#the more I add. the longer it takes for me to finish. So if I keep ednlessly making things forever longer and longer. then it becomes The

[sturniolo04]

Can you do one where Matt and his girlfriend are napping and Nick and Chris wake them up for a vlog and the whole vlog she’s quiet and grumpy,

A/n:  ofc! I put a slight spin on it! I absolutely love these requests I have coming in, you guys are amazing!! I hope you love it! And remember to leave requests in my inbox! If you don’t like the pre added name in my works you can simply put in your own or don’t read it, it up to you :)-Charli

dividers: @issysh3ll

Matt knew when you didnt get enough sleep you tend to get and be in a bad or grumpy mood all day and this afternoon was no different.. Matt knew when you laid down to take that afternoon nap that you were just going to get woken up almost immediately because they had to vlog the rest of the day and go grocery shopping. So he should have known what he was in for. It wasn't a surprise.

"Sweetheart its time to get up"

matt whispers in your ear carefully moving the hair out of your face as you stir awake.

"mmm go away"

you mutter sleepily not wanting to wake up yet. Matt lets out a small chuckle leaving a few kisses on your temple. Chris and Nick walk into the room with the currently recording vlog camera.

"and here she is zoey the sleeping beauty"

chris exclaims as you begin to flutter your eyes open coming to the terms that you actually had to get up Chris put the camera in your face.

"chris get that shit out of my face"

you huff out covering your face with your freshly french manicured hands.

"dude seriously"

matt states to him nudging his shoulder.

"time to get up Zo we need to go get dinner and then get groceries and shit"

nick announces as chris and matt chuckle as you roll out of bed not attempting to change your outfit leaving on the clothes you took from matt's closet only putting on your comfy boots you wear all the time you were not having it rolling your eyes.

To say you didnt want to be out and about was and understatement.

"you okay my love"

matt asks as you all are standing in the candy aisle of the grocery store waiting for Chris to make up his mind about what he was getting in that aisle. You simply nod you head you completely went mute not very talkative simply because you were tired you wanted to go back to bed.

"you dont look like it get some energy"

nick chimes in coming up to the pair with the camera. You side eye nick and the camera.

"what is this fit zoey"

chris chuckles walking over to you guys looking at the outfit you were wearing that you didn't bother to change to before you all left.

"i literally dont know what to tell you I was having the best nap of my life in my boyfriends clothes and you guys just had to interrupt that"

you huff out kind of irritated. Nick and chris chuckle shaking their head slightly.

" you look good though"

matt adds on as you roll your eyes folding your arms over your chest.

"do i have to be here cant matt just take me home"

you ask geuninely ready to go home.

"uh no because im not letting him drive my car I drove us here"

chris replies holding up his car keys in his hand.

"well how much longer im tired"

you whine out flopping your arms to your side defeated.

"someones grumpy"

nick chuckles out panning the camera over to you once more.

"i will break it if you dont get that out of my face I'm serious"

you huff out being completely honest.

"okay how about this we be nice and just finish what we need to do and we can go home"

matt states pushing nick away from you so you dont have anymore issues.

You guys had finished grocery shopping and were knowing standing in another store because to random bags out ice chris apparently needed for a stupid bit they were filming when they got home. You still were completely out of it over the day already. There had to been something wrong; everything just seemed off with you.

"hey you okay whats going on with you you usually arent this grumpy after a short nap"

matt whispers to you coming over to you away from nick and chris who were filming whatever at this point for the vlog. You let of a frustrated sigh as you bring your hands into Matt's jacket sleeves you were wearing as the tears welled up in your waterline.

"whats wrong"

matt asks worried tilting his head down to look at you in the eye noticing you were about to start bawling.

"i didnt want to say anything but"

you trail off.

"but what you need a hug"

matt asks seeing your flustered state. You simply nodded you head 'yes' as he brought you into his chest threading his fingers to your hair.

"i started my period"

you quietly sniffle out.

'Uh no Zo"

Matt exclaims feeling bad that they gave you a hard time all afternoon for your mood and urge to go home.

"yeahhh"

you sniffle out dragging out the 'y' as you pull away from the hug looking up at him.

"okay we'll go home"

matt states as you nod your head.

"c-can wait are you two done here zoey actually needs to go home dead ass"

matt states to nick and chris as they look at him confused.

"i mean yeah but we have to still go get dinner right"

nick asks as chris nods his head in agreement with him. Matt rolls his eyes walking over to the pair.

"i know cant you two just uber or somewhere to get your food and then uber home shes like not feeling well"

matt reasons with them both as chris lets out a sigh handing matt the keys.

Taglist🗂️

@mintsturniolo @spicymuffins03 @dirtylittleheart333

@stayingstromboli @wh0resstuff @ksturnz @chaoswithus @emely9274 @ivysturnss @sturniolo-szn2 @lezleeferguson-120 @courta13 @chrepsi @lyingonchris

@tezzzzzzzz @babytomatoes21 @sturniolosymphony @zenithsturniolo @bernardsbendystraws @sturnioloslut101

[kaye-go-moo]

Shapes and Strange Ciphers AU: Need a hand? Pt. 1

SaSC by me

Shapes and Pines by @/void-dude

Next Part

Bill and Ford

While exploring one of Gravity Falls’ caves, Bill stumbled upon a wall covered in ancient text. Bill recorded his findings and translated the writing to reveal an incantation to summon an oval-shaped entity. Bill hesitated to try the summoning but felt he couldn't miss the opportunity to push past his plateau and continue his research. So he read the incantation aloud.

Later that day, Bill experienced an extraordinary dream. While floating through an infinite cosmos filled with books and scrolls, Bill was greeted by the creature pictured on the cave walls. A yellow, oval-shaped being with one eye and glasses at its center–part of its form appeared chipped away. The entity, underwhelmingly named Stanford, told Bill that he was there to help expand his research by acting as a ‘mentor’.

-

Bill, though wary in the beginning, grew to trust his new friend. Ford shared his knowledge of Bill's world and the oddities that resided in it–though never enough to satisfy the man. He would always leave Bill with a tease of new information, promising to teach him more later on. Like a fishing lure, Ford would use his extensive knowledge to reel Bill in and keep him close.

Ford also fed into Bill's narcissism, telling him that he was special and different from those who had summoned Ford in the past. This gave Bill the love and attention he so desperately craved, inflating his ego just enough to keep him happy and obedient. Before long, Bill was completely wrapped around Ford's finger, hanging on his mentor's every word, utterly infatuated. Ford believed Bill was ready for the next phase of his plan, but he had to be sure.

To test Bill’s commitment, Ford asked Bill to remove his lazy eye, reasoning that it was only holding him back and that doing so would prove Bill was serious about expanding his knowledge. Bill's lazy eye–something he was teased for while growing up, but also something that he and Tad had bonded over–was an innate part of his identity. But Bill didn't hesitate.

-

A few months later, Ford revealed that it was nearly time for him to leave, explaining to Bill that he didn't have anything else to teach him, and soon there would be no point in staying. Bill was caught off guard and desperate to keep his Mentor close. He frantically searched for an excuse to have Ford stay, telling him that he still has so much more to learn, not just about his world, but about Ford’s too. Bill’s desperation grew, overtaking his mind in hopeless pleas. Don’t leave me. Please. Please don’t leave me alone. Not again.

Seeing Bill's anguish over his leaving, Ford relented before offering a solution. He explained that it wouldn’t matter if he talked about the makings of his world because Bill couldn’t experience it for himself–unless he could. Ford admitted to knowing a way for Bill to explore not just Ford’s world, but countless others, hinting that he could also continue as Bill’s mentor–if Bill was fully prepared to expand his research. Bill jumped at the opportunity, swearing that he was ready. Ford revealed his plan: Bill needed to create a portal that would open a gateway to other worlds, allowing him to explore beyond the limits of his dimension.

Bill was eager to create the portal, especially since he could work on calculations with Ford. However, they still needed to gather materials and build the machine. After realizing that it would take far too long to do on his own, Bill called his old college friends–some lent him supplies, while others traveled to Gravity Falls to help him build. But Ford was not happy. He chose Bill to do the work, not his bumbling group of ‘friends’ with their useless degrees. What infuriated him the most wasn’t that Bill had gone over his head, but that he was right–things were progressing much faster with their help. But this didn’t matter to Ford. He already knew the sting of trusting the wrong person, so he wanted them gone.

Ford couldn’t outright tell Bill to kick his friend out, so he restored to planting subtle doubts in Bill's mind, suggesting that his friends might sabotage their work. Bill, initially confused, tried to reassure Ford that there was nothing to worry about. However, Ford persisted, slowly dripping poison into Bill’s mind. Slowly, Bill began to believe him. He started double-checking his friends’ work, scrutinizing the materials they brought, and analyzing their actions. Ford's words gnawed at Bill until he was on the brink of sending away his friends. It was only after Ford confided in Bill, sharing how trusting the wrong person had cost him everything, that Bill was fully convinced.

One by one, Bill began dismissing his friends with various excuses, though it was clear that he simply didn't want them around anymore. Over time, they watched Bill twist into someone they barely recognized–cold and distant, treating them less like friends and more like subordinates. Some tried convincing Bill to let them stay, but he wouldn't budge. He told them they were no longer needed and that he couldn’t risk their shoddy work jeopardizing his project. In the end, Bill all but called them stupid before severing ties and destroying his friendships.  

However, one friend, Jheselbraum, stayed behind. She sensed something was off and wanted to keep an eye on Bill, making sure he was safe. Jheselbraum would stop by Bill's home to check on him and hang out, and while he enjoyed her visits, Ford would always convince him to send her away. Eventually, Bill banned her from coming over, insisting he needed to focus on finishing his project and couldn’t afford any distractions. But Jheselbraum persisted, calling daily to check on Bill until she finally convinced him to let her at least drop off food.

Every time she visited, Bill was either locked away in the basement or gone from the house entirely. On the rare occasions she saw him, Jheselbraum noticed how worn down he looked–becoming more decrepit with each passing day. She tried talking to him, but he either ignored her or brushed her off, insisting he was fine and too busy with his project to worry about his appearance. The more she tried reaching out to help him, the further away he felt, like an ever-widening chasm. She could scream and still, he wouldn’t hear her, her voice swallowed by the void between them. Even when standing in the same room, Jheselbraum couldn’t help but feel they were miles apart, and it frustrated her.

It wasn’t long before Jheselbraum reached her breaking point. One day, she noticed a trail of blood leading to the basement and found Bill crumpled on the floor. She managed to get him out of the basement and into her car, wanting to take him to the hospital. But during the drive, Bill woke up and demanded she take him back home. He insisted he was fine and that a hospital visit would only waste more of his time. Jheselbraum tried reasoning with him but Bill rolled his eyes and muttered, “I knew you’d get in the way.”

Jheselbraum went silent, and her grip tightened on the steering wheel. She turned the car around, helped Bill back into his house, and placed him in a chair. She patched up his wound in continued silence. When she finished, she stood up, looked Bill in the eye, and told him that she was done. She wouldn’t be dropping off food or visiting anymore. She was through with him. However, Jheselbraum couldn’t bring herself to leave Gravity Falls completely. She was angry, but a feeling in her gut wouldn’t allow her to leave. Something was wrong. Though she couldn’t pinpoint what, she knew she had to stay–lingering around places she thought Bill might go, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Her actions more akin to monitoring a suspicious than simply looking out for old friend.

-

Now that Bill was alone, Ford concentrated his manipulation into pushing Bill further into isolation. He used Jheselbraum's leaving as proof that Bill couldn’t trust anyone–except for Ford. Yet, Bill began second guessing himself, more importantly, Bill geban second guessing Ford.

Bill tried his best to remain focused on building the portal, but doubt gnawed at the edges of his mind, festering until he couldn’t ignore it any longer. What exactly was Ford planning to do with the portal? Bill hated the thought–hated that he was question his mentor–but he couldn’t help it.

As soon as this doubt bubbled to the surface of Bills mind, Ford new instantly. Ford attempted to reassure bill, emphasizing that the portal was more beneficial for him than it was for Ford, stressing that his only concern was Bills success. However, this reassurance didn’t fully take hold, and Ford knew it.

Bill continued to build the portal, doubt still lingering in his mind. He didn't want to believe that his mentor had ulterior motives. Desperately, he clung to their friendship like a life raft in a vast, empty sea–though one of his own making. He wanted to believe Ford, to trust that their partnership was genuine. But as time passed, his doubts only deepened, and he bagan to long for his old friends.

Before Bill could act on his feelings, Ford intervened with further manipulation, choosing to have a ‘heart-to-heart’. He reminded Bill of their previous conversation about how trusting the wrong person had cost Ford everything. This time, he revealed that it was his brother who he had misplaced his trust in, leading to the loss of his family and his dimension–everything. Ford claimed that his journey for knowledge was meant to help others, serving as a way to overcome his past.

Ford also admitted that he had lied to Bill in the past, but not out of malice. He confessed that he was ashamed of his limited understanding of Bill’s dimension. Having always prided himself on his vast wealth of knowledge, Ford felt inadequate and uncertain about to teaching Bill. He explained that he feared Bill would take advantage of his naivety–just like his brother had. However, over the course of their partnership, Ford had come to genuinely trust Bill and was happy to call him a true friend.

Moved by Ford’s supposed vulnerability, Bill apologized to for doubting him, realizing that he had been wrong. Ford’s manipulation had work. Sensing the shift in Bills mind, Ford seized the moment to reveal a new ability: the power to control someone's body through their mind. He asked if he could try it on Bill. More trusting of his mentor than ever before, Bill admently agreed.

-

Weeks passed, Bill and Ford settled into a routine. When Bill was awake, he worked on the portal. But when he was asleep, Ford took control of his body and did the work to keep Bill alive–ensuring he ate, drank, and rested. Of course, Ford would also work on little side projects. Using the schematics of a former interdimensional follower, he created a tool that could erase memories, hiding it from Bill. Ford knew it was only a matter of time before one of Bill's pests would try to interfere, and he wanted to be prepared. It didn’t take long before he was proven right.

_____

Lore Comment

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...

[inyourcity]

😕 last two books I read were bad so I took a chance on a third book and it was bad too 😕 I'm starting to realize I'm just really bad at picking cause they all have nothing in common I'm crying at how much time I've wasted

[jamandjazz]

I am absolutely dying to see more of your WSMS notes!! Pls share (if ur comfortable ofc) I’m already obsessed with the little pieces of analysis!!

Dw man the second I get another one done I’ll post it 🫡

[fazcinatingblog]

No YOU ran out of paper towel and then opened the fridge to see if there were any new rolls in there

[snail-day]

Satoru doesn't do well with the idea of leaving you. Never has. Probably never will.

Even the short missions are enough to make him sulky, but the long ones? The ones where he’ll be away for days, maybe weeks? He turns into a whining mess. You wonder if he's always been like this, just never voiced it aloud to anyone before.

Packing takes three times longer than it should. Every time he tries to fold a shirt or zip his carry on, he ends up abandoning the task halfway through just to wrap his arms around you from behind, pressing his face into the crook of your neck with a pitiful little whine.

"I don't wanna go," he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin, maybe saying it enough times might make the whole thing mission disappear. "You’re my little Pokémon, y'know? I should be able to just catch you in a ball and bring you with me."

You laugh, warm and breathless, reaching up behind you to card your fingers through his snowy hair. "You could try," you tease, and he groans dramatically, squeezing you tighter.

It’s not just joking, though. When you offer to come with him, he always gets a little quiet. A little stuck in his mind. Turning you around and pulling back just enough to look at you, and the way his bright blue eyes shimmer... God, it breaks your heart a little. He wants to say yes. You can see it in the way his hand trembles against your side. The way his pretty eyes scan your face. It's on the tip of his tongue.

But instead, he just shakes his head slowly, a wobbly little smile on his lips.

Because the thought of something happening to you, curse or no curse, makes his heart ache. Makes his mind wander a little too far for his liking.

What if he’s in the middle of a fight and someone targets you?

What if he’s too far away to reach you in time?

What if...?

"Can’t risk it," he finally says softly, thumb brushing back and forth against your hip, memorizing the feel of your soft skin. Maybe your scent will eventually be engrained in his mind. "You're... you’re everything, baby."

Already pulling you against his lean chest again, holding you so tightly you can barely breathe, mumbling "I love you" over and over against the crown of your head. His palm rubbing up and down your back in loose patterns. You almost think he's tearing up.

"I love you. I love you so much. Don’t forget, okay?" he murmurs between kisses to the top of your head. "Be safe. Call me if you even think something’s weird, kay? I’ll come running, promise."

You have to physically pry him off you just to get him to finish packing. And even then, he keeps glancing back at you every five seconds. Begging for one more hug. One more kiss. One more chance to touch you before he has to drag himself to the door.

By the time he actually gets to the door, he’s somehow hugging you again, despite your giggling protests, rocking you gently side to side in his arms, mumbling about how he’s going to miss you so bad he might just quit being a sorcerer and become your full-time house husband. (He’s only half joking.)

Finally, after a hundred kisses and whispered I love yous, he leans down one last time, nose brushing against yours, voice soft and almost trembling: "Be here when I get back, 'kay? I don’t wanna come home to a world without you."

But then, quieter, so quiet you nearly miss it he adds: "...And don’t... don’t forget about me either, yeah? Don’t find someone normal while I'm gone. Someone who doesn't leave. Someone who can give you the kind of life you deserve."

It’s said with a half-laugh, light and teasing, like he’s trying to play it off, but you can feel it in the way his arms tighten around you, the way his voice wavers. That tiny, hidden crack in the foundation of Satoru Gojo: The fear that being the strongest might mean ending up the loneliest too.

And even as he finally forces himself to step away, flashing you that big, blinding smile. You catch the flicker of sadness he tries so desperately to hide. Because no matter how strong he is, when it comes to you, Satoru’s always afraid that someday you’ll realize you deserve more than a man who keeps having to leave.

[anothermonikan]

'In 33 hours this will all be over, whether you do it good or not you wont have to worry about it anymore, cmon Andy, you got this! You got this!' <<< trying to do their last assignment

[meowdei]

like a lotus in spring, you are mine to bloom — ft. alhaitham

synopsis: at twenty one, you’re just a girl he meets as he trains for the role of scribe. at twenty four, you’ve become everything he loves in this world. after three years of knowing you and nearly two and a half decades of life, alhaitham finally realizes why his father left letters for his mother instead of just saying the words outloud

word count. ❤︎ 7.7k words — we find ourselves here in the same old situation again, i see LOL pls give it a chance though!! plssss

before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; 18+ content — not suitable for minors ; not proof read ; strangers to friends to lovers ; mutual pining but not at the same time for a bit (he falls first <3) ; jealous alhaitham ; hinted drunk sex ; getting together + love confessions ; alhaitham character story spoilers + references to his grandmother and parents ; semi-clothed unprotected sex ; no prep ; some nipple play ; creampie ; the cringiest love letter at the end LOL

commentary. ❤︎ guys every time i write alhaitham it’s so corny and cheesy but . he is my fav genshin guy of all time i deserve to be allowed this okay

TWENTY ONE. 

You’re still a student when you first meet Alhaitham. (Not a student for much longer, but a student all the same. With a little luck on your side and good graces from your darshan’s sage on your thesis, you’re expected to graduate in just a few short months.)

You don’t have the best first meet. In fact, your impression of Alhaitham starts off entirely on the wrong foot. 

He’s newly graduated, just freshly rewarded a degree for his (impressive) efforts, and is now well on his way to training for the role of scribe—you heard he was offered far more prestigious roles, but for some reason, a genius like him settled for a role like that. You try not to judge. People have their passions, after all, and if that’s what he wants to do, well…who are you to make comments? (But amongst a school that only houses the brilliant, Alhaitham is, very undoubtedly, a standout. It’s hard to stand out in a school filled with only the best minds, but he manages to do so with ease. Sometimes, you’re almost jealous. You can’t help but wonder why he doesn’t aim a little higher than he does.)

He trains in the house of Daena. His first order of training is to fact-check ordinance drafts using books so he can better get the hang of drafting them himself in the future. You’re also in the House of Daena to find the last book for your thesis—after weeks of begging, you’re finally granted access to the restricted section to find it. 

And you do. Except your palm meets warm skin instead of the cold leather cover of a book. You pause, glancing up as sharp, teal eyes meet your gaze, staring at you expectantly as if you should be the one letting go. But you need this book. It’s the final research element to finish your thesis, and you’d like to be done with it. End of story. No matter how devastatingly handsome the man (because he is handsome, you’ll admit at least that much), you will not be handing over the last, final key to your academic freedom.

“Um, excuse me,” you say politely, “I was kind of reaching for that.”

“As was I,” he says, staring at you with a bored, almost uncaring expression. Your eyes narrow. “Now, if you’d please kindly take your hand off of mine.”

“I believe it should be you taking your hand off of mine,” you correct, huffing as you add stubbornly, “I reached for it first.”

He blinks at you, bland and a little irritated, as he points out, “Your hand is on top of mine, which means I reached the book first.”

Well.

Maybe if you were feeling particularly patient, you’d be inclined to admit that, yes, he does have a point. But stubbornness, combined with pure exhaustion, has you at your wit's end, and if you have to play the role of a difficult student, then so be it. You’re pretty sure you need it more, and you’re probably a much speedier reader anyway. You’ll have it done and returned in no time.

