#thank u this is my oral history | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alsoprettyinpink · 1 month ago

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Holy shit I can’t believe I finally finished this. It’s been a while and I preface this by saying I’m not a writer. After watching Deadpool Wolverine, I realized that I needed to come back to tumblr to share in the fandom that is Wolverine/Logan. Not knowing all that I was getting into. I found some amazing fan fiction writers that also reminded me of my younger days and I figured I’d try it again. So here’s my filthy writing. Big thanks to @silverskyeline for honestly giving me the courage to post this. I nervous. Please comment if you liked it or whatever. I’ll add I did not edit the smut cause I got silly embarrassed. Sorry in advance. I’ll do better I promise.

Logan/Wolverine X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7.6K

Tags: MDNI 18+, smut after the fluff I guess, P in V, unprotected (this is fiction so be safe), he's never pulling out, oral (F receiving), idk, bathroom and classroom sessions,

Summary: You are a new teacher at Xavier's institute, and you find your neighbor teacher, Logan, pretty attractive. There's a flyer for chaperones needed for the homecoming dance. Can you muster up the courage to ask him? What's the spark in his eye? Is it...lust?

A/N: During the dance scene, I highly recommend listening to Benson Boone’s Beautiful Things. Enjoy.

It was finally fall. One of your favorite seasons. The weather was finally cool enough for you to leave your hair down. Cool breezes dance through the changing foliage around the campus. The orange, red and some yellow ginkgo leaves flutter as you and many others return to campus. A fall greeting from mother nature herself.

You were a teacher for Charles this semester after he somewhat guilted you into doing it. You weren’t sure if this was going to be the right fit for you. The refreshing air however, made you forget that was even a thought. Instead it made you feel confident. He asked if you could teach art. You weren’t sure as to all that would entail, you just figured you could just be the cool art teacher. You had the look down; ponytail, large glasses and a patient attitude. You knew a change was in your future, whether it was your need to constantly reinvent yourself or just tired of the same routine. The season was ready for you.

You set up in your classroom, knowing that the history teacher was on the other side of the wall. Mr. Logan Howlett. You were unsure how much he really cared about teaching, you were unsure where he stood anywhere. A man of few words and grunts. You heard that he’d been alive for almost 200 years, so he knew the ins and outs of history. The truth about events that hadn’t been erased or only told from the victor’s perspective. You chuckled at the idea of his gruff and blunt perspective. Thinking of how he taught his class. How intimidating he must have come across.

You had met him a few times around the campus, knowing he was The Wolverine; one of the X-men. Feisty, brooding, no nonsense kinda guy…your thoughts trailed as you found yourself thinking of him more fondly. He was such an attractive man. His dark features, his muscular build. When he would walk by in the mornings before class, cup of coffee in hand, he’d wave and give you a faint smile...maybe it was a grimace. There were times that you didn’t see him, but he always saw you. You would be rearranging your classroom or you would be smiling reading a book, but he’d see you.

“Mr. Howlett.” You greeted, meeting him in the teacher’s lounge. You were a bit startled seeing him up close and personal, but the lure of coffee was too strong. He grunted as per usual going through the cupboard trying to find his favorite mug. “Call me Logan.” He spoke.

“If you don’t mind, on campus I have to keep it professional, Mr. Howlett. Maybe if I see you outside of school, I’ll drop the honorifics.” You responded smiling although you were nervous. You couldn’t help it. That was just how you operated at work; professional. He grunted again, still searching for a specific mug. “Ugh,” he muttered to himself. “This will just have to do.” He picked one that said, “Without Art the Earth Would Just Be ‘eh’” with rainbows going around the image of earth.

You chuckled seeing such a burly man with a silly cup. “What?” He snapped turning to you, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing so he could hurry up and end this torment.

“Sorry…That’s one of mine that I brought. It’s a silly one.” You find another one you brought, pulling it out of the cabinet. It was a rather large, light brown and dark brown body with a small sculpted face. It’s nose was pointed with beady eyes and large fat cheeks.

“What the fuck is that supposed to be?” He asked, concerned.

You looked at the mug again, smiling because you were sure it was a gift from someone, “I think it’s a hedgehog.” You responded, chuckling again just looking at its little stupid smiling face brought you so much joy.

The coffee was done brewing and you were positive so was this special interaction with Xavier’s finest teacher.

“It’s like a 20oz so it gets the job done.” you added, beckoning Logan to go first. He leaned with his hip to the counter, arms crossed, “Naw, you first darlin’.”

Darlin’?

You weren’t ready for that. You could feel the flush of your cheeks and the tips of your ears. You were hoping he wouldn’t notice. Quickly pouring some for yourself, you offered to pour his cup too. He thanked you, while you opened the fridge for creamer.

A flyer tagged to the fridge caught your eye. “Oh there’s a homecoming dance coming up? That’s so cute!” You exclaimed. “They'll probably need chaperones.” You muttered to yourself.

Your mind reminisced about your high school dances and how much fun you had at them. Hearing stories of others drinking or fooling around as high school kids tend to do, you sighed. Logan looked over at you drinking his black coffee. “You’re not thinking of going to that are you?” His brow was arched high as he spoke in disgust, his voice rough as if just being alive was torment.

“I’ve never been a chaperone before, but I just remembered how much I loved going to my high school dances. I went to every one!”

Your cheeriness seemed to amuse him and probably confuse him too. You couldn’t tell by looking at him, but the fact that he was still entertaining a conversation was making your heart flutter. Anxious, you asked him if he would make an appearance, already knowing his answer.

“Hell no! I ain’t trying to be here around those kids longer than I have to be.” He grabbed his (your) mug and headed back to his room, “See ya later, have a good day.” He added raising his hand up as he left.

You swallowed the dry lump that had formed in your throat. Your hands were a bit shaky, as you took a sip of that liquid gold. You awaited for the caffeine to fuel your body as it coursed through your veins. However, you immediately grimaced spitting the coffee back into your oversized cartoon mug. “He made jet fuel.” No amount of sugar or creamer would make that taste good. You sighed, disappointedly, and you poured it out and the pot to make a new one.

——————————————————————

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. The same basic conversations with your neighbor teacher, Logan. You sighed out of frustration not really sure how you wanted to continue whatever this was. We’re you friends? We’re you just coworkers? You had some flirty banter with him, but you didn’t want to make it more than what it was. You also didn’t know too much about him still, despite your small talk efforts. He did converse with you despite you feeling like you were the main one engaged in said conversation. What you didn’t know was that he would watch you teach your class at first thinking that these kids needed something more important than art. However, he had to eat his words when one of them bested him during a training session, using something they had learned in your class. Sure you taught painting and other art forms, but he didn’t realize that creativity could make the kids turn into a modern day MacGuyver.

During a class, you were teaching about art in advertisements, you saw your students eyes glancing over to the window of the door. You turned your head and there he was. His eyes flinched as he tried to play cool, but you think he didn’t expect you to see him. “Ok, read this page and the next!” You opened your door and quietly closed it behind you.

“Are you ok, Mr. Howlett? Do you need something?” You asked in a slight whisper, Logan seemed tensed. He acted like you had caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing, although he seemed so cool about it though. You couldn’t really read him well. “Uh…no, I’m fine. Just… admiring your class. I’ll tell you later.” And he walked off with a turn of his heel. You watched him walk away like a sad puppy being left at home. Your eyes drank up his frame staring at his dark hair, red flannel, and those luscious jeans. Damn did they fit him well. You went back into your class expecting silence but they were awaiting your return.

“OOOoooOOO!” The class exclaimed. “Do you liiiiikkeee him?” One of the girl students mocked teasingly. Snapping back to reality, you whipped your head around, waving them off. “Mr. Howlett is a friend, Sarah. You wouldn’t like it if I asked you in front of everyone if you like Roberto?”

“Ew! I don’t like him!” And then the class erupted in laughter.

“Settle! Settle! Or I will give you a pop quiz!” A hush fell over the class.

“I’ll raise the anti!” Another student snarked. “I dare you to ask him to the homecoming dance. If you do, regardless of his answer, we’ll take your pop quiz!”

These little instigators!

“Fine, I‘ll ask him! Pop quiz. Books closed! Take out a piece of paper and something to write with.”

——————————————

After school, you decided to stay after a bit to get some grading done. You were sitting at your desk rubbing your temples. You could feel a headache coming down. Getting teased and called out by teenagers was not on your bingo card. Surprisingly enough, a good portion of them did really well on their pop quiz and it made you so proud of them.

The hedgehog mug was placed on your desk by a strong hand and a loud thud. Looking up, you saw Logan. His expression stern and void of any joy “Oh! Thanks.”

“It’s water.” He said bluntly. “You look like you got a headache comin’ on, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink water…” and he dropped some small brown pills next to you.

You groaned and took a sip. You hated the fact that he knew you well enough that he knew you were dehydrated and most likely over caffeinated.

“Are you really gonna go to that stupid dance next week?” He asked, his brows slightly furrowed. His usual gravely voice tinged with annoyance.

“Yeah,” you started putting the mug down on your desk, “You wanna go with me?” You asked not missing a beat. This way it was honoring your promise to your students while still feeling like a cool girl. Not a woman who was nervous about asking her coworker to the high school homecoming dance. And then if he said ‘no’ your feelings wouldn't be hurt cause you didn't put in any effort. No build up, no romanticism, just two friends talking.

He winced as if he was in physical pain. He ran his fingers back through his dark brown hair sighing heavily.

“Fine. I'll go with ya.” He responded flatly, folding his arms. Your brain had already processed a ‘No’. The hard pulse of your heart beating heavy in your chest, the dryness of your eyes as they widen when you realize, actually, what he had said.

“I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to.” You felt as if your heart was coming out of your throat. You swallowed hard hoping he would ignore your hint of ‘you-can-reconsider-your-decision’.

“Naw princess, I'm a man of my word. I'll go with you…ugh,” he shifted weight to his hip. “Just don't expect me to dance or nothin’.”

Princess?!

“Cool. Got it. You'll be a beautiful wallflower.” You chuckled, really still trying to play cool, sipping the water he got for you trying not to choke.

He can read you like a book.

He cleared his throat, “Mm, I don't think I'll compare to how pretty you'll prolly look.”

Is….is HE blushing???!! Wait…am I blushing?? Fuckfuckfuck.

You cleared your throat, looking back at the stack of papers in front of you. “Well, I'll leave it to ya. I hope you feel better, Ms. Y/N.”

You smiled to yourself as he was already walking away. “Thanks Mr. Howlett.”

——————

You were getting ready at the institute being that it was easier than going home, getting ready and then coming all the way back. You couldn’t believe that Logan was willing to go to the dance with you. You were pretty sure it was a pity agreement or something. You knew he didn’t really want to go but he agreed to go with you…why? You finished doing your makeup in the mirror, made cute faces, sexy faces, pouty faces and smiling faces at yourself, just to make sure you knew how you looked.

You brushed out your dress. It was a wine colored, A-line dress with a boat neck and short puffy lantern sleeves. A slit off to the side to show a little leg, but still modest. Your hair was down, with one side pinned back to keep out of your face. Your earrings were small dangles and sparkly to catch the light and a simple necklace for a clean look.

“You can do this!” You said placing both hands on the sink staring deeply at yourself in the mirror. “He's just a man… A mutant man, but a man nonetheless. You're just friends, nothing more. This isn't a date or anything. Just friendly co-workers going to chaperone a school dance that you both work at…”

Fuck I'm anxious. Maybe a little gummy to ease my nerves.

You dug into your tiny purse for that last 1:1 gummy that always got you in the best mood. Relaxed and not stressed…and maybe just a little bit high. But not that they would notice.

You walked out of the bathroom finally. You and Logan didn't really communicate about when and where you all would meet up or if you would just meet there. You wished there was alcohol served for the adults.

You checked your phone and didn't see any messages from him or calls. Let's be real, if he called you'd be hesitant to answer.

You finally had to admit it to yourself that you liked him. You were crushing on him hard as if you were a teen again. He was all you ever thought about, his blips in the teacher's lounge or when he would nod at you through the door made your heart swell.

Sometimes during your planning period you could hear him teaching. You had grown fond of listening to his voice. One particular time, your imagination had taken you through constant interactions, conversations, situations…some verged on dirty. You could hear him talking to you. His strong hands gripping your waist and pulling you close to him. His lips close to yours, as his one hand leaves your waist and cups your face. you're both taking shallow breaths with anticipation of the next move. Frozen in place, all you can do is watch him glide through air as his thumb caressed the apple of your cheek. It was almost like you were holding your breath in this fantasy as he pulled you in for a deep and passionate kiss. His grip around your waist; possessive. Other thoughts, he had you bent over his desk as he took you from behind. His relentless thrusts into your tight, wet, pussy as you moaned his name and grasped at papers. You remembered gasping coming back to reality and uncrossing your legs and adjusting yourself in your chair. You heard him sniffing on the other side of the wall. You turned slightly looking at your chalkboard knowing he couldn't see you…but you felt like you could feel his intense gaze on you through the wall.

You found yourself standing outside his classroom now. Clutching on to your purse, you tried to imagine him teaching. Really trying to ignore the desk and papers that were neatly stacked upon it. His half-lidded hazel eyes on you, paired with a devilish smirk, papers flying everywhere.

“Oh, you're here.” His gravelly voice startled and pulled you from the depths of your imagination.

“Sorry we never discussed where to meet, but I had a feelin’ You'd be… here.” His pause made you notice his eyes flickered up and down. It made your cheeks flush and your heart flutter.

Taking in his attire, you were thoroughly impressed with how well he cleaned up; He looked so good. Black shoes, jeans, a leather belt, a white button up, and a brown corduroy blazer. The need to speak was needed, for you felt too much time had passed since the last word was said.

“No, I'm sorry. I should have expressed where-”

“You look beautiful.” He interjected softly. You could tell that doling compliments wasn’t his strongest suit but he did mean what he said.

You felt heat rise into your cheeks. “Ah, thank you, Mr. Howlett. You look great too…as always.”

”Please call me Logan tonight.“ he rasped, staring you down. His gaze never leaving yours. You felt your heart speed up in your chest, and a twinge in your interior.

He took a step closer to you, a gasp wanting to escape your lips, but didn’t. His lips parted, as the back of his hand tucked strands of your hair behind your ear. His calloused fingertips unraveled around your ear down to your jaw and making their way to your chin. Time seemed to have stopped for you. You could hear your rushed pulse vibrating in your ear. Your eyes darted back and forth between his. Your mouth parched, lips parted, and your breath caught in your lungs, as he caressed your face.

“Hey guys! The chaperones are gathering now to usher in students if you want to make your way over!” Scott yelled from the other end of the hallway. If anyone was going to ruin a moment it was always, always going to be Scott. Immediately, you took a step back, grounding yourself. The trance breaking. You could see the annoyance trickling across his face as he turned to face Scott.

“Yeah we’ll be headin’ over soon, Summers.” He yelled back over, still mentally fixed on you. Your own`` mind raced with thoughts of how you were going to restart this. You wanted him to kiss you, if…that's what he was trying to do.

He cleared his throat, holding his arm out for you to hold on to. “Shall we, doll?” His expression changed to a relaxed smile. His gruff exterior seemed to still be present to others, but when he was around you, he seemed relaxed. You placed your arm around his trying not to smile too hard. You didn’t want to lose your cool. His arms were strong as he held onto you. A part of you wanted your ankle to give out just so he could catch you, and then maybe he’d finished what he started before Scott interjected. But you couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t allow yourself to do that. A smile pulled at the corners of your lips, hoping he didn’t notice.

When you both walked into the cafeteria the Student Government Association had done such an excellent job decorating and preparing for this. They had streamers and iridescent decorations that seemed to sparkle as they hung from the ceiling. Towards the back there was a punch table which is where you and Logan headed over to. You took it upon yourself to monitor the punch table to ensure they didn’t run out of cups or none of the students spiked it.

As the doors opened and the students came in, your heart swelled seeing them all in their lovely clothes. To be young again, a sigh escaped your lips, thinking of the times when you were in the same situation as them. The heat of the dance floor, sometimes the heartbreak of seeing your crush dancing with another, the wallflowers, the anxiety of asking someone to dance with you. Honestly, you loved all the feelings. These kids were special. They dealt with a different type of prejudice, but at least in this moment, none of that mattered. Just having a good fun time with friends.

The music however had much to be desired. The kids were grinding on each other and kinda made you feel a touch uncomfortable, but it all looked safe and everyone looked like they were having fun. Logan came over by you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. He took a swig of something out of the corner of your eye. Here you were again, heart racing from the thought of him touching you. He hadn’t touched you until today, but you never wanted him to stop. Taking a double take and noticing his flask, you quickly found yourself facing him,as if you were trying to block others from seeing what he was doing. Without consciously noticing, he hooked his arm around your waist pulling you ever so close to him. You moved with the gesture, not registering in your mind, as if you have done this before and it’s normal for the two of you to be so close. A lazy smile tugged at the corners of his lips while his heavy lidded eyes stayed on you. His brow arched as you spoke.

“Mr. Howlett!” You whispered, “Are you drinking alcohol?” A grin broke through upon his lips. “You’re one to talk doll.” He whispered right back. He got really close to your face, your heart beating almost out of your chest. He was so close, he smelled so nice you could feel yourself becoming a bit dizzy from the emotion of it all. Just when you thought he was going to kiss you, he whispered in your ear instead, his lips grazing the cartilage. “I know you ate a weed gummy. I can smell it on you.”

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat as you leaned away from him, his grip still tight around you. “Look, I just needed something to keep this interesting.” He spoke, his face turning pink just slightly.

He could smell it on you? What else could he smell? Those gummies smelled like nothing. They were in leak proof bags. But…what “else” could he smell.

Your face flushed as your brows met. “You must've seen me eat one. You can't smell those.” He scoffed at your accusation wanting nothing more than to confess everything he can smell on you but he figured he'd explain later.

You looked around to note no other chaperone was near you. “What’s your poison?”

A sinful smirk danced across his lips again. “Whiskey…you want some?” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a rather large metal flask. Your face lit up and you nodded.

“Don’t tell anyone.” You pleaded as he handed you his flask and you took a quick swig. It burned your mouth and the back of your throat, but it also warmed your soul. You weren’t a whiskey drinker at all, but you wanted to be one if that meant you had something in common with him. You took another swig this time longer, quickly shoving it back in his coat, and straightening out his jacket. Pressing out his jacket made his aroma waft through your senses. The scent of whiskey, pine, cedar and tobacco filled your nostrils and made your head spin. You couldn't believe you were touching him, the corduroy of his jacket felt so nice against your fingertips. You stared at his shirt, seeing the ribs of the white tank he wore underneath it. You hadn’t noticed but his eyes were affixed to you; watching you touch him, watching you getting lost in your thoughts as he had seen you do before. He thoroughly enjoyed you touching him. He gently rolled your head up with his index and thumb on your chin “You think too much. Relax, darlin’”

Your face flushed now mostly from the alcohol. Not to mention your edible was starting to kick in.

“Ohhhhhohoho! Look at teach!” One of your students spoke out. Immediately you froze and broke his hold around you. You hadn't realized he was holding you close to him for you were lost in your own crude thoughts. Words escaped your brain as you worried what they might say, but then you thought who cares? You were only concerned about rumors that could swirl around the school. Your reputation meant everything to you. To prove that you belonged…That you deserved to be there.

You looked over at Logan, thanked him for the drink and focused your attention to the floor. Your gaze searching and making sure the students were ok and having fun. Your mind was elsewhere however. Dizzy, drunk from his touch, his scent, and your edible kicking in. You felt a twinge, a heat building up in your thighs. You exhaled and tried to regain composure. You glanced at the perimeter of the room, seeing the other chaperones enjoying their time, drinking the punch, talking and laughing.

Fully feeling your vices, you found yourself by the wall bouncing along to the music; bobbing your head while holding your drink in your hand. You looked around searching for Logan. Just a glance to see what he was up to. No luck. It made you pout. You were feeling your emotions building up inside of you like a volcano about to erupt. Finally a break in your thoughts shattered through when you heard that new pop song you loved. It was almost a 180 in you. You became excited and danced in place and sang along with the words. You raised that cup in the air and swayed your hips. It filled your heart to feel that beat in your body, even more so since you were under the influence.

Logan had stepped outside for a smoke break, and when he returned he saw you really enjoying yourself. It brought a smile to his lips. He walked up to you, hands in his pockets, relaxed. “You’re having fun.” He spoke with his gruff exterior held up and a smile. You turned to him still bouncing to the beat, “Ohmygod yes! I love this song.” Calming down just a bit, not wanting to seem childish or immature to him, you took a sip of your non-alcoholic punch. You finally admitted to yourself that you liked him. You really, really, liked him and you hoped that he returned your feelings. But being his friend was second best.

“Oh? Well, let’s take you out on the floor then.” He suggested holding his hand out for you to take. You stood there, a bit stunned and unsure. He read your face as if he could read your mind, “When a pretty girl asks you to a dance, you dance. I didn’t come here for nothin’” he added with a smirk. Your thoughts ran a mile a minute. It made you think everything over; replaying in your mind on fast forward. You placed your drink down, and took his hand.

His hand was rough, calloused and his grip was tight as if he didn’t, you’d float away. He pulled you close to him again, and in rom-com true fashion, the song changed. The lights slowed and were dimmed low. He looked up and sighed at the change. “Of course…” he muttered. However his ears pricked back when he heard the song Beautiful Things play. He wasn’t sure of the artist but he enjoyed it the few times he had heard it. His brow furrowed, not sure how to dance to this slow pop song. He was going to figure it out.

His arm still around your waist and the other still holding your hand. Gently he swayed you side to side. Neither of you spoke. Only being present in the moment. His gaze held yours and yours were fixed to his.

And I hold you every night

And that's a feeling I wanna get used to

But there's no man as terrified

As the man who stands to lose you

Your sways turned into a spin. When he pulled you back to him, your eyes met. Your eyes darted between his hazel eyes almost luring you even closer to him. He dropped your hand as both his hands wrapped around your waist and yours, made their way around his shoulders pulling you both into each other. That feeling returned to your lower body as you swallowed the dry lump that formed in your throat. Your heart raced even faster and given your proximity, you knew he could feel it.

Oh, I hope I don't lose you

The lights were sparkling around you, adding just an extra layer of magic. You rolled your lips, trying so hard not to pick the skin off your luscious berry tinted lips.

Please stay

He took a quick breath in, his lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something. You tried to speak, to tell him everything, all the feels but you couldn’t find the courage to do so.

I want you, I need you, oh God

Don't take

“Can I kiss you?” He asked deep and low. Your eyes widened not expecting him to ask you anything let alone that. Words escaped you and all you could do was nod.

At that moment, the world seemed to standstill. You didn’t even care if any of your students saw you. You didn’t care if other teachers saw you. This moment, it was just you and Logan.

These beautiful things that I've got

The song seemed to come to a huge climax which only made your heart flutter as his hand held your chin up, his lips pressed on to yours. Fireworks seemed to go off in your brain. You closed your eyes just being in the moment. Feeling his warm lips against yours was everything you thought it would be. Your eyes rolled behind your eyelids as you took a deep inhale through your nose. Your hand draped around his neck, pulled him closer into you. Your hungry and needy return made a growl creep up from his broad chest. His tongue pushed his way into your desperate mouth as he watched through his lashes. You no longer thought about anything else. His intensity pushed your back a couple steps. Your free hand reaching behind you, trying to feel for the wall to brace yourself.

His lips dragged from yours down to your jaw, to your pulse point, to the nape of your neck; a trail of hot kisses behind them. His lips parted as he tasted your skin. A soft moan escaped your lips as you found yourself pulling his face from his new favorite spot. His eyes were filled with lustful thoughts. “…not here…” you spoke before his lips found yours again. Your fingers applied pressure along his temples, gliding through his hair. His hands now wandered down your hips, grabbing your ass. He pulled from your lips begrudgingly, only now comprehending your words. He placed his hand up against the wall near your flushed face, fighting his urges to keep going for the moment.

“Yeah, you’re right…” he huffed. There wasn’t much blood in his brain to think of a secluded place. You grabbed his hand and led him out of the cafeteria. Down a hallway in the direction of the classrooms; He was becoming impatient, irrational…feral. His need for you, growing uncontrollably. When you paused in your steps, he pulled you into the bathroom adjacent to you both. His mouth found yours as soon as that door opened. Locking it behind him, he quickly closed the gap between you and the corner of the sinks and a wall. His sultry gaze looked over you, enjoying the sight and sound of you on the other side. His hands wandered up your stomach, to your breasts. He palmed them, running the side of his thumb over your hard nipples through your bra. “…fuck…” he muttered through your lips.

Your hand fiddled with his belt, undoing it along with the zipper of his slacks. Your other hand ran down his clothed chest, feeling ever chiseled muscle. You freed his throbbing cock from the confinements of his boxer briefs, gently stroking the entire length.

Fuck, he’s big

He shuddered from your touch. His brows furrowed as you sped up only focusing with your fingertips, teasing the tip coated with pearled precum with your thumb. He moved your hand from him, picking your legs up with his arms pulling them around his waist, making you lean back for leverage up against the wall. His tip teasing the outside of your pussy through your already wet panties. Your arms quickly wrapped around his neck, holding on for security.

“Don’t worry baby, I got ‘cha.” He grunted out. His one hand snaked up the back of your dress. His eyes searched yours as he felt the zipper. He leaned in as his lips sat on top of yours almost to steal your breath away. “May I?”

“Yes, please…do it” you responded so deprived. Your hands cupped his bristled cheeks as you pulled him in for another hungry kiss. Another growl rumbled in his chest as his hand slowly pulled the zipper down. The sound echoed in your ear drums as his lips found your neck again, gently sinking his teeth into your neck.

“Ahh, fuck Logan!” You jolted knowing you were going to have a mark there later. A reminder that this was real. Not one of your fantasies. He pulled away for a moment, admiring his mark against your skin.

“Uh uh. I’m Mr. Howlett, remember?” His voice deep and doused with lust. He pulled your arms out of the sleeves of your dress, and pulled it down, freeing your breasts. “Fuck you’re beautiful.” He uttered, admiring you. His warm mouth encapsulated your nipple as his other hand found your clit. You threw your head back, your hips jolting. His wet tongue ran over your nipple as he sucked on it. His finger delicately ran small circles on your clit. Your breathing became more shallow, his name floating off your lips as a prayer.

He hummed, slipping your nipple from his lips, “Say it again” his tongue flicked over your other nipple as you gasped. Your head dizzy, your cheeks hot, you managed to speak, “Mr. Howlett….” You moaned softly. It seemed to stir something within him. Hearing you say his name like that, turned him on even more.

He could feel how soaked you were between your folds. His fingers slipped down to coat his fingers in your wetness. “God, I’ve been thinking about this.” He admits in the valley of your tits.

“Me too…for far too long.”

“I’ll buy you a new pair…” he responds, staring into your eyes. Confusion paints your face, suddenly you feel cold metal against your pelvis. A small blade came from his hand as you felt your panties becoming taut and then riiiiiiippp.

He looks into you again. At this point, you feel like you can read minds. His eyes searched yours to get confirmation that this was happening. You moistened your lips and held onto your bottom lip. He leaned his forehead on yours, closing his eyes. You both allowed gravity to assist. Effortlessly, you slid right on to him, taking him deep to the hilt. You hissed a curse as you felt yourself suck him in. He held you there for you to adjust to him. His head went to his new favorite spot as his hot breath tickled your neck. He gritted his teeth as he slowly thrusted into you. The tight, slick of your folds made his head spin. The scent of you and your arousal made him thrust a bit faster. Your whimpers and whines echoed in the warm lit space alongside the squelching and sounds of skin slapping against each other.

“Fuck…” he muttered, “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

You couldn’t explain the tightness that you were feeling in your lower abdomen, but you knew what it meant.

“Oooo, if you keep…doing that…fuck…” you panted; your chest rising and falling with every thrust trying not to be heard. But he wasn’t having it. You were going to be loud and you were going to cum. He slowed down his pace, edging himself and most likely you. From the base of his throbbing cock, inch by inch of his shaft pulled from you, covered in your juices, until the tip teased at your entrance again. Repeat.

He slowly pushed back into you, inch by inch of his veined shaft, until he could feel your ass on his balls. Logan could feel you clench around him.

“Doin’ what, baby?” His lips grazed the edge of your ear which only made the feeling in your pussy twinge. He chuckled, looking back into your eyes.

“Tell me,” he started, still slowly stroking you, making sure your clit was still being stimulated even if for a few moments of his pelvis hitting yours. The brisk air making it tingle. “There was a time, a few months ago…I was teachin’ and I could smell you. As if you were right there with me…” he held his position, deep in you; grinding his hips slowly. “What were you thinking about?”

You couldn’t think. Your eyes were closed as the back of your hand graced your face. You were completely lost in the amount of pleasure only wanting to focus on chasing your orgasm. Then it clicked. The memory flashed in your mind.

”You.” Whispering back into his ear. He looked in your eyes as a devilish smirk grew across his face. Full grin, he continued to slowly stroke you.

“What about me?”

You rolled your eyes, needing him to stop teasing you. No need to be shy now.

“You fucking me on your desk…bent over.” You managed to say. His pace sped up, his cock throbbing even more now. That thought almost sent him over the edge.

You couldn’t hold back anymore. His thrust were pushing you closer and closer to your own release. His length hitting the spongey spot. “Fuckfuckfuck…Imma…Imma” you mewled which only urged him to speed up even more. The twinge in your lower abdomen built up until you felt the electric shock travel throughout you. Logan groaned as his lips swallowed your moans. His thrusts became short and spaced out, quick bucks of his hips. You held on to him tighter as you moaned even louder knowing the twitch of his cock in you only meant one thing.

You both tried to catch your breath, panting like dogs in the summer heat. He held you close to him, still twitching inside of you.

“Fuck…I’m sorry” he murmured his voice raspy and dry.

Your eyes searched over his, wondering what he was apologizing for. Was he regretting this moment with you. Crossing the lines of being co-workers? Friends?

”You’re thinking too much.” He spoke again, studying the lines of your face. His eyes flickered down to where you both connected.

Your face flushed again, as you felt his seed drip from you. “Oh…that…that’s ok. Birth control ya know?” You said winking at him. His seemingly concerned face slowly turned into one of someone plotting something naughty. You seemed more in tune with him and his thoughts. Maybe he was allowing you to read him better.

He pulled your dress up to cover your beautiful breasts, as he carried you freely out of the bathroom and to his classroom. You held onto him, pressing your torso against his. “What are you doing?!”

“I need you darlin’” he stated pressing his lips against yours. Salt coated his face as strays of his hair tickled your forehead. His passion calmed a bit to a more tender love.

“What if someone sees us?” You asked as he gently placed you upon his desk. Finally pulling out of you, still hard, he covered the window in the door with black paper. You watched him move back towards you, as if he glided on ice, your heart beating a bit faster again. “No one is gonna see us.” He spun you around and gently pushed you over his desk. You squeaked, your heart racing even faster. He rolled your dress up to your hips, exposing your fat ass and soaked pussy. His seed still trickling out of you.

“Ohhh, shit.” He groaned taking in the sights and sounds. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He added.

Logan growled, sending a sharp sting through you. The slap on your ass reverberated through the classroom. You winced as your nails dug through the wood of his desk. You felt the ripple up to your back. The jiggle of your ass making you squirm and pulse.

You couldn’t see him, but you could feel the warmth of his tongue as he licked between your folds. “Ahh!” You mewled unsuspecting. Long, flat strokes of his tongue moved through you. His firm hands gripped you to spread you wide. As the tip of his tongue found your clit, your muscles tensed up. Your moans grew louder as he seemed to devour you.

“Mm, you taste so fucking sweet.” He hummed.

With every moan encouraged him to be more aggressive. His tongue darted into you and softly flicked against your other tight hole. “Fuck Logan…fuck me please..”you begged.

His eye twitched at the sound of your request. “Oh yeah? You want me to fuck you again, huh?” His smugness was oozing off of him. He loved hearing you beg for him and he was more than happy to oblige. He kissed your lower lips, a strand of saliva and your sweet juices trailing between them. He licked his lips, stood up and positioned himself at your entrance. “Say it again,” he asked, almost begging you for it.

“…please…fuck me again…Logan.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest. He stroked his length a couple times, while his other hand steadied your hips. He took the tip and pushed through your wet walls. As his other hand found your hip, he pressed back into you. He had more control like this than in the stall and it made him weak. His thrusts were tamed in the beginning, but he couldn’t fight off the primal urge in his body. He needed you.

His hips snapped back and forth as he claimed you as his. “Fuck princess, you feel fuckin’ fantastic.” His hazel eyes watched as he buried his cock deep into you, the sheen coating his dick making him move faster. With every thrust you moaned, your knees feeling weak as you held yourself up for him. Luckily, you were wearing heels. The lewd sound of skin on skin made it even more delectable.

