick ring around your base. “Riding me like a fucking pro—fuck, you’re so hot.” You’re babbling, too caught up to care, and she loves it—you can tell by the way she moans, louder, needier, her hips rolling as she bounces, driving you deeper with every drop.

“Gonna fuck you senseless,” she gasps, hands bracing on your knees now for leverage, her body rocking back against you, fast and filthy. “My good boy—taking it so well, letting me use you like this.” Her pussy’s gripping you tight, pulsing, and you’re groaning with every thrust, your hands roaming her ass, her thighs, anywhere you can reach. She’s relentless, ass slapping against your hips, the wet sound of her pussy on your cock filling the room, and it’s got you on fire, every nerve screaming for more.

“Fuck, Yujin—harder,” you growl, hands digging into her flesh, pulling her down rougher, and she obliges—just slams onto you, her moans turning into these sweet, broken little cries. “Love this—love you,” you mutter, half-aware, your dick throbbing inside her, leaking more cum now, dripping out with every bounce. She’s feeling it too—her pussy’s quivering, soaking you, and she glances back, smirking even as she’s panting.

“Love me, huh?” she teases, voice breathy, slowing down just enough to grind her hips, dragging your cock inside her slow and deep. “Keep saying it—fucking love hearing it.” She’s got you pinned, emotionally, physically, her pussy squeezing you so tight you’re seeing stars.

“Love you—fuck, I love you so much,” you say, voice hoarse, hands sliding up to her waist, guiding her as she picks up speed again. “You’re everything—fucking everything.” She moans at that, loud and sweet, her pussy clenching, and you’re both a mess—sweaty, sticky, her thighs slick with cum and arousal, your cock leaking inside her, making every thrust wetter, sloppier.

She’s bouncing on you now, harder, faster, like she’s on a fucking mission, her pussy gripping you so tight it’s like she’s trying to wring you out. She’s not slowing down—hell no—she shifts her hand down between her legs, fingers finding her clit, rubbing it in quick, sloppy circles. “Fuck, babe,” she pants, voice high and shaky, her head tipping back so her hair brushes your chest. “Gonna cum—need it so bad—gonna cum all over your cock.” Her desperation’s thick, raw.

She’s wild now, moaning like she’s lost it, her thighs trembling, her pussy soaking you—wet, creamy, dripping down your shaft as she rides you. “Shit—look at me,” she gasps, glancing back over her shoulder, her eyes dark and frantic, those dimples nowhere in sight now—just pure, unfiltered need. “You feel that? How fucking wet I am? All for you—fuck, you drive me insane.” Her fingers are working her clit faster, her moans turning into these sharp, needy little cries, and you’re just holding on, groaning, your dick throbbing inside her, so close but not there yet because she’s got you under her spell, waiting for her to call the shots.

“Goddamn, Yujin,” you mutter, voice rough, hands digging into her hips as she slams down, over and over, her ass jiggling against you, the wet slap of her skin on yours filling the room. “You’re so fucking hot—ride me, fuck, don’t stop.” She’s relentless, her pussy squeezing you tighter with every bounce, her fingers rubbing herself sloppy and fast, and you can feel it—her walls fluttering, her body shaking, she’s right on the edge. “Cum for me,” you growl, hands sliding up to grip her waist, pulling her down harder. “Wanna feel it—c’mon, mommy, soak me.”

That does it—she snaps, her whole body locking up as she cums, hard and loud, a broken “Fuck—babe!” ripping out of her as her pussy clamps down on you like a vice, pulsing, gushing, her thighs quaking against yours. She’s shaking, gasping, her fingers still circling her clit as she rides it out, and holy shit, the way she squeezes you—it’s intense, almost too much, your cock leaking more, dripping inside her, but you hold it together, barely. She’s moaning, desperate and sweet, her bounces turning erratic, sloppy, like she’s milking every last shudder out of herself, and you’re just watching, mesmerized, your hands roaming her ass, her back, feeling her unravel.

“Shit,” she pants, slowing down, her chest heaving as she leans back against you, her pussy still twitching around your cock. “That was—fuck, so good.” She’s trembling, catching her breath, but then she turns her head, looks at you with those wild eyes, and you know she’s not done—she’s got more in her. “You’re close too, huh?” she says, voice ragged but teasing, her hand sliding down to where you’re still buried inside her, feeling how hard you are. “I can tell—fuck, you’re dying to cum, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you groan, hips twitching up into her, your voice wrecked. “So fucking close—Yujin, I’m gonna—” You can’t even finish, too wound up, and she grins, wicked and sharp, sliding off your lap in one smooth move. Your cock slips free, slick and shiny, still leaking, and she drops to her knees in front of you, grabbing it with both hands before you can even catch your breath.

“Give it to me,” she says, stroking you fast, her hands tight and slippery from all the mess. “Cum in my mouth—want it all over my tongue, babe. C’mon, give it to mommy.” She’s pumping you now, relentless, her grip firm, and you’re moaning loud, no holding back, the sound ripping out of you as your hands fly to her hair, gripping, guiding her. She’s so fucking good—too good—her hands working you like she’s done it a thousand times, and the way she’s looking up at you, eyes dark and hungry, begging for it, it’s shredding you.

“Fuck—please, Yujin,” you gasp, voice breaking, your hips bucking as she strokes faster, her tongue darting out to teased the tip, flicking over it, salty and wet. “Gonna cum—shit, I’m gonna cum so hard.” She’s moaning now, soft little hums against your cock, egging you on, and she’s begging—begging—her voice dripping with lust. “Do it—cum for me, babe—fucking cum, I need it.”

That’s it—you’re gone, groaning loud and ragged as your cock pulses, the first spurt hitting her tongue, hot and thick, and she takes it, opening her mouth wider, stroking you through it. “Fuck—yes!” you mutter, hips jerking, and she’s pumping you, milking you, cum spilling out—spurt after spurt, more than you thought you had left after all that leaking. It’s a lot, coating her tongue, dripping from her lips, and she doesn’t stop, hands sliding, squeezing every last drop out of you until you’re shaking, gasping, your cock twitching, hypersensitive as hell.

She pulls back, slow and deliberate, her tongue curling out to show you—white and thick, pooled there, a fucking mess—and you’re just staring, chest heaving, completely wrecked. “Look at that,” she murmurs, smirking, then closes her mouth, swallowing it down slow, savoring it like it’s some gourmet shit. She leans in after, licking the tip of your cock—soft, careful, but it’s so sensitive you flinch anyway, a shaky “Fuck, Yujin” slipping out as she cleans you up, every swipe of her tongue making you twitch.

She stands then, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, grinning wide—those dimples popping, but there’s nothing innocent about her now. You’re still gasping, pleasure buzzing through you, when she steps close, grabbing your waist, pulling you flush against her. Her skin’s hot, sticky with sweat and cum, and she’s dominating—her grip firm, her eyes locking onto yours like she’s staking a claim all over again. “You’re mine,” she says, voice low, intense, her fingers digging into your sides. “Officially—fucking mine. No thinking about other girls, no looking at them, nothing. Everything you’ve got—it’s for me now. Got it?”

You nod, fast, still too fucked out to argue, your hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer. “Yeah—promise,” you mutter, voice hoarse but sure. “All yours, Yujin—no one else. Swear.”

Her grin softens, those dimples turning almost cute, and she leans in, kissing you deep, her tongue sweeping into your mouth, tasting you, tasting herself. “Good boy,” she whispers against your lips. “I love you—fuck, I really do.”

“Love you too,” you say back, raw and immediate, your hands tightening on her, pulling her in so there’s no space between you. “So fucking much, Yujin—you’ve got no idea.” It’s intense—this pull between you, this messy, wild, overwhelming thing—and you’re both standing there, breathing hard, wrapped up in each other like nothing else exists.

She smirks again, that playful edge creeping back, her hands sliding down to your ass, squeezing. “Oh, I’ve got some idea,” she teases, pressing herself against you, and fuck, you’re still half-hard, still twitchy from everything she’s done. “You’re crazy for me—and I’m crazy for you. We’re stuck like this, babe—deal with it.” She laughs, low and dirty, and you’re grinning too, helpless, because yeah—you’re in deep, and it’s exactly where you wanna be.

—

You stir awake, the kind of groggy wake-up where your limbs feel heavy and the world’s still fuzzy, like you’re wading through a dream that hasn’t quite let go. The room’s bathed in this soft, gray light, the rain still pattering against the window in a slow, hypnotic rhythm—same as yesterday, like the weather’s stuck on repeat. You blink, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and that’s when you feel her—Yujin’s stare, warm and steady, prickling your skin before you even turn your head. She’s right there, propped up on one elbow, lying on her side, and fuck, she’s a vision—dangerous, sexy, like some kind of predator playing house. Just that tank top, white and worn-in, stretched thin over her chest so you can see the faint outline of her nipple piercings pushing against it, and these tiny panties, barely hanging onto her hips. Her hair’s a tangled mess, spilling over her shoulder, and she’s got this lazy, smug smile, like she’s already claimed the morning—and you—before you’ve even had a chance to catch your breath.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she says, voice low and scratchy, still thick with sleep but laced with that teasing edge she’s got down to an art. She stretches, slow and deliberate, arching her back so the tank top rides up, showing off the smooth plane of her stomach, the dip of her navel, and you’re already hooked, eyes tracing every inch like you haven’t seen it a hundred times before. “Slept like a fucking rock, huh? Guess I wore you out.” She slides closer, her bare leg brushing yours under the sheets, warm and soft, and it’s so easy, so natural, like she’s picking up right where she left off—like the months of chaos, the screaming matches, the way she’d smashed a plate against the wall and told you you’d regret leaving, never happened.

“Yeah,” you mutter, voice rough, still waking up as you shift to sit up a little, the sheets slipping down to your hips. “Guess I needed it.” You catch a glimpse of her thigh, thick and glistening faintly in the dim light, and there’s this flash in your head—her voice, sharp and venomous, “You think you can do better? Good fucking luck,” the way her eyes had burned with something wild, something that made your stomach twist with fear and want all at once. But now she’s here, soft and close, her hand already sliding up your arm, fingers curling around your bicep like she’s testing her grip, and it’s hard to hold onto that memory when she’s looking at you like this—like you’re hers, and she’s never doubted it.

She leans in, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle, then pulls back, smirking as she swings her legs off the bed. “C’mon, let’s get coffee—rain’s not stopping, so we’re staying in. My rules.” She’s up now, padding across the hardwood, her tank top barely covering her ass, those panties hugging her hips just right, and you’re watching, shameless, because how could you not? She glances back over her shoulder, catching you staring, and her smirk turns sharper, dimples flashing like a trap snapping shut. “Like the view? Better get used to it—gonna be seeing a lot of me around here.”

You follow, slower, your feet hitting the cold floor as you drag yourself out of bed, boxers hanging low on your hips, still half-dazed from sleep and her. The apartment smells faintly of last night—sweat, her perfume, something musky and lived-in—and the rain’s a dull roar outside, sealing you in this little bubble with her. She’s already in the kitchen, rummaging through your cabinets like she owns them, pulling out mugs, coffee grounds, moving with this easy confidence. “Found the good shit,” she says, holding up the bag of beans you’d forgotten about, some overpriced blend you’d bought on a whim. “You’ve been holding out on me—thought you were all instant crap now.”

“Nah, just lazy,” you say, leaning against the counter, arms crossed as you watch her work the coffee maker like it’s hers. She’s humming under her breath, some tune you don’t recognize, and it’s so domestic, so fucking normal, it’s messing with you—because the last time you saw her, she was screaming, “You’ll come crawling back, watch,” her voice cracking as she’d shoved your stuff into a bag, tears streaking her face. Now she’s here, barefoot, pouring water into the machine, her tank top slipping off one shoulder, and it’s like that never happened—like you’re picking up from some perfect moment that never broke.

She turns, catching your eye, and steps closer, sliding her hands up your chest, fingers brushing your collarbone. “You’re quiet,” she murmurs, tilting her head, her breath warm against your jaw. “What’s up? Thinking about how lucky you are to have me back?” She’s teasing, but there’s this weight in her words, this quiet insistence, and you feel it—this flicker of something off, something that makes your throat tighten. But then she kisses you, soft and slow, her lips tasting faintly of toothpaste, and it’s gone, washed away by the heat of her mouth, the way her body presses into yours.

“Lucky as hell,” you say, forcing a grin, your hands finding her hips, sliding under the tank top to feel the bare skin of her waist. “Still can’t believe you’re here—thought I’d wake up and you’d be a ghost.” It’s half a joke, half true, and she laughs, soft and low, pulling back to grab the mugs as the coffee maker gurgles, filling the room with that rich, bitter smell.

“Not a ghost,” she says, handing you a mug, black and steaming, her fingers brushing yours as she does. “Real as fuck—sticking around this time.” She takes a sip, leaning against the counter opposite you, her legs crossed at the ankles, and it’s a picture—her in your kitchen, rain streaking the windows, the world outside blurry and distant. “Gonna make this place mine again—you cool with that?”

“Yeah,” you say, sipping your coffee, the heat biting your tongue as you watch her over the rim. “Feels right—having you here.” And it does—too right, maybe, because there’s this quiet hum in your head, this shadow of her voice, “You’re nothing without me,” the way she’d cried and clung to you after the fights, promising it’d be different, only to blow up again days later. But now she’s calm, sipping coffee, her tank top slipping down one shoulder, her eyes warm and steady, and it’s easy to shove that noise down, to let the moment wrap around you like a blanket.

She sets her mug down, stepping closer again, her hands sliding up your arms, resting on your shoulders. “Good,” she murmurs, kissing you again, quick this time, her lips soft and familiar. “Cause I’m not letting you out of my sight—lazy day, just us. Rain’s got us trapped anyway.” She pulls you toward the couch, tugging you down with her, and you go, coffee abandoned on the counter, your body sinking into the cushions as she curls up against you, her head on your chest, one leg slung over yours like she’s anchoring you there.

“Love this,” she says, voice muffled against your shirt, her fingers tracing lazy lines on your stomach. “You and me—chill, no bullshit. Missed it—missed you.” She tilts her head up, smiling, those dimples making her look almost sweet, almost innocent, and your chest tightens—love, yeah, but something else too, something you can’t name. “You’re not gonna fuck this up again, right?” she teases, but her eyes linger, searching, and you feel it—this quiet pressure, this need to say what she wants to hear.

“Nah,” you say, brushing her hair back, your hand resting on her neck, thumb grazing her pulse. “Not letting you go—love you too much.” It’s true, raw, spilling out easy, and she hums, satisfied, nestling closer, her body warm and solid against you. The rain keeps falling, a steady drone, and you’re here, tangled up with her, the past a faint echo you can barely hear over her breathing. She’s got you—completely—and you’re telling yourself it’s luck, pure fucking luck, that someone like her—sharp, beautiful, unstoppable—wants you this bad, needs you this close. And she’s smiling, marking you with every touch, every word, like she’s never been anything but yours.

[traveler-at-heart]

Undercover

Summary: Natasha and you play a happy couple for an undercover mission.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

-----

It’s mortifying.

As you lay in bed, looking at the ceiling, the moment replays in your head over and over and over again. How you wish you had an off switch for your brain.

This is supposed to be an undercover mission, and yet you can’t keep your true feelings hidden from Natasha.

Undercover as a married couple, no less.

Today, while you were sitting in the living room of your “newlywed home”, reading a book, Natasha approached you. Her hand rested on your shoulder.

“I’m going out for a run” she had said. You nodded absentmindedly, taking her hand and kissing the back of it.

“I’ll start dinner now”

And it wasn’t until you heard the door shut, that you snapped out of it.

You didn’t have to pretend inside the house. There was absolutely no reason for you to kiss any part of her like that, no one was watching.

Your cheeks flushed and your palms began to sweat. Feeling stupid and exposed, you tried to cook dinner, finding it hard to focus on what to do.

If Natasha noticed the slightly burned meatloaf, she didn’t comment on it. Even as you downed your wine quickly and poured yourself more, she remained stoic and acted as usual.

The night went by in a blurr and now you’re staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Natasha is in the study, doing surveillance and thank God, because sharing a bed after what you did today?

Impossible.

How do I get myself in these situations?

—

“The Maggia” Fury said, looking around the room. There were only five people there, which told you this was an important mission. “What do you know about it?”

“Family of criminals, from Europe, mostly Italy. Loose alliance at that, each family just stays out of the other’s way” you casually said. Hell, you could go on and on about them for much longer.

“Someone does their homework” Fury nodded.

“Show off” Natasha leaned forward, whispering in your ear. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, but you tried your best to hide it.

You feared your best wasn’t very good.

“Their operations consist mostly of loan sharking, narcotics and prostituion” Maria continued. “But, we recently recieved intel that the family in New Jersey is playing something more dangerous”

“Potentially, HYDRA and the smuggling of Trinium”

“What’s Trinium?” Rogers, who had been following in silenece, finally intervened.

“Incredibly rare element and highly explosive if exposed to a special charge”

Of course, it was always about blowing something up.

“We’ve located the leaders of the Jersey family. You two will be sent immediately to start the undercover mission, as the timeline indicates that the purchase will happen in less than three months. Sorry for not getting you a gift, but your wedding was done in such a rush” Fury slid down the files towards you and Natasha.

You took it and were about to hand it to Steve, since he was sitting behind you, but Fury just chuckled, shaking his head no.

Maria had to bite the inside of her cheek to not laugh at your shocked expression, while you turned to look at Natasha with wide eyes.

“Oh, darling, I’ll make you so very happy!”

—

Just your luck, Natasha decides to stay and work from home on Friday. Your plans of eating junk food and wasting away watching reality tv to feel better after your slip up are down the drain.

Instead, you are out gardening. It’s part of the cover, you insisted since you moved. What kind of person would not make an effort to improve their house? One they were planning on living in for years to come.

And truly, you had outdone yourself. In the month you’d spent here, the grass went from dry to green, all kinds of flowers blooming thanks to your hard work and the knowledge provided by years of helping your mother.

It doesn’t matter if the sun is burning your skin or sweat is dripping down your back, you absolutely cannot spend the morning inside the house with the woman who you have a crush on, and who probably knows your true feelings now, thanks to that stupid, stupid…

“Hey” her voice snaps you back to reality, looking up to meet her green eyes, soft and gentle.

“Hi” you reply from your place in the ground, wiping your forehead. “What’s up?”

“You’ve been at it for hours now, and it’s getting too hot. Come get some rest”

“It’s fine, I just need to…”

She calls your name, more of a plea than a warning not to argue with her and you sigh, standing up. As you go up the porch, she hands over a glass of cold lemonade and you take it, realising that you were very much in need of some refreshments.

“What are you doing?” you mutter when you put the glass down, and she takes her hands in yours.

“You’ve been acting strange since yesterday”

“Natasha”

“Did you act on instinct?” she asks, her lips inches from yours.

“Y-yes”

“That’s what a good agent does. You act natural. It’s not something you put any effort in. You don’t drop the cover under any circumstance”

She is throwing you a life line, a gracious way to salvage some of your dignity -if you have any left, that is- because you both know, you are not that good of an agent.

“She’s walking towards the house” Natasha warns, your back to the street. You don’t look behind you, allowing the redhead to pull you into a heated kiss that steals your breath.

“Hey, neighbors”

You turn around, Natasha’s hand falling to your lower back. Waving at Beatrice Costa, the both of you fake smiles. It’s still hard to believe this regular looking woman is leading a criminal organization next to her husband.

“Your garden is looking spectacular!” she admires.

“Thank you, Beatrice. I’ll stop by to give you some flowers when the hydrengeas bloom”

“As long as your wife doesn’t get jealous” the woman jokes, and you feel Natasha’s hand snaking around your middle, pulling you flush against her front.

“She does” the redhead says in a teasing manner, making your neighbor/suspect laugh.

“Anyways, I came to invite you two over for dinner tomorrow. To thank you for last week”

“Oh, it was no bother, really” you say, smiling.

“I insist. Eight o’clock?”

“Sounds great” you nod, and once she says her goodbyes, Natasha turns you around in her arms, still not letting go of your waist.

“See? It’s working. You’re doing great. Nobody questions us” she eases your nerves over what happened yesterday.

Nobody questions you because you are really in love with her, that’s the truth.

“What are you doing?” you say, your breath hitching when she leans over, about to kiss you.

“She’s still around” Natasha says, letting you close the distance to meet her lips.

By the time she drags you back inside, so you can have lunch, the only thought in your head is the feel of her lips in yours.

—

It had been a simple ruse, so simple that it was a wonder it worked.

Natasha made sure Beatrice’s car would malfunction. She always parked outside, and you made sure to be Natasha’s lookout as she drained the battery.

Morning came, and true to her routine, the woman was ready to leave home when the luxurious Mercedes Benz refused to turn on. It just so happened that you were running by, and as any good neighbor would do, offered to help.

What a coincidence, your wife knew enough about cars to fix the issue and send the woman on her merry way.

Beatrice was too polite and too rich to waste the opportunity to thank you -and flaunt her wealth- so next morning she stopped by with a tiramisu from the most expensive bakery in town, to thank you both.

And fuck, it was good tiramisu.

Now, she would greet you and Natasha when either one of you would run past her house (part of your intelligence operations).

Four weeks after the start of the mission, and it had finally paid off, as you received an invitation into the lion’s den.

“So, what’s our game plan here?” you say, looking over yourself in the vanity mirror.

“Enjoy the evening” Natasha says, smiling at your reflection.

“What?” you turn to look at her, confused. “We’re gonna be inside their house. We could bug it”

“Their phones are tapped. That’s all we need. And the man’s computer. But maybe I’ll excuse myself and break into his study”

“That’s too dangerous” you protest. Even if they act like normal people, they’re life long criminals with an extensive network. And you don’t feel prepared to take over anything if Natasha’s compromised. “Could you not?”

“If you have any idea on how to hack into their financial system, sure”

You huff, annoyed at her bored tone. As if she’s not risking herself over something that can be done a million other ways.

“Nat, I don’t want anything bad happening to you. We’ll find another way, ok?” you insist, putting on your heels.

“Ok, darling” she nods, as a spouse would do to calm their crazy wife and you glare, but take your win.

Without another word, you prepare to leave the room, when you feel her arms around your middle.

“What are you…?”

“Clothing tag was out” she says, fixing your sweater. “There. Perfect”

Her words, accompanied by a squeeze to your stomach make your head fuzzy. Clearing your throat, you nod and go down the stairs, picking up a bottle of wine from the kitchen counter.

“Trust me” you say when Natasha gives you an inquiring look. “Ready to go?”

“After you, sweetheart”

As you walk down the street to the Costa residence, Natasha takes your hand, running her thumb over the back of it. She might sense your nerves, or is apologizing for before. Either way, you keep a light conversation until she knocks on your suspect’s door, her arm firmly around your waist.

“Welcome!” Beatrice says, ushering you into her home. It’s elegant and big, but not too flashy or pretentious. “And what do we have here?”

“Just a little gift. It’s actually one of the bottles we got from our honeymoon” you take the lead, your hand in Natasha’s as you navigate the luxurious home all the way to the dining room.

“Oh, this is close to the place where my family is from originally”

Oh, what a shock. It’s not like you know everything there is about the Maggia, along with the history of the Gulf of Naples.

While Beatrice goes to the kitchen to check on the food -made by their staff, of course- Natasha looks around the room. You know that inquiring look, as she evaluates every threat and possible complication should you be compromised.

To help her ease into the environment, you take her hand in yours, feeling less exposed because you’re in front of other people who should believe your relationship is real. The mission is the only way you can justify your desire to feel Natasha’s touch.

By the time Beatrice comes back, Alessandro is right behind her and he introduces himself. His clothes scream old money, and the watch on his wrist screams fucking loaded of ilegal money as well.

“This wine is magnificent” he comments when you sit down and begin to eat.

“Le Lune del Vesuvio” you say, looking at Natasha across the table. “We spent our honeymoon in Italy and I just had to drag Nat to Pompeii for a tour”

“Are you familiar with the region?” Alessandro asks and you nod, having practiced everything.

“Yes, I did my dissertation on cultural identity in Pompeii”

“She’s a genius, my wife” Natasha says with a smile, impressed at how much detail you’re putting on everything to keep them engaged.

“Well, Beatrice’s family, the Fortunatos are from the same area. The Costas are from Sicily. So we are very happy to hear that you know it so well”

“How did you two meet?” Beatrice pivots, and Natasha is happy to answer.

“I was working on a client’s divorce settlement and needed an art expert. Y/N was the only one with the knowledge to help our lawfirm. A divorce brought us together” she says, looking at you with a smile.

Such a romantic.

“Oh, that’s lovely. Well, not for the divorced couple. But not everyone can get a happy ending, I suppose” Beatrice says.

It’s your turn to ask the usual questions and Natasha acts surpirsed, following up the way any normal person would, as if you don’t know every single detail about their lives and criminal record already.

When the conversation pivots to Alessandro, you perk up. This has proven to be the hardest part of the mission, as he keeps a tight leash on all their financial records through obscure third parties.

“You know, I also teach some finance classes. Would you be open to giving a lecture on art appraising? I think it’s an interesting market” he turns to you.

“That would be interesting” you say, groaning internally. Now you’re gonna have to actually work on a presentation, for fuck’s sake. Nobody told you you were gonna be quizzed to this extent during the mission.

Natasha hides her smile with the glass of wine, and you kick her under the table. Her smile fades just a little, but you can still see the teasing in her eyes.

She’s having too much fun with this.

—

The next morning you wake up to a note from Natasha. She’s picking up a “special” package, which means she’s coordinating with Maria the next stage of the mission.

You’re surprised to find a bouquet of flowers adorning the dining table.

Natasha is doing her share of the mission and you have to focus on yours, which is the fucking presentation. There better not be a Q&A session or you’ll lose your damn mind.

Moving to the study that also works as a surveillance room, you pull out your computer and begin to work. To be fair, you enjoy art enough to know more about it than the regular person. You had also been in contact with appraisers and auction houses back in your Interpol days, as you tracked ilegal art dealers.

For obvious reasons, you can’t mention that bit.

You’ve been working for a couple of hours when you hear the front door open, Natasha hurrying up the steps.

“Hey” she says with a frown.

“Everything ok?”

“You didn’t answer my text. Have you even taken a break to eat?” she puts down a heavy box in front of you.

“Sorry, I was preparing for the lecture”

“I got you your favorite food for lunch. And did you see the bouquet?” Natasha insists.

“Uh, I did… but is there a reason for…?”

“You seriously don’t remember?”

“Is it our fake first date anniversary, baby?” you tease, leaning forward. Natasha’s so worked up it's almost comical.

“Y/N, it’s your birthday”

“What?!” you turn to look at the calendar. “Holy crap, how could I have forgotten my own birthday?”

You are so focused on the mission, this completely slipped your mind. What were you supposed to do any way? Being undercover meant cutting off contact with the rest of the world. The timing sucks, but work is your priority right now.

“Work on that thing tomorrow. You should be resting and having a special day”

“Nat, it’s fine. It won’t be the first or last birthday that I’m stuck at work” you sigh, rubbing your eyes.

“Please?” she reaches for your hand, and the gesture is so gentle that your heart skips a beat. Natasha is very serious about taking the day off.

“Ok” you nod, and the hint of a smile can be seen on her face as you take her hand. She gets plates for the both of you and even agrees to watch Project Runway, which she loathes and you love. Without either one of you noticing, you end up across the couch, your legs on her lap.

“Our dinner reservation is at seven” she says, her hand going up and down your thigh.

“Dinner?”

“What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t take you to dinner?” Natasha smiles, making you blush.

“Well, no one really knows it’s my birthday, so…”

You leave out the most obvious part of how her logic is flawed: you are not even married.

“I know it’s your birthday. Come on. Just let me spoil you once?”

You clear your throat and nod, afraid that if you speak, your voice will give away how much those words affect you. Natasha telling you she wants to spoil you?

That alone is the best birthday gift you’ve ever gotten.

—

It’s honestly a lot more than you could have asked for. The restaurant is beautiful, the food is amazing, and Natasha is looking at you in that special way that makes you feel so happy and confused at the same time.

If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn you saw love in her beautiful emerald eyes.

“How’s your food?”

“Here” you take a forkful of your pasta and offer it to her.

“Really good. Almost as good as the one we had in… where was it? Naples?” Natasha teases, and you smile.

“That’s the city. The whole region is actually really beautiful… maybe I should take some of that time off and travel again” you ponder, thinking about how life has been all about work for the past years.

“Where would you go? Aside from Naples?”

“Sorrento, Lecce, maybe Positano. I don’t know, I guess I’d spend it around the south, just because the food is that good” you sigh, dreamily.

“How come you know so much about it?” Natasha inquires, smiling softly.

“My parents owned a house, because my grandparents were from Salerno. So we’d all spent every summer there, until they sold the property” you explain, letting the waiter take your empty plate. The memory of hot days, cold water and delicious food comes back to you, coupled with the places you’d visit, driving everywhere with your family.

“So, maybe you were destined to be on this mission” Natasha says, smiling.

