#these mostly come from a fic I wrote | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

atomicami · 3 months ago

Text

make you mine

dbf!cowboy!sevika x fem!reader

- summary: you've always had a longing for your dad's best friend ever since she moved into the ranch next door. however, you've had to keep your feelings to yourself out of fear of rejection and for the sake of their friendship. that is...until one night changes everything.

- content: smut MDNI, porn with plot, wild west au, forbidden love trope, age gap (reader is 21, sevika is 40), old town/ranch setting, sevika has her prosthetic arm, sevika only has a soft spot for reader, drinking & gambling, some harassment & violence (bar fight), gentledom!sev, lots of eye contact, sevika becomes very possessive, reader is shy at first but gets bold later on, use of pet names (sweetheart, darlin' etc), fingering & oral (both giving/receiving bc reader and sevika are a pair of munches), heavy scissoring, a little bit of sub!sev if you squint, and a little bit of aftercare in the end if you squint too

so i wrote this fic to try to cure the massive sevika brainrot that i’ve been having lately but it didn’t work…i still need her

You didn’t mean that much to her…or at least that’s what you had thought.

The feelings were innocent at first. It would begin through a small bit of contact, whether she’d accidentally brush her hand over yours or place her hand on the small of your back when mounting you on one of her horses, you’d end up getting chills down your spine and a small spark would start igniting in your chest. As time passed, it became more prominent. Every time she was near you, that same spark only grew more and more, followed by a tension that lingered between the two of you. You weren’t sure if it was just in your head, and you couldn’t tell if she felt the same way…until now.

It was the night before, and the three of you sat at the dining table having a steak dinner that you cooked up. Earlier that day, Sevika had accompanied you to the meat market to get those steaks. She insisted on paying for them and had already handed the cash to the butcher before you could even pull out your wallet. So to return the favor, you decided to invite her over for dinner.

You’re seated at the table, and before you start eating, you first watch as Sevika and your father take the first bites of their plate, hoping that the steaks turned out okay. “How is it?” you ask them. “I tried out a new seasoning this time.”

“It’s delicious, kiddo,” your dad had said, digging into his plate for another bite. “You always know how to make a mean ribeye.”

Sevika sat across from you, reaching out for her utensils. When she had finally taken a bite, a soft groan came from her as she savored the flavor of it. “Damn, this is good,” she added to your dad’s comment. “I might have to start coming over for dinner more often if you’re gonna be cookin’.”

You giggle at Sevika’s comment and look up at her, watching her go in for the next bite. “M’glad you like it, Sev.” Once you’re satisfied knowing that the food turned out well, you adjust yourself in your chair to start eating. As you do so, your boot ends up lightly brushing over Sevika’s leg, and, in an instant, you bring your feet back to yourself. You hope she didn’t notice your accidental contact, but it was clear that she did.

Sevika froze for a moment when she felt your boot brush up against her leg, and she couldn’t help but blush when you had done so. You hadn’t known just yet, but Sevika would also get that same spark inside her every time you were in her presence. She had never felt this way with anyone to begin with, especially with his best friend’s daughter out of all people. On the contrary, she’s mostly seen you like any other girl in her 20s, too young and naive to take seriously. Sure, you were headstrong, but in her eyes, it only added to your recklessness. That was until one particular night last year, when her feelings took a turn she never expected.

It was the night of your 21st birthday, and for a milestone birthday like that, there was no better way to celebrate than a night of drinks and dancing at the dance hall with your friends. You were too drunk to remember most of the events that night, but Sevika sure didn’t forget.

The night had blurred into a dizzying mess of laughter and alcohol, and by the time you found yourself outside the dance hall, your head was spinning. You fumbled for your phone, dialing Sevika’s number with shaky hands.

Sevika was fast asleep when her phone rang, cutting through the peacefulness the night was bringing her. She let out a groan when she recognized your number. Groggily, she answered, her voice thick with sleep. “What now?”

“Sevika,” you slurred into the phone. ”I need you to come get me…I’m too drunk…please.”

With a sigh, Sevika got off of her bed and threw on her boots. “Fine, just…hang in there, I’ll be right out.” She wasn’t pleased to be pulled out of bed this late, but she couldn’t be one to leave you stranded out on the streets either.

When she arrived, she didn’t waste any time. With a swift motion, Sevika helped you onto the back of her horse, her grip firm as you clung to her. “Jesus, kid, you’re a mess,” she muttered, her tone laced with impatience.

You leaned against her, your head spinning. “You’re so pretty, Sev,” you mumbled, barely able to keep your eyes open. “Like my knight in shining armor.”

“Yeah, sure,” she replied dryly, but there was a faint tug at the corner of her lips as she kept you steady on her horse.

By the time she got you home, you stumbled to the ground upon entrance. Your giggles were uncontrollable, and you were barely able to get back on your feet. Sevika helped you get back up, but her patience was quickly wearing thin. “Keep it down,” she warned, her voice low. “Or else your dad’s gonna wake up.”

You continued to giggle, still not fully aware of what was going on, and she picked you up and guided you to your bedroom. With a sigh, Sevika helped you sit on the edge of the bed, but before she could leave, you suddenly grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and kissed her.

The kiss caught Sevika by surprise. She froze for a moment, then pulled back, her expression unreadable. She stared at you for a moment before gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Go to sleep,” she said, her voice quieter than usual.

You lazily kick your boots off and lie down in your bed. You snuggle into your blankets, and your eyelids start to grow heavy. “Sevika…stay with me...” you murmured, the tipsiness sinking in as you instantly drifted off to sleep right after.

Sevika hesitated for a moment, her eyes fixed on your sleeping state before she sighed, her usual coldness returning. “Just sleep it off, kid.” she mutters, her voice soft but firm. She left your room, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving you to fall into a peaceful slumber.

As Sevika arrived back home, she couldn’t help but feel an unfamiliar ache in her chest. The events of the night replayed in her mind—your drunken giggles, the kiss, the way you looked in her eyes with trust and affection. She set her stetson hat down on the table and let out a long sigh, realizing that no matter how hard she tried to keep her emotions together, something had shifted. Something she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

She was starting to catch feelings for you.

Ever since that night, that spark continued to linger inside Sevika when you were around. However, for the sake of your dad, she had to keep herself together and brush it off.

You continue to eat your meal as normal, but you could still feel Sevika’s gaze when you weren’t looking. But every time you look up to see her, she is just concentrated on her plate. But Sevika couldn’t handle keeping her eyes on her plate any longer.

Sevika called out your name, and you looked up at her, fork still in your mouth. She had her elbow propped up on the table, her human hand holding her fork, which was pointing down at her plate as she spoke. “You doin’ anything tomorrow, by any chance?”

You slowly take your fork out of her mouth and set it down on your plate as you finish chewing. “M’not doing much tomorrow, just my usual chores in the morning, why do you ask?” you reply.

“Well…” Sevika began, trailing off for a bit before continuing. “Was wonderin’ by any chance if you’d like to get drinks tomorrow night? You and me?”

You hesitate for a moment, completely caught off guard by the unexpected invitation. Knowing Sevika, she wasn’t usually the type to hang out with you, especially for something as casual as getting drinks together. Your gaze shifts to your dad, who sits on your right. “As long as it’s okay with my dad, I could go,” you reply.

Sevika turned to look at your dad who was on her left, patiently waiting for his reply. You couldn’t tell, but deep down, Sevika was extremely nervous, not sure of how your father would react to the idea of her asking you out like this. He didn’t think anything of it though, and let it slide. Your dad turned to the two of you. “Well, I guess it won’t be much harm in you two goin’ out for a drink…” He replies.

You smile at your dad’s approval to let you go, leaning in to hug him. “Thanks, Dad,” you tell him, sitting yourself back down. Your dad nods and looks over at Sevika. “I’ll be workin’ late tomorrow though, won’t be back home til’ the early morning. Just make sure to bring her back home safe, all right?” Sevika nods in acknowledgment. “Of course, I’ll make sure she’s back home safe.” She says, giving your dad a reassuring pat on his shoulder.

Once the three of you finished dinner, you gathered up the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, with a bit of Sevika’s help since she offered. Eventually, Sevika had to head back to her place. Even though she lived close by, it still felt like she was miles away from you.

When Sevika got home, she quickly changed and slipped herself into bed. She tried her best to conceal things, but deep down, she couldn’t get the thought of you off her mind. It frightened her just as much to know that you could end up with someone else who wouldn’t treat you and care for you the same way she did. She wanted you all to herself. She wanted to claim you.

She wanted to make you hers.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──.°˖⋆ ℧ 𓃗 .°˖⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The next day passed like an eternity, but before you knew it, the late afternoon had arrived, and your evening was just about to begin.

You sat in your room by your dresser, finishing the touches on your makeup. You decided to dress in light colors for the night, wearing a lavender halter paired with a white skirt and boots, topped off with a white stetson on your head.

You hear a familiar knock at the door, instantly knowing that it was Sevika. It didn’t take her long to wait, within the first minute you were already downstairs and answering the door. You greet her with a smile, admiring the outfit she had picked out for the night. She was beautifully in contrast with you, wearing a deep purple button-up that complimented her olive skin and gray eyes, accompanied by black jeans and boots and a black stetson framing her short hair.

Sevika couldn’t help but take in how beautiful you looked in your outfit, her eyes scanning you from head to toe as she drank your figure in. “You look stunning,” she said, a small smirk growing on her face.

You blush at Sevika’s comment, shyly looking down at your boots before looking back up at her. “Thanks, Sev, you don’t look so bad yourself.” You tell her with a giggle as you exit your house and close the door shut, and Sevika can’t help but smile back at you once you tell her how good she looks. She holds out her prosthetic arm and places it on the small of your back, guiding behind you as you two walk out of the porch together. You look up ahead in your tracks to see her horse awaiting your arrival, and Sevika whistles behind you to get his attention. Her black stallion trots over to the two of you, and Sevika first assists with mounting you onto him before mounting herself. You scooch closer to her and wrap your arms around her to secure yourself. Your hands clutch her abdomen tightly, and you could’ve sworn you felt her stomach flip when you did so. Once Sevika made sure you were secured onto her, she lightly tapped her heel on the horse’s side, signaling it to move forward.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to get to the bar, about fifteen minutes or so. Once you arrived, you let go of Sevika so she could dismount from her horse and tie him to the nearest post, securing her spot before coming over and helping you get off of him, her hands never leaving your waist until you safely stepped onto the ground. Sevika felt her heart beat faster when she did so. Just the feeling of your waist under her hands was enough to drive her crazy. As for you, you couldn’t help but get a fuzzy feeling in your body when she grabbed your waist, leading you to gently rub your thighs under your skirt to diminish that feeling somehow.

Sevika walked through the batwing doors of the bar with you following behind her, the heavy scent of whiskey and tobacco hanging in the air once you stepped foot. The low murmurs of conversing patrons mix with the clink of glasses and the shuffling of boots on the wooden floor. The piano plays a slow and steady tune, making the atmosphere of the bar feel timeless.

Sevika skims around the bar when suddenly a voice calls her over. “Hey Sev! Care for a round?” the man says with a challenging smirk, holding a deck of cards in his hand. Sevika smirks back at him, taking up the offer. “Oh, you’re on,” she tells him. She was about to head to her poker group but stopped for a moment and turned to you. “Mind grabbing us drinks? You can put it on my tab, my treat.” She tells you with a wink.

You nod with a smile as you signal Sevika off to go to the poker table. The table of men cheered for her when she arrived, patting her heavily on her shoulders before they started the game. Once she’s sat, you head to the bar to order the drinks. The bartender hands you the beers within a few minutes, and you go to the poker table to sit down next to Sevika. She keeps you close by your side as she plays the game with her group.

The both of you go through the first round of drinks pretty fast. Once both of your glasses are empty, you tap Sevika’s shoulder to get her attention. “I’m gonna get another drink, do you want one?” I ask her, pointing at her empty glass. Sevika looks over at you and nods. “Yes, please,” she says, handing you her empty glass. Her eyes move over to her deck of cards and back up to her group. “In fact…” she trails off, sliding her winning cards to the middle of the table. “Get us all another round, on me!” she says as she brings her chips over to her side of the table. The men cheer for her, and a few of them groan as they have lost the game. You smile at her excitement over her win. “All right then, I’ll be back,” you say, getting up from the table and making your way back over to the bar to order the next round. Sevika’s gaze didn’t leave you once you did, and she kept herself close enough to where you were in a line of her sight the whole time.

You look over at Sevika and flash her a smile before turning back, awaiting the next round of drinks. The peace didn’t last long, though, when suddenly a man enters the bar and makes the decision to sit uncomfortably close to you. “Hey there, little lady,” he calls out to you. “You here by yourself?” An uneasy feeling washes over Sevika when she saw the man approach you, not liking the fact that he was invading your space like that. She makes sure to keep an eye on him from the table, her eyes focused on you as she continues playing her game.

You scoot away from him, signaling that you’re not interested in him. “No, I’m with someone.” You tell him, cocking your head to the side and pointing over at Sevika. The man barely glances back at her and rolls his eyes, not even seeing her as a possible threat. “Well, you’re by yourself over here, aren’t ya? Think you could use some company…” The man then places a hand on your bare knee, and it leads you to pull your knee away from him. “No, thank you, m’not interested.” you reply.

Sevika’s eyes stay glued to the man and his movements. She knew you could take care of yourself, but the thought of you being close to such a sleazy guy like him made her blood boil. It took everything within her to compose herself, keeping her cool as she remained seated at the poker table.

Things begin to heat up a bit, and your voice starts to rise. “I already told you, sir, m’not interested.” You get off the bar stool, and he does the same. He corners you against the wall, and a sick feeling starts to grow in your stomach. “C’mon, little lady, I can show you a real good time.” He continues to push through you, and before you can say no, his hand trails up your skirt and squeezes your ass, which causes you to raise your hand and slap him across the face in an instant motion. “I fucking said no, asshole!” you shout back at him.

That was the last straw for Sevika. She couldn’t take it anymore. Her entire body shook from rage and anger from what she had just seen. Instantly, she rises from her seat and slams her fist down onto the table, causing the chips and cards to shake from the force. She makes her way over to the both of you, shoving the guy onto the ground and standing right in front of him, the scene causing the bar to go silent. “Didn’t your dad ever teach you how to respect a lady, boy?” she said sternly, narrowing her eyes down at him. “She already told you, she’s not interested.”

The man glares menacingly up at Sevika as he spat on the ground. “You want something, old hag?” He said back, his tone laced with venom as he looked her up and down. Sevika huffs out of her nose and clenches her metal fist in anger, feeling her rage boil even more at his comment. She takes another step forward at him. “Leave, or I will make you.” She growled out, her stance growing into a fighting position. You stay silent as you keep yourself behind Sevika. The guy gets up from the ground and faces her. “Y’know what?” he says. “It’s fine…didn’t even care about bringing that little bitch home with me anyways.” he spits back referring to you.

Sevika couldn’t stand hearing him insulting you like this, but she needed a good enough excuse to deck him in the face, and she wasn’t gonna take up any more of the disrespect that man was giving you. Without a second thought, her fist flies into his face, knocking some of his teeth clean out as he stumbled back onto the ground. She grabs the man by the collar of his shirt and brings him up to her level. “Fucking mess with my girl again, and you might not make the next hit I give you.” she growls at him before letting him go and shoving him back to the ground.

You look at Sevika in pure shock at what she has done. Now, you weren’t in shock about what she had done to the man; he deserved it. You were more in shock about what she had called you.

“My girl.”