“I need to see that pretty face.” He muttered, pulling out of you without warning, leaving you feeling empty. He flipped you over onto your back as you quickly hiked up your dress…and your legs. He pressed back into your dripping, needy pussy, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

Logan released a moan that took him by surprise. As you watched the man you had been pinning for so long grab hold of your thighs, it only made you tighten around him. You pulled your dress back down, exposing your breasts again as they bounced from his drive.

He lost himself in pleasure as his lips kissed your ankle. Your moans and your body moving only made him to take you deeper. He moved your legs from his shoulders and pushed them apart with his palms. Yes, this is how he wanted you. His pace sped up as he leaned over to kiss your lips. His tongue needing yours. Logan’s hands teased your nippled making sure you felt ultimate pleasure. He was determined to make you cum again.

You broke for the kiss needing air as your moans loudly traveled through the halls. You were a loud fuck and he loved it. As things crashed off his desk, papers fluttering down to the floor, his grunts louder than before and in sync with his speedy pulses in your velvet walls. You moaned again, your arms thrown around his neck, “…Logan, I’m so close…” you whimpered.

”I know…baby” he returned, chasing his own high again. His hand left your nipple to play with another sensitive mound in between your legs. You threw your head back as he rubbed your clit. Curses leaving your lips as your brows furrowed and your back arched.

“Cum for me…” his gravely voice demanded. He pressed himself so deep in you still playing with your clit. Your voice trembled and got higher pitched.

“Lo-lo-lo-loooo…” you squealed, the feeling that build up in your body finally release itself. You came hard, your back arched as he watched you convulse on the desk, squeezing him, only making him reach his own release. Sending pools of hot white cum in you again.

Nothing else mattered in this moment than the two of you. Out of breath as you tried to catch it, you started laughing. “Oh, my god…I can’t believe we did that.” He returned the sentiment, pulling out of you. He grabbed some paper towels from his desk, handed you some, and wiped only the tip off.

“But you don’t regret it, do you?” He asked, tossing it in the trash. His arms wrapped around your back, assisting you to sit up. Your eyes met his still in a trance from the previous engagement.

”What?! No!…that was the best lay I’ve had in years.” You responded, kissing him sweetly on his lips.

Logan looked down and chuckled. He grabbed your chin with his free hand, “I can be your only lay, from here on out.”

You smiled, still not trying to come across overly eager, “…Sure Mr. Howlett. I’d like that.”

#Spotify #wolverine x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #Logan Howlett x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #wolverine #logan howlett #deadpool and wolverine #Logan Howlett x f!reader #Logan Howlett x you #wolverine smut #Logan smut #Logan fluff #wolverine fan fiction #the wolverine #Logan Howlett x Y/N #James Howlett #x men fanfic

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fleurhcss · 8 months ago

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‧˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆ - 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫 - Minho x FEM Reader !

cw : apocalyptic scenery, fantasy, war between planets, futuristic content, reader appears in his dreams, Minho planet prince au!, premonition, strangers to lovers, fluff in the end, aliens, reader is a magician who has a radiant aura

sw : space sex, sex in a spacecraft, unprotected sex, anal, fingering, oral (f! receiving), MDNI, masturbation, blowjob, marks, nipples play

wc : 6.130

synopsis : Minho is the prince of Aindriks Ux'ids, which is at war with another planet, Creknok, over some political issues. His kingdom is constantly being attacked by some diabolical aliens that he and his soldiers are constantly fighting. In the nights when he can sleep, he keeps dreaming of a radiant woman (reader) who is a magician who will save his people when the planet will be destroyed. And she will also guide him in his choices. When the catastrophe will happen, they will meet in person where the spaceship will take off, and the passion between them will flood in a post-apocalyptic scenery in his room inside the spaceship.

a/n : hii, here I am with another fic, this time more sweet and fluff I hope u will appreciate it the same as the last one 🎀🎀🎀 thank you for supporting my stories, send love and hugs to all of u I opened a ko-fi account, i will post there some stories and drawings, if you want to support me i will be grateful to anyone who wants to give me tips, ITS NOT OBLIGATORY

MASTERLIST

[ SMUT / FLUFF ]

From an early age, you were trained to use magic to protect yourself and others. This was your advantage over the other inhabitants of Aindriks Ux'ids. Your family belonged to a generation of ancestors who practised magic on your planet. You were often called upon by the kings to know how to move during battle. You were the firstborn of your generation; you were the Supreme. You trained and taught your brothers and sisters how to behave and how to use magic properly. And you were called to court when things went wrong. But you never appeared in the flesh; it was only your hologram that spoke to the ruler and the council of the planet's Supremes.

Your sanctuary was secret and you could not leave it unless the situation was serious. No one could know where you and your family lived, or you would be in danger. Many wanted to steal your magic with the planet's new technology, many tried and failed miserably. Many wanted you dead. But fortunately, you and your family had always been able to protect yourselves with the proper means. Sure, you resented not being able to have friends and go out like a normal girl of your age. But that was your duty.

Unfortunately, the situation on your planet, Aindriks Ux'ids, had been precarious for months. You often dreamed of its end and of the way the population would be wiped out by your enemies: the inhabitants of Creknok.

They were determined to destroy you, they wanted your planet as it was one of the most powerful and advanced, and had allied themselves with lesser planets to drive you from your land. So far your advanced machines, your satellites and guardians had managed to contain the situation, but more and more planets had begun to turn against yours in their quest for power. So you had entered a war.

Unfortunately, the king, the supreme guardian of your planet, was too tired and old to lead a war, so he crowned his son as his new regent: Minho. A mighty, strong boy and a brave warrior. One of the greatest technicians and computer scientists in the history of Aindriks Ux'ids. He was undeniably handsome, and you often had unchaste thoughts about him. After all, you were a woman with your own needs. He was not too tall, well-built and muscular: when he wore his armour, you could see his muscles flexing and well defined. His thighs were so muscular that you wanted to bite them. They looked as if they were made of steel. His face was as beautiful as any. A prominent and important nose. Full lips. Feline, blue eyes. Red hair, soft. Prominent, hollowed cheekbones. You thought you had never seen a man of such beauty in your life.

And unfortunately for you, you had not had the opportunity to witness the extraordinary beauty of the now Prince Regent of Aindriks Ux'ids in any of the councils you had attended, except in devices. You wondered why he was never there. Only his father was. It was strange, really, that a good future king had to attend the councils to understand what were the right and wise decisions and what were the unseemly ones. When you asked your mother about this, she said it was his choice not to attend: when he became king, he would only want to follow his instincts. You wondered, however, whether it was a wise or an impulsive decision.

That day you were going to have an important meeting with the Government of your planet, to discuss how to create barriers to protect it. Technology was effective, of course, but not permanent. They needed your magic, you were an indispensable force for the planet. Unfortunately, even this time you were unable to meet the Prince Regent. Your curiosity was high, you wanted to meet him, to know what he was like, why he made the decisions he did. You wanted to know who this Minho really was, who was being hailed as the greatest future ruler in the history of the planet, and one of the greatest warriors and computer scientists in the history of the galaxy. What was it about this man that made him such a prodigy? Questions kept popping up in your mind, and you needed answers. Not least because his help was needed to save the planet. If only you had been able to talk to him, together you might have been able to protect the planet for a while longer, at least long enough to finish building the large spaceship that would house the population in case of explosion.

Yes, Minho and a number of technicians were building a spaceship that would be able to accommodate the entire population of Aindriks Ux'ids. Your touch would only be the finishing touch to make it indestructible. You had been studying for this spell for months. It was very important for the preservation of your beloved planet and your beloved people. Who knows if, in that case, you would have met Minho.

That night, however, you had an idea. There was a spell, rarely used because it was considered dangerous; that allowed the sorceress who used it to appear in other people's dreams. Perhaps that was how you could have met Minho. Appear in his dreams to talk to him about the situation on the planet, to help him with his decisions. Like an oracle. You would have been his guide and protector during this war.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

You spend the following week looking for this spell and practising it carefully so that you don't make a mistake and maybe appear in someone else's dream. That would be the crucial night, you would try to appear in Minho's dream so that you could talk to him. You would not deny that you were afraid that you would not succeed, that you would fail. But it was something that haunted you, and failure was not an option in this case. You had to succeed at all costs and be able to convince Minho without frightening him. Besides, he had never seen you before and did not know who you were, so appearing so suddenly in a dream was very dangerous. But nothing could stop you, you were determined despite the fear that gripped you. You had worked so hard to get where you were, so you would make it.

Night fell, and you wasted no time in pulling out your book. It seemed almost comical that in a world full of new technology and sophisticated machinery, you still had to use such an ancient practice to save your planet. It was also the only thing that made you feel real. Human. The rest was just a collection of iron parts and algorithms.

You sighed before locking yourself in your room, in the silence and darkness of your sanctuary. You spoke what must have been the magic formula and everything around you disappeared, you were in the middle of the desert field of your planet, you felt it was not real, but you wondered why you were there. Had Minho dreamed this? Why on earth would he dream of this place? You couldn't even make out his shape. There was no one around you. It was as if you were scattered in this place. "Minho?" You screamed. You had to be heard, he had to hear you. But it was a strange feeling that came over you afterwards, as if something had been catapulted into the dream itself.

You saw a muscular figure coming towards you. His silhouette was well defined, as were the lines of his muscles. He had a distinctive face, eyes as feline as the predatory gaze he wore. Fleshy lips were tight as he approached you at a brisk pace. It was undoubtedly Minho. Though this dream was not reality, you felt a warmth spreading in your belly as this authority figure approached you. Your lips parted, leaving your mouth open. He was the most handsome man you had ever seen. There was no doubt that he was a ruler : his posture, his mannerisms, his appearance, spoke for themselves. When you were face to face, a small sigh escaped your lips. His gaze was cautious, examining you as if he wanted to read you. He was cautious, defensive.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? How did I get here?" he said confusedly, examining you from head to toe. You were aware that this would not be an easy idea of yours, just as you were aware that Minho might have refused your help and thrown you out. So you plucked up courage: "I am Y/N, you must have heard of me. I have been helping your family for generations with our family magic. I have brought you here to meet you, I need to talk to you about our planet Minho. You need my help, we are in great danger. You must trust me and follow my advice." His gaze was frowning; it was clear that he did not trust your words, let alone you. But you could and should have seen that coming, after all he had never seen you before. "Before you say anything, I am here with the sole purpose of saving my people. I only want to help you, making decisions alone is not always a wise choice, Minho," you finished. His gaze was softer, but still stern and wary.

"Which reassures me that I can trust you and that you are not some hologram of a nearby enemy?" he said, stepping back. You laughed, it was obvious he knew nothing of magical practices. On the other hand, he was puzzled, he had been fascinated by your form, luminous and radiant. He had never seen anything like it, perhaps because all he knew were the machines and the spaceships he had been working on for months. He felt somehow and strangely drawn to you and your person. By the way, you had appeared out of nowhere to offer him your help. "Because you can't catapult yourself into someone's dreams with technology. It is a dangerous magical practice that must be studied carefully. That is why you understand the importance of my intervention here. I cannot leave my safe house and the holograms are no longer safe. Trust me, Minho." And so he approached you, trying to touch you. He felt the warmth of your skin, saw its shine. It was incredible, it felt as if you were right there with him. And it was the same for you, because you felt his warmth. He caressed your face as if to make sure you were real and not a bad joke his mind had invented for all the times he had dreamed of being next to a woman. After all, he was also a man with his own needs, which unfortunately limited his duties.

After all, he was constantly at war and busy, many alien forms began to attack your planet, popping up like mushrooms. There was no respite; nights when he could sleep were rare. That very day, he and his knights had fought a horde of alien soldiers sent by Creknok to discover the method of building your satellites. Unfortunately, your magical barrier had not been enough; their forces had taken hold too quickly. That is why you had felt the urgency to communicate with the royal figure that Minho was. "I will trust you Y/N, don't make me regret it."

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

Minho had forgotten the last night when he had slept well; he had spent his time thinking about the recent events on his planet so much that it was impossible for his brain to switch off or relax. He had spent two days in a row fighting alien invasions that left the planet deserted, much of their precious armour destroyed, and he was constantly thinking of a way to speed up the construction of the spaceship that would save his people. But something else was on his mind: the conversation he had with you. He kept thinking about the way you had appeared to him in a dream and offered him your hand during the long and tiring war. He thought about how beautiful you were and what it would have been like to hold you in his arms at that moment. Then he remembered that his duty came first; he could not afford to give in to desire and temptation when his planet was dying. Since the last time your conversation had been interrupted before it was fully born, he had not spoken to you because of the invasion of Creknok's senior soldiers, but he desperately needed to see you. He wanted your opinion, he wanted your help. For the first time, he accepted that someone outside his father was giving him advice. He felt strange, different. But when he saw you for the first time that night, he could not stop thinking about you.

That night, however, you managed to enter your thoughts and saw a spark cross his face. You approached him, smiling, and just to confirm how real you were, he caressed your soft, warm skin. "I haven't been able to sleep for days at the thought of failing and seeing what I'm fighting for destroyed, Y/N. I never thought I'd say this, but I don't know what to do," he said, covering his face. You were sorry to see him like that, you could only imagine the weight on his shoulders at that moment. After all, you had been through this kind of pain yourself. You stroked the back of his head, moving a few strands of hair away from his face. "You are one of the most powerful princes in the history of our planet, Minho, you will not fail. You are building a ship to save us all, that is not failing. It is helping your people in a time of great need. Continue as you are now, fight to the end for your people. Don't give up. I will do my best to help you with the ship. Magic is a precious commodity, you must use it. Let me do my part, you already do so much," you smiled. And Minho thanked you mentally. He showed you his smile for the first time.

It was beautiful, it was inevitable for you to think that. It was as if a greater force was pushing you towards him. You felt that you could become one with him. And maybe it was too strong a desire that pushed your bodies together, as if you could really feel each other's warmth. Minho stroked your skin while you stroked his thigh with gentle caresses. "You are special Y/N. If I had known that earlier, I would have liked to join the government councils," he chuckled. And you couldn't help smiling too.

"Tomorrow, fight bravely. The end is near, we must resist. Don't give up, you are the best. Hit the backs of the soldiers in the east side, they are the weakest and will give in much easier. This will cause the rest of the army to retreat, I have studied their dynamics. Meanwhile, I will prepare a spell, the most powerful spell in history, and it will finish off your ship. Good luck, Prince."

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

You had visited Minho's dreams many times during the week, and the two of you had inevitably grown closer. You had seen the gentle side of this prince, who fought bravely for his homeland without fear and with his usual feline gaze. It was a side of Minho you had not expected. In a world ready to be destroyed, he was your safe place. At night, you couldn't wait to catch up and spend time with him, advising him on what was best for your planet, helping him with all your might.

Following your advice and knowledge, he fought every enemy array, and your army triumphed, but the forces of the planet's government against Aindriks Ux'ids were too many. Alas, defeat was inevitable, you knew it and you had seen it. The stars and the prophecies spoke clearly. They had prepared everything. You had cast a powerful spell, one of the greatest spells in the history of magic, on the now defunct spaceship by Minho that would take every citizen immediately to safety. It had been a spell so powerful that it had exhausted you, as if it had drained some of your life energy. But you had done that and more for your people. Still, this was your last night in the sanctuary. You could feel it coursing through your veins that the next day it would all be gone. That your planet would be destroyed in so many micromolecules. Or, at best, into many small stars.

However, it was inevitable that you would feel a certain connection with Minho. It was as if you were now one. That night you should have met Minho and warned him of your premonition. The population should have started evacuating to the spaceship; you had to escape from this place if you wanted to get out safely. It was your only hope.

As usual, you uttered the incantation before being catapulted into the middle of the desert. Minho's solid, statuesque figure was waiting for you, smiling as if you were the only thing that made him feel good. On the other hand, the only time he did not have to think about his duties, the war and the imminent end of your planet was when he was with you. He approached you at a brisk pace, holding you in his arms, caressing the skin uncovered by your robe, tracing imaginary circles and restraining himself from touching you. In the end, he knew it was all a dream; you were not there in the flesh. But that didn't stop him from wanting you. From the moment he first saw you, a lust had grown in him that went through the roof. It was obvious that he wanted you all to himself. Minho had never been in love, let alone had who knows how much time to devote to pleasure, except for the few times when the usual parties with the ladies of the court were held at the palace. But you were different, he could sense it. You were not an easy woman to find. But not because you were a sorceress, Minho liked you for your personality, your wisdom and the way you had offered to be his guide and sidekick in war without asking for anything in return.

"You look wonderful tonight," he whispered as he lay down on the warm sand, bringing your body together with his on the ground. You smiled, stroking his profile with your fingers as you worshipped him. "You know this will be the last night, don't you Minho?" you whispered wistfully, unsure if you would ever see him again. You saw his face harden as he bit his lower lip. "Tomorrow the planet will explode Minho, we can't change the future," you said, resting your head on his chest. He felt so warm and real under your touch. Instead, it was all just a dream, a product of your magic. "I want you to lead the people during the evacuation, Y/N. You are the only one I trust one hundred percent, the only one who can get our people to safety. I will be the last to reach you. I have to fight until my last breath. Wait for me, I will come back for you, I promise. I want to hold you in my arms. But if I do not return, I entrust my kingdom to you. I will tell my father. This is my will as Prince Regent," he said, stroking the back of your neck. You were shocked; you did not think Minho could go that far. You did not feel ready to lead a people, especially when two quarters of them wanted you dead. You looked at him with your mouth open, not knowing what to say. "My guards will provide all the protection you and your family need." He smiled. You felt your heart pound at the thought that this boy cared so much for you. "You will make it Minho, you will save us all. You are a brave warrior and an excellent ruler. All the people have faith in you," you said, stroking his lower lip. "What about you? Do you trust me?" he reached for your face, a few inches between you. "Blindly."

He smiled at you, moved closer and then placed his lips on yours, resulting in a desired kiss. You felt a flame behind you, like a volcano ready to erupt. Your cheeks were as red as his. He bit your lower lip, holding you close, it was obvious how much he wanted you. How much he longed for your body. Your soul. You were aware that this was not a real touch, skin against skin, but you wanted it, needed it. "If I'm not going to come back, at least let me do this." He smiled and slipped his hands under your robe, caressing your skin, your body. He began to mark your skin as if you were his.

His head landed between your thighs, branding them as if it were the last thing he could do. The last thing he wanted. He removed the cloth that covered your intimacy and looked into your eyes as if seeking your consent. All you could do was nod, welcoming his hair into your grip. He left a kiss on it, cupping your thighs, and then began to kiss it as if it were your lips. Moans began to come out of your mouth and you could no longer tell dream from reality, so pleasurable was it to receive this attention from the prince. His tongue traced its path across your cunt and you went crazy. His movements were quick, precise, he knew where he was going and what he was doing. Minho was confident when he touched you like that. The movements of his tongue on your pussy were long and fast. Your legs trembled and clasped the sides of his head as he sank between the walls of your vagina, licking like there was no tomorrow. Paradoxical. He was hungry as he ate you, tugging at flaps of skin with his teeth as he sucked what was between your legs, leaving you screaming with pleasure. His movements were impossible to resist. His tongue began to move in and out of your hole, moving as if it were his cock. He carefully penetrated you with the sole purpose of giving you pleasure. "You are delicious, I wish I could never get out of this position." He whispered between your thighs, making you go crazy and throw your head back. You wanted to do something for him as well. His erection was visible through his robe.

As his movements became more precise and deeper, you could only release yourself with a loud moan between his lips. He rose, licking his lips before planting a kiss on yours, allowing you to taste your own juices. "Allow me to reciprocate, my prince," you smiled, cupping his neck in a whisper. You straddled him and began to rub your vagina against the fabric covering his obvious erection, causing him to roll his eyes back. Your hands were tight on his chest as you held on, your ass moving quickly along his length. You could hear his moans as he pressed your pelvis against his, I loved his touch on you. "You're beautiful, keep it up Y/N" you heard your name as his panting lips drove you so crazy that you increased the speed of your movements on him. It wasn't long before you felt the fabric beneath you soaking with a thick liquid and his voice reaching a high pitch with pleasure.

"You are wonderful, I will return safely just to have you and make you mine." He whispered against your lips as he pressed your body against his. "I'm counting on it, Prince."

And you did count on it, looking forward to holding Minho's warm body in your arms. To feel his warmth, his voice. All you needed was Minho. All you wanted was him. You knew he would come back, you knew he would win this battle for his people, for his planet, for you. You wanted no one else but him at your side; he was the one man who had allowed your warrior side to emerge, your heart to blossom, all these years. You did not care about becoming a princess or a queen. The title wasn't what you were after when the only thing that mattered to you was Minho's love.

⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡

This chaotic morning had begun with numerous bombardments from enemy attacks throughout the western territory of Aindriks Ux'ids. The government had been informed of the Prince's wishes and had personally sent an escort to bring you and your family safely into the city. It had been two hours since you and other members of the army had helped the population get into the shuttle built by Minho, called Ndrakonis, which means "return" in your language. You had helped 3/4 of the population to escape through the smoke and holes caused by the explosions. There was only one last part left to evacuate. But your head was in chaos; you were afraid for Minho. You didn't want anything to happen to him. He was too important to you, to your people. The King had been the last person to board the ship after the last wave of people you had rescued from the rubble. The entire city had evacuated, missing only the army that was fighting with Minho and the latter.

You bit your lips in fear and could only hope for the best. The night before, you had offered to help him with a protective spell, but he had refused. He wanted to win as a brave warrior or lose his life in battle, no magic, no technology would have helped him. You admired that side of him so much. It was one of the things that had made you fall in love with him. Minho was not just another warrior or king, he showed you that over and over again.

When you saw a crowd of men running towards the entrance of the ship, you immediately recognised the figure of Minho from a distance. "It's the Prince! Come on, help him and close the doors immediately afterwards. We have to leave before we explode with the planet!" You screamed, making way for the army that was entering, led by the wounded Minho. As the doors were closed and the spaceship took to the skies, you approached the prince who was talking to his father. When he saw you, his lips parted, startling him. The father was about to present the two of you, but Minho cut him off. "Father, I know who she is. And to tell you the truth, she is the woman I told you about, the one who helped me fulfil my duties in a dream. So I ask you here, in front of the entire population of the planet, to do one important thing." You had no time to say anything, his voice thundered across the wide room, causing everyone to turn towards you, including your family. You blushed as he took you by the hand to make room beside him: "I ask you, Father, to marry this woman. And I ask you, sir, to take your daughter in marriage."

Your mouth fell open in shock, not expecting such a request from Minho. The whole village was shocked by the Prince's request. He approached you and kissed the back of your hand, him still bleeding. "You're even more beautiful like that." He smiled at you and kissed your forehead. You could not believe it. "Marry me, please," he asked in a whisper. "Whatever my prince asks, I will gladly do. But first, let me treat you." You took her hand and said that your care would also be available to the injured. Minho said with a smile that his were not serious and that he would wait for you to heal his people before he did, and said goodbye with a kiss on the lips.

⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡

When you had completed your heal duties to the population, who had begun to be grateful to you, you went to your family to clarify with them what had happened with the prince; there you told them how you had approached the Prince Regent. At first they were angry that you had used such a dangerous spell, but in the end they appreciated your love for the people and the wisdom you had shown in helping Minho during the war. As you bid them farewell, the royal guards were kind enough to escort you to the royal chambers, while the rest of the people were assigned to the various apartments on the ship.

You entered Minho's room with a broad smile and found him lying in his bed, waiting for your arrival. It did not take you a second to begin a spell that would completely heal his wounds, with one of the biggest and most beautiful smiles you could ever show. "Hello, my future queen, why don't you lie down with me for a while?" He smiled as he made room for you in his already huge bed. You smiled as you reached up and flanked him. "Look at you, you look wonderful in my arms in the flesh. You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment, Y/N," he said and then joined your lips in a warm, insatiable kiss. You felt all their desire, all their passion. The longing he had for you. You bit his lower lip and positioned yourself on his pelvis. "You have no idea how long I have waited for this moment, Minho. You are everything I could ever want, beautiful prince," you smiled, leaving a kiss at the base of his neck, cupping his neck and leaving a trail of marks on his skin, just as he had done to you the night before. "If you keep this up, Y/N, I could fuck you right now," he whispered in your ear, making your skin crawl. But you didn't back down, you wanted it too. You longed for him, craved him. "Do it, here and now. Fuck me."

That, only gave Minho the green light before he changed positions and began a passionate, ravenous kiss, as if he wanted to eat you. His hands took no more than two minutes to remove your robe along with his own. They wandered over your body, caressing your curves before finally stopping on your ass and beginning to massage it. Gasps began to escape your lips as he bit them, hungry for you. You began to move your pelvis forward so that your intimacies collided. It was not long before he surrendered to your touch, as if he had been bewitched by you. His body was beneath you as you ran your lips over it, biting his nipples. While your tongue focused on one, your index finger and thumb played with the other. Minho clutched your hair in a tight grip as your teeth tugged and bit at his nipple, alternating with the other as soon as you were done with one. Your hands ran down his body, marking his muscular, veiny arms, his toned chest and his sculpted abs that ended in his hard, prepuce-rich length. You looked at him ravenously, moving slowly towards his intimacy as if with a look of defiance. "If you keep looking at me like that, I might cum right now," the older one moaned as he thrust his pelvis up in search of friction. But you giggled, you wouldn't let me. And if you had, you would have overstimulated him.

You came to his length and, without saying a word, included it in your mouth entirely. You wanted to please your future husband. You began to stimulate his testicles with your hands, licking from the base to the tip. You traced the veins with the tip of your tongue until you had sucked the whole length. Your hands gripped his muscular thighs, leaving scratches that were unlikely to disappear on their own. Minho tried to push the whole length deeper but you stopped him and pulled away. "Take your time my prince, we have all night," you sneered, then licked the tip and took it all back into your mouth, slowly. So slowly that Minho felt himself going crazy. "If you keep going so slowly, I could do it myself, Y/N." He said impatiently and you grinned again. Your tongue reached the tip of his length again and began to wrap around it, with firm, slow lapping strokes, while you still stimulated his testicles with your hands. "Shut up, hmm?" You continued to suck the tip. You closed your eyes. The young man's hands were clenched in your hair as moans of pleasure came from his mouth. Your tongue reached his slit and began to move in circles over it, making Minho's moans even louder than the previous ones. "Y/N, fuck." He groaned, arching his back as your mouth closed over his cock, enveloping it completely. The tip touched the back of your throat and he closed his eyes in an almost filtered moan. But you did not stop, you continued to suck on his length as the young man delivered precise strokes down your throat, fucking your mouth.

After a few minutes he released himself in your mouth in a long, hoarse, sonorous moan. You rose, swallowing, only to wipe your mouth and be catapulted against his powerful, unclothed body. It was wonderful. "I can't resist now, I have to fuck you properly, Y/N."

He didn't wait a moment to take control and get you under him. Marking your thighs as he brought your legs up over his shoulders and began to stimulate you with two fingers that worked their way between your walls. He began to move them quickly inside you, reaching your sensitive spot and beginning to move inside you as if he were an expert. "Minho...f...uck...faster pl...ease. Fuc...k me..., I can't wait a...ny longer!" you moaned. "Relax baby, we have the whole night to ourselves." He said, echoing your words from earlier. When he felt you were wet enough, he added two more fingers, moving at an animal speed, also dictated by your high pitched moans that seemed to make your words die in your throat.

He couldn't wait any longer and with a quick movement he pinned your face to the pillow, lifted your ass towards him and left a long lapping tongue in the middle of your buttocks, reaching your hole and began to slowly stimulate it. But he was also tired of waiting, he had done enough. It was time to fuck you and he would. "Every of your wishes are an order, my queen," he moaned as he entered you in one smooth stroke. You arched your back and he pinned your hands in a vise and held them. With his other hand he squeezed your ass and spread himself inside you, moving slowly at first so that you could get used to his considerable length. "God, you are so hot and tight around my cock. I could cum just standing here. You are beautiful," he whispered into your ear. Shivers ran through your body as you nodded, giving him the green light to move. The strokes were slow and deep at first, his hands clutching your body as your moans mingled in the air. But you wanted more, not just light strokes. "Faster please, go faster...faster!" And how could Minho not meet your demands?

He began to move inside you at an almost animal speed, touching places you didn't even know he could reach. He felt he could come at any moment and he would not be happy if you did with him. One hand reached your clit, his fingers moving quickly, making you almost scream and cry out in pleasure as his strokes were strong and firm inside you. You tightened your walls around his cock as if you wanted to suck him in. "Come with me, princess, come with me," he whispered to you before you poured over his fingers. He brought them to your mouth and made you suck on them as you tightened around him. In no time he was inside you in hot streams, filling you. "Fuck Minho!" you moaned as you felt a pleasant warm sensation spreading from behind you, inside you. "Baby you're amazing, so tight for me," he moaned as he rode out his orgasm and then lay down beside you.

He began to stroke your hair, looking at you with a gentle gaze. It was beautiful and you had never felt so good. You intertwined your legs, your bodies still entwined as you exchanged soft caresses. He left another kiss on your lips and you hugged him, burying your head in the nape of his neck. "You are beautiful, my leading star." He whispered in your ear as he stroked your bare back. "I love you, Prince." You replied with a smile. He looked at you in return and kissed your forehead. "I love you, my Queen."

TAGLIST 🎀 : @yongbokkiesworld @gloomy-k @raindropsondragons @linocvp1d @iiamthedramaa @snowyquokka @pynchkilledme @y4kie @ihrtlix @hyunjinnnsgirl @sugarsweetsugarsweet @reader1221 @bubblebisk

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allicat0 · 7 months ago

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hi there! i absolutely loved ur other fan fic even tho i didn’t know the character. made my pussy throb. anywho 😊 just seeing if u are able to write a gojo x reader, perhaps him being older ( older brothers bsf, teacher, etc. ) i also would love to see some discreet public sexy time. ( classroom, movie theatre, pool… i love fucking hot tubs and pools…) thank you so much!😜✌️🎀

Our little secret

Ans: thank you so much for the support, and of course! I’m so excited to write my take on Gojo! Hope you like it!!

Summary: University au! You're working along side your thesis advisor Gojo in hopes to working closer to your ambitions for the future. But being a university student, costs are high and money is low. So to be able to keep up with your school you have a little gig on the side.

Content: MDNI, 18+, abaf reader, smut, forced proximity, dubcon, oral, penetrative sex, domination, degradation, praise, making out, rough sex, oral sex, penetrative sex, teacher/student relations, dominant Gojo, submissive reader

A/N: I apologize if not all of my historical information its 100% correct, I did do a little research for it to make as much sense as I could. I also apologize for any word vomited, grammar, or punctuation errors. I was up till 2am writing. but hope you enjoy!

You had been given the opportunity to have Satoru Gojo, head professor of the History department as your Thesis advisor. It was all still a little unreal to you, but you couldn't be more grateful. You have spent countless hours with one another, early mornings and late nights, doing your best to progress with your latest research proposal. “The Villa of the Papyri” you said, placing your stack of papers down onto Gojos desk. “Now that surely is a pretty big project your-” He began to reply before you quickly cut him off “I understand it’s a lot, and that most of the contents inside got destroyed but there are over two thousand lost scrolls that reside inside that structure. There could be so many answers about the lost city of Herculaneum that those scrolls could contain!” Your look was genuine. . and so full of hope that he just couldn't say no.

As weeks passed, you still had no leads. Weeks turned into, months, and months turned into a year, endlessly working alongside Gojo. Despite your research not flourishing as much as you had hoped, your relationship with your professor grew more than you expected. It didn’t feel like work, it was tolerable to be around eachother, it didn’t feel like he had some weird authority complex over you, you were comfortable, you couldn’t help but admit to yourself some feeling for your professor began to form and you wished nothing would come in between that. .until something did.

Being a university student, especially in the department you're in, funds are high and since you were usually busy researching all day, you had a hard time getting a stable job that worked around your harsh schedule. The school did pay you money to go through with this research but it was barely enough to buy you a loaf of bread and toilet paper. You needed money to survive and things were getting a little tight, so you thought working at your local club didn’t sound like a horrible idea. . as a dancer.

Zafrio, is one of the more popular clubs in the area, but they worked well around your schedule, Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays every week. The pay was beautiful, every penny you made on that stage was yours to keep, on top of that you also got your bi-weekly pay which 10% of it went through tip - out to the servers, but you weren’t complaining. On average you made at least four hundred dollars a night, but on good days you would rack up closer to a thousand.

Tonight was your Saturday shift, the busier one out of the three. As you were getting ready backstage a familiar face walked into the club, the club was packed full of people, he made his way through the crowd, brushing past people shoulder to shoulder, getting closer to the main stage. Now he didn’t come here often but when he did, it was every Saturday at eleven, to see you and only you perform. He used having a large crowd to his advantage as he was often hidden, so you seeing him was never a concern of his. How he found out about your little side job was not intentional, he just happened to stumble into the club with some of his friends one night, and there you were working. Gojo was beyond intrigued, so ever since that day he’d been coming to watch you perform, he didn’t know why he came back, but all he knew was that he started thinking of you in ways he’d never dare think of before.