“I don’t know if destined or it was Fury messing with me” you slip up, hurrying to take a sip of your wine. He had teased you endlessly about your crush on Natasha, and he was probably laughing his ass off as he prepared your identities.

“Whatever it was, I’m happy we’re in this together” Natasha admits, smiling to you.

“Me too” you agree in a low voice. Then, you look at her and smile mischeviously. “So, since it’s my birthday, can we get a nice dessert?”

“I’m already on it” Natasha raises her hand, the man bringing a plate with a slice of chocolate cake and a candle. “Make a wish”

What could you possibly wish for? You wanted to spend time with Natasha, get to know her, have her look at you the way she was doing right now.

Your wish was granted already. Still, you smile, and lean forward to blow out the candle.

—

“Maybe this is a bad idea”

Natasha is hovering. Hovering and following you and asking all kinds of questions while you prepare your bag.

“It’s gonna be fine” you say, again.

“It’s too risky”

“All I have to do is place this phone next to his computer” you lift the device that Maria sent. “And we’ll have access to his files”

“What if he notices?”

“I better run fast then” you joke, but Natasha doesn’t laugh. “I’m a SHIELD agent, not a history nerd with no fighting skills”

“Except you are a history nerd” she mutters and you turn to glare at her.

“You know what, Romanoff”

“Can I at least drive you there?”

There’s a moment of hesitation on your side. Does she think you’ll screw up the mission? Or is she actually worried about you? Either way, she looks conflicted and there’s no reason to not give her some peace of mind.

“Alright”

On the way to the lecture, you review your notes, missing the way Natasha smiles at the things you’re saying about the subjective value of art and how it has changed throughout history.

Such a nerd.

“I’ll be in a cafe monitoring everything. Call me when you’re done and I’ll pick you up”

“Yes, darling wife” you say with a slightly mocking tone, the same way you always call her your wife in public, but with no one else around.

As you exit the car and walk towards the university, Natasha calls for you.

“I didn’t get to wish you good luck” she explains, pulling you close and kissing you softly. “Good luck”

“T-thanks” you say, out of breath.

Natasha nods, letting you walk as if she didn’t just do the sweetest thing in the world.

You try not to think about how much you’ll miss this when the mission’s over.

But now you have to stay focused.

Alessandro waves his hand in the air, and you walk towards him with a smile.

“I can’t thank you enough for doing this”

“It’s not a problem, really”

It totally is, you criminal motherfucker.

“Oh, I forgot my laptop, could I use yours? I have the deck on a flash drive”

Alessandro hesitates for a second, but his mask slips back to place instantly. If you really were a regular person, you never would have noticed his concern.

It means he keeps everything hidden there.

“Sure. Let me just…” he quickly types his password, and you look around the classroom, pulling out the phone and placing it on the table next to his computer. “All set”

“Thank you”

As the slideshow is projected in the auditorium, you look around the room, feeling more confident.

“So, how much would you guys pay for a banana taped to a wall?”

—

“I’m telling you, he keeps everything there” you say to Natasha, browsing through the device. “There’s some encryption, though”

“My expertise”

“Show off”

“Let’s get something to eat” she changes the subject.

“You don’t wanna go back home and check if it’s working?”

“I think a few hours won’t make a difference. We won’t be long, detka”

You think Fury would disagree, but she’s calling you detka and your gayness outweights your sense of duty.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Anything you want”

“Pizza”

“Anything but pizza” she says, making a face and you laugh.

“Natasha!”

“Sushi” she proposes.

“Fine, sushi it is”

The evening is spent talking about everything but the mission, and by the time you’re driving back home, all you want to do is get in bed and sleep.

“Where are you going?” you ask when Natasha walks to the study.

“You did your part, now I have to work” she explains with a smile.

“Fine” you close the door to the bedroom, joining her in the study. “Either way you’re gonna wake me up when you come back to bed. Might as well help you now”

“Sure” she says, even though you know next to nothing about code and hacking.

While she works on the computer, you look at the window, yawning and stretching in the couch.

Natasha finds out that Pluto is the banking organization they use for their covert operations. To access the accounts she needs a code-string of numbers.

“How many numbers?” you ask, half asleep.

“Six”

“Not coordinates. Could be dates. Most of them like to write down the dates of their oldest founders' tombstones anywhere they can, like a fucking tramp stamp” you joke, falling asleep. “Get into the database and try those”

“Maybe…” Natasha begins to say, but when she turns around you’re snoring.

And what does she know, you are right, the key to the algorithm is based on tombstones’ dates. Talk about morbid.

“Nerd” Natasha says affectionately. Deciding it is enough work for the day, she closes the laptop, helping you up to your shared bedroom.

Truth is, she’s not ready to finish this mission.

—

The end is near, you both can tell. With the encryption finished and the communications that you have intercepted, SHIELD has enough to arrest them.

According to the conversations you recorded, the exchange is set to happen two weeks from today. So you have two more weeks of fake domestic bliss. And then back to being just colleagues.

“I’ll be home as soon as I have a response” Natasha says.

“See you later” you say from your spot in the couch.

“No good luck kiss?” she jokes, referring to the time she said goodbye to you before the lecture.

But you’re not messing around when you stand up and place a chaste kiss on her cheek. If these are the last two weeks you get to do this without being questioned, you’ll make the most of them.

“Be safe”

“You too” she smiles, squeezing your hand.

The sun is setting, but you don’t feel like cooking anything or watching television. Instead, you decide to go out for a run, passing by the Costa mansion out of curiosity.

“Hey, neighbor” Beatrice greets with her signature wave. She often looks like royalty waving at the commoners. “Want some refreshments?”

“Oh, it’s fine. I’m just out for a short run”

“Come on, you could use some rest! I’d love to hear how the presentation went”

Feeling cornered, you nod, stepping foot inside her mansion. Beatrice has a glass of lemonade ready, which surprises you, but you take it and sip slowly.

Damn, even her lemonade tastes amazing.

“Heard those students were fascinated by your presentation” she encourages you to speak, and you nod, the movement making you a bit fuzzy.

“It was fun… yeah”

“Everything ok?” Beatrice comes close to inspect your face, and you try to step back. Your leg gives in, so you end up on the floor.

“I’m not sure…”

It isn’t until the very last second you understand the woman drugged you.

—

Everything is upside down or so you feel as you struggle to open your eyes.

“See? I told you she’d be fine”

“Oh, shut it. We’ve been waiting for hours” a man says and you blink several times. Their names come back to you slowly.

The mission.

Was your cover blown?

“Y/N, dear, I do apologize. My wife may have overdone it with the clonazepam” Alessandro says. You try to move, but your hands are tied behind your back. “Yes, about that. Don’t worry, we won’t keep you here for long. We just really need to use your connections in the art world to smuggle a tiny, tiny thing”

Good news (for you). The cover is safe.

Bad news (for them). Natasha is gonna kill them.

It looks like you’re in an abandoned warehouse, and judging by the sound, it’s close to the river.

“Yeah, uh… look. I don’t know how to say this, but you’d be better off crossing the border, whichever one. South, north”

“I’m not following” Beatrice says.

“Well, I’m afraid Natasha’s gonna kill you when she finds you two” you grimace, almost feeling sorry for them. They truly don’t know what’s coming.

“No offense, but I think a Maggia family will be more than safe from…”

“The Black Widow?” you say, with a smug smile.

“Bullshit” Beatrice snaps, pulling you by the hair. “Stop the nonesense and help us out. Or we’ll send you home to your loving wife in a body bag”

There’s a loud crash outside of the warehouse, and a widow bite is shot close to Beatrice’s foot as a warning.

“Hands off my girl” Natasha says, gun raised and pointing at Alessandro. “You ok, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Sorry for missing dinner”

“It’s fine. We’ll heat it up when we get home” Natasha jokes. With a nod, you throw yourself to the floor, shattering the chair. Beatrice throws a couple of punches, and she’s quite the fighter.

While Natasha is engaged in battle with Alessandro, the woman escapes and you’re following close behind. The drug is still in your system, and you can tell by the way your steps are a little clumsy.

Beatrice leads you to the edge of the river and you catch up to her out of breath.

“It’s over” you say, hearing Natasha step right behind you.

“Cap’s got the other one. Let’s bring this one in” she says, walking past you. She fails to see the gun that Beatrice is hiding, and you push Natasha out of the way. The bullet passes between you both and you launch your body against Beatrice, knocking her down.

Still, your diziness makes you lose your footing and you fall to the river.

“Rogers, Hill!” Natasha calls over comms, borderline hysterical. “Someone come in”

“I’m here, Romanoff” Tony says, flying over the redhead.

“What the hell took you so long?”

Tony’s suit scans the river and finds you.

“She’s ok, I’m getting her out now. Handcuff our suspect there”

Natasha turns to glare at Beatrice, punching her so hard she’s knocked out.

“Bitch” Natasha says, handcuffing her.

Maria approaches to make sure Natasha doesn’t kill Beatrice, while the redhead sprints towards the spot where Tony drops you off.

“Are you ok? What hurts?”

“J-just cold” you mutter, holding on to her hands.

“Let’s take her to the Medbay. Romanoff, stay so you can lead the rest of the mission” Steve says.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” Natasha screams so loud that every agent on the scene turns to look at her. “I’m going with her to the hospital, I don’t give a crap about your mission, Rogers”

“Tasha, I’m fine” you insist, but enjoy the way she pulls you against her, her hands on your lower back. Natasha kisses the top of your head, leading you to a car that will drive you to SHIELD’s medical facility.

Fury turns to look at Hill, amused.

“Remember our little bet?”

Maria rolls her eyes, annoyed. She pulls out a twenty dollar bill and reluctantly hands it to her boss.

“So not fair”

—

Bruised ribs, a potential cold from your night swim and a minor concussion. All things considered, it could have been a hell of a lot worse.

Natasha seems to disagree, which is why she pushes to postpone the mission debriefing.

“You need to rest” is all she says.

Back in your old room, you shower, enjoying the hot water and clean clothes. Natasha is still sitting on your bed when you walk out of the bathroom.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep without you” she confesses shyly, which makes you smile.

“Me neither”

“I thought I lost you”

“I got lucky. Those two idiots actually thought I was an art dealer” you chuckle.

“You’re a very convincing art nerd” Natasha teases, and you want to pull back but she grabs you by the waist. “I wish I still had two more weeks”

“It doesn’t have to be just two weeks” you say, running your hand through her hair. “I don’t want to pretend to be with you, Natasha. I want to be with you, for real”

“Yeah?” she looks up at you, a guarded expression on her face.

Instead of answering, you lean forward, kissing her softly until she pulls you to straddle her lap.

“You know, we never consumated our marriage”

“Seems like we should get on with it” you laugh as she flips you over, making you lie on your back.

“Just as long as you don’t fake an orgasm” she jokes, kissing every inch of your body.

“Promise I won’t”

Your reality turns out better than any undercover mission could ever be.

[casssmalefantasy]

OFF MUTE — PAIGE BUECKERS X READER!

| synopsis: you never thought your casual scroll on tiktok would land you on a live with kk arnold and paige bueckers. but a last-minute song request, a few suspicious smiles, and one dm later… you’re starting to think paige might’ve just found her new favorite singer.

| warnings: secondhand embarrassment, lots of flirting, suggestive banter, minor swearing, social media chaos, and hints of mutual pining

| word count: 3.2k / part two

you’ve been a uconn wbb fan for a minute now. it started out casual—just catching games on tv and watching clips on twitter—but it quickly turned into something deeper. the kind where you know their next five matchups, have favorite pregame fits saved on your phone, and would absolutely fake confidence if any of them ever looked your way in person.

you’ve already been to two home games this season, and yes, you may or may not have replayed that one clip of paige doing a no-look dime to azzi like thirty times.

so when you see kkarnold2 pop up in your tiktok live notifications, your fingers move before your brain even catches up.

you click in.

the screen loads, and there they are—kk and paige, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on what looks like paige’s bed, a mountain of snacks behind them and the sound of a basketball game from the tv playing in the background.

“we live. what’s up girly pops,” kk says immediately, grinning into the camera. she does a peace sign while sticking her tounge out, and paige snorts beside her.

“hey girly pops,” paige mimics, reaching for a gummy worm. “i sound just like camera, huh?.” she says while smirking.

“girl boo,” kk says. “you lucky i invited you. the people don’t come here for you.”

“bold lie,” paige says, looking directly into the camera now. “they definitely come for me. watch this—”

she leans in closer. “talent show.”

and just like that, the comments start exploding. people are begging to go live. some are typing “i can do a backflip on command” and others are already screaming “PAIGE I LOVE YOU” in all caps.

you laugh to yourself, just watching. you remember the last “talent show” live they did. someone tried to do a magic trick and exposed themselves accidentally. it was chaos.

kk starts accepting people randomly—one girl screams as soon as the camera flips, another guy attempts to rap, and two different girls sing a snippet of sza before fangirling too hard to finish.

you pause for a second. bite your lip. then… screw it. you hit the request button.

you don't actually expect anything, though.

“ooh hold up,” kk says, squinting. “this username kinda cute. should i let them in?”

paige leans over to look at her screen. “wait, show me the pfp.”

there’s a beat.

then paige goes quiet. really quiet.

so quiet you hear her say under her breath, “pretty.”

but the mic picks it up.

kk turns to look at her, then immediately starts grinning. “paige.”

before you can panic and back out, your screen changes.

you’re live.

with paige bueckers staring directly at you.

“yo!” kk cheers. “we got a new one. say what’s up!”

“h-hi,” you manage, trying not to sound like your heart’s doing jumping jacks. ��uh… i wasn’t actually expecting to get in.”

“too late now,” paige says, smiling. “you’re here. what’s your talent?”

you blink. “uh… i sing.”

“yesss,” kk claps. “okay pick a song, we ready.”

“you pick,” you say, a little bolder now. “what do you want to hear?”

paige doesn’t even hesitate. “sza. sing ‘love language.’”

you raise an eyebrow. “is that your favorite or something?”

paige shrugs, but she’s smirking. “might be.”

you set your phone down, take a breath, and hit play on the instrumental in the background.

the second the first note drops, paige mouths the intro. then stops completely once you start singing.

you’re locked in now—soft, smooth vocals floating through the speaker. eyes half-closed. completely in your element.

the chat explodes.

@buckets4bueckers: WAIT SHE CAN ACTUALLY SING

@kkarnoldstan420: PAIGE LOOKING LIKE SHE'S IN LOVE RN

@d1gf4paige: this girl is fine AND talented??? bye.

@fuddnation: paige got her mouth open 😭

@bueckherdownbad: THE WAY PAIGE LOOKED AT HER??? I’M SWEATING

@paigesgfconfirmed: y’all this is the real draft night

@szaandslay: girl sang sza and stole paige’s heart on live… legend

@loveandlayups: paige better dm her RIGHT NOW

you keep going. full verse, chorus, little riff at the end.

when you finish, there’s a few seconds of silence.

then—

“oh my god,” kk says. “no cause you ate that.”

“like, actually,” paige says, still staring. “you’re insane.”

you glance at the chat. one comment catches your eye: “paige been smiling since she joined.”

paige reads it too. she covers her mouth, laughing. then leans out of frame and lightly punches kk in the arm.

“you see how they got me lookin right now?”

kk cackles. “you did it to yourself.”

“nah. don’t even start right now.” paige says

you’re blushing hard now. “okayyyy i think it’s time to pass the mic to someone else.”

paige frowns. “what? no, sing another.”

you shake your head, trying to keep it smooth. “wish i could, but i got homework. maybe next time.”

kk nods. “respect. education comes first. even if paige is heartbroken.”

“literally shut up,” paige says, half-laughing, half-hiding her face.

she suddenly turns to kk. “wait—mute the live real quick.”

kk gives her a look, but does it.

the screen goes silent for twenty seconds. they’re clearly talking. paige’s hands are moving a lot.

then the live un-mutes.

paige leans back into the camera. “thank you for joining. you’re seriously amazing.”

“come back next time!” kk adds. “we need some more.”

you smile. “will do. night y’all.”

the second you leave the live, your phone buzzes.

followed by: paigebueckers and kkarnold2

then—another notification.

dm from paigebueckers:

hey. you really killed that. we should talk more sometime.

and you sit there smiling, already typing your message back to her.

[inwithrin]

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡ abby can’t keep her hands to herself

abby has never really known how to ask for physical affection. not because she doesn’t want it—god, she does—but because it’s always felt like it’s something she’s not sure she’s allowed to want. especially from you.

cw: def shamelessly suggestive, but not really to the point that's pure smut (,,>﹏<,,)

she finds herself gravitating toward you without thinking—an accidental brush of your fingers, the way her knee presses against yours under the table a little longer than necessary. she doesn’t say anything about it. doesn’t know how to. but her body tells the story for her. she wants you close. closer than friends should be.

at first, abby tries to keep her distance—keeps her hands in her lap, fingers fidgeting any time you sit too close. but it doesn’t last long—not when you look at her with those pretty eyes, not when your laugh fills the room, and definitely not when she accidentally hears you talk with a friend about how much you like her.

then there was that night—the one she replays in her head when she daydreams. you were both at a friend’s apartment, packed into a too-small living room with not enough couch space. someone put a movie on, people were shifting around trying to make room. you were standing nearby in that little skirt, eyeing the floor.

“i don't want to sit on the floor,” you mumbled. “my back hurts.”

abby blinked up at you, and before she could overthink it, she patted her lap. “you can sit here, if you want.”

she said it so casually. meant it casually. or at least, tried to. what she didn’t expect was for you to actually do it.

you smiled at her, and then—you sat carefully, but fully in her lap, your warmth pressing into her thighs like you belonged there. your weight settled against her, and it was like something inside her snapped awake. lit up. her hands hovered awkwardly, unsure of where to go, until you shifted a little, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around your waist. pulled you closer. tighter. 

you leaned back slightly, resting your head on her shoulder, and whispered, “is this okay?”

abby cleared her throat. “yeah, it’s okay. i’m just a bit surprised.”

“you offered,” you teased, turning your head enough to catch the curve of her ear when you exhaled. 

“didn’t think you’d actually take me up on it,” she muttered, tightening her hold on you. “not complaining, though.”

you giggled, and she could feel it against her chest. it did something to her—as it was dangerous, sweet, and so addictive.

from that moment on, it was over for her.

abby couldn’t stop touching you after that. it started small—her hand on your lower back when you walked through a door, brushing your hair behind your ear just to feel it, resting her palm on your thigh whenever you sat next to her. but soon it became instinct. a habit.

she’d pull you into her lap even when there was plenty of room elsewhere. press her face into your neck and hum softly like it calmed her. grip your hips absentmindedly while you talked. hands always finding their way to your skin, like she needed the contact to breathe.

you never questioned it. never pulled away. if anything, you leaned into it—into her—until the physical contact became something sacred for both of you. she never said it out loud, but every time you curled into her, every time your body melted into hers, the same thought ran through her head—she's mine.

abby doesn’t know how to play it cool around you anymore. she knows she can’t be just a friend to you anymore. 

you’re in her apartment, both pretending to be focused on some random tv series neither of you are really watching. you’re sitting between her legs on the couch, your back resting against her chest, and her arms draped around your waist. her hands, as always, are somewhere on you—fingers idly stroking the soft skin under your hoodie. slow. deliberate. like she’s trying to memorize every bit of you with touch alone.

you shift slightly, adjusting your legs, and her grip tightens—barely, but enough for you to notice. "don’t move," she murmurs against your neck, her voice low and rough. “stay right here.”

you feel her breath warm against your skin, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “abby…”

“hm?” she mumbled out, carelessly. 

you glance over your shoulder, eyes meeting hers—her jaw is tense, pupils blown wide, hands suddenly still like she’s holding herself back.

“you’re doing that thing again,” you say softly.

“what thing?” her voice drops even lower, like she already knows what you’re about to say.

“touching me like you don’t know if you’re allowed to,” you whisper, lips brushing dangerously close to her jaw.

her breath hitches. “i know i am,” she admits, her hand sliding up your stomach, slow, warm, and possessive. “i just try not to be a fucking animal about it.”

you laugh, breathlessly, and that’s when she loses the last of her restraint. in a second, she shifts forward, guiding you to turn and straddle her thighs. you don’t even think—you just do it, since you desperately want it—your hands on her shoulders, your black skirt riding up in the process. her hands settle firm on your hips like she’s been waiting for this.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” she says, forehead pressed to yours. “you sit in my lap like that, wear these little skirts, touch me like it's nothing—and i swear, i’m trying to be good, but…” her hands flex on your waist.

“abby,” you whisper, and her name in your voice makes her groan. “please.” 

“tell me to stop,” she breathes. “and i’ll stop.”

you shake your head slowly, leaning in until your lips brush hers. “don’t you dare.”

that’s all she needs.

her mouth crashes into yours—hungry and needy—and her hands grip your thighs almost harshly. the kiss is messy, as you swallow each other's desperate moans. your fingers curl into her braided hair, and abby groans into your lips when you grind down into her lap.

"fuck," she pants against your skin, pulling you closer. "you’re gonna drive me crazy."

and you smile, flushed and gasping, whispering, "good."

she kisses you like she’s starved for it—like she’s been imagining this for months. your fingers are tangled in her hair, your breath hitching every time her tongue slides against yours, slow and shameless. her hands are everywhere. gripping your skin, sliding under your hoodie, palms burning hot against you like she wants to own every inch of you. she breaks the kiss only to press her mouth to your jaw, dragging her lips down your throat, teeth grazing that one spot that makes your hips jerk.

you whine. “fuck, abby…”

“god, baby,” she breathes, pressing a kiss on your neck. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”

you rock against her lap again—too slowly, as if to tease her even more. “i want you, abs.”

“i’m not gonna be able to stop,” she warns, voice wrecked, forehead pressing into your shoulder. 

“maybe i don’t want you to,” you whisper, dragging your nails up the back of her neck.

that’s it. that was it.

she tugs your hoodie over your head, her eyes slightly widen when it drops to the floor. “fuck, you’re so pretty,” she mutters, like the sight of you in that lilac bralette is overwhelming, like it’s something she’s never seen before and might never get to again.

her hands are gentle but firm, exploring your body like she’s learning a language—palms sliding over your ribs, thumbs brushing over the soft curves of you.

and then she’s kissing you again, deeper now, with a need that’s starting to spill over. she lays you back onto the couch without breaking the kiss, hands braced on either side of your head. her body hovers over yours, muscles tense, jaw clenched like she’s fighting not to lose control.

you reach up, tracing her jaw. “abby—touch me, please. i want you so badly.”

when abby hears that—hears that you want this just as much—something breaks in her.

her mouth is on you again, but this time it’s messier, hungrier. she kisses down your chest, trailing open-mouthed kisses over every inch of your skin like she’s worshipping it. when her hands slide down, under the hem of your skirt, she pauses—just for a breath—looking up at you.

“i thought i would never get to see you like this,” she whispered.

[thepitlanepress]

EVERYTHING –

↳ oscar piastri + rb driver!fem!reader

⌗ :: masterlist

⌗ :: a/n: I AM LIVING FOR THIS OSCAR DOMINTATION ACTUALLY LIKE YESS THATS MY AUSSIE !!!! also ahem excuse me sorry i disappeared for a month i lost the will to write 😭😭😭 i also think i forgot how to write bc why is it SO BAD??? anyway

oscar was the first who saw it. the first who brought his car to a stop, the first to launch out of said car and run towards you.

other cars stop behind him, george, lando, max, so many drivers come to a stop and bolt over to where you sat frozen.

marshals were running, but they were slow. drivers were climbing over the tires, scrambling desperately to get you out, get help.

-

it was your mistake, you had gone too wide and tried to correct yourself, but you didn't see carlos behind you and collided you briefly, he was able to correct himself. you were not.

the car spun, flipped four times your body being assaulted with each tumble before you eventually black out.

you had landed on an angle on the tires, half the car propped on them and the other on the ground, you weren't moving. the crowd was freaking out, screaming loudly in worry.

oscar was following behind you when he saw the incident. "is she okay? shit that was bad. has she said anything?"

"we're waiting for an answer," was his engineers response.

but that wasn't good enough, that was his best friend sat in the seat of that car he was doing something. quickly stopping, he launches out of his seat like his ass is on fire, max your team mate, hot on his heels.

"y/n!" oscar yells as they approach the car, you probably can't hear him, but it was a knee jerk reaction, one he was waiting for a response back for, a sign that you were okay.

you weren't moving though, your head was still, you were still. not even your signature, goofy middle finger you usually give after a crash. nothing.

oscar was ten thousand percent panicking now. you were fine. you were fine. you were fine, right?

more drivers arrive beside the car then, helping unbuckle your limp body and pulling you gently from the car just as marshals and a medic team arrive getting straight to work.

you were loaded into a ambulance and oscar, much to his dismay, was told to stay back, that there was a race to finish. not that he would be focusing on the race at all.

max clapped him on the shoulder as they both made their way back to their cars, "she'll be okay osc, its y/n, when has she ever been been taken down, knowing her she'll be giving the paramedics shit for getting there so slow?" his words were light and clearly meant jokingly but oscar couldn't think past your limp body.

you have to be okay right?

please be okay.

he couldn't lose his you, his crazy, his everything.

–

the crash looked awful on tv, you winced everytime you saw it - mainly because you had been replaying it for as long as you've been awake - but thats not the point.

the point is you have been awake for a little, while in an immense amount of pain and watching the rest of the live of the race and then replays of your crash.

probably a stupid thing to watch but you wanted to make sure you never made a mistake like that again.

also it was nice seeing the way oscar bolted out of his car, his pure desperation clear in his run - this was not something you should like considering you we're literally unconscious. but what, can't a girl have hidden feelings for her best friend that come out at the worst time?

speaking of that, loud shouts catch your attention from outside your room "i don't care. i want to see her! let me see her!"

your heart practically melts at his tone, oscar piastri never yells but he is for you. and thats special because you said it is.

the door bursts open and in rushes the man of the hour, his face pulled in a tight frown, worry clouding his eyes. worry that only dissipates (a little) when he sees you propped up in bed wide-eyed at his current outfit choice.

"y/n," he says rushing over to your side and picking your hand up careful not to hurt any of your injuries. "im so glad you're okay. are you? i can go yell at some more nurses if need be."

a small laugh erupts from your chest and you try not to wince, instead focusing on oscar.

"are you okay?" he asks his hands cupping yours.

"i am," you smile back at him, relishing in his hands warmth because this stupid hospital is way too cold.

"really?"

"i am osc, don't worry," you try to reassure him, but his frown only becomes more prominent.

"you were unresponsive, you weren't awake, do you know how scary that was?" he asks resting his head down on your blanketed lap, exhaling sharply. "i was petrified. so beyond scared and then i had to stay back and finish that fuckass race-"

"which you won oscar, by a whole thirty seconds," you cut him off trying to get him to see how amazing that was.

"that doesn't matter i was just trying to get the whole thing over with," he raises a hand and drops it on you leg - softly. "i had to stay and enjoy a win while who knows what happened to you. do you know how annoyed my race engineer was because i was asking for updates on you that frequently?" he takes a shake breath. "i was so fucking scared."

"osc..." you raise you hand and run it through his hair, a shudder running through his whole body. "i had no idea you were that scared."

"i was petrified baby," he mumured.

if this were any other moment you would started screaming internally at the fact he called you baby but now, now you just comforted you very best friend in one of his darkest moments.

–

after about a day or two, you were moved from the hospital to your home- well not your home oscar's. that was something that popped up when the nurse asked if you had anyone to help care for you, or look after you at all, oscar instantly stepped in of course.

so now you're curled up on a couch, wrapped in possibly the worst most comfortable blanket ever, sipping a hot chocolate and watching as oscar makes his way around the kitchen in the afternoon sun.

he's wearing your personal choice of a fitting white tee, and grey sweatpants- best decision you've ever made. you cannot lie.

he's also cooking pasta- the second best decision you've made. because oscar makes a heavenly bolognese.

he finishes plating the dishes and brings them over to the couch opting to sit down next to you rather than have you move to the table.

you practically inhale the food, being stuck for a few days with only hospital food is no joke. "this is so much better than the dog shit we were given at the hospital," you smile licking your fork clean.

oscar stilled, his mind replaying the moment your car flipped in the air, then flashing to your smiling but fragile body in the the bed just laying there.

you notice his change in demeanour right away, "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to say it like that," you whisper, putting your plate down and gently touching his shoulder. "its probably a little too soon to start that type of talk."

oscar puts his own plate down and looks over at you, "it was so unbelievably scary seeing that y/n, i don't think i'll ever get that image out of my head."

"i'm still here," you say, your voice soft, you place a hand over his, squeezing gently.

"but you almost weren't," his voice is also soft, scared almost.

"but i am, look at me oscar," you say, your voice firm. his eyes drift to yours, a swirling mix of fear and adoration and- wait adoration?

"you're still here," he whispers, looking back down at your hands, threading his fingers through you own, and squeezing your palm.

"i'm still here."

he brings you joined hands to his mouth and presses a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. "you're still here."

"and im not going anywhere okay?"

"okay."

"good, now eat your pasta before i do," you shove him gently.