“My girl, my girl, my girl…” Her words repeat in your head like a broken record player. Never in your life, never in the years that you had developed these growing feelings for Sevika, had you expected those words to come out of her mouth.

You snap out of your thoughts as you see the man getting up off the ground and admitting defeat. He scurries out of the bar without a second thought, leaving Sevika standing there as she huffed and caught her breath. She kept her eyes on the doors for a moment in case he tried to come back before finally calming down. She let out a deep breath and turned back to look at you. She had this somewhat fearful look in her eyes, and you knew what it was. She feared that you might have heard the words that slipped from her mouth at that moment. You needed to tell her about it, the curiosity was starting to consume you, but now was not the time or place to talk about that.

You quickly shook your head, pretending to be unaware of it for now. You look around the bar to see that everyone is still silent, still staring at the two of you. “Show’s over!” you exclaim, and everyone goes back to their usual business. “Sevika…are you okay?” you say, approaching closer to her as you check both her human and metal fists for any bruises or dents.

Sevika could feel her heart flutter when you took her hands into yours, goosebumps erupting on her arm when your soft palms touched her calloused human hand. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she replied, her voice going soft as she looked down at your hands inspecting her own. “I’m more worried about you, though. You ain’t hurt or nothin’?” She asked, looking down at you with concern. You shake your head in response, setting her hands back down at her sides. “No, he just grabbed me, that’s all,” you tell her. She lets out a breath of relief at your response, knowing that you weren’t hurt. After making sure the guy wasn’t around anymore, the two of you decided that it was time to call it a night and head back home instead. “C’mon, let’s start heading out.” She said, putting a hand on your waist as you both exited the bar.

The ride back was oddly peaceful, to say the least. There wasn’t much to be said at the moment since Sevika had saved you, and you both enjoyed the quiet more than usual as you both took the scenery of the sun setting around you, too. Your hands stayed secure on Sevika’s waist as she rode her horse, and your head rested on her back. You felt so safe around her that your body felt the need to briefly go to rest at that moment.

The horse came to a stop once you both got back to your father’s ranch, and Sevika noticed that your arms weren’t moving and the grip you had on her waist was more relaxed. She slowly twists herself around to see that you had dozed off behind her during the ride back home. She gently shakes your shoulder to wake you back up, and her insides melt as you slowly regain consciousness. “Hey there, we’re back at your place now,” she says to you softly. “Let me help you get down, darlin’.”

Sevika moves her hands down from her horse’s reins to your waist, gently lifting you off of the horse before letting you back down onto the ground. She dismounts herself right after, and you gently rub your eyes to fully wake yourself up before looking back up at her. “Thank you again for doing that at the bar, Sev…I really appreciate it.” It made her happy to know that you appreciated her help, but in her mind, it felt like the natural thing to do. “Of course, sweetheart. I couldn’t stand seein’ you be bothered by some creep like him.” She said with a soft grin, looking down at you. “Lemme walk you inside, yeah? S’getting pretty late now.”

You follow by her side as the two of you approach the front door and unlock it, letting yourself inside before Sevika lets herself in behind you and closes the door shut. The house was the same as you had left it, meaning that your dad still wasn’t home yet. This gave you the perfect time to ask Sevika about what she said at the bar. Part of you didn’t want to bring it up, but you couldn’t help it. You needed to know what she meant. “Hey Sev,” you turn around to face her. “Can I ask you something?”

Sevika stood at the doorway for a moment before turning around to face you. “Of course, what is it?” she asked.

You shyly look down at the ground, fumbling with your hands as you try to muster up the courage to ask her this. “At the bar…after you beat up that guy, you…you said something, or, well, called me something to be exact.” You paused for a moment before continuing. “You…you called me your girl…What did you mean by that?”

As soon as you had brought up what she said at the bar, Sevika could start to feel her heart beat out of her chest. She hadn’t intended to say it in the first place; it just slipped in the moment. However, she got caught by you, and she knew she had to explain herself before any misunderstanding occurred. “I…” She started, not knowing what to say. Sevika gulped and brought her gaze to the ground, trying to compose some sort of reply.

It was clear that you had caught her in a vulnerable position by asking her this. You’ve never seen her get like this at all before, but you didn’t want to make her more uncomfortable, so you try to shake off the situation. “It’s okay, Sevika, you don’t have to talk ‘bout it if you don’t want to.” You tell her calmly. “‘Was just curious, that’s all.”

Sevika felt her heart drop for a moment when you told her this. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to say it, she just didn’t know how to tell you. She feared that this could go downhill. But she had to do it. This was her chance; this was the opportunity for her to be honest with you, and she couldn’t keep holding it off anymore. “No, no, I-I can explain,” She insists, reaching her human hand out to take one of yours. You gently grab her hand and bring her over to the couch so she can feel comfortable talking to you. “S’okay Sev, what is it?” you ask her as you sit down right next to her. She didn’t know it, but your heart was beating just as fast as hers was. You were praying to yourself that she’d feel the same way that you did.

Sevika took a deep breath as she prepared herself to share what was going through her mind. She mentally prepared herself for any reaction you had given her, whether it could be anger, disgust, or just any sign of rejection. But she was also hoping that maybe, just maybe, you’d feel the same way that she did.

“I’ve had my eye on you for a while now, sweetheart, I can’t deny it anymore…” She pauses for a moment before continuing. “Somewhere along the way, I started growin’ some feelings for you in a way I didn’t expect…I…I started falling in love with you.”

Your eyes widened at Sevika’s confession, and you could hear your heart beating faster once she let those words out. However, you give her a look of uncertainty; part of you is still finding it hard to fully believe it. “Sevika…do you really mean that?” you ask her, to which Sevika slowly nods in confirmation and gently squeezes your hand in reassurance. “I mean it, sweetheart, every single damn word.” She said, locking her eyes with yours.

There’s another pause before you gather the courage to ask. “When did you realize it?”

Sevika’s gaze softened, her thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. “That night…your birthday,” she admitted quietly. “When I brought you home, and you kissed me, it was like somethin’ clicked. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you after that.” She paused, her voice growing a bit more vulnerable. “But I think, deep down, I’ve been feelin’ it for a long time before then—I just didn’t have the strength to admit it.”

Sevika’s words made your heart skip a beat, but another detail had left you flustered. “Wait…” you stammered, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I kissed you?” You stared at her, trying to recollect your memory from that night.

Sevika chuckled softly, her lips curving into a small smile. “You don’t remember?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “Guess you were really wasted that night. But yeah, you kissed me—caught me off guard, too.”

Your hands trembled inside hers, the weight of her confession and your embarrassment pushing down on you. You shyly lowered your gaze to the ground. “Sevika, I…I didn’t think you felt the same way,” you admitted quietly. “I’ve caught feelings for so long, but I was afraid to say anything, ‘cause I thought you’d push me away—“

Sevika didn’t want to hear the rest of it. Instead, she places her human hand behind your neck and pulls you in for a tender kiss, cutting you off mid-sentence. You let out a gasp as Sevika locks your lips with hers, and you melt into it instantly. Sevika pulls away for a moment, still keeping her lips near yours. “I could never push away a girl like you, sweetheart,” she whispers and brings you back in for another kiss, your heart fluttering with pure joy at her words. The two of you stay like this for a moment, relishing the feeling of Sevika’s soft lips against yours. However, the mere thought of your father finding out about you and Sevika—his lifelong best friend—starts to hit you like a rock, and you slowly pull away from her. “But Sev, what ‘bout my dad?” You ask her. “You know how protective he is of me…he’ll kill you if he finds out…”

It was hard for Sevika not to feel her heart sink as you brought up the topic of your father finding out. The two of you know that it’ll happen at some point, no matter how hard you both try to be discreet about it. It gave her an uneasy feeling, but it wasn’t something that she wanted to be thinking about right now, and frankly, neither did you.

“I know, sweetheart, but don’t worry about that now,” she said softly. “We’ll figure it out when the time comes. M’not going anywhere, okay? I’m willing to take that risk for whatever happens, as long as I get to make you mine.”

Her words eased the knot that formed in your chest, even if it was just for a little. For now, that reassurance was enough for you. You lean into her and give her another kiss. “Least for now,’ you mutter out to her. “I don’t want him knowin’ yet.” Despite that you had to get serious about keeping your dad from finding out, there was just something about keeping Sevika a secret that you found so…thrilling.

Sevika slowly deepened the kiss, her hands finding themselves on your waist as she shifted you over and straddled you onto her lap, pressing herself closer to you as she took in as much of your scent as she could. She slowly ran her tongue across your lower lip, asking for permission. Your lips part open, and her tongue enters your mouth. Her hands begin to roam up and down your body, and they make a brief stop at your hips. She gently squeezes them to bring you closer to her, causing you to gasp into her mouth. The two of you could feel each other growing needy with each passing second, and you were about to be the one who was bound to submit first.

You pull your mouth away from Sevika for a moment, just to catch a breath and look into her eyes. You brace yourself for what you’re about to ask her next. “My…my dad’s still not home yet...we can take things upstairs if you’d like…” You tell her, playing with the collar of her shirt.

There was no further explanation needed after that. Sevika wanted you, and you wanted her— there was no need to deny it or hide from it anymore. Sevika stands up from the couch, and you wrap your legs around her waist, not wanting to get yourself off of her as the both of you head upstairs to your bedroom.

Sevika enters your bedroom and slowly sets you down on your bed, looking down at you with a look of desire in her eyes as you sink into the bedsheets. Your stetson falls off your head once it hits the bed, so you toss it out of the way as Sevika gets your boots off before doing the same with hers. She’s quick to get on top of you, her broad figure towering over your frame, and the brim of her stetson brushes over your forehead. As you did with yours, you take it off of her head and toss it aside, giving you the space you need to lean into her for another kiss. Once her lips reunited with yours, Sevika gently slipped her thigh between yours while also taking your left leg into her human hand and pulling it up on her hip as she deepened the kiss. Her knee begins to push up against your clothed cunt, and you let out a soft moan, causing you to part your mouth away from hers and tilt your head back against the pillow. This gave Sevika the chance to lean in and let her lips fall onto your neck, savoring every sound that elicited from your mouth as she left a trail of wet marks on your skin.

The feeling of Sevika’s soft, warm lips pressing against your neck was a feeling that your body couldn’t resist. You begin to squirm under her, and you try to rub your thighs against each other for some relief. This didn’t go unnoticed by Sevika. She quickly realized what you were trying to do. She let her body lean against yours and brought her mouth up to your ear. “Do you need somethin’, sweetheart?” She purrs, to which you nod quickly in response.

“Words, baby.” she says sternly.

You take a deep breath as you try to get the words out of your mouth. “Yes, Sev…I need you…” You whisper back to her.

Sevika let out a soft hum of approval when you said what she needed to hear, and at that point, she wasn’t going to hold herself back anymore. “Good girl,” she mutters, pushing her thigh harder against you once more. You let out another gasp, praying that Sevika didn’t feel the wetness pooling in your underwear. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, okay?” You start to feel drunk from her touch, trying to muster up another response. “I-I need you to make me feel good, Sev…need you to make me yours…”

With that, Sevika brings her human hand down and her fingers gently trace along the outer edge of your underwear before letting them go south, smirking as she feels the thin fabric start to get wet. Her fingers gently push your panties to the side and begin to give your pussy the attention it’s been needing. “Goodness, you’re so wet, darlin’…is this all for me?” she asks, looking up at you. You nod quickly in response. “Yes, Sev…s’all for you…” You get desperate for more contact, so as Sevika’s fingertips continue to run through your folds, you reach your hand under your shirt and trail it up to your breast, gently squeezing it.

Sevika’s eyes darkened at the sight of you. It was taking everything in her to not just take you already. The soft gasps, the pretty noises, the sight of your body, the wet sensation of your needy pussy…it was all so perfect. Sevika began to slowly slide one of her thick fingers into your pussy, and you let out a groan as you grind yourself against her, feeling so content with having a part of her inside of you. However, it didn’t feel like enough just yet. You craved more of her, so you decided to pull an unthinkable move.

Instead of letting Sevika continue, you bring your other hand down to hers and pull her finger out of you. You then bring it up to her lips so she can get a taste of your arousal. You watch as her lips slowly part themselves open, and she sucks on her finger, the taste of you sending a shiver down her spine. Sevika let out a groan of satisfaction before pulling her finger out of her mouth. “Goodness, darlin’…you even taste perfect.” She whispered out to you, leaning down to kiss you deeply. You moan into Sevika’s mouth as a result, tasting your own arousal in the process. You then pull yourself away from her to look into her eyes. “It’s all for you, Sevika…only you.”

A smirk begins to grow on Sevika’s face. She liked what she was hearing. “Hm, all mine, you say? I sure like the sound of that…” she says, her tone almost teasing. Her lips make their way back to your neck, kissing it once more.

“Do you like it when you’re mine, sweetheart?” she mutters as her lips continue to leave new marks against your skin. “Do you like it when I take you apart like this and claim you as my own?”

You nod quickly in response, only to be startled by a sudden harsh squeeze of her prosthetic hand on your hip. “Words, baby. Need to hear you say it.”

“Mmm—yes, Sevika…” you gasp out. “Wanna be yours, only yours.”

“Now that’s more like it.”

As Sevika continued to kiss down your chest, you allowed yourself to untie the neck of your top and slide it off of yourself, fully exposing your breasts to her. Sevika pulls away and lets her hungry eyes linger over your chest and torso, viewing the areas of your skin as a blank canvas for her to mark her territory with her lips. She brings her mouth down to your breast and begins to gently suck on the soft flesh, causing a moan to escape from your mouth as a result. She smirks against your skin, then brings her lips to your nipple and takes it into her mouth, humming as she feels it quickly harden under her lips. She continues to take her time with you like this, going down your torso mark by mark until she briefly stops at the hem of your skirt. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart,” she instructs you.

You oblige to her and lift your hips, opening space for her to slide her hands under you and pull your skirt and underwear down in one fluid motion. You’re now completely exposed under her, like a deer in the headlights, and you can’t help but impulsively close your thighs shut in embarrassment once you notice how wet you were for her. Sevika chuckled over how shy you got for her, and she planted a soft kiss above your knee as she looked up at you. “C’mon, sweetheart…don’t get all shy with me now…” she mutters out quietly, gently rubbing your knees in encouragement.

Sevika gently shifts herself down on the bed and lies down on her stomach, settling herself between your closed legs. She moves closer to you, and her hands go down from your knees to your shins. “Open up for me, baby…” she pleads to you. “I promise I’ll take real good care of you, darlin’… but you have to let me in.”

You can’t help but give in to her words, and you slowly spread your legs out, exposing your soaking cunt to the older woman. Sevika could feel her mouth water at the sight, and she was desperate to get a taste of it. “Such a pretty pussy, baby…” she mutters out. “So nice ’n wet for me…gonna fuck you so so good.” She leans into you and begins to gently lap her tongue through your folds, collecting your arousal on her tastebuds. Sevika let a soft growl escape her mouth as she tasted you, her grip on your thighs tightening as she felt her own body react to the sounds you were making.

“Oh, God…” you gasp out at the sensation, your gaze peering down at Sevika, and she can’t help but chuckle again at your initial reaction as she spreads your thighs out further to get more space. “God ain’t here to help you now, baby, just me.” she says, licking another stripe up your folds. “It’s ironic, though, seein’ as how your wet little pussy is the closest thing to heaven that I could ever get a taste of.” She dives her head back into your pussy for more, but her eyes remain fixed on you as she wants to catch every one of your reactions to her memory. She didn’t want to miss a single thing.