Your stage name gets called and there you are, walking out onto the stage over to the pole, beginning your number for the whole club. Cheers filled your ears, watching the money fall onto the stage, the serotonin that pumped through your body was unbelievable and he watched, every. Last. second. His eyes never leaving you or your body. The way your hips sway to the music, it was like he was in a trance.

As you finish your number your eyes fall out to the crowd, adjusting from the bright stage lights shining up at you. You start to strut off and out the corner of your eye, you see. . no it couldn’t be. What was he doing here?? Your heart rate began to pick up. What was your professor doing here?! You quickly rushed the rest of the off stage. Did he just see you perform? Your mind was rushing at a million miles a second.

You arrived backstage and looked in the mirror, your mind began to spiral and your heart picked up its pace, that was totally him, there was no denying it. “Is everything alright?” one of your fellow dancers came over to see if you were okay as they noticed you were panicking. “Yah. .yah i'm fine” you said to put your clothes on and packed all your belongings. “Something came up and I really need to go, please let the boss know I’m sorry.” You knew all of the money you got from that dance would be taken care of by your boss, and were quick to leave, walking out to your car and heading home.

Monday finally rolled around and you were on your way to Gojos' office to start work. If it were any other day you would be eager to get back to work after a weekend break, but today wasn’t any other day. The events of Saturday night still loomed in the back of your mind, you didn’t want to admit it but you were scared to face Gojo, how were you supposed to just act normal after that night?!

You opened the door to the office and plastered a smile onto your face and there he was sitting at his desk. “Good morning professor.” you said, making your way into the room, closing the door behind you. “Good morning, how was your weekend?” he asked, his eyebrow slightly arching with the question. You felt a lump form in your throat forcing it down before speaking. “Ah, it was quite relaxing,” you said trying to cut the conversation. “I'm surprised, you spend your weekends working do you not?” his head tilted ever so slightly, a smirk forming in the corner of his lips. He knew what he was doing and he knew you saw him that night.

You froze in place for just a moment, “i'm not sure I know what you mean” Gojo looked at you right in your eyes, leaning forward so his elbows were resting on his knees. “I think you and I both know what I mean” your breath hitched, there was no going back, there was no avoiding this. You watched as Gojo sat up from his chair and made his way around his desk. Leaning against this chair and resting his ass against it he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Well. . am I wrong?” This was it, your career was over, there was no way you would be able to recover from something like this, you knew the risks and yet you still took the chance, now look where it got you.

You could feel yourself trying to choke but in the coming years, you were trying your best to keep yourself together. “Now you know there's no reason to lie to me. .” Gojo pushed himself off the desk and made his way towards you, your eyes never leaving him. He walked behind you, leaving your sight, but you could feel him looming over you. “Professor look, moneys been low and.” his hot breath suddenly hit against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” His words were soft.

Your shoulders tensed as he placed his hands on them “Is this okay? Can I touch you here?” Gojo let out softly once more, you simply nodded your head being speechless. His hands began travelling down stopping right at your hips. “You know. .I have a confession of my own. Ever since I found out about your secret endeavours. . I haven’t been able to stop going back. . I can’t stop thinking about you in ways I shouldn’t.” He choked out, Gojo was doing his absolute best to keep himself at bay.

“Really?” you said, sounding surprised, his words were making your stomach flutter. As much as you wanted to deny this as wrong and unprofessional there was a recurring curious thought that wanted to find out more, what exactly was he thinking. “The thought drives me crazy” the hold he had on your hips gets tighter, but you move away from his grip, turning around to face him. His eyes were drawing you in like never before, you couldn’t describe it, but his gaze was full of pure lust.

You bit down on your lips, you were unsure what to do, act professional or. . no what were you thinking! “Darling,” Gojo said, snapping you out of your thoughts. His hands coming up and cupping your face, his thumb trailing softly against your cheek. “Gojo I. .” You stood there speechless. “This is unprofessional.” You try to centre your thoughts “I think we’re long past that.” he said his hand never leaving your cheek. His face leaned down his lips inches from yours “if you want me to stop then tell me, I want you to be okay with this” you looked up at him through your lashes nodding your head ever so slightly. “Please. .don’t stop” you let out quietly just enough for him to hear you.

Next thing you know you felt Gojo’s lips press against yours, lips moulding with one another. His kiss was delicate, but carried so much passion and lust behind every movement. Your mind continued to spiral at every given minute, but you didn’t want to stop, you wanted more. Gojo’s hands travelled down before taking your ass in his hands giving it a squeeze as he continued to kiss you.

His tongue slipped past your lips and moved with yours, but it didn’t last long as he was quick to pull away to catch a breath. His head moved to your neck planting firm kisses against your neck as his hands made their way up your shirt, cupping your breast in the process massaging them as he continued to place his markings down your neck. “You’re fucking gorgeous” his voice was breathy, against your skin.

Gojo guided you over to his desk, turning you around to your back facing him. His hands lingered at the hem of your pants, thinking for a moment before he pulled both your pants and underwear down revealing your slick pussy. Gojo went down onto his knees to get a better view, his hand trailing up and down pushing in between your folds, slowly sticking his middle and ring finger deep into your pussy, causing a moan to escape your lips. “What if someone hears us?” you asked nervously. He continued to pump his fingers in and out of you slowly watching how your pussy swallowed his fingers “let them” he said.

The speed of his fingers began to pick up the pace causing soft moans to escape through the seam of your lips. Gojo pulled his fingers out of you, spreading your legs open enough to lodge his head in between your thighs, dragging his tongue against your pussy. As you lay there leaning over his desk, gasping for breath, Gojo tasted every inch of you, savouring the sweetness of your flesh, he knew exactly where to touch, how to caress, driving you further into the realm of ecstasy. Your hips would involuntarily push back into him as he lapped his tongue over your clit, exploring every curve and crevice, bringing you to the edge of climax. It was almost painful, the anticipation and desire building within you, but you wouldn't trade this exquisite torture for anything else.

As you were nearing release Gojo pulled away standing up, quickly unbuckling his pants to unveil his already hard twitching cock eager to pound into you. He held the base of his cock, dragging the tip in between your wet folds, before slowly pushing himself into you, causing a groan to escape from the back of his throat. His hands grabbing onto your hips, he began to slowly move his hips watching your pussy swallow his cock. “You feel so fucking good” he said as he began to pick up the pace. Your hand moved up to your mouth blocking out the moans leaving your lips, doing your very best to stay quiet enough so others wouldn’t hear your lewd sounds. Gojo’s thrusts became rough, his hand releasing your hip entangling his fingers through your hair tugging on it as he pounded into you. “You’re such a good girl, taking me so well”.

As Gojo continued to thrust deep into you, you felt yourself coming closer to the edge once again, the knot building up in your stomach from him constantly hitting your G-spot. Your free hand moved down in between your legs and moved rapidly against your clit. “ you gonna cum on my cock baby?” He asked you, smirking down at you, how he enjoyed the sight. You let out a moan as your legs do their best to hold themselves up through your orgasm, Gojo was close, you could feel his cock pulsating inside of you. His thrust was becoming sloppy and out of rhythm. With a few more thrusts he quickly pulled out of you, his hot cum hitting against your back “fuck” he said out of breath looking down at the mess he made, but god it was fucking hot.

His body pressed up against your own, planting a soft kiss against your shoulder. Moving the hair away from your neck and planting them slowly against your neck as well, he let out a light groan, the vibration of his hot breath against your skin made you shiver. “Let's get you cleaned up baby” Gojo said, going back to his cocky smug voice once again. “Oh and. .lets keep this our little secret alright?”

@allicat0 signing off. .

#fanfiction #smut #gojo satoru #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jjk fanfic #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #Satoru gojo fic #gojo x reader smut #mdni #18+ mdni #jjk satoru

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gepardling · 1 year ago

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I saw your blog and I love your writings sm🫶 Glad to see a fellow Gepard simp (JGKFKRJSHA HE'S SO HOT)

Going to my request, if you are fine with smut requests, is it okay for me to request husband!Gepard and spouse!gn!reader, featuring breeding kink and manhandling? It's up to you how you want to write how the story goes, surprise me 👀

Anyways, make sure to take care of yourself as well, stay hydrated, and thank you sm!!

happy anniversary w/ gepard.

desc. : im so srry for my mini-hiatus, my schedule is spaghetti ;p my mind was lowkey still buzzing abt the museum event, n i needed a good hook for da story okay !! to me, marriage means becoming a family, so i used dat to set the scene :) am also working on improving gn!reader smut so i hope i did good here ( wc : 1.9k )

tags / cw : nsfw, gn!reader, pretty fluffy i think, oral, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it!), top!gepard, bottom!reader, aftercare, manhandling, breeding (I HOPE I DID THESE RIGHT, I'M SUCH A VANILLA PERSON), not proofread !

Gepard couldn’t help but wonder if he was cut out for fatherhood, given his past encounters with children. It seemed that whenever he interacted with little ones, they either burst into tears at the sight of him or found themselves quickly bored by his serious demeanor. As such, he had never entertained the idea of having a family of his own – not until he met you, at least.

You had a habit of taking Gepard’s entire world and turning it upside down, making him question everything he thought he believed up until that point. This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, and he quickly found himself drawn to your open-mindedness. Spontaneity was something that Gepard lacked in his life, and you delivered everything he needed and more.

It wasn’t long before the two of you had married, and everyone knew it was a long time coming. No one could soften up the strict Captain like you could, especially when you manage to catch him off guard. Just the other day, Gepard's heartstrings were thoroughly scrambled when he saw you guiding a group of children through the museum. The way you handled the kids was beyond Gepard, and you taught history in a way that they understood, even enjoyed.

After another one of your museum shifts, you and Gepard were relaxing at home. It was the evening of your first anniversary, having been married for a year. Gepard was immersed in a book, your head rested on his shoulder as you arranged your thoughts. Which is what brought you to this point. Here, in your shared home, you decided to finally raise the question.

“You know,” you began softly, your voice carrying a mixture of wonder and uncertainty. “I can’t help but imagine… What if we had children?” Gepard’s demeanor instantly shifted, a fleeting tension washing over his body. Sensing his unease, you hurriedly backtracked. “I’m sorry, you don’t want to… And that’s okay!”

But before the words could fully escape your mouth, Gepard’s reassuring touch met your hand, his eyes filled with warmth. “No, not at all,” he assured. “You simply caught me off guard…” There was an excited tone to his voice, but some uncertainty still lingered deep beneath the surface.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you absorbed Gepard’s response. “I think it would be amazing,” you uttered, a dreamy lilt decorating your tone. Gepard’s fingers gently traced the wedding band adorning your finger, and he was instantly reminded of your wedding, how radiant you looked as you stood before him. The image of you, eyes filled with unwavering devotion, etched itself permanently in his heart.

Your gentle laughter caressed his ears as your hand cupped his cheek, pulling him back from his daydream. “Don’t worry, we can wait until you’re ready,” you replied, softly pecking him on the lips. “There’s no rush, after all.” But between your gentle touch and his devotion towards you, all this family talk was getting Gepard a little hot beneath the collar.

He was sure you were aware of it too – your touches growing tantalizingly slow as your lips lingered longer and longer on his. With that same old mischievous glint in your eyes, you took the book from Gepard’s hands and set it on the table across from you. You snaked your arms around his neck, gently shifting yourself into his lap.

"What are we still sitting out here for?" You whispered, forehead pressed against his own. "It's our anniversary after all." Gepard's hands slowly came to rest on your hips, a rosy hue spread across his cheeks. You brought your hands down from his neck, opting to work open the first few buttons of his shirt. Dipping your hands beneath the fabric, Gepard shuddered lightly at your cold touch.

He moved his hands from your hips to your wrists, gently gripping them. "Not on the couch," he breathed. Of course, same old Gepard. That's one rule that's never changed for the whole three years you've been with him. You gave him a quick peck on the nose, followed by a mock salute. Gepard smiled in return, uttering "Your form is off," before scooping you up in his arms.

Your surprise was quickly muffled by his lips on yours, his kiss filled with love and devotion towards you. He made quick work of whisking you off to the bedroom, lightly tossing you onto the soft mattress of your shared bed. You could barely sit up before he was leaning over you, covering your body with his large frame.

"We're not on the couch anymore, are you happy?" You teased, smiling up at him mischievously. Gepard only rolled his eyes in response, lowering his head to kiss you once again. It was deeper this time, only growing more heated as your hands continued to undress him. Before you could undo his belt, his grip on your wrist stopped your ministrations.

"Allow me," he replied, moving to undress you instead. He wedged his knee between your thighs, pushing them open before laying between them. He kept his arms wrapped around your legs, preventing you from closing them again. When he dipped his head between your thighs, you could only gasp at the feeling of his mouth on your heat.

Gepard had more than enough practice over the last few years, and that much was evident. His skilled tongue worked across your sex, rolling over your most sensitive parts. The sensation of his hot mouth caused little stars to spot your vision, nails gripping the sheets so tight you were sure you'd rip them. Your gasps were like music to his ears, only fueling the fire deep within.

His slicked fingers worked you open, gently scissoring your hole. Your back arched at the feeling as Gepard carefully prepared you, sparks of pleasure dashing across your body. But as the buildup started to reach its peak, mere seconds before your vision could go white and the fires of release consumed you, the sudden loss of his fingers and mouth left you cold and empty. The sensation immediately dissipated, fading into obscurity.

Your breathing was ragged as your body attempted to come to terms with the orgasm you never had, blinking away the stars that dotted your vision. "W-Wait," you whispered, raising yourself onto your elbows. "Why'd you st-" But just as the words were about to leave your mouth, Gepard had turned you around onto your stomach, hand resting on your upper back. His free hand hurriedly worked to release his cock from the confines of his pants, as he pressed gentle kisses to the skin of your shoulder blades.

Before you could complain again, he sunk his member deep into your heat. The weight of his body suspended above yours only added to the pleasure, slowly thrusting in sync with the rhythmic contraction of your walls. Each thrust was coupled with the soft grind of his hips, slowly working you back up to your pleasure point. He took his time, butterfly kisses dotting the back of your neck and ears.

"Gepard…" You sighed, to which he replied with a soft hum. While you sincerely enjoyed his languid pace, you needed something more to soothe the ache in your loins. You pressed back against him, breathing a quiet “Faster,” to which he replied with a chuckle. Gepard slipped two fingers between your lips, hushing you with quiet whispers.

You swirled your tongue around his digits, the cool metal of his wedding band contrasting the warmth of your mouth. When he pulled back his hand, a small whine escaped your lips, but your breath soon hitched in your throat as he suddenly increased his pace. He kept his hand pressed down on your lower back, preventing you from bucking back against him as he took you at his own pace.

The way his cock slammed into you left you gasping for air, brushing against your deepest pleasure points. The heat was rising exponentially, drawing the knot in your belly tighter and tighter with each thrust. Gepard’s lips met the back of your ear, gently pressing kisses to the side of your head. As your cries intensified, you buried your face in the closest pillow you could reach, desperate to muffle the throes of your passion.

But Gepard didn’t like the way you tried to hide, and he was quick to swipe the pillow from your hold. He pulled out in the process, and you whined at the sudden loss of contact. The heat from your core dissipated once again, and your orgasm fizzled out of reach a second time. Before you could make your disdain known, his hands gripped your hips to turn you around onto your back.

At your gasp of surprise, his hands met your knees, pushing your thighs up against your chest. He buried himself back in your core, and the roughness of his actions made you wail into your palm. Gepard lowered himself to your face, prying your hand away with his own to clash his lips against yours. You reciprocated the kiss, interlocking your fingers with his. He swiped his tongue against your lower lip, to which you opened your mouth, your tongue meeting his.

When he pulled back, your lips chased his, breaking the delicate string of saliva between you. Your chest heaved as you tried to regain your breath, tiny tears dotting your vision. You felt like you were melting in his hold, the heat of the moment escalating far beyond your limits. Your sighs were like music to Gepard’s ears as he made love to you, consummating your marriage a second time.

The hand from your thigh moved down to your abdomen, pressing into the skin to feel the way he moved inside of you. He gripped your hand tighter, slightly increasing the pace to chase his orgasm. His cock glided effortlessly, bruising your deepest parts as you sang him praise. The pressure rose even higher in your core, building on your previously denied release.

Amidst his passion, Gepard managed to grunt out a quiet “Where do you want it?” ghosting his lips along the side of your face. You managed to compose yourself just enough to answer, barely squeaking out “Inside,” before another moan tore itself from your throat. Gepard’s hands came to rest on your thighs again, burying himself impossibly deep in your core.

The sensation of his load warming you from within sent you over the edge as well, whispers of his name escaping your lips as your nails dug into his arm. Sparks of electrifying bliss enveloped your body, walls clenching around his cock. Gepard rode out his high, gently grinding his hips against yours. His lips met yours again, this time kissing you much softer than before.

When he pulled away, some of his cum dripped from your core. You finally released your iron grip on his hand, sitting up to meet him at eye-level. “Why don’t we go get cleaned up,” you asked, your hand cupping the side of his face. Gepard hummed in approval, turning his head to place a kiss on your palm.

“I think a bath would do,” he spoke, pulling you off the bed and into his arms. Though you weren’t really sure how much cleaning you’d actually get done. All in all, any time you got to spend with your beloved husband was a win in your books.

(melts) i saw a ballet concert, had my hair done, went out w/ my dad nd played league wit my friends. nun of these activities allowed me 2 write my smutty smut dis week waahhhh hopefully back on schedule now :') i tried 2 write dis extra long as an apology, also referenced multiple online sources 4 gn!smut 2 attempt 2 educate myself........

#gepard smut #gepard x you #gepard x reader #gepard hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #gepard landau #♥︎ | milky writes #♥︎ | request

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crushribbons · 5 months ago

Text

𝓈𝒾𝓁𝓀

summary: The years have been exceedingly kind to Garreth Weasley.

cw: 6.8k words, s m u t (18+ ONLY), bridgerton girlies this one's for y'all!, oral sex, penetrative sex, slight fix-it because ominis and anne are married because i love them, semi-public-ish sex, i don't know what year it's supposed to be and i refuse to choose one, fem reader. reqs open, put some filth in my inbox!

a/n: i sowwy xx laney

It was unclear why the Ministry of Magic felt it necessary to hold an annual gala for its employees; surely, the money could be put to better use. But another year had come and gone since her protestations of the last one, and her boss was very eager to know why the top-performing Auror never made an appearance at the time-honored event. So, as snow began to fall in gentle wafts from the night sky, she had forced herself into a borrowed dress of her friend Natsai’s before she had time to decide to stay home for another year.

After checking her reflection in the mirror above her mantle and being satisfied with the way her curled hair framed her face, the witch took a deep breath, which was hard to do in the restrictive corset that Natsai had also leant her.

“I’m not wearing that,” she had balked when her friend held up the lace and silk monstrosity.

“You have to! It maintains the shape of the dress,” Natty insisted. “Come now, that gown was my mother’s, and she wore it to her first ball, where she met my father. It is imbued with good luck already.”

The darling story did nothing to persuade the stubborn woman with her arms crossed in front of her. “And if a troll should barge in and attack the gala? How will I fight it off if I’m confined to a straitjacket?”

“You are impossible,” Natsai declared, and left the dress laid over an armchair and the corset in a crumpled heap on the floor as she turned on her heel and clipped back through the front door.

“Thank you!” her friend called meekly after her. It was so typically kind of Natty to lend her a dress with such a precious history without a second thought. The dress was a spectacular beauty: light violet silk hugged her torso and spilled down over voluminous netted skirts. Lace of the same color lined the neckline that swung low across her chest and shoulders, leaving her arms almost bare, and small satin violets were embroidered around the neck and hemline. It was easy to see how Mr. Onai had fallen in love with the professor after seeing her in this.

However, as the dress restricted her movement so much so that she could hardly clamber into the toilet that hid the entrance to the Ministry, she cursed Natty’s kindness under her breath. The apparating process had been hell, as it already gave the traveler the impression that they were being smothered without also wearing a bone-crushing corset, and the ride down and through the floo fireplace disoriented and oppressed her further. She tumbled several meters past the grate and into a pair of feet. “Oof.” The wind was knocked out of her, but she rolled over with as much grace as she could summon. A hand belonging to the owner of the pair of feet reached out and pulled her the rest of the way up.

“Ominis!” she breathed in intense relief. “Thank God that you’re here!” The slick Gaunt smiled in his gentle way when his wand passed in her direction and he identified her.

“You look lovely tonight, madame,” he said, with a gentlemanly bow and an affected French accent on the final word. She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“Clearly, you’ve lost your knack for truth-telling,” she replied.

“Is it just you this evening? Haven’t you come with anyone else?”

The worst part of all of this. She’d really hoped to just slip in long enough for her superiors to notice that she had come, then disappear the rest of the evening. Especially because Sebastian decided to schedule his convenient trip to Albania during this very week. She’d begged and pleaded with her coworker and friend to escort her to the gala, promising that they would be in and out in a matter of mere seconds, but he’d waved her off and insisted that this trip was of utmost importance. Their boss, Melodia Thistlewit, didn’t just hand out promotions, after all, and Sebastian was certain that this scouting trip would secure him one.

The witch continued to curse every horrible word she knew at Sebastian as she now faced down the prospect of walking into the large ballroom that Ministry workers had transformed their central atrium into. “Just me,” she told Ominis, but then a thought occurred to her that could save her from certain embarrassment. “And are you alone, as well?”

“Don’t sound so happy at the idea of my solitude,” Ominis drawled, although his smile was still in place. At that moment, a slender woman with pale skin and chocolate hair brushed into a beautiful updo appeared behind Ominis and took his arm.

She couldn’t find the space to be disappointed that she couldn’t poach Ominis as her own date when she looked at the couple in front of her, staring adoringly at one another. “Anne! You look so wonderful!” Sebastian’s sister blushed as she always did when complimented. Her dress was emerald green, matching the cravat Ominis wore against his all black tuxedo. They made a lovely pair.

“Yes, she does,” Ominis hummed. Anne looked ready to sink into the floor under the weight of the praise from her husband and friend.

“Thank you. You’re too kind!” Anne looked behind her as if expecting to see someone there. “Didn’t my brother come with you?”

She sighed and shook her head. “No, he preferred the company of Albanian dark wizards,” she replied and Anne grinned knowingly. Sebastian didn’t hide the fact that he was married to his work.

“Well, he’s missing out on a nice evening. We’ll see you in there?” Ominis asked as he held up an arm to escort Anne into the throng of party-goers. The Auror was left, standing alone, watching hundreds of couples shoot out of the fireplaces and giggle to each other as they stood and brushed the soot off the other’s clothes. Though it had been the only career she’d dreamed of having since her days at Hogwarts, being an Auror was not without its disadvantages. The work was exciting and invigorated her to no end, but there were often long hours of tedious research and documentation before she was able to leave the office. And when she went on expeditions, it was cutthroat. Sebastian was one of the only people she trusted to have her back, even though he’d failed in that regard tonight.

It had become commonplace for her to glance up at the calendar on her desk while she worked, do a double-take, and realize that it had been an embarrassing number of months since she’d gone to dinner with anyone. The streak continues, she thought as she gritted her teeth and finally began making her way into the ballroom. The shiny marble floor clicked underneath her heels, and she felt a little wobbly. Hoisting her numerous skirts until they floated above her ankles helped her awkward gait, and she wove in and out of the people dancing and chattering, champagne glasses tinkling softly in toasts all over the room. Silk skirts and starched trousers intermingled and a light strain of musical laughter floated through the revelry.

As a house elf carrying a tray loaded with flutes passed her, she reached down to snatch one and quickly take a gulp of it. Champagne was going to be a necessary social lubricant this evening. She was acutely aware of the many glances she got from men as she passed by. Natty had chosen a beautiful dress for the event, but it also showed off far more of her clavicle and décolletage than she was accustomed to showing. She was fairly certain she saw Leander Prewett stop talking to the short, middle-aged witch he was having a conversation with to gawk at her from across the room. He looked ready to start pushing through the crowd to make his way over to her. She didn’t much feel like talking to someone from the office of Muggle Relations; truthfully, she respected their work but found it terribly dull. Leander had once trapped her in the hall with a story about a rogue Puffskein that had fluffed its way through Hyde Park, spooking two Muggle children. “Couldn’t you have just told them it was a baby rabbit or something?” she’d asked. The look of smug satisfaction had slid off Prewett’s face as he considered this.

“Uh…well, I mean, it is standard practice to obliviate…” he’d muttered.

She wove through six couples that were waltzing to the tune the enchanted instruments were playing from the conjured stage at the front of the room. Many murmured “excuse me!”s and “pardon”s got her safely to a table tucked against a relatively deserted wall, and she leaned up against it, sighing in relief and scanning the room for any sign of Anne and Ominis, or the encroaching Prewett. It was then that she noticed the table she stood next to held still more glasses of champagne. She quickly downed the rest of the glass she still held and picked up another one.

From across the room, Melodia Thistlewit caught her eye and raised a glass. “Fuck,” muttered the Auror as she put on a painful fake smile and responded in kind. If she didn’t engage herself with someone else soon, Melodia would certainly drag her into the center of the gala and parade her around to anyone with a pulse. Glancing around again, desperate to see the Gaunts and run to the safety of their conversation, she noticed a man standing on the other side of the champagne table, alone. She ducked down out of sight of Melodia, who was just under five feet tall and could not see well over the large crowd in the ballroom.

“Alright, I know this is strange, but I really just want to avoid talking to my boss so if you could pretend that we are deeply engaged in some riveting bit of gossip for the next few minutes, I’d appreciate it so much,” she said as she sidled up to the man she’d spotted. She spoke in a low and commanding tone, as if negotiating hostages away from him. Her eyes were fixed on the spot of the room where she was sure she’d seen Melodia, but she startled and spun around when the man exclaimed her last name in a jovial tone and said,

“Are you trying to kidnap me? What’s going on here?!”

Garreth Weasley was beaming at her. She hadn’t even registered that she knew the stranger haunting the only other empty part of the room. He’d been in her year at Hogwarts, though she’d rarely had occasion to get to know him. The realization that she knew him at all, however, was enough to make her stand straight back up and feel relief wash over her.

“Weasley! I’m so sorry, I had no idea that was you! What are you–” The question regarding his reasons for being at the gala died in her throat as she took in his appearance. In almost ten years since leaving school, she hadn’t given him a single thought, and she saw now what an utter waste of ten years it had been. Weasley was tall, taller than he’d been even in seventh year. His broad shoulders were prominent under the white dress shirt and vest he was wearing, his bowtie and collar loose despite the party having just begun. A worn tuxedo jacket was slung over one arm and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing freckled and distractingly well-muscled forearms and hands. And his hair was fiery as ever, still growing in unruly curls that hung down into his eyes and over his ears. He was grinning the devilish grin she remembered from many ill-fated potions experiments.

“Look at you, all grown up. And top Auror as well!” he crowed. She blushed darker red than his hair.

“How did you know that?”

“Everyone here knows that.”

Forgetting herself, she gawked at him. “You work here?”

Garreth raised a hand to his heart, feigning a grievous injury. “You wound me,” he mocked, but the smile never left his lips. Always good mood Garreth. “I just started a few months ago, in the Improper Use of Magic department.” When he caught the still-shocked expression on her face, he acquiesced with a chuckle. “I’m only joking. Can you imagine? Me? Trying to stop anyone from doing something improper?” He reached forward and pinched her on the upper arm playfully. Why such a simple act caused electric sparks against her skin that traveled through her entire body, she had no idea.

She cleared her throat and took another sip of champagne. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t work here! Only that I thought you’d never be caught dead doing something so…sanctioned.” Garreth broke into a raucous laugh that, if she’d still been concerned with anyone else at the party, she would have been nervous would attract attention. Instead, she basked in the sunshiney feeling that his laughter brought and felt herself and her nerves melting away like ice cream on a summer’s day.

“Unsanctioned is the only way I know how to operate!” he quipped, and then his green eyes fell from hers to the dress she was wearing, and she caught him falter and trip over his next words slightly. “Y-you look gorgeous tonight, Merlin’s sake.” Her heart pounded in her chest and she wondered if Garreth could see it beating from the huge expanse of skin that Natty’s dress revealed. “How long has it been?”

Too long, she wanted to say. Entirely too long and I’d like it never to be this long again. His boyish good looks had matured so much better than she ever would have guessed. Rather than tell him that he, too, looked like sex wrapped in silk, she sputtered, “Nearly ten years, I believe. How is your aunt? Dear lady.”

He smiled appreciatively at the question. “She’s wonderful, thank you. Actually, she’s the entire reason I’m here tonight. Had an extra invitation and she wasn’t exactly about to take Professor Sharp.” The image of the two kind but stiff-upper-lipped teachers arm in arm on the dancefloor made the two of them giggle, Garreth leaning in conspiratorially to grumble in a poor imitation of their potions professor, “Why, Matilda, you dance divinely.” She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle laughter as he did the same.

“Well, I must say hello to her before the night is over.”

“I’ll see that it happens.”

The two lapsed into comfortable small talk as they continued scanning the room, making remarks about anyone they recognized from school. “My God, that can’t be–it is! Prewett!” Garreth exclaimed, but before he could wave and shout for Leander to come join them, she grabbed one of his arms in a death vice and pleaded with him not to.

“Noooo, not Prewett, not right now,” she begged, and Garreth looked down at her in surprise, his gaze then drifting to where her hands were wringing his arm. She flushed and dropped it quickly, hoping she hadn’t been too familiar with him. “He’s just so dreadfully boring and I am having so much fun right now,” she explained in hushed tones.

“I’ve never been one to prevent a lady from having fun,” Garreth muttered, so lowly that she almost missed it. She would have noticed the heat growing in her chest at being tucked away so close to him, but at that moment, she saw that Leander had caught Garreth’s call after all, and she groaned as she saw him making his way over to the both of them.

She cursed. “Prewett’s coming over. Ooh, he’s going to ask me to dance.” She looked up pleadingly at Garreth and begged, “Please don’t let him, Weasley. I have two left feet and frankly, so does he.” He gave a winning but somewhat awkward grin back.

“Where’s your escort for this evening? Surely, such an accomplished witch didn’t attend alone…?” His question was open and hung between the two of them as she stared into the depths of his eyes. They reminded her forcefully of sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees in the Forbidden Forest, green and gold and endless.

“I tried to arrange one, but couldn’t.” She also tried to inject a tone of disappointment into her words, but couldn’t. Sebastian’s trip to Albania was now possibly the greatest thing that had ever happened to her, and she made a mental note to bake him a cake or something to thank him for the enormous favor he’d done her by fucking off for the week.

Leander was almost upon them now, so she did not have time to react when Garreth slid his hand around her waist and pulled her gently so her back rested against his chest. “Prewett! How are you!” he cried when Leander finally stood before them. The stuffy Muggle Relations officer looked between the two of them with confusion.

“Nice to see you, Weasley.” He turned his attention to the Auror and started to ask, “Are you–” but Garreth interjected loudly over top of him,

“My love, you must say hello to Aunt Matilda soon or she will be in a right state.”

Her stomach flipped in a perfect circle and her head spun as she tried to make sense of what Garreth had said, but there was no time to process as Garreth bid the bewildered Leander goodbye and tugged her by her waist away from him. “You’re welcome,” he muttered into her hair as they squeezed through the crowd and found refuge near a table of desserts. Ah, he’d been trying to prevent Prewett from asking her to dance. That was all.

“Thank you,” she said with a small smile, too embarrassed at her body’s reaction to his few featherlight touches to make eye contact with him. Wetness was pooling between her legs by the second, and visions of Garreth pressing his mouth to her ear or running his fingers over the ribbons that laced her dress shut were flooding, unbidden, into her mind. My love. Fuck, it had sounded all too lovely when he said that. She needed a breath. “The champagne is making me a bit light-headed. I think I’ll step out for a moment.”

Garreth didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll join you. If you fall down, I can catch you,” he winked, and she wanted to groan in defeat.

It’s not the champagne, you infuriating delight. It’s you. “Alright.” The redhead trailed behind her as they slipped from the cavernous room into an empty hallway. Lamps lined it, flickering softly and providing only dim illumination without the daylight that usually filtered through from the atrium. She rested her back against the wall and took a deep breath, hoping Garreth couldn’t tell how silly and flustered she looked. A man she hadn’t seen in a decade pops back into her life, and half an hour later she could think about nothing but him taking her clothes off. And vice versa.

Next to her, Garreth was talking, and she only realized this in time to hear the tail end of what he was saying: “...mind-numbing. I’m glad for my own loudmouth sake that I didn’t land in an office. I’d drive everyone up the walls.”