"eat up," oscar says letting your hand go and picking your empty dish up pressing a kiss on your forehead. he heads over to the kitchen running the tap and washing the plates.

once you finish your second plate you stand up tenderly walking over to the sink and placing the plate on the counter, not noticing the way oscar stops and watches you. the way he sees your slight winces.

what you do notice, is when he envelopes you in a soul reviving hug, not hard, simply a fierce reminder he was there for you, and that he was scared. he was scared he would lose you again

"i'm not going anywhere, osc, i promise."

"don't make promises you can't keep y/n i nearly lost you," his voice is muffled in your collarbone.

"well this promise i can keep oscar piastri, because no god or heaven or crash could keep me from you. you're my oscar. and nothing will ever change that, yeah?"

he smiles, you can feel it. "... yeah."

"i love you osc, always and forever."

you said those words, hiding your feelings and simply telling the truth. with or without your feelings though, you loved him. like a friend, a partner, like an everything.

because he wan your everything.

and you were his.

you were each other's everything.

2025 © thepitlanepress | please do not steal, use, translate or repost any of my works

– comments, likes and reblogs appreciated !

[menagerofmischief]

sweet as sin -> cl16

main masterlist / navigation

porn star!charles chronicles -> here

tags: everyone's got normal lives (no F1), mentions of porn/OF, very very suggestive (or very light smut idk?), mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex toys

a/n: this is just an introduction to the au. if you have any ideas or things you think would go well with the au, send an ask and lmk <3

“Oh, I don’t know, Gwen!” You said, swirling your straw around in your drink as you eyed the friend. “Other than the fact I’m moving soon, my life is a bit too boring lately. I’m done with dating apps after the last big failure and I just need something interesting to happen!”

“You mean you need to get laid!” She accused, mischief sparkling in her eyes as she giddily sipped her mimosa, already a bit tipsy from all the previously consumed ones. “When was the last time you had a good orgasm?”

You coughed, nearly choking on your drink as you stared at her with wide eyes. “We’re so not talking about this!”

“I’ll take that as a ‘very long ago’,” Gwen said, eyeing you over the rim of her glass. “Just because you’re not dating doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun.”

“Didn’t you hear the part when I said how all the guys are sleazy and disgusting?”

She chuckled, flashing you a smile. “You can have fun on your own. Nothing wrong with that, in fact, it’s my favourite.”

“God,” you laughed, swatting her arm. “You’re definitely too drunk for 12 pm, Gwen.”

However much you tried to push it from your mind and deny, Gwen’s words stuck with you through the rest of the day. A constant echo in the back of your mind that played like a mocking tune whenever you found even a second free.

With a groan you pushed yourself up from your couch, the TV show playing on the screen already long abandoned. In the silence of your apartment you could hear every step you made, every thud of your feet against the ground seemed to echo like a thump of your heart within your chest.

You reached your bedside, eyes narrowed in a glare as you rummaged through the drawer in search of your old vibrator, an unfamiliar sensation stirring in your chest once you finally pulled it out, the thing still fully charged and ready to be used. 

You settled on the bed, head nestled on the pillow as you closed your eyes and tried to tease yourself but it was so damn hard when nothing came to mind. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you reached for your phone, holding it up in a slightly shaky hand you unlocked it and made your way onto the good old trusted … twitter porn.

Your fingers hesitated over a video of a guy. His face was half visible, but his body was in the full picture and he looked sweeter than sin. Hard abs, perfectly toned, arms worth salivating over. Yeah, the guy was made to be pornographic, that you were sure of.

You clicked play, watching as he teasingly ran his hands down his body, wrapping one big hand around his equally as big dick, the sound of his low groaning coming through the speaker.

A sigh slipped past your lips as you mimicked his movement, running your hands down your body, teasingly scraping your nails along your skin before slowly reaching your fingers under the waistband of your shorts.

The video ended just as your fingers reached your clit and a low spark of annoyance ran through you. “Fuck …” you muttured, staring at the replay button. Then the words under the video caught your attention.

Want more? Check out my OF ;)

Next to them was a link. Without thinking twice, or much, you pressed the link, watching as his OnlyFans page loaded up.

You glanced at the vibrator next to you on the bed, Gwen’s words, or more so the “You can have fun on your own,” echoing inside of your head once more.

“Fuck it!” You whispered into the darkness of your room, and then pressed the subscribe button.

taglist: @alenix @briefkittenearthquake @gamesetcheckeredflag @yara011

[sumluckr]

Forbidden fruit

Pairing: Oh Beom-seok x female reader

Summary: You hate your new stepbrother. Until the night you kiss him. Once the line is crossed, there’s no going back — only secrets, stolen nights, and the ruin that follows when you’re caught.

Warnings: step-sibling relationship (not blood related), explicit sexual content, emotional manipulation, family abuse, and a heavy, angst-filled ending.

You slam your bedroom door shut, the wood rattling on its hinges. Your heart is pounding with frustration after yet another shouting match with Beom-seok. Living under the same roof with him has become a daily exercise in restraint and resentment. Ever since your mom married his dad a few months ago, it’s been a war zone in this house. Each day seems to bring a new argument — over bathroom time, over what to watch on TV, even over who finished the last of the cereal. Petty little battles that mask a much deeper tension.

You stomp across your room, tossing your phone onto the bed as you replay the latest altercation in your mind. Downstairs, you can still hear the muffled echoes of your parents’ exasperated voices: your mom pleading for peace, his dad sternly warning both of you to “knock it off.” They don’t understand how hard it is to suddenly act like family with someone who’s practically a stranger — a moody, sarcastic, impossible stranger at that. A stepbrother in name, but hardly the doting sibling they might have hoped for.

Beom-seok has been nothing but cold stares and sharp remarks since day one. You tried to be cordial when your families merged, you really did, but he clearly wanted nothing to do with you. Fine. Two can play at that game. Every eye-roll he gave, you answered with a scoff; every muttered insult, you lobbed one right back. It’s become routine: the two of you bickering in the hallway, voices low but heated whenever your parents are within earshot. The moment they leave, the volume rises along with the venom in your words. And oh, how it frustrates them — the perfect newlywed couple, their perfect new family, cracking at the seams because their kids refuse to play nice.

Sinking onto your bed, you let out a harsh sigh. If only they knew the full story… If only you yourself could make sense of it.

Because beneath all the door-slamming and shouting, something else crackles in the air whenever you and Beom-seok clash. It’s an electricity you don’t want to name. In those taut moments when you’re squared off, chest heaving with anger as he glares at you with those dark, stormy eyes — there’s a heat there that leaves you more breathless than fury should. More than once, an argument has ended not with one of you storming off, but with a charged silence, noses inches apart, both of you forgetting whatever the fight was even about. Your hands have trembled afterward, disgusted with yourself for the unwanted thrill that coursed through you when he stepped in close.

You rub your palms over your face, as if you could scrub away the memory of the last time it happened.

It was just a week ago — late at night in the kitchen. He’d cornered you by the fridge, accusing you of moving his things, a stupid misunderstanding. The house was dark and quiet, your parents long asleep. You’d hissed at him to back off, he’d growled at you to quit playing dumb… and then, suddenly, that damning silence. The two of you, alone in the bluish refrigerator light, faces drawn so close in confrontation that you could feel the heat of his breath. Your pulse had pounded in your throat; his eyes flickered down to your lips. You remember the way your stomach flipped, the way time seemed to freeze. You should have shoved past him and left. But you didn’t.

It was a blur of clumsy motion — his hand clenching the front of your shirt, your fingers curling into his hoodie — and then his mouth collided with yours. You still don’t know who moved first. The kiss was hard, almost bruising, all pent-up anger transmuted into raw hunger. It lasted only a few reckless seconds before you both jerked apart, panting in shock at yourselves. He had stared at you like he’d seen a ghost or committed a crime, eyes wide and lips parted. In the heavy silence that followed, you had fled back to your room without a word, your heart banging against your ribcage. Neither of you ever spoke of it. In the days after, the arguments resumed as if nothing happened — if anything, they grew more intense, fraught with an unspoken acknowledgement of that night.

Your cheeks burn at the memory. Shame twists in your gut, but so does a twisted sort of longing. As much as you tell yourself that kiss was a mistake — one born of misguided anger and proximity — you can’t stop thinking about it. Late at night, when you can’t sleep, you find your fingers touching your lips, remembering his rough desperation and the unexpected softness beneath. It makes you furious at him, at yourself. This is wrong on so many levels. He’s your stepbrother now, for God’s sake, no matter that there’s no shared blood. But the more you try to bury it, the more it seems to surface in every charged glance across the dinner table, in every accidental brush when passing in the hall.

You know he feels it too. You’ve caught the way Beom-seok’s gaze lingers when he thinks you’re not looking — a flicker of something dark and conflicted. It’s there in the taut set of his shoulders when you waltz out in a skirt a little too short, in the way his jaw ticks as if he’s biting back words whenever you mention some guy from class. And though most of your fights end with him walking away in a huff or you slamming your door, a few have nearly tipped into something else, just like that night in the kitchen. A shove becoming a graze, a shout trailing off into panting silence. Every time it happens, you swear it’s the last time. That you’ll never let it go that far again.

But part of you — the part that you’re trying so hard to ignore — aches for it to happen again. It’s a dangerous, irrational desire, and you hate yourself for it. You bury your face in your pillow with a frustrated groan. No. You refuse to be that girl — the one who lusts after her own stepbrother just because he’s brooding and convenient and happens to know how to kiss you in all the ways that leave you dizzy. You won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how he affects you. If he wants war, you’ll give him war. Anything to keep this messed-up attraction from surfacing again.

_____

It’s past midnight when you finally tiptoe through the front door, shoes in hand to avoid waking anyone. The house is dark, save for the faint glow of the living room lamp. You silently curse when you see a figure seated on the couch — Beom-seok, waiting. He’s hunched forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced tight. At your entrance, his head snaps up. Even in the dim light, you can make out the storm brewing in his eyes.

“Where the hell have you been?” he hisses, keeping his voice low. There’s a clipped edge to his words. You bristle immediately, defensive.

“Out,” you reply flatly, stepping further inside. You move to slip past the living room, but he rises to block your path. In the close quarters, you catch a whiff of his scent — soap and something darkly musky — which mingles with the faint smell of cigarette smoke clinging to your hair and clothes from the party. His nose wrinkles.

“Out where? It’s late,” he growls. “Your mom was worried. She was pacing the kitchen, wondering if something happened to you.”

Guilt pricks at you; you hadn’t meant to stay out so long. But you refuse to let him see that. Instead, you fold your arms and glare back. “Well, I’m home now. Safe and sound. So move.”

He doesn’t budge. His gaze drags over you, taking in your outfit — the snug dress that clings to your curves, the scuffed heels in your hand. His jaw flexes, and there’s something accusatory in his eyes that puts you on the defensive. “What?” you snap. “Go on, say whatever it is you’re dying to say.”

Beom-seok’s lip curls. “I’m just wondering how many guys you let put their hands all over you tonight.”

Your stomach lurches at the venom in his tone. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he whispers harshly, stepping closer. “You reek of smoke and sweat. You look like…” His eyes flick down your body with blatant disdain. “Like a desperate slut.”

The word drops like a grenade between you. For a split second, you’re stunned into silence by the sheer audacity and ugliness of it. Heat flares in your cheeks — part indignation, part humiliation. Yes, you went out hoping to forget about him, maybe even danced with a cute guy or two to drown out the thought of his perpetual glare. But you did nothing to deserve this.

Anger surges, white-hot and blinding. “At least people want to fuck me,” you bite back, every word sharp. “You’ll die a virgin.”

You barely register the hurt that flashes across his face, quickly swallowed by a mask of rage. In an instant, his hand shoots out and grabs your wrist. Before you can gasp, you’re shoved back against the wall. The heels in your hand clatter to the floor. Your back meets the hallway wall with a dull thud, not enough to hurt, but enough to knock the breath from your lungs. Beom-seok’s face is mere inches from yours, eyes blazing.

“Take that back,” he growls, voice low and shaking.

Your heart is hammering so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. But you tilt your chin up in defiance, even as his grip on your wrist tightens. “Why should I? Struck a nerve, did I?”

He snarls, a sound more animal than human, and for a second you wonder if he might actually throw a punch. But instead, he surprises you: his free hand suddenly cups the side of your jaw, fingers digging just enough to make you gasp. He forces your head back against the wall, exposing the line of your throat. You freeze, a thrill of fear and excitement shooting through you.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” Beom-seok says in a harsh whisper. His breath fans hot over your neck. “You think I can’t fuck? That no one wants me?” His words drip with bitterness. “Is that why you keep taunting me? Because you think I don’t have it in me?”

Your pulse skitters as his insinuation registers. The air between you is smoldering, heavy with something dangerous. “I— I never said—”

He presses in closer, and you feel the solid weight of his body pinning you. Your hands come up to push at his chest, but you don’t put much strength into it — your senses are reeling, confusion and desire swirling inside you. This is wrong, a voice screams at the back of your mind, but God, the way his fingers are cradling your jaw and the intensity in his eyes… it sets your blood on fire. “Shut up,” he mutters. “Just shut up for once.”

His mouth crashes onto yours, swallowing whatever retort you had prepared. It’s not a gentle kiss — it’s teeth and fury, a claiming of territory. For a heartbeat, your mind goes blank. Then instinct kicks in. You’re kissing him back just as ferociously, fury and desire intertwining until they’re indistinguishable. Your fists bunch in the fabric of his shirt, and you yank him closer even as he presses you hard against the wall.

His tongue forces its way between your lips, and you meet it eagerly, a moan vibrating at the back of your throat. The taste of him floods your senses — a hint of mint and something coppery from where you bit his lip in the collision. It only fuels you more. He growls into your mouth, one hand leaving your jaw to grab your hip roughly. You arch against him, shocked at how quickly your body ignites under his touch.

The hallway is too exposed, too risky — some shred of sanity registers that. Without breaking the feverish kiss, you use your hold on his shirt to tug him toward your bedroom door just a few steps away. He seems to get the hint. In a flurry, you fumble behind you for the doorknob, twisting it open. The two of you stumble into your room, lips still locked, knocking into the dresser with a thud. You kick the door shut clumsily, praying the noise wasn’t loud enough to wake anyone.

Beom-seok spins you around in the dark, and now it’s you pressed up against the back of your door. His hands roam down over your ass, fingers digging in possessively through the thin fabric of your dress. “This what you wanted?” he rasps against your lips. “You want your stepbrother to fuck you like the slut you are?” His words are cruel, but his voice shakes — whether from anger or need, you can’t tell. Maybe both.

A whimper leaves your throat at his vulgarities, part outrage but mostly pure arousal. You should slap him for saying something so filthy. But the reality is, you do want him to. You’ve never been this turned on in your life, and it’s by the very person you claimed to hate just minutes ago. The forbidden nature of it all only makes it more intoxicating.

In answer, you bite at his lower lip and tug, earning a hiss from him. “Fuck you,” you breathe against his mouth — the insult coming out far more like a plea. Your hips roll forward of their own accord, grinding against the hardness you feel between his legs. A strangled groan tears from Beom-seok’s throat.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he grits out. His forehead presses to yours, both of you panting in the dark. His hands gather the hem of your dress, rucking it up to your hips. Cool air brushes your thighs. “Tell me to stop,” he says suddenly, voice rough, almost pained. “Tell me to stop now, and I will.”

His words hang in the charged space between you. It’s the briefest window of opportunity — a chance to put an end to this madness before you both cross a line you can’t uncross. Your mind flashes images of consequences: your mother’s devastated face, the family imploding. This is insane.

But you don’t say stop. Instead, your fingers find his hair, tangling in the soft, dark strands, and you pull him into another searing kiss, giving him the only answer you have.

That’s all it takes. Beom-seok groans into your mouth, any last semblance of restraint snapping. His hands slip under your dress, rough palms skimming up your thighs. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties and yank them down unceremoniously. The lacy fabric slides down your legs and you kick it aside. A thrill shoots through you — you’re bare under your dress now, completely exposed to him. The thought is as scary as it is arousing.

You fumble at his clothes, desperate to feel skin. Your hands yank up his hoodie and T-shirt beneath; he hastily helps you pull them off over his head, tossing them blindly into the dark. Your palms roam over his now-bare torso, and you feel the lean muscle beneath warm skin, the way it tenses at your touch. He gasps when your nails scrape lightly over his nipples, and you marvel that you elicited that sound from the usually stoic Beom-seok.

Emboldened, you trail your hand down his stomach, fingers grazing the front of his jeans where you feel his arousal straining against the denim. He curses under his breath and covers your hand with his own, pressing it harder against his length. The heat and solid throb of it sends a pulse of need through you.

“Off,” you whisper urgently, tugging at his belt. You need him — need to feel him, all of him. Your boldness might have shocked you in any other situation, but right now you’re beyond caring. All you know is that you’re desperate for him, consequences be damned.

He fumbles with the buckle and button, hands shaking in haste. Together you shove his jeans and underwear down just enough to free his cock. Your breath catches as you feel it spring against your stomach, hot and rigid. In the dark, you can’t see much, but your hands eagerly wrap around him and you hear him suck in a sharp breath. He’s big enough to make your heart skip — thick and warm and velvety in your grip.

Beom-seok hisses through his teeth as you give an experimental pump of your fist along his length. “Fuck…,” he swears softly, his head tipping back. The raw need in his voice sends a thrill through you. Before you can do more, he’s grabbing your wrist again — but this time he guides you, pinning your hand above your head against the door. The sudden assertion makes you whimper, your core clenching around nothing.

“Turn around,” he commands hoarsely. When you hesitate, he nudges you, spinning your body so you’re facing the door. His chest presses against your back; you can feel his heart hammering as wildly as yours. One of his hands splays over your front, rough fingers grazing your throat then descending between your breasts. His other hand grips his cock from behind you, aligning it between your thighs. You realize what he intends and your pulse skyrockets.

He’s going to do it. He’s really going to—

“We—we shouldn’t,” you whisper urgently, panic and desire warring within you. “We don’t—”

“Just the tip,” Beom-seok pants against your ear. His hips press forward and you feel the hot, smooth head of his cock glide through your slick folds. A strangled moan tears from you as he slides it up and down, coating himself in your arousal. Your body betrays you, thighs widening in anticipation. “I’ll just put in the tip,” he rasps, voice barely coherent. “Okay? Just… just to feel you. I won’t go further.”

It’s a lie — you both know it on some level. But you nod frantically anyway, arching your back to angle your hips, needing that little bit of him inside you even if it’s wrong. “O-okay… just… just a little,” you hear yourself whisper.

A low groan vibrates from his chest. His hand on your front slides down to grasp your hip. You bite down on your forearm to muffle yourself as Beom-seok begins to push forward. The thick head of his cock stretches you, and even though it’s only the tip, the burn and pressure draw a choked sob from your throat. He pauses, breathing ragged. “Fuck, you’re tight…” he whispers, almost as if in awe.

The pain melts quickly into pleasure as your body adjusts, and you realize you’re rocking back, trying to take more of him. It’s insane and desperate, but you can’t help it. You want more. You want all of him.

“Just…just a bit more,” you gasp out, barely recognizing your own voice. You press your forehead against the door, your nails scratching at the wood as you push your hips back. Beom-seok curses behind you, a hand flying to your shoulder as if to steady himself — or to slow you. But he doesn’t really stop you. With a shuddering breath, he inches deeper, feeding you another few centimeters of his cock.

“Shit,” he groans, the word drawn out. “So good… you feel so…” He doesn’t finish, lost in sensation. You feel it too — the overwhelming fullness even with just part of him inside. It’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough.

All pretense of restraint crumbles. In a sudden motion, Beom-seok snaps his hips forward, driving himself all the way in to the hilt. A shockwave of pleasure-pain rips through you and you cry out into your arm, the only thing muffling your scream. He clamps a hand over your mouth for good measure, pinning you to the door as he buries himself fully inside you. The stretch is intense, almost too much, but the way he fills you is maddeningly perfect. Your walls clench around him, fluttering as you adjust to his girth.

“Oh f-fuck,” you whimper against his palm, eyes rolling back. Behind you, Beom-seok lets out a guttural sound that you’ve never heard from him — raw and broken. His forehead drops to your shoulder, his body trembling against your back. “I’m sorry… I c-can’t—” he chokes out, and then he starts to move.

He tries to keep it slow at first, pulling out an inch before pushing back in, as if to let you both absorb the enormity of what you’re doing. But the feel of him rubbing against your inner walls sends bolts of electricity through your veins. Any pain has dissolved into molten pleasure. You rock back to meet his next thrust, silently begging for more.

That undoes him. With a muted curse, Beom-seok grabs your hips with both hands and begins to fuck you in earnest. Deep, driving strokes that have you biting down on your arm again to smother the cries threatening to escape. The door rattles softly with each thrust. Every slap of his pelvis against your ass is indecently loud in the silence of the house, but it only spurs him on. You feel every inch of him claiming you, over and over, and it’s bliss. Forbidden, delirious bliss.

“So good… oh god, you’re so good,” you find yourself babbling in a shattered whisper. Tears prick at your eyes from the overwhelming intensity of it all. He responds with a strained moan, one hand sliding up your body to cup your breast through your dress, squeezing in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation coaxes a high-pitched whine from you.

Your climax hits you out of nowhere. One moment you’re teetering on the edge, the next you’re gone — body clenching around him like a vice as waves of ecstasy crash over you. You sob into your arm, knees almost buckling. Beom-seok slams you forward, pinning you harder to keep you upright as you convulse around his cock. He chokes out a ragged groan at the feeling of you tightening on him. “Fuck… gonna—”

With a final thrust, he stills deep inside you. You feel him throbbing, hear the breath catch in his throat as he finds his own release. Even through the haze of your orgasm, you’re distantly aware of warmth flooding you as he empties himself deep within. His teeth sink lightly into your shoulder, muffling a guttural moan. The sensation of him coming inside you — hot spurts painting your insides — wrings a final aftershock from your oversensitive body.

For a long moment, the two of you remain like that, locked together, trembling and panting in the dark. You can feel his heart hammering against your back, your own matching it beat for beat. His forehead is still pressed to your shoulder, and when he finally releases your mouth and lifts his head, you catch the faintest brush of his lips against the nape of your neck — a gesture so tender it almost breaks your heart.

Reality crashes down a second later. Beom-seok eases himself out of you, and you both hiss at the sensitivity as your bodies part. You turn around on shaky legs, leaning back against the door for support. He’s backlit by the sliver of moonlight coming through your curtains, just enough for you to see his face. What you see there sends a pang through your chest: he looks stunned, lips parted as he struggles to catch his breath, a glimmer of raw emotion in his eyes that he quickly tries to hide.

You don’t know what to say. What can you say after this? You just had sex — wild, reckless sex — with your stepbrother. And god help you, it was the most incredible experience of your life. The weight of what you’ve done settles heavily in the silence. You can see the same realization mirrored in his expression, the way his throat works as he swallows hard.

Beom-seok opens his mouth, then closes it. His fists clench at his sides. For a moment, you think he might say something — an apology, an angry outburst, anything. But he doesn’t. Without meeting your eyes, he reaches down, yanking up his jeans and fastening them with jerky motions. You hurriedly pull your crumpled dress back down over your thighs, cheeks burning.

The silence is suffocating. You want him to at least look at you, acknowledge what just happened, maybe even console you because your emotions are a mess. But he keeps his gaze averted. His features have shuttered closed, an echo of that emotional repression you know so well in him. Finally, barely above a whisper, you hear him say, “This never happened.”

Your stomach twists. Before you can respond, he’s already unlocking your door and slipping out into the hall. He shuts it behind him with the softest click, leaving you alone, still leaning bonelessly against the door. You press a hand to your mouth, feeling the swollen ache of kissed lips, the tender sting where his teeth marked your shoulder. Your legs feel like jelly. Inside you, you can still feel the slow trickle of his warmth leaking out. A fresh wave of heat floods your face as you slide down to the floor, clamping your thighs together. What have you done?

_____

In the days that follow, reality becomes a blur of guilt, craving, and secrets. By the light of day, you and Beom-seok maintain your hostile charade. It’s almost easy to believe nothing has changed: you still trade barbs over breakfast; he still holes up in his room, brooding and silent; you still pretend to be annoyed when your mother pushes the two of you to spend time together. But beneath that thin veneer of normalcy, everything is different now. You carry the memory of that night like a brand on your skin — every time you shift in your seat and feel a faint ache between your thighs, you flush with the reminder of how he felt inside you. And every time he looks your way, you see it in his eyes too: the hunger, the conflict, the barely contained need.

For two days, neither of you makes a move. You’re not sure if it’s out of regret or fear or stubborn pride. Maybe all three. At home, you skirt around each other anxiously. At night, you lie awake replaying every second of that encounter, a tangle of shame and desire twisting in your gut. You wonder if he’s doing the same in his room just across the hall. There are moments you almost convince yourself to knock on his door, to talk about it — to do something about this unbearable tension. But you don’t.

It’s Beom-seok who finally snaps first. On the third night, you’re tossing in bed in the small hours of the morning, unable to sleep. Your body still yearns for a release only one person has ever given you, even as your mind scolds you for wanting it. That’s when you hear it: the soft creak of your door easing open. You sit up, heart in your throat, and see a silhouette in the darkness. You know instantly who it is — you could recognize the quiet shuffle of his feet anywhere by now. He slips inside and shuts the door behind him. Moonlight from the window catches the angles of his face, highlighting the uncertainty in his eyes and the determined set of his jaw.

You don’t even get a word out before he’s crossing the room in two strides. He sinks onto the edge of your bed, hesitating only a split second, and then his hand reaches out to cup the side of your face. The gesture is oddly gentle, considering how hungrily his eyes are raking over you. Your breath catches. “Beom-seok—” you whisper, but he cuts you off by leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.

It’s nothing like the furious clash of your first kiss. This one is tentative, almost trembling — as if he’s afraid you might reject him. That thought flees your mind the instant you taste him again. You answer with equal softness, angling your mouth against his. A quiet, relieved sound escapes him, and then the kiss deepens, slowly building in heat. Before long, you’re tugging him down fully onto the bed, your limbs entangling in a desperate need to get him closer. The covers rustle as he crawls over you, and you feel the suppressed shudder that runs through his body when you card your fingers under his shirt, tracing the bare skin of his back.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confesses hoarsely against your lips, the words rushed out as if he hates admitting them. It sends a thrill through you, knowing the normally reticent Beom-seok is admitting even that much. “Then don’t,” you murmur in reply, fisting your hands in his shirt to yank it off. “I’m yours tonight.”

That night, he makes love to you in your bed, under the cover of darkness and the thick blanket of shared secrets. It’s frantic at first — clothes tossed to the floor in haste, legs tangling as he positions himself between your thighs. But once he’s sheathed inside you again, a different kind of intensity takes over. He moves slowly, almost reverently, watching your face in the dim light with an expression that borders on agonized. Each roll of his hips coaxes gasps and moans that you muffle against his shoulder. He dips his head to capture your cries with his mouth, swallowing every sound. It’s as if he’s trying to memorize you, as if you might slip away if he doesn’t consume you whole.

When you come undone beneath him this time, he follows right after, spilling warmth inside you once more as he groans your name into the crook of your neck. The way he clings to you in the aftermath — arms wrapped around you with a trembling tightness — feels less like lust and more like desperation. You hold him just as fiercely, fingers raking gently through his hair. Neither of you speaks. In the darkness, gestures speak louder: the press of his forehead to your collarbone, your lips ghosting over his temple. It’s an intimacy that scares and thrills you in equal measure.

After that night, there is no going back. What was once unthinkable becomes your new normal. By day, you continue the facade of bickering step-siblings; by night, you lose yourselves in each other’s bodies again and again. It’s a risky game, a twisted dance on the knife’s edge of discovery, but neither of you can stop. If anything, the fear of getting caught only adds to the feverish excitement.

Sometimes it’s quick and urgent — like the afternoon you both got home early and he wordlessly dragged you into the bathroom, pinned you against the sink and fucked you deep and hard, one hand clamped over your mouth to stifle your cries as your parents chatted just down the hall. Other times it’s painfully slow — like the night he teased you for what felt like hours, bringing you right to the brink with his fingers and mouth until you were begging, tears in your eyes, for him to finally take you. He had smirked, a rare sight, and whispered against your inner thigh, “Say please, and I’ll think about it.” The mix of humiliation and raw need as you sobbed out a “please” only seemed to inflame him more. He made good on his promise, though, and the reward was worth every second of torment.

The more you have him, the more you want — like a fire that keeps growing, insatiable. You find yourself inventing excuses to touch him even in passing: brushing by him in the kitchen to feel the heat radiating from his body, or slipping a daring hand under the table to squeeze his thigh during dinner. Every stolen moment feeds the addiction. And with familiarity comes a strange sort of comfort between you. There are nights you don’t even have sex at all — nights when he simply crawls into your bed after another screaming match with his father, and you just hold each other until sleep takes you both. In those moments, he clings to you like you’re his lifeline, face buried in your hair, and you stroke his back softly until his ragged breathing calms. It’s in those quiet hours that you see the cracks in his armor most clearly.