Sevika runs her hands down the back of your thighs and fully lifts your legs up, folding your knees up to your chest so she can get a better view of your pussy. You whimper at the vulnerable position that she puts you in, and you can’t help but tilt your head to the side and cover your face with the back of your hand in an effort to shield yourself. Sevika notices this and instantly takes her mouth off. “Uh-uh, no hiding,” She muttered in between her movements. She brings her metal hand up to yours and moves it away from your face.

“No hiding that pretty face of yours. If you want me to take apart this needy little pussy, you’re gonna let me hear every sound you make, got it? I want to see and hear all of you.”

You whimper at her words, nodding quickly as you oblige to look at her. “That’s better…” she mutters, bringing her head back down to continue lapping at your cunt. More moans and whimpers continue to leave your mouth as Sevika keeps licking and sucking all of the wet and sensitive areas of your pussy. Without warning, as a sign of eagerness, she slides two of her fingers inside, and you let out a loud groan of satisfaction as she fills you. “Mm, you like that, needy girl? You like it when I fill you up like this?” she growls lowly at you, keeping her gaze focused on you. She couldn’t take her eyes off of you—not even for a second. Sevika had to watch every single expression that you would make to know that you felt satisfied with the way she was touching you.

Without a second thought, Sevika gently slides a third finger into your pussy, and the reaction she gets out of you is priceless. Your jaw drops down, and your eyes roll back in pleasure when she begins to curl her fingers inside of you at a painfully slow pace. She leans into you and wraps her lips onto your throbbing clit, giving it the attention it needs. It didn’t take long for her to increase the speed of her fingers, instantly hitting all of the right spots for you to get close. “Oh fuck, Sev! Right there!” You call out to her, your hands gripping the sheets to keep yourself steady as she continues to ram her fingers inside your tight walls.

“You’re such a good girl f’me, lettin’ me hear all of you like that.” Sevika mutters from between your thighs. Her pace goes even faster this time, her hand being so strong that you could feel your whole torso shift back and forth on the bed. Your pussy begins to clench around her fingers, practically sucking them in you and taking them in all to yourself as you start to get close. “S-Sevika, please don’t stop…m’so close.”

“C’mon, sweetheart, cum for me…” Sevika’s fingers never stop moving, and she doesn’t take her eyes off of you as she is desperate to see the look on your face for when you cum undone onto her fingers. Your pussy starts to spasm around her, and the coil in your stomach begins to get tighter and tighter as you reach your peak. However, that building sensation felt a little different than usual. “S-Sevika, baby, wait,” You try to warn her. “I-I think I’m gonna—“

But it was too late. You couldn’t even finish your sentence as a loud moan of her name replaced it instead. Your jaw drops again, and your vision goes white as an obscene amount of your release squirts out of your pussy without warning, completely soaking Sevika’s face, fingers, and your bedsheets.

Sevika watched in awe as the beautiful sight of your orgasm unfolded right in front of her, never once letting her fingers slow down until you were thoroughly done with your release. Then, slowly, she eased her fingers out of you before lifting her head and licking them clean. Her eyes close for a moment as she savors the sweet and salty taste of your cum on her fingers. “My god, darlin’, you taste so damn good.” she mutters under her breath.

Her eyes blink back open and fix back on you as you recover from your high. Your eyes were fluttered shut, your head was tilted back against the pillow, and your breathing was evening itself out. After a few moments, you blink your eyes back open and bring yourself down to see Sevika still lying in between her legs. Her face and the collar of her shirt were soaked in your release, and you looked down to see the mess you created on your bedsheets. “Oh my god…” you gasp out. Your cheeks start to flush in embarrassment, and your trembling thighs close shut once again. A smirk spread across Sevika’s lips over how flustered you were getting. “Never done that before now, have you?” she asked. Your gaze shifts to the side, and you shake your head. Sevika brings her human hand up to your cheek, tilting your head back to her. “That…” she pauses, leaning in to kiss you. “Was the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen.” She kisses you again and leans into your ear. “No one else gets to make you feel like this. No one else gets to fuck this pussy like I do. You’re all mine now, sweetheart. Mine and only mine.”

“M’all yours, Sev…” you assure her. You’d hate to admit it, but the way that Sevika got possessive towards you turned you on in a way that you couldn’t explain. However, you couldn’t help but test out if she’d really feel the same way with you. You tilt your head and lean into her. “In that case…does that mean you’re mine too?”

Oh, now Sevika was intrigued. She gently pulled her head back, looking back at you directly. “That a challenge now? You gonna be possessive over me?” she purrs at you, her eyes still locked onto yours. “You’re playing a dangerous game there, sweetheart,” she warns. “And you might get yourself in trouble.”

“Trouble?” you say in mock innocence, clutching your hand over your chest as if you had been threatened by her. “No no no, m’not looking for that. I was simply just wonderin’ if now…” You pause for a moment, moving your head from Sevika’s ear to her neck to gently plant kisses of your own onto her skin. “…if now, I could return the favor.”

Sevika lets a low chuckle escape her, and her eyes flutter shut for a moment just to feel the sensation of your lips against her skin. Her smirk remains on her face, though, still keeping her tough persona on you as she refuses to submit. “Hmm”, she muttered, the tone in her voice laced with amusement. “You think just ‘cause you want it you can get it that easy? You seem to be getting ahead of yourself, sweetheart.”

Your uncertain look shifts into a pout, and Sevika can’t help but chuckle at you. “Ahead of myself? You think just ‘cause you can claim me, I can’t do the same?”

Without thinking twice, you shift away from Sevika and sit up on the bed. You hook your fingers onto the belt loops of her jeans and switch places so she’s now lying down. You go around her and wrap your legs around her torso, keeping you under her grip. You then grab her by the collar of her shirt and pull her towards you, locking your lips with hers in a deep kiss. She lets out a low moan against your lips and wraps an arm around you, her human hand reaching down to grab your ass tightly and keeping you pressed against her. You pull away from her after a moment, and your mouth starts to travel from her lips to her jaw, beginning to mark your territory on Sevika’s tanned skin by planting wet marks of your own.

Sevika let out a low whine as she felt every mark that your lips left behind, and her hand on your ass tightened as you kept going, squeezing your soft flesh between her fingers. “I thought you were gonna be treating me right, huh?” She teases with a smirk, feeling her body start to warm up as her hand moves up to your waist. You simply smirk against her skin, not stopping your movements. “M’just getting started, Sev…” Your hands trail up to the collar of her shirt, fingers meeting together at the first button. The first button pops open under your touch, and you make your way down to the hem until Sevika briefly lifts herself up to fully slide it off her shoulders and toss it to the ground.

With your legs still wrapped around her, you sit yourself up to admire the sight of her exposed self beneath you. Your eyes trail down from her neck to her breasts, watching in awe over how large and beautiful they were. You trail your hands up and give them a gentle squeeze, watching how her soft flesh seeps through your fingers and feeling her nipples instantly harden under your palms.

A satisfied groan elicits from Sevika’s mouth as she begins melting into your touch. It was almost as if her own body was betraying her and submitting to you. But she couldn’t allow herself to give in like this so easily. “You’re mine,” she reminds you, lifting her hand and lightly running it over your thigh. “You keep touching me like this, and m’not gonna be able to hold back anymore. You sure you’re ready for that, sweetheart?”

A smirk grows on your face, and you lean back down to her level and bring her in for a kiss. “Then don’t hold back, Sevika,” you whisper to her. “You’re mine too, you know… and I’m ready for whatever comes next.”

With that, you continue to mark up the rest of Sevika’s body, your lips making the route south past her breasts and her abdomen, until they make a stop at the waistband of her jeans. Your lips part from her skin, and you begin to undo the belt buckle of her jeans, desperate to get them off of her. Sevika watched with growing desperation as you did so, and as soon as she heard the buckle come undone, she lifted up her hips and slid her jeans and boxers off of her thighs, letting you get rid of them completely.

You kneel back on the heels of your feet as Sevika opens up for you, and the sight of her was fucking glorious. Her brown, puffy folds perfectly framed her cunt which was completely shining with her arousal, and you could just visibly see the movements of her clit throbbing with desperation. Her pussy exhibited a kind of desire that only you could fix.

And so you immediately put yourself to work. You shift down on the bed and lie down on your stomach, your face now being settled in between Sevika’s thighs. With no hesitation, you dive right into her and lick a stripe up her pussy, your eyes closing in pure bliss at the addicting taste of her.

Sevika lowly moaned your name once your tongue came into contact with her pussy, already so immersed in the pleasure that she didn’t even notice that her hand had tangled its fingers into your hair, holding you tightly against her. “Oh fuck, darlin’…you’re so good at this…” she praises.

Your eyes blink themselves open, briefly falling out of your trance as you look up at Sevika with the purest and most innocent look in your eyes as you meet her heavy ones. Sevika can’t help but slightly lift your face off of her pussy for a moment just to see the full look of you with her arousal now dripping from your lips, smirking as she does so. “Don’t give me that look now, sweetheart. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Her teasing spurs you on, and you lean back into her pussy and continue to lap your tongue up her folds as she continues talking. “Wonder what your dad might think…his sweet girl submitting down to me like this…I bet he’d lose his damn mind if—oh fuck—“ She cuts herself off with a low groan as you insert a finger into her pussy, her nails digging into her scalp as she jerks her hips into your face.

“A-ah—“ you let out a groan against her pussy, and your eyes close shut again, fully immersed in the feeling of having Sevika’s hands in your hair while devouring her pussy. You quickly add in a second finger, and your lips travel up to suck her throbbing clit, causing Sevika to shut her eyes and arch herself further into your face, moaning and pleading you to keep going. “Fuck, oh god, sweetheart…k-keep going…”

Your tongue lays flat on her clit as it shifts up and down, and your fingers start to curl back and forth inside of her, instantly hitting all the right spots as you give her pussy all the attention it needs. Your movements catch Sevika completely off guard, her eyes flying open as she watches you devour her. “Oh fuck, right there! Right fuckin’ there…” she groans out, the wave of pleasure starting to rise in her as you begin to go faster.

It didn’t take long for Sevika to get close, and you could tell she was by the way her pussy began to clench and contract around your fingers. “God damn, darlin’, don’t fuckin’ stop…m’so close…” she pleads out to you. It was almost as if Sevika had no control over her pleasure anymore and became reliant on you to make her finish, and that’s exactly what you were going to do.

Sevika’s body begins to convulse, and you quickly lift your mouth off of her clit and replace it with your thumb, quickly rubbing it in circular motions as your eyes stay fixed on her, impatiently waiting to see the look on her face for when she comes undone. Sevika’s moans grow louder, quickly turning into cries of pleasure until she reaches her peak and cums with a final cry of your name as her eyes roll to the back of her head. Her pussy squeezes a few more times until your fingers are met with the warmth of her release, creaming them from your fingertips down to your knuckles. It was truly the most beautiful sight you have seen and felt.

As Sevika comes down from her high, she finds herself unable to say anything or even get a full breath until your fingers slow down and withdraw from her completely. Her eyes then flutter back open to see you sucking your fingers clean and savoring the salty taste of her release on your tastebuds. “My god, sweetheart…you can’t even imagine what you just did to me…” Sevika managed to say, lifting her metal hand to hold the side of your face. You lean into the palm of her prosthetic as it cups your cheek, and you pull your fingers out of your mouth once they were clean so you could speak. “I told you I can claim you just as good.” you say with a giggle.

Sevika let out a sharp exhale as she took in the sight of you. “I sure see that now…” she then slowly sits herself up, a smirk beginning to rise on her face as she leans in to kiss you, briefly tasting her release on your lips before pulling away. “Think you got another one in you, darlin’?”

Your eyes remain on hers when she asks you that, an eyebrow raising up as curiosity begins to pique your interest. “Depends if I can handle it, baby… What do you have in mind?”

Sevika lets out a chuckle as her metal hand moves to your chin and pulls you in for a deeper kiss. “For starters, how about we trade places, yeah?” she coos out, her hand sliding down from your chin to your waist, slowly rolling you over so you’re back to lying down on your bed with her hovering over you. She then leans back on the heels of her feet to grab onto each of your legs and she spreads them as far open as possible. To no surprise, you were completely wet for her again, as if she hadn’t even touched you at all.

Sevika lets out a low groan at the sight of you, completely helpless and vulnerable under her grasp. “Mmm, you look so pretty like this, sweetheart…” she purrs out, her eyes never leaving your lower half. As she takes in the sight, Sevika lets a small smirk rise to her face as she leans down closer to your pussy, her grip remaining firm on your legs. “Such a pretty little thing…and so wet for me again already…it’s like she’s crying for more of me.” She continues, shifting her face closer.

“Mmm, Sev…again…” you whine out to her, then let out a soft moan as you feel that familiar tongue of hers lick a new stripe through your folds, followed by a hum of satisfaction coming from her. You had fully given yourself the expectation that Sevika would use her mouth and fingers on you again, but that wouldn’t be the case this time.

Sevika lifts her head back up and takes a second to admire how you looked under her; with your legs spread out under her tight grip and your soaked pussy clenching around nothing as a desperate sign to be filled up. She silently cursed herself for not wearing her strap tonight. She would’ve loved to see the beautiful sight of you being split open by her cock, thrusting into your pussy relentlessly until you’re shaking and coating her length with your release. However, she also wasn’t going to end the night abruptly and miss out on the opportunity to fuck you again, so she had to improvise.

With that, Sevika opens her own legs while keeping her grip on yours. She then hovers over you and presses her pussy right on top of yours, causing you to let out a gasp at the newfound feeling. The way that Sevika’s pussy fit perfectly against yours like that—the way her folds meshed on top of yours as if it were the missing piece of a puzzle—felt so satisfying to you.

Sevika lets out a moan once her cunt came into contact with yours, eyes fixed on the sight of it before she looks back up at you. “You feel that, sweetheart? Feel how good we fit together?” she muses out before pressing down even more and grinding up against you. “It’s like you were made for me, darlin’…Every part of you fits me right where it belongs.” As she felt how addicting it was to rub up against you, Sevika found herself closing her eyes and letting out more soft sounds of pleasure as she continued to slowly grind her pussy over yours. Your body gives the same reaction, your eyes fluttering themselves shut and your head slowly tilting back against the pillow, moaning at the sensation. “S-Sev, my God—you feel amazing…”

Without stopping her slow movements, Sevika slides her prosthetic hand under your head and gently tilts it up, leading you to open your eyes and look at her. You were so in awe of how she looked, how she sounded, and most of all, how she felt against you. It felt like you were in a fever dream. You were completely drunk on her, and she knew it. She loved it.

“S-Sev…” you gasp out, taking a second to catch your breath. “D-Don’t stop—ah!”

Sevika brushes her clit over yours, causing you to cut off your sentence with a cry of pleasure. Your head throws back against her hand, and your body arches itself further into her pussy. Sevika lets out another low groan on her end, and her hand sets your head back onto the pillow and trails downwards to press down on your lower stomach. “You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart,” she murmurs, increasing the pace of her grinding. “You just keep making those sounds for me—ah—you sound so pretty baby…”

You start to whine under her as your gaze drops down to where you and Sevika were connected, and you can’t help but weakly grind against her, desperate to chase that stimulation again. Sevika looks down on you and smirks. She could tell you were trying to ask her something. “What is it, darlin’? You wanna feel that again?”

Sevika felt no reason to ask again or to hear an answer from you. She fulfills your need as she brings her hand down to your pussy and lifts the hood with her thumb to expose your clit to her. She then adjusts herself upwards so her clit can stay directly pressed onto yours. “There you go, sweetheart…” she purrs out, moaning as your clit begins to throb against hers. “You just take that, baby…take my pussy for me like a good girl.” She begins to grind faster after that, making sure her clit rubs against yours with every move of her hips. But it still wasn’t enough.