She laughed. “You’d do wonderfully here, Garreth. We could always use clever people like you.” She didn’t expect his cheeks to turn pink at her words, but they did. He waved her off and looked bashfully down at his drink.

“Potions is my lot in life for now, and I’m quite happy with it,” he said. “Although…” He tapped his chin and she found her eyes sliding out of focus as they gazed dumbly at his soft, pink lips, also splashed with freckles. “Mr. Pippin has been considering opening a shop in London and having me run it. Perhaps I’ll be seeing more of you then.”

Oh, he’d probably be seeing too much of her. She wracked her brain for the name of a potion that she could believably purchase once a day.

They stayed in the hallway, chatting aimlessly, for what felt like hours. Every time Garreth launched into a new story about the unusual and zany clientele he catered to in Hogsmeade, she was sure that she’d hear the sickening sound of the music halting or the magnified voice of the Minister thanking everyone for attending the gala. But neither came, and as the hours ticked on, she found herself falling into dangerous infatuation with the Weasley boy who’d once set his own hair on fire at six o’clock in the morning.

His tuxedo jacket was thrown carelessly on the ground, and they’d long since slid down the wall to a seated position. The witch was trying her best not to crease Natty’s gown as she told Garreth the story behind it.

“It looks as though it was made for you,” he murmured when she had finished, and felt the silk of the skirt between two of his fingers. They’d each had three glasses of champagne at this point and were working on their fourth, and she couldn’t recall if his hair had been that tousled when they’d first run into each other, or if he was just running his long fingers through it quite a bit. And his bowtie had most definitely still been on his neck, but it was now cast down beside the jacket and the stiff collar of his shirt was open to expose a kissable swathe of neck. Her body felt hot, uncomfortable as it was from the corset, and even more so due to the looks Garreth kept giving her as they talked, an uncharacteristic darkness in his gaze.

“Thank you,” she whispered back. Absently, she ran her hand along the neckline of the dress, feeling the delicate lace that lined it while she took a sip of champagne. Over the rim of her glass, she swore she heard Garreth make a low, choked sound in the back of his throat. “Mm?” She lowered the glass and cocked her head at Garreth inquisitively, looking much more innocent than she felt.

He turned to face her directly, and she inhaled sharply when she saw the way he was staring her down. Like a man who hadn’t drunk water in eons looking at an oasis. Come to think of it, she hadn’t “drunk water” in eons either, and the thought made her want to burst. “Stop that,” he said, glancing down at where her fingers were still trailing over the lace lining. His voice was hoarse.

Her fingers dropped in dumb obedience to her lap and she set the glass aside. Before she could speak again, Garreth’s fingers replaced hers, ghosting over her neckline and making her skin burn in their wake. “So pretty, so fucking pretty,” he muttered under his breath. She decided then and there to wear that dress every single day of her life.

“Garreth,” she breathed. It seemed impossible to misread the way he was touching her, his fingertips just missing contact with her breasts as he played with the lace. But her nerves were alight and she had to be sure. “Garreth, what are you doing?”

In answer, he trailed one finger up from the lace, over her cleavage and neck and crooked it under her chin, lifting her face to him. She felt exposed in the most wonderful way as he thickly said, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?” His eyes had lost all trace of humor. “Letting me see you in this…this fucking scrap of fabric? Merlin’s beard, you were always beautiful in school, but I never…I didn’t know how…” He trailed off and her cunt pulsed and begged for him, her body moving closer to his in unconscious desperation.

“What about you?” she whispered against his lips. Heat was rising in her chest once more. “Teasing me senseless for most of the night? You’re no cherub, either, Weasley.”

“A cherub, no,” he agreed, his signature smirk appearing briefly before the lust in his eyes won over. “I’d actually like to do some truly hellish things to you.”

“I bet they’d feel heavenly, though.”

They both snapped at the same time. Garreth buried his hands in her hair, upsetting the updo that Natty had painstakingly helped her pin, and groaned while she clutched him by his vest and pulled him to her lips. The kiss knocked the breath out of her. Tiny, whiny moans escaped him when she began fumbling around the buttons on his shirt. “Off,” was all she could huff out before she dove back to his mouth. Garreth somehow managed to laugh while still kissing her.

“Right here? Like this?” he panted, glancing around the hallway, still empty but only steps away from the bustling party.

They stopped discussing logistics for a moment to resume their fevered pawing at each other. Garreth’s hands wove back into her hair and pulled her with force against him, and she obliged by crawling the last few inches that separated them and onto his lap. The voluminous dress pressed and bunched between them, causing an irritated grunt to spill from Garreth. “Decide where you want to go now, angel, or I’m laying you bare on the carpet right here and ruining this gown.” She moaned with need, pleasure building in her core and spreading through her entire body at his touch. He kissed her like he’d been waiting to do so for a thousand years. His lips were every bit as soft as they looked, and he tasted like champagne and peppermint, a slight spice on his tongue that made her go mad with craving.

“Anywhere,” she whined, and meant it. The hallway was lined with closed offices, so Garreth pulled her up to stand on wobbly feet and they ran down the hall, trying every door to see if any happened to be unlocked. She would have used alohomora, but breaking into someone’s office for what promised to be a highly illicit act (if Garreth’s dark emerald eyes and the large bulge pressing against his trousers were any indication) just felt too indecorous. If a door happened to be open, however…it was practically an invitation.

It took turning down two more hallways, one stairwell, and yanking on probably twenty doors to find one that finally, blissfully, turned under Garreth’s hand. Mere seconds later, he had cleared every possession from the poor Ministry employee’s desk with a sweep of his arm and threw her onto it. “Gods, I’ve not been able to think about anything except this since I saw you,” he slurred through kiss-swollen lips as he grasped her shoulders and ran his featherlight touch down her bare arms, sending a cold shock through her body. He moved in between her legs and pressed himself, as best he could with the gown still on, against her. She could tell even with all the fabric that his cock was impressively hard and that she would certainly feel this in the morning.

“Fuck, yes, you will, you naughty little thing,” Garreth breathed against her teeth. For Merlin's sake, she’d said the last bit out loud. Oh, well. “If you don’t, I haven’t done my job.”

With this, he dropped to his knees in front of the desk and grabbed as much silk and netting as he could, shoving it up around her waist. She clutched at the silk as best as she could and fought to remain upright, but once Garreth had pulled her undergarments down so they pooled around her ankles, the feeling of his hot breath against her core had her arms going slack. She slumped against the desk and felt his fingers grip her by the thighs.

His muffled voice reached her buzzing ears through layers of fabric: “Bury me here, darling, promise you will.” A wretched cry tore from her throat as Garreth laid his tongue flat against her cunt and began moving it in circles, alternating light flicks and kisses against her clit that had pleasure ramping up wildly inside her stomach. She reached forward, desperate for something to steady herself with, and made contact with his strawberry locks. Using them as leverage, she yanked him closer to her until nearly his entire body was engulfed by her dress.

“Garreth,” she moaned. The pleasure was making her stupid, and words were taking extra long to form in her brain and exit her mouth. “How did we never do this back at–”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he panted, coming up for air and replacing his tongue with his pointer and middle fingers. He drew fast, hard patterns over her clit and her back arched. “Not thinking about back then because I have you now, and I never want this to end.” He was so genuine and earnest, his eyes pleading with her to let him stay in this position forever, that she pulled him up by his shirt collar into another kiss. The taste of herself on his lips made her blush prettily.

It was all happening so fast that it made her thoughts rush in a frenzied whirlwind around her head. She didn’t want it to end either, but what it was, she wasn’t quite sure. Would they go their separate ways again after tonight? Would she find herself staring glumly at that pesky desk calendar on Monday, starting the count over from zero? Was it a terrible idea to fuck him anyway? Her drunken mind produced one coherent thought: Who cares?

As Garreth ghosted his lips over the shell of her ear, whispering pure filth while he began undoing the laces of her dress, she wondered if perhaps she had been gifted with a touch of legilimency. Hadn’t she envisioned this very moment earlier while fighting to stay prim and proper against his flirtiness? Never again, she decided, would she doubt her excellent instincts. The dress fell away from her shoulders and chest, leaving her in only her corset, gown and undergarments discarded on the floor. “Oh, for fuck’s safe,” huffed Garreth as he noticed the corset. “You don’t need to wear one of those.”

He said it in such a matter-of-fact tone that she colored and muttered, “I don’t ordinarily but…it maintains the shape of the dress.” She glanced sheepishly up at him and he rolled his eyes.

“That gown should thank its lucky stars that it ever graced your body. My God, you’re just…” He trailed off, taking in every inch of her that was exposed to him. She was quickly losing her capacity for embarrassment or shyness as her need for him to ruin her overtook everything inside her.

“Take this off and fuck me, Weasley,” she tried to order, but it came out more as a breathless plea. Despite this, Garreth obeyed. He turned her over so her hips were digging into the front of the desk and began haphazardly yanking at the ribbons restricting her torso. The corset fell away after a few seconds, and she barely had time to crane her neck around and see that he was shedding his dress shirt, vest, and trousers with the urgency of a madman before he placed one strong hand at the base of her neck and directed her to bend over the desk. She tried to protest, having very much been looking forward to seeing his cock freed from its restraints, but she found the protests dying in her throat as she felt it.

Holy fucking–! Every impure word and expression she knew flooded from her brain and out her mouth as he pressed his hard length against her ass and bucked his hips involuntarily, groaning with the effort of holding himself back. “How does it feel?” he rasped against her ear, leaning over her to do so and inadvertently making his cock brush against her dripping wet center. She cried in shocked pleasure, and more incoherent begging and pleading followed. “Are you ready for me, darling?

“Yes,” she half-sobbed, half-demanded. She didn’t think she could hold on much longer. Garreth ran his hands down her bare back and rested his forehead against the back of her head, sparing one more second to worship her before he braced himself on her waist and pushed into her.

Their moans intermingled deliciously as he fully sheathed himself inside her. He was fucking huge, and she gritted her teeth against the initial stretch. After a moment, he asked if he could move and she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. His cock dragged against her walls, lazy and heavy, stoking the fire inside her and causing obscenities to fall from both their lips.

“You do feel fucking heavenly,” Garreth panted, picking up his pace after a few languid strokes. He flattened her more completely to the desk and moved his hands to her ass, kneading and using it to pull her harder back onto him. Sweat was beginning to pool on the back of her neck, and she felt a drop of it drip from Garreth’s hair onto her spine. “Shit!” he spat. “I’m not going to–fuck, not gonna last long. Are you close?”

Questions? At a time like this? He expected too much of her. She moaned vaguely, trying to indicate that she was close. He picked up his pace even more, fucking her in a ravenous way she’d never felt before, hitting deep and high points that made stars burst across her vision. Her fingernails dug into the mahogany desk in front of her, curls of wood left behind in long trails as her fingers curled. Through their frenzy, she managed to ask a question of her own that had been burning in her mind since she saw his shirtsleeves rolled. She tossed it over her shoulder with a grin, panting: “Does it have…Are there freckles on your–?”

Garreth’s hips stuttered as a hysterical laugh cut through him. “Plenty of time to find out for yourself, darling,” he retorted, and snaked a hand around to her clit. The second he applied pressure there, she found herself coming. Her orgasm rolled over and through her and burst out of her like she’d been filled with an uncontainable light. She cried Garreth’s name, tears rolling down her face, and felt herself clamp around him.

“O-oh, fuck.” He faltered, not expecting the silken sensation of her to take his breath away. “Where do you want me, sweetheart?”

She was still caught in the arms of ecstasy, and only had the energy to pant, “Inside.” That was everything Garreth needed to be pushed over the edge. He came with a strangled yell and fell on top of her, filling her completely. With his last remaining strength, Garreth rolled off of her and laid next to her, on his back. The desk was far from comfortable, but at the moment, it felt like a king-sized bed at the finest hotel.

They caught their breath for several minutes. She tried to make sense of it all; Garreth Weasley, who gained a reputation in sixth year for being a wildly damp kisser, had just given her the best sex of her life and she was ready to beg for more. Her heart hammered even as her breathing returned to normal, because she was very sure now that she could fall for her old classmate. Not to even mention his godlike sexual prowess.

Her face was still pressed to the desk, and as she waited to regain the ability to walk again, Garreth’s cum dripping steadily down her thigh, she turned her head to the side. The man was still panting, propped up by his elbows and staring at the ceiling in disbelief. Her gaze wandered southward and she couldn’t help but smile. It sure did have freckles, and even while softening was larger than any other she’d ever taken. Sighing, she turned her head the other way and caught sight of one of the pictures that he had thrown to the ground when clearing the desk.

It was a picture of her.

The confusion made her bolt upright. She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand and crouched down to pick up the photograph in its brass frame. There she was, smiling and laughing with her arm around Ominis Gaunt and–

“Oh, shit!” The frame clattered from her hands and Garreth sat straight up, startled, as she frantically raced around the room, taking in its contents. A bookshelf, filled with books by and about famous dark wizards. Several stained tea cups that needed to be taken home and washed. And worst of all, a gilded name plate cast onto the ground that read “S. Sallow, Auror.”

“Fuck! Fuck, oh no! How did this happen?!” She wailed, clasping her head in her hands. The scratches she had left in the desk glared back at her, their position making it far too obvious as to what had been done atop the piece of furniture. She snatched the ball gown from the ground and dug around in the skirts for the sewn-in wand pocket. When her fingers brushed against the yew wood, she pulled her wand free and frantically cast Reparo! at the desk. The scratches stayed resolute. She swore and cast the spell a second time, again to no avail.

“Er, it’s not really broken,” Garreth chuckled, watching her efforts as he yawned happily. He was reclining, his long legs stretched in front of him and arms clasped behind his head, showing off his toned chest and stomach. She wished he would have a smidgen of decency. Not because his body wasn’t spectacular, but because she found herself frustrated and turned on almost immediately. And now was not the time, not when they’d just accidentally fucked on top of Sebastian’s desk and left undeniable evidence that someone had done so.

“But this is–!” She began, but Garreth had spotted the nameplate and reached down to grab it.

“S. Sallow,” he read, then thoughtfully put a finger to his chin. “Hey, that’s not ‘Sallow’ as in–”

“Yes, EXACTLY as in Sebastian Sallow! I can’t believe I didn’t read the doorplate before you opened it!” she yelled. They’d been so blind with desire that she hadn’t even noticed they had landed in the Auror offices. Sebastian had told her that he was leaving his office door unlocked so that she could access any files he had while he was away. She wanted to sink into the ground. Her own office was just the next door down.

She could feel her hair falling free around her shoulders in her upset state and remembered with a jolt that she was naked. Snatching her undergarments from the floor, she began to pull them back on, but Garreth leapt into action when he sensed that clothes were entering into the equation once more.

“No need for that!” He shushed her frantic rambling that Sebastian was going to notice and he was going to put two and two together and wrapped his arms around her. “You can tell him that you, uh…” He squeezed his eyes closed while trying to come up with a believable lie, and she melted a little against him, recalling how he used to do the same thing in their shared classes when he was called upon unprepared. His eyes flew back open. “I’ve got it. You can sit that fantastic little cunt on my face.”

She spluttered, not sure if she was more indignant or approving of the proposal. “And how is that going to help this situation?”

Garreth grinned. “This won’t seem like such an ordeal when I’m finished with you.”

When he was right, he was right. It took no more convincing for her to push him down onto the soft carpet and swing a leg over the side of his face. He ate her out like it was his last meal, which, she reasoned, if Sebastian ever figured out what they had done in his office, it may be.

They stayed in Sebastian’s office and did all sorts of things that made Garreth turn the portrait of Anne that Sebastian kept on his bookshelf facedown for several hours more. It wasn’t until they were lying on top of the violet gown, legs tangled and whispering to one another while she ran her fingers through his hair that Garreth shot straight up and cried, “Aunt Matilda probably had to go home without me!”

She tried to stifle laughter at his genuine alarm. “Weasley, I’m sure she can make it there just fine without you.”

“You haven’t seen how she can put away champagne when it’s free and offered to her.”

They both laughed, and Garreth leaned over to kiss her, sweet and soft. “When can I see you again?” he murmured. He suddenly looked lost, like he wasn’t sure what he’d do next depending on her answer. It charmed her to no end.

“I’ll need an escort to this gala next year, I suppose.”

“And in the meantime?”

She smiled. “I’d like someone to go to dinner with.”

masterlist

#i luv a fancy dress fic :')#somebody sedate me!!!!!#garreth weasley fic #garreth weasley x reader #hogwarts legacy fic #garreth weasley x mc #hogwarts legacy x reader #laneywrites

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seung-mong · 2 years ago

Text

binsung - dealines pt. 2

includes: dom! changbin x fem reader x switch! jisung, semi public sex, power play to the MAX, changbin's kinda possesive, humiliation, dacryphilia, breeding kink, face fucking, oral (m and f receiving), cum play (kinda nastee), changbin is mean, slight voyeurism. hint of polyamorous relationship at the end?? lots of bullshit about history so if uk the actual answers pls ignore what i typed down i was just talking shit tee bee eich. ALSO this is my first time writing a threesome ERM lmk what u think NOT PROOFREAD I WAS TOO EXCITED HEHE

wc: 6.1k of pure filth literally porn with little plot wtf is wrong w/ me?? blame changbin <3

you cant even reach for the doorknob, seemingly frozen in place. you're early for mr. seo's class, but there's already people seated in the lecture hall, eyes glued to their phones or heads dropped down to their desk.

you can see his frame leaning against the table, dark slacks perfectly hugging his thighs, his white button down tucked in. he looks annoyed, flipping through the papers on his desk with a disappointed sigh. he looks fucking delicious, and you can't help the way you clench your thighs, a familiar pulsing between your legs so strong you have to catch your breath. you're not sure why you don't have the strength to walk in yet, gnawing on the inside of your cheek as you slowly lift your hand to reach for the handle.

"are you gonna go in? or..." a soft voice asks from behind you, dark charcoal eyes hiding behind a sweep of dirty blonde hair, eyes that dart towards you then quickly to the floor, a red hue spreading across his cheeks.

"oh! jisung." you yelp in surprise, half mortified half amused at the thought that he had been waiting for you to go in the whole time, watching as you fought with yourself in your head. he looks so cute, baggy grey sweatpants that hang on his hips nicely, a large oversized hoodie that seems to swallow him whole, and the white beanie he always wears when its cold enough outside.

"hi, y/n." he mumbles bashfully, still refusing to look you in the eye. instead, his gaze fixes on your pretty shoes, white and clean, untainted. unlike you. you watch as his stare travels upwards, eyes suddenly fixated on the cute little skirt you decided to wear today. (changbin begged you.) "you look nice today." he hums, fingers reaching forward to pinch the fabric in between his fingers.

"oh. thanks, ji." you mumble, suddenly shy.

he smiles sweetly at you, politely moving past you to grab the door handle, opening it for you. you swoon at the gesture, ducking your head under his arm before stepping into the classroom. no one makes a move to look over at whoever just entered the classroom, not even when jisung loudly closes the door behind him. this gets your professor's attention, frown immediately disappearing when he sees your blushing figure staring dumbly back at him.

he smirks at you, eyeing you hungrily as you make your way to the front of the class. changbin clears his throat, catching both your and han's attention.

"would you both mind coming up here for a moment?" changbin's voice is gruff, an eyebrow raised at the pair of you.

with shaky knees, you grip onto your tote bag tighter, praying that you wont collapse as you make your way to his desk. jisung trails after you, hesitant and unsure but obedient all the same.

"you look beautiful today, y/n." changbin whispers lowly enough for just you and jisung to hear, and you blush.

"thank you sir."

"mr. han." changbin acknowledges the poor boy next to you, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"sir?" he squeaks, eyes not daring to leave the floor.

"would you mind sitting in the front with miss y/n this morning? there's something i'd like for you to do." changbin says nonchalantly, but han tilts his head in confusion.

changbin smirks at his reaction, and then turns to look at you. "why don't you go sit in front baby? where i can keep an eye on you, yea?"

you nod at him, thankful that he made you sit at the very front so you don't have to carry yourself any further. you take the seat right in the middle, directly in front of your teacher's desk. you notice changbin place on han's shoulder, who buckles slightly under the weight. changbin pulls him close, bringing his face close to the younger's ear as he starts to explain something animatedly.

han's brows are furrowed in confusion, but then he suddenly goes serious, before a small smirk tugs in the corner of his mouth. your breath hitches in your throat almost comically when they both look your way, changbin's gaze cocky and confident. jisung's somewhat harder to read, wicked glint in his eyes yet he cant seem to hold eye contact with you for more than three seconds.

changbin pats jisung firmly on the back, gesturing him towards the seat next to you. he stumbles over to you, intentionally ignoring your fixed stare on him.

"what'd he say?" you ask, curious. jisung shrugs beside you, setting his backpack on the floor and settling comfortably into his chair, back slightly slumped and his legs spread, his right knee bumping against your left.

"just asked me to help him with something later." jisung whispers, arm coming up to rest on your backrest, his fingers mindlessly playing with the lace on your top. you feel his knuckles brush against your bare shoulder, and you cant help the shiver that runs through you, a shiver that jisung doesnt miss, unfortunately.

"you cold? here." before you can protest, jisung's removing his hoodie, his plain white shirt riding up a bit with the fabric of the jacket, allowing you to see a glimpse of jisung's abs, as well as the top of his underwear that hides under his pants. he lays his hoodie on top of your legs, letting the fabric cover both of your thighs.

"oh. thanks, ji." you whisper shyly. "wont you be cold though?" you ask, pouting.

jisung giggles at you, finger coming up to playfully pinch your jutted out lower lip. "oh, i'll be warm in just a minute babe." he whispers, leaning nearer towards you. you dont get a chance to process his words, his hand resting on your knee.

"right." changbin clears his throat in front of the class, pinching the bridge of his nose before he readjusts his glasses. "good morning, everyone."

a low murmur of 'good morning' resonates through the room, half of the class already asleep. you can't even blame them, not really. not when the cold of the classroom is just soooo comfy and lulling you to sleep, along with the comforting way jisung's fingers trace patterns against your inner thigh.

hang on. how did his hand get there?

"i have to say, i'm very disappointed with the results of the latest exam." changbin's voice demands respect, his deep voice rumbling in your ears. you see a couple of students sit up straighter, those who had been sleeping lifting their head up groggily at your teacher's tone.

"who here wants to graduate?" changbin asks, nonchalant.

you look around the room to see your classmates raise their hand with confused faces, and you turn to the front, your own hand raised.

changbin looks around the room, bored. "half of you wont."

the room suddenly goes quiet, a somber look on everyone's faces.

"seriously what the fuck are these scores? 10 over 50, 12 over 50, 8 over 50? has no one been paying attention in class?" changbin sighs, walking over to the front of his desk and sitting on the edge of the table, a spot you're familiar with.

"it reached the point i thought i was the problem, but if i were, then why are some people acing the test? this isn't a reflection of my teaching, i dont think. not when i have given the material, taught the material thoroughly, and have even gone as far as to spoonfeed some of you hopeless cases." changbin ends his rant with a sigh, shaking his head.

you cant help the feeling that settles in the pit of your stomach. fear? respect? then why were your thighs clenching at how angry your teacher was? and why the fuck is han jisung's hand in between your thighs?

"ji," you warn him, gently wrapping your fingers around his wrist, trying to pry his hand away.

"trust me." the boy beside you whispers, leaning closer to you, mouth right next to your ear as he presses a sneaky kiss just below your jaw. you exhale shakily, instantly relaxing when you feel jisung's knuckles brush against your clit over your panties.

"mr. kim." changbin suddenly calls.

your classmate stands, messy hair spilling out from underneath his cap, glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. seungmin, you think his name was. he was top of your class, and super cute.

"sir?" he asks, almost unsure.

"throughout history, powerful elites have dominated. can you tell me how the relatively less powerful and the truly disenfranchised fit into history?" changbin challenges.

you see seungmin gulp.

everyone's eyes are fixed on the exchange, despite how hard it is to watch. jisung isnt having trouble looking away though, it seems.

"jisung, what are you doing?" you hiss, feeling his skilled fingers roll your stocking down, middle finger catching the side of your underwear and pulling it to the side, allowing him access to your cunt.

"just following instructions, y/n." jisung whispers against your ear. you suddenly feel changbin's gaze on you, hard eyes staring right into yours as you feel a fire grow in the pit of your stomach. changbin smirks lazily at you, sending you a quick wink before he attends to the stuttering student who tries to answer his question.

you let out a gasp when jisung dips his finger into your entrance, collecting your slick and bringing it back up to rub on your clit. you hold on tightly onto his wrist as he gently rubs you, fingers circling your clit in a precise, practiced manner.

"ji," you whine, trying your hardest not to moan out when he lightly pinches your clit in between his pointer and his thumb. "why? are you.."

"sir said you needed to be thoroughly prepped."

your eyes roll back at the thought, and it doesnt help that jisung chooses that exact moment to sink two fingers into your wet heat.

"a-and as sad- er unfortunate as it sounds, there is a need for that clear difference in power, it is vital in balance, n-no matter how ideal a perfect world sounds, there are just too many factors affecting the dynamics. and- and"

"thats enough," changbin raises his hand, giving the student a tight lipped smile, offering him a break. "thank you, mr. kim. you aced the test, by the way."

seungmin sighs in relief, dropping back into his seat as his seatmate, hyunjin, pats him on the back.

"mr han." changbin suddenly calls, and you freeze.

jisung doesnt, fingers slowly pumping in and out of you. "yes sir?"

changbin smirks. "in discussing nationalism, historians are divided over whether or not people had any sort of national identity prior to the nineteenth century. what are your thoughts?"

jisung curls his fingers upwards, hitting your spot. you have to choke back a moan, now that everyone's eyes were fixed on the back of the boy's head. jisung starts to answer, but you honestly cant even understand what he's saying, not when he keeps his fingers in you, opting instead to rub insistently against your g-spot. you have to bite the back of your hand, leegs slightly shaking when he doesnt give you a break, fingers really digging into you harshly, his thumb resting comfortably on your clit and giving it a tap every now and then.

"so while there is evidence that points to people developing awareness to national identity in the nineteenth century, i believe that people have always had a sense of national identity, whether or not they knew what it was. id like to argue that its instilled in us somehow the moment we are born and declared as a citizen of our nation." jisung finishes smoothly, feeling you start to clench around his fingers.

"interesting take, mr. han. miss... y/n?" changbin calls out your name and you want to scream.

"s-sir?" you ask, breathless. changbin scoffs at the needy tone of your voice, making his way to stand directly in front of the table you share with jisung. his eyes flicker to the way jisung's arms subtly moves against the table, that if anyone were to look under, they'd see your pretty pussy being split open by your classmate's fingers underneath his hoodie.

your eyes are tearing up from how good jisung is making you feel, thumb now circling your clit.

god you feel like you could cum any moment.

"are you alright, miss y/n? you're looking... flushed. do you have a fever?" changbin asks with a subtle smirk, leaning down to press his hand against your forehead. his fingers gently push back the strands of hair that stick to your forehead due the thin sheet of sweat that formed there.

"i-im doing just.... fine! i-im.. i'm fine, sir!" you squeak, praying to any god up there to help you hold it in, to not cum in front of your whole class as they watch you with concern.

"oh but you're burning up." changbin coos with fake sympathy. he crouches next to you, hand coming down to harshly grip your thigh as he leans forward, whispering into your ear.

"cum now and you're not getting any cock later. understood?" changbin hisses, and you start to feel tears pool in your eyes.

"b-but sir." you whimper, fingers wrapped tightly around jisung's wrist in an attempt to stop him.

"don't fucking stop." changbin warns lowly at the boy beside you, who obeys. "baby," changbin coos, pretending to explain something to you so as not to arouse any suspicion from the rest of the class. "none of that attitude, understood? obey and i promise to fuck you real good later."

you want to throw up, trying so hard not to fall part, but jisung's fingers are like fucking magic, never missing your spot and filling you up nicely. you feel like you're about to pee, fear running through you at the thought of possibly squirting right here, in front of everybody.

"any questions?" changbin suddenly straightens up, addressing the rest of the class.

he's met with silence and a couple of students who can't seem to meet his gaze.

"good. now get the fuck outta my class." changbin sighs, walking over to his desk and pretending to arrange papers. you stay as still as possible watching as other students hurriedly stuff their books into their bags, slinging it over their shoulder, eager to escape the tension.

the last student closes the door behind her with a gentle snap, the sound travelling straight to your pussy at the prospect of what was about to come.

"she cum yet, jisung?" changbin asks, not even looking at either of you, gaze fixed on the papers on his desk.

"not yet, sir. she's holding it in like a fucking champ." jisung coos, pulling his fingers out of your dripping core. you feel like your clit is on fire, thighs shaking at the loss of jisung's touch. he brings his fingers straight up to his mouth, tongue flicking in between his digits to lap at your juices.

"did i say you could have a taste?" changbin's voice is stern as he slams his palm on the table, making you both jump.

"n-no, sir." jisung whimpers, wiping his hand onto his pants.

"you'll need to learn your manners, yes? quickly." changbin addresses him, to which the younger male nods sheepishly.

you still feel like you're about to cry, pussy painfully clenching around nothing as sobs threaten to break through. changbin coos at your state, walking over to place a hand on your head.

"you've been such a good girl for me." he praises, kissing the side of your face. you cant do anything but whimper, hands reaching out to clutch onto your teacher's shirt.

"sir, please. wanna cum so fucking bad." you sob, delirious with the delicious pain of neglect, your cunt throbbing with want.

changbin hums at you, gentle hands wrapping around your body, lifting you out of the seat with ease. "jisung, lock the door."

jisung obeys instantly, scrambling out of his seat to lock the door and cover the tiny window with a piece of paper.

you cling onto changbin, arms wrapped around his shoulder, legs trapping his waist against you. he walks you over to his desk as if you weigh nothing, setting you down on the corner of the table and gently prying your arms away from his neck.

"shh, baby. promise ill give my good girl what she wants." changbin soothes you, and you dont even realize you're crying. the sight makes changbin's cock twitch in his pants, fingers reaching up to your face, thumb swiping over your tear before bringing it to his mouth. he moans at the salty taste, making you freeze.

"look so pretty when you cry, baby. almost wanna make you cry some more." changbin confesses, leaning closer to finally place his lips on yours. the kiss is sweet, almost as if he's comforting you and apologizing for putting you through the sweet torture. his tongue darts out and licks along your lower lip, teeth gently sinking into you. you wince as he pulls away, bottom lip still in between his teeth.

he only smirks at you, hand moving to your nape, making it easier for him to hold you against his face. "jisung." he suddenly calls out to the younger male who watches from the side of the desk, cock painfully hard in his sweats as he watches you two make out.

"sir?' his voice is croaky, throat dry from watching you subtly try to roll your hips against changbin.

"come over here and take y/n's top off." he directs jisung, who rushes over to you, placing himself behind you.

it's an interesting and almost sinful feeling, having changbin's rougher hands grip onto your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the table so he slot himself in between your legs, bulge in his slacks rubbing against your dripping cunt. then there's jisung, gentle fingers trailing down your shoulder, reaching over to your front to unbutton your shirt painfully slow, taking his sweet time as he leans closer, pressing a soft kiss to your exposed skin.

you don't know where to put your hands, settling to place it behind you so you can lean back, making it easier for both men to grope you, changbin roughly gripping onto your ass and jisung hesitantly slipping his hands underneath your top to rest on top of your breasts. jisung pauses, as if remembering something.

"s-sir?' jisung asks, shifting his weight onto his other foot in fear.

"hmm?" changbin hums, too occupied with playing with the hem of your stocking, halfway rolled down your thigh thanks to jisung's earlier ministrations. he can feel the slick cover your thigh, sticky and warm. he rolls your stocking down impatiently, letting it fall to the floor before flipping up your skirt and grabbing onto your panties as well.

"can i- can i touch her? sir?" jisung asks for permission, biting his lip. he's usually always the one who takes control when it comes to sex, so the thought of asking someone else for permission is new to him. after all, he's never had sex with someone who so naturally demands dominance the way changbin does.

"yes, you may. good boy, asking for permission." changbin coos.

oh. jisung definetely liked that.

"sir," you whine, desperate for his attention. changbin chuckles condescendgly at you, once again pocketing your underwear and stuffing it into his back pocket.

"yes, baby?"

"want your cock, please?" you ask politely, knowing you'd be rewarded for your good behaviour.

"youve been such a good girl for me today, hmm?" he coos, finally undoing the button of his slacks and dragging down his zipper, pulling his cock out and letting it slap against his clothed abdomen.

your mouth waters at the sight, hands grabbing for changbin's hips, desperate to be stuffed. jisung moans from behind you, nipping and kissing at your neck. he's a little more shameless now, hands fully groping your tits over your bra, ripping your top off of you and letting it fall to the floor.