One such night, you awaken to muffled shouting from downstairs — the unmistakable boom of his father’s voice in anger and a quieter, tremulous response from Beom-seok. You slip out of your room and tiptoe halfway down the staircase, heart pounding. Through the railing, you see his father towering over him in the study doorway, face twisted in fury. “…embarrassment to this family,” his father is saying, voice dripping with contempt. “I didn’t spend all that money on your education for you to turn out like this.”

You flinch as you see the man jab a finger hard into Beom-seok’s chest. Beom-seok’s head is bowed, fists clenched at his sides. He doesn’t talk back — he just stands there and takes it. A sick feeling churns in your stomach when you realize this is far from the first time. Memories click: the faint bruises you once spotted on his ribs when his shirt rode up, the way he’d winced and pulled away when you touched them. You hadn’t pressed him then, but now it’s heartbreakingly clear. How long has this been going on? The vitriol spewing from his father is awful enough, but you fear what might happen if it escalates. Your feet move before your brain can catch up, drawing you closer in case you need to intervene.

Suddenly his father seizes Beom-seok by the collar, shoving him against the wall. The thud of impact sends rage and terror lancing through you. You’re about to rush forward, not caring what you reveal in the process, but then your mother appears, drawn by the commotion. She gasps, “What on earth—!” and grabs her husband’s arm. “Stop it! Let him go!”

His father releases Beom-seok with a snarl, adjusting his tie like nothing happened. “My son needs discipline,” he snaps at your mother without remorse. Beom-seok says nothing; he just ducks his head further, shaggy hair obscuring his eyes. You can see his trembling even from the stairs. Without another word, he turns and walks briskly towards the staircase. You scurry back, not wanting to be caught witnessing this ugly scene. By the time he reaches you, you’re hovering at the top of the stairs, concern twisting your insides.

In the darkness of the hallway, Beom-seok pauses when he sees you. For a moment, you think he’ll retreat, ashamed to have you see him like this. But something in your expression must break through, because he suddenly closes the distance and grabs your hand. Wordlessly, he tugs you into his bedroom and shuts the door. The moment it clicks, he comes apart. His breathing is ragged, and in the faint light you see tears of frustration or humiliation — or both — shining in his eyes. “I’m sorry you… heard that,” he manages to choke out, voice thick with emotion.

You shake your head, throat tight. “Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Anger at his father simmers in your veins, but you push it aside and gently touch his face. He flinches at first, then leans into your palm, eyes squeezing shut as if he might cry. Your heart cracks at the sight of him so vulnerable. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “I’m here.”

The next thing you know, his lips are on yours — not out of lust this time, but a desperate search for comfort. You meet him with equal tenderness, guiding him to the bed as your mouths linger in soft kisses. Tonight, there’s no hurry. You undress each other slowly, shedding not just clothing but the layers of hurt and stress. When he enters you, it’s with a care that brings tears to your eyes — slow, deep thrusts that carry as much solace as pleasure. He intertwines his fingers with yours beside your head, holding on like you might slip away, and you whisper soothing words between breathless moans. By the end, when you both lie spent and entwined in the dark, he finally speaks the words that have hung unspoken in the air for weeks: a shaky confession murmured into your hair. “I need you… I need you so much.”

You tighten your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promise quietly. In that moment, it feels true — that no matter how wrong it is, you’ve become the most important person in each other’s lives. In the silent aftermath, you both drift to sleep tangled in warmth and in each other, blissfully unaware that the fragile world you’ve built is about to come crashing down.

_____

It all falls apart on a gray Sunday morning. You wake to the sound of your bedroom door creaking open and your mother’s voice calling your name softly. Your eyes fly open in panic — in your half-asleep haze, you realize that Beom-seok is still in your bed, lying beside you with an arm draped over your waist. The two of you are tangled in the sheets, bare skin pressed together under the thin cover. In the weak morning light, there’s no mistaking the intimacy of the scene.

Your mother stands frozen in the doorway, a tray with what looks like breakfast for you shaking in her hands. The smile she’d been wearing collapses into horror as her brain processes what she’s seeing: her daughter in bed with her stepson. A strangled sound escapes her — the tray slips from her fingers, dishes shattering on the floor.

Beom-seok jolts awake at the crash. You both sit up abruptly, the sheet slipping down to your waists. Your mother’s face has gone ashen. “Mom—” you choke out, reaching a hand toward her, but she recoils like you’ve struck her. “What…what is this?” she whispers, voice trembling. “Oh my God… what have you done?”

Her broken sob galvanizes the rest of the house. Heavy footsteps pound up the stairs — his father’s. He appears behind your mother, first confusion crossing his features at the mess of breakfast on the floor, then dawning fury as he takes in the tableau beyond her. “Is this some kind of sick joke?” he barks. Your mother is crying now, hand over her mouth. “They were… they were in bed—”

The next seconds are a blur. His father pushes past your mother and lunges into the room. Beom-seok barely has time to throw himself out of bed and in front of you before his father’s hand cracks across his face. The sound is like a gunshot in the small room. You scream, scrambling to hold the sheets to your chest as Beom-seok staggers but remains firmly planted between you and his raging father.

“You disgusting little filth,” his father seethes, grabbing him by the shoulder and wrenching him away from the bed. “How dare you— in my house? With your own sister—”

“Step-sister,” you croak out automatically, tears blurring your vision. It’s a pathetic, irrelevant correction, and his father’s attention snaps to you. You shrink under the burning hatred in his eyes. “And you,” he spits, “I welcomed you into my family, and this is how you repay me? Spreading your legs for him like a whore under my roof?”

The words hit you like slaps. Your mother finds her voice at that, stepping in front of her husband with an anger you’ve never heard from her. “Don’t you dare talk to my daughter that way!” she shouts, voice cracking. “They’re just kids—”

“Kids who are plenty old enough to know what the hell they’re doing,” he roars back. He shakes off her attempts to hold him back and turns on Beom-seok again, fury radiating from every line of his body. “Have you lost your mind? You degenerate!”

Beom-seok stands oddly calm now, though a red handprint is blooming on his cheek. He doesn’t defend himself or you; he merely lowers his head, eyes on the floor. You realize with a pang that this is the well-practiced response his father has beaten into him: endure, go silent, weather the storm. But you can’t stay silent.

“It’s my fault,” you sob, desperate to draw the ire away from him. You scramble off the bed, clutching the sheet to cover yourself. “I-I seduced him. I…I made him do it.” It’s a frantic, foolish lie, but you’ll say anything to keep his father from hurting him further.

Beom-seok’s head snaps up at that. “No,” he rasps, voice thick. “That’s not—”

His father silences him with a vicious yank on his arm. “Quiet. I don’t want to hear a single word from you.” Cold, terrifying rage laces each syllable. He throws a glare at your mother. “Separate them. Now. I will not have this–this abhorrence continue for another second.”

Your mother, pale and shaking, nods and rushes to you. She grabs your arm with trembling hands and pulls you away, trying to wrap a discarded blanket around your shoulders to cover your nakedness. “How could you, how could you…” she’s whispering, voice choked with anguish. You’re crying too hard to respond, reaching desperately over her shoulder to see Beom-seok.

His father is already dragging him out of the bedroom by the arm. He stumbles once, his eyes meeting yours in frantic dismay. He shouts your name hoarsely, the sound of it like a plea ripped from his throat. You struggle against your mother’s grip, wanting to go to him, but she holds you back with surprising strength. “Beom-seok!” you scream, voice cracking. “Stop! Please—!”

But mercy doesn’t come. His father hauls him down the hall as if he weighs nothing. Before they disappear from view, you see Beom-seok reach out toward you futilely, his face twisted in despair. Then he’s gone, wrenched out of sight, and a moment later you hear the slam of his bedroom door. Locked away like a prisoner.

Your mother turns you to face her, gripping your shoulders. She’s crying openly, a mix of rage and sorrow contorting her features. “What have you done?” she demands, voice breaking. You have no answer besides broken apologies and sobs. She pulls you into her arms, whether to comfort you or herself, you can’t tell. You cling to her, knees buckling as the weight of what’s happening crashes over you. Through the fog of your own sobbing, you hear his father making calls, voice ice cold: arranging to send Beom-seok away somewhere effective immediately. Each word is another nail in the coffin of your heart.

It’s over. You know it, even as you pray to wake up from this nightmare. The secret world you and him built is destroyed, exposed to the harsh light of day and parental outrage. And in the span of minutes, you’ve lost him.

_____

Two days later, Beom-seok is gone. His father wastes no time carrying out his solution: that very afternoon, he drives his son out of the city, dispatching him to live with an uncle three provinces away. There was talk of enrolling him in some rigorous program or perhaps sending him abroad — you caught fragments of heated discussions between your parents while you hid behind your bedroom door. The specifics hardly matter. What matters is that he’s gone from your life.

You aren’t allowed to see him before he leaves. In the chaos after you were caught, your mother refused to let you out of her sight. You cry and beg, half-dressed and hysterical, just to talk to him, to say something — anything — but no one listens. Your stepfather bundles Beom-seok out the door as if escaping a burning building, with nothing but the clothes on his back and a bag your mother wordlessly packed through her tears. The last glimpse you have is through your bedroom window: his figure being shoved into the backseat of the car, wrists hanging limp at his sides, head lowered in defeat. You don’t even know if he looks back; you’re crying too hard to tell.

Now, the house is oppressively quiet. Too quiet. Your mother hasn’t spoken to you beyond the bare minimum, heartbreak radiating off her in waves. Your stepfather barely acknowledges your existence, which is perhaps a blessing given the disgust that still darkens his eyes if he so much as glances your way. You spend most of your time holed up in your room, staring at the ceiling through red, raw eyes.

Every corner of this house is haunted by him. The bedroom where he first took you, the kitchen where you shared forbidden kisses, the hallway where he first pressed you against the wall and changed everything… Even the scent of him seems embedded in your pillows, torturing you with phantom memories of happier nights. The emptiness left in his wake is staggering. You wander into his bedroom when no one is watching, standing in the middle of the stripped-bare space. It feels hollow, robbed of the warmth it once held when he was there brooding in the dark or clutching you in his sheets. You sink to the floor where his bed used to be and curl into yourself, fingernails digging into your arms to keep from screaming.

You ache in places you didn’t know a person could ache. A part of you keeps expecting him to be there when you turn a corner — to find his glare fixed on you from across the dinner table, or to feel his hand brush yours in passing. But each time reality reminds you he’s not coming back, the knife in your heart twists a little deeper. At night you lie awake, eyes burning, chest hollow. You press your face into the pillow and imagine it’s his shoulder. You wrap your arms around your own body, pretending it’s him holding you. But the illusions shatter as quickly as they form, leaving you sobbing quietly into the silence.

There’s talk of therapy, of moving to a new town to escape the scandal — your mother murmurs things outside your door, but you hardly register them. Nothing really matters. The only person who made this house feel like home, who made you feel seen and needed and alive in a way you never had before, has been ripped away. And you’re supposed to simply go on.

On the third night after his departure, you find yourself in front of your window, looking out at the dark empty street. You wonder where he is at this exact moment. Is he lying in some unfamiliar room, staring at a ceiling that isn’t yours? Is he hurting just as much as you are? The image of his face in that final moment — eyes filled with despair, arm outstretched as if reaching for you — is seared into your mind. You hug yourself tighter, the ache in your chest nearly doubling you over.

“I need you… I need you so much,” he confessed to you in the dark. You press a fist to your mouth as a sob threatens to break loose. You wonder if, wherever he is, he needs you now. You wonder if he knows that you feel the same — that you’re half a person without him here. You never got to say it, but you’d hoped he understood.

Fresh tears spill down your cheeks. There’s no closure, no goodbye — just a rift carved through your life where he used to be. Maybe in another world, another life, you could have been happy together, free to love each other without fear. But not in this one.

In this life, all you have is the memory of his touch, now painfully out of reach. And the knowledge that somewhere out there, Beom-seok carries the same shattered pieces of your shared secret, the same ache in his soul. You close your eyes and let the grief wash over you, drowning in it, because it’s the only piece of him you have left.

The house remains silent and still around you, bearing witness to the quiet tragedy. And as dawn approaches, you finally crawl back into your cold, empty bed, the finality of what you’ve lost settling heavily in your bones. He’s gone, and with him, a part of you is gone too. All that remains is the hollow echo of what could have been, and a secret love that must now live on only in memory.

[meadowfics]

my pain, your gain

kang dae-ho x f!reader

your missing boyfriend reappears after ten days, suddenly becoming a millionaire

you went to work, a busy cafe, just like any other normal day

the 14:00-22:00 shifts are the ones you hate the most. the type of shift where you feel like there is no business, validating your reasoning as to why you shouldn't be here.

however, when you remember the amount of expenses you have to pay for. rent, groceries, cleaniness, hygiene, etc... you suddenly have a good work ethic.

before you left for your shift, you kissed your boyfriend dae-ho goodbye.

it was normal for you, except you did not notice the tense pulling on his eyebrow and his clenched jaw. you did not notice the debate shown on his face.

when you got home, around midnight due to public transport chaos, throwing your cafe apron by the washer for later.. you called out for dae ho.

the apartment was quiet.. too quiet. as if you lived alone.

"baby?"

"dae?"

"honey, are you home?"

when you checked your bedroom to see that he was gone, you assumed that he visited one of his sisters outside of the city while you worked. fine, at least he could have told you.

the sleep you had was normal, yet cold, due to the absence of dae-ho.

you woke up, feeling at ease until you reach over, your hand hitting the cold soft sheets instead of the body of your lover.

hours turn into a day, and you're broken.

you can’t stop replaying your last conversation with dae ho before you left for work, over and over, trying to find clues about why he left.

the tired body of yours can barely function at work, forgetting orders, zoning out, and apologizing when your boss points it out. your coworkers look worried, but you wave it off, saying you’re just stressed.

sleep is a distant memory. you lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, imagining him walking back through the door like nothing happened.

each day goes by, and when you’re home, you sit on the couch or the floor, staring at the tv, not even watching what’s on.

your mind is stuck on dae-ho..where he is, if he’s okay, or if he really just left you behind.

some nights, you stand by the window, hoping to see him walking back into your life. you tell yourself it’s pointless, but you can’t help it.

you try calling his friends, even people you barely know, asking if anyone has seen him. no one has any answers, and a few of them suggest maybe he left you on purpose. it breaks something in you every time you hear it.

not your dae-ho, he would have told you if there was a problem in your relationship.

sometimes you sit in his favorite chair, holding onto one of his hoodies, and crying silently.

its day 10.. when you get home from your late shift two weeks later, it’s the same routine.

you drop onto the floor in your apron, zoning out in front of the glowing tv.

just an hour after your deadly routine, you hear the sound of your door clicking.

your heart stops, and for a moment, your eyes snap towards the door, you think you’re imagining it.

then you see him... your dae ho.

he looks older, more worn, like the world has weighed him down in the ten days he’s been gone.

your stomach twists when he steps closer, his eyes meeting yours, and you instinctively back away.

“you’re alive?”

you watch as he flinches, his hand pausing mid-reach.

“i can explain,”

he says, his voice desperate, and you motion for him to go on.

dae ho pulls a thick wad of cash from his jogger pocket, placing it in your hands. you feel the weight of it, flipping through the stack with trembling fingers.

“how much is this? where did you get it?” your voice cracks, and your chest tightens as he hesitates.

“it’s 25 million won,” he says, and you gasp, the money slipping from your hands onto the floor.

“where did you get this kind of money? is this… blood money?”

he pauses, his expression guilty but honest.

“kind of,” he admits.

"I earned it though from playing games.. I did not hurt anyone I swear!"

“games? what do you mean?”

deep down, you know dae ho never lies. why would he start now?

he promises to explain everything, but he says, “not tonight. i’ll tell you everything, i swear. but tomorrow, when the sun comes up, i’ll pay off my debt. i’ll pay off yours. we’ll leave this place, and i’ll give you the life you deserve..."

he takes you to the atm up the street. when the screen shows 15,199,998,733 won, your knees almost give out.

he holds onto your arm, steadying you as your heart pounds.

“it’s real,” he says softly. “and it’s ours.”

"me along with four other people won the game. their names are gi hun, hyun ju, myung-gi, and jun-hee. I'll introduce you to them next week. gi hun says if we ever need anything then we can call him at anytime.

you trust him because you always have, that does not stop the unease that settles in your stomach.

you ask him again about the games.

again, “not tonight.”

as you both walk back to the apartment, the weight of the money in your life is overwhelming. you hold onto him tightly, glad he’s back, but the mystery of what he went through lingers.

even as you fall asleep beside him that night, you can’t stop thinking about the games he mentioned. they’ll haunt you, just like the ten days he was gone.

I hope you liked :)

[thewritergx]

Gentle Torture: Dbf!JoelxF!Reader Part 2

Part 1, Part 2, Complete Story

Summary: Joel Miller has been losing his mind since your father's party. When he's forced to check on you, he can't hold back anymore. Pre-Outbreak.

Warnings: Smut: Age Gap (Joel in his late 30s, reader starts out at 18), Dbf!Joel, Kissing, Oral (F!Receiving), Fingering, unprotected PinV, slightly rough, some overstimulation, choking. Pet Names: Sweetheart, baby girl, good girl, little girl.

Word Count: 3.5K

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

I have been obsessed with the dbf trope lately. This story is very much inspired by @pearlessance. Please go check her out.

Please feel free to like and repost. Click here if you’d like more stories from me. Text divider from @cafekitsune.

Days passed and you have not seen or heard from Joel once. You try to go on with your everyday tasks, but the memory of the shared kiss and Joel’s warm body pressed against you replays again and again in your head. You find yourself constantly looking for him, waiting to hear his echoed laughter as he makes dumb jokes with your father. You cannot help but overthink. Were you a bad kisser? Did you do something wrong? Did he hate you? 

You tried to bury yourself in work. You scheduled as many hair and nail appointments as you could in the small town, even giving clients discounts. You knew Joel was avoiding you, all the same. That much was crystal clear. 

Joel was a complete mess. Shame and anger guilted him. How could he have been so stupid? He was so possessive and desperate over you. Over his best friend’s daughter. It was pathetic. He could not get your little moans out of his head. Could not stop replaying the way you shivered at his light touches. Could not stop imagining what your little cunt would feel like wrapped around him as he plows into you. He could not sleep, could not eat. Jerking off was not even working anymore.

Joel hated that he had been ignoring you. He hated that he had to lie to your dad, telling him he was sick with the flu. He knew it was for the best, and again he started to question if there was any good in him at all. You were so young, so innocent. He knew it was wrong, so wrong. But you wanted him. Needed him, just as much as he needed you. Joel wished you hated him. Wish you had screamed at him and told him to get the fuck off you. Wish you did not let him cause those beautiful moans to leak out of you. He did not deserve it. Did not deserve you. 

The days were dragging on and Joel missed you. Even missed hanging out with your dad. He was scared. He did not know if you ever wanted to see him again. Maybe it was just a one-time thing for you, something that just happened in the moment. 

In the last few days, he left for work late, waiting until he heard your car pull out of the driveway next door before he even got out of bed. He came home late, an entire hour after he knew you would get home, just so he did not have to pass you outside as you walked into your house. 

You were fucking his entire life up. 

Joel sat idly at his kitchen table, nursing a cup of hot coffee and watching the news on TV. The sound of his cell phone ringing shakes him from the TV. He picks it up, annoyed to see a text from your dad. 

‘Hey Joel, know you're not feeling too hot. I’ll be out of town this week on a work trip. I was wondering if you’d check on y/n while I’m gone?’

Joel's face darkens. Damn it. It's not like he has an excuse to say no. 

‘Yeah, no problem. I’ll stop by when I get off later’ Joel responded, slamming his phone down on the table. Fucking great. 

The day passes and you get home, excited for some alone time. You slip into a thin pair of shorts and a crop top, ditching your shoes in the doorway of your room. Your mind cannot help but wander to Joel. What was he doing? Where was he? You turn on the TV in the living room, curling up in a blanket, hoping it will distract you from him.

Joel drags his feet the entire day. He tries to stay at work as late as possible, but he knows it’s just slowing the inevitable. When he pulls up to his driveway, he can’t help but picture you inside your house, all alone. He knows he shouldn’t but his legs beckon him to your front door. He could just text you, and ask if you need anything. But instead, he was standing outside, hating himself. 

A knock at the door startles you and you sit up straighter. You stand slowly pausing the movie as you step towards the door. You open it in shock, a tired Joel Miller in the doorway. He’s wearing jeans, boots, and a dusty work shirt. His forehead is slightly beaded with sweat from the hot Texas sun and fuck his skin is so golden. It is clear to you he has been working all day, dark circles under his eyes. 

“Hey, my dad’s not here”, you mumble, hardly peeking out from behind the door. 

“I know. He told me to check you,” Joel spoke calmly even though his skin was crawling to slam the door open, come inside, and have his way with you. 

“I’m fine,” you responded with a roll of your eyes and a hint of fire in your tone. 

Joel stands there, hands buried deep in his pockets, eyes locking onto yours. His gaze darkens at your tone, fist tightening into balls. “Text if you need anything. You know where I'll be.” His voice comes out with a low, gruff frustration. 

“I’m not a child and I don’t need anything,” you scowl, closing the door harshly behind you before stumbling back towards the couch. Who did he think he was? He could be all sweet one second, kiss you like he was possessed, and then not talk to you for days? You were over it. Completely fucking over it. 

Joel stands at the door for a moment, jaw clenched in anger, annoyance, and desire. Even when you were pissed at him, you were so fucking beautiful. So perfect. He thinks about knocking again but forces himself to turn around and walk home. 

Joel lays in bed later that night, staring up at the ceiling in defeat. He cannot get you out of his mind. The way you looked at him so hurt earlier fucking killed him. 

His mind thinks back to that night, your tiny frame and silky smooth skin. The way you came on his fingers, god the way you moaned his fucking name. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight and before he processed what he was doing, he was getting dressed and walking back to your house. 

The moon cast a silver glow over the street, each stride Joel took leaving his heart racing. He swore he could feel his blood pumping and his ears rang. He stood on the porch praying you were still awake. He had no idea what time it was, didn't even bother to check his phone when he left. His chest grew tight and he gently knocked on the door.

Of course, you were still up, tossing and turning with annoyance in your bed. Joel didn’t know it but you were just as exhausted as he was. Your heart pounded in your chest as a quiet knock stirred you out of your daydreams. You quickly walk to the front door, flipping on the living room light. You looked through the peephole, surprised to see Joel, his head down. You open the door, slightly smiling.

Joel looks up, surprised to see you standing in a pair of black panties and a loose-fitted t-shirt. The sight of you like this drove him crazy, his mind going blank for a moment. 

He’s so lost in you, he doesn't even realize that he's walked inside the house. His eyes roam over your body and he tries to think of any words to say. 

“Joel…” you whisper, your voice soft and breathy. His name was a plea, a trembling surrender to him. 

It causes Joel to snap back to reality. He takes a deep breath, his eyes wandering down to your exposed legs. It takes every ounce of restraint to not pull you into his arms and take you right here on the front door. 

“Sorry, I-I came over here like this…Can’t sleep. I, fuck. I had to come see you,” Joel stands awkwardly, running a hand through his hair, his voice shy and sheepish. You had never heard him sound nervous before. Despite the obvious need he felt to touch you, he stayed locked in place, a few steps away from you. 

“Me either” you muttered, nervously playing with your fingers. 

Joel lets out a quiet sigh, his eyes scanning the room like he had never been here before. He’s completely unsure of what to say or do, his mind too drunk on how sexy you look in front of him. 

The two of you stand in silence, both too nervous to move. 

“Where have you been?” You ask, the environment of the room drying out your throat. 

Joel shifts uncomfortably at your question, his gaze wandering to your eyes before landing on the floor below you. “Been busy,” is all he can force himself to respond with. 

“Right, busy” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. 

Joel knows you don't buy it. It was obvious to the both of you that he was ignoring you. What the fuck was he supposed to say? He feels so fucking guilty. Guilty for ignoring you. Guilty for leaving you in the kitchen like that. Guilty for not being able to fuck you properly that night. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry sweetheart. I shouldn’t have ignored you like that. I just…You don’t know what it’s like, even standing and talking to you, I can't stop thinking about taking you in that room and fucking you until you beg me to stop.” 

Your skin grows hot at his words and you take a step closer to him. Joel's heart races, your body close enough that he can feel your warmth. He’s trying his best to keep composure but it’s getting harder and harder with each passing second. 

“What are you doing?” Joel asks, his voice low and stuck in his throat. An involuntary shiver escapes him.

“Just need to be close to you, need to feel you,” The sound of the subtle plea in your words nearly breaks Joel. A low growl escapes him and in a second he closes the gap between you. His eyes are locked on yours. 

Joel's hand cups your face gently, his tough hands so tender on your soft skin. “You have no idea how much I want you”. His toned body towers over you, a shiver rushing down your spine as he leans his head down, lips hovering an inch above yours. 

He groans, finally meeting your lips, and all his resolve breaks. His tongue seeks out yours, nipping at your bottom lip. He explores your mouth, mapping out every inch, filled with a hunger Joel can't seem to control. His hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him and his muscles quiver in an effort of restraint. He wants to take you right here, bend you over and fuck you from the back. But he knows he has to be gentle, has to give you as much pleasure as possible. 

Joel’s arms wrap around you, lifting you off the ground with ease. He holds you tightly, placing your legs around his waist. His hands make a home on your ass and he carries you to your room, his steps slow and calculated in the dimly lit house. 

He uses a hand to open the door and gently lays you on the bed. Your brain is all fucked out already. His eyes roam over your form, studying every inch of you like you might disappear. 

Joel gently hovers over you, supporting his weight on his forearms as you resume kissing him. His lips explore your neck, making his mark on you with soft bites and sucks. You melt beneath him, moaning soft cries. 

You lift your hips up, the thin material of your panties allowing you to feel the hard bulge in Joel’s sweatpants. He lets out a groan, allowing you to groan against him. He never wanted it to stop. Joel’s hands roamed down your body, leaving a line of fire in the wake of his fingers and he traveled from your neck to chest, to your waist. 

“Such a good girl,” Joel praised, lifting himself onto his knees. He gently pulls at the soft fabric of your shirt. “May I?” Joel asks softly, meeting your eyes. 

You nod your head, arching your back off the bed. Joel is practically crying when he lifts the t-shirt over your head, your perfect tits on display. Your nipples were the perfect shade of pink, erect in the cool air. 

Joel swallowed hard, undoing the buttons of his flannel and throwing it off his shoulders. You had never really gotten a chance to see him without a shirt on. God, he was toned, his strong arms flexing with every movement. 

Joel wrapped his lips around a perfect perky nipple, a sweet hint of vanilla to your skin. Little ‘ohs’ escaped you, your hand traveling down to Joel’s toned back. He licked at the soft bud, massaging the other gently. He didn't realize just how big your tits were til he was face deep inside them, leaving soft hot kisses on the fat. 

He pitched your nipple, twisting it softly between two fingers. You relaxed into his touch, gently caressing his back and moaning his name over and over. Joel would never get tired of the way each letter spilled out of your mouth. 

Joel released your swollen nipple with a pop, quickly swallowing the other. Your hips grinded against him more and you could only take so much teasing.

“Need more”, you pleaded, back arching and hips writhing.

Joel was quick to give you what you wanted, bringing a hand down to rub you through the thin fabric of your panties, dampness creating a dark circle at your entrance. Your eyes slowly move down, watching Joel’s hand gently massage the swollen outside of your pussy. 

You whine at the view, Joel's large hand gently playing with your lips. He used a finger to hook the material, pulling your panties down in a swift motion. He tosses them somewhere, dragging his body until his knees are planted on the ground. He grabs your thighs, pulling you until your ass is just hanging off the bed. 

“Bet you taste so fucking good. Gonna let me eat that pretty little pussy?” 

“Please,” you whined, needing his touch more than air. 

Joel placed soft, wet kisses on your thighs, wrapping his forearms around the back of your thighs, holding your legs apart. You stayed still, waiting as he blew cold air on your clit, gently separating your slippery lips when his fingers. His breath was a new sensation, your body craving more. His soft lips hovered above your pussy, licking a long thick stripe from your entrance to your clit. Joel's tongue was soft and warm against your sensitive skin, licking small cat licks between your slit.

Joel brushed his tongue in a circle around your clit, your hand gently grabbing at his hair and the other pulling at the blanket below you. He flicked his tongue up and down, left and right, faster than you could have anticipated. Loud slurping sounds filled the room and you wondered how Joel was even breathing.

His nose brushes against your clit, lapping his tongue at the entrance of your cunt without warning. He pushed it in and out, tasting every drop of arousal your pussy could provide him. 

“Better than I ever fucking imagined,” he vibrated against your core, sending a shock wave through you. He hummed, tracing your clit again.