This guy, on the other hand…he doesn’t look too bright. You’re not willing to take your chances and let him walk off with a book that you might never see again.

“I started reaching for it first,” you scowl, “you just sped up your hand once you saw me. I should get it.”

“Unlikely,” he scoffs, “I didn’t even see you. Although,” he gives you a once over with his eyes, making you feel uncomfortably seen under his judging gaze, “I suppose you were a bit easy to miss.”

You gape at him. “Just what does that mean?”

“It means,” he smirks, taking the opportunity to grab the book as you stand in shock, “that I got here first.”

“Hey!” You glare at him, seeing red for a moment. What a perfectly good waste of a perfectly handsome face—and such an awful attitude coupled with his ridiculously smug grin couldn’t make for a worse combination. But, before you can even say anything, the book is being pressed back into your hands.

“You seem like you want it more than I do, though,” he hums, “I suppose I can let you have it. It’s a bit outdated for this ordinance, anyway.” With that, he saunters off. You push down the soft flutter in your heart for a moment and force yourself to hope you’ll never see him again. (Faintly, you hope your wishes don’t come true—but you refuse to admit it to yourself.)

Unfortunately (and fortunately at the same time) for you, you do see him again. Many, many times, in fact. When he works in the House of Daena as often as he does, and you like to spend all your free time there to study if you can, you’re both bound to run into each other often. Very often. 

And sometimes, it’s quite literally running into him. 

“Oof,” you hiss, staggering backward and hitting your head against the bookshelf behind you as you bump into a sturdy figure. You drop the books in your hand, blinking before reaching to rub your read as you start to apologize. “Sorry, I didn’t see you—oh. It’s you.”

“It’s me,” he says, looking mildly entertained. Alhaitham is everywhere. Everywhere. You can’t escape him if you try, and now, you can’t even avoid him in your own personal space. “Although, I think I should be the one apologizing this time. I was too busy reading to pay attention. This section is usually empty at this time.”

“How often are you in here to know what section is empty at what time?” You raise a brow. 

“Too often to be considered good for my well-being,” he says dryly, sighing in misery. You crack a smile at that. Oddly enough, so does he—you don’t think you’ve ever heard someone say they’ve seen Alhaitham smile. It must be a rare sight that only you, and perhaps a very few others, can say they’ve witnessed. “I was just about to take a break to buy a coffee—I’ll bring one back for you, too, to make up for the cranial damage I’ve supplied.”

“A most wonderful idea,” you perk up instantly, “I love when I get to drain the wallet of a man.”

He gives you an amused look at that. And somehow, bringing you a coffee along with his own during his breaks is a habit that seems to stick for a long, long while after that. 

────────────────────────

TWENTY TWO.

Alhaitham’s feelings are hurt. Not a lot of words tend to do that—he’s been blessed with thick skin and an unbothered attitude to a fault, sometimes. But something about today, for some odd reason, hurts his feelings. 

Your words to the waiter who took your order keep ringing in his head. 

Oh goodness, no, we are definitely not dating!

Most people mistake you and Alhaitham for a pair of lovers rather than a pair of friends. It’s just the way things go when a man and a woman are seen together for extended periods of time over and over. It doesn’t help that Alhaitham doesn’t really have any friends. He had one before you, but…well, things are complicated now. Far too complicated to think about it more than necessary. He has you, and that’s enough. But the matter still stands that most people tend to assume that something blossoms between the two of you that isn’t just friendly. 

He was starting to think it was true himself, too. He knows it’s true from his end, at least. But you say those words with such a sure, definitive tone that it almost sounds like you’re offended by the notion of being seen as his girlfriend. And sure, he would be disappointed—he’s no liar—if you didn’t feel romantically for him, but he’d understand. It’s not something you can help. But you brush off the idea like it’s an anomaly of sorts in the universe for someone like you and someone like Alhaitham to be a couple. It hurts his feelings. More than it should. 

(He knows deep down, in the depths of his heart, that you don’t mean it that way. You never would. But irrationality is but one of many feelings that bloom when it comes to romance.)

Alhaitham knows from a young age he’s different than most kids his age. This fact doesn’t change as he gets older. He’s brighter than most of his peers—which is certainly saying something because Sumeru is a nation filled with enough sharp minds, it’s as though brilliance were the average trait. People don’t typically like Alhaitham (which is fine by him, he doesn’t like most of them, either. They mostly don’t meet his standards). The kids don’t play with him in the parks that Grandmother would leave him at while she shopped around at the market, and they don’t sit with him on his one and only day at the Akademiya when he is but an elementary scholar. It never bothered him. He preferred reading under the trees and self-learning at home, anyway. When he’s older and enrolled in the Akademiya full-time, they don’t prefer to partner with him for projects for any other reason than simply being guaranteed a good grade, and they don’t spare him a glance when they all converse in groups outside of class. He never cared for freeloaders, anyway—he only trusts himself for projects, and he is at the Akademiya to learn, not make friends. 

It’s not until he meets Kaveh does he consider the idea that friendships are meaningful enough to spare some effort into. But the end result of that only solidifies that he is best when in solitude. 

But then he meets you. Some part of Alhaitham knows very early on that you would never be just a friend to him. If it was friendship that he craved, he would have looked for it elsewhere before running into you. Something about you from the very beginning makes him yearn for things much deeper than that. Things that remind him of his parents. 

Friendship is fleeting. People at the Akademiya go their separate ways and meet new people. They fall out and have arguments. They grow up and grow apart and become different. But love blooms like the Kalpalata lotuses on a vine, timeless as time itself. It starts and never ends, one root stemming into more and more vines until they never stop growing.

Alhaitham has fallen in love with you. Logic tells him it’s only a recent development, but his heart has known this outcome would be brought about for a long, long time. And, in all truthfulness, your words have hurt his feelings. 

And yet, he still loves you through it. He thinks that even if you crushed his feelings with a cold, indifferent smile, he would still love you through it. 

A hand waves in front of his face, pulling him from his thoughts as you take a sip from your coffee. Puspa Cafe is not as busy at this hour, most people are in the middle of a work day, but Alhaitham is allowed to pick his lunch hour, and yours happens to be earlier than most.

“Sorry, I just have to ask—are…are you upset?” you ask gently, making him pause. 

Yes.

“No,” he says simply, “why would I be?”

“You seem upset.”

“I’m not.”

“You were fine up until…I don’t know, a few minutes ago. Is something on your mind?”

You know him so well, he thinks. How could you not see how perfect the two of you are together?

“I’m simply concerned about your sugar intake is all,” he eyes the cold, iced drink in your hands with more syrups than he deems necessary. You always have a penchant for choosing the sweetest drink off the menu, and Alhaitham will never understand how your teeth don’t rot.

“Well, that’s very funny,” you roll your eyes, “because I was just thinking about how low on vitamin D you must be—do you ever leave your study to see the sun?”

He spares you a soft chuckle at that, shaking his head before taking a sip of his own coffee—hot and black and with two spoons of sugar. Simple, like how he prefers. You make a face at his drink as he sets it down. 

“Have you ever thought about what you look for in a partner?” he asks suddenly, making you blink in shock for a moment. He flinches at his own forwardness just a tad. 

“Umm, I suppose a little here and there…why do you ask?”

“No reason,” he shrugs, “just curious what your type was, that’s all. You’re painfully single, so I figured your taste was rather distinct.”

“Rude,” you scoff, rolling your eyes enough that he thinks it’s safe to assume you’re not suspicious. “Are you here just to poke fun at my choices today?”

Alhaitham should not be asking you this. Not when the answer so clearly is going to hurt his already very bruised feelings. Of course, your type won’t be him. And, of course, he is going to mourn your answer the second you give it, which is his own fault considering he’s the one who asked. (He has to wonder, for a moment, if this constitutes as an undiscovered hidden kink of his and whether or not he really just gets off on some unnecessary pain. Why else would he willingly subject himself to this?)

But, he’s caught off guard when you shrug and simply say, “I suppose someone who’s intelligent. I’d appreciate some good discussions. And…and maybe someone who’s kind, y’know? I would be rather sad if they were mean,” you pretend to sniffle dramatically.

“That’s…that’s it?” He tilts his head in equal parts shock and equal parts confusion. 

“What did you expect me to look for in a partner?” You snort, “A three-story mansion? A rock-solid, chiseled chest to lay on?” 

“Well, no,” he rolls his eyes, “Maybe something a bit less generic to narrow down your pool, I suppose, but if that’s your bar, so be it. There are far too many men who are intelligent and kind, you know.”

“Yes, but none of them show me any signs of interest,” you pout, “I must be undesirable or something.”

I desire you, he wants to say. He can’t quite find the courage to get the words out, though—and as if the universe has it completely out for him, the same waiter from earlier who is responsible for asking you the question that kills Alhaitham’s mood for the day comes back with the bill. And something else, too. 

Something that kills his mood for the week. 

His jaw clenches a tad when you flush at the note scribbled on a napkin for you, eyeing your flustered reaction while you read over the words: I get off at eight if you’d like to find me. You stare for a moment before you murmur, “Well, look at that. A sign of interest—it must be the Dendro Archon’s divine power.”

“The Divine have no say over who you fall for,” he insists.

“You don’t know that,” you hum thoughtfully, “The God of Wisdom knows her people better than anyone else, you know. I’d like to think she knows when love is bound for two people.”

You fold the napkin carefully and keep it in your pocket, and Alhaitham fishes out his mora pouch with stiff fingers. He leaves a very shoddy tip on the table before he exits after you. 

────────────────────────

TWENTY THREE.

You wake up in his bed. 

It’s a foggy memory, but you know you fucked Alhaitham after more sips of wine than you can count and one flirty comment too many. It happened in a blur last night, and you can’t say you’re surprised that it finally happened at all. Alhaitham is a man just like any other, and mingling pleasure with friendship is a normal thing to do. Falling under him on his mattress is not something you never had daydreams of—but the truth of the matter is that your daydreams don’t just stop with the bed.

They end with a toothbrush beside his in the bathroom. A mug next to his in the kitchen. Your shoes kicked off along with his at the entrance of a home. Your laughter and his bouncing off of the walls. A ring, maybe. One on your hand and one on his. 

In your imagination, it starts with pleasure, but it ends with love.

Falling in love with Alhaitham is a peaceful ordeal. He’s dependable and inherently kind. Strong and impressively capable. Intelligent and objectively handsome. You’d bring him home to your mother and father, and they’d thank Lord Kusanali for smiling down upon their humble little family and their darling little daughter by sending such a divine man your way. 

You don’t think you can pinpoint when exactly it is you started to love this boy, but you know loving him became as simple as breathing. You never thought about it. Never learned to do it. Never questioned it, even. You inhale the scent of his spicy, woody cologne and exhale the warm breath of your affections stored in your lungs. He lives somewhere nestled so deep in your ribcage that you think you’d have to crack each of them one after the other before you could pry him out.

You love Alhaitham. You think you know everything there is to know about loving him. You think you’d do it right—better than anyone else. 

He only drinks his coffee when it’s piping hot, and his wine can never be one degree less than iced. He has dry hands, but he hates the feeling of lotion. He doesn’t like raw onions but he doesn’t mind them cooked. When the sun is in his eyes, he’s in a foul mood, but he enjoys napping under the warm rays, much like a cat. He laughs surprisingly boyishly from his belly if you manage to deliver a dry yet clever enough joke, and he clears his throat and gets a bit shy once he’s realized he’s let it out. He twirls his pen in his hand when he’s bored, and he only uses the kind with gel ink because they write smoother. 

You love Alhaitham. For you, it’s always been him. 

When you wake up to his bare, warm body next to yours, breathing peacefully with an arm thrown over your waist, you can’t help but selfishly wish he’d stay asleep all day. Just for a day. Just for the amount of time you get in between the sun’s departure and the moon’s arrival. Just so you can watch him exist in this moment where it’s you, him, and the liminal space between friends and lovers. Just so you can admire how beautiful he is without worrying about his eyes opening and the inevitable conversation of what you’re both doing is brought up. 

People (like Kaveh, or Dehya, or Tighnari, or…anyone) tend to insist that Alhaitham loves you. It’s obvious, they say, just as obvious as your love for him. You never believe it. It’s not because he’s bad at love or because you’re bad for him. You think he’d make a good lover—contrary to popular belief, you don’t think Alhaitham is uninterested in intimacy or affection. And you think you’d make a good girlfriend—unlike other people, you understand him and like what you see. 

But he doesn’t love you. That much is a fact you’ve long accepted. It’s not because you’re bad for him or because he’s incapable of feeling—but rather, it’s just that bitter, soul-crushing reality that you can’t help who you love and who you don’t. Alhaitham doesn’t love you—it’s not something either of you can really change. Because if he did, he’d waste no time. He’d get to the heart of the matter and quit dancing around the issue. 

It’s just the kind of guy that he is. 

So, because this is your first and likely last time seeing him this way, you slowly reach over and brush a few strands of messy, unruly bedhead from his forehead before cupping his cheek in your hand. His skin is soft and warm under your palm, much more delicate to the touch than you anticipated from how chiseled his features are. Your thumb gently brushes along the slant of his cheekbone, eyes softening at how he lets out a puff of air as he sleeps. 

“Morning,” he says hoarsely, eyes still closed and making you jolt in surprise. He lets out a quiet, sleepy chuckle that would make you melt if not for the way your heart still pounds from the shock. 

“You’re awake?”

“Mhm,” he hums, nodding before finally cracking an eye open. “For a while now.”

“Why pretend to sleep then, you creep?” You scoff, glaring at him as he sits up slightly and glances at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. No part of him seems to be shocked about you being nude in his bed. Or the fact that you’re even in his bed at all, nude or not. 

“You’re the creep if we’re being technical here. It’s undoubtedly a little on the creepy side to study someone with such careful touches while they sleep.”

“That’s your main concern…?” You stare at him—and for lack of better words, you’re dumbfounded. You and Alhaitham have been friends for two years and counting. You’ve never once crossed the line or even toed at it to step beyond the border of anything more. And, yet, here you are. In his bed. Completely nude. He was lying there and felt your delicate touch along his skin, felt you act like a lover and not a friend on a quiet, intimate morning when in fact, you both should be shamefully avoiding each other’s eyes in a moment that’s anything but intimate as you leave. 

He makes no move to ask you to leave or even question why you’re still here. You make no move to really leave—it’s not like you want to. 

“What should my main concern be, then?” he looks at you expectantly, like he really doesn’t know.

“Oh, I don’t know, Alhaitham—shouldn’t you be a little more panicked by the idea that I’ve trespassed into your bed and seen you…bare?”

“Well, to be fair, you didn’t trespass. I let you in—and also, to be fair, I saw the same for you, too, so we’re even.”

“You’re oddly calm about this,” you hiss. “This doesn’t bother you even a little? That things might change?”

He looks at you funny—like you’ve just told him a joke that hardly makes sense but makes him want to laugh anyway. “You’re too brilliant to be this dense,” he murmurs. “Maybe I’m quite open to the idea of change.”

You take offense to the first part enough to completely miss the second part of his statement. 

“I am not dense,” you huff, “I’m incredibly bright. I’ll have to send you my thesis sometime.”

“No need,” he responds through a low hum. He pulls you closer, flush against his chest. Bare skin on skin. Intimate skin, at that. You shiver for a moment as his warm, large hand wanders lower and lower before stopping just at the small of your back, rubbing slow circles at the dimple where your spine ends. “I’ve read it plenty of times. It was very insightful.”

“Well, in that case, you should know not to insult my intelligence—”

“If you don’t notice my affection for you, I’m afraid you might not be as observant as I initially thought.”

You pause. Your heart flutters. Then it feels like it decays. Your eyes widen a fraction. Then they feel like they need to be squeezed shut for fear of tears. You feel your fingers twitch to reach for him. And yet they stiffen in distrust. 

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you whisper. Because you don’t.

You really fucking don’t. You thought you knew. His feelings and how to read them. His thoughts and how his mind works. Every little quirk of his and how he approaches every damn thing in this world. You thought you knew.

Now you feel like you don’t know much of anything, especially not what he means right in this moment. 

“You don’t?” He whispers, hand moving to grab your wrist and bring it to his cheek so his lips can brush along the delicate lines of your palm prints. (If he was brave, he’d tell you that his destiny and yours are written in those very lines. Maybe someday he’ll build the courage.)

“No,” you say through a shaky whisper. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I love you. Just like you love me.” He says it so plainly, that you almost feel like it's a dry, cruel joke. (You know him a little better than that, though, to know he’d never.)

“How do you know I love you?” you challenge just because it’s all you have left to cling to—easy, instant denial. 

He laughs. Soft. Quiet. Melodic. So fucking sweet. “I’m too smart to act dense,” Alhaitham teases. And then, for a moment, his eyes soften enough that they almost look vulnerable. “And only someone who loves me could deal with my… peculiarities. Though, I will admit, it took me quite a while to reach this conclusion. You made me work for it.”

“If you’ve known all along—” 

“Not all along,” he corrects, “like I said, it took me a while to come to this conclusion. But once I did, it was rather obvious.”

You scowl with a finger prodding into his chest, eyes misty with relief and the faintest traces of agitation, “Well, regardless, why haven’t you said something all this time? Obviously, I wasn’t as aware as you seem to be, so the least you could have done is spared me the pining and heartbreak of wondering if you’d ever look at me—”

“I wanted to make sure I could offer you a peaceful life first,” he says gently. You blink. He smiles, eyeing something in the distance—you don’t quite catch it, but you think it might be the old, worn-out stack of envelopes sitting on his desk. 

“What?”

“When you’re with me,” he whispers, leaning in so that his lips brush over yours, “I can lead a peaceful life. I wanted to make sure I could give you the same.”

“And what does that consist of?” you raise a brow. 

“Well,” he murmurs, pecking the corner of your mouth, “A stable job with a generous income, which I now have. A fixed schedule, which I have also negotiated. A proper home to house the both of us, which you are comfortably laying in. And…” he grabs your hand, bringing it to his chest where his heart is beating erratically, “A rock-solid, chiseled chest to lay on, which I have dedicatedly worked to add to my physique for you.”

“Haitham!” you squeal, shoving him away with a horrified shriek as he laughs with a wide grin. You don’t even know why he still remembers that comment to poke fun at it, but you suppose that is the tragedy of falling for a prodigious scholar. His mind is sharp. And so is his memory. “Enough!”

“Okay, okay,” he grins smugly. “I want us to lead a peaceful life.”

“There’s not a lot of peace I am counting on with you.”

“I will elect to ignore that statement,” he says dryly, “But that’s why I waited this long,” he buries his face into your neck, nose pressing into the skin as he inhales, “I’m afraid I can’t wait any longer, though. Won’t you accept my frugal attempt at a serene life with you?”

“Perhaps I can make do,” you fight back a stupid grin.

He smiles into your neck. You can feel it. You can practically see it. You hope you’ll grow old with it, too. 

“Then I suppose I’m forever indebted to your graciousness, my love.”

────────────────────────

TWENTY FOUR.

When Alhaitham was eight, Grandmother told him the story of how his parents had fallen in love. It was a typical love story, he thought at the time—nothing overly special or unique. A simple, sweet bond between two people who became friends and something more along the way.

What stood out were the letters. Not very much at first, but with time, he’d realized how special they were. 

Grandmother handed him the letters with a soft, melancholy look in her eyes that made him realize he hadn’t just lost his father and mother. She had lost her son and daughter-in-law. Alhaitham felt the absence of his parents often. It was hard not to at that age—he didn’t have a father to throw a ball to or tag along with to the market. He didn’t have a mother to hum him a melody or make his favorite dish for dinner. But Grandmother filled the gaps in those places well enough that even if his heart bled, not too much blood spilled between the cracks.

But he was no son. Not a proper one for her at her age, anyway. She raised him like he was her own, but she grew older every day, and he didn’t grow fast enough to keep up. He couldn’t take care of her in her old age the way his father would have. He couldn’t do much besides bring the vegetables for her to cut or set the table while she cooked. He couldn’t offer her the mora when she went to the market or carry too many of the heavy bags while they walked home. He couldn’t let her rest in her old age too much because, regardless of how mature and bright he was for his age, Alhaitham was just a child. Her child, nonetheless—Grandmother didn’t let him forget that fact. But a child.

When she died, he arranged the funeral alone. He didn’t cry throughout the whole ordeal. Her old colleagues from way back in her Akademiya days came, as did some of his parents’ old acquaintances. No one he knew too familiarly, though—no one who really mattered when they clasped his shoulder and told him to hang in there.

She was a good woman. He knew that already.

She was very intelligent. A very obvious fact.

She was exceptionally kind. A rather unsurprising observation.

She loved very deeply. Well. That one stung—as true as it might have been.

He remembers it so vividly still. How he had walked home alone after it all. How he had taken off his tie (a very poorly tied tie, at that—Grandmother had always helped him before) and silently entered his room.