"cum anytime you want for me, hm?" changbin rasps, chuckling when you impatiently grab at his cock, aligning it with your entrance and pulling him closer. he fills you up with one thrust, hips hitting the back of your thighs. his thumb finds your swollen clit and you can't help but gush around him immediately, blaming how worked up you were from jisung's fingers, finding sweet relief from the tightly wounded knot in your lower stomach. you cum right then and there, silent scream escaping your mouth dropped in an 'o'.

"no fucking way." jisung gasps from behind you, hands stilling.

"oh, my poor baby." changbin scoffs in disbelief, grip tight on your hips as he helps you ride out your high.

you're too relieved to feel embarrassed, hand flying to grip onto changbin's shirt. he continues to thrust into you, fingers digging painfully into your hips. you let him do whatever he wants to you, taking whatever he's generous enough to give you. jisung is having a harder time being content, though. it feels its a little unfair on his part, only getting to massage your tits over your bra, kissing your neck. he feels left out, wants your attention.

"y/n, baby." jisung whispers in your ear, followed by a soft kiss to your jaw.

"y-yea, sung?" you moan, hand reaching out to lace your fingers with his.

"wanna kiss you." jisung whines lowly against your neck, eyes fixed on the way changbin's cock repeatedly sinks into you before he pulls out to the tip, just to slam all the way back in. for a fleeting moment, he wonders how it feels.

"awh sungie feels left out," changbin mocks, picking up the nickname you use for him. "how about you turn over so you can kiss him, hmm sweetheart?"

jisung's breath hitches at the thought, and he watches with hooded eyes as changbin pulls out of you, much to your dismay. changbin roughly flips you over by the hips, pushing you against his desk so the edge bites against your skin. changbin's hand comes down harshly on your left ass cheek, making you jolt forward with a yelp. he chuckles, gently rubbing the now red skin.

"show sungie some love, baby." changbin mumbles, easing into you once more, making the both of you groan at the contact.

but its so hard to think when changbin rocks into you so fucking good, dick hitting spots you didnt even know existed.

"baby, come on." jisung whines, reaching behind you to finally unclasp your bra, letting it fall forward and freeing your tits. he whines at the sight, tits bouncing with changbin's every thrust.

you can't think straight, you feel bad for leaving jisung out but you cant fucking help it when changbin's just fucking you so good. you muster your strength to rest on your palms, arching your back even more for changbin, looking up sweetly at jisung.

"kiss me, sungie. please?" you beg with wide eyes, and jisung thinks he could cum at the spot. he always thought you were so pretty, always smiling so sweetly at him whenever you'd pass him by in the hallways, always so kind and speaking to him in a voice so sweet. he mentally wants to punch himself, here you are in the lewdest position he could think of, getting fucked from behind with your tits spilling out and drool pooling at the corner of your mouth, yet all he can think about is kissing you so good he hopes to take your breath away.

so he leans forward, hand cupping the side of your face, palm gentle against your cheek. his lips are soft and full against yours, tongue poking out shyly to taste your bottom lip, making you whimper into his mouth.

"wait, wait, im gonna cum again." you whine against jisung's lips, making him groan.

"beg for it." changbin grunts, grip on your hips so tight it almost hurts.

"please sir, need to cum so fucking bad. wanna cum on your cock, please?" you pull away from jisung to look back at your professor, pout so pretty on your lips he couldnt deny you if he tried.

"cum for me then, cum real good on my cock." changbin commands, fucking you harder, faster, to help you reach your high. your thighs are shaking from trying to keep you up for so long, and you would have collapsed face first onto the table if it werent for jisung, who harshly crashes his lips against yours to swallow your sweet moans.

"fuck, gonna cum in you. you'll take it like a good girl, wont you?" changbin grunts, ignoring your sobs of sensitivity as he thrusts even harder up into you, anchoring your hips against his as he ruts desperately into you, grinding into you.

"mhm ill take it," you whimper, hands locking with jisung's as he plants open mouthed kisses on your skin. "'m gonna take everything you give me."

"such a good fucking girl for me. just a toy for me to use, right?" he hisses, thighs clenching ss he tries to hold his orgasm off, wanting to feel your tight walls around him for just a little while longer.

"yes, sir."

changbin cums with a low groan, hips stuttering harshly against you, fingers digging painfully into the soft flesh of your hips. you feel warmth shoot deep inside you, sighing contently when changbin softens inside you, slowly pulling out. jisung's eyes light up at the thought of having you next, but those eyes widen when changbin suddenly drops to his knees, spreading your ass cheeks apart and latching his mouth onto your hot cunt.

"bin, wait 'm sensitive," you whine, heat spreading across your cheeks when you hear him slurp, head spinning at how fucking dirty he is. his tongue dips into you, scooping his cum out and placing the hot, sticky liquid into his mouth. he makes sure to get every drop, really pressing his whole face into the space between your thighs, shaking his head side to side so his nose hits your clit.

he quickly stands up when he's done fishing for his cum, flipping you around and attaching his lips to yours in a beat. you moan at how nasty he is, pushing his cum into your mouth with his tongue. he makes sure to swirl his tongue around yours after, biting harshly onto your bottom lip before he pulls away.

"hold that in your fucking mouth." he growls, fingers weaving into your hair. "jisung get the fuck over here." he booms, voice demanding respect. the younger boy almost jumps over the table to obey, standing in between the two of you.

"y/n, get on your knees." changbin tells you, but he didn't really have to, not when hes gently pushing you to the ground by your head. you're face to face with jisung's crotch, his bulge so prominent against his sweats, the head poking out, a small stain near his hip.

"take his cock out, baby. i think it's time you show jisung just how much you like him. thank him for prepping you so well." changbin lets go of your hair, thumb sweetly caressing the side of your cheek. he steps back, settling down on the chair, hardening dick still out.

jisung's head is spinning at the sight of you. eyes looking up at him so sweetly, mouth open and swirling changbin's cum. he's so painfully hard, wants to shove his dick down your throat with no respect for your comfort. but he wants to be gentle, take his time with you.

you tease him, nimble fingers playing with the drawstring of his sweats, slowly undoing the tie. your eyes never leave his, rolling his sweats down, taking his cock out of his boxers where it springs into the cold air. he hisses at the temperature, knuckles turning white by his side unsure if he can touch you. you lean forward, pursing your lips and pressing a soft gentle kiss to his tip. your tongue darts out to lick at his slit, letting changbins cum trail down jisung's cock.

"fuck." jisung whimpers, the visual a little too much for him. white liquid dribbles down his shaft in thick globs, pooling at the base of his dick as you lean down to lick him clean. you finally take him fully into your mouth, mixed beads of precum from jisung's tip, changbin's cum, and your saliva mixing and trailing slowly down your throat. you swallow around jisung's dick, and he hisses, hands flying up to rest on your head. he quickly takes it back, but you whine, grabbing his wrists and placing it back.

"this... this is okay?" jisung asks, making sure you're okay with it. you nod up at him, mouth tight around his tip, sucking harshly and making his knees buckle, fingers gripping tightly onto your hair.

you're so hyperfixated on jisung you miss the show changbin's giving, stroking his hard cock as he watches you struggle to fit jisung down your throat. he could get used to this, he thinks, watching your tiny fingers wrap around jisung's base. and then there's jisung, who changbin can't deny is attractive, head thrown back to show his adam's apple, chest heaving at how well you take his dick.

"y/n." jisung whimpers, pulling his dick out of your mouth. "i-i'm so close, can i fuck your mouth? please?"

"do it." changbin grunts from the corner of the room, catching your attention. he has a cocky grin on his face, fingers wrapped tight around his cock. "fuck her throat real good, sungie. she's our toy to use. aren't you baby?"

you nod shyly at changbin before you look up at jisung, who still looks hesitant. "it's okay, sungie. wan you to use my throat." you reassure him, hands coming up to rest on his thighs, nails lightly scratching him.

"fuck, okay okay. 'm gonna hold your head okay?" jisung says, and you nod. he's always wanted to try this, always cum so fucking hard when he watches shit like this on porn. but his senses are heightened because it's you, sweet little you who he's gonna do this with, your throat he's going to be ruining.

you open your mouth, letting your jaw go slack and taking a deep breath to relax yourself before jisung shoves his dick in your mouth, hands placed firmly on your head to keep you still. jisung moves forward slowly, experimentally rolling his hips until his tip hits the back of your throat.

"oh shit shit shit," jisung mutters, eyes rolling back at the feeling of your throat contracting around his sensitive tip. he pulls back just a little before he thrusts into your mouth again, a little harsher this time and making you gag.

"sorry." he whimpers, but he isn't, not really. in fact, he wants you to gag again. wants to make you choke on his cock. he pulls back again, thrusting into your throat so forcefully his tip goes all the way down. he lets out his loudest whimper yet, setting a pace that has him going insane. his gaze is fixed on you, eyes wet with tears and drool trailing down the side of your mouth. but he can't stop. he wants to cum down your throat, wants you to choke on his cum. god, he was sick.

you try your best to breathe normally, humming lightly whenever you feel jisung hit the back of your throat. it helps you refrain from gagging, and it adds extra vibration for jisung. but then he's cradling the back of your head, pushing you so far down his cock your nose almost touches his abdomen. you try to push him away by his thighs, but jisung doesnt let up.

"please, please, stay. please, need to cum down your throat. please i'm so close y/n. fuck please please please." he whines, thighs shaking from how close he is. his whines are so pretty you can't help but listen, eyes squeezing shut as you feel his tip painfully hit the back of your throat. just when you feel like you're about to pass out, jisung lets out a high-pitched whimper, his hot cum shooting stright down your throat. you almost forget to swallow, choking a little before swallowing around him.

"oh fuck fuck fuck." jisung pants, letting go of your head and pulling his sensitive cock out of your mouth. you have to catch your breath, letting out a dry sob after finally getting air into your lungs. jisung kneels down in front of you, tilting your head up to meet his lips. he kisses you sweetly as an apology, moaning when he tastes him and changbin on your tongue. you kiss him back just as roughly, fingers winding around his soft hair and pulling tightly, making him whine. you're the one who pulls away to catch your breath, but jisung just continues down your neck, pulling you flush against his chest before he decides to sit down, bringing you to sit down on top of him. you're too busy making out with him that you don't even remember changbin's in the room with you until you hear him hiss, pulling away from jisung to catch the way changbin cums against his stomach, pearly white cum shooting from the tip.

jisung whines against you, asking you to kiss him again. you comply, softly placing your lips against his. he kisses you gently now, breathing heavily against you.

"thank you," jisung says shyly, forehead resting against yours.

"for what?" you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck as he looks up at you, eyes shining.

"for letting me cum down your throat?" he jokes, and you playfully punch him on the shoulder.

you peck him on the lips, a sweet act that makes jisung's cheeks go red.

"both of you did so good." changbin coos from his seat, cleaning himself up with a tissue and stuffing his cock back in his pants. he walks over to you, planting a soft kiss on top of your head.

you melt against him, cheek resting against his thigh as he cups your head against him. jisung, not one to be left out, leans forward and rests his head against your bare chest. you bask in the silence for a while, until you hear a stomach growl.

you're not sure whose it was.

you giggle, hand coming up to comb gently through jisung's messy hair. "maybe we should get some food." you suggest, and jisung looks up at you, hopeful.

"maybe we should clean up first." changbin huffs, offering you and jisung a hand to help you up. "my apartment is just a few blocks from here. you guys can clean up there if you'd like." changbin shrugs, walking away from you to his desk, gathering his things up and organizing them into his briefcase.

you look over at jisung, who bites his bottom lip thoughtfully. "i do feel kinda icky, what do you think?"

"yea, i could use a shower. i smell like cum." you joke, and jisung cringes.

"and then when we're all done. we can get some dinner. my treat." changbin smiles gently, and you swoon.

"sounds like a good plan to me," jisung shrugs. he suddenly remembers you're still bare naked, tits out in the open. he walks back to where you were both seated just an hour ago, picking his hoodie up and slipping it over your frame.

"you look nice in my clothes." he hums shyly, and you peck him on the cheek.

"your clothes smell good." you say, letting jisung lace his fingers with yours.

changbin picks your bra and top up from the floor, folding it neatly. he walks over to you, kissing the top of your head before handing your clothes to jisung, who shoves them into his backpack. changbin then throws his arm over you, hugging you to his side. "lets clean you both up, yea?"

"dibs on the shower." you say, as you all walk out, jisung squeezing your hand as he groans.

"we can always shower together." jisung suggests, wiggling his eyebrows up and down and making you giggle.

"i dont care who showers first or how you shower. just dont use up all my water." changbin sighs, turning all the lights off and locking the door of his classroom behind him.

#skz smut #changbin x reader #changbin smut #jisung x reader #jisung smut #binsung x reader #binsung smut #mean!prof changbin is literally the best trope ever dont @ me #perv! jisung is so cute #seung-mong!#feral for changbin FOREVER!#literally obsessed with changbin im gonna hurl

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ladamedusoif · 10 months ago

Text

Visiting - Chapter 12: If I Must Have A Future

(moodboard by @agentjackdaniels)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: Spring break comes to Barrow, and with it a European trip with major consequences for Ben and Lydia.

Word count: ~18k words (I'm so sorry but HEY LOOK THEY'RE BACK!)

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Warnings (chapter specific): Smut; quite a lot of smut really; oral sex (M and F receiving); unprotected but safe PiV sex; fingering; praise kink; very mild submission kink if you squint; self-esteem and body/weight insecurity; anxiety; angst; family dynamics; strong language; alcohol consumption; references to past instances of emotional abuse; fluff

A/N: Oh, boy. This was a labour of love. An incredibly important part of their story, and one that took me ages to get ‘right’. This is not the end of Visiting - I’m planning about three more chapters, which will not be as long as this one. So there is still more to come from Ben and Lydia.

I wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who was so kind and excited about the little Christmas one-shots I wrote for this pair - sometimes I feel like my dorks are the last kind of characters people want in this fandom, and it was lovely to see that they have readers who actually care (and even miss them!). Thank you too to everyone who voted in the poll about the chapter length. You wanted the full-on 18,000 words - you’re getting it.

And a special word for @agentjackdaniels, who screamed with me when we got one of the most Benergetic red carpet looks I’ve ever seen at the Emmys, who made my gorgeous new header image, and who has helped me see more times than I’d care to admit over the last few months that I matter and make a difference, especially around here. I hope I have done the same, too.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia’s story and background.

Chapter 11 - Chapter 13

Cross-posting to AO3 (and if you’re reading on there, too, and yelling along in the comments, love you!)

Further A/N at the end of the chapter.

The title of this chapter is a line from the Fontaines DC song “I Love You”, which is not terribly romantic, all told, but I heard it over the holidays and this lyric hit me hard: If I must have a future/I want it with you.

Taglist: FYI I’m retiring taglists as they are giving me so much trouble with people not getting notifications - follow me on @ladameecrit and turn on notifications. But just in case: @agentjackdaniels, @tessa-quayle , @vermillionwinter , @iamskyereads , @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247 , @love-the-abyss, @javierisms, @fuckyeahdindjarin , @littlemisspascal , @khindahra , @pedrostories , @readingiskeepingmegoing , @rhoorl , @red-red-rogue , @princessanglophile , @katareyoudrilling @survivingandenduring , @trulybetty @fictionismyreality @sunnywithachanceofjavi , @joeldjarin , @lahoozaherr, @s-u-t, @its-nebuleuse

“We will shortly be beginning our descent. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”

You have never been one for sleeping on planes. Ben, on the other hand, has been snoozing away for the last two hours, the thin airline blanket comically small on his broad frame.

You put a hand on his arm to gently rouse him. “Love? We’re almost there.”

He blinks awake, eyes sleepy and hair askew, and stretches out his arms. “Mmmmfff. Hi, Lyd. You excited?”

“Yeah, I am. I’m really looking forward to seeing them.”

You’d mentioned the trip shortly after Valentine’s, during a conversation after dinner about plans for the spring break.

Your spring visit home had been booked since well before Christmas. A few days at home, visiting your family and catching up, and then to Paris for a week of tying up loose research ends and some vacation time.

It sounded blissful at the time. Now, your anticipation was tempered with disappointment at the prospect of leaving him here.

“So, uh, what are you doing for spring break, love? You going west, or…”

He shrugs. “Ordinarily I’d try to get a few days in San Francisco. But everyone’s got plans and is out of town on various trips, so there’s no point.” He looks a little resigned. “So it’s time catching up on work and my reading here, I guess. Maybe do some prep for directing the student play after the vacation. When are you back from your trip?”

There’s a nervous knot in your stomach. Just ask. Just do it.

“Could you take your reading and directing prep on the road?”

He looks perplexed. You take a deep breath.

“What if you came with me?”

Ben’s eyes widen. “Come with you? To see your family?”

Oh, fuck. You’ve pushed your luck. This is too weird.

“No, don’t worry about it.” You stand up from the table and pick up your plates. “I just knew I’d miss you but it’s probably too much. It’s fine. Forget I said it.”

He follows you into your tiny kitchen and leans against the doorframe. “What if I wanted to come?”

“Wanted? I mean, you seemed totally stunned that I’d even ask.”

He shakes his head and smiles gently. “Not stunned, as such. Surprised, maybe? But not in a bad way.”

“Why surprised, then?” You cross the small linoleum floor and wrap your arms around his waist. He blushes, tucking his chin against his chest bashfully.

“I dunno. Just that you want to bring me home with you? It… it means a lot to me.”

“It means a lot to me just to ask you, love. But you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

He looks at you with those big dark eyes and you feel your heart swell. “But I think I’d like to. As long as that’s okay with your family, of course? I don’t want to be in the way.”

You laugh and raise your eyebrows. “In the way? I think they’d be more excited about seeing you than me.” You rest your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “You know they think you’re great, you’ve been on the video calls. My mother asks me more about you than she does about myself.”

He wraps an arm around you and kisses the top of your head. “It’s different in person, sometimes.”

You shake your head. “Mmmm, I don’t think so in this case. You haven’t been dealing with daily queries about the welfare and wellbeing of Ben Morales. And no, she doesn’t yet seem to realise she can just call you by your first name.”

He chuckles and holds you closer. “Guess I’d better go book some flights, huh?”

Ben pushes the luggage cart towards the sliding doors and out into the bright, bustling Arrivals area, where families wait excitedly at the barrier to greet their loved ones.

“LYDIAAAAAAAA!”

You immediately spot your parents, standing right in the centre of the barrier, aligned with the sliding doors. It’s still very early in the morning and you wonder how long they’ve been here, waiting at the perfect spot to see the two of you emerge.

You give Ben’s arm a reassuring squeeze as the two of you walk towards your excited family. “You’re not a stranger, love. They already love you. Remember that.”

Ben has barely exited the arrivals area when he’s enveloped in a warm embrace by your mother, who seems to have forgotten you entirely. Your father puts an arm around you and smiles widely while your mother coos over Ben. “And Ben Morales! Welcome, welcome. We’re so delighted to have you.”

Your mother has had her hair done and is dressed in an outfit that feels somewhere between “weekday lunch at a nice restaurant” and “Sunday best”. She’s also using what you and Kate refer to as her “telephone voice” when she speaks to Ben, more clipped and flatter than her usual tones.

“Mom, he knows what you sound like normally, you don’t need to put on the fancy accent.” You hug your father tightly and notice that his eyes are shining. He’s similarly neatly dressed, wearing a nice smart-casual pair of pants and a matching shirt and v-neck light sweater.

“I am talking normally!” your mother fires back, followed by a tinkly laugh as she tilts her head and smiles at Ben. He smiles broadly, though you know he’s shattered, and your mother gives you a look that says “See? Ben likes me.”

Your father shakes Ben’s hand before embracing him. “The two of you must be exhausted,” he says, arm still wrapped around Ben’s shoulders. “Let’s head to the car.”

Ben and your dad lead the way, your mother reaching for your hand and giving it a warm squeeze as you walk companionably a few steps behind.

“Welcome home, pet. I’m delighted he’s here too. We’re so happy for you.” She looks ahead and appraises Ben’s broad frame as he pushes the luggage cart and chats to your father.

“Grand big man, isn’t he?”, she says approvingly. “Don’t look at me like that, Lydia!”

“There’s milk there and bread and tea and coffee and a few biscuits and butter and a couple of bags of crisps and -“

“Mom, we’re fine. We’ll take care of ourselves. Okay?”

Your mother throws up her hands in resignation. “Alright! Just wanted to make sure you didn’t starve.”

Kate, Marc, and their little girls have taken over your parents’ house for the duration of renovation works on their own home, and in the interests of space (and your sanity) you’d booked a small holiday flat in your hometown for the visit. Now, with Ben in tow, the privacy of the flat was even more welcome.

“Thank you. I mean it. Now, can we please go and get some rest?” You hug her tightly and she kisses your cheek, before looking in Ben’s direction.

“Of course. We’ll see you later, though? For something to eat? Kate and Marc and the girls are that excited to see you, I think they might burst.”

You stand beside Ben, bringing your hand to the small of his back, and wave your parents off as they return to the car. They’re not even out of earshot when you hear your father saying “He wouldn’t let her lift a single bag! Not one! Helped her all the time. Lovely chap. Very nice. Far cry from the other fucker…”

Subtlety has never been their strong point. You just hope Ben is too jet-lagged to have heard what they said.

A relaxed family meal, she said. Nothing special, she said. Come over in the early afternoon. It’s just like a Sunday lunch, she said.

Your mother is reading Ben a list of menu options that’s longer than in some restaurants. His eyebrows rise and fall as he takes it in and considers the possibilities.

“Honestly, Mrs -“

“MARIE. I told you.”

“Honestly, Marie, I’ll just have whatever everyone else is having. It all sounds great. Do you need any help in the kitchen?”

“I most certainly do not. You can have whatever you want. You are the guest.”

“Seriously. Whatever’s easiest.” He looks nervously at you and speaks in a low voice. “What is easiest?”

You shrug. “Probably the beef.”

He beams at your mother and tells her he’ll have some beef. She tilts her head, smiles delightedly at him, and does that tinkly laugh again before returning to the kitchen.

The meal is delicious but, inevitably, chaotic. Your three-year-old niece Cora, who had insisted on sitting between you and Ben (Benjamoo, as she persisted in calling him), realises quickly that the family-style service meant she could help herself to her favourite sides as and when she wanted, chubby little hands rapidly making a mark on the mashed potato and carrots. Your mother keeps asking if the food is hot enough. Kate and Marc try to talk to Ben while corralling little Evie and making sure she gets fed.

Your father, meanwhile, veers between talking delightedly to the little girls and engaging Ben in a rapidly-shifting conversation that covers San Francisco, transatlantic flights, whether Ben liked sports, and a detailed description of the plot of a film he’d watched the week before. You couldn’t work out which film it was, but you knew it had Kevin Costner in it. Mostly because your dad kept referring to him as “Kevin Costner”, rather than by the character’s name.

You rest a hand on Ben’s knee, under the solid dining table your father had made for the family home when you were barely two.

“You doing okay? I know we’re a bit much…”

His warm hand covers yours and he smiles softly.

“I’m great, Lyd. And you haven’t been to a Morales family meal yet - now that’s a bit much. Just you wait and see.”

You grin and lean your head affectionately on his shoulder for a moment, winding your fingers through his, never noticing the conspiratorial, knowing look exchanged between Kate and your mother.

You and Ben insist on clearing the dishes, making short work of loading the dishwasher before your parents can tell you off for letting the guest do the chores. Through the kitchen window you see Cora running towards her little plastic play house, on temporary loan to your parents’ back garden while Kate and Marc’s building work is being completed. Kate follows swiftly behind, waving a soft fleece jacket at her daughter.

After wrangling Cora into her jacket, she appears at the back door. “Cora wants to know if Ben can come and visit her tea shop. Not you, Lyd. She was very clear about that. Only Benjamoo.”

He smiles happily and puts down his dish towel, before making a sympathetic face at you and kissing your cheek. “Sorry, Lyddie. I guess I better take up my invitation.”

It’s a hilarious and adorable sight: Ben, sitting cross-legged on the mat beside Cora’s house, hair a bit messy and eyes still a little tired behind his glasses, broad-shouldered in his grey Berkeley sweatshirt and decidedly out of proportion to the pink-and-white plastic cottage. You can hear him giving Cora his order and talking rapturously about the “tea” she serves him in a little pink cup, while she giggles and claps her hands.

Marc and your father arrive in the kitchen, your brother-in-law carrying little Evie in his arms. “Evie thinks she’s missing out on the fun with Ben and Cora,” he announces, opening the back door. “And we want to make sure Cora doesn’t try to force-feed mud cakes to your boyfriend.”

You’d been so nervous about this - not because you thought your family wouldn’t like Ben, or vice versa, but because by definition the first visit to your partner’s family feels a little like an audition of some kind. It has the potential to go horribly wrong, no matter how well prepared you are, or how many video calls you’ve had over the last couple of months.

But here he is, now, integrated happily into your close-knit family of origin, getting on famously with your parents, sister, and brother-in-law, and making your beloved little niece laugh like a drain as he pretends to drink from her toy teapot. Like he was always here. Or always meant to be here.

There’s a surge of emotions in your chest: deep love and affection, above all, but with it a reminder that your future together is by no means assured. Assuming, of course, that he wants a future together.

“He’s good with kids, isn’t he?”

Kate’s voice startles you. “Where did you come out of?”

“I’m stealthy when I want, Lyd. Anyway, you haven’t answered my question.”

You throw a bombastic side eye in your younger sister’s direction. “I know what you’re getting at.”

Kate shrugs, the picture of innocence. “I’m just observing.”

“Ben is a wonderful uncle. Just as I am a wonderful aunt. We like that. And that’s one of the things I love about him.” You lean on the kitchen counter, voice quieter. “So…what do you think?”

Kate arches an eyebrow in your direction. Your mother arrives in the kitchen with impeccable timing, as ever.

“What do I think of what?”

“You know what. Who. Him. Ben.”

Your mother laughs as she fills the kettle with water and puts it on to boil for some teas and coffees. She turns round to face her two daughters. “Well, Kate, I don’t know about you, but - he wouldn’t be for me.”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

Kate opens a cupboard and starts to take out some mugs. “I know what you mean, mom. Not really for me, either.”

“You know yourself, Kate,” your mother adds, finding a carton of milk in the fridge and filling a small milk jug, “Just not my thing at all.”

Anger spreads hot and warm across your face. “Good, because he’s not your fucking ‘thing’, he’s my thing and I can’t believe how two-faced you’re being. All sweetness and light and then saying he’s not really for you and -”

Your mother holds out a hand, expression deadpan. “Lydia, not everyone wants a man who’s kind and funny and genuine and clearly worships the ground his girlfriend walks on.”

“Exactly,” Kate chimes in. “Just because you love someone who’s really smart and nice and good with kids and is actually kind of cute in a dorky way doesn’t mean the rest of us do.”

For a moment, your confusion and anger doesn’t quite let you hear what they’re saying. “I’m not asking you to be in love with him, I’m just - oh. Oh.”

Marie and Kate burst out laughing.

“Well, fuck the two of you. Forty-two years and you’re still winding me up.”

Your mother wraps you in a warm cuddle. “Ah, poor Lyd. We’re sorry. We just couldn’t resist.”

“He’s so lovely, Lyd,” Kate adds, embracing you from behind. “I mean it. Marc thinks so, too. I know I said at Christmas that he looked like he’d been engineered in a lab for you and it looks like I was right. And Ben’s even cuter in the flesh, not that I notice such things.” She coughs for dramatic effect. “What with being a married mother of two.”

“And he loves the bones of you, darling girl,” your mother whispers. “And sure, why wouldn’t he?”

“I don’t know about you, love, but I’m shattered.”

Ben glances over at you and wraps his arm around your shoulders, bringing you in to nuzzle against his chest. He holds up his copy of the script for Samuel Beckett’s Endgame, multicoloured tabs fluttering like tiny flags.

“I’m just going to work through one more scene, is that okay?”

You hum contentedly. “Of course, love. How’s it going, anyway?”

He flicks through a few pages, scanning his notes and annotations. The comparative literature students put on a play every year, towards the end of the second semester, and Ben had to step in at short notice as director after a colleague in French fell ill. “It’s a relief we’re doing it in the English translation, put it that way. I just don’t know why Jen thought I could take this on, after Michèle went on sick leave.”

You idly rub his tummy and kiss his side through his old shirt. “Because she knows you’re great and talented and the students love you, Mr Director.”

He huffs a laugh, marks up another section, adds a tab, and closes the book before taking off his glasses and shuffling down the bed and wrapping his free arm around you. He kisses the top of your head and holds you tight.

“Thank you for bringing me home with you.”

You open your eyes and glance up at him. “Sure they haven’t put you off?”

“It would take a lot to put me off, Lyd. Anyway, they’re great. It - it meant a lot, to be welcomed like that, by the people you love.”

He looks down at you, and you place a light kiss on his jaw, smiling at the bristle of his beard against your lips. His gaze is solemn and intense as he reaches for your hand.

“I’m serious about this, Lyd. About us. You know?”

“I know. I’m serious about us, too. Deadly serious, in fact.”

He smiles, eyes shining, and kisses you, soft and slow, pulling you closer and working a path of kisses down the side of your neck as your body writhes against his. Tiredness is forgotten, for the moment, as you slip your hand inside the waistband of his loose boxers and tug them down, fingers wrapping around his cock. Ben sighs against your chest as you stroke him, his mouth finding your nipples as his long fingers trace the wetness building between your legs. With one leg hitched across his, you angle your hips just so and guide him inside you as he whispers your name against your ear.

After you’ve made love, Ben falls asleep mid-cuddle, and you tuck yourself against him and close your eyes. But sleep doesn’t come easy. You should be delighted, after the beautiful day you’d had. But there’s an anxiety building in the back of your mind that you can’t quite shake.

Serious this relationship may be, but spring will soon turn to summer, and with it the prospect of being separated indefinitely by an entire ocean and several time zones. Kate was wont to remind you that you “could just do distance for a while”, and she meant well. It was intended to reassure you.

The problem was, the more you thought about what that option would actually mean, the less comfort it provided.

Over the next couple of days, you introduce Ben to the world of your hometown, to the places and people that shaped you. It is strange, at first, to see him, whole and present, in the spaces that defined your childhood. But it is a beautifully intimate thing, sharing memories with someone you love. You lay yourself even more bare before them, revealing the you that was before they knew you.

The two of you have, of course, shared so much about yourselves and your pasts with each other in the time since you met. But this was different. Walking with him, pointing out your old schools, old haunts, swapping memories and stories, introducing him to random relations you meet in the streets: you are quietly knotting the strands of your past - with all its love, loss, joy and sorrow - with the man who, you hope, represents your future.

Kate and Marc insist on bringing you to dinner one night. “It’d be wrong not to,” Marc had explained as you sat in your parents’ living room, Ben playing peek-a-boo with Evie while your mother looked on approvingly. “Sure we have built-in babysitting while we’re staying with Joe and Marie.”

Your mother’s expression shifted instantaneously, shooting daggers at your brother-in-law. “Cheeky.”

Your hometown is not known for haute cuisine, but Kate booked a table at the nicest restaurant in town and it has been a perfect evening: good food, decent wine, and the pleasure of seeing how well Ben, Kate, and Marc are getting along. You and Kate go to the bathroom at one point, and she eyeballs you as you top up your lipstick, side by side, in the mirror.

“Think he’s passed the audition, Lyd.” She pouts and blows a kiss at her reflection. “Oh, and guess what? We’ve got a special immersive cultural experience planned for the rest of the night.”

You swivel and glare at her. “And what does that involve, exactly?”

Kate picks up her handbag and does a little shimmy on the spot. “The Roxy, Lyd. The ultimate method of integrating your lovely Benjamin into your native place.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

The Roxy was once the town’s cinema, built in the 1940s and made redundant by the coming of the multiplex in the 1990s. Its owners had moved swiftly, though, and transformed the Roxy into a nightclub. It was a site of memorable nights out dancing with your friends, of crying in the bathrooms when you realised your crush was interested in someone else, of bad kissing, of telling random men to fuck off when they told you to smile, of screaming with glee when “Hey Ya” came on.

If the Roxy was a taste, it would be peach schnapps and orange squash. Its smell, meanwhile, had lodged permanently in your memory: old cigarettes, sticky carpets, cheap aftershave, vanilla musk body spray.

She was not kidding. You and Kate sit on some banquette seating in a corner of the Roxy’s lounge - which was just a separate floor with slightly better, more old-school music - and take in the completely incongruous sight of Ben, followed by Marc, weaving his way through the habitual crowd of locals with your drinks in hand.

“Vodka tonic for Lyddie, gin and tonic for Kate.” Ben places the glasses on the table and nestles in beside you, giving your thigh a little squeeze. He reaches for his bottle of beer and raises it slightly. “Uh, cheers, I guess?”

Kate enthusiastically clinks her swimming pool-sized glass of gin and tonic off Ben’s drink. “Cheers! Now, you have to promise me you’ll dance. Otherwise it’s not full assimilation.”