“F-Faster, Sev, please…need to get there…” you plead out to her once more, and without a second thought—with no warning whatsoever—Sevika gives it her all and her movements start to go at a fast and relentless pace, completely catching you off guard. “Oh fuck, Sev! Right t-there, o-oh God…” Your words trail out at the end and your jaw goes slack at the intense pleasure she was hitting you with. Sevika couldn’t help but admire the sinful sight of you under her—so vulnerable and drunk in pleasure, with your mouth agape and your eyes all hooded, your hands still gripping tightly onto the sheets and your breasts bouncing uncontrollably as Sevika continued to ram her pussy against yours. It was a sight that she never wanted to stop seeing.

“Mmm…y-you look so…fuckin’ pretty like…this…” Sevika moans out to you, her words coming out in a heated tone as she watches your blissed-out expression. “Look how good you’re taking my pussy for me, my sweet girl…” Sevika presses herself harder against you, and you don’t even realize it, but she ends up taking your leg that was on top of hers and folds it to your chest to get a better angle, making sure she continues to hit the right spots for the two of you to finish. You start to cry in pleasure over the new position, and your legs start to shake under her grasp. “Sevika! O-Oh God, Sev—Right there! Right there, please!” you exclaim, practically begging her to keep her position there. The two of you were at your loudest right now. Between your cries and begs of pleasure, Sevika’s groaning, and the pornographic sound of your pussies squelching as they rub against each other, you’re honestly surprised that the two of you haven’t woken up the entire town at this point.

Sevika lets out a low, heated groan in response to your words, her movements not stopping one bit “Mmm, fuck…my God you feel so good…” she says, her breathing now coming out in heavy, uneven pants. As Sevika keeps her human hand on your thigh, her metal hand swings above your head and grabs onto the headboard to keep herself steady. The familiar coil in your stomach begins to form, and you start to get close again. “S-Sev…I…I’m so…” you pant out to her, trying your best to get the words out of your mouth. Sevika simply shushes you, trying to have you save whatever energy you had left in you for your release. “Shhh, baby, I know, I know…” she coos back, opening her eyes to look down at you. “Just let it go for me, sweetheart…let it all out.”

Sevika continues to talk you through it as you reach your peak, and with that, her clit brushes up against yours a few more times which finally pushes you both over the edge. Your cries of pleasure start to go in sync with her groaning, and both pussies begin to spasm around each other before you cum all over Sevika’s folds with a loud moan of her name. Sevika catches her release shortly after you, her hips stuttering out before finishing with a loud groan as her fluids spill out of her pussy and land onto yours. The two of you take a moment to catch each other’s breath, and Sevika slowly loosens her grip on your thigh while she lets go of the headboard. The two of you look down to where you were both connected, and Sevika pulls her cunt away from yours, causing you to whine at the loss. The strings of slick connecting the two of you breaks and Sevika slowly closes your legs before settling down next to you. “Mmm…sweetheart...You did so well for me…” she murmurs to you as she gently kisses your shoulder, her voice still filled in a deep and husky tone. Even after having sex with her, you still couldn’t help but find her voice to be intoxicating.

You simply hum at her in response and try to muster up some energy to tilt your head over and plant a quick kiss on her lips, leading the older woman to wrap her human arm around you and pull you closer to her. The warmth of Sevika’s embrace fades into the stillness of your bedroom, and the exhaustion catches up to you quickly, causing your eyes to flutter shut as slumber starts to consume you. It feels like only a moment has passed when your eyes open again, and you find yourself tucked beneath a clean set of sheets and a barrier of soft cotton hugging your figure. Your eyes slowly dart around your bedroom, and your heart sinks when you see Sevika with her boxers back on and searching for the rest of her clothes. A lump forms in your throat as you realize she’s getting ready to leave. You want to ask her to stay, just a little longer, even though you both know she has to go before your dad comes back. Before you can stop yourself, the words are quick to slip out of your mouth.

“Sevika?” you call out softly, your voice still laced with sleep. Sevika is quick to stop what she was doing to tend to you. “Hey there,” she says, giving you a soft smile once she sees that you had woken up. “You alright?”

You hesitate for a moment before continuing. The words feel heavy on your tongue, but the ache that was growing in your chest outdoes it. “Could you…could you stay…just a little longer? Please?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sevika pauses, and her eyes flicker to the window where the faint glow of the moonlight is still filtering through it. For a moment, you thought she’d say no—but this time, she gives in—and whatever worries about your dad's arrival in the morning seemed to fade as she turned back to you with ease. “Of course, sweetheart…I’ll stay with you.” she murmurs, her voice tender as she removes her prosthetic arm and sets it down on the ground next to the bed. The weight of the bed shifts as Sevika climbs back into bed and lies down right behind you. Her human hand wraps around your waist and pulls you close to her. You instantly melt into her strong, warm embrace, but you can’t shake the possibility of your father walking in on the two of you, making you feel uneasy. Sevika is quick to take note of this and leans in to plant a couple of soft kisses on your shoulder blade, her lips brushing your ear as she leans into you. “Hey. Don’t worry about that right now, okay?” she murmurs. “Everything will be fine, I promise…I’ve got you.”

You nod, the weight of her words sinking in as her embrace wraps you in comfort and warmth. Slowly, the uneasiness disappears, soon replaced by a sense of peace only Sevika could give you. With her presence beside you, you let go of all your worries, and the gentle rhythm of her breathing brings you into a deep, restful sleep. As you drift off, a soft, reassuring thought crosses your mind—this night with Sevika felt like the start of something real, something that won’t fade.

For now, you’re unsure of what the future might hold, but with Sevika by your side, you feel ready for whatever could happen next.

god i wish she was real

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star-forg · 2 months ago

Text

Art piece for a human au I have in my brain. Perks of being an artist include doing your own art for a fic that you wrote for you. The self indulgence is crazyyyy

Insane ramblings and such under the cut

Made a small (and rushed, and overall low quality) Azura doodle for the project too.

In my head this is a very similar story to "Eliza and Her Monsters" if you know it. Except I haven't read that book in years and I can't tell what ideas are mine versus the book but I don't want to go back and read it all lmao

Anyways, the premise of this would be Luz is a recent high-school graduate and she is in her last summer before college. She's known online as TheGoodWitch, the creator of the hit series The Legend of Azura (it's not as overly flowery in this au, more like Boiling Isles weirdness, as is custom from our Luz). Seemingly overnight the fan base of this series went from big to wayyy too many people and Luz has never felt more seen but also like there is so much pressure on her.

She had always promised herself she would finish the comic before college, so she has a goal that she'll finish it by the end of the summer. But than an Incident happens (undecided what) and Luz goes to spend the summer with Eda, a close family friend and job giver outer.

So she's working in this small town of Gravesfield, and meets all these interesting characters around town and a particularly pretty Amity Blight. A rich girl with a summer home right down the road. And wow! Amity turns out to be the biggest fan ever of The Legend of Azura!

It would be a shortish fic and mostly lighthearted because I think silly goofy vibes would fit this story best. But yeah. I think I'll write it to get it out of my system. And I also want to play around with maybe it being a part of a series because I love huntlow too and want to write about them... I'll find a way mwhahaha~

Anyways. That's my (very brief explanation of my) story idea. It's rough but I'm having a lot of fun coming up with diffrent interactions, and where diffrent characters have settled jn this human realm. Very fun. Would recommend.

#The owl house #the owl house au #luz noceda #amity blight #luz x amity #toh #toh au #it would be somewhat of a secret identities situation beacause I imagine theyd know eachother online quite well #seeing how big of a fan Amity is #i just want to be silly with it #and find a way to include huntlow in on the romance drama hahahahhahaha #not an addiction i can stop at any time #my art #lumity

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nathanbatemanfucker · 15 days ago

Text

A Whisper of Cinnamon

gif credit: @/userseraph

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, smut, oral sex (f!reader), unprotected p in v, kissing, get together fic

wc: 1,620

an: yes i wrote this ridiculously fast so if there’s repetition or typos that’s why 😭. that old man looked so good last night holy shit

pedro pascal characters masterlist | set the table masterlist

The light spilling from the small construction office was one of the only things still burning on this side of town. Most of Jackson had gone still hours ago, swallowed up by the fall of amber leaves and the kind of hush only autumn nights dusted with chill could bring.

You hesitate at the door, fingers tightening around the bundled napkin in your hands. The few slices of cinnamon bread, soft in the middle, a little messy are still warm. You’d made it mostly to keep your hands busy—mostly—but you’d wrapped up a few pieces just for him. You weren’t sure he’d still be here but then again, you kind of were.

Classic overworking Joel. You’ve noticed that about him.

You finally work up the courage to knock lightly. There’s a grunt from inside, then the sound of a chair creaking back and the door opens a second later.

Joel stands there looking more tired than usual—glasses slipping low on his nose, sleeves pushed to his elbows, stubble heavier than it was this morning. His eyes flicker over you, then to the bundle in your hand.

“I figured you were still working,” you say, trying not to sound as shy as you feel. “Brought you something.”

His brows lift, and he steps aside to let you in. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says gruffly, but you hear the softness, the gratitude underneath.

Inside, it smells like sawdust, ink, and faintly like coffee that’s long gone cold. Blueprints are scattered across the desk, a pencil tucked behind his ear. He sets your offering down, peeking under the napkin. The barest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, if you can call it that.

“Cinnamon?” he asks, already pulling off a piece with calloused fingers.

You nod. “It’s still warm.”

“Damn good,” he mumbles around a bite, which makes you laugh as your cheeks warm from his subtle praise.

He gestures for you to sit, pulling out the second chair he clearly doesn’t use. You settle in, watching him as he leans back over the plans. The lamp catches the edge of his glasses, a soft glow reflecting in his eyes as he squints.

“You ever think about getting new ones?” you ask, teasing gently.

“Every damn day,” he mutters, smirking. “Hard to come by.”

You lean closer, glancing down at the blueprint. “What’s this one?”

“New housing draft,” he says, voice low. “Tommy’s idea. Wants more space for the kids comin’ in.”

He’s still squinting, so you reach over—fingers brushing his as you adjust the page, turning it toward the light. He doesn’t pull away. Your hands lingers on his just a moment too long, the warmth of his skin unexpected and grounding before you pull away.

“You’ve got the measurements off here,” you say gently, tapping a pencil against the paper. “By like half an inch.”

Joel sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Knew somethin’ felt off.”

“You need sleep.”

“Don’t got time for that.”

You shake your head, smiling softly. “Then at least let someone help you. You’re not invincible Joel and people like having you around.”

He’s quiet for a second, watching you. There’s something unreadable in his expression, like he’s trying to decide something. Like he’s torn.

The truth is, this tension’s been there for a while—months, maybe. Laced between long looks over shared meals, brushing shoulders on patrol, the way his voice dipped when he said your name. Neither of you have said anything. You weren’t sure what it was, or if he’d ever let himself want it. But now, in the warmth of this quiet room, it feels like there’s no more pretending. Whatever this is can’t be denied.

“Don’t usually get help,” he murmurs. “Not used to it.”

“Well,” you say, keeping your voice light even as your chest tightens, “you’re allowed to. You don’t have to do everything alone.”

Another silence settles between you, heavier this time. Your knee brushes his under the desk. Like before, he doesn’t move away.

His eyes stay trained on your face as he asks softly, “You always this kind to people stayin’ late?”

You tilt your head at him. “Only the ones who wear glasses and forget to eat.”

That earns you a rare, real smile. It’s a slow one, warm and a little sad— like he’s thinking about those he lost who used to be kind to him. His hand lifts tentatively, thumb brushing against your cheek.

You don’t know who leans in first. Maybe it’s both of you at once. But when his mouth meets yours, it’s not soft. It’s starved.

It’s the taste of Joel with a whisper of cinnamon.

The kiss is rough and deep, months of restraint unraveling at once. His hands cup your cheeks, teeth scraping your bottom lip. You whimper into him and that’s all it takes—he’s pulling you up out of the chair and onto the desk like you weigh nothing.

“Been thinkin’ about this,” he mutters between kisses, voice wrecked. “Thinkin’ about how you’d taste… how you’d sound.”

You gasp as he spins you gently, pressing your chest down against the desk, your skirt riding up as he moves behind you. “Joel—”

“I got you, baby,” he growls, pushing your legs apart with firm hands. “Let me take care of you.”

Your breath catches when his fingers slide under the hem of your skirt, their cadence is contradictory: rough and reverent. He grips your panties and drags them down, slow, letting the fabric slide over your thighs and pool at your feet.

You moan—high, shaky—gripping the edge of the desk as cold air brushes your slick heat.

“Fuck me,” he breathes behind you. You hear the crack in his voice, the need. “Look at this… wet for me already.”

You whimper, pressing your forehead to the desk, the coolness grounding you. “Baby, please…”

“I know, baby. I know,” he coos, dropping to his knees behind you, glasses still perched on his nose, slightly crooked from how fast he’s moving.

He wastes no time. His hands grip your ass, spreading you wide, and then his mouth is on you—hot and filthy and so fucking needy. His tongue parts your folds, licking your pussy like it’s the fountain of youth, and the obscene wet sounds coming from between your legs have your eyes fluttering back.

You gasp, your breath catching on a moan. “Fucking hell Joel.”

He groans into your pussy, the sound vibrating through you. His glasses fog slightly, the lenses catching faint lamplight as he buries his face deeper, tongue flicking mercilessly over your clit.

“You sound so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he rasps, voice muffled, eyes dark behind the smudge of his lenses. “Don’t hold back, baby, c‘mon let me hear you.”

You whimper, fingers curling tightly around the edge of the desk. “God, Joel—I can’t…it’s too much…”

“That’s it,” he growls. “Keep makin’ those sounds for me.”

His tongue slides down to fuck into you, slow and deep, while his thumb rubs tight, perfect circles over your clit.

Your hips jolt from this earth shaking combo, gasps spilling from your lips, your legs threatening to give out. “Shit, fuck, fuck, fuck. Joel.”

“You gonna cum for me?” he mumbles, licking up everything you’ve got for him, beard soaked, glasses slipping further down his nose but staying on. “Cum on my tongue, sweetheart. Let me taste you.”

You moan, back arching as your orgasm slams into you, white-hot and shattering. You moan brokenly, hips grinding against his mouth, every breath catching on the wave of pleasure he rips out of you.

Joel groans and licks you through it, hands gripping tight to your thighs, keeping you open and helpless until you’re trembling and overstimulated.

He stands slowly, eyes wild behind his fogged lenses, his mouth glistening with your essence. His hands find your hips again, steadying you as he presses his chest to your back, kissing your shoulder.

“Gonna fuck you now, baby,” he murmurs into your skin, voice low but a little softer. “You still want that? Still okay?”

You nod fast, breath still stuttering. “Yes. Fuck—yes, Joel—please.”

That’s all he needed.

“Goooood fucking girl,” he growls, reaching between you to unbuckle his belt, letting it fall with a heavy clink. “Gonna fuck you just like this, wanna see everything.”

He slides in deep on the first thrust, his cock thick and perfect, stretching you open until your gasp turns into a desperate moan. His hand curls around your shoulders to ground you as he leans in close.

“Face to face,” he mutters, pulling out slowly and flipping you with careful strength. “Need to see you fall apart.”

He positions you the desk how he wants you, holding your gaze as he slides back inside, and fuck, his glasses—still on, slightly fogged, slightly crooked—make him look devastated and feral all at once.