It wasn’t until he had eyed his desk that finally, it all sank in. The notes—the ones his father had so carefully written his mother while they were still just starting to fall in love, sat there as if waiting for him. He read them one by one, just like he had so many times before. He didn’t realize he’d started crying until a rivulet of his sorrow landed from his cheek to the page, staining the paper a darker shade of heartache. 

Alone. 

That’s all Alhaitham had ever been since the tender age of four. At least, that’s what people had always thought—but he’d never felt the sorrow people tended to feel for him. Not having a father and mother was okay. Hard at times, but okay. Grandmother had been everything he needed. More than what he needed, in fact. 

Grandmother was everything. And she had left him just the same way his parents had. He’d cried that night—alone in a house that was nothing more than just a house. Not a home, not a place where he could return to and look forward to it. Not a place where love was waiting for him to shelter him as soon as he came back from the cruel, outside world.

Grandmother was gone. Mother and father had left so long ago. But they all had each other—in whatever world they’d crossed to, they’d had each other. 

He remembers it all so vividly still. How he’d read his father’s words, and for the first time in all his life, he’d craved it. What his parents had. 

To my love, my soul, my heart. I am yours, always. 

He wondered that night, through teary and blurry eyes, if love like that would ever find him. If he’d one day be able to call someone his love, soul, and heart.

He thinks now, as you laugh with your head tilted forward and a tweezer in hand while sitting on his lap, that he can. 

“Hold still, you,” comes your teasing remark, “you said this would be nothing. Now look at you.”

“You’re being too harsh,” he grumbles, pouting slightly. With a smile, you bend your neck down and press a soft kiss to his jutted lips, humming before pressing an extra one to the corner of his mouth for good measure. (And yes, the grand sage—acting, you can almost hear him correct in your own head—can pout. He is rather frequent at curling those lips of his in your presence when he wants something, in fact. Or when he is teased too much. Something about you brings about a side of him that is much less stoic and far more dramatized.)

“You can just admit it hurts, you know,” you say through an amused snort.

“It won’t hurt if you just do it right.”

“I’m an expert at tweezing eyebrows,” you huff, “I do mine all the time. And I would know that it hurts.”

“It can’t be that painful,” he clicks his teeth, “just be gentle.”

“I cannot gently pull out a hair from your follicle, Haitham—I don’t know what you want me to—hey!”

He grabs the tweezers from your hand and pulls you close, hugging you tight enough that his nose digs into your skin a bit as he buries it into your neck. It’s Saturday. His first out of two days off for the week—standard scribe work weeks are nine to five on weekdays, and he very much appreciates his weekends away from the bustling, lively Akademiya nonsense. 

Saturday happens to be your day off, too. 

“Where is Kaveh?” you ask quietly, playing with the hem of his shirt. He raises a brow, eyeing the suspicious movement of your fingers.

“Working with a client in Aaru Village. He won’t be back until tomorrow evening. Why am I not enough company for you?”

“Oh, be quiet,” you roll your eyes, and this time, your hands wander under his shirt, palms slowly dragging along his chiseled, planed abdomen while he shivers slightly under your touch. “I was just asking if…”

“If…?” he urges you to continue.

You know he knows. But, for the sake of indulging his smug, teasing little game, you huff and push his shirt up to expose his chest before murmuring, “If we would be interrupted or not. I don’t fancy such awkward run-ins with your roommate.”

“Our roommate,” he corrects, “this is your home, too.”

“Yes,” you smile, brushing your palms over his pectorals, watching as he stiffens when you graze along his nipples, “I suppose it is.”

“Well, he’s not here. And he won’t be, so kiss me,” he demands through a breathy whisper. You do. You kiss him instantly—because kissing Alhaitham is what you do best. When he’s happy, sad, angry, distressed, or just plain tired, kissing him is how you know him the most. When your breaths exchange and your life force and his mingle to become one, singular unit. 

You sigh into his mouth, letting his hands cradle your jaw and tilt your head to better meet his mouth, all while your hands still explore his upper half. He moans under your touch, cock springing to life slowly below you through his pants. You angle your hips forward, inching higher up his lap to drag your crotch along his and help the erection grow against the friction. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, hard and heavy between his legs in no time. 

“Haitham,” you breathe, feeling that familiar ache build between your own thighs. 

You kiss him like that for a bit. Messy, deep, sloppy, and so, so slow. With all the time in the world. Languid strokes of your tongue against his as he rolls his hips up from underneath you, dragging his clothed, bulging cock against your dripping cunt. The fabric separates you, rudely so, and it’s not long until you both grow tired of it. 

“Off,” you whine, tugging at his pants, “off, off, off!”

“So demanding,” he chuckles, pecking your nose sweetly before he lifts his hips, letting you slide off his sweatpants. “Satisfied?” 

“Yes,” you beam, “You always give me what I want. It’s my favorite thing about you.”

His gaze darkens at that—not for any other reason than it makes him so incredibly filled with lust when you speak to him like that. So spoiled and happy about it because it’s him. Him. You’re happy that it’s him. And he’s happy that it’s you. 

You don’t even bother undressing yourselves fully—he pulls down your own pants just enough to expose your pretty, leaking folds, and his hands wander under your shirt, where he almost short-circuits for a moment. Braless. Because you just love to drive him mad, he thinks. This much easy access to your soft, delicate breasts and the pert nipples that decorate them is enough to make him curse under his breath as his thumbs tease over them. 

“You’re a tease.”

“For simply existing?” you gasp, making him crack a small grin. 

“Yes,” he hums, “Your existence on its own teases me at all times. I’m afraid it drives me mad.”

You hum, reaching forward to gently take his hard, leaking cock into your hand and give a light, teasing squeeze. “Maybe my goal is to turn you completely into a lost cause.”

“Then,” he groans, throwing his head back against the couch cushions while he breathes harshly, “then you’re definitely succeeding. Is that what you wished to hear?”

“Yes,” you whisper, kissing his jaw, “It is, actually.”

It doesn’t take long at all before Alhaitham has tossed you back against the couch, laughing as you shriek at the sudden change of position. You glare at him, fighting back your own chorus of giggles as he moves to hover over you, kissing and biting playfully along your cheeks. 

“I love you,” he mumbles.

“Aw, so sweet,” you coo, “say that again.”

He rolls his eyes. His lips curl into the brightest grin at the same time. My love, my soul, my heart—the words are ingrained in his memory always. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” you whisper.

He leans in for a soft, slow kiss as the tip of his leaking cock slides against your folds, tapping against your clit before rubbing along your entrance. You gasp, shuddering against him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. 

“You know,” he murmurs, “I could get used to this.”

“Sex on the couch? We can do that any time—”

“A weekend with just the two of us,” he groans, dropping his head to your neck as you laugh loudly. Bright. Airy. A sound the wind carries to him in his subconscious. He hears you even when you’re not there—even when you aren’t around, he searches for you. 

“Oh,” you say playfully, “Yeah, I guess that’s nice too, isn’t it?”

“I’ll show you just how nice it’s about to be,” he hums. The tip of his thick, blunt head is pressed against your folds—you’re leaking just as much as he is. You slick, and his pre cum mix for a messy collision of arousal as he presses into you slowly, so carefully, you feel like you could break at any second with how he handles you. 

He’s patient. When Alhaitham fucks you, he’s patient enough that you feel like his other half and not his means of pleasure. Like he fucks you for you and not for himself. 

“More,” you insist, impatient as you add, “I can take it.”

“Patience is a virtue,” he clicks his teeth, “I want to take my time feeling you.”

And he does. He rolls his hips slowly. So slowly, you feel delirious. It’s a painful, gradual build-up of pleasure that has you trying to roll your hips into him to meet him halfway, a pathetic attempt when he’s on top of you to press his weight down on you to keep you in place. 

“Please, Haitham,” you whine, sweat shining across your sweet, pleasure-hazed face as he stares down at you, “Please more. I need it—need you. Need all of you.”

“You have all of me,” he groans, feeling the tight walls of your cunt squeeze around him, the squelching noise of his thick girth bullying into your folds in and out, in and out, in and out, driving him to the brink of insanity. “You’ve always had every piece of me.”

“I want more,” you hiss. 

He lets out a breathy laugh that turns into a soft moan. “If that’s what you want.”

The next thing you know, two strong, muscled arms are grabbing your thighs and bringing them around his torso to wrap around him, and his large hands grab your hips and pull, practically manhandling you deeper onto his cock. You shudder, letting out a shrill, high-pitched gasp as he intrudes further into your cunt, nudging the head of his cock against your sweetest of spots and making your body tremble. 

“Haitham,” you gasp, “Haitham, fuck—fuck, you feel so good. So deep—love when you fuck me like this.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, kissing in between your pretty little scrunched-up eyebrows, “I love fucking you like this, too. When you take me so well, squeeze so tight, and let me feel you like the good girl you are.”

His words make your folds squeeze around him, and fuck—he’s close. So fucking close, the pad of his rough, callused thumb meets your clit as he rubs circles, trying to bring you to the edge before he goes plummeting himself. 

“‘M close—almost…almost there,” you pant.

“Me too, baby,” he groans. He slams into you, skin slapping against skin and the glistening sheen of it mixing your sweat together. His mouth parts with pretty, low sounds of his pleasure, and your face twists with the devastating rush of yours. 

Once. Twice. A third time, and you fall apart as he thrusts into you and presses the tip of his thick length against the spongey spot in the back of your walls. 

“Haitham,” you gasp, legs tightening around him as your nails press crescent shapes into his back. “Fuck, I’m c-cumming…oh, Gods.”

“Good,” he gasps, and with one last roll of his desperate hips, he spills into you, too. A thick, sticky, familiar rush of heat fills your cunt, ropes of cum painting you white within with every twitch of his aching cock. “Fuck—you feel so good. So perfect—you were made for me. Me.”

“You,” you whisper, breathless. 

You let him shudder over you, fingers running through his hair as he finishes releasing his load into you before he slumps his weight over your body. It’s a small couch—decorative more than functional. (All thanks to Kaveh, of course.) But you don’t particularly care when you’re under him. It feels right all the same. 

“We have the house to ourselves this weekend,” he reminds you after some time of catching your breaths. “So…so we can do this all you want.”

You giggle, rolling your eyes as you poke his forehead. “You’re obscene.”

“I’m romantic,” he corrects, “I just want to be with you and nothing else. Can’t blame a man when he’s been gifted such a beautiful sight before him.”

“And cheesy, too,” you huff. 

He smiles. My love, my soul, my heart. 

——————————

You wake up Monday morning to Alhaitham already gone—it’s rare that he’s ever up before you. He leaves the house just in time to make it to work exactly on the dot and not a moment sooner or a moment later. But, as is with any Akademiya position, there are quarterly meetings that even the scribe can’t avoid. You giggle at the image in your head of a grumpy Alhaitham carefully tiptoeing around the room as he miserably gets ready for an early morning of extra work, all while making sure he doesn’t wake you. 

You yawn, sitting up to start your morning for your own day of work ahead—but it catches your eye before you can fully rise from bed, making you pause. 

A note? No, you realize almost instantly. Not just a note—a letter:

To my love, my soul, my heart: Kalpalata lotuses will bloom soon. I forget how beautiful the world is sometimes, and I suppose it’s because I am always distracted by your beauty alone. Will you laugh as you read this? I suppose you might because even I must admit, it is a rather cliche thing to say. I can just picture your smile now, and I am certain I will have it memorized until my last breath. It’s easy to remember it so well when it’s all I see in my dreams. Have I told you how often I see you in them? It’s difficult to think that there was once a time in Sumeru when we did not dream. It seems like sleeping beside your body is no longer enough—your presence is required even in my slumber for me to truly be at peace.  Perhaps when the lotuses bloom, we can take a trip to the deeper parts of the rainforest to catch a glimpse of a few. They say the vines are blessed by The Lord herself. I was never one to seek out the divine, but perhaps with a gift as sacred as you, I should take the time to thank Lady Kusanali for granting such brilliance to take bloom in my presence. Only, the difference is that here with you, there are no cliffs to climb or seasons to await. You are mine to bloom, always—my precious, beautiful lotus.  Forever yours,  Haitham ♡

ITS DONE. HAPPY LATE BDAY TO MY FIRST AND LONGEST LOVE. YOU MEAN EVERYTHING AND MORE TO MEEEEE

[shina913]

A Very Patient Man | LJH

Pairing: Lee Jihoon x AFAB!Reader

Rating: M 🔞; NSFW

Genre: F2L; FWB; smut; pwp

Warnings: cussing; breast play; fingering; cunnilingus; unprotected sex; PIV sex; riding; ass smacking; dirty talk; creampie

Word count: 4.6k words

Summary: You’re frustrated because it takes you longer to reach an orgasm during sex. This has made you feel insecure, and you started to accept the fact you’d never meet someone patient enough to give you the attention you need. Your friend, Jihoon, casually offers a solution.

A/N: Idk. I slipped and fell onto my keyboard and all this horny word vomit spilled out. Thanks to @roaminginthenights for always enabling me in the DMs 🤣

This is also un-beta'd so...it is what it is.

Anyway! Here’s something filthy to end the year! 💜

It started innocently enough at Jihoon’s studio. You were sitting on his couch, venting about your dating life, and as always, he listened attentively just as you do when he shares his own experiences.

However, today’s visit was different. He’s letting you ramble on about a very specific topic.

“I feel like there’s an invisible time limit on foreplay.”

Jihoon’s chair creaks as he leans back, laughing at your incredulous claim. “No, there isn’t!”

“But I really think there is!” you argue. “My last date got visibly impatient, even though I...” you inhale through your teeth, “clearly asked him for more time down there. Instead, he just said, ‘It’s been five minutes, it’s my turn now.’” You huff in annoyance.

“Well, that sucks. Did you get rid of him?”

You grimace before replying. “Please don’t judge me. He was cute, so we still fucked. My vibrator finished the job,” you admit guiltily. “I blocked him on the app afterward though.”

He sighs, shaking his head in mild disappointment. “You shouldn’t compromise on your needs. If you want more time, say so and stick with it.”

You huffed wistfully. “I just take too long. I get all panicky when someone’s been down there for longer than 5 minutes.”

“You can’t rush pleasure,” he comments.

“I know that, but now, it makes me think—how long is too long before you come? Is there a play clock winding down on the field? Do I need to call out an audible?”

He doubles over again, laughing when you start using sports metaphors.

“How can some women summon an orgasm—” you snap your fingers, “just like that?”

His laughs subside, turning more serious now. “Don’t do that. Don’t compare yourself to other people. Everybody’s different.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me,” you remark sarcastically.

He turns away to face his screen, adding more edits to a track he’s working on.

“I don’t know…” you mumble, shrugging in defeat. “I guess my vibrator and I are destined to spend the rest of our lives together. Might as well reserve matching burial plots.”

Jihoon snorts. “You just haven’t found the right partner. A really patient one, I might add,” he says, half-joking.

You smack him on his bicep, and your hand stings from the unexpected firmness under his oversized shirt. Has his arm always been this solid? When was the last time you touched his bicep? Wait—why are you even thinking of his bicep?

You and Jihoon have been close friends since college, maintaining a purely platonic relationship—never a hint of romance or sexual tension between you. On rare nights out, you even act as each other’s wingman, helping one another find potential dates. You two simply click on a different level—easy and no complications.

He looked up from his mixing board, turning to you with a slight smirk. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, but I happen to be very patient.”

The lilt in his voice was unmistakable. It was the kind of tone he used when chatting up potential conquests on your nights out.

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Don’t you dare use that Joey Tribbiani move on me.”

“It’s not a move.” He keeps his face serious, looking genuinely hurt by your comment. “You’re my friend. I wouldn’t do that to you,” he says softly. “I’m just saying, if you ever wanted to try, I’m game.” He tilts his head, giving a casual shrug. “No judgment.”

You stare at him, stunned, as his offer hangs in the air. You try to laugh it off, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

Was he seriously proposing that you two—nope! You refuse to go there. Jihoon is a great friend, and although you trust him, you’re not sure you’d be comfortable with the idea of...

You shake your head. You can’t even finish the thought. You glance at your watch for no reason at all.

“You know, I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“Oh? I thought you wanted to grab dinner?” He’s surprised and confused at your sudden change of plans.

“It’s getting late.”

Truthfully, it wasn’t that late. You feel guilty lying to your friend, but you need to escape this conversation—and this situation—as quickly as possible.

“I just got a notification from work. I need to come in early, yada-yada…You know how it is.”

He looks disappointed but doesn’t push. You gather your things, slipping your puffer jacket on, despite the room feeling several degrees warmer.

“Alright. If you’re sure—”

“Yeah,” you cut him off. That came out more tersely than you initially intended. “I’m sure,” you add with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes to try and make up for it.

He rises from his seat when you do and moves in for a hug—just like he usually does. But this time, the hug feels different; you’re suddenly hyperaware of his touch, your skin tingling all over. You return his hug stiffly, without your usual warmth, then hurry out of his studio and immediately tear off your too-hot jacket.

That night, your dreams were filled with visions—his hands tracing paths across your skin, his dark head dipping between your thighs, his intense gaze meeting yours as you hovered on the edge of unbridled pleasure. The dream felt so vivid you could have sworn you felt the warmth of his breath against your skin. It wasn’t until your alarm began blaring, leaving you trembling and drenched in sweat, that reality came crashing back.

********************************************

A couple of days passed, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Jihoon. This wasn’t your usual “hope he remembered to eat lunch” thoughts or impulse to send him funny memes that popped up on your algorithm.

After your NSFW dream about him, you started noticing little things about him you’d never paid attention to before—the adorable way he’d scrunch up his nose while concentrating on work, how his muscles moved when he reached for something, or how the warm red studio lights perfectly highlighted his features.

You shake your head. It’s not that deep. Jihoon’s suggestion was only practical. There’s no reason to go down this rabbit hole.

Still, you can’t deny the growing curiosity gnawing at the back of your mind. You hadn’t expected his offer to affect you this way, but it does.

After days of avoiding him, you decide to invite him to dinner at your place. Maybe if you discussed this with him, the dreams and inappropriate thoughts would stop.

The moment he walks through your door, everything falls apart. You become hyper-aware of his every move. You catch yourself stealing glances when you think he isn’t looking, and you flinch whenever he gets too close.

Finally, he’s had enough.

“Okay,” he says firmly. “What’s with you? Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird,” you lie, your heart racing. You reach for your drink and take a hefty gulp.

“Have I said or done something? You’ve flaked on me the last couple of times I asked you to go out, you’ve left me on ‘read’ more than you’ve responded...”

You felt guilty for avoiding him, but you needed that space to sort out your thoughts. Though you wanted to have this conversation, you couldn’t find the right moment to broach the topic.

“Then you invite me over, barely talk—” he continues to rant.

“It’s... it’s really more of a me-problem,” you stammer.

“Just talk to me! I can take it.” He throws his hands up in frustration.

You inwardly groan, before finally coming clean. “Remember the last time we were at your studio? I was whining about...something.”

He squinted for a bit, then you could see the recognition slowly dawning in his eyes before lowering his voice. “You mean, how you take a long time to reach an orgasm?”

You shut your eyes, mortified when he articulates it. “Yes…”

“What about it?”

“It’s not exactly about that, but it’s more about what you said after. You know—your offer to help?”

His face visibly relaxes, prompting you to continue. “Okay.”

Your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest, but you push through. “Did you mean it, or were you just messing with me?”

He stares at you for a moment before shaking his head, the corner of his lips quirking up. “The offer still stands, if you want it.”

You sit there chewing the inside of your cheek, feeling torn. Your brain tells you to be careful—fucking your best friend could make things weird. But your body has other ideas. The warmth pooling between your legs makes it harder to think straight.

“Are you considering it?” His voice is gentle, giving you space to choose.

You deflect, buying time to sort through your tumbling thoughts. “I’m curious... have you thought about this before? About us?”

“The idea has crossed my mind from time to time.”

His candor sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Oh,” is all you can manage to say.

“What about you? Have you thought about us...doing things?”

You draw in a shaky breath, forcing yourself to be equally honest. “I never thought of us that way before you mentioned it. But now...” you trail off, unable to verbalize how his suggestion has shifted something between you.

He inches closer, but maintains enough distance to keep you comfortable. His expression grows serious, earnest. “Listen, I would never pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to. You’re one of my best friends, and that matters more to me than anything else. If I’m out of line, just say the word and we won’t talk about it ever again.” The sincerity in his voice, the genuine concern in his eyes makes your heart ache. You’ve always known him to be considerate of your feelings.

“You weren’t out of line.” Hearing you say this was a huge relief to him. “But you can’t really un-ring that bell,” you add wryly.

You also couldn’t get past an earlier comment he made. “So…you’ve thought about us before?”

He takes a moment before answering. “Yeah. I mean, you’re beautiful. Who wouldn’t want you?”

Your cheeks flush at his compliment.

Your best friend has always had this effortless way about him—you’ve seen firsthand how easily he charms people during your nights out together.

Your resolve crumbles, and honestly, you’re tired of fighting it. “How are you so chill about all this?”

He laughs. “It’s sex, not rocket science.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Things won’t get weird afterward, will they?”

“Afterward? So...you’re saying you want to have sex? With me?” His eyebrows raise slightly.

You already knew the answer to that question the moment you asked him to come over. “I guess I do,” you say softly with a nervous smile, “for science?”