Joel licked the sides of your entrance, gently sliding the tip of his middle finger inside you. You let out a gasp, moaning his name and tightening the grip on his hair. Joel quickly found the best pace, paying great detail to the way your mouth hung open and eyebrows furrowed. Your legs clenched around him in desperation as Joel sunk his finger further inside. 

“So beautiful,” he mumbled to himself. Joel couldn't believe he was knuckle deep in his best friend's daughter, a girl half his age…again. Fuck, you weren't even 20 yet. 

Joel brushed the thought away, pumping his finger in and out, swirling and curling them to open you up as much as he could. He searched for your sweet spot, hitting it over and over as he lapped his tongue in your slit.

You bucked your hips, so close to release. Joel knew it. He pumped his finger faster, sucked your clit more, and spit roughly on your pussy, his saliva running down the back of your ass cheek.  

Your orgasm shot through you, wave after wave hitting you like lightning. Joel’s grip on you tightened, unwilling to let you slip out of his hands until he was sure you had ridden your orgasm all the way through. By the time he came up for air, his hair was a mess and his chest was rising and falling, leaving him all out of breath. 

“That’s my good girl,” He groaned, hovering above you and kissing you deeply. 

God, he was obsessed with how responsive you were. 

Joel stood at the edge of the bed, carefully removing his shoes and pulling down the sweatpants that hung loosely from his waist. You watched as he undressed, the bulge in his boxers undeniable. Joel Miller could not believe all the choices he made in life had led him…here. Standing above you, your legs sprawled out, pussy wet and glistening for him.

You swallow your nervousness, eyes locked on his member as he kicks off his boxers. His cock sprung free, precum gathering at the top. He was bigger than you imagined, not huge but definitely more than the average. Joel's cock stopped just below his belly button, the tip a shade lighter than the rest. He looked delicious, his balls a perfect size to slap your clit.

Joel smirked as he met your eyes like he was reading your thoughts. 

“You done this before?” Joel asked simply.

You nodded your head. “Just a couple, with my ex-boyfriend”.

Joel hummed, a slight smirk painted on his lips. “That’s good”. Joel felt himself ease a bit, no longer nervous he was the first man to be inside you. It made him feel less creepy, less like a piece of shit. 

“It’s been, kinda a while and he wasn’t… as big as you.” You whispered, your voice coxed with fear and trembling.

“That’s okay, sweet girl. I’m gonna be so gentle with ya.” Joel responded tenderly, placing a light kiss on your neck.

Your stomach fluttered in anticipation. He was so…new to you. 

Joel stepped closer, hovering about you and bringing your legs up, bending them at the knees so your ankles hung next to his shoulders. He placed a soft kiss on your ankle, caressing his hand up and down your shin. 

Joel lined his thick cock with your entrance, the tip teasing you. “You think you're ready for me, baby?” Joel asked, softly cupping your cheek. 

You nodded in agreement, softly closing your eyes.

“Need to hear you say it, baby” Joel spoke, a serious tone hidden behind the layer of desire.

“I’m ready Joel. Please…put it in.” 

Joel hummed in response, biting the inside of his cheek. He gently grabbed the base of his cock, pushing the tip just inside your tight hole. He was seeing stars already. God, how could you feel this good?

You inhale sharply, throwing your arms around his broad shoulders, and dragging your nails down with more force than you intended. You hoped it didn't hurt, but the thought of leaving a mark on him drove you crazy.

“Relax, baby. I got you. I got you.” Joel groaned into your neck, pushing himself further inside you. He placed a kiss on your lips, swallowing your cries of pleasure. Joel stayed in place as long as he could, his body screaming to push its way inside, fuck you until you were a mess of tears.

You have never been stretched out this much. Joel’s hard cock hit the back of you with a rough pressure, causing a yelp to escape you and your hands to reach out towards his stomach, pushing him out some. Joel tried to stay gentle but he knew you could take him. He grabbed your wrist, pushing it away from him and sinking back inside. 

“Too big,” you cried, a single tear forming in your eyes as Joel pulled out of you, the tip crashing back down and hitting your soft walls. You were so fucking tight around him, you were practically sucking him in. 

“You got it, baby girl. You can take it.” Joel growled, slamming gently into you with clenched teeth. “Take my cock, baby.” 

The bed creaked below you, the frame hitting the wall with an audible thud. Joel pushed your thighs down, ankles bouncing with each thrust. He was completely fucked. He would crave you every night now. God, why was he doing this?

Your vision blurred, a jolt of electricity pooled in your stomach, a fire igniting so hot in you. “Fuck yes!” you screamed, creamy white arousal gathering at the bottom of Joel's cock. The sight sent him into hyperdrive, thrusting into you like his life depended on it. Joel paid your orgasm no mind, continuing his thrust as you whined and wiggle under him, completely overstimulated by his touch, the way his cock was hitting you at that perfect angle. You were sure you’d never have sex like this with anyone other than him again. 

“Fucking good slut, taking me so well,” Joel growled, his thrust too hard for you to handle. “Told you, you could” Joel laughed, wrapping a hand around your throat and giving it a light squeeze. You gasped, swallowing as air slowly escaped you. He knew he shouldn't be here and this was why. He was trying so hard to be gentle, but he still couldn't stop himself from making a complete mess of you. Before you knew it, you were screaming out his name again, tightening your walls around him and cumming harder than ever before. “Ah!”, you whined, feeling Joel crash into your cervix hard. 

Your high-pitched moans reduced to soft cries, hips bucking, pleading for a break. You tried to wiggle out of his grip, tried to push him off a bit, but Joel was unmoveable. He grabbed your wrist, pushing them above your head and holding your hands in his. His finger intertwined with yours, engulfing you in his grasp. You clenched your walls around Joel, body almost rejecting his thick cock.

“Love this cunt, baby. Fucking love ya” Joel growled into your neck, his thrust becoming messy and uneven. “Fuck, gonna fucking cum baby. Where you want it?” Joel asked, sweat pulling at his forehead. He had hoped to last long, craved to have you cumming over and over again around him. But you were so warm, so fucking tight around him. He would have believed you if you told him you were a virgin.

“Oh fuck,” you cried Joel’s dick hitting you with so much force you thought you might be bruised. 

Joel groaned, pulling his cock out and quickly cumming on your stomach before you got a chance to process what was happening. 

“Goddamn, you were made for me,” Joel whispered, crashing on the bed next to you and pulling your shaky body on top of him. "My sweet little girl."

You stay like this for a while, Joel gently caressing your hair as your eyes get heavier and heavier. Finally, you both could rest. 

[honeyslibrary]

Compression Shorts | Jack Hughes

Pairing; Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Allusion to smut, established relationship, not sure what else, edited once

Summary; Reader gets turned on by Jack's compression shorts

Word Count; 0.4k

Authors Note: Might be posting a birthday blurb for him later as well 🩵 -Honey

You shuffle into the living room mid-yawn, hoodie sleeves pulled down over your hands and sleep still clinging to the corners of your eyes. The apartment exists in that particular morning silence, broken only by the low murmur of game commentary drifting from the TV, last night's Devils game replaying as though it might end differently this time.

Jack is sprawled on the couch, gaze fixed on the screen with the intensity of someone decoding ancient text. His hair forms damp waves from his post-skate shower, droplets occasionally falling onto the shoulders of his worn team hoodie. An untouched protein shake sits on the coffee table next to his phone, condensation forming a perfect ring on the wood. His laptop rests beside him, paused video clips waiting for his analysis.

But your eyes don't register any of those details first.

No, they lock onto the compression shorts.

Black. Tight. Unforgiving in how they cling to the sculpted terrain of his thighs, his hips, the sharp cut of his muscles. His shirt has ridden up just enough to reveal the subtle hollow of his lower abdomen, the kind of casual intimacy that shouldn't hijack your thoughts at 9 a.m., but here you are, mind suddenly wide awake.

You linger in the doorway, shoulder pressed against the frame. "So... this the new film study dress code?"

Jack doesn't glance up. "What?"

You arch an eyebrow, gaze deliberately tracking down his body. "The shorts. Very serious athlete behavior happening here."

That captures his attention. He looks down at himself, then up at you, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

"It's laundry day," he says, with a shrug that manages a tiny bit of arrogance. He knows exactly what you're alluding to.

"Sure it is," you murmur, stepping into the room. "Complete coincidence you're sitting there like an Instagram thirst trap?"

His grin widens, lazy and unrepentant. He stretches one arm along the back of the couch, sinking deeper into the cushions like he's settling in for something. "If I'd known this would get your attention, I would've started watching game tape like this weeks ago."

You settle beside him, tucking your legs beneath you, but your eyes betray you, flicking back to his thighs. Once. Twice.

Jack notices. Of course he does.

"You're staring," he says, voice tinged with amusement.

"You're not wearing real clothes."

He turns toward you, the smirk deepening into something more deliberate. "What, is this making you nervous?"

You roll your eyes, but there's heat rising to your cheeks. "I'm just saying, maybe don't be surprised if I accidentally shut that laptop and climb into your lap."

Jack closes the laptop immediately, and sets it aside with purpose.

"Well," he says, voice dropping to a register that sends a current through your body, "I was done watching anyway."

You can find the rest of the fic (smut, 18+) on my Patreon, or via the direct link: Here

[starlightdelrey]

the view between villages

platonic ! f1 grid x reader

summary: f1 is a dangerous sport - it's common knowledge. but accidents - bad accidents - aren't as common. seeing the youngest (and only female) driver crash and not immediately respond is something the boys never thought they'd have to experience, and the rest of the world is just as devestated.

cw: major accident, graphic descriptions of injury and vehicular damage, graphic descriptions of car accident, mentions of death, blood and gore, negative emotions such as sadness and regret, angst, mentions of religion,

song pairing is "the view betwen villages" by noah kahan

(not based on any particular race)

today's race felt off to begin with. When y/n had attempted to leave her aging yorkie, comet, in her hotel room - like she had done for the past couple months - he began to whine.

"poor baby," she mocked, but turned the small TV on and switched it to the channel that would be broadcasting the race live. "look, com. watch me on the tv."

the dog had complied and jumped onto the un-made bed, but when she left and closed the door, he had whined once or twice before calming down.

she made a mental note to get him checked out at the vet, but got distracted when she showed up to the paddock and got a look at the track.

"the weather wasn't as shit yesterday during quali," she said off-handedly to max verstappen, who was chatting to the engineers.

"are you worried?" y/n was a good racer, it was clear - but whenever max saw how small she looked in comparison to everyone else on the team he had a small sense of dread. it wasn't new, just annoying.

"nah." she grinned at him, her hair already pulled back into a french braid for ease during the race.

---

"lights out.... and away we go!"

the lights blink out and y/n is already gunning it, attempting to bypass the boys from mclaren.

she discovered early on that locking up would be her main issue today, and she made it clear on her radio.

"i keep locking up."

her voice was calm but shook a little as she struggled to steer, and she spoke only in short sentences to prevent stuttering.

"copy."

finally, she worked out a system to braking that prevented the struggle, but in speeding up, found that she'd made her way into a mass of cars.

"watch out, y/n. keep out of trouble - wait until everybody else has moved out of each others way."

"ok. pulling back-" the radio crackled and then went silent as a car careened into the side of her.

---

the audiences at home got to watch a replay of the impact.

somewhere in australia, a family consisting of two parents, a teenaged boy and a little girl are watching the race.

the boy reacts first, jolting. "was that logan sargeant and y/n y/ln?"

"yeah... turn up the volume?"

the mother grabs the remote and obliges, terse.

"was that the girl driver?" the barely 5 year old asks, brows furrowed.

"baby, go play in the other room." her father dismisses her, and when she slowly shuffles out, eyes trained on the screen as the commentators relay the details, her dad huffs.

"now. and don't look at the screen anymore."

she squeals and runs out, and the boy starts to jiggle his knee up and down as they wait for more information.

across the world, houses go silent.

---

"and it looks like logan sargeant attempts to pull away from the crowd but misjudges the distance between himself and y/ln. we can see him here slam right into the right side of the body of her car, and she goes spinning out, right into barricades. oh! and if we slow it down, you can see that the force of her chassis hitting the barricades not only forces the car to lift fully off of the ground, but it also tips - the top of the vehicle flips up into the barricade until it falls back into place. that is a nasty hit for rookie red bull driver y/n y/ln."

the commentators keep talking, thinking nothing of the accident, until the cameras switch to the red bull team, who are trying to get into contact with the girl.

"y/n, are you okay?"

silence.

"can you respond? y/n we need a vocal response. anything, okay kid? even if you can just hold down on the radio button so we know you're there."

no response.

the commentators continue.

"and it looks like we're getting no response from red bull driver y/n, who has just crashed."

---

his whole body jerks on the impact, and he spins out off the track, coming to a shaky stop.

"shit, shit, shit!" his voice cracks.

"are you okay, mate?" the radio crackles at him as he's fighting back tears.

"yeah - was that y/n i hit?"

"yes, we can confirm the crash involved both you and y/ln. we are receiving word that it is a red flag crash."

"is she okay?" he doesn't get a response at first, so he tries again. "is y/n okay?"

"no word yet. sorry, logan."

"fuck! i'm so sorry - i really thought it was clear, i just... fuck."

"calm down, sargeant. wait for pick-up and keep yourself collected. we'll tell you as soon as we find anything out, okay mate?"

"sure."

he lifts himself from the smoking chassis and the world watches as he kicks it out of frustration before letting his head lower.

there's a sickening feeling in his stomach as he sees the girls unmoving vehicle.

he pictures her inside, and the fact that she's so much smaller than the older men cause his mind to unravel with pictures of her limp and unconscious.

---

inside the car, y/n blinks her eyes open, groaning.

her ears are ringing and her head hurts, and the body of her car is so warped that it's vacuum sealed her into the vehicle.

in the back of her mind, y/n feels the pain in her right thigh and left ankle, and her right shoulder feels dislocated.

"kid, we need an answer." the radio's muted and crackling, and when y/n tries to respond, she realizes that something on her end is fucked because they're still begging for an answer.

she goes to climb out of the car, but a sob tears out of her chest at the immense pain that suddenly blooms throughout her whole body.

she falls heavily back onto the seat and pants, closing her eyes.

she feels slight relief from the pain when she fully relaxes and closes her eyes, and nestles into her seat a little to get comfortable.

the need to sleep takes over her and she obeys, nodding off.

---

inside her hotel room, comet's ears pull back in concern as he hears his owners name being called out repeatedly from the television.

---

"red flag, max. we need to restart the race."

verstappen stills, his ears suddenly ringing. he has a bad feeling about the red flag but just can't place it.

"what's happened?"

"there was a crash between a williams and y/n. to the pit lanes, please." the voice on the other end seems calm, but there's a waver to it.

"fuck, are you joking? are they both okay?"

"the williams driver... logan sargeant, we're hearing, is up and out of his chassis. we've heard nothing from y/n yet."

he'd fight them, ask for more information, but knows that red bull would be the first to hear anything.

"tell me if you find anything out."

"copy."

as he drives to the pit lane, max replays her grin at him as she reassures the dutchman.

"nah." her nose is scrunched and hair pulled out of her face.

he thinks about how bulky the helmet looked on her, the barely 20 year old driver somehow never managing to put on any muscle, no matter how hard she tried.

he prays to jesus, zeus, allah, and even the virgin mary - surely she'd have sympathy to max's prayers, as she's lost someone dear to her before. any deity he can think of is immediately begged to ensure the safety of his partner.

---

a whining noise pulls y/n back into consciousness, and she furrows her brows.

"i'm trying to sleep, com. shut up." when she opens her eyes and sees the battered cockpit in front of her, she realizes that she's not hearing her dog cry, it's just the ringing in her ears that are back.

and then suddenly all she can see is comet waiting for her. comet, waiting in a hotel room that she'll never re-enter. what's gonna happen to the mutt if she dies? her parents are over-seas, she has no boyfriend to look after him. comet would be all alone.

and then all the guys on the grid are flashing through her head. she knows, vacantly, that logan crashed into her. he'd never forgive himself if she died. verstappens win streak would be fucked if he was grieving over his teammate. even lewis hamilton, who was the first driver to openly back her as the only woman on the grid.

she screws her eyes shut and lets out a heavy sob, steeling herself.

---

the commentators are no longer focused on the race.

"and i think i can speak for all of us when i ask, where is the goddamn safety car and ambulance? young driver y/n y/ln has been stuck in the wreck for about a minute and a half now, and there has still been no aid for her. which is a cause for concern about the overall safety of f1, as- oh my god!"

---

charles is already on his way back to the pit lanes, muttering manifestations under his breath for y/n to be okay.

he's shaking, filled with lead and a lump in his throat. he and y/n aren't super close, due to their team differences, but every time he spoke to her she had a certain gleam in her eye that one only had when they weren't afraid of death.

this worried him. racing was her life - would she succumb easily? it was a known fact that many drivers drove as if they had nothing to lose.

the idea of her choking on mortality in her chassis scared him more. maybe her body was broken, and the pain was all she could feel as the life drained from her? he worried for those that would have to witness the blood and bruises when she was pulled from her car.

"we've got an update on y/n."

he was pulled out of his mind. "tell me. please."

"she's getting herself out. the paramedics were taking too long, so she took it upon herself, apparently." a startled laugh falls out of charles' lips as he cheers back.

---

muscles screaming, y/n forces herself to lift out of the cockpit, allowing her body the only relief of rest once her upper half is slung over the halo. for about five seconds she stops, before she forces herself to continue.

the safety car and paramedics are here now, and camera crew for the live footage plus the netflix crew are close behind.

people are shouting at her to stop, but she continues to claw her way out of the wreckage.

she's crying and praying to a god she never knew she believed in as she forces her broken legs out of the car, sliding over the side to the ground.

she stands and looks around at the medical crew who are advancing towards her and tries to take her helmet off. she can't, and they're reassuring her that they'll do it for her.

y/n looks out at the audience and raises one arm to greet them. she's met with immediate raucous applause and, swaying for a few seconds, she falls.

---

"you would never believe it. this lady is pulling herself out of her car. as the camera zooms, you can really see the absolute strength this is taking her - hold on, we're getting audio now."

the world watches with bated breath as the coverage of her climbing out of the car begins to play. you can hear the agonised screams she lets out as she forces herself to exit, and just how broken some of her limbs look. her left ankle hangs limply, and she has to use both arms to force her right leg out of the cockpit.

"what a magnificent scene. y/n y/ln has kissed death, and still lives to tell the tale. we see her now, standing on the track as the medical staff come to her aid, and she falls. a very fair response to what she has just gone through. a round of applause to y/n y/ln, the girl who kissed death!"

---

"so lando, congratulations on p4. obviously, the whole crash between logan and y/n caused a damper on the overall race. how do you feel about it?" the interviewer pushed a mic at his face.

"the crash? yeah, it was terrifying not knowing if she was okay or not. i'm not surprised she ended up climbing out of the chassis herself," he laughs softly. "i've never known her for being patient."

"how do you feel about her new nickname?"

"nickname?"

"people are calling her 'the girl who kissed death'."

lando can't stop a high-pitched laugh from escaping. "girl who kissed death? that's stupid. oh god, i can't wait for her to find out about that. she'll be proper pissed off."

"right, well, thanks lando. have fun celebrating!" the interviewer bids him farewell.

---

a few months later:

over the healing process, y/n was forced to give multiple statements, post social media posts, and even a quick video from the hospital bed, but when she sees comet, her resolve finally fails.

she begins to tear up as the scruffy dog barks at her, jumping up and down.

"someone's excited to see you," lewis hamilton, the temporary guardian of the dog, grins.

roscoe stomps his feet and licks y/n, panting at her.

"awe, little babies. i was so scared of dying and leaving comet all alone, but i think he would've been fine."

lewis glances down at the kneeling girl in front of him and tsks, nudging her with his foot. "don't say that, y/n. nobody would've been fine."

"yeah?"

"yeah. have you seen all the tiktok edits of your crash? people were terrified. i was terrified."

y/n doesn't say anything, but stands to hug the british man.

he holds her back, before clearing his throat. "save that love for death. heard you've kissed it before."

"fuck off."

--- la fin ---

[filthyjoelslvr]

Window Seat (2)

Part 1

Content: Dbf!Joel x reader

Synop: Joel's been distant ever since the night he snuck into your house, into your room, to touch you in places you needed. His need for you overpowers him, making all his regret dissolve.

Warnings: age gap (not specified), pet names (praising, says slut once), use of daddy (once), no outbreak, unprotected PiV, oral (f receiving), praising, (might be forgetting some)

Word Count: 9k

(dividers by: @strangergraphics @cafekitsune)

It starts with the blinds.

At first, it’s subtle, almost invisible — something that could easily be brushed off. But when you’re sitting at your window, staring across the street like you have so many times before, it becomes impossible to ignore.

Joel’s blinds are completely shut.

For weeks, they’ve always been open — just a little. Enough that you could see the outline of his figure moving in and out of the living room, the occasional flash of him leaning over to grab a shirt from his dresser, or the silhouette of him sitting on his bed, watching TV after a long day. Those moments, however brief, had become your silent routine. His window was a steady, reassuring presence, something that felt like a connection, even when you weren’t close.

But tonight, the window is dark. Nothing. Not a hint of movement. Not a flicker of light.

You shift uncomfortably, leaning forward, your face pressed against the cool glass. Your heart beats a little faster, a strange fluttering in your chest that makes you pause. You try to tell yourself it’s nothing — that maybe he just wanted some privacy tonight, or maybe he’s been busy. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. You’ve been doing this long enough to notice the changes, even the smallest ones.

You glance at your phone, checking the time — it’s past 10 p.m. Now would be the time Joel would normally swing by after his long day. He always has some excuse, a reason to come over, to have a beer with your dad or to just hang out. But tonight, there’s nothing. No knock at the door. No text. No call.

Not a word.

You run your fingers over the glass, your thoughts growing heavier. He hasn’t been by in days. Not since that night — that night you can’t stop replaying in your head, a night that felt like everything had shifted. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, wasn’t it? A secret between the two of you. But then the silence settled in, stretching between you like a rift, filling the spaces with confusion and doubt.

You’ve tried to convince yourself that maybe he just needs space, that maybe he’s processing what happened. But the doubt lingers in your chest, tightening with each passing hour. You can’t help but feel like he’s avoiding you. It’s not just the blinds. It’s the lack of contact — no text, no call, no word of any kind. Joel, who used to be here, is now a ghost.

You force yourself to look away from his window, but your eyes keep wandering back. It’s like you can’t stop searching for him, even though you already know the answer. The emptiness in his house, the absence of him behind the blinds, is enough to settle the growing pit in your stomach.

You glance across the street again, wondering if maybe you’ve missed something. But his house looks different now — darker. Quieter. His truck, which is usually parked out front, isn’t there, and the street feels colder without it. When he’s here, even just parked in his driveway, it feels like the neighborhood is alive. But now, with his absence, everything seems still.

You glance down at your phone again. You’ve sent him a few texts in the past few days. Short ones, nothing too needy. Just simple things like, "Hey, you coming by tonight?" or "Haven’t seen you in a while, everything okay?" But no responses. No pings, no notifications, nothing. Just that unsettling silence.

Joel has always been the type to show up unannounced, the kind of guy who’d knock on the door without a second thought, asking for a drink or a place to sit after a long day. He didn’t need a reason to show up, not really. He was just always there, like a fixture in the background of your life. Even if he wasn’t there physically, you knew he’d be back soon.

But now? There’s an eerie stillness in the space he’s left behind. You don’t even remember when the last time was that he came by. Was it five days ago? Six? You can’t remember the last time you heard his gravelly voice, the last time you felt his presence in the house.

You try to call him, finally. Your fingers hover over the screen, but when you press his name, your stomach churns with unease. The dial tone rings longer than usual, echoing in your ear. He’s not picking up. No voicemail. Just the sound of the phone ringing and ringing until it goes quiet.

You try again, this time sending a quick text.

“Joel, hey. Everything okay? Haven’t seen you in a bit.”

Still no response. You feel the familiar, bitter sting of disappointment in your chest, but you push it down. You can’t let it get to you. It’s just… it’s just Joel, right? He’s probably just busy. He probably has a lot on his plate. The rational part of your brain tries to talk you down, but there’s a gnawing feeling at the back of your mind that tells you something’s wrong. Something is different.

You turn away from the window, pacing across the room. Your dad is downstairs, watching TV, blissfully unaware of the growing knot in your stomach. He hasn’t mentioned Joel’s absence yet, but you can see the change in him too. He’s been glancing at his phone more than usual, checking the time whenever he hears a car drive by. He’s used to Joel stopping by at least once a day, even if it’s just for a quick chat. But it’s been days now. Days without a word.

And your dad is starting to notice. Starting to worry.

“Hey, where’s Joel been?” he asked you earlier, in that nonchalant tone he uses when he doesn’t want to seem concerned. “Haven’t seen him around.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s busy.”

But your dad’s frown deepened. “Hm. Yeah. I guess so.”

There was an odd weight to his words, a note of suspicion that lingered in the air long after he’d moved on to something else. But you could feel it — he’s starting to wonder if something’s wrong.

You make your way to the kitchen, distractedly grabbing a glass of water, but your eyes keep flicking toward the window again, toward the empty, dark space where Joel’s presence used to be. The silence in his house feels like a physical thing, pressing down on your chest.

You haven’t seen him in days. You haven’t heard from him in days. And now his blinds are shut.

And for the first time, you realize with a sickening lurch in your stomach: Joel is avoiding you.

The morning light filters through the kitchen window, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. You can hear the steady hum of the coffee maker, the clink of ceramic mugs being set down on the table. Your dad sits across from you, his usual worn flannel shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his face drawn with the lines of someone who’s been up for a while. The smell of fresh coffee lingers in the air, but it does little to mask the subtle tension hanging between you.

You glance at your phone absentmindedly, scrolling through a few messages that are all empty — nothing from Joel, nothing from anyone really. Just the dull buzz of notifications that don’t mean anything.

It’s quiet, the kind of quiet where your dad’s thoughts are running a mile a minute, and you can feel the unease in the air before he speaks.

“Y’know, it’s really weird about Joel,” your dad says, breaking the silence, his voice low but firm.

You look up, pretending like you didn’t notice it yourself. “What do you mean?”

He sets his mug down with a heavy sigh, fingers tapping absently on the ceramic. “I’ve been tryin' to get ahold of him for a few days now. He usually stops by, or at least sends me a text, even if it’s just to say he’s busy. But I haven’t heard a word from him. Not even a damn call.”

You try to hide your reaction, even though your heart skips a beat. Joel’s been avoiding you, and it’s clear he’s been avoiding your dad, too. You keep your voice casual, like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. “Maybe he’s just caught up with work. You know how he is, always busy with something.”

Your dad shakes his head, not convinced. “He’s been way too quiet. The thing is, when Joel’s tied up with something, he lets me know. He’ll text, or give me a call, something. Hell, sometimes he’ll even show up just to tell me he’s got a late one. But this… this feels different.”

You can hear the frustration in his voice now, the worry that’s been slowly creeping in. He’s always been laid-back, never the type to get too worked up over anything, but Joel’s absence has clearly unsettled him.

“He didn’t even send me a text to say he’d be gone for a while or that he was swamped. Just… nothing.” Your dad looks out the window, his mind clearly racing. “I’ve heard his truck leave in the mornings, and I’ve seen it come back in the afternoons. So, I know he’s around. But he won’t even pick up my calls. What the hell’s going on with him?”

You take a slow sip of your coffee, trying to maintain your cool. You already know what’s going on. The night still lingers in your mind, the way Joel left so suddenly, his words heavy with regret, his eyes full of something you couldn’t quite read. But you can’t tell your dad that.

You set your cup down gently, trying to keep your voice neutral. “Don’t worry so much, Dad. I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he’s just going through something. He’s not exactly great at reaching out when he’s in his head, you know that.”

Your dad looks at you, raising an eyebrow as if trying to gauge if you're telling the truth or just brushing it off. "Yeah, I know. But it’s just… not like him. Not this bad. Hell, he’s been over here almost every damn day since he moved into that house.”

He runs a hand through his graying hair, eyes narrowing in concern. "You sure you haven’t heard from him? Or seen him around?"

You shake your head a little too quickly, your voice a little too steady. “Nope. Haven’t seen him. But I’ll stop by after work and see if he’s okay. You know, just check in on him. I’m sure everything’s fine. Maybe he just needs a break from… well, everything.”

Your dad nods slowly, his lips pulling into a thin line. You can tell he’s not convinced, but he doesn’t press the issue.

“Alright,” he mutters, reaching for his mug again. "I guess you’re right. But I don’t know, something about this just doesn’t sit right with me. It’s not like him to disappear like this, not without any kind of word." He pauses, staring down into his coffee. "I’m just… I don’t know. I’ve been worrying more than I should."

You smile weakly, trying to ease his mind, though your own thoughts are racing. “You know how men are. They don’t talk about their feelings. You’d get more out of a statue.” You chuckle softly, hoping to break the tension, though it falls flat.

Your dad smiles back at you, but it’s tired, a little sad. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just hate not knowing what's going on. But… I guess if you’re heading over there, it’ll give me some peace of mind."