Every thrust is unhurried and deep, one of his hands raising to cradle your jaw as he fucks into you steady, murmuring filth between kisses:

So tight for me… you were made for this. You feel me? All the way up there, baby? Gonna fill you so deep you’ll still be wet for me tomorrow.

You moan loudly, legs wrapping around his waist, head falling back as the pressure builds quickly again, hot ans dizzying.

“Joel—I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he pants, fucking you harder. “Wanna feel you cum around me.”

And when you break again—moaning his name like a prayer—he follows, spilling deep inside you with a sharp growl, holding you tight against him as you both come undone.

He kisses you soft afterward. Forehead to yours. Gentle, steady, real. Like the beginning of something.

He murmurs with a grin, mouth brushing yours with every word, “Next time, I’m bringin’ you dessert.”

> pt. II

lmk if you’d like to be on the joel taglist (must b 18+)

nsfw joel miller taglist: @lesbianhotch, @ozarkthedog, @lowrisemiller, @iamthatonefangirl, @campingwiththecharmings, @stargazingcarol, @megamindsecretlair, @nerdieforpedro, @fakeplasticfeels, @for-a-longlongtime, @bubblybubbubs, @jxvipike, @veritable-trash, @luzhesrozes

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #x reader #not sfw #arson writes

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jeonginsleftcheek · 4 months ago

Text

Safe embrace

pairing: lee felix x afab!reader

genre: fluff, smut, best friends to lovers

wc: 16k

synopsis: your toxic boyfriend leaves you just as you find out you're carrying his child, making your worst nightmare come true. thinking you have no one and you'll have to care for the baby alone, you're pleasantly surprised when your best friend swoops in to help you out.

warnings: toxic relationship, mentions of abuse and cheating, mentions of abortion (all in the beginning), pregnancy symptoms, crying, brief description of birth (nothing graphic)

nsfw warnings: multiple sex scenes, pregnant sex, nipple play, breeding kink, breastfeeding kink, oral (f and m), fingering, unprotected sex, creampies, felix is soft and obsessed

a/n: this was kind of inspired by this drabble i wrote! hope you enjoy the full fic💙 i never wrote pregnant reader and i wanted to write something mostly sweet🫶🏻

~ divider by @strangergraphics

~ masterlist

You were standing in front of your bathroom mirror shaking, the two little lines indicating that you were pregnant.

Your eyes welled up with tears, your worst fear had come true.

You were so close to getting out of your toxic relationship and now you were bound forever to the person who abused you and treated you like crap.

Anxiety took over your body as you started sobbing, he was going to come home from work soon and you had no idea how he'd react to the news.

Around 8pm he walked in, late as usual, you knew he was cheating on you but any time you tried to start a conversation with him, he'd find a way to spin it and make it seem like everything was your fault.

In the back of your mind, you knew it wasn't but three years of verbal abuse can do a lot to a person's way of thinking, and you were used to being figuratively smacked around by your boyfriend, always making excuses for him in your mind; he's exhausted from work, he didn't mean it, someone irritated him, he'll be better next time.

He never got physical, but sometimes you thought it was just a matter of time before he starts slapping you around.

It's not like you never tried to leave, you did.

But, he always found a way to manipulate you into coming back to him and like a fool you always fell for his empty promises.

This time, you decided it was the last time and you finally gathered all of the courage you had.

You were going to leave his sorry ass and never come back again, never fall for his lies again, never feel this miserable but now you felt you had no way out of this.

"What did you make for dinner?" he asked, not even sparing you a glance as he took his tie off.

"Chicken and rice." you answered.

"Good." he said as he continued to strip and you stood there nervously, playing with your fingers.

He lifted his head up and frowned at you.

"What are you waiting for? Serve me dinner, I'm hungry." he looked at you as if you were just a maid in his house and even though you wanted to tell him to put his own damn food on his plate, your tongue was twisted like always and your legs had a mind of their own.

You did what he asked, serving him dinner, before you sat on the other side.

He sat down and started eating. Your heart was beating fast as you kept looking at him.

"There's something I have to tell you." you decided to break the ice.

"What?" he asked, an unimpressed look on his face.

"I- I'm pregnant." you said quietly and he froze before his fork fell out of his hand, clattering against the plate.

Suddenly, he started laughing.

"You're shitting me, right?"

"No, I took a few tests and they're all positive."

He continued laughing and it was not the reaction you expected.

"Whatever. Get rid of it." he said, picking his fork back up and continuing to eat.

"What?" you looked at him in shock, your heart skipping a beat.

"You heard me. I'll pay for the abortion. I don't want to have a child with you." he said like you were the most disgusting thing he's ever seen.

"I'm- I don't want to get an abortion." you swallowed and he looked up at you.

"Well, I don't give a fuck about what you want. You will do as I say."

"No, I won't!" you stood up suddenly and he looked up at you before letting out a chuckle.

"Great, I was looking for a reason to do this." he said before standing up.

"D-do what?" you stuttered, taking a step back as fear washed over you.

"Get the hell out of my house." he crossed his arms and your lips parted.

"You're throwing me out?" your eyes widened.

"Yes, if you don't get rid of that thing, I want you out."

"But I have nowhere to go." your eyes filled up with tears, you had nothing of your own, your asshole boyfriend made sure he was the one to provide you with everything so you had to depend on him.

"Do I look like I care? You're good for nothing anyways. Can't even cook a decent meal and now you wanna have a baby? Ridiculous. The only thing you're good for is spending my money."

His words stung and everything around you started spinning, your head hurt and you had trouble breathing as you started panicking.

"You didn't let me work!" your voice raised as your eyes filled with tears.

He scoffed, coming closer to you as he grabbed your wrist and you yelled for him to let you go but he started dragging you towards the front door.

"I said get out bitch! I don't want anything to do with you and whatever is inside you. If you ever come near me again I'll fucking kill you!" he yelled as he opened the door, literally throwing you out before slamming the door in your face.

You couldn't believe he reacted this way, you thought he'd use your pregnancy to manipulate you even more but he did the opposite.

You really had nothing except your phone in your pocket, not even a jacket as you shivered in the cold night air. Tears kept sliding down your cheeks as you turned and started walking down the street. Your mind was blank for some time while you were trying to process everything that happened.

You reached for your phone and saw you had texts from Felix, your best friend. A smile spread on your face instantly, he was the only good thing in your life, the only light that shined on you in your darkest moments. You decided to call him and he picked up almost immediately.

"Oh, hey bubby! I was just about to text you." he answered cheerfully, as always.

"Lix." you sniffled. "Are you home?" you almost didn't recognize your voice, you sounded broken.

"Y/n, what's wrong?" Felix was worried instantly.

"Can you pick me up? Please?" you couldn't stop crying.

"Of course, tell me where you are and I will be there as soon as I can." he said, already getting up and grabbing his jacket.

You told him where you were and waited as you picked on your jeans.

Felix drove fast, finding you in less than ten minutes. His heart broke when he saw you hugging yourself and shivering without a jacket.

He ran out of his car fast and you looked up at him, fresh tears forming in your eyes. Felix took his jacket off without a word, wrapping you up in it before enveloping you in a hug.

"Shh, it's okay bubby. I'm here now." he soothed you with his warm deep voice, his hand moving in circles on your upper back.

"Let's get you warmed up, hm?" he leaned back to look at you and you nodded.

Felix turned up the heating in the car for you and the ride was silent as he drove you back to his apartment. Your mind started spinning as you stared out the window, all the possible scenarios passed you by and none of them seemed positive.

Felix led you to the couch, wrapping you up in a blanket and running to the kitchen to make you a cup of hot cocoa as you melted into the warm and soft fabric that was hugging you.

It smelled like Felix and it was comforting just like he always was.

"Careful, it's still hot." he smiled as he brought two cups of steaming hot cocoa, before sitting down next to you carefully.

"Was it him?" Felix asked with a serious expression on his face, referring to your, well now ex-boyfriend.

Felix never liked the guy, he could see right through his fake smiles and fake words. You never told him the extent of the abuse but he knew something was wrong.

"He threw me out of his house." you said, clutching onto the blanket and Felix's eyes widened.

"What? What the hell is wrong with him?!" Felix looked angry at that moment, his face becoming red and his hands clenching into fists.

"Because I'm pregnant." you finished, suddenly finding the white rug under the coffee table in Felix's living room interesting.

It was quiet for a while before you felt his hand on yours so you looked up at him and he wore the softest expression you've ever seen on your best friend's face.

"I'm so sorry, y/n."

"Well, it's not your fault. It's mine. I was dumb and let him control me, I should've left him sooner and now he dumped me and said he doesn't want me or the baby. Actually, he threatened me, telling me if I don't abort he will throw me out. And I told him that I'm keeping the baby..."

"First of all, you're not dumb, he is. I knew he was an asshole but I had no idea he was this sick. I can't believe he told you to abort, that's your decision to make anyways." Felix said and you sat quietly as he squeezed your hand.

Your eyes welled up with tears again.

"What am I gonna do now? I have nowhere to go."

Felix scooted closer to you.

"Wrong." he said with a smile and you looked at him. "You can stay here, with me."

"B-but I don't wanna impose on your privacy. And with a baby too..." you felt like a burden at that moment, like you were asking too much of Felix even though he was the one to offer it first.

"Nonsense. You're my best friend, you think I would leave you out on the street? You and your baby are more than welcome here. I will help you with everything you need and you can focus on growing a life." he smiled at you and you burst into tears.

"Y-you're an angel, Lixie." you sobbed as you wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest. "Are you sure this is okay?"

"More than sure, bubs. You know I love you a lot?" he said, his eyes full of warmness as he smiled at you sweetly, caressing your head.

"I love you too, Lixie." you held him tightly.

"Now, drink your cocoa before it gets cold." he chuckled, handing you the cup.

You felt so blessed to have someone like him as a best friend and the horrible feelings that filled you up earlier were now in the back of your mind.

"You must be exhausted." Felix noticed as you kept sinking into the couch while you drank the cocoa and he yapped about his favorite games to get your mind off of everything.

"Actually, I am." you nodded.

"Are you hungry? I'll make dinner and you can take a nice hot shower." Felix smiled.

"I don't even have any clothes." your eyes welled up with tears again.

"You can wear mine. Don't worry about anything." he quickly shook his head and you nodded as he reached to touch your face, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

When you stepped into the shower, you were left with your thoughts again.

You thought about your life, your now ex boyfriend and how you let yourself get into this situation where you couldn't even help yourself and had to depend on someone else helping you.

And now you had a life growing inside you, your ex's words ringing in your head; how you're not capable of doing anything properly, not even cleaning or cooking let alone anything else, how are you going to take care of another human being?

You couldn't stop crying but you didn't want to worry Felix and stay in the shower for too long so you tried to dry your tears and look normal as you got dressed in the clothes he gave you.

Felix turned to look at you as you walked in and his heart hurt when he saw the redness in your eyes and your sad face, you've never looked this down before.

"I made some ramen. That was the fastest thing I could whip up but tomorrow we can go shopping for some groceries because you need to eat healthy from now on. Oh and you're gonna need to make a doctor's appointment. Don't worry, I'll go with you." he talked as he served dinner and you sat with your hands in your lap, crying quietly as your tears soaked the fabric of the shirt you were wearing.

"Y/n?" he leaned down to look at your face.

"I'm sorry, Felix. I just feel so bad." you sniffled.

"Hey, it's okay, really. I told you I don't mind taking care of you, in fact it makes me happy."

"It's not just that." you hiccuped as he sat next to you, grabbing your hands and rubbing circles with his thumbs.

"What is it?" he tilted his head at you.

"I don't think I will be any good at this." your voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.

"What? Being a mom?" Felix frowned and you nodded.

"You're gonna be an amazing mom, y/n. I've known you almost my whole life and you're the most caring and responsible person I know. Look, I know everything seems terrifying right now, you just found out you're pregnant and your ex acted like an asshole so you're pretty shaken up. What you need is food and sleep. And to stop thinking about things that haven't even happened yet, hm?" Felix played with your fingers and you nodded, wiping your tears away.

"You're right, I can't even think straight right now. There is so many emotions inside me that I don't know where to start."

"Let's start with dinner." Felix smiled and you were amazed at how calm he seemed.

But on the inside, Felix was seething. He couldn't believe that your ex really had no heart, throwing you away like he did, especially when you're pregnant.

Felix was mad at himself in a way, he felt like he could've done something more to help you get out of the toxic relationship earlier and you wouldn't be as hurt as you are now.

He wished you chose him instead of your ex. Things would've been different then, Felix would treat you like a queen, the way you deserve it.

To you, Felix looked absolutely calm as he smiled at you but rage was bubbling up inside him along with the need to smash in your ex's face. But he held all that down for your sake, his top priority was to make you feel safe, not upset.

"I would give you the guest room to sleep in but it kind of became a storage room. So I'll have to get everything out and clean it up but in the meantime you can sleep in my room and I'll take the couch." Felix said after you got ready for bed.

"Oh, I can sleep on the couch, I don't wanna take your room too." you said, your face burning.

"No way, the couch is not comfortable." he shook his head.

"But isn't that gonna be bad for your back?" you worried instantly, knowing that your friend had back problems.

"I'll be okay for one night." he smiled.

"If you're sure." you chewed on your lip nervously.

"Of course."

Felix changed the sheets and prepared the couch as you barely stood on your feet, the exhaustion from the turmoil you felt washing over your body.

"Everything's gonna be okay, bubby." Felix said soothingly as he gave you a warm hug.

You didn't know what to say to thank him for everything he's doing, instead you just squeezed him tightly making him squeal and chuckle.

"Good night, y/n."

"Good night, Lixie."

As soon as your head hit the pillow, you fell asleep, drowning in the soft sheets and blankets.

Felix tossed and turned on his couch, mind racing with thoughts.

He thought about how much you meant to him, how much he had always loved you and wanted to be with you, but it was like you were blind to his love and instead kept running to your asshole ex.

He thought about how scared you must be, a protective feeling waking up inside him along with all the other feelings he had for you that he needed to learn how to suppress because you had a boyfriend.

Felix decided he was going to do his best to show you that love is supposed to be soft, comforting and sweet, not whatever your asshole ex made you believe.

The next morning when you woke up, you were confused for a second until you rubbed your eyes and looked around.

Seeing you were in Felix's room, everything that happened last night came flooding back, some kind of fear washing over you but the fact that you were surrounded by Felix's comforting scent and his things managed to calm you down.

He always had this effect on you, that's why you kept one of his hoodies for years even though it didn't even smell like him anymore; it belonged to him and that was enough to comfort you.

Shit! Your things!, you remembered, your ex threw you out without giving you any of your clothes, your knick-knacks and most importantly your laptop.

You slowly got up, following the sounds of utensils that were coming from the kitchen.

As soon as you entered, you saw a very disheveled Felix running around the stove like a busy-bee.

The smell of eggs hit you and your stomach started rising up to your throat.

"Oh, good morning y/n." Felix turned to look at you just as you covered your mouth with your hand. His eyes widened as you turned around, running to the bathroom.

"Shit." Felix cursed under his breath, turning the stove off and running after you just in time as you leaned over the toilet.

He quickly gathered your hair in his hand as you threw up, his other hand moving in soothing circles on your upper back.

"Ew." you whimpered as your eyes teared up.

"Are you okay?" Felix asked cautiously when you flushed the toilet.

"The smell of eggs was too much. I didn't think this would start already." you groaned and Felix chuckled.

"Damn, my cooking sucks that bad, huh?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood and you giggled.