His sexy, throaty laugh echoes through the room.

********

You sit nervously on your couch facing each other. Since this is completely new territory for both of you, you know you need to take things slow and make sure you’re both comfortable. Gathering up the courage to agree to this experiment is the easy part, but actually getting into it?

“Just to be clear—this is a one-time thing, right?”

“Of course,” he confirms. “This is purely for educational purposes. And your pleasure.”

You scrunch your nose in protest. “That doesn’t seem like a fair exchange.” The idea of him seeing this as one-sided doesn’t sit right with you. “Shouldn’t this be mutually beneficial?”

“I never said I had to get something out of this. You want to experience an orgasm from foreplay alone, without mechanical assistance, right?”

You nod.

“Okay. So, let me focus on making that happen for you. You don’t need to think about anything else.”

You didn’t want to be selfish, but his offer was difficult to refuse.

“This is about you, not me,” he insists. His decision is firm and he wasn’t budging.

“Okay,” you relent. Fidgeting nervously with the hem of your shirt, you take in a deep breath and release it before muttering, “How should we do this...”

When Jihoon doesn’t immediately offer any suggestions, you think of the most natural way to start.

“Maybe we could start with kissing?”

“Right, good idea.” His voice wavers slightly, betraying that he’s just as nervous as you are despite his attempts to stay composed. Oddly, this puts you at ease—knowing you’re both on the same page, figuring this out as you go.

You both move in closer together, and time seems to slow as he leans in. Your eyes flutter shut, then his lips meet yours. They’re exactly as you’d imagined—soft, warm, and unexpectedly gentle. The kiss starts tentatively, but as your lips find their rhythm, everything feels natural.

When you break apart for a moment, you can’t help but smile. “You’re a good kisser.” You barely finish the sentence before being drawn back to his lips.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he hums, and you can feel his smile against your lips as you both laugh, the sounds melting into your kisses.

Your kisses grow more intense, your mouth sucking on his top lip while his tongue traces delicately along yours, building a warmth that spreads through your entire body. You fist at his shirt, bunching the fabric between your knuckles, while his hand cradles your neck, his thumb gently stroking along your pulse point.

Gradually, his kisses move from your lips, following a path along the curve of your jawline, down to the slope of your neck. You can’t help but giggle at the sensation.

He instantly pulls back, a worried look on his face. “Sorry, are you not into that?”

“No, no—I mean—Yes, I am into it. I’m just a little bit ticklish there, that’s all,” you explain.

“Oh... okay. Do you want to keep going?”

You nod, and as he leans in for another kiss but pauses when you place a hand on his chest. “You know, I didn’t think I’d enjoy this because we’ve been friends for so long, but I have to admit that I like it.”

“Yeah?” A smirk plays across his lips. “Tell me what else you like.” He nips at your jawline. “Or show me.”

Desire spreads through you like wildfire. This was the point of no return. You take his hands and guide them under your shirt until they cup your breasts.

“What do you want me to do?” He murmurs through your lips.

“Play with them.”

His lips capture yours again as he squeezes your breast gently.

He eases you down onto the couch, his lips trailing from yours down your neck to your sternum. When he lifts your shirt to your chest, you feel constrained and pull it off completely, tossing it aside. He follows your lead, removing his own shirt.

His skilled fingers unhook your bra and takes a nipple into his mouth while his thumb teases the other, drawing a sharp breath from you.

You run your fingers through his hair as his kisses trace down your stomach, making your back arch at the sensation against your skin.

His hands glide down your sides until they reach your jeans, where he carefully undoes the button. You hook your fingers into your waistband and start pushing your bottoms down. He helps slide them off, his touch remaining gentle but with a hint of urgency as he pulls the fabric from your legs. As the last piece of clothing falls away, the cool air against your newly exposed skin makes you shiver.

One of his hands pushed between your legs, making them fall open shamelessly. His other hand continued to massage your breasts, making them unbearably sensitive. You can’t believe how slick you’d gotten in a short span of time. To think he hadn’t done much to you yet, apart from kissing you and squeezing your tits.

His gaze traveled down your body, lingering where his fingertips teased your sensitive folds. His feather-light touches made your inner walls clench with need. This only heightened your arousal, making you squirm beneath him, silently begging for more.

He slid one finger carefully into you. Your eyes closed against the unbearable vulnerability of being spread out naked and fingered by your friend, kneeling on the floor beside you. “Don’t think…just feel.” You keened as Jihoon pulled out and thrust gently back into you with two fingers. You couldn’t hold back a moan.

It’s probably been a few minutes now, you’re not sure as you’ve completely lost track of time. You blink furiously in a mild panic and stare down at him, still leisurely finger-fucking you. What he was doing felt so good, but you weren’t even halfway to your peak yet. By this point, other partners would be coming up for air, wanting you to return the favor or just ready to stick their cock in to get their fill.

“Relax...” he cooed, pressing a kiss against your inner thigh. Each deliberate dip and languid curl of his skilled fingers inside you made you wetter, gradually coaxing your muscles to yield. “It’s not a race,” he reassured you softly, his voice thick with desire. “I’ll keep going until you come.”

His words of encouragement sent waves of arousal coursing through you, making your breath catch in your throat.

“Kiss me,” you choked out, needing to feel his lips against yours. Without hesitation, he obliged, sealing his mouth over yours in a deep kiss that made you dizzy.

Your fingers clutched desperately at the edges of your cushions, knuckles turning white from your grip as you felt that familiar sensation between your legs. “Right there. Don’t stop,” you gasped between heavy breaths, your hips bucking against his steadily thrusting fingers. The pleasure was building to an unbearable level, making you feel like you might shatter to pieces if he didn’t push you over the edge soon.

He continued to whisper the filthiest things—words you’d never heard him say to you. They revealed previously unspoken fantasies that ignited your body and overwhelmed your senses. A fleeting thought crossed your mind, wondering if this was his usual bedroom talk. But that thought slipped away as his words and actions consumed you completely. Before you realized it, you were peaking.

“I want to see what you look like when you come,” he purred. “Do you look as pretty as you do right now?” Everything tightened in your core while he kept up his ministrations in a steady, unhurried rhythm.

“Oh fuck, I’m coming…”

“Don’t hold back. Let me hear you,” he urged.

You let out a strangled cry, your mind far beyond the depths of euphoria to care about being quiet or demure about this. He was mesmerized, unable to look away at the sheer pleasure that washed over you. Before you could even process what just happened, he’d already hooked your leg over the back of the couch and covered your cleft with his mouth.

He stroked your clit with his tongue, fluttering over it, building your hunger back up again. He teased your slick folds, taunting you with the promise of another orgasm—something you thought impossible to achieve so soon, yet your body responded eagerly. When his fingers pushed inside you at the same time, you had to bite your lip to stifle a scream.

You came again, your thighs trembling, tender muscles pulsing around his touch. His growl vibrated through you. You didn’t have the strength to push him away when he returned to your clit and sucked softly…tirelessly…but now you wanted more. You needed to feel him.

You manage to sit up and squeeze his shoulder to get his attention. He peers up at you from between your thighs.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Already?” He smiles, teasing you with painfully slow strokes of his fingers. “Pretty sure I can get another one out of you,” he says cockily.

“Lee Jihoon—I. Am asking you. To fuck. Me,” you punctuated. “Will you do it or not?”

He sits up, turning sheepish all of a sudden. “I, uhm…didn’t expect us to be doing this, so I didn’t bring any condoms.”

It’s not like he was some random guy. Although you appreciated his caution, you just wanted him inside you. “I trust you,” you tell him before pressing a kiss to him.

After he settles on the couch, you shift unsteadily to straddle his hips, pressing your bodies together. Reaching between you, you fumble with his jeans until he helps, lifting his hips in a fluid motion to pull them down just enough to free himself. Bracing yourself, you let him guide you as you slowly sink down onto him. Your lips part with an involuntary sigh that turns into a soft moan as he fills you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way.

When you begin to roll your hips, the friction sends sparks of pleasure through your core.

“Fuck, your pussy feels good,” he breathes out roughly, his fingers digging into your hips before worry suddenly crosses his face. His cheeks flush as he stammers, “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

You giggle at his compliment, causing your muscles to clamp around his length. “I’m not mad at it,” you reassure him. “You make me feel really good, too.”

“Yeah?” His brow quirks. “You like when I fuck you?”

“Yes,” you moan, dipping your head to his lips in another kiss as you find your rhythm together.

His hands roam your back, pulling you closer as you rock against him with increasing urgency. Before this, you’ve resigned yourself to never experiencing an orgasm from penetrative sex, and yet here was another brewing and there was nothing you could do but let it happen.

You gasp as his hand makes sudden contact with your ass, the unexpected sting making you freeze in place. You stare at him dumbfounded.

“What are you going to do about it?” he challenges. Before you can answer, his hand comes down again with another firm smack that rings through the room. “What?” The sound of provocation in his voice makes your pulse quicken.

You hover over him, eyes narrowing as you lean closer. Through gritted teeth, your voice emerges as a heated whisper. “Harder.”

“I thought so.” He smiles slyly before your lips crash in a fierce kiss that leaves you both breathless.

With a firm grip, he holds your hips still as he thrusts into you with deliberate, measured strokes. You clutch at him, the rhythmic sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Jihoon buries his face between your breasts, his rough groans reverberating against your flesh.

You whine helplessly, overwhelmed by the building pressure as the familiar coil of tension in your belly winds impossibly tight. Your thighs burn as you teeter on the edge of release.

“Yes...d-don’t...stop...hm...so close,” you pant.

He slows his movements to an agonizing pace, drawing out each thrust to drive you insane. He pulls out completely before sinking back into you with one deep thrust that makes you see stars. Your jaw drops, unintelligible sounds tumbling out your mouth as you come hard.

You hold onto him for dear life, your nails leaving a trail of crescent marks on his skin as he picks up the pace once again, his own rhythm becoming more erratic as he chases his own orgasm. A deep groan rumbles from his chest as your walls pulse and clench around him.

“I’m close,” he warns, his usually calm and collected face now twisted with agonizing need.

“Don’t pull out,” you manage to choke out between strained, ragged breaths.

“You…s-sure…?”

You nod eagerly. With your permission, he thrusts deeper and harder, making your neck loll in ecstasy. He draws you back into a rough, hungry kiss that muffles your shared moans as he reaches the end of his rope, his hips jerking against yours while he spurts inside.

Pressing your sweat-slicked forehead against his, you wait for your heart rate to return to normal. There’s no doubt in your mind—no previous partner could compare to Jihoon.

“Oh my fucking god,” you sigh. “We’ve been missing out all this time.”

He laughs softly, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “It was worth the wait though!”

********

After a quick shower and a necessary trip to the pharmacy down the block, you and Jihoon return to your apartment with bags of late-night snacks. All that sexual activity had certainly worked up an appetite, and you found yourself craving something sweet. An ice cream waffle cone hit the spot for you.

“Are you okay?”

You smile, endeared at his worrying. “You know, you’ve asked me that same question multiple times now, and I’ll keep giving you the same answer—I’m fine. Great, actually!”

“I know, I know,” he responds sheepishly. “I just hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us.”

“Trust me, I don’t feel awkward about any of this at all,” you respond with complete sincerity before facing him to find out if he felt the same way you did. “Do you?”

He shakes his head, tilting the bag of Skittles into his mouth. “Nope,” he answers between chews. “To be honest, I thought that was fucking mind-blowing!”

You inhale sharply at his candid comment, nodding in agreement. “Same. Absolutely no complaints from me!”

He gets up from the couch, takes out a small box from the shopping bag to set it aside, and stuffs your discarded candy wrappers into it before heading to the kitchen to throw them away.

When he returns from the kitchen, your eyes linger on him. “Thanks, Jihoonie,” you whisper. “For…everything.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies with a wink before sinking back into the couch beside you.

This turned out to be the complete opposite of your initial fears. Not only did this one-off experiment exceed all your expectations, but it seems your friendship remained the same. Though you never would have guessed that your best friend would end up giving you the best orgasms of your life.

As you continue to enjoy your treat, you notice Jihoon’s eyes fixed on your tongue as it swirls around the chocolate ice cream. His dark eyes watching you with the same intensity as when you came undone with his touch earlier.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

You arched an eyebrow at him. “Quit staring at me like that,” you cautioned, though your tone suggested otherwise.

“Then don’t ever eat an ice cream cone in front of me,” he responds with a chuckle as he subtly adjusts himself beneath his pants.

You bite your lip, feeling a warmth between your legs again. “You know...” you clear your throat, reaching for the box of condoms he left on the coffee table, “I wonder if these things really live up to the ‘raw’ feel.”

He clicks his teeth dismissively before responding. “I think it’s false advertising.”

“You think so?”

He takes the box from you, examining the label. “I mean, we do have a perfect point of comparison,” he reasons, a smile ghosting his lips. “Should we find out?”

You stare at each other for a moment before breaking into grins and exclaiming in unison, “For science!”

Main SVT Fic Masterlist

Thank you for reading!

Interaction/feedback is appreciated but *not* required. But just in case you feel comfortable enough to comment or just say hello, my inbox 📩 is open 💜💎

[pbaz7]

FINDING PEACE IN YOU: PART 7

paige x azzi

warning: very small mention of blood

word count:7.6k

A/N: Sorry this took so long lol it’s been a long week at work. This fits in a few requests I have for the storyline so hopefully I portrayed it nicely :) Let me know what you think!!

—————————————————————————

Paige sat in the corner of her hotel bed, her body still aching from the back-to-back road games. Her knees throbbed, her eyelids were heavy, and her phone was propped up as she stared at the screen. The soft glow from the bedside lamp barely lit the room, but it was enough to see Lukas’ flushed cheeks and glassy eyes.

He was sniffling, curled into his grandma’s lap, his voice horse as he whimpered, “Mama…”

Paige swallowed hard, doing her best to smile through the ache in her chest. “Hey, buddy. I’m right here. Can you see me?”

Lukas nodded. His hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat, and every now and then a rough cough shook his body. His grandma gently rubbed his back, giving Paige a tired look of her own.

“He’s been asking for you all night,” she said softly. “The fever hit hard this morning. He won’t eat much. Just keeps crying and asking if you’re coming home.”

Paige leaned her head back against the wall, blinking away the sting in her eyes. “I’ve got two more games,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “I’m so sorry buddy.”

On screen, Lukas let out a loud cough and whimpered again. “Ma…come home…”

“I want to, baby,” Paige whispered, moving closer to the screen. “I really do. Just a little longer, okay? You’re gonna be so strong for me, right?”

His bottom lip trembled. “I’m not strong without you.”

That broke her. Paige bit her lip and covered her face for a second, gathering herself. When she looked up again, her voice was more steady. “You’re always strong, ok? It’s how I raised you kid. But I’ll be home so soon, and I’ll hold you the whole night, alright? Just like always.”

He nodded again, his curls bouncing just a little before he winced and coughed—this one deeper. His face crumpled in pain, and he whimpered, curling tighter into his grandma.

“It hurts…” he whispered. “Ma…”

“I know, baby,” Paige said gently, her own chest aching in sync with his. “I’m so sorry it hurts. I promise I’d take it away if I could.”

Lukas hiccuped through his crying, then asked , “Can Azzi take care of me?”

“Azzi’s probably busy, buddy…” Paige said gently.

But Lukas just whimpered harder, tucking his face deeper into his grandma’s chest, muffling a soft, “I need her…”

His grandma looked down at him with sympathy, rocking him slightly. “Shh, baby… it’s okay I’m right here.”

Paige rubbed at her face, pushing back her exhaustion. “What if we call her, huh?” she offered quietly. “Maybe just talking to her will help a little.”

Lukas slowly nodded, his eyes red and wet. Paige gave him a small smile. “Okay. Gimme one second.”

She tapped at her phone quickly, her hands trembling a little.

Paige 💗: hey wyd baby

Pretty Girl 💗: just finishing up at the office. why?

Paige 💗: can i add you to a call rq? lukas wants to talk to you.

Pretty Girl 💗: of course

Paige added Azzi to the FaceTime call, the screen adjusting to show both of them—her own exhausted frame in a dim hotel room, and Azzi, still at the office, her hair swept up into a messy yet professional bun with a few soft curls slipping free. The overhead lighting cast a glow on her face.

“Hey, handsome,” Azzi cooed, her voice instantly full of affection. Her eyebrows knitted when she saw the state he was in. “Oh, sweetheart…”

Lukas stirred at the sound of her voice, lifting his head from his grandmother’s chest just as a rough cough shook him again. He whimpered at the pain, his face flushed and his eyes glassy with tears. “I miss Ma Azzi,” he sniffled miserably. “I don’t feel good…”

Azzi’s face softened further. “I know, buddy,” she said gently. “I miss her too.”

There was a pause, Lukas struggling through another coughing fit before saying, “Can you take care of me while she’s gone?”

Paige opened her mouth to respond, already preparing to explain that Azzi was probably too busy, that she was working—

But Azzi spoke first, cutting in with quiet clarity. “Is that what you want?”

Lukas nodded desperately, clinging to the idea like it was the only thing keeping him calm.

“Then of course I will,” Azzi said with a smile on her face.

On the screen, Lukas coughed again, his small frame curling tighter into his grandmother’s arms as he winced. His voice was barely more than a whisper. “Can you come get me now?”

Paige sat up, her tired body suddenly alert, the protest slipping from her lips before she could stop it. “Az, you don’t have to—”

“I know,” Azzi interrupted. “But I want to.”

That silenced Paige. Her heart thudded in her chest as her throat tightened. All she could do was nod.

Azzi turned her attention back to Lukas. “I have to finish a few things at the office, okay? But you get some rest for me, and I’ll be there soon.”

Lukas blinked heavily, sniffling. “Can we watch the movie with the snowman?”

Azzi gasped, her eyes going wide in mock excitement. “Of course we can watch Frozen! You know that’s my favorite too.”

A faint, sleepy smile pulled at Lukas’ lips. He gave a nod, his eyes fluttering closed, comforted by the promise.

Azzi smiled softly at the screen as she watched Lukas fight to keep his eyes open. “Alright, sweet boy,” she whispered. “You get some rest for me, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

Lukas gave a small nod, his long lashes heavy against his flushed cheeks.

Paige leaned in a little closer to the camera. “Goodnight, buddy. I love you.”

“Night, Ma…” he mumbled.

Paige’s mom offered a grateful smile as she reached forward and ended the call, leaving just Paige and Azzi on the screen.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Just the faint sound of Azzi’s office in the background and the low hum of the hotel room AC. Paige rubbed a hand over her face, eyes falling closed for a second.

Then she opened them and looked at Azzi, who hadn’t taken her eyes off her.

Azzi’s eyes were warm as they held Paige’s through the screen. “You look exhausted, baby.”

Paige shook her head, leaning back into the pillows. “I’m good, gorgeous,” she murmured, even though the shadows beneath her eyes and the way she blinked a little too slowly told a different story. Her blue eyes, usually so clear and bright, were dulled with fatigue.

Azzi didn’t press her. She just tilted her head, watching Paige like she wished she could reach through the phone and touch her. “What can I do to help?”

“I’m good, baby,” Paige repeated, her voice soft as she spoke to Azzi. “Don’t worry about it.”

Azzi exhaled a short sigh, the corner of her mouth twitching as she set her phone up on a stand, freeing her hands. “Good thing I didn’t ask if you were good,” she said, her smile growing wider. “I asked what I could do.”

That earned a tired smile from Paige, her lips quirking as she let her eyes fall closed for a second. “You’re annoying,” she mumbled affectionately.

Azzi chuckled. “Keep telling yourself that.”

They stayed quiet for a moment—connected only through the soft hum of their screens. Paige blinked slowly, her tired eyes tracing the details of Azzi’s face. Azzi was still in her office clothes, her button up always slightly undone towards the end of the day. Her curls that were purposefully left out of the bun framing her face. Even with the overhead light behind her, her eyes looked soft. Present.

“I’m tired, Az,” Paige finally admitted.

“Physically or mentally?”

Paige sighed as she let her head rest back against the pillows, considering.

“Mostly physical, I think,” she said slowly, voice a little hoarse. “But maybe mentally too. I don’t know.” She shifted her body trying to get more comfortable. “My body just feels out of sorts on this road stint for some reason… and Lukas is sick and I can’t be there for him, and I still have two more games before I can sleep in my own bed…it’s just—”

“It’s a lot,” Azzi cut in gently, finishing the sentence for her.

Paige’s eyes glistened, but she didn’t cry. She just nodded, lips parting like she might try to speak again, but instead letting the words fade in the quiet between them. The silence settled until Azzi spoke.

“I want you to start seeing me.”

Paige blinked, lifting her head just enough to give Azzi a tired grin. “I’m tryna start seeing you too,” she mumbled, her tone clearly suggestive despite the exhaustion in her voice.

Azzi rolled her eyes, even though the corner of her mouth twitched. “Stop being horny.”

“Not possible with you,” Paige mumbled, eyes closing again, the smile still tugging at her lips.

But Azzi didn’t take the bait this time. “I want you to be one of my clients, baby.”

Paige opened her eyes slowly, the humor from a second ago fading. “Az,” she said gently, “I’m good. You don’t gotta worry about me.”