"Don’t worry so much, okay? I’ll check in with him and let you know what’s up. Maybe he just needs some time to himself, and we’re all overthinking it." You give him a reassuring nod, even though a part of you knows it’s not that simple.

"Alright," he says, sighing heavily, his shoulders slumping as he leans back in his chair. "Guess I’ll just focus on work today, and you let me know how it goes. Appreciate it, kid."

You nod again, feeling a tightness in your chest. It’s all you can do to act like everything’s fine, even though the sinking feeling in your gut tells you that something is seriously wrong.

You finish your coffee in silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts. The weight of your dad’s worry is heavy in the air, and you know it’s not just about Joel anymore — it’s about your dad too. But you can’t bring yourself to tell him what you already know. Joel has pulled away, not just from you, but from everything.

An anger settles deep in your stomach. Joel can ignore you all he wants, leave you be, but bringing your dad into this crosses the line.

The sun’s just beginning to dip below the rooftops when you hear it — the low, familiar rumble of Joel’s truck pulling into the driveway across the street.

It’s later than usual. Much later. Most nights, Joel’s already home and settled by now, beer in hand, maybe a light on in the living room, TV murmuring softly through the window. But this time, the engine grumbles into your awareness like a ghost finally deciding to come home.

You freeze in place, caught mid-motion in your room, a book forgotten in your lap, your phone screen dimming beside you. Slowly, quietly, you rise and walk to your window, careful not to make any noise — like he might hear you from all the way across the street.

You pull the blinds apart, just a sliver, and there he is.

Joel Miller, climbing out of his truck with one hand gripping the top of the door and the other slinging his worn flannel jacket over his shoulder. The soft orange of the setting sun hits him just right — that low, amber light brushing his skin, catching the gray in his hair, outlining the curve of his shoulders, the sharp lines of his profile. He looks tired. Worn. Still so painfully good-looking it makes something twist in your chest.

He pauses at his front steps for a moment, glancing out toward the quiet street — not at your window, not at you — just a passing glance before he rubs the back of his neck and disappears through his front door.

No light flicks on in the window. The blinds stay closed.

You stand there for a moment longer, fingertips resting on the windowsill, your throat tight with something you can’t quite swallow. You should be angry. Maybe you are. But mostly, you feel… disappointed. Not because Joel pulled away. But because he didn’t even try to say goodbye.

You think about all the nights you’ve watched him from this same spot — the warmth you used to feel when you’d catch a glimpse of him moving around his house, the stolen glances, the tension that built in the space between your windows like static. And then, that night. The way he looked at you. The way he touched you. The way he whispered your name like it was something he didn’t want to give up.

You feel the weight of it settling on your shoulders like dusk. And you’re so damn tired of it.

With a shaky breath, you step back from the window. You tell yourself you’re just going over there to check in. That it’s what any good neighbor would do. That this has nothing to do with the ache in your chest or the unanswered texts or the way your heart clenched the second you saw him walk inside like you never happened at all.

You grab a hoodie from the back of your chair, pull it over your head, and slide on your shoes. You don’t give yourself time to second-guess it.

As you cross the street, the sun sinks lower, throwing long shadows across the pavement. Joel’s truck is still warm, the engine ticking softly in the cooling air. His porch light is off, the blinds unmoving — like the house is holding its breath, waiting for something to break.

You climb the steps and hesitate at the door.

Your knuckles hover over the wood, your pulse pounding in your ears. For a second, you consider turning back. Going home. Pretending none of this ever happened. But the thought of another night of silence — another night of pretending Joel hasn’t become this unreachable part of you — is worse.

So, you knock.

Soft. Hesitant. But loud enough.

And then you wait.

The knock still hangs in the air when the door swings open — not fast, not welcoming — just enough to say what do you want?

Joel stands in the doorway, his shoulders square, one hand still gripping the edge of the doorframe like he hadn’t decided if he was going to open it all the way. His eyes land on you, and for a split second, something like relief flashes across his face.

Then it’s gone.

Replaced by something colder. Guarded. Almost annoyed.

“…What are you doin’ here?” he asks, his voice rough, like he hasn’t spoken to anyone all day. Or maybe like he didn’t want to speak to you.

You blink, caught off guard by how distant he sounds. You expected guilt maybe, or discomfort, but not this sharpness. Still, you hold your ground.

“I just…” You clear your throat, looking up at him. “I wanted to check on you. You’ve been quiet lately.”

Joel exhales through his nose, leans against the frame. “I’ve been busy.”

“That’s not like you,” you say gently. “You usually at least text my dad. He’s starting to get worried.”

Joel’s jaw tightens, his gaze dropping for a moment before flicking back up to yours. “I’m fine.”

You study him, your eyes narrowing slightly. “You sure?”

“I said I’m fine,” he snaps, a little too quickly.

You don’t flinch. “Okay. So you’re fine. Everything’s okay. Then why have you been avoiding me?”

Joel goes still.

He opens the door a little more, like he’s considering asking you in, but doesn’t. The hallway behind him is dimly lit. The smell of wood and leather and old whiskey drifts out, familiar and grounding, but right now it only makes your chest ache.

“I’m not avoidin’ you,” he mutters, clearly lying.

You cross your arms. “Joel.”

He lets out a tired sigh and runs a hand down his face. “Jesus. Look, it’s just… what we did…” he starts, his voice dropping low, like even saying it out loud might make it worse. “It was dangerous.”

You stare at him, pulse pounding. “Dangerous how?”

“You know how,” he snaps, then softens almost immediately. “It was wrong.”

“Then do you regret it?” you ask, voice quiet now. Not angry. Just… broken.

Joel looks at you — really looks at you — like the weight of that question has knocked the wind out of him. He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Shakes his head slowly.

“No,” he says finally. “Of course I don’t. But that doesn’t make it right.”

You take a step closer. “You not talking to me? That doesn’t make it right either. It’s not just hurting me, Joel. My dad is confused. Worried. He thinks you’re mad at him or that something happened. And you know how he is — he doesn’t talk about his feelings, but I can see it. Every day. He misses you.”

Joel’s eyes close briefly like the words hit too close.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” he says quietly.

“I know you didn’t,” you say, voice softening too. “But you are. By shutting down. By disappearing. And if this… whatever this thing was between us — if it’s the reason you’ve pulled away, then fine.”

You swallow hard.

“I’ll let it go. I’ll forget it happened. Just… don’t disappear on him. He needs you. We need you.”

There’s a long silence between you. Joel doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His jaw clenches like he’s trying to hold something back — guilt or longing or both.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“I care about your dad,” he says, his voice low and thick. “More than I’ve ever cared about another person in my life. He’s… family.”

“I know,” you whisper. “That’s why I’m asking you to stop doing this. Just come back to us. To him. We don’t have to talk about what happened. We don’t have to do anything else. Just… be normal again.”

Joel looks at you like the words are both a lifeline and a punishment.

And for a second, you think maybe — just maybe — he’s going to reach for you. But he doesn’t. He just nods once. Slow. Reluctant.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

You exhale, even though it doesn’t feel like relief. “Thank you.”

Joel’s hand tightens on the doorknob. His voice comes out quieter this time. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” you say, even if it doesn’t feel true.

You turn to go. He doesn’t stop you.

And as the door closes gently behind you, the space between you settles into the silence again.

Weeks pass. And life, somehow, starts to feel normal again.

Not all at once — not with some big moment or apology — but gradually. Like the way winter fades into spring: slow, cautious, not entirely sure it’s safe to bloom again.

At first, you and Joel barely look at each other.

When he comes over, you find an excuse to leave. You suddenly remember errands, drive aimlessly for hours just to avoid the creak of floorboards in your room while his voice fills the house downstairs. You wait until he’s left before returning home, stepping into the quiet space he’s left behind, air still faintly warm from where he’d stood.

You wonder if he notices you slipping around him like a ghost. You wonder if it hurts him the way it hurts you.

But he never says anything.

Your dad, though — he lights back up like someone flipped a switch. Joel’s presence returns like it never left: sitting at the kitchen table again, beer in hand, teasing your dad about the burnt edges of his barbecue. Watching sports, fixing things that don’t really need fixing. He starts calling again, sending texts, stopping by after work with that slow, tired smile that used to feel like home.

And you watch from the background. At first.

Little by little, you let yourself drift back in.

Dinner at the table again. Quiet small talk. A movie night where you don’t fake a headache and hide in your room. A joke shared on the porch that makes your dad laugh, Joel’s eyes flicking toward you for half a second — just long enough for your breath to hitch. You sip your drink and look away before it can become anything more.

Everything is back to normal.

At least on the surface.

But beneath it, under the calm rhythms of domestic life, something pulses.

You miss him.

You miss the way he used to say your name with that quiet warmth. The way he’d smile when you walked into the room, like you were the one he’d been waiting for. You miss catching his eye from across the table, the subtle flicker of amusement or softness that only you could read. The knowing glances shared across the porch, the late-night glimpses through open windows.

You keep your blinds closed now. So does he.

It’s better this way, you tell yourself.

Safer.

You promised to forget. To move on. To let it go for your dad’s sake.

And you meant it. You still do.

But some nights, when the house is quiet and you’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, you remember the way his voice sounded in the dark. The way his hands moved like he already knew every part of you. You remember the heat, the whisper of sweet names, the way he tucked you into bed like he didn’t want to leave but knew he had to.

You don’t cry.

But you feel the ache of missing him like something that was half-healed and pulled open again. Not bleeding — just sore. Tender. Like a bruise only you can feel.

And so you smile at him over dinner. You laugh when he teases your dad. You hand him a beer from the fridge like nothing ever happened. You nod when your dad talks about how good it is to have Joel around again.

And you pretend.

Because that’s what you promised. And because pretending is the only way you get to keep him in your life at all.

The house is quiet. Your dad's gone to bed hours ago, his snoring echoing faintly down the hall. A half-watched movie flickers across the dark living room, its sound low and distant like the buzz of a dream. You’re still on the couch, knees pulled up beneath you, a throw blanket wrapped around your shoulders like armor. Rain tapping the window with a calm stream.

You’re not expecting anyone when the knock comes.

It’s late — not so late that it’s strange, but late enough that your heart jumps at the sound. The kind of late that makes everything in the house feel more vulnerable. Darker. Softer.

You pause the movie that’s been playing to an empty room, remote still in your hand, and glance toward the front door. No text. No warning.

But you already know it’s him.

You cross the living room slowly, wiping your palms down the sides of your thighs as you go. You don't check through the peephole. You just open the door.

And there he is.

Joel.

He stands beneath the low porch light, one hand braced on the doorframe, the other clutching something — your dad’s wallet. His jacket is open, shirt rumpled like he’s been wearing it too long. His hair is still damp from the shower or maybe the rain — you can’t tell — and his face is unreadable. Guarded. Tired. A little like he didn’t want to be here, but couldn’t stop himself anyway.

“Hey,” he says, voice low.

Your stomach flips. “Hey.”

He lifts the wallet slightly. “Your dad left this in my truck earlier.”

You glance at it, then back at him. “You didn’t have to bring it by tonight.”

Joel shrugs, like it’s nothing, but his jaw’s tight. “Figured he might need it tomorrow.”

“He’s already asleep.”

“I figured that, too.”

Silence settles between you. The kind that used to feel easy — familiar. But now it’s wrapped in something heavier. Sharper. The kind of silence that has to be handled carefully or it might shatter.

You step back without thinking. “You can come in, if you want.”

He hesitates for a beat.

Then he steps inside.

He walks with slow, deliberate steps — like the floor might crack beneath him — and sets the wallet down on the kitchen counter with a muted thud. You shut the door, but don’t move to join him just yet. You watch him from the hallway instead, arms crossed, your body buzzing with nerves.

Joel turns toward you, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable.

You clear your throat. “You’re quiet.”

He exhales, looks away for a second. “Yeah.”

“You okay?”

He nods once. Too quickly. “Fine.”

“You sure?”

His shoulders tense. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

You study him. The slope of his brow. The way he’s not looking at you. And it stings — that careful distance he keeps between you. Like you’re something he can’t be trusted to stand too close to.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say softly. “Pretend we’re strangers.”

Joel’s gaze snaps to you — quick, sharp, pained.

“I’m not pretending that,” he says, voice low.

“Then what are you pretending?”

He doesn’t answer. He just watches you like he's trying to hold something in — something he doesn’t trust himself to say.

You take a step forward. Just one. Your voice stays quiet. Careful.

“I thought we were okay. After that night on the porch. I told you I’d drop it. I meant it.”

“I know you did.”

“Then why does it still feel like you’re avoiding me?”

Joel’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t try to lie.

You step closer again, your chest tightening. “I’m not trying to pull you back into anything. I just… I miss you. I miss when we could be in the same room and not feel like we were walking on glass.”

Joel swallows hard, his throat working around the weight of your words. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and hoarse.

“I don’t know how to look at you and not want to touch you.”

The words sink into your skin, low and heated and aching. You go still.

Joel shakes his head. “You think this is easy for me? Bein’ around your dad. Coming in this house. Trying to be normal when all I can think about is how you looked that night — standing at my door, askin’ me if I regret it.”

You blink, throat tight. “Do you?”

His eyes meet yours. Unflinching. “No. But I think about it every goddamn day. What we risked. What it could’ve cost.”

You step closer — close enough now to feel the warmth of his body.

“But it didn’t,” you whisper. “And we said we’d move on.”

“I know.”

“Then why are we still hurting?”

Joel looks at you like he’s trying not to drown in it. Like he wants to say no, wants to say nothing, but his body betrays him first.

His hand lifts.

It hesitates halfway — a breath, a pause — and then he’s touching you. Calloused fingers brush gently along your jaw, so soft it nearly breaks you. His thumb trails just beneath your cheekbone, and your eyes flutter shut instinctively, overwhelmed by the way it feels. Like a confession.

He’s so close now. You can smell cedar and smoke. Feel the warmth of his breath as it fans across your lips. Your heart is in your throat, thudding loud enough to drown out every thought except him.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispers, but he’s already leaning in.

And then he kisses you.

Slow. Desperate. Tender.

His lips press into yours like a secret he’s too tired to keep. There’s no rush, no hunger — just aching restraint, the kind of kiss that says I’ve missed you every second I’ve been away. His hand cradles your jaw while the other curls gently around your waist, not pulling, just holding. Like he needs to remember what it feels like before he lets go again.

His lips taste like regret and rain. His touch is careful, worshipful — like you’re something holy.

Your fingers find the front of his shirt, clinging to it as your body leans into him, heart pounding so hard you’re sure he can feel it. The kiss deepens — slowly, carefully — his mouth parting against yours with quiet submission. Like he's afraid if he gives in too much, he'll ruin you both.

And maybe he will.

When he finally pulls away, it’s with a soft, trembling breath. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes still closed.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then, in a voice so broken it almost undoes you: “I’m sorry.”

He brushes his thumb once more across your cheek — almost like goodbye — and steps back.

And before you can ask him to stay, before you can say please, he opens the door and slips out into the night.

You don’t follow. You don’t cry. You just stand there in the dark, feeling the echo of his mouth on yours like an imprint you’ll never get rid of.

Gone again.

Leaving you standing there in the dark — lips tingling, heart hollow — with the weight of his kiss still clinging to your skin like a bruise that hasn’t formed yet.

And for the first time in weeks, you’re not just missing him. You’re mourning him.

It starts with the quiet.

The kind of quiet that hums. That settles into the walls of the house like dust and lingers under your skin, too thick to ignore but not loud enough to drown out. You’ve been trying to keep busy — folding laundry that doesn’t need folding, pacing around the kitchen without purpose, starting a movie you didn’t even want to watch.

You left it playing in the background anyway. Something old. Familiar. A film you’ve seen a dozen times but couldn’t name a single plot point if someone asked. The dialogue blends into the silence like white noise. You're not really listening.

Not when your mind keeps wandering.

Back to him.

Back to that night.

That kiss.

You haven’t been able to stop thinking about it — the way his mouth felt on yours, soft and certain and so careful, like he was afraid of breaking something even as he gave in to the very thing he’d been trying so hard to avoid. It plays on a loop in your mind. The heat of his hand on your jaw. The tremble in his voice when he said, “I’m sorry.”

You haven’t been the same since.

Not because of the kiss — but because of what came after. The way he left. The way he hasn’t reached out since.

Like he’s trying to pretend it didn’t happen.

Like you’re something he regrets.

You pull your knees up to your chest on the bed, resting your chin there as the light from the TV flickers across the room. You’ve been holding your breath every night since. Waiting for him to text. To call. To do something.

But he hasn’t.

And the silence is starting to feel like punishment.

The house is still. Your dad went to bed hours ago — you heard the creak of his door, the distant shuffle of him brushing his teeth, the usual end-of-day routine.

You wonder if he regrets it.

The thought sits heavy in your chest, pressing down with every heartbeat. You’ve tried to be okay with the distance — you promised you’d let it go — but there’s a hollowness in your ribs that won’t fill. Not when he feels so close and so far all at once.

You sigh, reach for your phone, and check it for the hundredth time.

Still nothing.

You set it down with a quiet thud on the nightstand, then push yourself up, restless. You pace once to the window before you catch yourself.

And then you see it.  Just a sliver at first.

Barely there — the way moonlight breaks across his blinds when they’re tilted too wide, or how the glow of his lamp leaks between the cracks. You almost don’t notice it. You’re not looking for it, not really. But your eyes find his window anyway, like they always do. Like they haven’t stopped.

You freeze.

Because they’re open.

For weeks, they’ve been closed. Tight. Like he couldn’t risk letting you see even a shadow of him. Like he was trying to cut the tether between your houses with nothing but slats of plastic.

But now?

Now the blinds are drawn just enough to see in.

And he’s there.

Joel.

He’s standing by the window, backlit by warm lamplight, his head bent low like he’s reading something. You can’t see much — the outline of his shoulders, the slope of his spine — but it’s enough. Your chest pulls tight.

You don’t move. Don’t blink.

You just watch.

At first, it feels innocent again. Like it used to — like the old evenings, when you’d glance across the street and see him moving through his house in a way that felt... comforting. Familiar. A ritual neither of you ever spoke about but always seemed to fall into.

But this time it feels different.

Because now he’s looking up.

Right at you.

Your breath stutters in your throat. You think about ducking, turning away, pretending you weren’t staring — but something about the look in his eyes stops you.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hide. He just watches you.

Slowly, you step closer to your own window. Close enough that he can see your face. Not just your shape. Not just your shadow.

His expression doesn’t change. Not at first. But there’s something in the way his gaze softens, something that makes your stomach twist and heat crawl up your neck.

His hand moves — slow, deliberate — reaching for the chain of his blinds. You tense, thinking he’s going to close them again, disappear from view like he has so many nights before.

But he doesn’t.

He pulls them wider.

Your breath catches. Because now you see all of him.

He’s wearing a soft, worn t-shirt, clinging to the shape of his chest. His hair’s damp, like he’s just come out of the shower. There’s a crease between his brows, something tired and tense, but his body is relaxed — like he’s standing there waiting for you. Like he knew you’d be looking.

Like maybe… he was waiting too.

You don’t know who moves first.

Maybe it’s you — maybe it’s the way your hand lifts, pressing against the glass as if that’ll make the space between you smaller. Or maybe it’s him — the way he shifts his stance, closer to the window now, one hand braced on the frame, the other resting low on his hip.

He’s not smiling.

But he’s not hiding either.

And God, that does something to you.

The silence of the night is louder now. You can hear the soft whir of your fan, the hum of distant traffic, the thump of your own pulse in your ears. You can feel everything — the weight of his eyes, the heat blooming beneath your skin, the ache that never really left.

Joel tilts his head. Just slightly. Like he’s asking you a question without speaking.

You don’t answer. You can’t. You just keep watching.

And then — slowly — he brings a hand to the hem of his shirt.

He doesn’t take it off. He doesn’t do anything obvious or lewd.

He just lifts it enough to scratch at his side. A lazy, thoughtless gesture. But your eyes follow the motion like you’re starved for it. The way his stomach flexes, the glimpse of skin. Your thighs press together, instinctively, and you hate the way it feels like he knows that. Like he’s watching your reaction just as closely.

Because this isn’t innocent anymore.

This is intentional.

This is him saying: Remember.

And you’re too scared to look away. Too sad. Too hungry.

Because you want him — so much it hurts. Even after all the distance. Even after all the silence. You want him in a way that feels like surrender.

He shifts again.

Turns just slightly so you see more of his profile, his broad chest, the curve of his jaw. And when he leans forward — arms braced on the windowsill, head tilted low — it feels like gravity itself is shifting. Like the space between your houses isn’t enough to stop what’s starting.

You move without thinking.

Your fingers trail down the front of your sleep shirt. Thin cotton. Nothing underneath. And when you see his jaw clench at the sight, your breath catches.

You should stop.

You should close your blinds, turn away, pretend you don’t feel the heat blooming low in your stomach like a secret — but you don’t.

Because he’s still watching.

And he looks like he’s in pain. Like watching you is unraveling him.

His hand lifts again — slow, cautious — like he’s asking permission.

You nod. Just once.

And he unbuckles his belt.

The leather comes undone, slow and deliberate ­­–– like he’s trying to torture you in ways you couldn’t possibly understand. He finally removes his belt, it’s like you can hear the metal clinking even through your window, feet away –– but he doesn’t undress.

His jeans now hang low on his waist, revealing deep hipbones just under his white t-shirt. His shirt rides up just enough, exposing the hair that travels, disappearing in the waistband. He sends a knowing look your way, eyebrow slightly raised, head tilted low. He’s teasing you.

 A shiver escapes your lips, but it has nothing to do with the night air. What is he doing to you?

Not long ago — weeks — he told you to stay away. Made you promise. Said it was better this way, that you both needed to forget. And yet, just weeks after those words, he came to you in the dark. No warning, no reason. Just a kiss that lit a fire in your chest and then vanished with him into the shadows, leaving you gasping and hollow.

You know better than to let this go on. You’ve tried to pull away, to make the distance real. But Joel — Joel is like some toxic flower. Beautiful, intoxicating. The kind you want to keep touching even when the thorns are already cutting in.

You should shut the window. You should walk away. But instead, you vanish from the glass, knowing damn well what you're doing — leaving him aching.

Moments later, your phone buzzes.

Joel come back please

You stare at the screen. Your thumb hovers.

You No.

A pause. Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

Joel you can’t just disappear like that i need to see you

You you saw me. that was the problem, remember? you’re the one who said this couldn’t happen.

A longer pause now. Maybe he’s pacing. You imagine him raking a hand through his hair, frustration carved into every line of his face.

Joel i didn’t mean it. not like that. i just... it’s complicated

You No. It’s simple. You told me to forget. I tried. You kissed me. I didn’t ask for that.

Joel but you kissed me back.

You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat. You type. Erase. Then type again.

You doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Another pause.

Joel then come over. just for a minute. i’ll explain. no pressure. i just need to see you. please

Your fingers twitch. Everything in you says no. But the thing is, that ache he left in you — it never really went away. You press your lips together, jaw tight.

You if i come, you don’t get to disappear again.

Joel deal… wear something pretty.

You know exactly what he means by those last words, know what you’re getting yourself into. You stare at your reflection in the dark window. You already know you’re going. Just needed to hear him say it.

You slip your phone into your pocket before he can say anything else. The decision has already sunk into your bones like warm rain — inevitable.

The house is silent. You move like a ghost through the halls, toes brushing cold wood floors, heart pounding in your throat. Every creak feels like a confession. Every breath, too loud. You hesitate at the back door, one hand resting on the knob, the other curled around the edge of your jacket.

Just for a minute. That’s what he said.

But you already know a minute won’t be enough.

The night greets you with a hush, the kind of quiet that makes you feel like something big is about to happen. Joel’s house is just a few feet away. Close enough that you've memorized the way his porch light flickers.

By the time you reach his porch, your pulse is a steady drumbeat in your ears. His truck’s out front, same as always. The house is dark except for the light in the front room.

You round the corner of the porch. And there he is.

Joel’s leaning against the doorway like he’s been standing there for hours. His arms are crossed, his jaw set, but his eyes — his eyes are soft in the worst way. Like regret and want are sitting side by side behind them.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he says, voice low, rough from too many things unsaid.

You shrug, pretending like your heart isn’t breaking just looking at him. “You said please.”

He lets out a breath, half a laugh, like he can’t believe you’re real. Then he steps back and opens the door wider.

“Come inside.”

You hesitate for only a second. Then you cross the threshold.

The door shuts behind you with a soft click that sounds a lot like surrender.

Inside, the air feels different. Warmer. Tighter. Joel stands close, but not too close. Not yet. You can see the way his hands twitch, like he’s holding himself back.

“I wasn’t lying,” he says quietly. “When I told you it was complicated.”

You look at him. “Then explain it.”

He nods, eyes dropping to the floor for a second before they meet yours again. “I wanted to protect you from... from this. From me. I thought if I stayed away, you’d move on. That I’d stop wanting you.”

“And did you?” Your voice is steadier than you feel.

He swallows hard. “Not for a damn second.”

The space between you hums like a live wire. One wrong move, and you'll both fall into it.

You take a step forward. Just one. “Then what do we do, Joel?”

He exhales, slow and ragged, and lifts a hand like he’s going to touch you — then stops himself again.

“We stop pretending it doesn’t matter,” he murmurs. “And we stop lying about how we feel.”

This time, it’s you who reaches for him.

The moment your fingers curl into his shirt and you whisper, “Then stop pretending,” Joel loses it.

His mouth crashes into yours with a groan that sounds like it’s been clawing its way out of him for weeks. There’s no patience, no hesitation — just heat, teeth, tongue, and years of tension finally catching fire.

He’s already walking you backward, lips never leaving yours, hands gripping your waist like he can’t decide whether to pull you closer or push you straight through the wall.

You gasp against his mouth as your back hits it with a thud. “Joel—”

He shakes his head, breathing hard. “No. Don’t talk. Just—come here.”

He grabs your hand and pulls you toward the stairs, but neither of you make it gracefully. You’re tripping over each other, stumbling, laughing breathlessly between kisses. He lifts you halfway up the stairs like he can’t stand the space between your bodies, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, arms thrown around his shoulders.

He pins you to the wall midway up, grinding into you hard enough to draw a gasp from your throat.

“You gonna keep teasin’ me?” he mutters against your neck, biting gently.

“You gonna keep talking?” you shoot back, yanking at his jeans.

That does it. He lets out a guttural, broken sound and practically hauls you the rest of the way, mouths still crashing, hands roaming fast and rough. The stairs become a blur of groans and tangled limbs, your bodies fumbling, too impatient to care.

By the time you burst through his bedroom door, you’re both wild.

He slams the door shut behind you, doesn’t even wait to reach the bed — just presses you up against it, shoves his hands under your shirt and yanks it off like it’s offending him by existing. You tear at his in return, dragging it over his head as he kisses down your chest, your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re killing me.”

You pull him back up, crash your mouth to his again. “Then don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He lifts you, drops you onto the bed, crawling over you with that same unstoppable force. His hands are everywhere — your hips, your thighs, your jaw. He kisses you like he’s drowning in you, like if he stops, he’ll lose his mind.

“I’ve wanted you,” he groans, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “For so fucking long.”

“Show me,” you whisper, nails raking down his back.

He groans into your skin, grinding against you. “You think I haven’t imagined this? Thought about how you’d sound—how you’d feel?”

“Joel—” you gasp, hips meeting his in desperate rhythm.

He’s losing it. You both are.

You roll, straddle him, kiss him hard. He grabs your hips, guiding you as you move, both of you chasing something that’s been just out of reach for far too long.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice ragged.

You do — and that look in his eyes, that wild, almost worshipful hunger, nearly knocks the air out of your lungs.

“You’re mine,” he says, like a vow. “Tonight, you’re fucking mine.”

Joel dips his head to your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin just below your ear –– creating possessive marks that you know shouldn’t be there but can’t bring yourself to stop him. You roll your hips into his crotch, needing his attention in the filthiest of ways. A small grunt slips from his lips at the friction.

“Fuck, baby girl, want me that bad?” He teases, a sly smirk displaying for you to see.

“Joel I— please.” You beg, tired of the games, tired of the complication, tired of the mess. You just want to pretend you really are his, even if it’s just for the night.

Joel doesn’t fight, doesn’t continue with the teasing –– he needs you just as bad. Flips you back over so he’s on top. One hand cups your breast, kneading the hard nub –– twisting it harshly between his fingers, sending electric shivers up your spine. His mouth catches the other, his tongue swirling in sinful ways, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin.

Your fingers curl into the back of his head, tugging slightly at the stray hairs. His eyes meet yours –– nipple still between his teeth. The site alone makes you moan his name in ways you never thought you could.

His hand trails down your stomach and pushes down your pretty, baby pink sleep shorts. Of course you weren’t wearing underwear.

“Such a slut.” Joel murmurs, shaking his head slightly. “Walkin’ to my house with no panties on. Tryin’ to tell me you didn’t come over for me to fuck you?”

Whines escape your lips as his fingers reach down, rubbing you’re already soaked cunt –– spreading your slick up to your clit.