"We can work on that." you winked as he smiled at you.

"You know what? I will look up what's good for you to eat right now with the sickness and all, and I'll make it for you." he said.

"That's sweet, Lixie but I can make it myself, don't worry about it." you quickly shook your head.

Felix pouted at you before grabbing your face. Your heart skipped a beat.

"Listen to me. I enjoy taking care of you so let me do this for you."

"Fine." you sighed as you made your way back to the kitchen.

"Remember that time in high school when you got shitfaced?" Felix smirked at you, throwing the half-burnt eggs in the trash.

"Oh my god, please don't talk about that." embarrassment washed over you.

"Come on, we can laugh at it now. You were so funny, you couldn't even talk properly. And you tried to climb on the table and dance. I think if I didn't catch you, you'd probably break a bone or something." Felix snickered as he searched up some breakfast ideas on his phone.

"Ha ha, very funny that I almost got a concussion by being a lightweight." you rolled your eyes with a smile.

"Nah, I would've caught you before you hit the floor anyways." Felix smiled, making your stomach flutter.

"Hey, I have some of these things in my kitchen. Oats and almonds and such." he showed you a recipe he found and you nodded.

"I can make that too, it's no biggie." you started getting up but Felix shook his head.

"I know you can. But I want to do it for you."

You couldn't argue with him and he seemed genuinely happy about making you breakfast so you sat down and waited, playing with your fingers.

"You know, I remembered that I never had the chance to get all my stuff from my ex. My laptop is still at his place." you chewed on your lip.

"I'll get them." Felix said nonchalantly as the two of you ate.

"A-are you sure? He can be... an uncomfortable person." you grimaced and Felix chuckled.

"Bubby, I have a 3rd degree black belt in taekwondo. I could break him in half if I wanted to." he smirked, making you giggle.

"You're right, I forgot with how innocent you look." you teased and Felix laughed.

"All the better. He won't know what hit him." he sat up straight then made a few moves with his arms acting like he was cutting the air into pieces.

"Okay, just don't get in trouble, killer."

When Felix left to get your things, you decided to clean up the kitchen. You didn't want to feel like you were just waiting for him to do everything for you, you wanted to do your part and help him out when he took you in without even thinking twice.

Felix must be an angel, that's what you thought as you smiled to yourself while washing the dishes.

Your angel was currently parked in front of your ex's house, his hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles turning white from the way he held onto it.

He was trying to calm his anger down, the one that surfaced as he thought about your disgusting boyfriend yelling at you and throwing you out into the cold night.

Felix had to walk in there with a cool demeanor, otherwise he would end up letting his anger get the best of him and he'd show the guy just who he had crossed.

After taking a few deep breaths, Felix finally made his way to the door and knocked. Shuffling could be heard from the other side before your ex opened the door, giving Felix the elevator eyes.

"Oh, you." the guy scrunched his nose up.

"I'm here to pick up y/n's things." Felix said calmly.

"Whatever, just do it quickly. It's junk anyways, you saved me the time I would lose throwing it out." he shrugged and Felix could feel the anger course through his veins but he had to bite his tongue.

He tried to gather all your stuff as quickly as he could, putting it in a bag he brought, making sure to take your laptop too. A small smile danced on his lips when he saw you still had his favorite hoodie. He grabbed it and put it in the bag too before turning around to leave the room.

"I'm assuming y/n ran to you immediately." your ex scoffed. "Makes sense, she's not capable of taking care of herself anyways."

Felix's eyes darkened.

"You better watch what you say." his voice dipped low.

"Or what?" your ex folded his arms on his chest, staring at Felix.

"Or you'll regret it."

"Ooh, I'm so scared!" he mocked as Felix made his way out of the house.

"Don't even think of coming near y/n again or trying to contact her. Matter of fact, I don't wanna hear you say her name ever again." Felix said and turned on his heel, not giving your ex time to respond as he frowned on the porch.

"I had no idea you kept my hoodie." Felix smiled as you rummaged through your things and your face heated up.

"Oh... Of course I did. It was a gift." you smiled back.

"Yeah, I remember that day like it was yesterday. We were at Jeongin's birthday party."

2 years ago

You had been invited to yours and Felix's mutual friend's party for his birthday. Getting your boyfriend to go with you was another story.

"Why do I have to go? I don't even know Jeongin well. And why would you want to go there alone? We should stay at home." he said.

"But Jeongin is my friend! He invited me and I already bought a gift."

"So what? You can just give it to him some other day. I was hoping we could stay in tonight." he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into him.

"B-but I really want to go." you said.

"Fine. Go. But there will be consequences."

"What?" your eyebrow lifted in shock. "What are you talking about?"

"If you want to find out, just go to the party." he smirked at you.

"I- Just... just come with me? Please?"

He looked at you, pursing his lips as he thought about it. There would be so many guys there, is what ran through his mind. He didn't think you were that pretty but a horny drunk guy would fuck anything that walks so he decided it would be best if he went just so he could keep an eye on you.

"Fine."

Unaware of his thougths, you squealed happily, giving him a hug.

But everything went wrong at the party. Your boyfriend thought you had lingered too much while hugging Jeongin, making his delusional mind come up with all sorts of scenarios of you cheating on him.

He got drunk and made a scene, calling you a cheap slut before he left the party, leaving you behind. You cried as you ran to the back porch, wanting to catch some fresh night air in hopes of calming down.

"Hey, you okay?" it was Felix, who followed after you.

"Not really." you sighed, wiping your tears away as you shivered.

He noticed you were cold so he took off his hoodie.

"Here, you can have it." he smiled sweetly at you, making you melt instantly as you thanked him.

"You know you can do so much better than him, right?" Felix asked as you drowned in the warmth his hoodie provided.

"We all have our flaws, Lix. He's not that bad. He'll realize he was wrong and apologize to me once he's sober." you shrugged.

"Are you sure? Because if he-"

"Lix, it's fine really. You don't have to worry."

Of course it wasn't fine, the whole relationship kept spiralling downwards after that, bringing you to your current situation.

"Y/n?" Felix brought you out of your thoughts as you clutched onto his hoodie.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I got distracted." you smiled and he smiled back at you. "Lixie, thanks for being there for me always. I know I kind of ignored you lately but my ex didn't like me talking to other guys."

"What an insecure pig." Felix said and you chuckled. "But of course, I told you I'd always be there for you. Now, I'm gonna clean out the guest room and then we can call to make a doctor's appointment, does that sound good?"

"Yeah, sounds perfect. Do you need me to help?"

"No, it's all heavy stuff i have to move." Felix shook his head so you offered to make lunch.

While you were making it, you remembered what your ex said.

'Can't even cook a decent meal and now you wanna have a baby? Ridiculous.'

Your eyes watered instantly and you quickly wiped off the falling tears, continuing to cut veggies. You heard Felix moving around stuff and grunting as you cooked, humming to yourself.

"All done." he came into the kitchen with his hair messy and a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Something stirred in your gut for a moment but you ignored it.

"I'm almost done too. The smell of the meat is bothering me a little." you said and Felix gasped.

"Oh, let me finish up then." he quickly made his way to you.

"Maybe you should shower first." you took a step back from him and he pouted.

"Are you calling me stinky?"

"Mhm." you grimaced and he laughed.

"Fine, I get it. Be back in 5 minutes." he practically ran out of the kitchen and you let out a breath you were holding.

It wasn't that the scent of him made your stomach rise, quite the opposite, he suddenly smelled even nicer to you than before and once he came closer you felt it in your core. You scolded yourself for thinking about Felix like that and tried to ignore it as you finished up lunch.

When Felix came back, his hair still damp from the shower you looked at him in anticipation as he sat down to eat. Anxiety washed over you as you expected to be chastised for being a lousy cook even though you know in your heart Felix would never say something like that.

"Mm, this is delicious. I must say, I don't eat very healthily since I work a lot and this is refreshing." he smiled at you and relief took over.

"Thank you, I'm glad you like it." you smiled back at him.

After lunch, you called to make a doctor's appointment and Felix had some work to do on his computer, luckily he was mostly working from home as a programmer, only going to the office twice a week or more if needed for a project.

"I hope the bed is comfy enough." Felix said as you were getting ready to sleep in the guest room, which was now your room.

"Lixie, please, I'm grateful to have a bed at all." you sighed and he grabbed your hand.

"We'll get through this." he whispered and you nodded.

"I know."

A few days later, Felix and you walked out of the hospital with news that you were 6 weeks pregnant and that thankfully the baby was doing well.

"See, you had nothing to worry about." Felix smiled at you as the two of you got in his car.

But your emotions got the better of you immediately as you started crying.

"Oh, y/n?! What's wrong?" he leaned towards you, worry evident in his voice.

"I don't know, I- I think I'm crying from relief." you sniffled and Felix smiled at you fondly. "Let's just go home." you added, not even realizing that you called his apartment 'home'.

But Felix did, and his stomach filled up with butterflies that wouldn't stop flying around his insides until he parked in front of the building.

"I'm not feeling the best." you clutched at your stomach as you walked in, the feeling of nausea taking over your body. It was exhausting but you kept trying to remind yourself that this was just a phase, the worst part of it and that it will get better with time.

Some days it worked, other days it was unbearable. Today seemed to be one of those other days as your emotions were all over the place.

"Okay, go lay down and I will make some lunch."

Felix took it all so seriously, stepping up immediately as if it was his baby which made your heart clench in your chest. He made sure you were comfortable, brought you some tea and crackers for nausea, even pressed his lips on your forehead as he tucked you in.

When he left the room, tears started sliding down your cheeks and soaking your pillow.

You felt like you didn't do anything to deserve someone like Felix taking you in, and the burden of a baby that had nothing to do with him and you had no idea why he would go to such lengths to make you feel good. Yes, of course you knew that he cared about you but you felt beyond grateful and humble, trying to think of a way to give back.

But, Felix saw this as a second chance with you. A chance he would not let go to waste like he did before, when he held his tongue and his feelings back, never even hinting to you how much he loves you. It was enough for him that you were there and that everything was fine with you and the baby, the rest was not as important.

"I can't believe you're actually pregnant." Felix chuckled as the two of you chilled on the couch after dinner, some romantic comedy playing on tv.

"I can't believe it either." you chuckled with him. "I think it'll be more believeable when I start looking the part." you added and Felix froze for a moment.

How could he forget?

He'd already noticed your breasts getting bigger and he felt bad for the way he kept stealing glances at them all the time, but at the end of the day he's just a man.

It wasn't his fault that they looked rounder, and that you didn't care to wear a bra next to him, your nipples poking under the material of your shirt constantly, the way they swayed or jiggled with any movement you made.

Felix felt his dick twitch and he started beating himself up immediately. It's barely been two weeks since you were at his place, and he knew you were vulnerable and the last thing he would want to do was to make you feel like he was pouncing on you instantly.

God, he got so used to keeping his feelings and urges about you to himself, why was that so hard all of a sudden?

"Excuse me." Felix stood up rather quickly and you looked up at him shortly, watching him scramble to get to the bathroom.

You shrugged, continuing to watch the movie as you snuggled closer to the spot he was lounging in, the couch still warm and smelling like the body wash he used earlier. For some reason, you wanted to roll in it but you settled on stealing his spot and taking deep breaths.

Felix was trying to exercise deep breathing too, as he stood in the bathroom, willing his cock to soften up. Just the thought of you being all round and cute had him so worked up. How is he supposed to survive this?

Somehow, he managed to calm down and when he came back to the living room, his heart fluttered when he saw you dozing off in his spot.

"Bubby? You wanna sleep?" he said quietly, putting a strand of your hair behind your ear gently.

"Mm." you mumbled, half asleep.

"Cutie." Felix chuckled fondly before he gently lifted you up and carried you to your room.

"Lixie." you reached out for him blindly as he laid you down.

"It's okay, I'm here. Get some rest." he caressed your head before going back to the living room.

Your dreams were filled with images of your best friend that night, fleeting pictures of a relationship that never happened appeared in your mind, ending with the two of you holding a baby in your arms.

Couple of weeks later, you and Felix fell into a nice rhythm. He was mostly home, only having to go to the office twice a week, sometimes four days if he was working on a bigger project. You were glad he was there because your nausea has gotten worse and Felix didn't mind helping you out as always, cooking and cleaning together with the work he was doing.

You felt bad for that again, crying to him how you feel like you're not doing anything in the house and Felix was quick to shut all those thoughts down.

"Y/n, you are growing a literal human being. That's exhausting, your body is changing rapidly and you're scared. And that's normal and it's okay." Felix held you in his arms.

"How are you so understanding?" you hiccuped as you gripped his shirt, soaking it with your tears.

Because I love you.

Because I wanna make you happy.

Because you deserve this and more.

"I've been reading some books." Felix smirked playfully instead of saying all the other thoughts that crossed his mind at first.

You looked up at him before bursting into laughter, smacking his chest as he giggled at you.

It was getting harder for him every day, living with you and being together 24/7 felt so domestic, especially with you being pregnant and Felix kept daydreaming that the baby inside you was his baby too.

It didn't help that your tits just kept getting bigger and that you finally had a little bump to indicate the precious life growing inside you and Felix was obsessed with the way it looked on you.

You were slowly coming to terms with it, everything felt so surreal because it was happening so fast and you knew that even though it seems hard and exhausting right now, the baby would come very soon and then the real work will begin.

You spent a lot of time looking at your body in the mirror, checking it out and trying to accept that you were changing forever. It was hard but Felix was there for you, taking care of you, never missing a doctor's appointment, cooking for you, his arms always open to take you into his embrace where you felt the safest.

You had no idea how you'd get through all this if it wasn't for him, so when he left to work at the end of the week, you decided to make him a chocolate cake as a thank you even though you knew the pastry wasn't enough for what he was doing for you and your baby.

You were glad you woke up feeling somewhat less nauseous that day so you could function normally. Baking the cake proved to be fun as you blasted some music and enjoyed making something sweet for Felix.

"Bubby, I'm home!" he yelled out as he walked in around 4pm, while you were cleaning up in the kitchen.

"Hey, Lixie." you smiled at him as he came into the kitchen.

"How are you feeling?" he made his way to you, his arms wrapping around you automatically.

"Good, actually." you melted in his embrace as he held you from behind, his hand sliding down to caress your tummy. It was comforting when he touched you like that.

"Something smells nice." Felix chuckled, burying his face in your hair and you could feel the tip of his nose brushing against your neck. Goosebumps appeared on your skin as you pressed your body back into his without even realizing it.

"I baked you a cake." you said, not noticing the way Felix's breath hitched when your backside pressed into his middle.

"You did?" he asked happily, moving away from you because he was moments away from losing his mind.

"Mhm, chocolate, your favorite." you said as you walked over to the fridge to take it out.

"You spoil me, bubby." he grabbed your face, kissing the tip of your nose.

You were so close to grabbing his shirt, pulling him into you and kissing his sweet, inviting lips.

"You should eat lunch first. Dessert later." you said and Felix chuckled.

"I ate at work. I want my treat." he pouted, acting all sulky and you couldn't resist his adorable face.

You cut two pieces and the two of you sat down.

Felix dug in immediately, you knew he always had the biggest sweet tooth and he baked you his brownies hundreds of times so you wanted to show your appreciation.

"Mm, I love it!" he smiled happily and your heart fluttered as he munched on the cake cutely.

"Really? Is it better than your brownies?" you smirked, teasing him and he coughed a little before smirking back at you.

"Let's not go that far." he teased back and you smacked his arm playfully as he chuckled.

Fridays were always reserved for movie night and cuddles so later that evening Felix and you were settled on the couch together.