“I wasn’t really asking.”

Paige let out a soft, tired laugh, her head falling back. “You so bossy woman.”

Azzi smiled, tilting her head. “You love that about me.”

Paige hummed in agreement. “Mmmm.”

“I’m serious though, P.”

Paige opened her eyes with a sigh. “I don’t wanna add to your workload.”

Azzi didn’t seem to care about Paige’s protest. “Like I said—I’m not really asking.”

Too tired to argue, and knowing Azzi wasn’t going to budge anyway, Paige finally gave in, lifting a hand lazily. “Ok just let me know how much to tell my advisor.”

“That’s not happening either.”

Paige groaned dramatically. “Baby, I’m not going to not pay you.”

“You literally refuse to let me pay for anything ever. We both already have more money than we know what to do with. So the money going from your account to mine won’t do anything; but you letting me take care of you will.”

Paige laughed softly. “You’re too good to me.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just actually good enough for you.”

That earned another soft laugh from Paige, her eyes blinking slowly, the weight of exhaustion finally starting to pull her under. She mumbled something incoherent and Azzi leaned in a little closer to the screen.

“Go to sleep, beautiful,” she said.

Paige’s voice was barely above a whisper now. “Stay on the phone with me ight?”

Azzi smiled at her softly. “Okay baby.”

There was a beat of silence before Paige mumbled, “I love you mama.”

Azzi’s voice was quiet as the nickname made her lower stomach flutter. “I love you.”

With a soft exhale, Azzi muted herself, letting the call go silent so Paige could drift off undisturbed—but she stayed there, still watching over her, even from halfway across the country.

Azzi quietly finished up the last of her notes, fingers flying over the keyboard as she rearranged her schedule for tomorrow—clearing her day entirely besides a few check-ins which she could do from home. Her eyes flicked down to the screen occasionally where Paige’s face, now peaceful and still, rested under the dim glow of her hotel bedside lamp. Azzi smiled at her softly, the kind of smile reserved only for her.

Once everything was set, she closed her laptop and stood, gathering her bag. As she stepped out of her office, her receptionist glanced up and spotted the FaceTime.

“Oh my god,” she said under her breath with a grin. “You’re actually sprung.”

Azzi just laughed, completely unbothered. “Goodnight, Kelly.”

“Tell Paige I said get some rest,” Kelly yelled teasingly after her.

Azzi just shook her head and made her way to the elevator, heels soft against the polished floor. When she got downstairs her black SUV was already parked at the curb, her driver stepping out to open the door for her.

“Evening, ma’am.”

“Hi, Ben,” Azzi said, slipping inside. “Can we head to Paige’s place first please?”

He nodded, closing the door behind her. “Of course.”

Azzi settled into the seat, glancing down at the screen one more time—Paige still asleep, warm in a bed hundreds of miles away. Azzi exhaled, the city lights beginning to pass as they pulled away from the curb, carrying her a little closer to home.

When the car came to a smooth stop outside of Paige’s house, Azzi glanced at the screen one more time—Paige still asleep, the FaceTime running, and the soft sound of her breathing filling Azzi’s AirPods. She looked up at Ben. “I’ll be back in a second.”

Stepping out of the car, her heels clicked softly against the pavement as she made her way up the familiar path of the large house. She rang the doorbell and waited, rocking slightly on her feet as the porch light glowed above her.

A moment later, the door creaked open, with Amy standing there. “How are you, sweetheart?” she asked, stepping forward to pull Azzi into a hug. The height difference made it a bit awkward with Azzi’s heels on, but neither of them seemed to mind.

Azzi smiled into the embrace, holding her gently. “I’m good, ma’am. How are you?”

“Oh, please,” Amy said with a soft laugh, waving her hand as she pulled back. “Call me Amy.”

Azzi nodded, stepping into the familiar home. “Yes, ma’am—I mean, Amy.”

Amy closed the door behind her and lowered her voice slightly as they walked toward the stairs. “He’s upstairs in his room. Fell asleep not long after the call ended. Poor thing’s still a little warm. But I already packed his bag for you, and I’ll grab his extra car seat for your driver.”

Azzi turned to her, her voice filled with gratitude. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

Amy just gave her a smile. “He’ll be happy to see you in the morning.”

Azzi nodded, quietly making her way up the stairs, each step slower than usual so her heels didn’t make too much noise. The hallway light was dim, casting soft shadows on the walls as she gently opened the door.

When she stepped into the room, the soft glow from the nightlight cast a warm hue across the walls. Lukas curled in the middle of the bed in his dinosaur pajamas, a small wrinkle between his brows. His blonde curls were damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead, and his chest rose and fell in slow, slightly uneven breaths.

Azzi’s expression softened as she moved closer, crouching down beside the bed. She gently brushed his hair back from his forehead, careful not to wake him, her fingertips barely grazing his skin. “Hey, buddy,” she whispered, not expecting an answer—just letting him know she was there.

Moving quietly, she reached for his green Crocs by the edge of the bed and slipped them onto his feet. Then, leaning down, she slid her arms under him and lifted him into her. Lukas stirred in her arms but didn’t fully wake up—just nestled his warm face into the crook of her neck, letting out a little sigh as he settled there.

Azzi pressed a kiss to the side of his head, then reached for his small duffel bag, slinging it over her shoulder. With Lukas secure in her arms, she made her way back downstairs, each step careful making sure not to jostle him too much.

At the bottom of the stairs, Amy was waiting. She reached out to take the duffle bag from Azzi’s shoulder. “Let me get that for you,” she said gently.

Azzi offered her a warm smile in return. “Thank you,” she whispered, adjusting Lukas slightly in her arms, making sure his head stayed tucked against her shoulder as he slept.

They walked together to the car, the night quiet around them—Paige not having any nearby neighbors.

“She really appreciates you,” Amy said after a quiet moment, glancing over at Azzi. “You’re really good for her.”

A smile grey on Azzi’s face, her eyes flicking toward Amy. “She does so much more for me,” she said sincerely.

Amy laughed a little, shaking her head. “She’ll kill me for saying this, but…she talks about you nonstop. And when I say nonstop it’s nonstop…Azzi said this, Azzi said that, Azzi loves those, Azzi would give me an earful about this. It never ends.”

That made Azzi laugh—quietly but genuine—as she gently opened the car door. “Yeah?” she said, raising a brow as she leaned in to settle Lukas into his car seat.

“She thinks she’s being subtle,” Amy added with a shake of her head.

Azzi laughed again, her hands working carefully to buckle Lukas in, tightening the straps just enough, double-checking the fit. She lingered for a second, brushing a bit of fuzz off his pajamas before standing up and closing the car door softly.

Amy, still standing nearby, glanced at her with a more sincere expression now. “How is she really?”

Azzi paused, eyebrows pulling together slightly as she turned to look at her. “She’s doing…okay,” she said, a bit uncertain, sensing something deeper in Amy’s tone.

Amy nodded slowly, folding her arms across her chest. “I just worry sometimes,” she admitted. “She loves to help everyone else and be there for everyone else, but she doesn’t let people help her. It gets overwhelming for her sometimes—but she refuses to tell anyone. She’s been like that since this basketball thing all started.”

Azzi’s expression changed, a sad but understanding smile pulling at her lips. “Yeah,” she murmured, “I noticed that pretty early on.”

She reached into the back seat, grabbing her phone.She unlocked it and she turned the screen toward Amy. The camera showed Paige curled in the hotel bed, her lamp still glowing dimly. Her face was relaxed, loose strands of blonde hair falling softly across her cheek, mouth slightly parted.

Amy’s face melted into a smile. “That’s my girl,” she whispered.

Azzi looked at the screen for another second, her gaze lingering on Paige, then turned back to Amy. “She likes to fall asleep on FaceTime when she has road trips,” she said softly, as if it was something sacred that had grown between them.

“Even though she won’t say it, she doesn’t like being alone. She thrives when she’s around people…especially the ones she loves.”

Azzi glanced back at her phone, her smile growing as she watched Paige shift slightly in her sleep, the glow of the hotel lamp casting warm shadows on her currently scrunched up face. “Yeah,” Azzi murmured. “I’ve noticed.”

Amy stepped forward, wrapping Azzi in a warm hug. “Thank you for being there for her. God brought you into her life exactly when she was ready for someone like you.”

Azzi hugged her back, the words touching her. “Always.”

They pulled apart with quiet smiles, and Amy stepped back as Azzi slid into the seat beside Lukas. She gave one last wave to Amy through the window, and Amy returned it as the car pulled away.

When Azzi got home, her house was quiet, dim, and still. She carried Lukas through the door, his arms curled against her neck, as she padded softly upstairs to her bedroom.

With the ease of someone who had seemingly done this before, she laid him down on her bed, adjusting the blankets around his small body, making sure he was comfortable..

Azzi plugged in her phone, the FaceTime screen still active. Azzi propped the phone against a book on her nightstand, angling it so Paige would be able to see her and Lukas if she stirred first in the morning.

Azzi headed to the bathroom and let the water run hot, the steam filling the bathroom. The shower was long, the steam working its way into her tired muscles as she let her thoughts drift, her body slowly unwinding from the day.

When she stepped out, she padded back into the room wearing an oversized tee. She turned off the light, the only glow coming from the phone on her nightstand.

Paige hadn’t moved much at all. Azzi smiled at the screen and slipped under the covers next to Lukas. Her eyes fluttered closed, Paige’s quiet breathing still filling the room — a soft, distant lullaby that made her miss the blonde just a little less.

…

The next morning, Paige stirred slowly, her face buried in the hotel pillow as the harsh light of morning crept through the blinds. She groaned, shifting under the weight of her own exhaustion, eyes squinting against the brightness that felt too aggressive for how tired she still was.

It took her a few long blinks, her mind foggy, her body sore, before she remembered where she was. The familiar ache in her joints reminded her — another hotel room, another game behind her, another one ahead.

She reached lazily for her phone, expecting to see a black screen or a barrage of missed messages. But when her eyes finally landed on it, still propped up against her lamp, the FaceTime was still going.

On the other end, her screen showed Azzi’s room in soft morning light. Lukas was curled up against Azzi, his body tucked into her side, one of his hands loosely clutching her shirt. Azzi’s arm was draped over him, her face turned slightly into her pillow.

For a moment, Paige forgot about her aching body, her tiredness, the upcoming game, the weight of everything else. All Paige could feel was her heart swelling so much it felt like it might combust.

Paige’s grin was huge before she could stop it — wide, uncontainable, the kind of smile that pulled at her cheeks and made her eyes crinkle. She reached over, not wanting to risk the moment slipping away, and tapped the screen a few times to take a few FaceTime photos.

Each one captured something she wouldn’t let go of anytime soon — Lukas curled into Azzi’s chest, Azzi’s arm thrown around him, both of their faces completely peaceful. Paige’s heart felt like it was humming.

Still smiling, she slid out of bed, groaning slightly as her muscles protested. She brought her phone with her, glancing at the screen one more time before heading into the bathroom. As she turned on the shower the grin lingered — stuck there like it had no plans of leaving anytime soon.

After Paige had showered and was in the middle of brushing her teeth Lukas shifted under the covers, his face scrunching up as another congested cough slipped out. He blinked sleepily, clearly disoriented for a second before his eyes focused on the phone screen.

Paige was half-bent over the sink, toothbrush in her hand and foam in the corners of her mouth. She grinned softly when she saw him and spat gently into the sink before leaning closer to the phone.

“Good morning, big man,” she said quietly.

Lukas sniffled, his curls messy against the pillow, and mumbled, “Ma…?”

Paige’s smile grew. “Yeah, it’s me, I’m here,” she said, her voice going even softer. “How you feeling?”

Lukas just blinked at her, his small face flushed. He nuzzled back into Azzi’s side without answering. Paige watched him for a moment, brushing a hand through her hair as she let out a breathy little laugh and went back to brushing her teeth.

A few minutes later Lukas’s body shifted again, this time more alert as his blue eyes fluttered open. He blinked sleepily at the screen, his hand still clutching a handful of Azzi’s shirt. His gaze landed on Paige, and a smile tugged at his lips.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Paige said, her eyes crinkling as she smiled at him through the screen.

Lukas let out a tiny laugh, hiding his face against Azzi’s side for a moment—before a rough cough pulled him out of it. The sound was enough to make Azzi stir, her eyebrows knitting as she shifted slightly, her hand rubbing his back.

Her voice was groggy as she said “Hey, you okay?”

Lukas nodded, but it was half-hearted, his face still scrunched from the cough. Paige watched the two of them, heart aching and full all at once.

Azzi sat up slowly, careful not to jostle Lukas too much as she continued to rub soothing circles on his back. Her eyes found Paige on the screen, and despite the early hour and just waking up Azzi looked perfect in every way shape or form.

“Good morning,” Azzi said, softly.

Paige picked up her phone, leaning into the camera a little with that lopsided grin she always gave Azzi. “Good morning, sexy.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the way her smile grew. “You brush your teeth with that mouth yet?”

Paige held up her toothbrush to prove a point. “Just did, actually. This mouth’s minty fresh and ready to flirt.”

Azzi let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as Lukas shifted and rested his head back on her thighs. “You’re ridiculous,” she murmured.

“Ehh you’re still in my shirt, in my bed, with my kid. So really, I win.”

Azzi looked down at the shirt she’d thrown on after her shower and smirked. “Technically, I’m in my bed. But sure, you win.”

Before Paige could respond, there was a loud knock at her hotel room door, followed by Rickea’s voice yelling through it.

“PAIGE. Bro you been up forever, and I’m starving. What the hell you doing in there, writing a novel? Let’s go grandma!”

Paige groaned glaring toward the door. “I hate it here.”

Azzi laughed, reaching for her phone. “Tell Rickea I said hi, and to eat vegetables for breakfast today.”

Paige raised an eyebrow at her. “You really think Rickea’s touching a vegetable for breakfast of all things?”

Azzi snorted. “Fair.”

Paige leaned down toward the phone again. “I’ll call you later?”

“I’ll be here,” Azzi replied, her voice soft. “I love you.”

Paige bit her bottom lip, her eyes soft. “I love you too.” Then she called toward the door, “I’m coming, Rickea, chill!” before ending the call and grabbing her hoodie.

Azzi locked her phone and set it on the nightstand before glancing down to find Lukas already looking up at her, his sleepy blue eyes nearly identical to Paige’s. His fingers still clung to the hem of her shirt as he blinked slowly, cheeks flushed with leftover fever.

She gently brushed the hair off his forehead. “How you feeling?”

Lukas gave a small shrug. “My throat hurts,” he mumbled, his voice a little rough.

Azzi nodded, smoothing her hand over his head again. “Alright, well…let’s get you some medicine and some tea, okay?”

He nodded slightly, then added in a hopeful whisper, “Can you make tea how ma makes it?”

Azzi smiled at this, eyes crinkling as she leaned down just a bit. “She already told me her secret.”

That earned her a weak but real smile from Lukas, his brows lifting like he was impressed.

…

For most of the day, Azzi moved through her house with a quiet focus, her entire day centered around Lukas for the most part. She administered his medicine right on schedule, coaxed him into eating even when he insisted he wasn’t hungry, and carried him into the bathroom, sitting with him on the floor as the warm steam from the shower helped loosen the tightness in his chest.

She rubbed his back while he was curled in her lap, read him a few of his favorite books when he seemed restless, and let him pick the afternoon movie—his choice, of course, being Frozen. Of course Azzi didn’t complain once. She sat beside him, humming along with the songs, answering every quiet “Why?” that came from his congested voice.

By late afternoon, Lukas had perked up enough to start making specific dinner requests—one of which involved ingredients Azzi didn’t have at home. After a little back and forth, and a soft “Please, can we go?” from Lukas that involved his best pout he could muster, Azzi finally gave in.

Now they were at the grocery store, Lukas sitting in the cart with a small box of tissues in his lap, his nose still a bit pink from the day. He clutched a crumpled list they’d scribbled together at home, taking his job as “dinner planner” very seriously.

Azzi pushed the cart slowly, one hand resting gently on his back as she navigated the aisles. “Alright,” she said, glancing down at him with a smile. “What’s next on our list?”

Lukas squinted at the crumpled paper in his lap, his finger tracing over the letters with all the confidence in the world—even if he couldn’t quite read them yet. His brows furrowed in concentration.

Azzi leaned over to peek. “Ahh yes,” she said, smoothly. “Noodles.”

Lukas nodded immediately, like that had been what he was going to say all along. “Ah yes. Noodles,” he repeated, mimicking her tone.

Azzi laughed, the sound echoing softly through the aisle. “Perfect,” she said. “Can’t make dinner without noodles.”

Lukas smiled proudly, clearly pleased with his “reading” skills, then looked up at her and whispered like it was a secret, “We’re doing good, huh?”

Azzi grinned down at him. “We’re crushing it actually.”

They were almost at the end of another aisle, Lukas happily holding chocolate chip cookies in one hand while Azzi scanned the shelf above for the right brand of sauce, when he suddenly tugged on the edge of her sweatshirt.

“Who’s that?” he asked softly.

Azzi looked down, then followed his gaze.

Jasmine was a few feet away, standing near the end of the aisle like she had just turned the corner and stopped short. Her eyes were fixed on Azzi and Lukas, not quite readable, but far too intent.

Jasmine’s gaze flicked down Azzi’s frame, a quick once-over not meant to be subtle. The effectiveness of it was questionable considering Azzi’s height when Jasmine stepped closer to her.

Before Jasmine could open her mouth, Azzi straightened her posture and turned toward her. “Let’s not do this, okay?”

Jasmine blinked, her lips twitching up like she was trying to figure out which version of herself to play. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, tilting her head in faux confusion.

Azzi didn’t take the bait. “You’re an adult, correct?” she said evenly. “So please let’s act like it. We’re not about to play whatever game you’re thinking of with a child around.”

Jasmine’s expression didn’t change, but the mask cracked just enough for the tension to show. She looked between Azzi and Lukas again, clearly debating if she was going to say something more — maybe even to him. But in the end, she didn’t.

Instead, she fixed her gaze back on Azzi and offered an insincere smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Tell Paige I miss her,” she said, before turning and walking back down the aisle.

Azzi exhaled slowly through her nose, jaw tightening for a brief second before she schooled her expression and turned back to Lukas.

He was still looking in the direction Jasmine had gone, his eyebrows furrowed, lips parted like he was about to ask something.

“Who’s that?” he asked, eyes flicking up to Azzi with innocent confusion.

Azzi didn’t even pause long enough for him to register the weight of the question. She gasped, eyes widening dramatically. “Wait! We forgot the ice cream for dessert!”

Lukas immediately perked up, eyes going wide. “Ice cream!”

Azzi grinned, pushing the cart forward. “Come on. We can’t go home without it. Chocolate or vanilla?”

He was already thinking about it, bouncing slightly as the awkward tension of moments ago melted into excitement, and Azzi was grateful he didn’t press her further.

…

Later that evening, the living room was dark except for the soft glow of the TV and the small light Azzi had on from the hallway. Lukas was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV, a bowl of ice cream melting slowly beside him, completely forgotten every time the camera cut to Paige.

Azzi sat on the couch, one arm draped along the back, her eyes bouncing between the game and the little boy mimicking every move.

The Wings were up by a few, but the game was tight. Every possession felt like it was important, and Paige — even with the fatigue visible in her eyes — was locked in. She wasn’t getting downhill as much tonight, instead staying in her comfort zone, pulling up from the midrange after realizing the coverage.

Each time she hit one of her smooth, one-legged fades, Lukas rose to his feet, mirroring the movement as best as he could, his tiny socked feet sliding a little on the rug.

“Ma’s doing the thing!” he yelled excitedly, launching himself into another imitation of her fadeaway. “That’s my ma’s move!”

Azzi chuckled, watching him wobble as he landed on one foot. “That is your mom’s move,” she said. “Looks like someone’s been practicing.”

Lukas grinned over his shoulder at her, then turned right back to the game as Paige sank another jumper — this one just outside the elbow, hands falling at her sides.

“Buckets,” he whispered, eyes wide with admiration.

Azzi’s own smile lingered as she watched Paige jog back down the court, breathing hard but composed.

Even through the rhythm of her midrange game, it was clear Paige nor the Wings as a whole were getting the whistle they deserved. A few of Paige’s shots came with obvious contact — a bump on the hip, a swipe across the forearm — and each time, she landed shaking her head at the refs even if the shot went in.

After one clear no-call, Paige shook her head, her hands dropping to her sides as she turned toward the ref with an incredulous look. Her voice didn’t carry over the broadcast, but the frustration in her expression as she spoke to the ref said enough. She muttered something under her breath, her jaw tight as she jogged back on defense.

Lukas sat up straighter. “That was a foul!” he yelled, pointing at the screen, echoing his mom’s indignation.

Azzi smiled behind her hand. “You saw that too, huh?”

“She’s getting hit and they’re not even calling it,” Lukas said, crossing his arms just like he’d seen Paige do before.

Even as the refs swallowed their whistle, Paige kept at it — brushing off the contact, adjusting midair, and knocking down shot after shot.

At one point though Paige’s frustration boiled over, the slew of missed calls piling up. She dribbled at the top of the key before driving toward the basket after a screen from Dijonai, looking to get something out of this play — but once again, as she went up, the contact came.