You groan audibly and stir your drink with the straw as Ben chuckles. “C’mon, Lyd, you’ve got moves.” He raises an eyebrow at you mischievously.

You manage to stave off the inevitable for a while, finishing your first vodka tonic and about to suggest you go to the bar when a familiar opening melody sends Kate leaping out of her seat, excitedly grabbing her husband and beckoning to you.

“AS IT WAS?!? COME OOOONNNN LYYYYD!” Kate bellows back to you and Ben from the tiny dancefloor, where Marc is already showing off a move you can only describe as “rhythmic shuffling” while mouthing Harry Styles’ lyrics.

You look at Ben. He stands, removes his jacket, and offers you his hand, smiling expectantly. His hand rests gently on the small of your back as you join your sister and brother-in-law on the dancefloor, and he pulls you in to whisper in your ear.

“We can do better than them, can’t we?”

You laugh, leaning in as he wraps an arm around your waist, takes your hand, and helps you exorcise all those demons of heartbreak long past on the dancefloor.

As she clambers into a taxi in the early hours of the morning, Kate turns and yells “I’m telling mom you’re bringing a boy home with you from the Roxy!”, before collapsing in hysterics as Marc takes her hand and pulls her into the car. They grin and wave at you and Ben as it disappears up the street and back towards your parents’ house.

You lean against Ben as you walk back towards the little flat you’d rented for your stay at home, sighing contentedly as he drapes an arm around your shoulders.

“She’s right, though,” you giggle, “I’m actually bringing the hot boy home with me from the Roxy. I’ve come a long way from endless rejection and the odd bit of bad kissing.”

Ben huffs a laugh as you open the main door of the building and climb the stairs to the apartment. “Well, fuckin’ good.” He adds a sassy little head movement for emphasis.

“Excuse me?”

“Fuckin’ good. Because what would have happened to me if you’d been swept off your feet by one of those bad kissing boys back then?” He follows you into the little entrance hall and, for all his joking tone, there’s a vulnerability lurking in his beautiful eyes.

You cradle his face in your hands. “I’d have found you one way or another, Benjamin.” A coy smile crosses your lips as you take him in - danced out, hair mussed, and so stupidly sexy you still can’t quite believe he’s real.

Your fingers hook inside his waistband as you pull him tight to you, leading him into the living room and pushing him against the wall as you bring a hand to his crotch. “And I’d like to make the most of bringing the hottest man home from the club for once in my life, if you don’t mind. Especially seeing as he was worth the wait.”

Ben’s eyes widen and he half gasps, half chuckles as you undo his jeans and slip a hand inside his boxers, stroking his cock as you pepper his throat with tiny kisses. He leans down slightly to bring a hand under the skirt of your dress, hitching up the fabric and slipping two fingers into your panties to play with your clit as he kisses you: hungry, urgent, wanting.

But you’ve had something else on your mind all night. You break the kiss and begin to sink to your knees, hands around Ben’s waist for balance.

Your eyes flit up to meet his. “Let me make you feel good, darling.”

His breath hitches as he takes you in: hair a little messy, eyes wide and wild, lips slightly parted, the soft flesh of your tits rising and falling with your breathing.

“Fuck, Lyd, you’re amazing.”

“That a yes?”

He swallows hard and nods rapidly. “Fuck. Yes. Yes. Please.”

You lick your lips and smile as you carefully tug down the waistband of his boxer briefs. Your mouth presses into the softest, most sensitive parts of him: a kiss, a lick, a little nip to his belly; a course plotted down from his abdomen to the hardening cock you hold in your hand. You take him into your mouth, tongue swirling gently over the tip as you stroke him, revelling in the sensation and the moans of pleasure you’re pulling from the gorgeous man above you. Ben rests his hand on the back of your head and leans back against the wall, panting harder as you find your rhythm.

The ache between your thighs builds with his every grunt and groan. Your fingertips find your clit, rubbing little circles over it in a fruitless bid to find some relief. You ease his cock out of your mouth with a pop and Ben helps you to your feet before you take his hand and guide him to the couch.

You slip off your panties and encourage him to lie back on the sofa as you gather the skirt of your dress around your waist and straddle him. “Need to fuck you, my love.”

He grips the flesh of your hips and thighs, fingers pressing into your body as you take him inside you and begin to ride him, relishing the slow drag of his cock as you come undone. He looks beautiful underneath you, eyes wide and shining as he watches every move of your body.

“Fuck, Lyd,” he pants, smiling up at you. “You look incredible.” He reaches up and pulls down your neckline, groping your breasts and gazing at you like you’re the sexiest thing he’s ever seen: head thrown back, eyes closed, and vocal.

He begins to thrust up into you, finding a rhythm that complements yours, intensifying the sensation so much that you can’t help but cry out with pleasure.

“Yes, baby…fuck, that’s so fucking good, Ben, that’s fucking it, fuck!”

“Take it, Lyddie.” His dark eyes stare into yours, hands still gripping you firmly. “Ride me, take what you need…fuck, good fucking girl. I’ll give you whatever you need, whatever you want.”

And he knows what you need, in that moment. His thick fingers slip between your thighs and find your clit, circling it over and over as you keep on fucking him.

You come hard, the last flutters of your orgasm still working through you when Ben follows suit. He’s still inside as you bend forward to kiss him, trailing your hands over his beautiful face and through his damp hair. You rest on his chest and let the sound of his breathing start to steady you as he holds you close for a couple of moments.

“I love you so much, Lyddie,” he pants quietly, chuckling to himself. “You’re a hell of a woman.”

For your last day, Ben suggests that he might make dinner at the flat, as a gesture of thanks for your family’s hospitality. You suggest lasagne with some sides as a general crowdpleaser, borrow some dishes from your mother, and Ben gets to work while you lay the place settings.

The lasagne is cooking away happily when your mother arrives with Kate, Marc, and the girls. You look puzzled.

“Where’s Dad?”

Your mother rolls her eyes as Cora goes tearing off around the flat, Kate following swiftly behind. “He insisted he had to go to the football match tonight. Of course. Anyway, he said he’ll be here shortly.”

Ben emerges from the kitchen, clad in a navy and white striped apron you’d used back when you (briefly) did home economics at school. He kisses your mother and Kate on the cheek and hugs Marc, before bending down to give a delighted Cora a high five.

“I made you a present,” she says quietly, suddenly shy.

Ben brings himself down to her level. “A present? For me? That’s amazing.”

Kate rummages in her bag and produces a rolled-up piece of paper, handing it to Ben. “She did it all herself. Mostly.”

You stand beside him as he unfurls it and Cora looks down at her toes. The drawing features a large figure with a mop of dark wavy hair and a wide smile - “Benjamoo”, Cora points out helpfully - standing close beside a slightly smaller figure immediately recognisable as you. “Auntie Lyd,” she adds seriously, in case you weren’t aware.

The figures’ stick arms are touching. “Holding hands,” Cora says.

Ben looks at Cora, then up at you, and back to the little girl. “This is the best art anyone’s ever given me. I’m going to put it on my wall when I get home.” He stands, and reaches for your hand, noticing the tears threatening in your eyes. “Auntie Lyd will help. Won’t you?”

You nod and squeeze his hand. Cora starts to giggle and points at you and Ben.

“See? Holding hands.”

Ben and Marc pop out to the nearest supermarket shortly afterwards, when you realise you had neglected to buy garlic bread. You sit in the open-plan kitchen and dining area with your mother while Kate plays with her daughters in the living room.

“You alright, love?” Marie notices how you fiddle with the place settings and rub your fingers together, sure signs that something’s on your mind.

“Mmm? Sorry, I was miles away. Yeah, I’m… I think so.” You exhale. “I don’t know.”

Your mother gives you a little breathing room, waiting to see if you’ll open up more.

“It’s just… fuck. I don’t know. I - what the fuck are we going to do?”

She sighs softly and pats the back of your hand. “You and Ben?”

“Me and Ben. It’s spring break. And there’s no clear pathway about what we’ll do when my year in Barrow ends and I have to come back to my job over this side of the ocean.”

“Well, I mean… I know you hate the thoughts of it, Lyd, but have you talked about it? Kate’s right, you could always do long-distance for a while, until you knew what you both really wanted.”

You put your head in your hands. “We’ve said that we’re very serious about the relationship.”

“So then! There’s your answer. No?”

You look up at her mournfully. “Yes and no. Yes, we’re serious about each other. No, that doesn’t mean we have any idea how to manage the distance.”

Marie adjusts the salt and pepper cruets in the middle of the table. “People do it, Lyd. It’s a commitment but they make it work.”

You nod slowly. “I just don’t know if that’s what I want, at this stage in my life. We see each other every day. We’re practically living together.”

Your mother fans herself in mock horror. “And not a hint of a ring on the finger, goodness!”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Forty-two, mother dear. But yeah. I don’t know if I could go from that to not seeing Ben for weeks or a month or more at a time. Not now.”

“So what does that mean?”

You swallow hard. “I don’t know. One of us moves. He moves for me. I move for him. But that means trying to find a permanent academic job and in both places that’s like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“And if there’s no job? Distance as a temporary measure?”

You bite your lip. “But what if that’s still too hard?”

“So move.”

“But that means him giving up his life for me, or me uprooting for him, and being so far from all of you and from here and…” You look up at your mother, feeling like a scared little girl again.

“I love him so much, Mom. I never thought I’d love anyone like that. Never thought I’d even meet someone like that. And for him to love me in return…fuck.”

Marie shifts closer and wraps her arm around your shoulders. “I know, love. I know. You love the bones of each other. And it’s real love. Everyone can see it.”

“What do we do?”

“Lydia, I can’t tell you what to do one way or the other. Only you know what’s right for the two of you.”

You lean your head on your mother’s shoulder and she gives your hand a squeeze. “I know. It’s just - fuck, why does it have to be hard? Don’t I deserve things to work out, for once?”

“You do, pet. Of course you do. No one deserves it more.”

“Sometimes it feels crazy, y’know? This time last year I didn’t know Ben existed, and now -”

“Now it’s like you’ve known each other forever? Like you can’t imagine life without him?”

You turn to face her, and smile. “Exactly.”

“That’s love for you.” Marie purses her lips, thinking. “I’m only going to say one more thing. Your happiness.”

“Huh?”

“Lyd, for years you prioritised someone else’s happiness over your own. I know, I know, that fucker moved for you when you got the job away, I know that. But apart from that…it was all you. All you, trying to keep someone else happy and cracking under the strain.” She inhales and exhales, trying to curb the fury that still burns in her when she remembers how you were treated.

“All I’m going to say is this: don’t worry about anyone else, Lyd. Not me, not Dad, not Kate, Marc, the girls, your job - nobody. Well, worry about Ben. But above all, prioritise your happiness. We have ours over here. It’s time for you to find yours.”

You hug her tightly. “One final question.”

She nods and waits.

“What does Dad think of Ben? I know it wouldn’t change my feelings but given everything from the shitshow, I’d like to know he doesn’t absolutely loathe him.”

She looks at her phone and pushes away from the table, walking into the living room and opening the door of the flat. “Ask him yourself, Lyd. Here he is now.”

Your father comes into the kitchen, talking about something that happened at the local football match he’d attended that afternoon and eyes already locked on the kettle, his mind focused on making a cup of tea.

“Joe? Lyd wants to ask you something.”

You roll your eyes at your mother. “It’s not a big deal.”

He turns around, tea caddy in hand. He’s been to this flat twice, you think, and he knows exactly where all the tea-making equipment is kept.

“Alright. Ask away, Lyd. Are you alright? Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I just - Dad, what do you think?”

“What do I think of what?”

“Ben. Me and Ben, specifically. But also just Ben.”

Joe switches on the kettle and leans against the kitchen counter. “Sure, my opinion isn’t what matters. What matters is how you feel. Isn’t that right?” He looks to your mother for backup.

“I said that to her, but she said she wanted to hear from you.”

He takes a mug out of the cupboard and drops a square teabag into it. “Lydia, is everything okay? Are you having any doubts about him, is that it?”

You laugh and shake your head. “Not a one.”

“And you don’t think he’s having any doubts about you? Because if he is I’ll fucking -“

“No, Dad. He… he’s very clear about how he feels.”

Your father nods in satisfaction. “Well, that’s reassuring. Would be strange if he wasn’t, given how he is with you. At least, what we’ve seen here.” He pours the freshly boiled water over the teabag and opens the fridge in search of milk. “But the point stands. You love each other, don’t you?”

You aren’t sure if your father has ever been so open or explicit with you in asking about a romantic relationship. Perhaps, you wonder, he regretted not being more honest about his concerns over the years of your longest one.

“We do.” Your eyes fill with tears, unexpectedly. You swallow hard. “We love each other very, very much.”

“Okay then.” He stirs his tea vigorously, the metal of the teaspoon clinking off the stoneware mug.

“But I still want to know what you think. It matters to me. Especially - especially after the last time.”

Joe pulls out a chair and settles at the table, your mother reaching automatically for a coaster and sliding it under the mug. “Lyd, you know what I’ve always said. There’s not one person walking this earth who deserves our lovely Lydia. Not one.”

Your heart sinks a little, and you nod. You’ve heard this a lot since your ex cheated and fucked off. You never really believe it.

“But.” Your father pauses and sips his tea.

“But?”

He looks at you and reaches out to touch your hand. “But - that lovely man you brought home definitely comes very close indeed.”

Right on cue, the front door opens and you can hear Ben and Marc chatting companionably and laughing together. Marc does a silly little dance into the kitchen, waving the garlic bread around like glow sticks.

“Now, please don’t destroy the garlic bread before it’s even gone into the oven, Marc!”

As your mother grabs the bread and sneaks a peek at the lasagne, now browned to perfection, Ben pulls you in for a quiet word.

“Lyddie, are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

You lean against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. “I’m okay, darling. I just needed this. Needed you.” The oven timer pings and you look at him. “Time for Professor Morales to serve us his delicious lasagne. C’mon, we can plate up before my mother takes over.”

You thought goodbyes would get easier the longer you worked away from home, but the opposite turned out to be true. Your parents are doing their usual brave face routine at the airport: Joe clearly trying not to cry, Marie overdoing the levity to distract you and stave off her own sadness at seeing you go.

“Paris in the springtime, Lyd! It’ll be gorgeous. She’s a great tour guide, Ben, she knows it all.”

“She’s brilliant, Marie. But you knew that before the rest of us found out.” He reaches for your hand, holding it tightly as you start to feel the tears prickling.

He only lets go as you both embrace your parents in turn, Ben thanking them repeatedly for their kindness. Then, his fingers curl around yours again, holding you strong and steady at the entrance to departures.

“I love you both so much, you know? We’re so grateful.”

Your mother can’t hold back her tears any more, and her wet cheek presses against yours as she pulls you in for a final hug. “We love you so much. Both of you.”

She pulls away and holds your gaze. “Both of you. Remember what I said to you, Lydia. Remember that.”

You nod and give Ben’s hand a little squeeze. “We should probably head on through. Safe home - message me when you get back, okay? We’ll see you soon.”

You keep waving back with every sharp turn you take in the queue for security, until eventually your parents’ faces are obscured by the crowd behind you, and you face forward into the security area, still holding Ben’s hand.

“Paris par train ou Paris par bus?”

Ben shrugs as he pushes the luggage trolley. “You’re the expert, Lyddie. What’s easiest?”

You summon up the mental map of Parisian transport options that is always ticking over at the back of your mind. “Train is quicker but involves a change at Châtelet Les Halles - ugh - and then again at Bastille. Bus gets us to Opéra which means we can get right on to line 8.”

“Bus?”

“Bus.”

Ben stacks your bags carefully in one of the Roissybus’s luggage areas and exhales as he takes a seat beside you. “You know it’s been almost thirty years since I was in Paris?”

“Excusez-moi?”

He chuckles. “Came up on a very poorly-thought-out visit with some friends while I was on exchange in Málaga. Overnight trains, hostels, no money, cheap wine. I barely saw the Eiffel Tower, let alone anything else.”

The bus pulls out of Charles de Gaulle Airport and onto the motorway. You squeeze Ben’s thigh affectionately. “Isn’t it a good thing that you’ve come to Paris with a ready-made guide, then?”

He smirks and arches an eyebrow suggestively. “Oh, I’m really looking forward to doing some, er, exploring with her.”

“Is that so?” You move your hand ever so slightly up his thigh, smiling with satisfaction as Ben gasps a little and shifts in the seat. “I always like to try out new pleasures here, you know?”

A wiggle of your eyebrows has you both giggling, leaning against each other as the bus makes good progress towards the périphérique, the motorway that rings the city, and into Paris proper. You start to point out landmarks, locations, shifting into a stream of consciousness that spans history, personal memories, places to visit, and random observations.

Ben smiles to himself as he watches and listens, delighting in your joy and excitement as you prepare to see your old friend - to walk her streets, listen to her voice, and write another chapter in your long love story.

The advantage of Parisian connections: your friend Sophie offered you her apartment in the 11th arrondissement for the duration of your stay, as she was away in the south of France. You meet her upstairs neighbour outside the narrow, early nineteenth-century building on a quiet street just off the rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine and collect Sophie’s key, taking note of the door codes.

“Holy shit. Look at this place!”

Ben has carried the bags up the stairs - thankfully, Sophie’s flat is on the first floor - and followed you into the little apartment. You turn and grin when you notice how entranced he looks, staring up at the wooden beams in the tiny hallway, peeking out into the communal courtyard, tilting his head this way and that to check out the books on Sophie’s shelves.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” You pick up your suitcase and lead the way into the bedroom, sitting on the end of the bed as you take off your shoes and wriggle your toes happily.

“It’s incredible. Exactly what you might imagine a Parisian apartment to be.” He drops his own bags in the corner and joins you on the bed, flopping back onto the mattress and yawning.

You lie back and turn to face him, resting a hand on his stomach. “Let’s do some exploring. I know we’re tired, but I want to show you around, get some dinner, buy some wine…”

The featherlight touch of his fingers, working their way under your denim blouse and stroking the soft skin of your waist, sends delicious shivers through you.

“We could do some exploring here, right now…?” he asks, eyes twinkling and a smile on his lips.

“You know how tempting that offer is, Benjamin, but let’s restore our energy first, hmmm?”

Dinner is Vietnamese food from a tiny restaurant just around the corner, a staple favourite from your time living in the city, followed by a walk around the neighbourhood and a stop at a nearby supermarket, to stock up on some essentials and a bottle of wine. As you climb the stairs to the apartment, the fatigue from a day of travel and the underlying, gnawing anxiety about your future starts to hit you.

You should just say it to him. Ask him outright what he wants to happen.

You push the thought down, down, as deep as it will go as you settle on Sophie’s tiny sofa and watch Ben uncork the wine in the coin cuisine, the little kitchenette tucked into a corner of the living room. You spot a portable speaker tucked on one of the bookshelves and connect it to your phone, scrolling through your playlists until you find what you want.

“Never let it be said that you don’t cultivate an atmosphere, Lyd,” he says, handing you a glass of the purple-red wine and joining you on the couch. “Let me guess: this is a Paris-specific playlist?”

You hide your face behind one hand and peek at him through your fingers as he laughs, leaning in to kiss your cheek as Serge Gainsbourg’s ‘La chanson de Prévert’ starts to play.

He rests his head on your shoulder as you listen to the song together. It’s a favourite of yours regardless, but tonight, with the man you love so deeply but still fear losing nestled in beside you, Gainbourg’s plaintive melody and lyrics about lost love are like a punch to the gut.

“Lyddie?”

Ben is sitting up, looking at you with concern. “You look so sad, all of a sudden - you okay?”

“It’s just the song, it’s so –” You halt yourself. No. Time to say it.

“I guess I’m just really feeling how close I am to the end of my time in Barrow, that’s all.”

His chocolate-brown eyes soften and he wraps you in a warm embrace. “Still got plenty of time, Lyddie.”

“And then?”

“And then…?”

“What happens? To us, I mean.”

He looks surprised at the question. “We’ll be okay, one way or the other. Right?”

But what does that mean?

You’re too tired to ask the question, you tell yourself. In truth, you’re too scared to - not because you fear his reaction, not at all. Rather, it’s because you fear that your concerns might upset him.

Ben’s head has barely hit the pillow before he’s sound asleep, one arm draped loosely around your waist. For you, though, sleep is elusive, arriving only as the dawn starts to break over the city of light.

You wake, exhausted, to the aroma of fresh coffee brewing and the sound of Ben pottering around the apartment, humming the melody of “La chanson de Prévert” to himself. With a groan, you remember you’d planned to do some research today and force yourself out of bed.

“Bonjour, la belle Lyddie! Du café?” Ben waves a little espresso mug at you and you nod weakly.

He is bright and cheerful as he moves around the kitchenette, pouring the coffee and joining you at the tiny dining table that acts as a kind of divider between the kitchen and the rest of the living area.

“Did you sleep okay?”

You look up, and his face falls when he spies the telltale redness in your eyes. “I’m taking that as a no. What’s going on, Lyd?”

A fortifying sip of the strong coffee. You sit upright and look at him, studying his beautiful face. “Darling, I meant what I said last night. About how anxious I am, how scared of what comes next, the…uncertainty of it all.”

“But we know we’re serious about each other? We talked about it,” he replies, sipping his own coffee. “You know that. Don’t you?”

“I do. I really do. And we are, but -” you pause to gather your thoughts. “But that doesn’t mean there’s an answer for what happens when I have to go home, and that’s eating away at me.”

He looks at you kindly, but you can see the confusion written all over his face. “What do you mean, exactly, Lyd? Surely we can see if circumstances change over the summer, and if not then we do distance until stuff gets figured out. Right? Things are going to be just fine.”

It’s so tempting to smile and agree, but you can’t. You owe him honesty, as much as you want clarity.

“Is that really what you want?”

“Distance? It’s not ideal, but if it comes to it I think we can make it work and - Lyd?”

You have closed your eyes, fearful of tears falling.

Say it. Say it. Be honest with him.

“I - I don’t think I want a long-distance relationship.”

Ben makes no effort to hide his shock. “You don’t want a long-distance thing?” He shakes his head in amazement. “Even if that’s the only option for the moment?”

“I just want certainty, not constantly saying everything would be okay or we’d see what happens when we don’t know that things will be okay, or what’s going to happen. I want you, love. I want a life with you, you know that. Don’t you?”

“But you don’t want long-distance with me.” His brow furrows and his jaw ticks as he stares at the floor.

“I don’t know, I mean I just want what we have now, I don’t know if I could cope with the implications of that kind of distance and -”

He exhales sharply, exasperated, and reaches for his light cotton jacket. “So it’s all or nothing. You would rather have no relationship than even try distance, is that it?”

Fury and sadness mingle and build in your chest. “Ben, that’s not what I fucking said.” Your hands fall to your sides, defeated. “I’m just - fuck, I’m not finding the words right now.”

“Well, if you find them later let me know.” He opens the door of the apartment and pauses for a moment. “See you, Lyddie.”

You sit staring into space for a good half hour at your appointed desk in the print room at the Bibliothèque nationale, before you open the grey archive box of lithographs you’d called up for the day.

The ritual of research is familiar and soothing, a useful distraction from the memory of the argument that morning. You set out your camera and prepare your customary scraps of paper inscribed with the call number of the collection, to make it easier for you to match up images with notes when you return to the materials at home. Wherever the hell “home” is supposed to be, now.

Assess each print. Study it. Immerse yourself in the details before photographing it and writing up your observations on your laptop. Repeat over and over, add to your research materials and stave off the metaphorical wolves circling in your brain.

Your stomach starts to rumble just before one o’clock. The garden courtyard outside the building that houses the print room is busy, with researchers and visitors taking an al fresco lunch and chatting over coffee. Salad consumed, you take your phone out of the transparent plastic briefcase you are required to use inside the library.

No message from him. Nothing.

You decide to make a call. She should be on her lunch now, too.

“Lyd! How are you? How’s Pareeeeee?” Kate’s voice is cheery and comforting, and exactly what you needed to hear.

“Hiya… um, can you talk for a few minutes?”

She immediately knows there’s something wrong and her tone shifts. “Of course, always… Lyd, what’s happened? Are you okay?”

Deep breaths. “Kate, I think I need to make a decision and I’m fucking terrified.”

Kate pauses, aware that she doesn’t need to ask you what this is about. “Okay. Talk to me. Let’s work through it.”

BEN: When do you think you’ll be finished for the day? We should talk. I’m so sorry about this morning x

LYDIA: Probably by 4.30 or so. Do you want me to come meet you?

BEN: I’ll come to you. You want food? It’s a nice day for a picnic dinner.

LYDIA: It is. Dinner is your choice. Meet me at the rue Vivienne exit at 4.30 or so? x

BEN: You say that as if I know where that is… I’ll find it. See you soon, Lyddie. Love you.

Ben Morales leans against the railings of the Bibliothèque nationale and looks at his watch. He’s early, so he meanders across the street and wanders into the Galerie Vivienne, admiring the fine detail of the mosaic floors and brass light fittings that adorn the nineteenth-century covered arcade. He pauses at an antiquarian bookstore and print shop, perusing the selection of vintage postcards displayed in wooden crates outside.

He’s standing at the entrance to the arcade when he looks up and sees you coming through the gates of the library, somehow managing to carry a backpack, tote bag, and small cross-body handbag all at once.

You don’t notice him at first, instead turning your head in both directions as you look for him. Ben’s heart soars when he sees you, in spite of the nagging ache he’s felt in the pit of his stomach ever since the argument you’d had that morning.

He calls out to you from across the street, raising his hand in an enthusiastic wave, and a warm, delighted smile spreads across your face when you realise he’s there, waiting for you. He’s as impossibly handsome as ever in his navy blue shirt jacket, white tshirt, and jeans, tote bag slung over one shoulder.

You keep Kate’s words from your lunchtime conversation in the forefront of your mind. “You know what you want, Lyd. You know what you need to do.”

“Sorry, I got delayed on the way out of the print room and then it always takes longer to pack up than I’d anticipated and then I thought I should pop to the bathroom before I left and then -”

Ben interrupts your explanation with a kiss and a hug. “I’m so sorry, Lyddie. I’m sorry about this morning.” He pulls away and holds out a small, flat brown paper bag. “A peace offering.”

The bag contains a selection of vintage postcards of Paris, postmarked in the early years of the twentieth century: Notre-Dame, photographed from the Left Bank; the place de la Bastille; the facade of the Bibliotheque nationale you’d just left.

“Some of your favourite places, right?”

You reach for his hand and lean in for a kiss. “You know me so well. Thank you, my love, they’re beautiful.” You spot a larger brown paper carrier bag in his other hand. “Dinner?”

Ben smiles, holding out the bag for your approval. “I ended up getting a selection of stuff from one of the Asian takeout places near here. And I picked up a bottle of chilled white wine, and some paper cups. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect. Let’s go, Benjamin - dinner at the Palais-Royal awaits.”

“I have to admit, I did wonder when you said we were going to a royal palace. Didn’t seem very…Lyddie.”

Ben quirks an eyebrow in your direction. You giggle as you reach into the bag of takeout and retrieve boxes of rice, steamed buns, gyoza, and nems.

“I mean, technically it was a royal residence. But the gardens - where we are now - were public, as were the arcades and shops.” You set the boxes of food on a green metal park chair, serving as a makeshift table in front of your bench. “And it was an important location in the revolutionary period, so…”

He grins and opens the bottle of wine. “Ah! There it is. That’s my Lyd.”

His Lyd. Affection surges in your chest, and you place a hand on Ben’s knee, giving it a light squeeze as he pours some of the white wine into a paper cup and hands it to you.

He raises his own cup in your direction. “To my clever, revolutionary girl.”

You swap stories about your respective days as you dig into the food: Ben describing his informal solo tour of literary locations on the Left Bank, you talking through your finds in the print room. He shows you photos he took of Richard Wright’s apartment building, of the original site of Sylvia Beach’s Shakespeare and Company, and a selfie of himself looking completely perplexed at the plaque on the rue du Cardinal-Lemoine that refers to James Joyce as a “British writer of Irish origin.”

You burst out laughing at that one. “I’m so glad you found that. It annoys me every time I see it.”

“I sent it to Evan. He was not impressed.” He slips his phone back into his pocket and reaches for another spring roll. “And then I went and sat in the Luxembourg Gardens for a bit, worked over a little more of the play, thought about Beckett in Paris, watched the world go by. I remembered you said it was one of your favourite places to just sit and think.”

He smiles softly, almost shyly, at you, and with a pang you remember that some serious conversation lies ahead, no matter how tempting it is to sit here forever in the Palais-Royal, eating your picnic dinner and drinking your wine surrounded by the ghosts of writers and lovers and revolutionaries long past.

Lemon-scented wipes remove the residual traces of nems and dipping sauces from your fingers, and Ben stacks the empty food containers in the brown paper bag before topping up your paper cup of wine. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around you to hold you close.

He sips his wine and takes a deep breath. “I wanted to talk about earlier.”

You raise your head, turn to him, and nod. He rests a hand on your thigh, tracing circles with his index finger on your leg.

“I’m sorry if it ever felt like I was dismissing your worries, Lydia. I - well, I guess I was avoiding the issue. Like if I kept saying things would work out, they’d just… work out.”

You smile gently and reach for his hand. “Without having to make the hard call.”

He squeezes your hand and nods. “Exactly. But I did a lot of thinking about that today. About the future, about what I want - what you want.” He gives you a nervous glance.

“You were right, Lyd, long-distance couldn’t give us…I don’t want long-distance with you, either. I couldn’t, Lyd. I want what you said you want - a life, us, together. Like now.” He caresses your cheek with his thumb. “I can’t imagine anything else.”

You bring your hand to rest on his and close your eyes, feeling tears prickling against your eyelids.

He takes a deep breath. “Lyd, look at me.” Your eyes meet his, dark and warm and serious all at once. “Lyd, I - I want to spend the rest of my life with you. That’s all I want, and - fuck, I think I’ve known I wanted that for a while now.”

You open your mouth to respond and he shakes his head gently. “Lyddie - Lydia - I want to be with you, no matter what it takes.” Another deep breath. “And that’s why - if you want, of course, only if you want - I’ll move back with you at the end of the year. I’ve got some job alerts set up, I’ll find something, you know? I - I just want to be with you.”

“You can’t give up your whole life, darling.” Your voice is quiet as you take in the significance of what he’s telling you, what he’s offering. To his astonishment, you burst out laughing.

“What’s funny, Lyd?”

“I did a lot of thinking today, too. You know you’re all I want, don’t you?” You look at him expectantly, and he nods. “And I was going to tell you that - if you wanted - I would try to stay in the US, so that I could be with you. So that we could make a life together, plan our future.” You turn to him and grin. “But now it seems we’re still going to be on opposite sides of the pond, just with swapped continents.”

Laughter rises from Ben’s chest, emerging as a bright, wide smile and eyes crinkling with delight. He cups your face with his hands and kisses you, over and over, before pulling away abruptly.

“Wait. You said I couldn’t give up my life, but you want to give up yours? And you know Barrow doesn’t do partner or spousal hires…”

“I mean, it wouldn’t be giving up my life. It would be living the life I want to live, with the man I adore. That’s better, no?” You reach over to brush an errant curl off his forehead. “Anyway, I can look for a position within commuting distance, right? I’d rather that than feel I had got a job I didn’t really deserve.”

He blushes slightly and looks at you from under his lashes. “Even so. I meant it, I would follow you anywhere. I’ll go wherever you want me to be, wherever you want to be.”

“Okay. How about this?” You sit up a little straighter, hands resting on his. “We’re clearly both prepared to move. So…we both start looking for jobs, you near my place and me around Barrow, and whoever gets an appointment first - that’s where we go.”

Ben looks into the middle distance and nods, turning over the proposal in his head. “That sounds like a plan, baby.”

“Then it’s a deal?”

He grins and kisses you softly. “It’s a deal.”

The evening is bright and warm as you meander hand in hand through the narrow streets of the Marais, heading east, homeward bound.

You spot a buzzy corner café and nudge Ben. “How about a drink, darling? Something bubbly, maybe?”

He smiles, and you know his eyes are sparkling behind his sunglasses as he squeezes your hand and follows your lead towards one of the small round tables arranged outside the café. The server is typically Parisian: efficient, polite but not overly familiar, and they take your order and return promptly with two glasses of champagne and little dishes of olives and mixed nuts.

“À nous deux, Paris!” Ben clinks his glass to yours and you giggle as the first sip sends bubbles bursting on your tongue.

“Quoting Balzac in the original French?! Where were you all my life, Benjamin?”

He shrugs and smiles to himself. “Could ask you the same question.”

Long, thick fingers begin to rub circles on the flesh of your thigh, feeling the heat of your skin through the light fabric of the button down sky blue shirt dress you’re wearing. You echo the gesture, tracing patterns on the back of his hand, and your expression becomes more serious, more intense, your voice quieter.

“I love you, Ben.”

He squeezes your thigh gently. “I love you, Lyd.”