“So wet for me. Can see you glistening. Needed me this bad, baby?”

“Joel—" You whine, body withering underneath his gaze.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Daddy’s here now.” He assures, dipping his head between your thighs, lightly flicking his tongue at your ever swollen clit.

The noises leaving your mouth are sinful, filling the dimly lit room, feeling the empty house. He sucks slightly, thumb trailing rubbing between your wet folds. Your hands grab at his hair, tugging for some release. Knees now bent with your feet hanging ever so slightly in the air.

You feel your body start to shake as he easily enters his middle and ring finger inside of you –– curling once he knows he’s deep enough to have you begging.

His free palm presses slightly on the lower part of your stomach, keeping you still while his movements begin a harsh pace. Wet, disgusting noises feel the air, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care, chasing his mouth with your trusts.

“Need my tongue?” He asks, making eye contact with you for the first time since he buried his face between your legs.

You nod your head fiercely, whining when you lose contact as he removes his fingers. The loss isn’t long missed when he quickly replaces his tongue, digging himself inside you. His thumb trails slowly up your thighs, meeting at your clit and rubbing deep circles causing you to arch into his touch.

“Joel, gonna— god I’m gonna come.” You whimper, movements now faulty, legs shaking around him and toes curling slightly.

“Wanna taste you. You can do it, babygirl, come on.”

The want you hear in his low, hoarse, voice drives you over the edge. Never hearing anyone want you that bad. Never having anyone begging for your taste. The heat coiled in your lower stomach now released –– mouth agape and eyes rolled. You can hear the lewd sounds of Joel taking you all in, not allowing any escape.

You lay there, catching your breath and admiring the site one last time of Joel between your legs. You thought this would be it, never have gone so far with him, never have even seen him naked. Sure, you’ve seen him shirtless in his dimly lit bedroom from hundreds of feet away. And when you were finally falling apart in his arms, he was clothed the whole time, never touched.

So, it came as a shock to you when Joel desperately pulls his jeans down his thighs, past his calves, and throws them on the ground –– uncared for. His boxers chase quickly after and you’re met with the sight of Joels hard, dripping, length. He’s just as big as you imagined.

He crouches over you, hand placed on the side of your head as he adjusts himself between your legs. His gaze lands on yours –– full of hunger, like you’re the last meal he’d ever have.

“You want this?” He asks. Genuinely asks –– no teasing.

“Yes.” You answer quietly, slowly wrapping your legs around his waist. “Fuck me hard.”

He smirks at the request. You have no idea what you’ve just asked for kind of look displayed on his face. You’re nervous. You’re excited. You’re ready to take him –– all of him.

He lines himself up with your entrance, giving you one last assuring look, and once he sees that you’re serious, he slams into you. No edging, no warning, no prep. A scream leaves your lips, and you quickly cover your mouth with you own hands.

“No, let me hear you.” He demands, removing your hands. “Wanna hear my pretty girl’s cry.”

You move your hands to his biceps, digging your nails deep into him –– defiantly leaving marks. He gives you exactly what you asked for as your screams fill the dim room. Joels movements so harsh, so steady, the sound of skin hitting against skin drowning itself into your ear.

His gaze lingers at the sight of you taking him in, all of him. He watches the filthy sight, groaning every time he sees himself disappear between your thighs. Watching how his shaft is glistening with your juices when he pulls out again.

“Look at you. Handlin’ this like such a good girl.” He grunts, facing you. “My girl takin’ all of me.”

You grab each side of his cheeks, stray tears leaving your eyes at the firey contact between your legs. He’s being so harsh with you, so mean. But his words suggest otherwise. You want to be so good for him, you want him to have his way.

“You okay, baby girl?” As he bends down, kissing each tear. His concern couldn’t be more comforting. You nod your head. I want this.

He offers you a mischievous smile at the answer, arms now wrapping around your knees, pushing your legs to your chest to get himself in the deepest position. A deep moan escapes his lips at the feeling.

He starts slow, pacing to get you prepared and ready, but seeing you’re already scratching his back at the contact, his pace quickens –– the sound of loud smacks and the headboard banging against the wall over power your moans.

You feel his movements become unsteady as he pushes your legs as far as he can, almost folding you in half as if he could place you in his pocket — and then he thrusts deeper, harder, as if trying to crawl inside you, to stay there.

His grip tightens, his pace turns frantic, and when he finally loses control, it’s with your name ripped from his throat and his body trembling above yours, like you’ve shattered something vital in him.

And when he finally flips, pulls you down onto him, the world splits open. You’re now in his lap, but you’re not in control. His thrusts still deep inside you as his hands grip at you hips –– holding you there as if you were to escape.

It’s not gentle. It’s not slow.

It’s pure, feral need. A collision of bodies, of emotion, of everything you’ve both denied.

You’re kissing between moans, holding on for dear life, moving like the world might end tomorrow — and maybe it already has, because nothing else exists except this. Joel, beneath you, inside you, gripping you like you’re the only thing that’s ever felt real.

And you — burning alive in his hands, coming apart under every word he groans into your skin, every thrust, every whispered “God, I missed you.”

The bed rocks. The headboard slams. Your name breaks off his lips like a prayer.

And you feel him twitch deep inside of you, head thrown back, breath hitched. He’s warm inside of you, dripping out slowly down your thighs and around his shaft where he still sits inside.

You collapse onto his chest, your limbs weak, lungs pulling in ragged breaths that still can’t quite catch up to your racing heart. Joel’s arm is already around you, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

His skin is warm, damp with sweat, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek. You listen to the thrum of his heartbeat — it’s fast, chaotic, like yours — and somehow, that grounds you more than anything else.

Neither of you speak for a moment. There’s no need.

His hand finds your hair, fingers slowly combing through it in lazy, distracted strokes. You melt into him, eyes fluttering shut, lulled by the rhythmic movement and the soft sound of his breathing.

“You okay?” he asks eventually, his voice low and rough, still wrecked from what just passed between you.

You nod against his chest. “Yeah.”

He tilts his head, kisses the top of yours — slow, gentle, lingering. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “You were perfect.”

You feel the breath leave his lungs at that, like your words hit something deep inside him.

For a moment, he just keeps playing with your hair, grounding himself in the softness of you. Then you feel him shift beneath you, moving with quiet purpose. Finally pulling himself out.

“Stay right there,” he murmurs.

You groan softly in protest, but he presses another kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

He disappears into the bathroom, and you hear the sound of water running, a drawer opening, something rustling. When he returns, he’s holding a warm, damp towel and one of his shirts.

Joel sits at the edge of the bed and gently parts your legs, eyes scanning your face for any hesitation. “Just let me take care of you,” he says quietly.

You nod, throat tight.

His touch is tender, soft, as he cleans you up — his fingers slow, like this is his way of saying all the things he doesn’t quite know how to say aloud. When he finishes, he slips the oversized shirt over your head, pulling it gently down your arms.

You catch him staring at you in it — his shirt, your skin — and there’s something in his eyes that isn’t just lust. It’s something quieter. Something closer to wonder.

Joel climbs into bed beside you, pulls the blanket up over both of you, and gathers you into his arms like he’s done it a hundred times before.

Like you belong there.

His fingers find your hair again, idly twirling strands between them.

You press your face into his neck, breathing him in.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

His hand stills in your hair. “I never stopped missing you.”

And in the quiet that follows, everything feels still. Safe. Real.

For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re running.

You just feel at home.

a/n: I am so sorry this took forever for me to post!!

@locaparapedrito @vickie5446 @thewritergx

[dior-luxury]

hi!! how would bllk 11 react to the reader complimenting them out of the blue and they get all flustered ><

Complimenting Them So Much They Get Flustered

( ✧ ) ────── fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] bllk 11

- [𝐩:𝐬] none

Note: This is so cute omg! ♡( ◡‿◡ )

Isagi Yoichi

You’re sitting on the couch with Isagi, the two of you sharing a lazy afternoon in his apartment. He’s in his usual hoodie, glasses on, scribbling down notes from a recent match while his game replays on the TV. You watch him for a moment—focused, dedicated, completely in his element.

Without thinking, you say softly, “You know… I really admire how hardworking you are. It’s honestly so attractive. I’m lucky to have you.”

His pen stills mid-sentence. “H-Huh?” he blinks, looking over at you, face turning an unmistakable shade of pink.

You smile at him. “Just saying. You’re kind of amazing.”

Now he’s spiraling. “Wha—wait, where did that come from? I mean—thank you—but like… you really think that? Me? Attractive?”

He tries to compose himself, but he’s already hiding his face in his notebook, peeking at you over the top like a shy puppy. His mind’s racing: Was I being cool just now? Was that when she thought I looked good? Should I do that more? But all he can manage is a choked-out, “Y-You’re the amazing one, though…”

He avoids your eyes for the next ten minutes, stammering every time you smile at him.

Rin Itoshi

Rin is notoriously hard to read, even when you’re dating him. You’re both walking back from a café, his hand loosely holding yours in his coat pocket. He’s quiet, focused on the path ahead, when you glance up at him and blurt out, “You’re so beautiful, Rin. You honestly take my breath away.”

He stops walking.

You keep going for two steps before realizing he’s not beside you. You turn to see him frozen in place, eyes slightly widened.

“…Did I say something wrong?” you ask, tilting your head.

He doesn’t answer right away. Then his brows knit together, and he looks away, ears visibly red. “Don’t say dumb things like that out of nowhere.”

You grin. “It’s not dumb if it’s true.”

He exhales sharply, face still a bit pink. “I’m not… used to that.” He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “You’re ridiculous.”

But his grip on your hand tightens. And though he faces forward again, his thumb starts brushing slow circles on your palm. You catch a small smile tugging at his lips despite his best efforts.

And when you tease him later, “So, you liked it,” he just grumbles, “Shut up,” but you spot the blush creeping down his neck again.

Nagi Seishiro

You find Nagi sprawled on your bed, arms stretched out like a starfish, phone in one hand, a bag of chips within reach. You lie beside him and rest your head on his shoulder, watching him scroll aimlessly.

Then you murmur, “You’re so effortlessly cool, Sei. Honestly… just being near you makes me feel like I’m living in a dream.”

He freezes. For a guy who lives life on ‘easy mode,’ you just threw him into hard mode without warning.

“Huh? What’s with that cheesy line?” he mumbles, phone slipping from his hand. His face is turning bright red, and he turns his head toward the ceiling as if hoping it’ll save him.

“I’m serious,” you giggle. “You’re insanely hot and charming, and it drives me a little crazy.”

He groans dramatically, dragging a pillow over his face. “Ughhh… don’t say stuff like that outta nowhere, it’s too much effort to deal with.”

But then he peeks out from under the pillow and mumbles, “You’re cute for thinking that, though.” He nudges you with his foot, lazy smile appearing. “Now you gotta cuddle me ‘til I recover.”

You roll into him, and he wraps an arm around you with a satisfied sigh, whispering under his breath, “My girlfriend’s too sweet… it’s unfair.”

Yukimiya Kenyu

Yukimiya is getting ready in the mirror, trying out different accessories. He looks stunning, as always—hair neat, eyes sharp, every movement graceful. You’re perched on the bed, chin in your hands, admiring him.

“You’re like a work of art, Kenyu,” you say dreamily. “I don’t know how you’re even real.”

He turns slightly, surprised. “Huh?”

You repeat it, slower this time. “You’re absolutely gorgeous. But more than that… you’re thoughtful, kind, and driven. I’m really proud of you.”

He stares at you for a beat too long. Then, unexpectedly, he laughs—nervous, caught off guard. “You can’t just drop compliments like that when I’m trying to fix my cufflinks,” he says, voice higher than usual.

You walk over, gently fixing his sleeve for him. He goes quiet, watching you, the flush on his cheeks spreading.

“I… appreciate that. A lot,” he says, finally. Then, almost in a whisper, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being loved like this.”

You smile and kiss his cheek, and he stares at his reflection with a dazed little grin.

“I look like a tomato,” he mutters.

Otoya Eita

Otoya’s the type who flirts with you constantly, always tossing compliments like confetti. But you’ve been planning this—waiting for just the right moment to throw him off his game.

You’re at the gym with him, watching as he finishes a set of pull-ups, muscles flexing under his shirt, hair messy with sweat. He jumps down, looking at you with that usual smirk. “Like what you see, babe?”

You lean against the wall casually and say, “Actually, yeah. You're ridiculously hot, Eita. But more than that… you’ve got this quiet determination that’s seriously attractive. You act all playful, but you work so damn hard. It’s sexy.”

He stops mid-wipe with his towel, eyes blinking rapidly.

“…Huh?” He laughs, but it’s the nervous kind—the one he uses when he’s caught off guard for once. “Wait—was that a real compliment?”

You grin. “Mhmm. 100% sincere.”

His smirk wavers and you catch it: the slightest pink tinge blooming on his cheeks. He tries to recover, tossing the towel over his shoulder and flexing a little. “Well, if you’re gonna talk like that, I might die of happiness.”

Then he leans in close, his usual swagger returning in waves, but you can see the truth in his eyes—your words hit. Deep. “You keep sweet-talking me like that, I’ll start thinking you’re obsessed.”

You whisper back, “Maybe I am,” and he actually chokes.

Mission: success.

Karasu Tabito

Karasu’s chill to a fault. He’s witty, confident, and borderline smug when he wants to be. But you’ve seen glimpses of that soft, quieter side—the one he tries to hide. And today, you plan to poke it.

He’s lounging on your couch, legs kicked up, hoodie halfway falling off one shoulder, scrolling through TikTok and occasionally showing you something dumb. You lean over and rest your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

“You know,” you murmur, “you’re incredibly attractive. Like, not just physically, though duh. But your mind? Your confidence? The way you never let anything shake you? That’s the hottest thing in the world to me.”

His hand holding the phone pauses mid-scroll. He slowly tilts his head to look at you. “…The hell?”

You glance up. “What?”

“That was outta nowhere.” He squints, trying to act like he's unaffected, but the tips of his ears are already red.

You keep going, relentless. “And I love how you always know what to say. You make me feel safe. Like I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”

He stares at you for a solid few seconds, phone forgotten, expression unreadable. Then he groans and covers his face with a throw pillow. “Why are you like this?” he mumbles, voice muffled.

You giggle. “Flustered?”

“I’m not flustered. Shut up.” He peeks out and mutters, “But if you keep talking like that, I might have to marry you or something.”

Meguru Bachira

You’re walking through a park with Bachira, fingers entwined, as he excitedly talks about his newest soccer moves and how he wants to try them in the next match. His energy is contagious—he’s practically bouncing beside you.

You watch him, your heart swelling. Then you stop him mid-sentence.

“Meguru.”

He turns to you, curious. “Hmm?”

You smile softly. “You’re amazing. Like, seriously. Your passion, your joy, the way you play with your whole heart… it inspires me. And your smile? It lights up everything. I love being around you.”

He stares at you, completely frozen. His mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out.

“…H-Huh? Wait, wait, say that again.”

You take a step closer. “You heard me.”

He clutches his chest dramatically, pretending to stagger. “I—my heart! Babe, you’re trying to kill me!”

You laugh, and he grins wide—but there’s a visible pink flush on his cheeks now. “You’re not allowed to be this cute without warning,” he pouts. “You’re supposed to be the normal one in this relationship.”

You wrap your arms around him, and he buries his face in your shoulder, mumbling something that sounds like, “I don’t deserve you, but I’m gonna keep you forever anyway.”

You melt on the spot.

Niko Ikki

Niko’s reserved. Not in a shy way, just... thoughtful, a bit guarded. He’s not the kind of guy who fishes for compliments. He’s more comfortable showing love than receiving it. Which makes surprising him that much sweeter.

You’re both sitting on the floor of your apartment, a puzzle half-done in front of you. He’s concentrating hard, brows furrowed. You admire the way his fingers move, gentle and precise.

“You’re so handsome,” you say suddenly.

His head snaps up. “What?”

You smile. “And really smart. You don’t talk much, but when you do, it always means something. I think that’s rare. And really attractive.”

He blinks. “Where’s this coming from?”

You shrug. “I’ve just been thinking about how lucky I am.”

He lowers his gaze, clearly trying to hide how flustered he is. A small, uncertain smile tugs at his lips. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you say, nudging his shoulder. “Just let me love you.”

He clears his throat, cheeks tinged with pink, then mumbles, “...You’re kinda dangerous when you talk like that.”

You tilt your head. “Dangerous?”

He nods. “Because it makes me want to hold you forever.”

Aryu Jyubei

Aryu’s doing his self-care routine—facial mask on, robe tied perfectly, classical music playing in the background while he paints his nails a glittery silver. You’re lounging on his chaise with a drink in hand, admiring him.

He’s talking about his favorite moisturizer when you suddenly interrupt: “God, Jyubei, you’re literally the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Like, you're so flawless it makes me feel like I’m in a movie when I look at you.”

He freezes, brush mid-air. “...Excuse me?”

You continue with a soft smile. “And it’s not just the outside. You're confident, thoughtful, and—strangely—you always make me feel more secure about myself, too.”

He drops the nail polish brush back into the bottle a little too fast.

“Stop that,” he says, turning toward you with an expression caught between horror and flustered delight. “If you say things like that out of nowhere, I’ll combust. And then who's going to maintain this beauty?!”

You laugh, but his face is red, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

He tries to brush it off, dramatically fanning himself. “You’ve got no idea the effect you have on me, darling. That was so unfiltered, so raw—ugh! I need a moment.”

He gets up, robe swirling, muttering, “I must look in the mirror to recover my sense of self.”

But you can hear it—soft under his breath: “...She really thinks I’m that amazing?”

And later? He absolutely brings it up while cuddling. “Say it again,” he whispers into your hair.

Chigiri Hyoma

You’re sitting on a blanket under the cherry blossoms, sharing snacks and watching petals drift down. Chigiri looks ethereal in the soft light—hair glowing, eyes half-lidded, the very picture of peace.

Then, out of nowhere, you say, “I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as beautiful as you. It’s almost unfair.”

He chokes on his rice cracker. “H-Huh?”

You lean closer. “Seriously. You’re graceful and fast and insanely strong. And you’re so kind to me. Being with you feels like breathing after drowning.”

He stares at you, stunned. Then his whole face slowly lights up like a firework display—pink, then red, then redder. “You can’t just say stuff like that,” he mumbles, eyes darting away, ears fully flushed.

You gently poke his cheek. “Why not? It’s true.”

He hides his face behind his sleeve, muttering something unintelligible. You catch the words “too cute” and “my heart can’t take it”. He tries to maintain his cool-guy act, but when you kiss his temple, he audibly whimpers.

Later, when you’re leaning against him and holding hands, he quietly whispers, “You’re beautiful too… you know that?” And even though he’s the one flustered, he still wants to return the love.

Reo Mikage

You’re curled up on the massive couch in Reo’s penthouse, watching him work through some business emails. He’s in full CEO mode—reading, typing, hair pushed back, sleeves rolled up. You’re supposed to be quiet, letting him focus, but you can’t help yourself.

“Reo,” you say softly.

He glances over. “Yeah, babe?”

“You’re brilliant. Like, insanely brilliant. You could do anything—run a company, become a world-class player—and somehow you’re still humble. You amaze me.”

His fingers freeze over the keyboard. Slowly, he looks up. “…Did you just compliment me out of nowhere?”

You nod. “Because I meant it.”

He blinks, clearly caught off guard, mouth slightly open. Then he leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself—but the flush rising in his cheeks betrays him.

“You can’t say stuff like that without warning. What do you want, a yacht?” he jokes, trying to play it cool.

You grin. “Just wanted you to know how proud I am.”

He sets his laptop aside, walks over, and drops dramatically onto the couch next to you, head in your lap. “You’re gonna turn me into a puddle,” he groans, burying his face in your stomach. “Do you know how dangerous your love is? I could give up everything just to hear you say that again.”

And you do say it again. And he melts, completely.

Barou Shoei

Barou’s in the kitchen, apron on, cooking you something he swears is "the ultimate fuel." He moves with purpose—sharp, focused, intense. You lean against the doorway, just watching him like he’s your favorite show.

“You’re incredible, Shoei.”

He grunts without looking at you. “Damn right.”

“No, really,” you continue. “You’re strong. Not just physically, but mentally. You don’t bend, you don’t break. You’re so passionate and unshakable. That’s insanely attractive.”

Now he stops.

Spatula in hand, he turns his head slightly, one brow raised. “What the hell brought that on?”

You walk over and wrap your arms around his waist from behind. “Just facts. I love how much pride you carry. Makes me feel safe. Makes me proud to be yours.”

His whole body tenses. “…Tch.”

You peek around and catch it: the red ears. He’s glaring at the pan like it personally insulted him, but his neck is beet red.

“You’re embarrassing me,” he grumbles.

You kiss his shoulder. “You love it.”

He turns, pointing the spatula at you, completely flustered. “Don’t think I won’t turn this kitchen into a war zone if you keep talking like that.”

But then he quiets down and mumbles under his breath, “Thanks, though. I… needed that.”

And when you turn away to give him space? He smiles. Just a little.

Hiori Yo

Hiori’s sitting on the couch with you, laptop open, working on strategy notes. His glasses are slipping a little, and his brow is furrowed in that serious, beautiful way he gets when he’s deep in thought.

You gently nudge him. “Hey.”

He hums without looking up. “Mm?”

You lean your head on his shoulder. “You’re so thoughtful. And smart. And kind. You never make a big deal about it, but I notice. Every little thing you do—it makes me feel loved.”

His fingers pause mid-type.

You feel his body tense just slightly. “…That was out of nowhere,” he murmurs.

You nod against him. “I know. Just wanted to say it.”

He slowly closes the laptop, then turns to look at you—eyes soft, but wide, like he’s trying to process it all.

“You really think that about me?” he asks quietly.

You reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Every word.”

He takes your hand, holds it against his heart, and leans in until your foreheads touch. “You always say the things I don’t know I need to hear… Thank you.”

His voice cracks on the last word, barely above a whisper.

You sit there in silence for a while, his arms wrapped around you, your heart beating in sync. He doesn’t say much after that—but later, you find a little note in your bag:

“I’ll spend my life trying to be the man you already believe I am.”

Nanase Nijiro

You and Nanase are sprawled out on the floor building a Lego set—something relaxing after a long week. He’s humming softly, sleeves rolled up, completely focused on the tiny pieces.

You glance over and say, “You’re really cute when you’re focused.”

He freezes, brick halfway to his hand. “W-What?”

You crawl a little closer. “Actually, you’re just really cute. Period. You’re sweet, patient, hardworking... and I always feel calm around you. You’re like… emotional safety in a person.”

His hands drop into his lap. He stares down at the Legos like they betrayed him. “I… I don’t know what to say…”

You lean in and boop his nose. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

His face goes bright red. “You can’t just—! That’s not fair! That’s like… a sneak attack!”

You giggle, and he hides his face behind his hands. “I’m not used to being complimented like that…” he mumbles.

You gently pull his hands away. “Get used to it. I love you.”

His lips part slightly like he wants to say it back, but instead he throws himself into a hug, burying his face in your shoulder and whispering, “You’re gonna make me cry if you keep being so sweet.”

You hold him tighter. “Then I’ll hold you through it.”

[amperstrash]

"Did You See Me?" - Han Jisung x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Slice of Life, Established Relationship, Han x GN!Reader

Summary: You try to watch his comeback stage alone. He video-calls you right after to ask what you thought, like a kid needing praise.

Word Count: 986

A/N: First K-Pop fic! I hope y'all enjoy. My other blog, @deaky-trash has all my old Queen/BoRhap fics, and this is my second fanfic in a long time! I have a bunch of stuff lined up next: a silly Kyrell (Ampers&One) x Reader, and then a cute fluffy friends to lovers for Woonhak (BoyNextDoor)! Feel free to request stuff any time, and I love you all!

----------

Y/N toed off their shoes with a soft groan, their back aching from the weight of the day. The apartment greeted them with quiet— too quiet. The lights hummed low and golden, casting long, familiar shadows across the living room walls. God forbid they ever turn on the overhead— too harsh, too cold. It never felt like home that way.

They set their keys in the tray by the door, shrugged off their jacket, and padded into the kitchen in socked feet to prepare for some downtime. The tea they made earlier— that salted caramel stuff they bought in America, his latest obsession— had gone cold on the counter. They popped it into the microwave without thinking.

It was comeback day. He was already a few cities away, swamped in pre-recordings, outfit changes, and the kind of pre-stage jitters he always masked with bravado. He hadn’t texted in a few hours, but that was normal— the chaos before a stage. The kind of work that made exhaustion settle deep in your bones and had you feeling like you never wanted to move again.

But still, Y/N missed him.

They curled up on the couch, slipping into one of Han’s hoodies he’d left behind. It slouched over their frame, sleeves pulled down to their knuckles. He always liked the oversized ones. The stage was set to air any minute.

Y/N grabbed the remote and powered on the TV, the screen lighting up as they flipped through channels for the Stray Kids comeback stage. They had meant to wait and watch it with him, but… who were they kidding? Han knew better than to expect them to wait days to see their Hannie on stage again.

The fanchants hit first as they pulled a blanket over themselves and took a sip of reheated tea. Then came Stray Kids, commanding the stage just by being there. And there he was.

Han.

Hair pushed back, gaze sharp, jaw set like he meant business. The same guy who tripped over their coffee table two nights ago trying to show them a dance move was now practically eating the camera alive.

Y/N laughed softly, their heart swelling.

His verse in the first song hit— sharp, fast, ridiculous in the best way— and the moment it ended, he smirked, eyes flicking just barely offstage. Like he was checking something. Y/N smiled. Only they would catch that. He was probably making sure a camera cue hit right. He was always worried about those things.

The camera caught Han mid-smirk, all fire and finesse. Y/N’s chest ached in that way it always did when they saw him like this— so far away, and yet still, somehow, theirs.

They watched the rest of the performance, eyes glued to Han the entire time.

I can’t wait to watch this all over again… when he’s next to me.

Y/N smiled to themself, already picturing his smug little grin when he replayed it later, waiting for praise.

The performance ended almost too quickly. Y/N blinked at the screen— dazed, proud, and aching just a little. They were just about to text him ‘you crushed it, baby!!’ when their phone buzzed.

FaceTime. ‘hannie <33’

“Hey!” he beamed, slightly out of breath, sweat dripping down his forehead and glitter clinging to his jaw. “Did you see me?”

Y/N blinked. “Are you calling me from the dressing room?”

“No,” he said, way too fast. “I’m calling you from a… secure, undisclosed location where I definitely wasn’t pretending to be cool for a billion cameras. But for real, how was it?”

“You were fine, I guess… But Hyunjin might have outshined you a little,” they teased.

“Excuse me?!” His voice shot up half an octave. “That was the best 45 seconds of rap Korea has ever seen! I practiced for months!”

Y/N snorted, laughing so hard they had to wipe a stray tear from their cheek.

“No, babe, you looked great. Happy. Like you were having fun.”

Han went quiet for a second, eyes flicking off to the side as he tried not to smile.

“It’s ‘cause I was thinking about you…” he muttered, glancing back with a soft laugh.

“Did I look okay? Were my bangs working with me or against me?”

“You looked great, babe. Bangs were on your side. Fully cooperating.”

From somewhere off-screen came Bang Chan’s voice— quiet but just loud enough to make Y/N laugh: “Stop flirting and take off your mic pack! Get off FaceTime, lover boy!”

“I’m not flirting!” Han called back. “I’m… doing a survey!”

Y/N bit back a grin. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Your weirdo,” he said easily, grinning like he just won something. “But seriously… I did good?”

The way he asked— quieter now, less dramatic— made something in their chest squeeze. He was still glowing from the stage, but now he looked a little smaller. Just Han again. Not the idol. Just the man who still needed to hear it.

Y/N tucked their knees up to their chest, the ache in their heart blooming into warmth. “You did better than okay. You were amazing, Hannie.”

His smile softened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m proud of you.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at them through the screen like he wanted to step through it. Then, softly: “Thanks. I really needed that.”

Someone called for him again. He sighed, groaned dramatically, and rolled his eyes like it physically pained him. “Okay, okay! I’m coming! Love you, gotta go— call you later?”

“Always,” Y/N said.

He blew a kiss at the camera and hung up mid-smooch. Y/N stared at the lock screen for a second, then laughed to themself, burying their face in Han’s hoodie. It smelled like him. Like his cologne. His tea. Him.

He’d be home in a few days. But for now… this was enough.

[purplereina11]

New Signing, New Beginning Part 7

Mia Larsen was Barcelonas new summer signing

Alexia Putellas is a club legend who just can't seem to talk to her

Mia was staying with Keira the night of the El Classico, she was relaxing on her sofa watching the TV as Keira was getting the spare room ready, something she hovered to help with but was scolded so skulked away. There was some Spanish soap on the television her grandparents watched religiously, she found herself invested and if not home to catch it had them record the episode for her. She smiled at the text she got from her Gran assuring her she was recording the episode for her incase Keira didn’t watch it.