A sharp hit of an elbow to her face sent her reeling. Paige stumbles back, landing awkwardly but somehow managing to keep her feet under her. She leaned over, pressing her hand to her eyebrow, pain searing through her face.

"Ma!" Lukas shouted, pointing at the screen as Paige stumbled but stayed on her feet.

The TV camera cut to Paige, her hand quickly covering her eyebrow as blood began to trickle down. She didn’t even seem to care about the pain — only the fact that this wasn’t the first time she’d been hit tonight without so much as a whistle.

“Are you fucking for real?” she muttered under her breath, but the words didn’t stay quiet for long. With the blood dripping faster down her face now, she moved toward the ref.

When she reached him she let out, “Seven fucking years in this league and I still can’t get a call?!” she yelled, gesturing at her bloody face.

The ref seemed unphased, but Dijonai and Arike, who had been right behind her, grabbed at Paige, trying to pull her back before things escalated further.

Azzi didn’t take her eyes off the screen as Paige gestured at her bloody face, yelling at the ref.

Lukas looked up at Azzi, his small hand tugging gently at her sleeve. “Is Ma okay?” he asked.

Azzi looked at him before her eyes flicked back to the screen. “Yes, don't worry. She’s just...she’s just mad because they aren’t giving her the right calls,” Azzi said. Azzi watched as Dijonai and Arike pulled Paige back again.

Azzi watched the scene unfold, Paige’s jaw clenched as the Wings' trainer hurried to cover her face with a few towels, trying to tend to the heavy bleeding. But Paige didn't give up on arguing with the ref, her frustration boiling over despite the clear injury. The broadcast cameras followed her every move.

Seemingly having enough of hearing Paige’s mouth the ref slapped her with a technical foul.

All Paige could do was laugh in complete disbelief and amusement, like the situation was so ridiculous that it was almost comical. Paige grabbed the towel from the trainer to cover her face herself, walking back toward the tunnel, her jersey untucked as she made her way to the locker room.

Despite everything, Paige still managed to hit her teammates’ hands, giving a half-hearted high five here and a pat on the back there, Rickea offering something that made Paige laugh as she made her way towards the tunnel.

The commentators started to echo what Azzi had been thinking all night. “This has been one of the worst officiated games of the season, and it’s a shame the Wings have had to play through this,” one of them said, shaking their head. “I mean, how can you let that kind of contact go without calling a flagrant, let alone a common foul?”

….

Later that night Paige’s face popped up on the screen just as Azzi swiped to answer the call. She stood up from the couch, careful not to disturb Lukas who had fallen asleep, curled up on the couch. She walked into the kitchen, the soft glow of the dim lights in the living room casting a faint shadow on the walls.

"Hey, you," Azzi said, her voice soft, but with a touch of concern as she looked at the screen.

Paige’s smile appeared through the phone. "Wassup," she replied, the exhaustion from the game clear in her voice but still holding room for her familiar charm.

Azzi’s eyes flicked to Paige’s eyebrow, a few stitches clearly visible from the cut.

“How many?”

Paige gave a small shrug. "Three. I'm ight, though. Was mostly just pissed off."

Azzi let out a small laugh, though her concern was still there. "Yeah, I saw." Azzi leaned against the counter, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the phone case, her gaze still on the screen. Paige smiled at her, her tired eyes softening.

"How's Lukas?" Paige asked.

"He's feeling better," Azzi replied. "He knocked out on the couch after you didn't come back in the game."

Paige huffed out a laugh. "I don't even know if that kid likes basketball for real or if he just likes it when I'm playing," she joked, the fatigue in her voice carrying through the phone.

"Only one more game."

Paige huffed out a quiet laugh, running a hand through her hair as she shifted slightly. "Feels like I've been gone forever," she mumbled.

"You have."

Paige let out a sigh, the exhaustion of the season settling into her bones as she leaned back into her chair. The connection between them, even through a phone screen, always felt as if they were in the same room, both sharing the same understanding.

Azzi spoke up again. "I saw Jasmine at the store today."

Paige immediately sat up, her posture alert as her eyes narrowed slightly at the screen. "What?"

Azzi quickly rushed to calm her down, not wanting her to get too worked up. "Nothing happened, I promise," she reassured her. "She came up to us, but I shut it down before she could say anything."

Paige let out a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing as the tension in her body faded. "I'm sorry, baby," she murmured, the words slipping out without much thought.

"What have I told you about apologizing for other people?"

Paige laughed in return, a small, breathy chuckle. "I know, I know," she replied, shaking her head a little. The two of them stayed quiet for a moment Azzi just watching Paige who had her eyes shut, soaking in the peaceful moment.

But after a second, Paige’s eyes opened and her gaze drifted, her eyes scanning Azzi’s face, taking in the subtle details—the curve of her jaw, the way the light caught in her hair, the softness of her lips. Her gaze traveled down to Azzi's chest, where the rise and fall of her breathing caught Paige's attention, her eyes darkening just a little.

A quiet groan escaped Paige's lips before she even realized it, the sound full of longing. "God, you’re killing me baby," Paige whispered under her breath, the mix of frustration and desire clear in her voice.

Azzi laughed softly, her voice smooth. "I didn’t even do anything," she said, a small smirk forming on her lips.

Paige’s eyes flickered over her for a moment before she let out a soft sigh, her tone almost strained. "Just feel like I’m finna explode anytime I see you…anytime I think about you. Been too long."

Azzi hummed at this, a quiet sound of acknowledgment as she propped her phone up on the counter. She leaned over slightly, shifting just enough so her chest became more visible on the screen. Her gaze locked on Paige’s as she spoke. Her voice was low and almost too casual. "You miss me?"

Paige didn't hesitate before nodding, the ache in her voice carrying through the speakers. "Yeah," she whispered, her eyes drifting down just a little, caught by the movement of Azzi’s chest as she leaned in closer.

Azzi watched Paige’s reaction with a mix of amusement and satisfaction, her smirk growing. "Good," she replied, not offering Paige anything else. She held the moment there, her gaze still steady as she watched Paige stare directly at the valley of her chest.

Paige closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she muttered something under her breath, too quiet for Azzi to catch.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, a laugh escaping her lips. "What was that?"

Paige shook her head, her voice muffled as she answered, "Nothing, man."

Azzi grinned as she leaned in slightly. "Just pretend they're mine."

Paige opened her eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips knowing what Azzi was referring to. "Azzi, I’m too grown for that shit."

Azzi laughed, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Alright then," she said, still grinning. "If you say so." She leaned back, her gaze still looking at Paige.

Paige shifted to the bed, leaning back against her pillows, propping one arm behind her head. Her gaze flickered to Azzi with a deliberate smile. "Aight at least tell me how much you want me."

Azzi raised an eyebrow. "Is that not going to make it worse?"

"Prolly. But I can’t ever pass up having my ego stroked by you."

Azzi rolled her eyes dramatically, shaking her head. She leaned in slightly as she responded, "Alright, fine. You’re amazing. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. You have that annoying confidence that drives me insane, and honestly? I can't ever get enough of you."

Azzi paused for a moment, a smirk creeping onto her lips as she closed the distance between herself and the camera a little more. "But if you really want to hear how much I want you...” she let the words hang in the air, her gaze flicking over Paige’s slowly. “I always want you, I’m talking every second of every day I think about the feeling of you. About how good you make me feel, how you touch me just right every time, how I feel when I’m in your arms after and you tell me how good I was for you." She leaned in closer. “And I promise when I finally get to be with you again, I won’t let you forget how much I’ve been craving you every night."

The words hung in the air, the tension suddenly a little thick, as Azzi let them sink in, waiting for Paige’s response.

Paige tightens her jaw, shaking her head and muttering, "Never mind, I'm goin to bed."

Azzi laughed, leaning back from the camera. "Aww, don’t get all grumpy on me now. I was just getting started. I didn’t even get to tell you about what I want you to do to me when you get back."

Paige rolls her eyes but doesn’t respond, clearly brushing off the playful tease. Azzi sensing the retreat smiles, picking up her phone and adjusting it in her hand.

"Alright, alright," Azzi teases, trying to keep things light. "I’ll let you get to sleep. But seriously, tell me about your day first? Other than the whole, you know, elbow-to-the-face situation."

Paige exhales softly, relaxing back into her pillows, feeling the familiar warmth of Azzi's voice. "It was fine. Long, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Just tired now."

The conversation shifts easily, like it always does—talking about their usual day-to-day things, the game, little details of their routines. Both of them find comfort in the sound of the other’s voice, something calming after the day they've had. Azzi listens as Paige slowly winds down, her voice quieter now. The call stretches on quietly, the only sounds being their soft voices and the occasional noise of the world outside from Paige’s hotel window.

[fallenbratfiction]

his assistant ~ harry castillo x f! reader

A/N: I had this idea about him and it completely stopped all my uni reading so I put away the pdfs and got to writing this beauty. I was kicking at my feet giggling and screeching aaaaaaaaa

warnings: age gap (early twenties reader, mid forties older boss harry), workplace relationship / power dynamics (boss × assistant), alcohol, smut, fingering, oral sex (f! receiver), unprotected sex. Let me know if I've forgotten any warnings so I can add them.

minors dni ~ minors do not interact with this fic or my blog. I am not responsible for your consumption.

do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own.

Your day consisted of running after Harry. He was a busy man—and by extension, you were a busy assistant.

You’d landed this job thanks to a mentor’s referral letter, and you were forever grateful. It had changed your life: no more night shifts while trying to finish your bachelor's degree.

Harry was a reserved man, at first he didn’t talk much, but he had a sharp sense of humor. Over time, you’d learned how to read him, and together, you'd become a solid team.

He thought your work was exceptional. You were dedicated—sometimes too dedicated. If he stayed at the office all night, you stayed too, just in case he needed something. He told you more than once to go home, but you rarely listened.

Lately, he'd started dating again. That meant working out a lot. Sometimes you'd catch him right after a run, sweatshirt soaked through. It was hard to focus on your notes when he looked like that.

He didn’t need to work out. He was already unfairly attractive—but of course, you didn’t say that. Not your place.

You tossed a towel at him, which he caught midair. He peeled off the drenched sweatshirt, revealing the results of his dedication. Either he was too comfortable with you now, or he'd forgotten you were still in the room.

“Fucking hell.”

He turned toward you, raising an eyebrow.

You quickly held up your phone. “This thing just froze. Fucking hell.”

He nodded, and you prayed the earth would swallow you whole.

But he knew what you meant.

__________________________

It was late at the office. The only two people left were you and Harry. He sat at his large desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, though he kept glancing your way.

You were focused on your phone, scheduling appointments, replying to emails. He liked watching you when you were focused—your scrunched nose, the way you bit your lip when you made a mistake. How you always tucked your hair behind your ear like it helped you concentrate. To him, it just gave him a perfect view of your neck—like a subtle invitation to that sweet spot close to your ear.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked.

You looked up, caught off guard. “Uhm... no? I had an oatmeal bar a few hours ago.”

He frowned. He hated how often you skipped meals because of work—because of him.

“Don’t worry,” you added. “Go home. I’ll grab a salad or something later.”

“I was thinking,” he interrupted, “we could get dinner. Together.”

You blinked. “You want to have dinner... with me?”

“We spend the whole day together. Don’t see the issue with having dinner, too.”

You hesitated. “Wouldn’t that get me into trouble? I mean... HR?”

“I’m the boss,” he said. “You won’t get into any trouble. It’s a friendly invitation.”

You considered it. Honestly, you were starving—and if you waited any longer, your stomach would probably start growling audibly.

“Sure. Why not,” you shrugged, grabbing your jacket and slinging your purse over your shoulder.

You followed him into a fancy restaurant. The kind with low lights, gold accents, and a wine list thicker than a Bible. You resisted the urge to take out your phone for a picture.

A waitress led you to your table before disappearing. Harry pulled out your chair for you. You murmured a shy thank-you to which he hummed. 

He sat across from you and you observed how he got comfortable taking off his jacket. 

Harry handed you the menu, but you were too aware of everything—the ambient jazz, the soft clinking of cutlery, still trying to process this entire situation—being out with him, in public, like this. It’s not like you hadn’t been in public with him before, you were constantly in public but the dynamic was different. you weren’t there holding his jacket while he had dinner with someone else, or sitting at the bar or a different table to keep an eye if needed. No, you were sitting with him at the fancy restaurant. 

Moments later, a tall brunette waitress appeared. Thin smile. Sharp eyes.

"Can I get you something to drink while you decide?" she asked, not once looking in your direction. She flipped her hair as she awaited his response.

Your brows lifted slightly. Harry noticed.

He didn’t blink. “We’ll take the house Cabernet. Two glasses.”

That’s when she looked at you—finally. One long, assessing glance. Then a bright smile aimed only at him.

“Oh,” she said innocently. “Is she even of legal drinking age?”

You stiffened. Your hand tightened around the edge of the table.

You were ready to correct her. “Actually, I’m his—”

But Harry’s tone cut through first. Calm. Controlled. No smile.

“She’s my partner, actually.”

The waitress blinked. Her face held a flicker of something before she masked it with another sweet smile.

“Right,” she said slowly, lingering a second too long. “I just—thought she was your daughter at first. That’s all.” She gave him a wink like it was a private joke.

You opened your mouth, fully ready to set her on fire with words— Are you always this unprofessional, or am I just lucky tonight?

But Harry reached across the table, fingers brushing your hand lightly. Just enough to anchor you.

“She’ll have the same wine as me,” he added firmly, not breaking eye contact with the waitress. “Thank you.”

The message was clear: You can go now.

She hesitated—then turned, heels clicking sharply as she walked away.

You looked at him. “Partner?” you whispered, incredulous. “Castillo, what the fuck was that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry—would you rather I let her mock you as my child or my assistant?”

“But I am your assistant.”

“And I wasn’t about to let her reduce you to that. Not when you’re sitting here with me.”

You opened your mouth again—then closed it. Your cheeks burned.

“Just say thank you,” he added, voice low. “Or gracias.”

“…Gracias,” you muttered, still glaring at the now-empty space where the waitress stood.

A few minutes passed in silence as you both read the menu. Then you snorted.

Harry looked up. “What?”

“Sorry, just—the idea of being your partner,” you said, covering your mouth to hide your grin. Good joke. Will never happen.

“Why is that funny? Am I that bad-looking?”

“No! It’s just... me? Being with you? Me?”

“Well, you’re not bad-looking either. I don’t see the humor.”

“Thanks... I guess.”

“I mean—you’re gorgeous. Anyone would be lucky to be with you. Hell, I’d be lucky, if I wasn’t older.”

You blinked. Thought you’d misheard. But before you could ask, he was waving the waitress back to take your order.

She returned a few minutes later, two wine glasses in hand and a bottle tucked expertly in the crook of her arm. This time, she had no choice but to acknowledge you.

She set Harry’s glass down smoothly. Then yours, with a forced politeness that made you want to laugh.

"Well," you said under your breath, watching her walk away stiffly. "She doesn’t seem like quite a fan of me."

Harry smirked. “You think?”

“She looked like she wanted to throw the wine in my face.”

“I wouldn’t let her waste the good stuff.”

The wine ritual followed, soft and flirtatious. He swirled his glass and held it near your face.

"Swirl first," he said softly. "Let it breathe. Then smell. But don’t shove your nose in like a rookie.”

You chuckled. “So you’re a sommelier now?”

“No, I just have taste.”

You mirrored him. Swirled. Smelled. Sipped.

“Any notes?” he asked, lips curled in amusement.

"Yeah. Grapes," you deadpanned.

He laughed, eyes crinkling—and for a second, it felt like there were no titles between you. No roles. Just two people. Sitting across from each other. Maybe on the verge of something stupid, or something real.

The wine helped. So did the food.

The waitress returned with two beautifully plated dishes and the thinnest layer of civility. She set Harry’s plate down with practiced ease, then yours with stiff politeness. Her jaw was tight. She didn’t say a word this time.

When she walked away, you finally exhaled.

Harry raised his glass slightly toward you. “To surviving the service industry.”

You clinked his glass with yours, managing a small laugh. But your mind wasn’t really on the food. Or the wine. Or the waitress.

It was still on him.

Specifically: “Hell, I’d be lucky… if I wasn’t older.”

He said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a confession. Like it wasn’t driving you quietly insane.

You watched him from across the table as he cut into his steak—calm, focused, unbothered. How was he always like this? Controlled. Grounded. Like nothing ever rattled him.

You bit your lip and stabbed at your salad.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment.

“I’m eating,” you replied, a little too fast.

He raised a brow. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

You shrugged, trying not to overthink it. “Just... still running through what she said, I guess.”

He studied you for a second. “Let it go. She’s not worth that much space in your head.”

“That’s not—” You paused. “It’s not about her.”

Harry leaned back slightly, his eyes still on you. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated. Then took a sip of your wine, buying time.

“If I wasn’t older…”

That’s what it was, that damn line.

You swallowed, not just the wine, but the way your heart seemed to lurch every time you replayed it.

“It’s stupid,” you said finally. “Forget it.”

“I won’t,” he replied. “You don’t usually get this flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” you lied.

He smirked, tilting his head. “Right.”

You poked at your food again. Then quietly you proceeded “So what did you mean?”

He looked at you, serious now. No smirk. No tease.

“I meant what I said.”

“About the age thing?”

He nodded. “I try not to think about it, but yeah. Sometimes I wonder if I’d cross a line just by wanting more than I should.”

Silence.

Then, softer: “And what happened on Monday didn’t help.”

You stared at him confused. “What happened on Monday?”

He held your gaze. “You tossed a towel at me. I took my shirt off. And you said, fucking hell.”

Your eyes widened. “I said it because—”

“I know why,” he said. Still calm. Still steady. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

You stared at your plate, the flush spreading to your neck.

He added, voice barely above the hum of the restaurant

“I think about it too. You. More than I should.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t need to.

Because when he reached across the table—just for a moment, just to brush your hand with his fingers again—you didn’t pull away.

_____________________________

The air outside was cooler than you expected. Or maybe it was just the heat still clinging to your skin from the conversation.

Harry walked a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets, silent. He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk near the curb. The night stretched around you both—quiet, electric.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, not facing you. “If I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You blinked. “What?”

He turned, finally looking at you. “At the table. I shouldn’t have said that—about thinking about you. Or the age thing. It wasn’t appropriate.”

You stepped closer. “Harry—”

“If it put you in a weird position, I—”

You didn’t let him finish. You closed the distance, grabbed the lapel of his coat, and pressed a kiss to his lips. His mustache grazed your skin, warm and soft and just rough enough to make your breath catch.

He didn’t kiss back at first. He just froze, lips parted under yours, like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Then, slowly, his hand came up—fingertips grazing your waist as if to make sure you were real.

You started to pull away, panic bubbling in your chest.

Shit, shit! What did I just do?

But he caught you and kissed you back. Not rushed. Not messy. Just steady, grounded, certain. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been holding back for too long—and now, the dam had cracked.

When you finally broke apart, you stayed close, your breath still caught between you.

He looked at you like he was trying to piece together what just happened. And you looked right back. Not saying anything, just holding his gaze.

Yes.

That happened just now.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d crossed a line,” he murmured. His voice was low. Honest.

“I crossed it for you,” you said.

His lips twitched—barely. Like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite know how to yet. He stared at you like you were some puzzle he’d never expected to solve.

Then, without another word, he took a step back and held out his hand.

You didn’t hesitate.

_______________________

The silence in the car wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Full.

You sat there, lips still tingling, eyes on the window. The city blurred past in soft golds and blues. 

Neon signs flickered. A woman smoked on a balcony. A dog pulling its owner across a crosswalk. A man hailed a cab. Life was still happening—but all you could feel was him.

His presence beside you. His warmth in the space between the seats. The echo of his mouth on yours.

You tilted your head, eyes tracing the curve of the moon through the window. It followed you quietly, like it knew. Like it saw everything.

Every red light glowed too long. Every block felt like a held breath.

He gripped the wheel tighter than usual. Jaw tense. He checked his mirrors often, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeing anything. His jaw worked silently, eyes flicking between the road and the rearview, like any movement might pull him out of the moment.

You kept quiet. Let the silence stretch.

Finally, his voice broke through the quiet. Low. Controlled.

“I meant what I said.”

You turned your head slowly. “Which part?”

He glanced at you, just once.

“All of it.”

You held his gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then looked away, smiling just a little.

“Good.”

You finally made it to his building. He pulled into the underground garage, the soft hum of the engine echoing off the concrete walls.

He parked in his usual spot. You recognized it—you’d been here before. Dropped off folders, laptops, contracts he forgot in the office. Walked these exact halls with purpose, never pausing. Always professional. Always business.

But this time?

This time you didn’t have a file in your hands. You weren’t on a clock. You weren’t his assistant.

You were just you.

And that changed everything.

He turned off the engine, but neither of you moved for a second. You could feel the air shift. Not heavier—closer.

He got out of the car without another word, the door shutting quietly behind him. A few seconds later, your door opened—and there he was, standing beside you like it was nothing.

He looked at you. “You coming?”

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

You blinked.

You hadn’t moved.