Sipping champagne and nibbling on the snacks, you watch the world go by, content and cosy in the little bubble that is just you and him. You’re checking your appearance in the bathroom mirror when a realisation sweeps through you. Your eyes widen, mouth forming into a little “o” before stretching into a happy smile as you ascend the stairs from the basement to the main café and rejoin Ben at the table.

“So something occurred to me.”

He chases the last olive around the dish with a cocktail stick. “Mmmmm?”

“We’re doing this, aren’t we? We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. That’s what we’ve said we want. Right? I didn’t imagine that?”

Ben lifts his head, puts down the cocktail stick, and looks into your eyes with a bemused smile on his face. “No, you didn’t. And yes, we are.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles broadly. “And isn’t it fucking wonderful?”

You nod excitedly and a surge of laughter erupts from both of you, quietened only by a warm, passionate kiss. You break away and run your fingers through the messy strands of hair around his forehead.

“I know people might think it’s soon, love. But… it’s not. I know.”

“I know too, Lyddie. When you know, you know.” He reaches for your hand and brings it to his lips. “And to be honest, I don’t think anyone who knows us will think it’s too soon.”

The server returns to take the empty glasses and dishes. “Autre chose?” [Something else?]

Ben winks at you mischievously and orders two more glasses of champagne.

The walk back to the apartment should have taken about twenty minutes. Or at least, it would have had you not both been tipsy, incredibly happy, and unable to keep your hands off each other.

It takes just under an hour for you to get from the Marais back into the heart of the faubourg Saint-Antoine, stopping here and there along the way to indulge in some making out in quiet side streets and passageways.

“I’m so glad there’s only one flight of stairs,” you hiss theatrically, Ben trailing a hand over your ass as you reach the landing and the door to the flat.

Once inside, you pull him tight to you and move swiftly in the direction of the small bedroom, fingers already hooked inside the waistband of his jeans as he holds your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, tongues sweeping over each other and lips pressed together so hard you swear they’ll be bruised by morning.

“Sit on the end of the bed, baby.” He nods and follows your instructions, undoing his jeans as he watches you standing before him.

You start to unbutton your dress, keeping your eyes on him as you ease it off and let it fall to the floor. Ben’s eyes roam slowly over you, mouth falling open slightly as he takes in the floral print of your panties, the light blue lace of your bra, the softness and curves of your body.

You move closer to him, standing between his legs as he wraps his arms around your lower back and buries his face against your breasts while you languidly trail your fingers through his hair.

You pull back and look at him, immediately giggling. He still has his glasses on, and those coffee-brown eyes are half-hidden behind a fog on the lenses.

“Let’s take these off, shall we, Professor Morales?”

The combination of champagne and a decision about your future together has made you joyful, more confident - and more direct.

“You’re so fucking hot, you know that, baby?”

Ben raises his eyebrows and his ears flush pink. “I don’t really think…uh…”

You kiss him, his hands moving to grab the flesh of your ass and pull you tight to his body.

“I think you’re hot as fuck, Ben Morales, and I’m going to tell you. And show you.” You wrap your arms around his neck and encourage him to move backwards a little, so that you can straddle him. “Lemme show you how gorgeous you are to me, my love. Hmmm?”

He grins, nods, and moans as his mouth passes over the velvet skin of your heavy tits. You help him out of his white T-shirt, and pause to take in the sight of him: your thighs framing his hips and waist, his hands resting on them; his tummy, somehow both broad and solid and yet soft, pressed deliciously against your own belly; his beautiful face, eyes filled with desire, and mouth begging to devour and be devoured.

The temptation is too strong, your hands moving to caress his face as your lips meet his again. You keep your forehead pressed to his as you break the kiss and whisper to him, murmuring about how his dark gaze can make you ache for him, what it feels like to have his lips pressed to your body.

Your hands move slowly across his shoulders and down his back, feeling the warmth of his golden skin, the strength underneath the surface. “This beautiful body, baby,” you murmur, placing tiny kisses to his collarbone. “When you’re above me, fucking me, or about to, and I look up and see you so fucking broad and solid…”

His breathing hitches as your mouth works its way down his chest and towards his tummy, lips and tongue picking out those little patches of freckles that you love so much, teeth sometimes scraping lightly over his warm, solid middle as you carefully move your body off his and onto the floor between his legs.

“You know how fucking sexy this tummy is, baby. Told you the first night we were together.” He looks sceptical and your hands roam over the warm softness of his skin, your cunt positively aching with need at the sensation.

“I’m serious, Ben. It’s so fucking hot, the way your body looks, the feeling of your tummy against mine…” You whine as you roll your hips and clench your thighs, and he sits up slightly to drag down his jeans and underwear, a hand wrapping around his cock as he seeks some relief of his own.

You reach for his other hand, holding it gently as you suck each finger in turn. “I love these hands, baby.” You kiss his palm and he gasps. “I love the sight of them, the feeling of them on me, in me, the things they do to me.”

His eyes are wide and dark with lust and adoration. “Fucking hell, Lyd, you’re incredible.”

And then your fingers join his, working the base of his cock and making Ben gasp with sheer pleasure. He moves his hands up to grope and caress your breasts, long fingers slipping under the lace of your bra to play with your nipples.

“Touch yourself,” he hisses, hands full as he massages the soft weight of your tits. You obey the instruction, keeping your eyes locked on him as you bring one hand to part your soaking folds while the other continues to jerk him off.

Ben watches for a moment as you rub small, firm circles over the aching bundle of nerves while pleasuring him simultaneously. “Fuck, baby, this is so fucking hot. You’re so good to me.”

You’re on your knees, now, and your mouth is actually watering at the sight before you. “Can I suck your cock, baby?”

He grunts his consent. “This…” You flick your tongue over the tip. “This is fucking gorgeous.”

“Please, Lyd.” You look up at him and he whines a little, completely turned on by the sight of you between his legs, one hand now caressing the firm muscles of his calf and the other holding his cock in place. You oblige, expertly trailing your tongue along his full length before beginning to take him, bit by bit, inside your wet mouth.

Ben cries out your name as you continue your ministrations, looking down at you with his eyes blown wide. “I‘ll come if you keep going, baby,” he hisses. “Wanna fuck you, please. Please. Need you.”

You swirl your tongue around the tip one last time before releasing him, bringing your hands to rest again on his legs, fingers massaging the muscles of his thighs as you hum in satisfaction.

“C’mon, Lyddie.” He gestures with his head and you stand. He pulls you to him with one hand, palm and fingers splayed across the small of your back as he tugs down your panties with the other. Two thick fingers slide into you with ease, and his eyebrows quirk with surprise.

“You’re fucking soaking?”

The tone of his voice makes you laugh, and he chuckles against the warm softness of your belly before kissing it, over and over, as your fingers wind through his curls.

“I told you, love, you’re so fucking hot. Don’t even have to touch me and I’m ready for you.”

Ben grins wickedly as you push him back onto the bed and straddle him again, reaching down and stroking his cock a couple of times before you ease him into you and sink down, moaning loudly as he stretches you, fills you, takes you. You’ve had each other so many times now, and yet the sensation of him inside you remains new and thrilling.

You start to move, shifting and rolling your hips in a careful, deliberate rhythm that has the two of you sighing and gasping with deep, delicious pleasure. You lean forward to come closer to him, desperate for his touch, for the warmth of his chest against yours. He eases down the straps of your bra a little and caresses your tits as he starts to fuck up into you, meeting your movements.

He lifts his head up, greedily seeking your lips. His hands trace the curve of your back down to your hips and ass as he watches your bodies moving together, and he smiles wistfully as he brings a finger to your clit. “God, I love fucking you, Lyd.”

You giggle and cry out at his touch, riding him harder still as you edge closer to coming. His finger draws firm, tight circles over the swollen bud, tracing the familiar path he has carved out in you so many times. “Fuck me, baby - gonna come, don’t fucking stop - you gonna come?”

He closes his eyes tightly as the fingers of his other hand press hard into your thigh, breath hitching and voice raw. “Mmmmhmm. I’m so fucking close. Hold on, can you?”

You nod and try to temporarily quell the orgasm that’s been building in you since you got him home, Ben slowing his finger’s steady movements over your soaking clit.

And then the pace increases again, and you’re there, and he’s there. Together.

Morning announces itself with a rustle of paper and a delicious, buttery aroma. Eyes blinking open, you become conscious of Ben’s soft lips on the nape of your neck - and aware that the enticing smell is right under your nose.

“Bonjour, Lyd.” Ben is holding an open paper bag just under your nose. “Croissant?”

You turn to face him properly and sit up in bed beside him. “Hi, darling. How long are you up?”

He reaches into the bag and takes out a croissant, before placing it on a plate and handing it to you. “Not that long. You looked so beautiful and content, I didn’t want to wake you.”

The flaky, buttery pastry melts in your mouth as you sigh with pleasure. “Jesus fucking Christ. Nothing compares.”

Ben stops just as he’s about to bite into his own croissant, throwing you a cheeky glance. “Nothing? Nothing compares? You’re sure about that?”

You rest your head on his shoulder, the cotton of his long sleeved T-shirt soft and comforting against your face.

“Nothing compares… in the world of baked goods.”

He nods, satisfied, and takes a mouthful of the golden viennoiserie.

“Oh, fuck. Maybe you’re right, Lyd.”

You giggle. “Thanks for these, love. You’re so kind.”

Ben shakes his head. “As if you wouldn’t have done the same.” He chews thoughtfully on the pastry. “Anyway, I feel like I still need to make it up to you. Yesterday morning, I mean.”

“You apologised, love, and we sorted things out. It’s fine.”

He shrugs. “I just feel bad. I shouldn’t have made you feel bad. Should have known by now that you struggle with this kind of uncertainty.” Ben reaches for your left hand, bringing it to his lips. “I’m sorry, Lyd.”

“Thank you, Ben. But we’re fine. I mean it. That’s what makes a relationship work, isn’t it? Learning about each other and knowing when we need to learn or listen more.”

He nods. “Exactly. And that’s why I’m so excited to spend the rest of my life with you. No matter where that is.”

The rest of the week is spent partly in research libraries, at least in your case, but mostly in the streets and cafés and galleries and museums of the city you love so much with the man you adore.

You watch with quiet joy as he sees Manet’s Olympia in real life for the first time, shaking his head in admiration and awe as he takes in the painting. He steps back and folds his arms.

“She’s really something.”

“She sure is. I’d be that confident too, if I was as gorgeous as her.”

He arches an eyebrow and looks at you. “You are. Much more so.”

You huff a laugh as you link his arm and wander off to see Courbet’s Burial at Ornans. “You want me to pose like one of Manet’s French girls, Ben?”

“Wouldn’t say no, Lyd.”

At Harry’s New York Bar, the legendary cocktail bar near the Opéra, you cuddle up in a cosy corner of the piano lounge in the basement, and drink French 75 cocktails while the resident pianist plays Gershwin late into the night. You follow your own tailor-made walking tours, spotting literary landmarks and movie locations. A night in a Saint-Germain bar ends with a visit to the late-night bookstore L’Écume des Pages (and an inevitable bag full of newly-purchased books). Ben oohs and aahs over the bouquinistes’ boxes that line the walls overlooking the Seine, unable to resist a quick perusal of their selection of rare books and vintage magazines. You share a Paris-Brest pastry from Angelina, moaning appreciatively as you devour the delicious dessert. Together, you drink coffee and sip wine and talk and laugh and people-watch to your heart’s content.

You could never tire of Paris. Even so, Ben’s wide-eyed excitement and enthusiasm makes everything new: the landmarks, the streetscapes, the food, the drink, the sounds and smells.

And you. He has made you new, too.

You feel it in the way he looks at you when you wave your hands and wax lyrical about god knows what painting or book or historical event. It’s in the reassuring weight of his arm around your shoulders as you wander through the narrow back streets, feeling like you’re ten feet tall. It’s there in the hundreds of little opportunities he finds during each day to touch you: the small of your back as you enter a building, the back of your hand as you sit together on the Métro, the side of your mouth as he brushes away an errant croissant flake.

It is in the moments when you stop on the street and pull him to you for a kiss, unconcerned by the Parisians tut-tutting as they have to walk around the two of you. It’s in the moans he pulls from you, and you from him, when you are tangled in bedsheets at night, or in the morning, or even - after a lunchtime trip to the movies that escalated into some heated back-row kisses - in the middle of the afternoon, languidly stretched out naked for him on the bed.

Just like one of Manet’s French girls, he joked.

Most of all, it’s there in the light that always seems to be shining in your eyes whenever you look at him, knowing that he is yours and you his.

“You’re a tolerant man, Ben Morales,” you say with a chuckle as you walk through the imposing gates of Père Lachaise cemetery one bright morning. “Willing to hang out in Parisian cemeteries with me as I fangirl over the tombs of people no one has cared about for a hundred years or more.”

Ben looks at the list of names on the cemetery map and smiles at you, squinting slightly behind his sunglasses. “I rather like your Gothic side, Lyddie. And I appreciate this too, you know - I want to find Balzac and Proust’s tombs, while we’re here.” He drapes an arm across your shoulders as you climb steadily up one of the winding paths leading through the oldest part of the cemetery, stopping here and there to look at some of the more unusual tombs and memorials.

There’s a certain part of Père Lachaise, its highest point, where you can look out and see the city unfolding below. You lead him there and sit on a bench, keen for him to take in the view. Other visitors and tourists meander past with their maps, chatting in various languages about Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison or any number of the luminaries whose remains lie alongside those of many more ordinary Parisians in this leafy enclave.

And then it’s just the two of you, side by side, contemplative. Little birds chirp and chatter in the trees, their song a moment of peaceful stillness in the bustling city.

Paris has a tendency to look particularly magical when you’re entering into the final hours of a visit. This evening, the fading spring sunlight cuts a path along the street below, gleaming off the windows and shop signs that line the ancient thoroughfare.

“My heart always breaks a little when I have to leave.”

Ben finishes combing back his hair, still damp from the shower and curls starting to form at the nape of his neck. He turns from the mirror just inside the door of the apartment, adjusting the collar of his white shirt.

“This isn’t the last time, Lyddie. Not for you, not for us.”

You nod sadly, picking up your purse and slipping into a pair of dark red patent ballet flats. “I know. I’ve been telling myself that for twenty-odd years, but it never gets easier. Stupid, huh.”

He shakes his head as he reaches for your hand. “Not stupid. You love this place, and twenty-odd years is a long time to be in love.” He looks you up and down admiringly. “You’re all fancy.”

You cock your hip and strike a pose as Ben laughs. “I like to dress up for my long-term lover, the city of Paris, Monsieur Morales. Anyway, you’re all fancy too.”

“Not like you, I’m not. You look…” He exhales as he takes you in. “You look like you walked out of a perfect French movie.”

Even you have to admit he’s got a point. Sure, the outfit had been a bit of a splurge, a treat to yourself from the BHV department store. But a classic, knee-length little black dress would never go out of style. At least, that’s how you justified it. That, and the fact that it hugged your body just so, working wonders with your curves, somehow narrowing your middle and accentuating your tits and hips in a manner that was impossibly elegant and incredibly sexy. It was a marvel.

For once, you got a flash of what Ben always told you he saw when he looked at you. It made for a pleasant change.

This evening you have accessorised with a vintage brooch and chunky brass earrings, the gold necklace Ben gave you for Valentine’s Day a permanent fixture around your neck. The spring evening is warm enough for you to get away with a dark red pashmina shawl in lieu of a jacket, though you worried bare legs might be a step too far and decided not to forego your black hold-up fishnet stockings.

Ben slips into his olive green suit jacket and you squeeze his hand. “Thank you, my love. You look beautiful, too.”

He does. But then, he always does: his beauty is easy, natural, effortless; as obvious to you when he’s bleary-eyed and bed-headed in his old t-shirts and pyjama bottoms as it is now, with him suited and booted and looking every inch the debonair Parisian intellectual in his clear-framed glasses.

For an instant you wish you could travel back to your broken-hearted self all those years before, to tell her that a better day would come, that real love would find you when and where you least expected it, and that it would arrive in the form of a man as beautiful on the inside as he is on the outside.

Most people would say the two of you are a little overdressed for your dinner destination. But then, you aren’t most people.

You catch a glimpse of the two of you reflected in a shop window as you walk along boulevard Henri IV. You, black dress and red accessories; Ben, green suit with his top shirt buttons undone, hair combed back and starting to form soft waves a little as it dries. The fact that you are both wearing sunglasses only enhances the sense of slightly retro European chic.

“Look at us. Not bad, hmmm?”

Ben stops, puts down the wicker basket he’s carrying, and winds his arms around your waist, kissing the side of your neck. “Perfect.”

You stroll past a little park near the river, pointing out a reconstructed bit of the Bastille to him, and wander in the direction of the Pont Marie and onto the Île Saint-Louis. It’s a little out of the way for where you’re going, but you have a good reason. He asked you a couple of days ago what your favourite view of the city was, and you intend to show him.

The evening sky is streaked with a palette of pale blues, pinks, oranges and reds as you reach the Pont de la Tournelle and stop to lean on the parapet of the bridge.

“This is it.”

He stands beside you and rests his hands on the parapet, following your gaze westwards along the river, taking in the silhouette of Notre-Dame - still obscured by scaffolding - painted against the vibrant canvas of the sunset, and the curve of the quaysides as the Seine splits around the Île de la Cité.

“This is my spot. When I stand here I feel as though I could wrap my arms around the city and as though it wraps its arms around me.” You look at Ben, a little embarrassed. “Sorry. That’s a bit weird, I know. I am aware that it is a city and I cannot hug it, please don’t run away.”

He looks at you with affectionate bemusement. “You know how beautiful that is, to have those feelings and be able to articulate them like that?” He reaches for your hand. “It isn’t weird. It’s you, and it’s wonderful.”

You rest your head on his shoulder and squeeze his hand. “The first time I came to Paris after…everything, I came here the first night. I stood here and I looked at the cathedral and the city.” You pause as the memory resurfaces. “And then I had a massive cry. See? Weird.”

Ben shakes his head and chuckles, pulling you close to him. “Not weird. Catharsis.”

“I guess it was. I was still here. Notre-Dame was still here. Paris was still here. It gave me a sense of hope, I think, for the first time. Like, I knew things would get better.”

“I’m so fucking proud of you, you know?” He kisses your forehead and leans in to murmur, cheekily, in your ear: “So did things get better?”

You wrap your arm around his waist, slipping it under his jacket so you can feel the strong muscles of his back under his shirt. “Eh, I guess you could say that.”

Dinner is simple: a baguette, a selection of cheeses and charcuterie, and a bottle of champagne. But you’ve made the effort to bring proper glasses and plates from the apartment, and you can’t fault the location: watching the river from the Quai Saint-Bernard on the left bank, waving at the people on the big tourist boats - the bateaux-mouches - as they pass.

“Hell of a view,” Ben muses in between mouthfuls of baguette and Brillat-Savarin cheese.

You gaze across the river at the Île Saint-Louis and smile contentedly. “It is perfection.”

He chuckles and leans in to kiss you. “I was talking about you. But Paris isn’t too bad, either.”

He looks back at the river, a smile playing on his lips, and you take a moment to admire a perfect view of your own: Ben’s handsome face in profile, hair moving gently in the breeze, the light tan he had acquired after a week of wandering in Parisian spring sunshine complementing the patches of grey-white hair at the hinge of his jaw.

You can’t help but marvel a little at how fucking gorgeous he is. Well done, Lyd. In that instant, as you take him in, you concentrate on the wonderful feeling of calm and safety that suffuses your body when you’re with him.

You’d only realised after the abrupt end of your last relationship that you’d spent a decade and a half walking on eggshells, constantly anxious and never wholly comfortable - even with someone who claimed to love you. You feared suggesting the simplest thing: a movie, a dinner, a holiday, lest it prompt a negative reaction or criticism.

With Ben, though? Even with the ongoing uncertainty about where, exactly, your future would be, you had never felt anything other than safe. With a clearer path ahead agreed together, the residual anxiety faded, too.

It was a new and marvellous feeling.

As the evening draws in, a little group of musicians set up nearby on the quay, accompanied by a cluster of couples who immediately began to dance to the band. Ben turns and smiles at the spectacle.

“They do this as soon as the weather gets warm here,” you explain, smiling widely as the dancers move around an open area on the quayside. “Sometimes it’s French classics, sometimes American big band, sometimes Latin, sometimes a more contemporary mix, like tonight.”

Ben stands up, dusts off his pants, picks up the picnic basket and extends his hand to you.

“Would you like to dance, Lyddie?”

How can you refuse, when he’s looking like that and asking you in that voice and smiling at you with such love and affection?

“I’m not good at this sort of thing, Ben, I warn you.”

He rolls his eyes affectionately. “Bullshit. Now: dance with me, Lyd.”

You get to your feet and he leads you in the direction of the makeshift dancefloor, leaving the picnic basket to one side as he brings you into a dance hold and begins to move, pulling you close to his body as the band and its female lead singer begin a cover of Mitski’s “My Love Mine All Mine”.

The rest of the city falls away as you dance with him, nuzzling against his neck as his hips sway gently, rhythmically against you in time to the slower tempo of the music. Ben’s lips press softly to the top of your head, and you hum in absolute contentment.

“I love this song, you know.”

He chuckles. “I do. You sing it very beautifully in the shower, sometimes.”

“I doubt it’s beautiful.”

“Trust me. It’s beautiful.”

You nestle against him and sing along, joining in with the lyric that always made you think of him, of how he had broken through your sturdy defences, smoothing and healing the jagged, broken pieces of your soul: “My baby, here on earth/Showed me what my heart was worth”.

You sing the words quietly against his chest, feeling the vibrations from your voice meeting the rhythm of his heartbeat in a curious music made of two lovers. As the song draws to a close, Ben tenderly lifts your chin and kisses you, enveloping you in those strong arms. Cologne, coffee, bread, paper, something that is just his: his scent, the scent of love and safety.

His big hands skim appreciatively over your figure in the new black dress as he inhales your own perfume, nose buried in the crook of your neck. “Delicious, gorgeous girl,” he murmurs against your velvet skin. “You look incredible tonight, you know?”

Ben pulls your body even tighter to his and you whine softly, the press of his broad form to yours enough to send a rush of wetness to your core.

“I think we need to get back to the apartment, my love.”

Ben sits at the end of the bed, wearing his shirt and boxers, watching as you take off your jewellery in front of the bedroom mirror. There’s something fascinating about the ritual: how you take out your earrings and put them in their box; the way you tilt your head forward as you remove your necklace.

He still can’t believe it, sometimes, the kind of love he has with you. He’s been desperate to get you home ever since you danced close and slow on the riverbank. That fucking black dress. Driving him slowly crazy all night, every time he looked at you. It’s the way it hugs your hips, accentuates the ample, full curves of your tits, and reveals just enough of your skin to make him want to ease it off your soft, welcoming body.

His cock twitches at the thought.

He stands up and crosses the floor, standing behind you. His hands gently caress you as you smile at the reflection of the two of you in the mirror.

“I love this.”

Ben kisses the top of your arm. “I love this, too.”

His lips find their way along the line of your shoulder until they reach the crook of your neck. A little tug to the zipper of the dress and his mouth moves downwards, kissing and sucking at the back of your neck, hands roaming over your body and grabbing handfuls of you as he goes.

He’s pressed against your back, murmuring your name. The extent of his desire is already very much in evidence.

“Fuck, Lyddie.” His breath is warm and urgent against your neck.

“Mmmm?”

“I’ve wanted to take this off since the minute I saw you in it.”

You chuckle. “Looks that bad, huh?”

Lips still on your neck, he caresses your breasts as he shakes his head. “Looks too good on you.”

Ben licks a stripe up the side of your neck and you whine with pleasure, closing your eyes and reaching to caress his face.

“Can I take it off, my love?” His voice is lower, smokier.

You nod, locking your eyes on his. A frisson of excitement courses through your body as Ben eases down the rest of the zipper and eases you out of your little black dress, letting it pool at your feet.

“Oh, fuck me. These new?”

When you bought the dress, you’d bought new lingerie, too. A bra in caramel and black lace whose delicacy belied its incredible construction, supporting your breasts perfectly. Matching underwear, high-waisted and full but completely sheer, made out of the same black lace that trimmed your bra.

And of course: the stockings.

You nod and close your eyes, trying to avoid seeing yourself in the mirror. You looked alright in the dress, but you still can’t quite face the body underneath it. Ben’s breath ghosts across your shoulder blades as he fondles your tits and kisses the top of your spine.

“Open your eyes, Lyd.”

You hesitate.

“Lyd. Open your eyes.”

You obey. But you keep your gaze fixed on him, afraid of your own reflection, of a body that you still cannot believe anyone like him would ever really want.

“Lyddie, please look.” Ben’s voice is firm but pleading. “Look at your beautiful face. Look at this gorgeous, sexy body.”

He trails a finger along the contours of your breasts, tracing the lace trim of the bra. He brings his hands to your waist, to your hips, pulling you back against him ever so slightly so that you can feel how hard he is.

You don’t think you’ll ever love your body. But, watching Ben drinking you in with his eyes, running his fingers over the black Parisian lace that clings to the most sensitive and sensual parts of you, you understand that you love the way he loves your body.

“This is what you do to me, Lyd, and I will tell you every day for the rest of our lives that you are the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” You turn to face him, his hands cupping your face as he kisses you deeply.

He breaks away and looks into your eyes, dark irises searching yours. There’s a vulnerability there, a hint of doubt, lingering in spite of his words.

“What is it, Lyd?”

You shrug, fingers lightly caressing the curls and waves that cluster around his ears. “I love that you think I’m beautiful. I… still don’t know if I ever will.”

He kisses you again, softer this time. “Can I at least try to convince you? Show you?”

You smile against his lips and wrap your arms around his neck. “I’d like that. Could… could you, like, take charge? For tonight?”

He quirks an eyebrow and returns your kiss, humming against your mouth. “Take charge?”

You feel embarrassment rising in your throat. You’d never really felt able to just ask for what you needed like this before. Old habits die hard.

“Ben, I never felt safe enough to ask a partner to take the lead like this…not before you.”

His expression softens. “I’d give you anything, Lyd. Anything you want.” He wraps his arms around you and pulls you to him, chin resting on your shoulder. “And I feel safe with you, too.”

You tilt your head to kiss him. “So…?”

“So, I’m going to take charge and show you exactly how fucking beautiful you are, how sexy you are, how fucking happy I am that I get to be with you.” He pauses to kiss you again. “And if I have to, like I said - I’ll do this every day for the rest of time, if necessary, until you see what a perfect goddess you are.”

Another, deeper kiss; the sensation of his broad hands on the soft skin of your tits and belly, pulling you tight to him, the press of his erection against you as he guides you to lean back against the wall and slips his fingers under the crotch of your panties, parting your folds and working your clit and pussy until you’re panting with desire and need.

For a moment, you think he’s going to fuck you. But then slowly, steadily, Ben sinks to the ground in front of you, mouth and teeth and tongue finding the softest, most yielding parts of your body as he works his way to his knees.

Ben looks up at you, eyes glittering with lust and adoration. He is a supplicant before you, ready to worship, to seek and give a pleasure as sacred as it is profane. He venerates your body with his mouth. His tongue traces the outline of your hips, his lips kiss the softness of your lower belly, his teeth scrape across the thick flesh of your upper thighs. He tugs the panties down completely, parting your legs and helping you out of the garment.

“I want you to keep the stockings on, okay?”

You nod your assent. Those perfect dark eyes find yours, a flash of mischief crossing his gaze as he gently pushes a finger inside you before placing both hands firmly on your hips, pressing into your flesh.

And then he tilts his head, just so, and you cry out as he brings his lips to your wet pussy, mouth and tongue working your entrance as his nose rubs with precision against your clit. You buck slightly against him but he holds you in place, grunting and groaning with pleasure as he goes down on you. The warmth of his breath against your core makes your cunt clench around nothing, desperate for him.

You wind your fingers through the soft waves of his hair, holding him in position and throwing your head back as you revel in every lap of his tongue, every brush of his beard against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, every nudge of that beautiful nose against your clit. He’s eating you out like you’re his last meal, your moans and writhing body seemingly only serving to spur him on.

Even so, Ben senses that you’re holding back. The position is incredible, the sight of him, the sound of him, the feel of him making you want to come harder than you’ve ever done before. But you worry about whether your legs will give way - whether you’ll hurt him if you fall forward.

“I’ve got you, Lyd,” he murmurs, face still buried between your thighs. “Let go. I’ve got you. You’re so close. Come for me. Want you to come like this.”

With his fingers fucking you and his lips sucking and licking at your clit, your body yields and you cry out as you come against his face.

He stays on his knees as you ride out the orgasm, thumbs rubbing a gentle circle against your hips, before scrambling to his feet and wrapping you in his strong arms. Your legs are still trembling as you lean in and kiss him like your lives depend on it, tasting yourself on his lips. He manoeuvres you to the bed, laying you down with the utmost care.

You look up at him as he shifts into position above you, the low light catching the traces of your release that glisten across his face and his beautiful eyes flitting greedily over your face and body. You reach up to unbutton his shirt and he shucks off his undervest. An electrical current of desire courses through you as you rake your hands over his broad shoulders and down to that soft tummy you love so much. His eyes are warm and wanting: your darling, your lover, your partner. You are safe in his hands, and you are ready to give yourself entirely to him.

A little smile quirks at his mouth as he lies down beside you, turning on his side and trailing his long fingers across the velvet skin of your tits, still enclosed in the delicate lace of your bra.

“Do you know how much I want you, Lyd?” he murmurs, mouth working hot, needy kisses across your breasts.

“Tell me.”

“Want you all the time.” You can feel his cock hard against you. “Want to have all of you, want to touch and kiss and fuck every last inch of you. I’m going to use my mouth on you now, baby, okay?”

He nips and sucks at the soft flesh of your belly as you moan, pussy aching for him. “And the more I have you, the more I want you.” He finds your soaking folds again and drags two fingers through the slick, bringing them to your lips so you can suck them clean. “I love you. And I can’t get enough of you.”

You let out a half-laugh, half-groan as he pulls you to him and quickly takes off your bra, mouth finding your breasts and tongue swirling over your nipples. You slip a hand between the two of you, tugging down his boxer briefs and wrapping your fingers around his cock as you stroke him, feeling him becoming fully hard under your careful touch.

“Do you think you have another in you, my love?”

You nod.

“Use your words, Lyd.”

“Yes. I think so…fuck, yes sir.”

He groans loudly against you and slips his fingers back through your soaking folds, chuckling a little at the whine of pleasure you let out as his warm breath ghosts against your ear. “Fucking hell, Lyd. You look so fucking beautiful. Such a beautiful woman.” He hooks his fingers against the perfect spot inside you and you buck against him, hand still working his dick. “And such a pretty pussy, so tight and so wet for me.”

He eases you into a different position, your back against his chest as his erection nudges against you. First his hands, then - with a shuffle down the bed - his mouth caresses the plump flesh of your ass, lips and teeth scraping over the sensitive skin as you whimper. He shifts your leg up and nestles himself into position.

“Can I have you, darling?”

You whine into the bed, feeling your orgasm building and building. “Please, baby, I need you inside me - fuck, baby, please…”

“I thought I was in charge?”

His voice is low, honeyed, hot as he whispers in your ear. It tips you closer and closer to the edge.

“You are… I just want you so fucking much.”

“You want me to fuck you, is that it?”

“Please. Fuck me, my love. Hard as you want to.”

“Fuck, Lyd.” With a groan and some muttered expletives, Ben sinks inside you, pausing for a moment to enjoy the sensation. “Always feels so incredible inside you, baby,” he pants, one arm holding you around your tits and the other against your belly. “Just - oh, fuck - just perfect.”

It is perfect - perfect angle, perfect feeling of him stretching you, of his hands on you. He drags himself out of your cunt slowly, steadily, making you whimper at the loss of him. A snap of his hips and he’s buried inside you again, beginning a hard rhythm that has you crying his name into the bed as he fucks you, fast and deep, the softness of your ass cushioning his thrusts as he showers you with praise. His good girl. His beautiful woman. His love.

His. His. Only his. Repeated. Possessive. Perfect.

He shifts his hand from your belly to your pussy, working tight circles over the swollen nub of your clit as you get closer and closer, mouth sucking on the delicate flesh of your neck, never letting up the rhythm until you cry out and come on his cock, the wetness audible as he fucks you through it.

“Good, baby?” He pulls out as you’re still coming down, easing you onto your back and settling himself on top of you, carefully parting your legs.

You look up at him, cockdrunk, seeing stars, and with no way to express how you feel other than a satisfied whine as you pull him to you for a hungry, sloppy kiss. Ben smiles and chuckles against your lips as he reaches down to gently hook an arm under your knee as he sinks back into you with a guttural moan.