“Hey” Kiera spoke as she came into the living room, she looked at the TV “Oh god you like this too?” Keira flopped onto the sofa, “Alexia loves it, her and Lucy used to always talk about it, she used to watch it, I haven’t a clue what’s going on ever”

“Why did you not just put subtitles on?” Mia spoke like it was the most obvious suggestion and it probably was

“She wouldn’t let me, she said I would pick up Spanish better if I didn’t have them on” Mia giggled moving her head to look at Keira before her attention turned right back to the episode, “Not that has proved to be true”

“It’s nice you two are still friends”

“There was no bad blood there, we just.. ran our course I guess. Ona makes her so happy, and she’s a good person. She helps me a lot with my Spanish”

Mia hummed, “I noticed that, Aitana has the thankless task of the Catalan I’ve noticed”

“We don’t all grow up in multi lingual houses Mia” Mia smiled, “I think Aita has given up, to be fair it just wasn’t going in at all, languages has never been my thing”

“You understand a lot”

Keira nodded, “Yeah I understand it just can’t speak it” Keira pointed to the Tv, “Thought you were watching this”

“It’s fine, my gran text she’s recording it for me”

Keira swooned, “That is so adorable”

“Yeah.. she’s the best”

Both looked as there was tapping at the door, Keira furrowed her brows as Mia looked back to her silently asking are you going to get that, Keira pulled herself off the sofa and towards the door she pulled it, “Oh, hi” she smiled at Alexia at her door, Mia hadn’t turned around to see who was at the door she just snuggled under her blanket that little bit more.

She felt her body get goosebumps when she heard that voice, one she’d not heard in some time now, it had been maybe 4 days since they’re confrontation, Mia had lost count of the nights she’d laid awake replaying it over and over in her head. What she would say when Alexia made the move to make it less awkward between them again. If she had the chance. Mia had become an expert in not being where Alexia was until today.

Alexia opened her mouth to ask her question when she got the sweetest smile on her lips, “You watch this? Lucy said you hated it”

“Oh um” Keira looked and from here you couldn’t actually see Mia, “No.. Mias here, she watches it” Keira silently gained Alexia’s attention her eye contact told her to go say hello, “What did you need?”

“Oh, I needed sugar.. please”

Keira nodded, “I’ll put some in a cup”

“Gracias”

Mia sat tense whether the captain would come acknowledge her or not, she knew she was here but there conversation moved past Mia’s presence quite quickly. Mia’s chin rose to look above her, feeling her presence, her attention was fully focused on the show, Mia lowered her head back down. For a second she thought Alexia had pointedly come over to actively ignore her, “Hola” her voice was timid, Alexia was fearful she’d get the angry face from Mia that had played on repeat in her dreams.

Mia swallowed, “Hola” that came out quieter than she intended, Mia found herself wanting to make small talk but she figured she’d let Alexia fill the silence, she obviously came over for a reason. Maybe actually mustering up the courage to apologise, who knows.

Alexia glanced as Keira appeared with a cup, “Gracias” Alexia stared at the sugar in the cup, “You were great today”

“Thank you” Mia spoke softly, Alexia waited for her to say something else, smile at her, just even acknowledge she was stood behind her but she never. Alexia admitted defeat despite her abysmal attempt and retreated back to her apartment a few floors up.

“Mia” Keira said softly as she sat back down

“I know i did wrong but she started it”

“Are you 12?”

Mia smiled, “No, but she loves reminding me she’s the captain so she can make this right that’s what a captain should do”

+

Mia was fiddling with her shorts as she walked down the corridor, “Bon Dia” she rose her head and Alexia was right in front of her. Alexia smiled ever so slightly, she really wanted to make amends with Mia but she just didn’t know where to start with it.

“Bon Dia” Mia lowered her head again and went walking straight by her, Alexia took a breath turned grabbed her hand before Mia even knew what was happening she found herself in the meeting room door shut and Alexia blocking the exit. “I’m not doing this with you again”

“Sit down”

“No” Mia fought back, “Why should I sit down?”

“Sit” Alexia rose her voice slamming the chair back out from under the table, “Down”

The girls in the locker room next door fell silent hearing Alexia raise her voice, Keira swallowed there was only one person Alexia would speak to like that. There was only one other person missing.

“Sitting down isn’t going to happen, what, do you want” Mia had her back up, and rightfully so here Alexia was speaking to her like shit again. Mia could feel all these emotions swirling around her body as they stood silently neither making a move Alexia looking everywhere but her as she searched for some words to say.

Mia silently urged Alexia just to make this right, apologise, do something because holding her hostage in the meeting room wasn’t achieving anything. It was pointless. Futile. Fruitless. It was getting them no where. It wasn’t achieving anything. It was just building more anger and resentment towards the captain on Mias part.

“This is stupid” Mia moved by Alexia, she didn’t mean to bump into her as she opened the door.

“Stop” Alexia slammed the door back shut, turning Mias body to face her. They were incredibly close, Alexia could feel Mia’s breath. She was lost in every sense Mia was infiltrating. Her touch, her smell, her sight. The words weren’t coming yet again and she could feel Mias anger building again.

“Say something then” Mia whispered into the smallest gap between them, Alexia practically pushing her against the door.

“Please, just, sit down”

Mia put her hands on Alexia’s stomach forcing some distance, “That’s not what you needed to say” Mia slipped out the door making sure to slam it, the girls in the locker room heard the door slam followed by something clattering. Alexia had kicked a chair. Mia appeared in view walking straight through the locker room.

“Mia” Keira spoke getting to her feet

“I’m fine” Simply stated before heading out to the gym for today’s recovery session. It was Keira and Ingrid that went after her.

Alexia was noticeably missing for some time, she arrived finally her eyes scanning to see where Mia was. She was tucked in the corner on the treadmill, Pere talking to her, she didn’t say a word however. She was just nodding, she got a little smile towards the end.

Alexia plonked herself down between Mapi and Patri to began stretching, “I need your help” she directed at Patri, “I” Alexia looked to Patri and to Patri, her friend looked anguished. “I don’t know what to do, I keep making it worse.” The pain in Alexia’s face and voice was evident, the spaniard clearly torn apart about the way her friendship or lack there of with Mia was going.

“What happened?”

“I pulled her into the office, she wouldn’t sit down” Alexia looked like she was almost going to have a panic attack recounting the story.

“You shoved her into a door?” Patri asked

Alexia’s head dropped, “She’s never going to forgive me”

Patri put her hands on the captain’s neck yanking her to kiss her temple, “You need to speak to her, she’s just a person Ale why do you find it so hard to just speak to her”

Alexia shrugged, she knew she’d finally figured it out, but she would never get the opportunity to explain to Mia she doubted now.

+

Alexia sat nervously in the restaurant waiting on an arrival, Patri told her to be here and she’d get Mia here. Alexia looked at the time and she should have been here by now, maybe she’d arrived seen it wasn’t in-fact Patri she was meeting and just left.

Her head rose and she froze much like Mia had, their eyes locked over the restaurant, Mia instantly knew. Her dinner date wasn’t Patri. It was Alexia all along. She did think it was odd the restaurant choice Patri had suggested but it became clearer. A waiter approached Mia as Alexia rose to her feet, she told him with a smile she was meeting a friend and she’d seen her. That smile quickly dropped however as she began closing the distance to the table way at the back Alexia stood awkwardly.

“Buenas Noches” Alexia said softly watching as Mia took her seat, she lowering herself back down. She hoped they could work this out.

Mia placed her bag on the floor took off her jacket and poured herself a glass of water, Alexia felt it was a good start she’d at least stayed. It was a good sign.

“Don’t blame Patri”

Mia sipped her water finally looking at Alexia, “Who else am i to blame?”

Alexia shrugged, “Me i guess, I asked her to get you here so we could talk” Mia simply nodded as her glass was lowered back to the table

“Talk then” Mias attitude wasn’t helping Alexia’s sweaty palms but she knew it was justified. She had to ignore it. She needed to start the ball rolling tonight in making this amends with Mia.

“I don’t know how to speak to you” Alexia just started if she over thought what she was going to say or how to say it, it wouldn’t come out, “And I know it sounds stupid because we’ve had conversations but” Alexia stuttered slightly, “I feel like.. you are the only person that’s ever come here that when you look at me you aren’t looking at Alexia Putellas, you’re looking at.. me” Mia lowered her gaze, “I’m not used to that, and it makes me feel vulnerable around you. I don’t let myself be vulnerable around many people especially people i’ve just met. It scares me. And. I don’t know why but my natural reaction is to just be mean to you and i don’t know why. And i hate myself for it, i really wish i wouldn’t do that”

Mia rose her eyes back to Alexia’s as they were interrupted, Alexia ordered the wine she knew Mia liked when asked about food Alexia checked Mia knew what she wanted and they ordered. Mia sat back looking around the restaurant she’d never been here before, she looked back to Alexia. “Me to”

Alexia swallowed, “I’m sorry”

Mia softened almost instantly, she didn’t speak as the waiter brought over their wine and poured them each a glass, Mia gladly sipped hers needing the courage. She watched as Alexia looked past her out into the restaurant, Mia didn’t know how it got to this and maybe her avoiding Alexia only proved to deepen the tensions. “I don’t actually think your a dick by the way” Alexia moved her eyes to Mia, “Maybe a little bit but id had quite a bit to drink and i was out of order, i shouldn’t of spoken to you like that ever let alone in-front of the team”

Alexia let herself curl her lips ever so slightly, “I don’t even know what you mean by dick”

Mia lowered her head as she smiled, “In England we use it as an insult or to describe someone who’s being not very nice or aren’t nice, it’s a harsher way of saying jerk basically”

Alexia lifted her chin briefly now understanding, “Well as you say, I was being, a dick” Mia laughed, “What’s funny?”

“Just your accent when you speak English” Alexia tilted her head, “It’s cute” Alexia blushed, this was going better than Alexia thought it would be, even if Mias laugh was at her expense. Mia silently tore off some bread as she chewed she felt maybe she owed it to Alexia to tell her the truth. “You know when you asked me what Olga wanted”

“That was none of my business i shouldn’t of asked”

“It sort of is your business” Alexia’s face pulled in confusion, “As Captain… she wants me at Madrid”

“What?”

Mia shrugged, “She said if i say the word Toril would put an offer in in the January window”

“You want to go?” Mia simply shook her head eating some more bread, “Did you say that?”

Mia nodded, “Despite it appears it’s your life’s mission to make me hate it here, I like it, i enjoy the football”

“I am sorry”

Mia nodded finally making eye contact, “I know. But, we’ve been here before”

Alexia knew her apology was appreciated but she also knew her actions from here on out would speak louder. She needed to not let herself try to push Mia away just because she was infatuated with her in a way she never had with someone before. Mia was different. She knew that. She knew she’d be punching to even attempt to pursue Mia but the way she’d been behaving, it was never going to happen.

Patri had told Alexia Mia thought she was attractive. It gave Alexia hope.

“You do realise your now down a midfielder” Alexia rose her head from dipping her bread, “I’m going to kill Patri”

Alexia smiled, “I made her do it”

Mia hummed, “Bet the capitana line came out” Mia rose her eyes, “Am i really that scary to you that you couldn’t just speak to me”

Alexia shook her head, “You make me nervous”

Mias forehead wrinkled in response, “Why?”

Alexia shrugged, “Everyone else always seems to be so impressed by Alexia Putellas, you don’t” I feel not good enough is what Alexia missed off the end of her sentence.

“I am impressed by you, of course i am all you’ve achieved and what you can do. But i understand there’s a person behind all that, one that deserves just as much acknowledgment. I want to know you Alexia, not ‘Alexia Puetellas’ even though she is pretty cool” Alexia rose her eyes, “If that makes you nervous i’m sorry but you’re going to have to get over it, because clearly just not speaking isn’t something you want either”

Alexia laughed softly, “Why do i feel like i got you here to sort things and you ended up being the one to fix it”

“Because i’m just that amazing” Mia smiled sitting back sipping her wine, “Plus i need you on my side when I punch Patri tomorrow”

“I’ll hold her if you want” Alexia joked making Mia’s smile even bigger, “Although.. seems it was worth it”

Mia nodded as she spotted there food coming over, “Seems it”

Mia let Alexia come back to her grandparents in the taxi they stayed in the restaurant just talking for hours, Mia’s cheeks hurt from the smile Alexia kept on her face all evening, she was funny. Unintentionally witty and incredibly charming. If Mia wasn’t mistaken she could have sworn at one point they were gently flirting with each other, the ride to her grandparents home was held in a comfortable silence.

Mia unlocked the door and flicked on a light as she walked into the bungalow dropping her bag and keys on the table to her right she had breakfast at every morning, Alexia dipped her head as she followed her inside, closing the door behind herself. She took in her environment she smiled, it screamed grandparents, family pictures scattered around the space, “I’ll be back, make yourself comfy if you want”

Alexia simply nodded as Mia disappeared off into a room off the kitchen, she let her eyes scan around, her lips tugged seeing Mia’s picture the club took in her kit on her first day, framed on the mantel piece one side. Alexia let her feet carry herself to the opposite side, she scanned the family picture, she instantly spotted Mia big smile on her face flanked by Alexia knew were her parents she was the perfect mix of both. Alexia carried on wandering, looking at more pictures of the grandchildren, nearly all Mia’s pictures were football related, she either had on a football shirt, or a football was visible in the picture.

Alexia rose her eyes as Mia reappeared opening the fridge, “You were a cute kid” Alexia commented, Mia smiled as she got two bottles of water out of the fridge, closing the door coming towards her holding one to her.

“Thanks” she tittered at the comment

“Why is that funny?” Mia just shrugged, opening her water, “And you say I’m weird”

“No.. I say you’re awkward” Mia swigged some of the water, “You want to go sit by the pool?”

“You have a pool?” Alexia asked, Mia started walking backwards

“Follow me La Reina” Mia turned, she got to a door soon enough opening it to a rather large back garden considering the quaint size of the bungalow. Alexia shut the door behind her self as she saw Mia was already lowering her self to sit on the edge of the pool her feet dipping into the water. Mia spoke as Alexia silently joined her, “I like to sit here” she pointed up, “You get a real good view of the stars” Alexia watched Mia as she stared up at the sky clearly mesmerised, “You never saw this many stars in London” There was a subtle curve of Mia’s lips as she kept her gaze on the night sky, unaware how Alexia was admiring her taking in every inch of her, relishing in the interrupt view “My dad loved space, he was always so intrigued by it, he’d sit for hours at his telescope just looking. He never really liked football, but that was the thing we could talk about, instead of watching a game together we’d go look at the stars together” Mia laughed gently to herself at the memory, “Mum would hate how many space documentaries we’d watch, one Sunday he promised it would be finished before Barcelona played, it didn’t. She missed the first half, she was so angry she refused to cook dinner.” Mia swallowed as she seemed to catch herself, she glanced seeing Alexia watching her and lowered her gaze, “Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to me witter on about space”

“I like listening to you.. it’s cute when you speak English” Alexia smiled proudly when Mia rolled her eyes shaking her head

“I’ll push you in the pool”

“You wouldn’t dare”

Mia looked to Alexia a playful glint in her eye, “You clearly don’t know me very well”

“You’d actually push me in the pool”

Mia smiled as the water bottle came to her lips humming as she nodded before taking a sip.

“When you think you know someone” Alexia jokingly shook her head, before she knew it. She was in the pool, Mia on the side laughing at her as she popped back up.

Mia was laughing it soon faded when she saw Alexia’s face, “No, don’t even think about it” Mia pointed at her, “Alexia” Mia couldn’t help but laugh when Alexia took hold of an ankle. “I’m sorry”

“Oh well” Alexia took her hand and pulled her in to.

Alexia was laughing when Mia appeared back through the top of the water, it was a beautiful sound Mia could listen to it forever. It faded when they realised just how close they were floating. Mia’s favourite thing about Alexia was quickly becoming her eyes, her dark brown eyes that always seemed to draw her in. Even when Alexia had nothing nice to say they were the softest part of her. They’d change colour in the sun and become brighter, they’d glint when she was feeling cheeky. 

Mia got goosebumps when Alexia’s arm slipped around her waist gently gripping her waist as she helped hold her up, it was an excuse to be closer in truth. Mia slipped her arms around her neck and they held each other silently for what felt like an eternity. But it still felt not long enough when Mia felt Alexia start to pull away, she smiled feeling her peck her check. Mia let her arms fall her hands resting on Alexia’s strong shoulders instead she spotted Alexia swallow a nervous lump in her throat. Mia whispered when Alexia’s eyes trained to her lips, “What you waiting for?” Alexia’s eyes shot back to Mia’s own, “Mapi isn’t coming”

Alexia let a simple breath push out in amusement, a warm feeling washed through Mia as Alexia came closer, it felt like fireworks going off inside her as her face leaned in closer. Their lips brushed together, tentatively. It was brief, sweet, innocent and she expected nothing less from the awkward Alexia. She’d felt Alexia’s shoulders relax under her fingertips the second their lips brushed, Alexia had been imagining this moment since the day they met. The way Mia’s lips would feel against their own, how her body would feel against the brits. It was everything and more than she imagined.

Alexia cleared her rambling thoughts her lips still painfully close to Mia’s that one simple kiss wasn’t enough. Her heart raced as she reconnected there lips, Mias body setting on fire as there lips moved in perfect synchronicity body’s pushing together as her back gently touched against the wall of the pool. The cold forcing her chest forward in an attempt to relieve the sting of the cold. She let her hands come to Alexia’s jawline when Alexia used one hand to hold her self up the other still around Mia. It may of been a slow kiss but it certainly was intense.

Mia licked her lips when they parted, both their breathing was unsteady and fast, they didn’t speak neither wanting to pop the bubble of bliss they were in. Alexia’s thumb was slowly moving up and down on her waist as there breathing was slowly becoming under control.

Mia spoke first, “Shall we um” she started when she saw Alexia’s jaw chatter very briefly, “Shall we get out, it’s a bit cold” Alexia nodded, she reluctantly removed her arm from around Mia and without her body against her own her jaw now had a mind of its own. The heat of Mia or between them no longer shielding just how cold this pool was.

Alexia hovered at the door, Mia looked back when she didn’t follow, “I’m dripping everywhere”

Mia smiled, “Your fine, it’s tiles it’ll dry” Mia kept going, she headed to the bathroom to grab them some towels. She smiled when she came back and Alexia still wasn’t inside. “Alexia you’re going to get sick just come inside” Mia put the towel around Alexia, “Please” Mia smiled when Alexia slipped by her into the home.

Mia showed Alexia her room, got her some dry clothes out and offered her the hairdryer she left her to it whilst she used her grandparents room to change out the wet clothes.

Alexia came out Mias room in a pair of her barcelona shorts and a plain grey jumper to see Mia already on the sofa the soft light of her phone lighting her face. She looked when she heard Alexia, “You, sticking around or do you want me to drive you home?”

“I’ll get a taxi”

“You’re not getting a taxi, you’ll either stay here or i take you home”

“Sorry, who’s captain?”

“My house” Mia rose to her feet with a smile, “My rules” Alexia got a smile like Mia hadn’t seen before, was this the Alexia everyone else got because if they did she was incredibly jealous. She was hot. “What you doing Putellas?”

“I’m not dragging you out it’s late”

“Ok” Mia glided by Alexia whose smile just got bigger, “No funny business though, i’m not that easy” Alexia laughed and as she turned Mia stood staring. “Why is that so funny?” Alexia shrugged, “You’ve been talking to Keira haven’t you?”

Mia got into bed moving over to the other side next to the wall, she tried to hide how amused she was with how awkward Alexia was being about the situation. It was just adorable. “I haven’t” Alexia lay flat on her back, stiff as a board, “Should i?”

“You could just ask me” Alexia turned her head to Mia and Mia was just honest, “I’ve had three relationships”

“Why did they end?”

“First one, just ran its course we were young, second, she moved to Germany for football so we ended that, Third that’s the one that Keira would say sent me spiral into ‘Fuck buddy era’ that we won’t count or get into”

Alexia turned onto her side, the casual conversation easing her into there wasn't an expectation, “Why?”

“She was 10 years older than me, based in America but it worked somehow. Til it didn’t when she asked me to marry her”

Alexia looked over Mia’s face, “Well the fact your not married tells me how that ended”

Mia smiled turning to her, “I said no, and that was that. Rather abrupt way to end something i was quite happy in but i was 24, i wasn’t ready for that and she obviously was being older.” Mia laughed softly to herself, “You know what they say to get over someone get under someone else, i sure did that” Mia looked away, “Don’t even know why I’m telling you that doesn’t paint me in a good way”

Alexia smiled softly, “Your just being honest, who am i to judge” Alexia took a breathe, “I’ve not dated in 5 years”

Mia looked to Alexia, “Not to ruin this moment but you not dating is a hate crime to all the gay women of Barcelona” Alexia thankfully smiled, “You get how hot you are right?” Alexia’s smile grew, “I’m being serious” Mia giggled, “Answer me”

“You think i’m hot?”

“I know Patri told you, that women can’t keep a secret unless it’s about who she’s sleeping with then she’s surprisingly quiet on the matter”

“Patri’s seeing someone” Mia’s eyes went a little wide, “Mia!”

“Buenas noches dulces sueños” Mia turned to face the wall smiling hearing Alexia laughing softly.

“I won’t say come on”

“No”

“Mia” Alexia reached forward and Mia squirmed under her touch, “Are you ticklish?”

“No”

Alexia laughed as she tickled Mia her body trying to get away but the wall blocking her route, Mia ended up on her back directly below Alexia’s gaze. “Tell me”

“No”

“Mia”

“Stop” Mia laughed grabbing at Alexia’s hand, she finally let Mia prize it off her but only because their fingers laced. “If you watch her, you’ll figure it out” Alexia furrowed her brows, “Watch her, all i’m saying”

The pair spoke some more before Mia was slowly falling asleep, she woke in the night and Alexia was wrapped around her. She smiled and let herself go back to sleep, in the comfort of Alexia’s strong arms.

+

It was match day as Mia entered the locker room Patri made a beeline for her, “Well?”

“Well what?” Mia looked up at her as she sat down

“What happened?” Patri looked awkward as Alexia entered the room.

“As if i’d tell you” Alexia took her spot beside her, “Liar”

Patri put both hands on either of Mia’s cheek, “I’ll find out, I always do”

“Big talk from someone with big secrets”

Patri narrowed her eyes and walked away, “I’m watching you”

“Enjoy the view my love” Mia pouted a kiss at her as she took her seat the other end of the locker room.

Mia felt nervous her and Alexia had been here before, today would be the day to see if they’d actually turned a corner or not.

Mia lowered her head as they started to hover to come out for the warm up, Alexia chose to stand beside her which she never did. “I’m serious” Alexia spoke hushed, “I want that pan cake recipe” Mia lifted her head and smiled, “They were good” Mia made Alexia pancakes in her Grandparents as Alexia sat patiently at the table watching her,

“I know, you had 5” Alexia couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as they jogged out for the warm up.

Alexia turned jogging backwards, “You promised you wouldn’t judge”

Mia mimicked the coach doing the warm ups, “No judgement just pointing it out”

+

Mia was starting today’s game, it was 20 minutes in and Barcelona were three nil up when she was pushing forward with the ball once again.

Mia was tackled and the whole stadium stood still. 

The thud was sickening the cry she let out sent chills down everyone’s spines. Alexia sprinted over to her, “Mia” she got onto her knees hand on her back, “Mia..”

“I think she’s broke my ankle”

Alexia moved when the medical team got to her, she walked away visibly worried, “Is she ok?” Keira asked

“She said she thinks she’s broke her ankle” Alexia said before moving back to hover worried for her, she couldn't just leave her side. She needed to be there for her.

Surely Mia’s season couldn’t be over just like that. It wasn’t fair. The team spent a long time with Mia before the signal was shown to sub her off and Alexia’s heart dropped seeing Mia’s face when she sat up. She looked devastated, players just knew when something was bad. It’s only a feeling players who’d gotten hurt know. It was the feeling they all dread.

When Mia was in the back she let her emotions out, hiding her face in her shirt as she cried this wasn’t suppose to be how it went, she’d had a dream start to life at Barcelona. It couldn’t all end like this. She heard a cheer go up, Barcelona were clearly fine without her scoring multiple more times. That fourth goal, Alexia scored.

She held up one finger on one hand and five on the other.

15 for Mia.

She had to be ok, she just had to be. There was no way around it.

Chapter 8

[whisperofwonder]

The Best Medicine

Kageyama Tobio x reader - 1k words

Your daughter is sick. Kageyama stays home with her.

Reader is referred to as "mommy"

"She'll be fine," Tobio assures you. "I'll be here with her all day."

"I know," You sigh. Ever since you left work early yesterday to pick your daughter up from daycare, you've been fussing over her. It's just a fever and a cough, something that the doctor assured you will go away on its own with some medicine and time, but you can't help but worry just a little. It makes sense for Tobio to stay with her today - it's the off season, and he doesn't have any training scheduled. You're the one in the middle of a big project at work.

"I just gave her more medicine," You continue as you gather your things for work, "And it should keep her knocked out for a bit. The rest is good for her." You're saying it as much for yourself as for Tobio's benefit. He nods along anyway. "Just remember to have her eat a little something when she takes the next dose," You add as you pull on your coat.

"I will. Don't worry," He says more firmly, gripping your shoulders and looking you in the eye, forcing you to stop moving for just a moment. "We'll be just fine here. If anything comes up, I'll give you a call right away."

"Okay." You manage a smile. "Thanks, Tobio."

"Of course. I love you," He leans in for a peck before he releases you.

"I love you too," You reply on your way out the door, "I'll see you later."

With that, you're gone, and Tobio turns back into the quiet house. He doesn't have much lined up for the morning, he just starts a load of laundry and then settles on the couch with a replay of a recent match on the quietest setting. He takes a few notes every now and then.

Eventually, lunch time draws near. After heating up a quick meal for himself, he's slotting his few dishes in the dishwasher when he hears the call.

"Mommy!" Your daughter whimpers, and he closes the dishwasher, making his way to her room before she has a chance to call out again. It's just about time for her next round of medicine, anyway.

"Hi, baby," He says gently, brushing sweaty strands of hair away from her forehead. She's still warm, but the fever has definitely gone down.

"Want Mommy," She insists, her lower lip jutting out in a pout.

"Mommy's at work," He reminds her. You'd said goodbye to her this morning right before you left. "She'll be home later." She doesn't look pleased, but she doesn't say another word. "Are you a little hungry?" He asks, changing the subject.

"No," She shakes her head.

"Not even for some applesauce?" He asks as he gently tugs the blanket off of her. "It will help the medicine make you all better."

She hesitates for a moment. "Kay," She agrees quietly. He picks her up, carrying her to the kitchen. If she weren't sick, she would have scrambled out of bed and darted down the hallway on her own. It's clear she's still not feeling like herself.

After the snack of applesauce and dose of medicine, he lifts her to his hip again, prepared to tuck her back in bed. Her eyes are already drooping. In her room, he moves to lay her back down on the pillow, but she clings to his neck.

"No, Daddy," She whimpers into his chest.

"I'll read you a story," He suggests, settling down on the edge of the bed with her still in his arms.

"Don't wanna story." She shakes her head, scrubbing a fist at her eye. "Wanna watch TV."

He sighs and softens. "Okay," He agrees. In the living room, he puts on one of her favorite shows. He moves to set her down on the couch, but she clings to him again.

"No," She shakes her head.

"No?" He echoes, then settles her on his lap. "Alright." If she wants to stay close to him so badly, how can he say no to that? She leans against him, soft and warm in his arms, entranced by the colorful animations on the screen and clutching her bunny.

The older she gets, the less interested she has become in sitting still and cuddling. It seems she's always on the move, running around and playing. It isn't often that he gets to just hold her like this.

His eyes wander from the screen down to her, eyes drooping again as she slips her thumb in her mouth. Just this once, he decides to let it slide. She's getting so big. Sometimes he doesn't even realize how quickly. Soon enough she'll be off to school, maybe joining sports or the band, spending time with all of the new friends she'll make. She won't be his little girl who fits in his arms like this forever - he should savor this moment.

Time blurs by as he holds her, half-paying attention to the show as one short episode turns to another, half-dozing himself. He doesn't even realize how long it's been until he hears the door open.

"I'm home!" You say as you step inside. It isn't long before you find them in the living room, your daughter cradled against Tobio's chest. He smiles at you, and your daughter stirs against him, woken by the slight commotion.

"Hi my love," You coo at her, "How are you feeling?" She only hums in response, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Why don't we let Daddy get up?" You ask, reaching for her.

"Hm-mm," She shakes her head, snaking her arms around his neck again and burying her face against him. You look at him with wide, surprised eyes, and he can only return the expression. Earlier, she'd pouted because you weren't there. He's just as taken aback.

"Well," Your expression softens as you whisper, "I guess you had a good day with Daddy then." You lean in to kiss him, and he returns it. "How long have you been sitting here?" You ask.

"A few hours," He estimates, "But I don't mind." He presses a kiss to the top of her head. "She'll be begging for you before you know it," He predicts, and you shake your head with a smile. You both know he's right. For now, if snuggles with Daddy are what she wants, how can you deny her?