You were still sitting there, fingers lightly pressed against your thigh, your body catching up to what your heart had already decided.

He didn’t rush you.

Just waited. One hand resting on the open door, the other in his coat pocket, his eyes on you like he could see the entire storm happening behind your stillness.

You exhaled slowly. Then you stood.

His gaze followed you as you stepped out of the car, close enough to feel the warmth of his body in the chill of the garage.

No words. Just the soft click of the door closing behind you.

You followed him to the elevator.

________________________

The elevator opened into the apartment directly.

You stepped in first. You’d been here before, of course—several times. Late-night contract drop-offs. Files he forgot in the office. You knew the layout by heart, knew the scent of the place, even the way the light curved in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

But you’d never walked in like this.

Not without an agenda or a deadline.

Not as a guest.

And suddenly, the space felt different.

It wasn’t sterile or cold like you used to tell yourself. No sleek, lonely bachelor energy. No leather-and-glass cliché.

It was warm.

Low lighting. Art on the walls. A worn leather chair near the window, a record player spinning soft jazz in the corner. Shelves with actual books, not props. A thick wool throw draped over the couch. A scent like cedarwood and something expensive lingered in the air.

“Wow,” you breathed, almost instinctively.

Harry loosened his tie. “You’ve seen it before.”

You looked at him. “Yeah, but not like this.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then nodded. “Fair.”

He disappeared into the kitchen briefly, came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. This bottle looked different—older, deeper colored.

“Private collection?” you teased.

“Something like that.” He poured carefully, then handed you a glass.

You swirled it. “Swirl, breathe, smell... sip?”

He smiled again, slower this time. “You remembered.”

You sipped. You could feel his gaze linger on your mouth.

“It’s really good,” you said, clearing your throat.

He stood in front of you, not close enough to touch—but enough that you felt it. The gravity of him. The silence stretching between you again.

He stayed standing across from you for a moment, sleeves rolled up, the top buttons of his shirt undone now. You watched him, your glass warm in your hand.

Neither of you said a word.

But everything was being said.

You stepped toward him at the same time he stepped toward you. The shared gravity was inevitable.

He reached out first, not to kiss you again, but to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His knuckles grazed your cheek, and it made your breath catch.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He smiled, something half-there. “Not sure.”

You were close enough now that you could feel the heat of his chest through the thin barrier of space left between you. His hand lingered at your waist. Yours found his wrist, thumb tracing the veins beneath his skin.

You weren’t sure who moved first this time. Maybe both.

The kiss was quieter now. Slower. Less urgent, more intentional. Like you were both realizing there was no clock ticking. No one to interrupt. No need to hold back.

When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you kept your eyes closed. Let the silence wrap around you.

“I wasn’t planning this,” he murmured.

“I know,” you said. “Me neither.”

But neither of you moved away.

You barely noticed how close you’d gotten until your glass tilted slightly, the wine catching the rim. A splash landed on his shirt, dark red soaking into crisp white.

“Shit,” you whispered, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to—”

Harry glanced down. Then up at you, completely unfazed.

“It was coming off anyway,” he said simply, already working the buttons open with one hand.

You stood frozen for a beat too long, your wine forgotten.

He peeled off the shirt and tossed it onto the back of a nearby chair. His torso was lean, toned in a way that only comes from quiet consistency—not vanity, just discipline. His skin was warm under the golden lighting, a scattering of freckles across his shoulders.

You cleared your throat, trying to remember how to function.

He looked at you again, this time slower. “You okay?”

“I will be if you stop looking at me like that,” you murmured, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“Like what?”

“Like you already know what’s going to happen.”

He stepped closer again. “I don’t,” he said softly. “That’s kind of the best part.”

He took your glass and set it aside—carefully—then turned back to you.

His eyes were darker now. Focused.

He wanted your full attention.

He gripped your waist and pulled you closer, his touch no longer tentative. Confident. Sure. With one movement, he shifted your weight, guiding you until your legs wrapped around him instinctively.

He walked—slow but deliberate—until your back met the wall.

The kiss broke for only a second, just long enough for you to catch your breath.

Then it came crashing back—furious now. Hungry. His mouth on yours like he’d been waiting all night to be this unrestrained.

Your hands tangled in his hair, fingers tugging just hard enough to make him groan against your lips. He pressed into you, anchoring you to the wall, one hand exploring the curve of your hip, the other trailing along your ribs, steady but searching.

He kissed like he knew you—like every inhale, every tilt of your head, was familiar already. Like he didn’t want to stop.

And neither did you.

He pulled back just long enough to catch your breath—his lips parted, his chest rising with yours in sync.

And then he moved.

He didn’t say a word, just adjusted his grip on your thighs and carried you across the room. You tightened your legs around his waist instinctively, fingers still tangled in his hair as he walked the two of you toward the bedroom.

You weren’t sure when your shirt came off. Somewhere between the hallway and the doorway, between kisses along your neck and soft, breathless gasps you couldn’t hold back.

He dropped it on the floor like it had never mattered, and by the time you reached the bed, all that was left between you and the sheets was skin and heat and a thousand quiet yeses.

He set you down gently. Like he knew this wasn’t just about desire—it was about something else. Something you both hadn’t dared name yet.

But right now?

You didn’t need a name.

You needed him.

He laid you down gently, like he didn’t want to rush—like he wanted to memorize every second of this.

And then he hovered above you, just for a breath. His eyes swept over you—bare skin, flushed cheeks, your mouth still parted from the last kiss.

You felt his fingertips brush the side of your neck, slow, reverent. His gaze followed the motion like he’d traced this path a hundred times in his head.

And then he leaned in.

His lips brushed just beneath your jaw first—soft, careful. Then lower. Warmer. His breath fanned over the curve where your neck met your shoulder, and your pulse jumped.

You felt it coming before it happened.

That spot.

That one spot—right behind your ear, the one he always glanced at when you’d shift your hair during long office days. The one that always felt too exposed when you wore it up.

He found it.

And kissed it.

Not quick. Not teasing.

Slow. Open-mouthed. Intentional.

Your fingers tightened against his back, your breath caught, your whole body arching slightly beneath him.

“Been wanting to do that,” he murmured against your skin.

You shivered. “Yeah?”

“Since the first time you tucked your hair back,” he whispered. “Drove me fucking crazy.”

You smiled. Then gasped—because he kissed it again, deeper this time, his hand sliding down to your hip, anchoring you to him like he couldn’t risk letting you drift too far.

And from there, he took his time.

Your moans were like music to his ears.

He’d imagined this—more times than he cared to admit. But he never let himself get too far. He’d always pulled himself back, always shut the door on the thought before it became too real, too dangerous.

But this wasn’t a dream.

This was real.

And he was here. With you.

No phones. No appointments. No schedule, no glass wall between you.

Just the two of you. Skin to skin. Breath to breath.

His mouth moved across your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest—slow, devoted, like he had all the time in the world. And for once, maybe he did.

You reached down between your bodies, fingers trailing over his torso with reverence, until you found his belt. You unbuckled it with practiced ease, metal clicking softly in the quiet room. You pushed his pants down, your breath hitching as he helped you.

“Fucking hell” you blurted as you caught the sight of his hard and heavy cock. 

He stroked himself slowly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched your reaction—your gaze locked onto his cock, pupils blown, breath hitching. A bead of precum formed at the head and you gulped. There was a fair chance that he could split you in half, not only because of his cock but his size as a whole. 

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and he crawled onto the bed, his face inches from yours. His hands slid to your sides, fingers warm and sure against your skin.

He mirrored your movements, trailing down your waist until he reached the waistband of your pencil skirt—the one he’d seen you wear so many times. The one he’d fantasized about taking off, but never dared to touch.

Until now.

He didn’t hesitate.

He slid it down slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time. The tension between you stretched, thick and warm and crackling.

And when the skirt hit the floor along with your panties, and he saw you like that—laid out for him, flushed, eyes dark with want—he exhaled like he’d finally, finally let himself breathe.

Your hands cupped his face, guiding him back to your mouth, and he settled between your thighs like he belonged there. Like he always had. Harry removed your panties tossing them across the room. 

His fingers rubbed along your folds, feeling the wet pooling in your cunt before curling inside, his lips neared your clit, kissing it softly before licking across your entire cunt, He lapped on your clit, groaning onto it. The feeling of his tongue and his mustache caused an electric shock down your spine, driving right onto his face. 

“I need you so bad” His voice deep as he added another finger, his mouth still on your clit making his words vibrate against you. 

You struggled to respond, breath catching in your throat—but you managed, voice low and trembling with want.

“What’s holding you back? We’re already in this.”

He looked up at you, mouth still on you, hands gripping your thighs like he needed to anchor himself to something.

Your words hit him like a match. The final green light.

And just like that, restraint vanished. Neither of you cared how this would turn out—how messy, how complicated, how reckless. Consequences could come later. Right now? You just needed each other.

Desperately.

He gripped your thighs tighter, stretching your legs wider as he pulled you closer to him. Your breath hitched at the sudden movement. He aligned himself holding his heavy cock to your entrance and using the wetness to lube himself up before entering you. Your eyes locked as he pushed into you—slow, steady, deliberate.

His gaze didn’t leave yours, not even for a second, like he wanted to see all of it—your reaction, your unraveling, the way your mouth parted with a breathless moan.

Your face contorted with pleasure, head tipping back as the stretch overtook you. One hand flew to the sheets, clutching them tight as your body arched, trying to take more, feel everything.

He slid in fully, deep, until there was nothing left between you. Just heat and breath and that dizzying sense that everything had just shifted again—and this time, there was no going back. 

He finally moved—slow at first, steady, dragging his hips back just enough before pushing in again. Then he found his rhythm and hovered over you groaning against your neck, the sound low, guttural. Every thrust hit deep, every shift of his body pulled another breathless sound from your lips. Your hips rose to meet his, chasing every movement, matching his pace—desperate, shameless, hungry for more. You didn’t care how it looked or how it sounded. It was true. 

There were no sharp sounds, no declarations. Just soft gasps, broken moans, fingers digging into skin like you were afraid to let go. Afraid this was a dream. Afraid you’d wake up if you did.

“Harry… fuck,” you whined, digging your nails into his hair as you got closer to the height of pleasure, your walls spasming around himpulsing in tight, desperate waves that pulled a groan from deep in his chest. He wasn’t far behind.

 “Shit–“ he breathed, jaw clenched, his rhythm stuttering as your release crashed over you, coating him. 

Shudders wracked your body, hips arching into him as the pleasure overtook you. You felt it—wet, warm, everywhere—coating him, slick and overwhelming.

He tensed inside of you and followed with a rough, broken sound, thrusting deep one final time as he came undone inside you. Your cry was caught in his mouth, swallowed between kisses and the sound of skin against skin.

Your nails raked down his back, your legs tightening around him as the release wracked through you, relentless and blinding.

He groaned against your lips, his rhythm faltering as he gave in too—lost to you, to the feeling, to the way you came around him like your body had been waiting for this moment, and only this.

And when it was over—when the last shuddering breath passed between you, and his lips found that spot behind your ear again—you felt something settle in your chest.

Like this hadn’t just been inevitable. It had been waiting.

Everything about him felt real—the weight of his body, the warmth of his breath, the way he moved with you like he already knew you this way. Like maybe, he always had.

Every stroke, every kiss, every whispered breath between tangled limbs felt like a quiet confession neither of you had dared speak aloud. You were wrapped in him—in his scent, his voice, the slow, grounding pressure of his body against yours.

You shivered again—even in his warmth.

This wasn’t just crossing a line. This was burning it.

Then, without a word, he shifted beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and gently turning you onto your side. His chest pressed to your back, steady and warm.

You felt his hand settle low at your stomach, fingers curling softly against your skin like he wasn’t ready to let you go. Like he wouldn’t.

His arm was heavy—comfortably so. It grounded you, pinned you in the best way. You couldn’t have moved even if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

Just his breath at your neck. The quiet hum of the city outside. And sleep, finally pulling you under.

__________________________________

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, painting long golden stripes across the sheets. You stirred before he did, blinking against the light, the warmth of it settling over your bare skin. The sheets were soft. His bed smelled like clean linen and cedar, something calm and clean and unmistakably him.

Turning your head, you found him beside you—still asleep. Or maybe just pretending. Either way, you took the moment. Let your gaze linger on his face, softened in sleep, free from the tension he always wore like armor. He looked younger like this. Softer. Still Harry—but not the boss version. Just him.

You didn’t move. You didn’t want to.

But your phone buzzed somewhere from the living room, and it pulled you back into reality like a hook.

He opened one eye slowly. “Don’t answer it.”

You turned back toward him. “It might be important.”

“Then let it be important later.”

You laughed, burying your face into the pillow. “You’re not helping me keep my job.”

“I am your job.”

You groaned. “You would say that.”

He reached out, tucking your hair behind your ear again, fingers trailing lightly along your jaw before settling at your shoulder. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just looked at him, his eyes still soft with sleep but awake in a way that said he was fully here.

“Do you always wake up this smug?” you murmured, voice low and a little rough.

“Only when I’ve earned it,” he said, smiling faintly.

You shook your head, pressing your face into the pillow to hide your own grin, even as your leg brushed against his under the blanket. The air between you was warm but stretched—hovering in that space between comfort and the edge of a conversation neither of you had dared touch yet.

A quiet beat passed. 

“So… what happens now?”

He looked at you for a moment, the question lingering in the space between your bodies. Too big for right now. Too real.

He exhaled. “Let’s get coffee first.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You’re really gonna dodge the question with caffeine?”

“I’m not dodging. I’m delaying with style.” He sat up, stretching slightly. “Priorities. Coffee first, emotional unraveling later.”

You slipped out of bed a moment later, legs still a little unsteady, and padded toward the doorway, grabbing the first thing you saw—a folded Nirvana tee left on the edge of a chair. It smelled like him—clean, warm, something like cedar and sleep and skin. You tugged it on, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs as you walked barefoot into the kitchen.

Harry was already there, sleeves rolled up again, hair slightly messy, standing by the stove with a French press and two mugs on the counter. The smell of coffee wrapped around you like a second shirt.

“Hey,” he said, voice still rough with sleep. “I wasn’t sure how you take it, so... I went basic. Milk and sugar are there.”

You sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island, tucking your legs up beneath you. 

He chuckled softly and slid a mug toward you. “Make yourself at home.”

You took a sip, eyes on him as he leaned back against the counter, his own mug held in both hands. It felt oddly natural—like you’d done this before, like waking up in his apartment and drinking coffee together was part of some soft, familiar routine you’d already built in your head.

Except it wasn’t. This was new. Dangerous. Beautiful.

You stared into your coffee, letting the warmth settle into your palms, your shoulders beginning to loosen in the stillness between you. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was gentle, even comforting. The scene felt like it belonged. Him. You. Coffee. Morning light stretching across the floor.

It fit too well. 

And then, like something small tugged loose, the comfort began to unravel. Your breath caught in your chest. Your thoughts sharpened at the edges. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t safe. You’d slept with your boss. You’d crossed a line and blurred it so deeply there might not be a way back.

Your fingers tightened around the mug, your body going still again—not frozen, just quiet, the kind of quiet that comes when a thought hits too fast, too sharp. He noticed. His voice softened when he spoke, like he was already reading the shift in you. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just set his mug down and stepped closer, resting one hand on the back of your chair—not quite touching, but close enough to feel. “We don’t have to name it,” he said, calm and even. “But I meant everything I said. And everything I did.”

You held his gaze, heart thudding, your breath catching somewhere between your ribs and your throat. “I meant it too,” you said quietly. “All of it.”

It wasn’t a full spiral. Not regret. Just a flicker of panic—the kind that comes after something good, something real. The kind that makes you question if maybe you dreamed the whole thing. But he caught it. And he soothed it. Not by promising anything, not by fixing it, but just by being steady. Present.

Because it wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t a mistake. And he knew that.

He nodded once. “Then we don’t panic.” His voice was calm, certain, like a soft line being drawn in the quiet. “We go to work,” he said simply. “We don’t pretend it didn’t happen. But we don’t have to define it right now either. We just—go slow. If that’s okay with you.”

You nodded. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly along your arm before resting there—warm, grounding. Not pulling you closer. Just there.

Neither of you moved after that. You sat quietly, shoulders barely touching, hands around your mugs, the sun crawling across the floor like it had all the time in the world. The coffee cooled slowly.

No pressure. No rush. Just a shared breath in the soft quiet of something beginning.

Hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this!!

All support is welcomed 💕✨ REBLOGS, LIKES AND COMMENTS HELP THIS STORY GROW!

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 3

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (now skeptical!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: I’ve already outlined the entire thing–now it’s just a matter of writing it, so don’t worry! Even if some chapters take me longer to update, I’m gonna finish this one way or another. Promise. *fingers crossed* Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, reader thinks she’s losing her marbles because of a certain someone

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

“Alright—okay, don’t be stupid,” You chant to yourself as you pace restlessly from the kitchen area of your studio, to the coffee table where you’ve set your phone lying facedown. “Just open the damn thing.” 

You’ve just arrived back at the condo a little past seven PM after a, frankly, productive—if not slightly distracted—day of running errands. You’re home, and you haven’t even got to unpacking the two paper bags (and a box) worth of groceries that were all but thrown carelessly on the kitchen counter, and already, you’re back to stressing over all the weird shit that's been happening to you.

Throughout the afternoon, you tried your hardest to resist the urge to check your phone, especially whenever you see the screen light up—whether it was in your hand or stashed away in your half-zipped fanny pack.

It’s at the most random times too, but always when you act on your unfortunate tendency to monologue your thoughts out loud. 

Sure, it could just be some random push app notifications. Text messages from the few people that hit you up on the weekends—invitations to hang out, maybe. A few newsletters you forgot to unsubscribe from if you’re unlucky. 

But you think the timing’s far too deliberate to be purely coincidental. 

“Do I get a dozen eggs or just half? What do I even need a dozen for?” (Phone vibrates)

“Oh, hey, Indomie’s on sale if you buy in bulk. How much for a box?” (Screen flashes. Twice.)

“Who the hell is holding up the line, damn–oh, it’s an old lady. Better hurry the fuck up, grandma.” (Screen flashes) “...Sorry! I didn’t mean that.” 

“Ughhh… my tummy hurty…” (Phone vibrates) “What—” 

“Everything’s perfectly normal. Just your average, sunny Saturday! You are an independent, capable adult… who’s fucking losing it.” (Screen flashes– after a minute interval) 

Of course, you have an inkling as to what’s—or who’s—blowing your phone up; in fact, he’s never left your mind since this morning.

So presently, you’re in the middle of having a small existential crisis over what that means, for you and your sanity. No big deal. 

You puff out your cheeks for a couple of seconds before letting out a deep breath. Don’t be a pussy. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation to all of this. You’re— you’re not crazy. 

Landing heavily down in front of the low table, you finally grab your phone, hand shaking with the teensiest amount of trepidation. Not giving yourself any more time to think and second-guess, you flip it over, switching it back to Ring mode as you swipe up to see—

—a barrage of notifications; one popping up after another. 

Some of them are what you’ve expected: plain, old push notifications from banking apps, others from varying socials. There’s one from your mom. A reminder to email her the flight tickets you still haven’t gotten around to booking yet. 

And. Six banner notifications from the game. From… from—him. It’s something you’ve already braced yourself for. It doesn’t prepare you, however, for what they actually said. 

A knot grows in your chest, spreading rapidly like slithering twine as your mind tries, and somewhat fails, to make sense of what your eyes are seeing. 

Grab a dozen, sweetie. It won’t add much to the total cost, and you need that protein every morning. Cereal’s not gonna cut it. 

You really ought to lessen your sodium intake, kitten. (and) Do NOT get the box. Stop. 

Haha. A feisty one, aren’t you? 

Mmm, poor baby.

I– we can talk about this later when you get home.

Each notification contains a completely unique dialogue you’ve never seen before. A play-by-play commentary specifically in response to you—to your personal remarks from earlier, spoken out loud—that there is absolutely no way anyone could still pass this off as simply being system-generated. 

A faint ringing echoes in your ears as you slowly draw back, putting some distance between the onslaught of text and… you. You can’t seem to tear your gaze away from the screen, though. Even if the back of your head bumps against the seat edge of the sofa behind you from how far you’ve already leaned back. 

Blinking in stunned silence, the only thing you could croak out is a strained “what the fuuuck.” 

... Ping!

Still mustering the courage to face me? Don’t keep me in suspense, darling. 

The sudden message jolts you back to reality. You suck in a deep breath.

… Despite everything, you can’t help but find his nonchalant response to your gradual spiral into hysterics—because he knows—a little amusing. Also rude. But mostly funny. 

(It’s also probably just your brain’s last-ditch effort to find some semblance of control, but whatever.)

At this point, you know that you’re merely delaying the inevitable. Swallowing, you press on one of Sylus’ messages and it immediately boots up the game. 

Instead of soothing your nerves like it usually does, the orchestral background music from the loading screen puts you more on edge; your anxiety builds up to a crescendo, harmonious to the heralding of what you know will undoubtedly change the trajectory of your life. 

Dramatic, but true. 

48%... 82%... 98%...