You noticed he looked tired and kept touching his neck, grunting under his breath quietly.

"Are you in pain?" you asked and his eyes widened a little before he looked at you.

"Oh, it's nothing. I just didn't have any time to stretch today because we had this big project to finish up before weekend. Basically, my neck and shoulders are on fire but it'll pass, it always does." Felix shrugged, waving it away with his hand like it was nothing.

"Lixie, let me give you a massage. I wanna help." you offered, having no idea that the thought of your hands on him like that had Felix twitching.

"No, it's fine really. You don't need to do that, I'll just sleep it off."

"Nonsense, come on." you motioned with your hands and Felix nodded, not wanting to upset you as he turned around.

He took a deep breath in, trying to calm down as you gathered his hair out of the way, your fingertips brushing against his sensitive neck and ears, making him shiver.

A blush appeared on his freckled cheeks, spreading to the tips of his ears and down to his neck as you sat closer to him, your legs around his frame as you put your hands on his shoulders.

"You're so tense." you snickered quietly, your breath hitting his skin.

"Ha... yeah, well I was sitting at my desk all day." Felix bit his lip, shutting his eyes tightly as you started to massage him.

"Jeez, relax. You're so stiff." your gripped his shoulders, trying to roll them back a little and he laughed nervously.

"Oh you have no idea." he said and you furrowed your brows, shaking your head as you continued giving him a massage.

He managed to relax after some time as you worked your magic on his neck and shoulders. It was so quiet around you that the action felt so intimate and you found yourself scooting closer to Felix. His neck looked pretty and inviting and suddenly you just wanted to press your lips on his skin.

And that's exactly what you did as you leaned in, mindlessly pressing your lips on the back of his neck.

Felix nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned to look at you, his face red as a tomato.

"What was that for?" he swallowed and you chuckled embarrassingly, playing with your hands.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I- I just leaned in and-"

"No, it's fine." Felix saw that you were getting upset immediately, your mood swings getting the better of you lately. "Just wasn't expecting it."

"Is you neck better?" you asked, ignoring the way your face burned.

"Oh yes, definitely. Thank you for that, bubby." he smiled at you and you felt warmness spreading inside your chest.

Felix laid in his bed restless. He couldn't stop thinking about your touches and the way you kissed his neck. He couldn't help it as his hand wandered down to his boxers, gripping his bulge before he started palming himself.

"Fuck." he grunted quietly, biting down on his arm as he pushed his underwear down just enough to take his leaking cock out and wrap his fingers around it.

He felt dirty for it but his mind swam with thoughts of you as he sped up, trying to finish as quickly as he could. He checked up on you earlier and you looked so sweet while sleeping soundly, he knew you felt safe with him and that was his number one goal.

He wanted nothing more than to make you feel comfortable and relaxed, to make you feel good. He wished he could cross the line and bring you pleasure the way you deserve it. With how selfish your ex was, Felix doubted he ever made any effort around you in that area too.

His mind wandered to your body then, specifically to your chest and he imagined himself sucking on your sweet nipples and that was enough to make Felix snap as he twitched and came all over his hand and abs.

He gasped, riding his high, his eyes teary.

After cleaning up quickly, he laid back in bed and fell asleep fast, trying not to think about the fact that he just touched himself to the thought of you.

"Lixie?" you gently knocked on his door before opening it, tears sliding down your cheeks.

"Felix?" you slowly made your way to his bed and he groaned in his sleep, his eyes fluttering open.

"Y/n?" his voice was deep and scratchy as he squinted at you. "What's wrong?" he sat up when he noticed you were crying.

"I had a nightmare." you sniffled and his expression softened as he lifted up his blanket.

"Come here, bubby." he invited you in and you plopped down in his bed, settling your back against him. It wasn't the first time you cuddled like that but you haven't shared a bed in so long, not since you started dating your ex.

Felix wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his body gently, nuzzling his face in your hair and the back of your neck.

Goosebumps rose on your skin as he caressed you gently, his hand landing on your tummy.

"Wanna talk about it?" he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin.

"N-no. It was about my ex and I don't wanna give him any more attention that he doesn't deserve."

"He's not gonna hurt you or your baby. And if he tries I will fucking kill him, so don't worry about him sweetheart." Felix held you a bit more tightly, but was still careful with your tummy.

"Lixie. I love you." you kissed his hand as your fingers entwined and he smiled.

"I love you too, bubby. More than you know."

And with that you fell asleep in Felix's safe embrace.

After that night, you had a hard time falling asleep alone; Felix's body warmth and his comforting presence lulled you to sleep so you sneaked into his bed.

Eventually, Felix told you that you can just sleep in his bed freely every night and you were more than happy to do that.

He loved having you close, but there was a battle inside him, having to resist the craving he had for you was harder than he thought it'd be. Especially when he'd wake up in the morning and watch you sleep so soundly.

It was one of those morning where he woke up first and watched you. Your belly was bigger now along with your breasts and Felix thought you looked adorable. He was admiring you, how strong you are, after everything your ex put you through and left you alone with a baby you were taking it so well. You never complained about anything, even if you were in pain but Felix knew you too well so you couldn't hide it from him.

He wanted to make your pregnancy as comfortable as he could, the thought of you suffering made his chest hurt. Felix caressed you gently as he thought about you and how much he loves you. He couldn't help himself, the emotions that have been building up even more now that you were here and so vulnerable with him started overflowing his heart, traveling through his veins and spreading through his body.

Warmness enveloped him as his cheeks burned and he leaned in, pressing gentle kisses on your cheek, down to your jaw and neck.

You stirred a little but didn't wake up as his lips touched your skin, his hand caressing your belly.

"L-Lixie?" you muttered, still half asleep.

"Bubby." Felix grabbed your face as you turned to look at him, your eyes fluttering open just in time when he leaned down and pressed his lips on yours. You gasped a little, but still kissed back as he moved his plump lips against yours.

Your heart picked up speed and you were shocked that he was kissing you out of nowhere but at the same time it was so comforting and sweet to feel his lips against yours. Felix started letting go of everything he held back, his hands slowly sliding on your arms down to your waist and belly before resting on your hips.

He licked at your lips with his tongue and you let him in, your entire body burning up. You haven't been touched passionately since forever and being pregnant meant you were extra sensitive plus it was Felix. He was your everything.

He overwhelmed you with his scent, his warmth, his touch and you melted into the sheets as his tongue massaged yours, his hands grabbing at your plushy thighs.

You gasped for air once he leaned away, looking at you with hooded eyes.

"Lixie, w-what..."

"Shh, bubby. Will you let me worship you?" he licked at his lips as his darkened eyes ran all over your body, lingering on your breasts.

"B-but... My body doesn't look the best right now. Pregnancy did things to me like stretchmarks a-and-"

"Y/n, you look fucking beautiful. Let me show it to you." he persisted and you nodded, your heart skipping a beat in excitement.

Felix leaned down to kiss you again before his lips traveled to your jaw and neck. He licked at your sensitive spot, biting the skin and sucking on it, eliciting a small moan out of your lips.

His hands slid up to cup your breasts and you whimpered as he squeezed gently, running his thumbs on your sensitive nipples.

"Wow." he lifted up and stared at them, pressing them together and you chuckled. Felix's face became red as you looked at him intently while he played with your nipples.

He gripped the end of your shirt and you nodded so he took it off, his mouth practically watering at the sight of your body. You were left only in your panties and he could already see a wet patch appearing on them.

Felix stared at you making you feel self-conscious for a moment, your arms coming up in an attempt to hide yourself.

"Don't hide, bubby. You look perfect." he gave you a small smile, his hands on your breasts again.

"Lixie." you whispered as your breath got caught in your throat.

"Mm, they're so big." he leaned in closer to your chest. "Please." he whimpered as he massaged them gently.

"Okay. Just be gentle." you said quietly.

"Of course." he said before running his tongue over your sensitive bud.

You whimpered, instantly feeling a wave of hotness run through your body, your pussy dripping and soaking your already damp panties. Felix wrapped his pretty lips around your nipple and started sucking, his eyes fluttering shut in delight as he moaned around you.

You were getting incredibly wet, probably because of your hormones, you were more turned on than ever, your pussy throbbing for to be touched.

"L-Lix." you whined as he gently kissed your breasts, alternating between massaging them and sucking on them.

His hands slid over your belly and he smiled at you.

"You're so beautiful. And strong. You know that?" he said and your eyes watered.

"Stop praising me, I'm gonna cry." you answered, feeling sensitive everywhere.

"If it's happy tears then they're welcome." Felix pressed a kiss on your belly as he rubbed your thighs, his fingers tracing your stretchmarks.

"Is this okay?" he asked and you nodded.

He looked at your bump, almost going cross-eyed from the closeness of it and you stifled a laugh.

"Sorry baby, close your eyes and ears now." he grimaced and you let out a chuckle.

"Gotta make mommy feel good." Felix smirked at you, his hand coming closer to you panties.

He ran his middle finger on your folds and you whimpered, shivering instantly.

"So wet for me, hm?" he looked smug and your legs shook for a moment as you nodded.

"Take them off, please." you whined quietly.

"Anything you want, my sweetheart." Felix said before hooking his fingers in your underwear and sliding it down. He threw it somewhere behind him, his eyes fixed on your pretty pussy.

His brows furrowed as he brought his finger between your folds, going up and down slowly, spreading the wetness on your clit and pressing into it in circular motions. You were so sensitive that you couldn't contain your moans or your middle chasing his touch and Felix observed you, how quickly you were unraveling because of his touch.

"Can I taste you, bubby?" he gave you his puppy eyes and you giggled.

"Sure." you could never say no to that face.

Felix leaned in, the tip of his tongue licking at your clit immediately and you moaned loudly, your hand flying to his hair. He groaned when you gripped the blonde strands, encouraging him to taste you further. He let his tongue slip between your folds as he closed his eyes, enjoying your pussy like it was his last meal ever.

Your legs were shaking, automatically trying to close around his head which you couldn't even see properly because of your bump. You gripped his hair harder as you lifted up a little to see his face, his eyes closed as he kept moaning into you, looking all blissed out giving you pleasure like that.

It made you even more wet to see him enjoying it, his nose brushing against your clit perfectly as he made out with your pussy, pushing his tongue as deep as it can go, fucking you with it while he gripped your thighs.

"I'm- I'm close!" you whimpered, pulling on his hair harshly and making his eyes roll back in his head.

"Cum for me, bubby." Felix groaned, his deep voice even deeper in his arousal as he kept devouring you.

"L-Lix! Lixie!" you almost pulled all his hair out as you gripped hard, your legs closing around his head while you painted his face in your release.

Felix loved it, loved that he made you feel so good that you fell apart against him.

"Mm..." he lapped you up as you shook from your intense orgasm.

"Need more." you whispered, feeling like you were out of your mind in that moment.

"Of course, beautiful. Tell me what you need." Felix hovered over you, ready to make any wish you have come true.

"Y-your fingers." you moaned and he smirked, bringing the tips of his fingers on your folds.

"My fingers? How many?"

"Two." you answered quietly as he kept smirking.

"As you wish." Felix ran them on your wetness before slowly pushing them in. You moaned, gripping at the sheets instantly as you took in the way he looked, all disheveled and worked up from tasting you. A shiver ran down your spine as he pushed in, your pussy taking his fingers with no resistance.

"Fuck, what a good girl you are." Felix groaned as he started moving his fingers inside you, the wet sounds made your ears red in embarrassment.

"Oh you like that?" he smirked as you clenched around him. "You like being called a good girl?"

"Yes." you moaned out, pushing up into his hand as he started fucking you faster, the tips of his fingers finding that special spot quickly.

"What about my good girl?" he emphasized, making you clench around him yet again so he sped up, the force of his arm making you shake.

"Y-yes! Oh my god!" your legs shook as he started quickly flicking his fingertips over your clit while pounding into your sweet spot.

You were starting to see stars as you moaned loudly, and Felix leaned in to suck on your nipple, making it the last straw before you clenched around him and squirted all over his hand.

"Oh." you gasped as Felix looked at you.

"That's so hot." he groaned.

"Lixie, please." you felt like your mind was gone and all you could think about was his cock filling you up.

"Mm?"

"Please, fuck me." you gripped at his arm and he chuckled.

"Never thought I'd hear my sweet bubby say something so dirty." he chuckled and you smacked his arm, feeling annoyed and needy.

"Never thought this could happen but here we are." you said, pulling him closer with your legs.

Felix chuckled as he took off his underwear, now completely naked and you looked down, mouth watering at the sight of his pretty dick, all hard and leaking just for you.

He saw the way you were looking at it so he pressed his tip on your folds, massaging them a little before slowly pushing his tip in.

"Ah!" you moaned, gripping at the sheets as Felix stretched you, slowly filling you up until he bottomed out.

"You feel perfect around me, bubby." Felix groaned as he leaned down to kiss you, making you taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

Your legs wrapped around him and you brought him as close to you as you could.

"Just be careful." you whispered and he smiled, caressing you face as he looked at you lovingly.

"Always." his hands slid down to your hips as he leaned up and started moving inside you slowly, dragging his cock against your velvety walls and making you feel every inch of him claiming you.

Felix hated the fact that your ex had you like this when he didn't deserve to have you at all. He hated that it was your asshole ex who gave you a baby instead of him, the ultimate connection between two lovers.

But when Felix looked down at your face, the way you stared up at him like he hung the stars in the sky, little moans escaping your lips as you gripped at his arms, your tits jiggling with every movement of his hips and your cute baby bump, his heart softened.

He was going to love this baby as if it was his own.

Felix continued fucking you, making you cum three more times as you shook from overstimulation, begging him to just cum inside you.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his cock twitching at the thought.

"Well, I'm already pregnant, we're clean and it's not harmful so yes." you said as he slowed down, trying to keep himself sane.

"Fuck, you really want my cum inside you, hm?" he gripped your hips as he fucked you faster and your pussy clenched around his length.

"Yes- please!" you almost screamed out, your legs holding him in a death grip as he drilled his cock into your fucked out pussy.

"You're so cute like this. But I still wish I could breed this sweet little pussy." he groaned and you gasped.

"Felix!" you couldn't hold it in, squirting around his length as he grunted and fucked you harder.

"Fuck, you like that, huh?" he grabbed your breasts, both of you losing your minds completely.

"Ah yes, please breed me Lixie!" you begged and that was enough to push Felix over the edge as he spilled his hot seed inside you.

You dug your nails into his arms as the two of you rode your high together. Felix slowly pulled out of you, the sight of you laid out under him with his cum dripping out of your spent pussy made him grunt.

"So pretty." he ran his fingers on your folds, gathering his cum and pushing it back in.

"S-sensitive." you whimpered and he pulled his fingers out, bringing them to his lips as he licked at them.

"Wait a sec." Felix then got up as you stared at him, your entire body tingling in bliss. He came back with a warm wet cloth to clean you up, smiling at you the entire time as he kept caressing your soft skin.

"W-what now?" nervousness washed over you and Felix giggled as he tossed the cloth aside before leaning over you, his hands cupping your cheeks.

"I love you, that's what." he said, rubbing his nose against yours.

"I love you too, Lixie but... the baby, I don't wanna be a burden to you." suddenly your eyes teared up as sadness washed over you. "It's not even your responsibility to care about my baby."

He quickly shook his head, running his thumbs on your cheeks and catching your tears.

"You and your baby will never be a burden, because I love them as if they were mine. Maybe it's not my responsibility, but it's my pleasure." he said as he pressed gentle kisses on your lips.

"R-really? You wanna help me raise my baby?" your lips trembled as more tears raced down your cheeks.