He picks up the pace again quickly, taking you harder now, rougher, even, and gripping the headboard of the bed with his free hand. His hair is dishevelled, errant short curls falling over his brow as sweat runs in rivulets over the freckles scattered underneath the hollow of his throat and lips finding yours as you start to babble to him incoherently, surrendering to the sensation.

He drops his hand from the headboard to find yours, pressing your hand and arm into the mattress as he holds you down while he fucks you.

“Talk to me, Lyd. Tell me. See how much I want you? Tell me.”

You mutter filthily about how deep he is, how big he is, how you love having him inside of you, how much you want him - need him - to fill you up. But then you look at him - at his beautiful face, screwed up and teeth gritted as he makes love to you - and another urge takes over, displacing the dirty talk with something no less intense, but softer, all the same.

“I fucking love you, Ben - fuck, keep going, that’s so good, fuck…”

He groans and reaches for your breast, groping it as he nears his own release. “You’re mine, Lyddie. All mine.”

“Yours, Ben. Every bit of me. Yours, forever, like you’re fucking mine.”

“My woman…my - oh, fuck - my good fucking girl.” You know he’s really close. “Keep talking, Lyd. Want to hear it.”

“You’re mine, baby - oh god, Ben, that’s so fucking good - all mine. I’ll give you anything. Everything.”

Ben rests his head against your neck, panting and moaning as his rhythm falters. “I’m all yours, Lydia, always - f-fuck, I’m gonna…”

You hold him tight, hands across the breadth of his back. “You’ll never be alone again, baby - fuck, Ben! - gonna take care of you, gonna be our own little family…”

He positively growls as he comes inside you, your head knocking against the headboard as he snaps his hips against yours before collapsing against your body. You hold him tight, gentle, slow, one hand winding through his curls and the other reaching for his hand as you plant soft kisses along his hairline.

He eases himself out of you with a final kiss and flops back onto the mattress beside you, still trying to catch his breath and with the most beautifully blissed-out expression on his face.

“I’m just going to clean up and take these stockings off, my love,” you murmur, shifting your body to the edge of the bed. “You okay?”

Ben grins and giggles to himself as he looks at you. “I am fantastic. Don’t know my name or what year it is, but I am fucking fantastic.”

You pad back from the bathroom as quickly as you can, discarding your stockings and climbing back into bed beside him. He’s reaching for you before you’ve even settled your body on the mattress, broad hands gently rubbing your belly, your hips, the line of your breasts. His breath is steadier now, face and body completely relaxed in the gorgeous afterglow.

“You are such a beautiful man.”

Ben opens one eye and meets your gaze. “Hmmmph?”

“I said, you are such a beautiful man. Don’t dare deny it.”

He smiles softly, closing his eyes again as your fingertips trace the line of his nose, brush against an errant curl, find the outline of the little bare patches on the side of his jaw. Your thumb swipes gently across his lower lip, fingers seeking out the texture of his moustache.

You go to speak, and stop yourself.

“What were you going to say, Lyddie?” His voice is heavy, sleep beckoning him.

“Nothing, I was just - no, it’s stupid.”

“Nothing stupid could ever come out of your pretty mouth.”

You giggle quietly and bring yourself even closer to him, resting your hand on his chest. He reaches up to hold it.

“It’s just that… I don’t know. When I look at you like this, at all the little things that are just uniquely you, it feels like everything fits. You know?”

He opens his eyes again. “Everything fits?”

“It’s like, ‘aha. Yes. That.’ Like I was always meant to be looking at this face. Like there was a bit of me that I didn’t even know I was missing and it just was…it was you. Even if I didn’t know it.”

He smiles and leans in for a soft kiss. “And now everything fits.”

He wakes her with coffee and kisses, knowing how much she hates prising herself from the warmth of their shared bed. A little incentive, a way to help her avoid panic later in the morning, one of those tiny acts of love they perform for each other every day.

She orders a taxi for a couple of hours’ time and strips the bedsheets, casting an eye over their shared luggage waiting for departure as she joins him in the living area. Having put the sheets on a wash-dry cycle, her hands rest lightly on his broad shoulders as she quickly kisses him on the cheek and heads for the bathroom to shower. Instinctively, she gathers all but their essentials - toothbrushes and paste, shower gel - and slips them in a ziploc bag, ready to go into one of their cases.

Once he’s showered, they continue their seamless little ballet of co-operation and partnership as they prepare to depart: a reminder to empty the trash here, an almost-forgotten phone charger spotted there, last few belongings squished into their hand luggage, and a final check on their passports and tickets. She checks every drawer and cupboard one more time while he places their trash bag in the small communal dumpster in the building’s courtyard.

It is a banal ritual: unthinking, unrehearsed, instinctive. But there’s something in the way they slot together so neatly, the way they complement each other, the easy, naturalness of it all, that speaks to a sense of partnership that works as well in the routines of everyday life as it does in the bedroom.

He carries the cases down to the main hallway as she checks the apartment’s small windows and locks up, following him downstairs after she drops off the key to Sophie’s neighbour.

He’s outside, standing with the bags on the pavement outside the building. The G7 taxi pulls up almost immediately, and he can’t help but smile with pride when he hears her confidently chatting away in French to the driver as they load the trunk with their luggage.

Her hand finds his in the backseat, head resting against his shoulder. Partners. A team.

As the car heads northwards towards the edge of the city, he casts a glance at his phone. Two new job alerts, for positions at institutions in Europe.

He resolves to check them out properly once they get home. For now, though, just a squeeze of her hand, a kiss to the top of her head, and a silent resolution that he’d follow her to the ends of the earth.

*******

Further A/N: I'm going to make a separate post with more details on the music, the locations, and the food in this chapter...

#visiting fic #visiting masterlist #mr ben snl #mr ben au #mr ben x ofc #mr ben fanfic #professor ben x ofc #professor!ben #professor!ben x ofc #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #pedrostories

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atlasisreal · 3 months ago

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absolutely loved watching the @strange-aeons video on dashcon and seeing my mutuals that I met AT DASHCON also in the video (shout-out to @widzi and @dunklesams and @therealraewest ) honestly it's the best video about dashcon that I've seen- it so accurately captured the real, tangible experience of being there. I was enthralled the entire video by everyone's stories, and the fact that the narrative was weaved out of everyone's individual experiences. I actually didn't realize that I'm very visible in that shitty god awful footage from that one guy who came over to the ballpit just to harass us and I'm really glad my face isn't in it 😔 but it really made me happy to see strange portray that event how I remember it- so much fun, with other nerds that loved what I loved, in a space that felt welcoming and exciting. I'm very honored to have been a part of what I believe is the most comprehensive oral history of that event, thank u teya!!

#dashcon #train enthusiast convention #strange aeons

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ugh-yoongi · 2 years ago

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ho ho horrible | jhs

(or, the one where your neighbor is a relentless christmas caroler and refuses to take a hint, but at least he's really hot.)

❆ pairing: hoseok x f. reader ❆ genre(s): neighbor au, holiday au, one-sided e2l | humor, fluff, smut ❆ rating: explicit. minors dni. ❆ warnings: vague non-korean setting. christmas. reader has a one-sided beef with hoseok's caroling and is extremely awkward. taehyung is here and he's weird, idk. there is smut in this but it is not super explicit and mostly flowery, so if ur only reading for that part i wouldn't bother. however, smut warnings: kissing, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), hobi touches himself. this was mostly an excuse to write both a hobi & a holiday fic. ❆ word count: 5.2k ❆ thank you: bee / @hot-soop, for beta'ing this for me and saying "oh shit this got real fast" and making me wheeze. thank u love u. ❆ a/n: idk. like i said, this was just an excuse to write a christmas fic before christmas. riding fakie kicked my ass and took me 500 years and i banged this out in, like, two sittings. the universe can be so cruel. that said, i probably won't be around much between now & new years day, so if you celebrate christmas i hope you all have a wonderful one. happy holidays, happy new year, cheers to 2023. ♡

Christmas has threatened to break you before.

That one Christmas where your parents had sworn up and down was just going to be the three of you, only to tell you at the last minute your entire extended family was coming for dinner and gifts, and then your horrible little gremlin of a cousin flung mashed potatoes into your hair and pushed you down the stairs and broke your arm? Your parents never invited them again, but yeah, you’d come dangerously close to an aneurysm that year.

Not to mention the first Christmas in your first apartment. You’d been running late, scotch tape and ribbon stuck in places they had no business being stuck in, and your phone was vibrating relentlessly in your purse as you waddled to the elevator, gift pile threatening to tumble over, and it was fine. You were going to make it to your car in one piece. Make it to your parents’ on time. Eat enough food to have you popping the button on your pants, and then compound the issue with dessert, and your cousins were going to be celebrating in their corner of hell rather than with you. Everything was going to be merry and festive and bright.

And then the elevator broke down and you were stuck in there for over two hours.

All that to say—you and Christmas have a sordid history, so you’re no stranger to yuletide stress. You’re stronger than this, forged in the flames of failed holidays past, and you’ve put that biological adaptability to use and soldiered on. This Christmas will not break you, but it’s certainly trying its fucking best.

“You look tired.”

Your gaze snaps up and to the left, where noted office menace Kim Taehyung is staring down at you over the ledge of your cubicle wall. He’s dyed his hair an offensive shade of red in an effort to win the department-wide holiday cheer contest. For the third year in a row. No one else even bothers to participate anymore. “I’m fine,” you answer, jaw clenched. You like Taehyung, but you haven’t had a proper night’s rest in almost a week. Not since—

“Why not?” he asks, genuinely curious and concerned and unaware of social norms. “Were you up late watching Home Alone? That’s relatable, honestly. I’ve seen it a hundred times and still can’t help but watch it every time it’s on. The sequel, too. I can’t decide which one I like better. The original’s a classic, but I love Tim Curry, so it’s hard to choose…”

You suck in a breath. Exhale and count to five, because you like Taehyung and don’t want to hurt his feelings, but—“No, I wasn’t watching Home Alone.”

“Oh. Why, then?”

A quick glance at your computer tells you it’s almost one o’clock. “Tell you over lunch?”

Sometimes you can’t believe your luck.

Because the universe is fair and just, the torture of Christmas is cancelled out by the ease of homeownership. As soon as you’d announced your intent to buy a house, everyone came crawling out of the woodwork with tips and this one weird trick! and horror stories about realtors, mortgage and insurance companies, god-awful sellers. You’d been spooked. Almost called the whole thing off to spend another year renting until you felt confident enough to go up against those stressors, but it… hadn’t gone like that.

It’d really been as simple as: get approved for mortgage, see house online, tour house, put in offer, sign a ton of paperwork, move in. Easy peasy; you couldn’t figure out why everyone had been complaining. You’d gotten your dream house in your dream location, quiet side street in a desirable part of the city, for under your max budget. The neighbor on your right baked you cookies to welcome you to the neighborhood. The house on the left had been home to a nice couple with a young kid until they decided to relocate to the suburbs, and it’d been empty for a while until—

“Your neighbor is a caroler?”

You nod, shoulders sagging as you spear your salad far too violently, and all Taehyung can do is grimace. No shit, you think, taking in his pained expression, try living next door to him. “A caroler,” you confirm.

Taehyung whistles low as he sinks into the booth, vinyl creaking under his weight. “Does he wear the little hat and everything?”

You pause, fork halfway to your mouth. “No, just normal clothes, I think.”

“Bummer.” He pouts. “I like the little hats. Wait, what do you mean I think?”

“I mean I think,” you reiterate. “As in I don’t actually know, because I shut off all the lights and pretend I’m not home every time they knock on my door.”

Taehyung gasps, really selling that you’ve mortally wounded him with this piece of information, and you think it might be a little overdramatic. So what if you don’t answer the door? You’re a young, single woman who lives alone and has listened to true crime podcasts—of course you don’t answer the door. You don’t answer it for anyone!

“How could you?” Taehyung accuses, which prompts an eye roll from you.

“I’m a young, single woman who lives alone and has listened to true crime podcasts—”

“Which are exploitative and capitalize on suffering and paranoia, not to mention are usually nothing more than free PR for cops—”

“Well, I don’t listen to them anymore!” Taehyung seems appeased by this, so you continue. “My point is: I don’t answer the door for anyone. Not delivery people, not the Mormons, definitely not the Jehovah’s Witnesses, and not Christmas carolers. It’s nothing personal.”

Your coworker quirks an eyebrow. “Except it is.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Taehyung hums. He’d ordered a sandwich the size of his head and has barely put a dent in it, so you’re going to be here awhile. “Have you tried asking them to not carol in front of your house?”

“I don’t think it matters,” you concede, frown deep and unattractive. Are you being dramatic? It feels like you��re being dramatic, but you’ve already committed to the bit. “They stay on the sidewalk and that’s public property. Didn’t stop those shitty campaign people from sticking the signs in that little strip of grass last month.”

“Ugh, I forgot about that guy. At least he lost.”

“Amen, brother.”

Taehyung scrunches his nose. “Yeah, maybe don’t say that ever again.” Fair. You nod. “Hm. You think one of those ‘no solicitation’ signs would work?”

“Is Christmas caroling considered solicitation?”

Half of the turkey slides off Taehyung’s sandwich when he picks it up, bread gone soggy under the weight of mayonnaise and time, and you reckon now’s as good a time as any to find out.

What you lack in competent cousins and considerate neighbors you make up for in friends.

Friends in high places, specifically. Friends you can call in emergencies, which is why you’re locked in your bathroom, phone trembling against your ear, as the muted sounds of caroling trickle in from the street. You’re nearly in its grasp, which is why you’ve had to act quick: lights off, military crawl along the floor, pick a room with no street-side exterior windows.

Seokjin sighs. “Taehyung said you were being overdramatic about this. I should’ve listened.”

“Listened to what?” You roll your eyes. “I’m not asking you to break me out of my house. I simply called to ask you, an actual lawyer, a person who knows the law, if Christmas caroling is illegal.”

“You do need a permit in some places, yes—”

“A-ha!”

“—but this is not one of them. Your annoying neighbor is free to Christmas carol to his heart’s content.”

A groan escapes you, and you pull your phone away from your face to check the date. December 11th. Just two more weeks, and then you’re free for an entire year. Surely you can make it two weeks, right? A fortnight. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours. Once you’re past the holiday and things cool off, maybe you’ll borrow a play from your normal neighbor’s book and drop off please stop harassing me with your Christmas carols cookies.

You’re halfway to deciding which flavor (M&M, because they can kind of look like miniature carolers if you squint, or oatmeal raisin because they’re disgusting and you want him to suffer a little) when the troupe starts on a new song. A louder one. Enough of a volume change that even Seokjin can hear it, and he starts doing that honking windshield wiper laugh at your expense.

Fuck cookies. You should really burn his house down instead.

Big cities aren’t actually all that big.

Your mother says she’s finally sick of cooking, so you’ve been tasked with bringing side dishes to Christmas dinner this year. Which is fine. Learning how to cook for yourself had been relatively easy, to the point you’d run a Learn to Cook 101 weekly lesson at your on-campus apartment for all your hopeless friends. And hopeless friends of friends. In return, they taught you how to roll joints and do keg stands, so it’d been a worthy trade-off.

Still.

Your parents are woefully behind on current food trends, so your comment about bringing a sushi bake as an appetizer had been met with incredulous silence. Sushi isn’t high on your parents’ takeout list, and after you’d taken them to the nice hibachi restaurant in town and your father ate his California roll with a fork, you’d been too embarrassed to try again.

Anyway—the point is: big cities aren’t that big, because you’re standing in the seafood section of the largest supermarket within fifteen square miles, and everything promptly goes to shit.

“Hey, do you know if they ha—oh, shit, hey! You’re my neighbor!”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Do a really good impression of that meme gif of the guy blinking. Because this can’t be happening. You specifically go to this supermarket because it’s not the one around the corner from your house and also isn’t the one closest to your office. No one was supposed to be able to find you here, yet here’s your caroling neighbor, bundled up tight with a beanie shoved over his head, tips of his ears folded over so he looks like a little elf. It’s sick.

But you’re a professional, if nothing else (you’d argue mature, but can concede that hiding in your own home with the lights turned off to avoid the man grinning at you is not very girl-boss of you), so you offer him a tight-lipped smile. “Hi. I am your neighbor, yes. Hello.”

“Wow, what a coincidence, huh?” He laughs, and it sounds like Christmas bells. Who in the fuck is this guy? No, really, who is he? You can’t remember his name for the life of you. “You… have no idea who I am, do you?”

It’s the way his face falls further with each word. Makes you feel guilty and awful, and it’s a terrible feeling. Has you wanting to say things like no, of course I know who you are and drop his name, his parents’ names, ask him about that work thing, that person he’d mentioned he was seeing in passing. But you know none of these things, so you just suck in a breath and say the first thing that comes to mind, which is: “Of course I know who you are.” You feel your eyes narrow. “You’re my annoying caroler neighbor.”

That was… not what you were going for. You should apologize, try to find some way to salvage this, because you’re only here for salmon and imitation crab and now you’ve dug yourself a hole that’ll ensure your great-great-grandchildren are still feuding.

But he just laughs. Snaps his fingers and points at you in a way that’s jokingly serious as he says, “I knew it! I knew you’ve been home this whole time!”

Suddenly you aren’t feeling so apologetic anymore. “And you’ve persisted? Did you ever stop to think I didn’t want to be bothered?”

The answer to your question is no, judging by the look on his face. All-knowing you are not, so you’re not going to waste time decoding it when all you came here for was salmon and imitation crab. You really should’ve gone to the Asian supermarket instead, because a place like this is highly unlikely to have furikake, anyway, and you could’ve avoided this entire mess. Now you’re engaged in an awkward stare-off with your neighbor, and the two of you are going to part ways and still have to live next to one another.

“Oh, I—”

The butcher calls your number. You should’ve bought the prepackaged stuff in the freezer, but no, you had to be bougie and difficult. “It’s fine,” you say, holding your hand up. Just the imitation crab left now, you can do this. “Happy holidays. Please leave me alone.”

You are never making sushi bake again.

On a normal evening, the caroling would start just after seven.

This explains why you’re currently lying in bed, the only light from the television (Taehyung be damned, you are watching Home Alone), full of nervous jitters as the clock on your phone tells you it’s just turned 6:59.

Is your neighbor the vengeful type? Will you finally be granted reprieve now that you’ve had an embarrassing supermarket encounter, or will he tell his caroling troupe to sing as loud as possible to provoke you further? You shake your head. Sure, you’d only talked to him for three minutes, but his ears were folded over, for fuck’s sake—maybe you’re naive, but someone with folded-over ears doesn’t strike you as particularly malicious.

No, no, it’s going to be fine; you’re certain of it. You’ll deal with the embarrassment later.

Except ten minutes pass with… nothing. No muted singing, no perfectly-pitched renditions of Oh Holy Night (which you’ll admit was actually enjoyable), no hushed giggles when someone inevitably sang the wrong word. There’s just silence, and it’s exactly what you’d asked for, but it still feels off-putting after suffering through the opposite for so long. Instead, your doorbell rings at half-past, and this is it, you think, my neighbor’s going to be out there with a bomb.

Unsurprisingly, it’s not a bomb. There’s nothing on your front steps except a little gift basket—homemade, judging from the wrap job. A peek through the clear cellophane tells you there’s a bottle of wine and some cookies in there, and there’s a note card stapled to the front that tells you it’s from your neighbor.

Sorry about the noise. Didn’t mean to bother you. Hope this makes up for it. — Hoseok

You grumble all the way back to your bedroom, only a brief pit stop in the kitchen for a wine glass. Homemade or not, Hoseok had spared no expense on the cookies: double chocolate chip, salted caramel, snickerdoodle, little spritz trees topped with nonpareils. You grumble again as you pluck out a gingerbread man. To your dismay, it’s delicious.

You overpour the wine—red, which’ll give you a headache, but you’re past the point of caring. There’d been a little bow tied around the stem. It’s horribly endearing and gives you a stomach cramp. On the screen, Marv takes an iron to the face. This feels a little like that.

“You should return the favor,” Taehyung suggests. The two of you are back at the same deli. He’s working on some kind of vegetable sandwich this time, having abandoned turkey after his last one had been such a mess. “It’s the polite thing to do. Squash the beef.”

You wait a second. One, two, thr—“Ha, squash!” He picks something yellow off his bread. “Get it?”

“Yep.”

He sighs, underwhelmed by your reaction. “You catch Home Alone last night?”

“I did, actually.”

“Cool.” He heaves another sigh, slumps further back in the booth. “God, this time of year is so boring. Work is dead, your neighbor ended your one-sided caroling turf war, and Tim Allen is a shitty conservative, so I can’t even enjoy The Santa Clause anymore.”

You can’t help yourself: “Didn’t you just say the other day that you loved that guy?”

“Tim Allen?” Taehyung looks confused. Also looks a little concerned, like there’d be something severely wrong with him if he had said that, but then he comes to. Glares. “I said Tim Curry! Tim Curry. You know, Dr. Frank-N-Furter? The guy from Clue? Ew, don’t you dare confuse them ever again!”

It should be a crime, how easy it is to provoke him. He’s off on a tirade before you have a chance to tell him you were fucking around, and by the time you’re back at your desk you’re absolutely certain you could write a biography on the guy.

Taehyung had been right about one thing, though: there’s absolutely nothing going on. Everyone has collectively abandoned the illusion of working and aren’t likely to pick it back up until after the new year, so you’ve got nothing to do but scroll endlessly on the internet and spin in your chair until you feel sick.

Maybe you’ll resume the turf war just for something to do.

“Your father says not to bother with the sushi bake,” your mother says. “He thinks it’s too weird.”

Your jaw drops, eyes glancing at the pile of ingredients on your counter. What are you gonna do with all this stuff? How long does imitation crab stay good for? “Are you serious?” A distracted hum comes through the phone. “What am I supposed to do with all these ingredients, then? Can’t he just suck it up?”

She tuts. Years of putting up with and accommodating your father’s pathetic palate tells you she’s probably on your side, but she’s not going to admit it. “I don’t know, honey. It’s the holidays. Can’t you bring it into work?”

“Mom.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Do you know what happens to people who bring fish into the office?”

“Well, I don’t know! Give some to your friends! Have leftovers!”

None of your friends want a sushi bake. You don’t even have to ask. They’d accept it out of politeness only, but you can almost guarantee it’ll either get tossed or brought along to their own holiday parties. Oh, no, I didn’t make this, they’ll say. It’s from a friend, but I wasn’t going to finish it all on my own, so here it is! That’s mortifying and you won’t allow it.

“Didn’t you say your neighbor brought you some cookies? Maybe you can return the favor.”

You’re lucky your mother can’t see you roll your eyes, because what a traitor. Taehyung suggesting the same thing had made sense. He’s never had a sense of loyalty. Wouldn’t know it if it came up and bit him in the ass, but your mother? The same mother that heard your complaints about this same neighbor and commiserated with you? She has one thing, and it’s the audacity.

But you aren’t going to argue with her. “Ah, yeah,” you say, voice laced with faux impression, “great idea. Thanks.”

“Of course, sweetheart. What are moms for?”

Not loyalty, clearly.

Everything has truly come full circle.

Here you are, standing on Hoseok’s front step, fist raised to knock and embarrass yourself by dropping off a fucking sushi bake. Not cookies or chocolates or anything else that could pass as Christmas fare—sushi bake. May God please strike you down.

You wonder if Hoseok will turn all his lights off and pretend to not be home. It’d be justified, and if it weren’t for the shadows of movement through the curtains, you’d just drop it off and go back home. Surely it’s cold enough outside to keep it fresh until he returned from caroling. But no, here you are, waiting for him to answer the door because sushi bake requires an explanation.

“Oh! Hello, neighbor!”

(God is fair, because you were not struck down to spare potential embarrassment, but you have been spared from the little elf ears again. A blessing. There’s no way you’d survive those again.)

“Hi,” you respond, thrusting the casserole dish in his direction, perfectly playing the role of a person who has never once met another human. “It’s sushi bake.”

Hoseok computes for a moment. “Sushi bake,” he repeats, like he’s learning an entirely new concept. What is it with men and sushi bakes? “Wow, cool, thank you.” He takes it from you with a smile, radiating pure sunshine. “That’s dinner sorted, then! Is this what you were at the grocery store for?”

“Uh, yeah.” You fidget, feeling awkward without anything to hold. What are you supposed to do with your hands now? You shove them in your coat pockets. “I was gonna make it to bring to my parents’ for Christmas dinner, and then my mom called today to tell me not to because my dad thinks it’s too weird, so, well. Here I am. Paying you back for the cookies with the worst food gift of all time.”

“I think it’s pretty great,” he answers, another dazzling smile lighting up his face. “You didn’t have to repay me for the cookies, though. I still feel really bad about the noise.”

“I—it’s fine,” you say. “Um, well. Enjoy… that.” You turn to leave, nearly slipping on a patch of ice and braining yourself on the brick step. “Have a great night.”

You think Hoseok asks if you’re alright, maybe mumbles something about needing to re-salt the steps and he’s sorry about that, too, but you’re down the sidewalk and back in your house before he can finish. Embarrassment warms your cheeks, and you wonder when you became incapable of talking to men. You roast Taehyung on a near-daily basis. Something must be terribly wrong.

(“Ooh, this is getting spicy,” Taehyung says, foregoing your cubicle wall to park his ass on your desk entirely. “Picture this: Two star-crossed lovers, unable to be together because of the Holy Caroling War. There’s a feud, they become enemies, and then—”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“No, and don’t interrupt me. Now, where was I?”

“Don’t remember,” you lie, and you resume your task of writing down things Taehyung’s hair reminds you of on sticky notes and adhering them to his body.

Elmo. The uniform jackets of those British guards with the silly hats. The Chicago Bulls mascot. Clifford the Big Red Dog. Cartoon cows. Cinnabar. A crayfish. General Thaddeus Ross aka Red Hulk—

“You’re jealous, I get it,” Taehyung quips, exasperated, as he peels a neon yellow note from his thigh. “Anyway, as I was saying. Are you gonna tell your neighbor you’ve got a big, fat crush on him?”

You don’t bother with a response. Instead, you jot down a giant gaping asshole on another note and stick it to his forehead.)

It becomes a… thing, after the sushi bake.

Hoseok feels guilty accepting your kindness, so he drops off a container of homemade radish kimchi. You feel guilty he’d done that, so you drop off some soup. This is unacceptable, but on and on it goes until you catch him leaving a vibrant poinsettia on your steps.

“What are you doing?” you ask, and you startle him so badly he topples backwards off your stoop, taking the poinsettia with him. Dirt shoots into the air like a cartoon, and it’s a struggle but you contain your laughter just enough to dart over to where he’s lying in a sad little heap on the concrete. “Jesus, are you alright?”

You extend your hand and he’s a little dazed, but he takes it after a second. “Ow. Yeah, I think I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? It sounded like you hit your head kind of hard.”

He groans. “Think I hit the trashcan on my way down.”

Gross. “Oh. Okay, I’m going to help you up now.” Once he’s upright, you give him a once-over and deem him physically unharmed. You can’t speak for his ego, but you can imagine it’s bruised. “Do you want some hot chocolate or coffee or anything?”

Hoseok shakes his head, which prompts another pained groan. “No, no, I think I’ve been enough of a bother.”

“I insist,” you insist, because you’ve truly lost all common sense. “It’s the least I can do.”

He looks skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Besides, we can call it even after, right? Your drink of choice for the poinsettia.”

You learn a lot about Hoseok in the span of an hour.

You learn he’s got a contagious laugh and a smile to match. You learn he’s genuinely kind, which makes you feel like pond scum. You learn that he loved your sushi bake and had even taken a picture of it to send to his mom, who said it looked “very cute,” whatever that means. You learn he’s relatively new to the city and that he works from home, so he’d joined the caroling troupe because he was lonely and wanted to make friends, which makes you feel like whatever’s lower than pond scum.

“Earth scum,” you mutter to yourself, and you say it so quietly Hoseok cocks his head to the side like a confused puppy. “Oh my god.”

You learn his friends call him Hobi and that his family lives in Gwangju, which is why he hasn’t traveled home for the holidays. Couldn’t get the time off, he explains, and says it’s okay because he’s going for his birthday in February. Your girlfriends (of which Taehyung is one) would warn you off an Aquarius man, but you take one look at Hoseok’s golden retriever personality and figure he can’t possibly fit the stereotypes.

Whatever. Who are the stars to tell you who is and isn’t the love of your life?

You learn that he knows all the words to Frozen, that he sings all the songs loudly and without shame and that you don’t mind this kind of singing. Not when it’s in your house. Not really when it’s him. And that kind of unabashed joy—Hoseok so unapologetic about who he is—it… does something to you.

Hoseok is kind and endearing and really fucking hot.

So you also learn what it tastes like when you kiss hot chocolate from the corners of his mouth. How it feels to thread your hands in his hair, the noises he makes when you tug. You learn what it feels like when he digs his fingertips into your hips, hauling you into his lap. How serious he becomes, a flipped switch, how that heart-shaped mouth straightens out and his eyes lose that glimmer, all business.

You learn the husk his voice takes on when he urges you closer. How he’s enthusiastic about consent but doesn’t ask for anything, just directs you how he wants you, says, you like it like this, don’t you, baby. You do.

Some horrible Christmas song plays on the television in the background. There’s no condom, not within arm’s reach, so Hoseok gets you off with his mouth. Throws your leg over his shoulder, tells you how good you taste, and you learn how quickly you can come undone in the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing. Then you look down and learn Hoseok’s touching himself, couldn’t wait, he says, and you surprise even yourself when you swat him away and tell him to come in your mouth.

“Oh shit—fuck,” he says, but he’s upright fast, hand still gliding along his slick cock. Salt blooms on your tongue from the precum, but you learn how perfectly he fits in your mouth. You learn he sounds fucking divine when he spills over the edge.

You learn he’s a cuddler, and that you already like him way too much.

It’s Christmas Eve, and everything’s going to go right this time.

You can smell the success in the air, so winter-crisp it stings the inside of your nose. All of your gifts are wrapped to perfection. The roads are clear. No elevators to get stuck in this year, and last you’d seen your cousin was spending the holidays on the opposite side of the country, far away from you, so you’re feeling good. Got a pep in your step.

And then you lock the door behind you and there’s Hoseok, taking out his trash in a plush robe and reindeer slippers. He’s got light-up antlers on his head, and the butterflies in your stomach turn into more of a swarm. The two of you have kept in touch, sure. Made plans to go on a real date after the holiday chaos died down, but it’d been easy to tamper down those feelings when you didn’t have to see him.

“Hello, neighbor,” he says, and it’s Christmas Eve and he’s clearly got nowhere to be, can’t make it to see his family, and he’s still smiling. It makes your chest ache.

“Hi. What are you doing?”

The smile doesn’t falter at all. “Taking out the trash?”

“But it’s Christmas Eve.”

He laughs. The Christmas bells are back. God, you are so fucked. “Ah, yeah, I suppose it is, huh?”

“You don’t have plans?”

He shrugs. “Nope. Well, nothing besides some spiked eggnog and the Christmas Story marathon.”

That sounds nice, you think. “Oh, that sounds nice,” you say, and then the next words out of your mouth come unbidden: “Do you want to come with me? I’m going to my parents’ for dinner, which probably sounds… uh, rushed. And super weird. But it’s really low-key and they’re really nice, and I feel bad leaving you here by yourself and not inviting you. Don’t feel obligated, though! I just thought—”

“Do I have time to change?”

Dumbstruck, you just nod. Hoseok presses a kiss to your cheek and disappears inside his house, reemerging five minutes later dressed impeccably. Your mother’s going to swoon, and even though she’s not going to see it because she never checks her phone, you send her and your father a warning text. Bringing my neighbor, don’t ask, set up another spot at the table.

Just like you’d thought, your mother is overjoyed. You’ve only ever brought one person home for Christmas and that was back in college. A fling, called off before Valentine’s Day, so she’s been deprived of oohing and ahhing and talking a stranger’s ear off.

Hoseok is polite, a near-perfect guest, and your mother fusses over him while your dad talks about stocks and sports and whatever else. Something about mothers, they’ve always got a pile of emergency gifts stashed somewhere, and while you do the dishes, she dashes off to wrap some just so Hoseok has something to open. A cashmere sweater, a bag of gourmet coffee, some wool socks. This is too much, he insists, but it just makes your mother fuss over him more.

“Wait,” your father says, nearly melted into the couch after eating far too much, “weren’t you gonna bring some sushi thing?” Your jaw drops. Hoseok laughs so hard he’s in tears on the floor. Your mother looks away quickly, guilt clear on her face. A traitor. You’ve always known it.

Christmas has threatened to break you before, but this might be the year it makes you whole.

as always, thank you for reading! my inbox is always open if you’d like to leave feedback. i’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤

#bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts smut #hoseok imagine #hoseok x reader #hoseok smut #hoseok fluff #hobi x reader #hoseok x y/n #hoseok fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #btswritingcafe #thebtswritersclub #btshoneyhive #btscarnivalnet

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