There’s a hollow drop in your stomach when the screen—finally—reveals the familiar sight of the café. The golden ambient light enters your field of vision for a split second before your eyes flit reflexively to the man standing in the middle of the screen, whose presence commandeered your full attention.

He’s wearing his motorcycle jacket—the black one with the red and white thorn(?) accents, paired along the pair of leather pants with the iconic double zipper. Aside from the black zircon studs, he’s not wearing anything out of the ordinary. Nothing is looking out of the ordinary, actually. 

Holding your breath, you wait for the other shoe to drop. 

“Are you waiting for me to say hello? Then–” Sylus muses with an amused lilt to his voice, sauntering closer to flick “your” forehead. There’s a beat before he continues: “That’s my way of saying hello.” 

… Huh? 

That’s—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You… you don’t know what you were expecting, but this wasn’t it.

The man in front of you doesn’t look any different from how he usually does; the way that his… character animation (Should you call it that? It doesn’t seem right, given the circumstance, but you don’t know how best to describe anything anymore) flows is so–-so infuriatingly… normal. As if it’s just like any other day that you’ve logged in the game. 

Where did the sentience go? Why is he reciting lines he’s programmed to say? None of it adds up.

Your mouth tries to form words, but nothing comes out. With wide eyes, you helplessly gape at him. Speechless. For a moment, you feel like you’ve actually gone mad. 

A small “what’s happening?” slips past your lips. Your eyes dart across his face, trying to analyze every microexpression, any hint of sentience on him—in his eyes, in his movements. 

You find none. 

Mechanically, you exit the game.

“What the actual fuck?” You whisper-shout at nothing in particular, and maybe to the biggest cause of your current disconcertion; one who you thought… Who you were sure was—

-

-

Fuck it. It’s time to put your detective skills to work.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Sam felt like locking both you and Joaquin in a room, throwing away the key until you two finally admit to the fact that you liked each other more then friends.

It was so obvious from the way Joaquin’s eyes brightened upon seeing you enter the room, going so far as to stand closely to your side despite the fact that the room wasn’t crowed in the slightest, nor the fact that Sam could count all the times on both hands where you and Joaquin’s hands would brush against one another until your pinkies would intertwine; all under the guise that no one would see.

However the moment Sam saw the affection within yours and Joaquin’s eyes, he suddenly saw everything that you both did within the presence of the other and nothing else, and he couldn’t help but feel that your feelings were so blatant, so obvious upon your faces that anyone could see it clear as day…anyone but the both of you apparently.

And Sam has never seen two people more obviously into one another other then you and Joaquin, and the amount of times where Sam was so certain you two would kiss with how intently you were staring at one another, glancing at the other’s lips as though you were drawn to them only to do nothing. Needless to say Sam was certain he had enough evidence to preside a PowerPoint slide on how the feelings between you and Joaquin were mutual, painstakingly mutal too.

This is not to mention how protective you both got over the other when either of you came back from a mission even the slightest bit hurt, that was a whole other story that Sam could go into increasing depth about for another day.

‘Just kiss!’ Sam exclaims when he saw you and Joaquin standing close together, shoulder to shoulder, watching something on your phone with smiles spread across each of your faces and Sam knew it wasn’t just from the video.

You and Joaquin moved away from one another like a pair of frightened kittens, staring at Sam with wide eyes and matching flustered faces upon realising you were caught. ‘Sam? What’re you on about?’ You asked.

Sam groans. ‘You like Joaquin,’ he points to you as your eyes widened even more and we’re about to say something but Sam was already moving onto pointing at Joaquin, ‘and you like them, so cut it out with the sexual tension and just kiss already!’ He finished as a silence fell over all of you but that silence didn’t stay for long until you started chuckling with Joaquin following suit as he held you by your waist.

‘Sam,’ you chuckled, ‘me and Joaquin had been dating for a while now.’

It was Sam’s turn to have widened eyes as he looked at the two of you. ‘You’re dating? Since when’

‘Since you told me to take the leap,’ Joaquin says this time as he smiles at you, kissing your temple as you moved yourself further into his side, resting your head on his chest, ‘and needles to say I’m still riding that high the moment they said yes.’ He finished and squeezed your waist.

Sam looked between the two of you once more before smiling, glad to know that he got to at least keep some brain cells in knowing that you had actually done something about your feelings, instead of letting them fester for far longer then they should. He was glad that Joaquin took his advice that he had somehow forgotten he has given a while back, and now a smile graced his lips as everything was made right again.

‘Well then I guess congratulations is in order!’ He laughs as he clasps Joaquin on the shoulder and gives you a tight hug. ‘And here I thought I was going to be old and grey before you two ever said anything about your feelings, but I better not hear any happy noises coming from your room in the middle of the night.’ He adds teasingly as you looked to the side and Joaquin rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, your reactions only made Sam laugh even louder as he insisted that he was kidding.

You and Joaquin shared a look before smiling, happy to know that your friend was equally happy for the both of you, rendering your previous concerns about it obsolete. You reached out a hand as Joaquin mimicked your actions, your pinkies coming into contact with one another before intertwining.

[mikawa13]

Every time I look at fanarts of TID I have to take a deep breath because some of the clothes aren't completely period accurate, so I wanted to try to draw them with more accurate dresses.

Charlotte did not take as long as I expected, probably because I always imagined her style in a more simple and elegant style.

I used Cassandra Jean's design for the gear and tried to adjust it a bit following the Codex's information about older versions of the female gear having a skirt, but I just decided to make that padding around the abdomen and hips longer and simulate a skirt (but not too long to not reduce the mobility), whereas the male gear would be shorter and the way that Cassandra Jean did it.

RIP Charlotte, you would've loved jumpsuits QUEEN

(February 4, 2024)

Little Miss Barbie x Regina George (1878 Edition)

Jess was a bit more complicated because she does care about her appearance more and has a more intricate style. And normally I try to not add a lot of detail with Victorian characters because Queen Victoria didn't like makeup and found it vulgar, so women usually went for a natural look. Jessamine paints her dark circles whereas Charlotte naturally has them for obvious reasons. ☠️

Low-key, I loved doing Jessamine's ghost form.

And please let's not talk about my strange doodling attempt with the electrum lace design on the parasol. Halfway through it I started telling myself Henry is not a fashion designer and he tried his best to mimic a lace design with the electrum and hide some runes for her protection.

(February 13, 2024)

I will be honest, I struggled with the color of the dress because I do not imagine Cecily with a plain color dress, but not too intricate as Jessamine's. Everything looked too blue at first and I switched so many colors until it ended up like that. And don't get me started on the hair... It felt ✨WRONG✨ to give her a historically accurate hairstyle considering everyone gives her straight hair down.

So in my head her hair IS straight, she just has to appropriately wear it up. But nothing too complicated. And it's worth mentioning my memory is starting to blur out a lot. I had to check her wiki for the weapon and whatnot, and I found that she was petite and thin. In my head she was about Tessa's height. But I barely remember a lot from the books by now.

But I did try to make her look closely similar to Will. And I think she does look like a female, better, version of him. Also, if you're wondering why she's not wearing the necklace: I didn't realize I didn't add it until I finished coloring the dress and by that point I was so sick of it I left it like that. I had the sketch of the necklace, I just forgot to put it with the dress. 🫠

(March 2, 2024)

Gideon is so lucky. 😩

The suits might discourage me from doing the men because there's not really much difference aside of small details of how each man wears it. But anyway... Back to Sophie.

The damn maid dress. It's simple. It is ten times simpler than Jessamine's dress and YET I was struggling with it. And don't get me started on the scar.

The wiki said it was a big, silver, scar on the left side of her face from the corner of her mouth to her temple. I had an existential crisis trying to figure out how to do it, because in the other set ups of these drawings, I depict them like they're facing me, so the portrait wouldn't have shown the scar.

And it's a problem because I also suck at drawing scars. The first try looked fine but it wasn't silver, then I did this and in one part I guess it's fine because I didn't want to make a pretty scar when it's supposed to be bad and shocking for the time period. But a part of my brain thinks it looks like the fungus from The Last of Us. ☠️

Anyways. You may be wondering, "why didn't you do the Shadowhunter gear?" And it's a simple answer... I wanted to see her in a pretty dress. Of course, I could have done the portrait with the maid dress, the middle with her fancy dress, and the second full-body drawing with the gear but I didn't think about that until 10 minutes before posting. 🫠 And that gear is COMPLICATED (Not really, I'm just tired after the dresses).

(April 10, 2024)

If you are wondering why there is a huge time jump from the last fanart to this, I had a really bad art block and the frustration from the inaccurate dresses brought me back lol

Unfortunately I am currently in another slump 🫠

The next one was supposed to be Tessa but the dresses really frustrated me and I never even started the sketch. Idk if I'll ever finish it. I hope so, but don't get your hopes up.

[freaktoru]

summary: choi jong-in x fem!reader - what happens when you mix business with pleasure? warnings: dirty talk, pnv, unprotected sex, fingering, dubcon kinda, praise kink, reader is oblivious. authors note: this man is criminally underrated. we need more of him. let this fic be a pivotal moment for us all. ty for reading, likes and reblogs always appreciated <3

choi jong-in was a very successful man.

everyone knew this. he was one of south korea's most powerful s-rank hunters, and the guild master of south korea's most powerful guild, the hunters guild. don't be mistaken though, being known as ‘the ultimate hunter’ was no easy task. choi jong-in was under contstant pressure of having to keep up his public appearances on behalf of his entire guild, and balance the enormous workload of being the top guild master in the country. there was no denying it—he was indeed successful but he was also very busy. so that's why he hired you. as his personal assistant, having you around was most helpful to him. within a few days of your hire, you managed to cut his own workload in half and thanks to you, he was able to take the smoke breaks he so desperately needed during his work day and he was finally able to get home at a reasonable hour of the night. it was safe to say that you were his salvation.

you stood in front of his office door, wearing your regular office uniform, holding a thick stack of papers. jong-in had given you a specific dress code to follow when he hired you—composed of a white blouse, black stiletto heels and a dark red pencil skirt. you weren't sure why he picked the colour red for you, but you thought better than to question it. he was paying you twice as much as any other personal assistant positions did so it was important you did everything in your power to keep it. the door finally swung open, revealing his tall frame. not only was he successful, but he was also very attractive, his aura alone was enough to turn heads anytime he stepped foot outside. you knew this well, having been on the receiving end of it many times. he was dressed in his usual red suit and rectangular glasses, his fingers covered in his signature gold rings. his lips were curled up in a crooked smirk and he was watching, no—studying you.

"m-mr. choi you wanted to see me?" you stuttered out the question nervously. you weren't sure why he wanted to see you, but whatever the reason, you had a bad feeling about it.

"ah yes. come in please" he replied, stepping aside to make room for you. you walked inside his office which you spent most of your time in, sorting and filing papers, cleaning his desk and doing work on your laptop from the sleek black couch that stood across the room, perpendicular to his desk.

"i-i also brought the reports you requested on sung jinwoo, i completed them early" you managed to say, trying to keep yourself calm and collected.

"mmm, ever so diligent. good girl" he hummed approvingly, the praise sending a positive rush of blood to your cheeks. you handed him the papers, his fingers ghosting over your skin ever so lightly as he took them from you. “please, take a seat” he said, his hand motioning towards the couch. you complied, placing your hands on your knees to stop your legs from bouncing nervously. he sat himself down in an armchair across from you, placing his elbows on his knees and leaning his chin into his folded hands.

"you look nervous" he chuckled lightly, his eyes still fixed on you. you blushed, averting your eyes from his piercing gaze. "i'm just worried that you're not satisfied with my work sir" you admitted, looking down at your hands. it was true—despite his occasional praises and wide smiles, he was a perfectionist, he liked things done a certain way and he certainly made sure his employees knew that.

"you know," he started, leaning back in his arm chair, crossing his ankle over his leg "i've never kept an assistant for longer than two months at a time" he finished, smiling. a few moments later he added, "do you know why that is?"

"i-i'm not sure. how come?" you replied slowly, unsure of what was coming for you next. he was full of surprises— never quite saying what he meant, often leaving you with more questions than answers.

"because if there's one thing i despise, it's people who work less efficiently than me" he replied casually, observing you, waiting to see how you'll react. there it was again—his puzzling demeanor that never failed to keep you on your toes.

"i-i'm sorry, i'll do my best to get things done faster and—"

"ah ah, i didn't say that about you did i?" he clicked his tongue, cutting off your restless rambling. you felt your mouth zip shut, resolving to let him finish before you made any further assumptions.

"as i was going to say, you're different" he stated simply. you waited for him to elaborate because this could have meant anything, good or bad. "you're so good you know? perfect really. in all your time here you've made maybe one or two mistakes, all within your first week of work" he continued, "and that's exactly what i like about you" he finished carefully. he held your gaze, watching you fidget nervously. his words sent a warm rush of pleasure through your body, which settled low in your core. a semblance of hope returned to you—maybe you were going to keep your job after all.

before you had a chance to thank him for his praise, he asked, "tell me y/n, do you like working for me?" shifting the conversation. your eyes widened at the question. choi jong-in was a very generous employer to say the least. not only did he pay you more than any other job you’ve had, but he frequently bought you lunches without even asking, brought you coffee in the morning, and praised you like you’ve never been praised before. yes, generous he was.

“of course, you’re very kind and i’m treated better here than any other job i've had in the past so, thank you" you replied softly, hoping that he intended to keep you employed. he stood up from his armchair abruptly, and plopped himself down right beside you on the couch. you shifted nervously, waiting for his next move.

“you’re a sweet girl aren’t you?” he asked, his velvety voice alone enough to have you pressing your thighs together. and what a sweet girl you were. always so attentive and eager to please. you had everything done on time if not early, always complying with all of his requests and doing your best to make yourself useful to him. you blamed it all on his commanding presence but deep down you knew that there was more to it. you craved his attention, wanting nothing more than to hear sweet praises dripping from his lips when you did something right.

“i try my best” you replied, your voice shallow and breathless. when did it get so hot in here?

“you know what i’d like to know?” he asked, but before he let you answer, he continued, “i'd like to know what sweet girls like you look like when they come undone” he whispered, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. the air was thick with tension and somehow his lips found themselves mere inches from yours—you hadn’t even noticed how close he was to you until now. you felt heat pool in your lower stomach which you quickly noticed took form in the slick that coated your panties.

"s-sir" you uttered, no longer worried about your employment, your thoughts now clouded with excitement and lust. you hadn't realized how badly you actually wanted him until now. all those stolen glances in his office, the praises, the lunches, it wasn't just because he was being nice.

and that's when you felt the tension snap. his lips quickly met yours, kissing you with a hunger you somehow knew only you could have cured. you eagerly kissed back, allowing his tongue to explore the inside of your mouth. how you'd go back to being boss and assistant after this? you didn't know. but in this moment nothing mattered but the feel of his soft, warm lips on yours. he tasted faintly of mint and cigarettes—as expected from a chainsmoker like himself.

jong-in broke the kiss momentarily. he stood, taking his blazer off and rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, revealing his expensive golden watch. this man really did love luxury. the sight had you practically drooling. you unbuttoned a few buttons of your blouse in a pathetic attempt to escape the heat but you had a feeling this stifling heat would remain as long as a choi jong-in— a fire mage type hunter, was in your presence. you gasped when he lifted you easily, your legs wrapping around his torso as if on instinct. he walked you over to his desk, placing you down rather gently so you were sat on display for him, instantly squeezing your thighs together at the realization of how you looked, embarrassed to be in such a position in front of your boss. "ah ah, don't shy away from me" he cooed, gently tapping your thigh with two fingers, making you open your legs reluctantly.

and before you knew it, his lips were back on yours, claiming your mouth as his. you felt his fingers travel up and down your thigh, eventually reaching your soaked panties. "oh? if i had known you were this much of a slut i would have done this a lot earlier" he teased, pushing your panties aside and coating his slender fingers in your slick. "s-sir—ah" you moaned right before he pushed two ringed fingers inside of you while continuing to rub your sensitive clit with the pad of his thumb. you whimpered at the feeling, throwing your head back in pleasure, letting him play with you however he pleased.

he was pushing you close to the edge. you felt the buildup in your core waiting, begging to be released. "please, sir—ah, i'm going to cum" you whined, relishing in the pleasure he was giving you with just two of his fingers. "mmm, no you won't. not like this" he practically purred, a smirk of satisfaction plastered on his face. he pulled his fingers out of you right before you could finish, leaving you high and dry. "why not?" you asked while exhaling shaky breaths. you couldn't believe that choi jong-in, your boss, had you all worked up from just his fingers. "you'll see" he replied simply, once again leaving you questioning his true intentions.

he put one hand on your waist and the other on your shoulder, slowly pushing your back down on the desk and leaning over you. that's when you understood exactly what he meant. you gasped as he started placing soft, wet kisses down your neck, and unbuttoning your blouse to reach your chest. you closed your eyes shut, letting out soft mewls of pleasure as he wrapped his lips around your left nipple, licking it, sucking it, and kissing the soft skin around it. you felt an overwhelming need for him, from the teasing and edging earlier to this. you were unable to contain it any longer. "please sir, i need more" you keened, hoping he understood what 'more' meant. "more what? use your words sweetness" he murmured against your skin. "i need you inside me, please sir" you managed to utter, your cheeks flushing pink.

he removed his mouth from your tits, lifting his head to look at you through half lidded eyes. he chuckled, and without another word, he wrapped his strong arms around your thighs, pulling you closer to him, where he stood at the edge of the desk. he lifted your skirt, bunching it up around your waist so he had better access. you propped yourself up on your elbows, wanting to admire him a little more. you felt another wave of pleasurable heat wash through you, settling in your already soaked panties at the mere sight of him unbuckling his belt. his eyes lingered on you, studying your reactions to his every move. he let the belt drop to the floor, moving to unbuckle his pants. your eyes widened at the sight of his hardened cock, wondering how all of that was going to fit.

"are you ready baby?" he asked softly, hovering over you and slowly prodding your dripping entrance with his cock. you whimpered, bucking your hips impatiently. "so impatient" he muttered, slowly sliding his cock into your hole, filling every inch of you. "nngh sir—" you moaned, arching your back off the desk, trying to adjust to his girth. but he didn't move, and he wouldn't move until he heard his name roll off your tongue. "sir is used for business. does this—" he thrusted into you once making you gasp with pleasure, "feel like business to you?" he asked, smiling coyly. "n-no" you stammered. "what's my name?" he demanded, standing still, his cock buried deep inside you while he waited for his answer. "mr. choi" you replied, hoping that was what he wanted to hear. spoiler alert, it wasn't. "wrong." he thrusted into you again, making you suck in a sharp breath. "jong-in" you mewled at the pleasurable sensation of his dick hitting your sweet spot.

and that was what made him snap. the swore that the sound of his name on your lips was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. he pulled out slightly before slamming into you, making you cry out. he began pounding into you, one hand gripped your waist so hard you felt bruises forming and the other closed around your neck, choking you lightly. the feeling of the cold metal of his rings was a divine contrast for your burning skin. "fuck sweetness— you feel so good" he rasped, quickening his pace. his hair was messy, and his glasses had slid down his nose— the sight was purely erotic. you felt a flame ignite between your thighs, feeling yourself approaching your climax yet again, hoping that he would let you finish this time. "jong-in" you moaned breathlessly, unable to formulate a full sentence. "i know baby—fuck i'm gonna cum" he groaned, feeling his dick twitching with need inside of you. "ah—" you cried out, body going still as you finally felt the sweet release you were waiting so patiently for. jong-in followed, eyes shut and head hanging low, breathing heavy breaths while he finished inside of you.

as you came down from your high, your mind had started to clear and it finally dawned on you. oh my god. you had just fucked your boss, who was also the guild master of the most well known guild in the country. oh fuck. jong-in finally pulled out, buckling himself back up. he looked over at you, admiring the sight of you laying on his desk all fucked out—a sight he’d been waiting too long to produce. you sat up, looking up at him. he lifted a hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb lightly over its soft flesh. “good girl, you did so well for me” he praised, his words enough to make you melt. you really did have a thing for praise. “thank you” you mumbled shyly, unsure of how things would be after this. nothing could be the same after sex this good. he tapped your cheek lightly before dropping his hand back to his side, walking across his office to his private bathroom. he spent a few minutes in there and stepped out, holding a wet, warm towel which he used to clean you up.

the stark contrast between how rough he’d been during the sex and how gently he was cleaning you up made your head spin. would he fire you now? was it good enough for him? was he going to do it again? “stop thinking so much” he muttered, pulling you back from your thoughts. “huh?” you asked, worried that you were speaking out loud the whole time. “you have that frown on your face. i’ve noticed you frown that way when you’re overthinking something” he explained. wow, he really was attentive. “sorry” you mumbled in response, still worried about your future at the guild and your future with him.

he finished cleaning you up and you slid off the desk, shocked to find that your heels had stayed on during this whole process. your feet hurt, so you opted to take them off, your height shortening by about 4 inches. he seemed even taller now. jong-in wrapped a hand around the back of your neck and leaned down. he kissed you softly, gently, reassuring you with just his lips. he pulled away, smiling, and said “now sweetness, tell me about those reports you brought in”. looks like you were keeping the job after all.

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