"Of course, I wanna be here for you and the baby one hundred percent. I- I've always loved you, y/n. I beat myself up every day for not stepping in when your ex was basically holding you captive and abusing you."

"It's not your fault, Lix. I was dumb and naive, I was blind. He fed me sweet lies and I believed him, there was nothing you could say back then that would make me leave. I was stuck." you sat up, grabbing his hands in yours.

"I still feel like I should've protected you." he sighed.

"You're here now." you reassured him with a genuine smile and he searched your eyes for a moment before his face broke into the signature smile that reaches his eyes and warms up your soul.

"I am. And I don't plan on going anywhere." Felix leaned in to kiss you lovingly before pulling you into a hug, his hand caressing your head soothingly.

"I'm scared, Lixie." you whispered as you held onto him.

"Of what?" he asked as he kissed your temple.

"All of this. The baby, I'm almost half-way through my pregnancy and they're coming soon. I'm actually gonna be someone's mom."

"You're gonna be a wonderful mom, bubby. And you won't be doing any of it alone, I'm with you every step of the way." Felix said and the dam broke as you started crying again.

"I love you so much, Lixie." you held onto him like he was your lifeline.

"I love you more." Felix said as he kissed you and though you couldn't know exactly how he felt on the inside, you believed him.

Sitting at the doctor's office as Felix squeezed your hand, you anticipated the news you've been waiting to hear for some time now.

"Congratulations, you have a perfectly healthy baby girl." the doctor smiled at you as you gasped.

"Oh." your heart swelled, now you could start making a list of names and imagine yourself with your daughter.

"That's wonderful news! Thank you, doctor." Felix smiled as you sat there speechless, thinking about the precious life growing inside you.

"Are you okay, bubby?" Felix asked as you were silent while walking to his car.

"Just realized this is becoming more real every day. Now I can imagine myself with her, I can give her a name. I'm happy." you concluded and Felix chuckled as he caressed your cheek.

"I'm happy too." he pecked your lips. "How about we go on a date to celebrate tonight?"

"Sure, I'd love that." you nodded with a smile.

Felix and you have been officially dating for a few weeks now, and you felt so safe and relaxed with him, craving his presence more and more every day.

Of course he took you out on dates, the two of you took romantic strolls in the park, bringing some food to have a picnic there, you went to the movies and sat in the love seat, cuddling the entire time and hit the best cafés in town but you never went on a fancy date.

You had one pretty dress you were saving up for a nice occasion, it hung in the back of your closet in the guest room. You had no idea if you could even put it on now but you were willing to try.

Luckily the material was stretchy and you only filled it up more, your breasts almost spilling out of it and you chuckled to yourself, knowing Felix will definitely appreciate the sight.

"Bubby, are you ready?" you heard him yell from the living room.

"Be right there!" you yelled back, looking at your reflection one more time. You were satisfied with the way you looked, pregnancy glow was a real thing and Felix kept reminding you how beautiful everything about you is every single day, adding on to the smile on your face.

"Oh, sweetheart." Felix's eyes widened when you walked into the living room.

"Is it okay?" you asked, fidgeting with your bag.

"Okay?" he chuckled. "You're absolutely breathtaking." he came closer to you, his hands sliding on your hips to your waist and belly as he caressed it gently.

He smirked suddenly, his hands cupping your breasts.

"Lixie." you chuckled, smacking his arm with your little bag and he laughed.

"Sorry, I just wanna rub my face there." he bit on his lip. "One squeeze?" Felix pouted at you cutely, batting his long eyelashes, the little menace.

"Just one." you warned and he nodded, gripping your breasts as he leaned in to kiss you roughly, his tongue swirling around yours hungrily.

When he leaned back you were breathless.

"Let's go or we will never leave." you chuckled.

"Fine." he whined playfully as the two of you made your way out.

Dinner was fun, finally sharing a nice meal out with Felix felt so rewarding as the two of you reminisced of high school and college days.

You realized he was there with you the entire time, he never insulted you, never yelled at you, never made you feel less than, he always made you feel so truly happy, always thinking of your needs and preferences. You've never met a man like Felix and you were thankful to have him in your life.

You wanted to show him how thankful you were as soon as you got home, your hormones were raging lately and you were constantly horny which was fun for the both of you (maybe not for the baby).

Felix was so cute to you, always hovering over you with his adorable smile and silly antics, he was like a little kitten rubbing against you whenever he could.

That was the case as soon as you sat down on the couch, he nuzzled his face between your breasts immediately.

"Mm." he sighed happily, rubbing his cheek against you as he placed his hand on your tummy.

"Having a good time?" you chuckled, caressing his head and he nodded.

"Let me make it even better."

You grabbed his face, bringing his lips to yours as you kissed him. Felix melted into you instantly, his hands on your breasts like always as he squeezed them and played with your nipples gently.

You gripped his hair, leaning his head back as you started kissing his neck and Felix whined deeply, the sound creating vibrations against your lips.

You kept kissing him, your hands roaming on his abs as you pushed them under his shirt, before sliding your hand down and gripping his bulge.

"Y/n." Felix moaned against your lips.

You smirked, leaning back as you unbuckled his pants and slowly slid down to your knees between his legs.

Felix gasped in shock, hands flying to grab your shoulders instantly.

"What are you doing?!"

"Showing you my appreciation." you kept smirking.

"Bubby please, you don't have to do that. I don't want you to kneel if it's uncomfortable or painful."

"Felix. I'm pregnant, not made of glass." you chuckled as you palmed him and you could see him losing his resolve as he melted under your touch.

"F-fine but if it's too much, stop any time. Don't think you have to do that to appreciate me." he gave you a small smirk as he cupped your chin. "It's enough when you lay all pretty for me and let me worship you." he added and you almost moaned out loud as your pussy clenched, slick gathering on your already soaked panties.

"I know but I wanna worship you too." you said, your voice becoming raspy from arousal.

"I won't stop you." he snickered as he lifted his hips so you could strip him.

You licked your lips at the sight of his cock, hooking your arms under his thighs as you brought him closer to the edge of the couch. Felix squealed from the strength you pulled him with, his cock twitching when your breath hit the leaky tip.

You leaned in closer as you wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock, your tongue on his slit, catching the beads of precum and savoring the salty taste of him. Felix held onto the the edge of the couch, nails digging into the material as you swirled your tongue around his tip before wrapping your lips around him. He groaned, his eyes full of lust as he looked down at you and you kept your eyes on him, taking more of his length in and enjoying the feeling of his hardness on your tongue.

Felix was holding back, you saw the way he was biting on his lip, his breaths ragged as he fisted at the couch cover. You slid down more, bobbing your head up and down slowly as you reached out to grab his hand. You placed his hand on your head as you moaned around him, encouraging him to relax and enjoy.

He let out a moan as he gripped your hair, your eyes fluttering shut as you sped up on his cock, fondling his sensitive balls with your hand.

"Mm, y/n." Felix groaned and you looked up at him. His was was flushed, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, his lips swollen because he was biting on them the entire time. Your pussy clenched at the sight of him as you continued sucking on him, determinded to make him cum in your mouth.

"Oh my god, bubby!" Felix exclaimed, his hips moving up on their own accord, his legs shaking as you bobbed your head up and down faster. He pulled on your hair making you moan around him and you gripped his balls, massaging them while your tongue swiped over the vein on his pretty cock.

"I-I'm gonna cum!" he tried to pry you off but you swatted his hand away, your brows furrowed as you whined, sliding down until your nose was buried in his pubes, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

"Shit!" Felix twitched, groaning loudly as he spilled his hot seed down your throat and you swallowed every single drop.

You leaned back, releasing his dick with a pop and pressing a little kiss on the tip as you caressed his thighs.

"Give me a sec." he leaned back on the couch, breathing hard and squeezing his eyes shut a few times in an attempt to come to his senses.

"You okay?" you giggled.

"Ruined. But perfect. Thank you for that." he sat up, grabbing your face and caressing your cheeks.

"You're amazing, you know that?" he added and you chuckled.

"I know. Now help me get up." you said and he gasped, quickly scrambling to stand up.

"Are your knees okay?" Felix panicked immediately and you smiled at him.

"They're fine, the rug is soft." you answered and he let out a breath.

"Good. Now, let's go to our room so I can return the favor." he smirked.

"We should buy some baby stuff soon." Felix said as he caressed you. You were lying on your side, the only comfortable position now, a pillow between your knees as Felix spooned you.

"Mhm. Maybe we could go shopping tomorrow."

"Yes. I was thinking... We can make the guest room into a baby room." he said, pressing a kiss to your neck.

You turned slightly to look at him, your heart fluttering.

"Really? You would do that?" you asked, your eyes teary instantly.

"I would do anything for you and your baby." he whispered with a sweet smile on his face.

"Our baby." you whispered back and his eyes widened for a moment before he chuckled happily.

"I love you so much, y/n." he kissed you gently.

"And I love you, baby." he added, sliding down to kiss your belly as you giggled.

"We love you too, Lixie."

Entering your third trimester, you were a mess. The mood swings were strong and you felt so emotional all of the time and that coupled with the pain in your body made you cry one afternoon while Felix was at work.

You kept thinking about him and how sweet he was to you, how much he loved you and how he always put you and your baby first. You thought about your daughter and how she will be in your arms soon, your mind spinning with negative thoughts of what could go wrong an if you'll even be able to handle this.

"I'm home!" you heard Felix come in after some time but you didn't want to move.

"Bubby?" Felix searched for you, he heard sniffles coming from your room and his heart squeezed inside his chest.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" he approached you cautiously as you looked up at him all teary-eyed.

"I'm scared." you whispered and he was by your side instantly. You sat up and he wrapped his arms around you, soothing you as he caressed your hair.

"I don't know if I will be able to do this. If I'm fit to be a mom. Like what if she doesn't love me?" you whimpered and Felix looked at you, softly wiping your tears away.

"Of course she will love you, you're her mommy. And you will be the best mommy ever, I'm not just saying that because I love you, it's a fact."

"I don't deserve you." you cried harder and Felix shushed you immediately.

"Yes you do, bubby. We were made for each other. I don't even want to imagine my life without you. I've wanted this for so long, to be with you and to be able to call you mine. I've always dreamed of having a family with you and maybe this isn't the most regular way to start one but you know I love her like she is my own daughter." Felix said, his hands on your belly. "Oh, she's kicking."

"Yes, into my ribs." you said, both of you chuckling then. "You really mean all that?"

Felix smiled suddenly, sliding down to his knee and you gasped as your eyes widened.

"Lixie, what are you doing?" your heart started beating fast.

"This is not how I wanted to do it, I wanted to make it romantic with a ring and all." he started. "But, I can't wait anymore. I know we started dating only a few months ago but I've loved you since the day I laid eyes on you and maybe even before, in some other life. So, will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?"

Your heart skipped a beat as fresh tears slid down your cheeks.

"Oh, Lixie." you grabbed at him. "Yes, a million times yes!" you said and he laughed happily, his eyes filled with tears too.

"I love you." you said in between the sweet kisses he showered you with.

"I love you, bubby."

"I just feel bad sometimes, you're doing all this for me and I'm not even working or doing anything to help out." you said and Felix scoffed.

"Working while pregnant? Not on my watch, bubby. You need to rest and focus on our baby. I will do everything else, I enjoy it so don't worry about not helping because the only thing I need is your love. As cheesy as this sounds, it gives me wings and nothing is hard to do when I know you appreciate it." Felix pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"I'm going to cry again." you sniffled, grabbing at his shirt.

"If it's happy tears, I've done well."

You decided not to wait anymore and get married as soon as possible, you had no doubts whatsoever in your mind, you knew that Felix was your person just how he was sure that the two of you were soulmates. You had a small wedding with just your family and close friends, keeping it simple due to your pregnancy.

"You look beautiful today." Felix said as soon as you got home after a little celebratory dinner.

"You tell me that every day." you chuckled, plopping down on the couch, making Felix laugh at your cuteness.

He kneeled to help you take your shoes off.

"Are your feet in pain?" he asked and you nodded with a pout. "Don't worry, bubby. I'll give you a massage."

"Come here for a sec." you waved your hand and he stood up before plopping down next to you.

"What's up?" Felix looked at you, a contemplative look on your face and a small smile spreading on your lips.

"I just need a minute to process that we are married now." you said and he chuckled, his hand finding yours, fingers entwined.

"Suits you well. To be Mrs Lee Felix." he smirked, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss into your skin.

"Don't say it like that." you whined.

"Why?" he chuckled.

"Because I'm already out of my head horny for you." you looked at him. "Hubby." you smirked and he sputtered.

"Let's just go to our room." he wiggled his eyebrows, making you laugh.

"Help me up." you reached your hands towards him and he grabbed them, lifting you and leading you to your room.

Felix helped you strip before he laid you down, his eyes raking all over your body as he took you in.

"I'm gonna worship you for the rest of my life, wifey." he said as he stripped and kneeled between your legs.

"Me too." your breath hitched as soon as he put his hands on you, running them up and down your inner thighs, coaxing you to spread your legs more. His hand slid up to your core, thumb brushing against your puffy clit, making you whimper.

He slid his fingertips on your wet pussy, leaning down to kiss and lick at your nipples.

"Felix." you moaned, hands tangling in his hair, gripping him to ground yourself.

He grunted around your nipple and started sucking on it harder, slowly pushing his fingers iniside you.

"L-Lixie. Can we change the position?" you stopped him and he lifted up immediately with a smile.

"Anything to make you more comfortable, bubby."

You slowly turned on all fours, the only position that was pleasant lately and Felix ran his hands on your back.

"You okay, love?" he asked, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

"Mhm." you leaned back into him, his cock brushing against your skin and twitching.

"Someone's eager." Felix smirked behind you, grabbing handfuls of your ass.

"Stop messing around, I'm horny." you whined, your pussy dripping with arousal. He never answered so you were about to turn around but then you felt the tip of his cock on your wet lips.

"Mm." you melted into the bed as he filled you up slowly.

"Like this, bubby?" Felix teased, dragging his cock inside you slowly, one hand on your hip and the other on your back.

"Harder." you said breathlessly.

"Harder, hm?" he gripped your ass, but continued moving his hips slowly.

"Please!" you cried out and he leaned over you to whisper in your ear.

"As you wish." his breath tickled and before you could gather your senses Felix gripped your hips and set a relentless pace, shaking your entire body as his hips slapped into you.

"Oh my god." you gasped, grabbing at the bedsheets while he fucked you into tomorrow.

"My sweet wife." Felix grunted, giving you a little slap on your ass and making your pussy clench.

"I'll give you another baby, you know?" he leaned in to whisper in your ear again, the tone of his voice even lower than usually.

"Ah, yes!" you groaned as he tangled his fingers in your hair and pulled.

"You want that?" his other hand grabbed at your breast, squeezing it harshly.

"Y-yes! Yes!" your mind was foggy and all you could do was agree as you came around him, your pussy gripping his cock.

"You'll be mine forever." Felix practically growled while he gripped at you, fucking you even harder as he chased his high.

"Forever. My husband." you moaned and Felix snapped, whimpering in your ear as he pushed deep inside you, filling you up with his warm cum.

He continued fucking into your slowly as he rode his orgasm, making you cum once again.

When he pulled out you laid on your side with him behind you, and he propped himself on his elbow, peering down at you.

"Are you okay?" he caressed you face as you smiled at him.

"Perfect." Felix kissed you and the two of you cuddled for some time before you decided to clean up.

"You're really thinking about another baby already?" you chuckled when you laid back in bed to sleep and Felix's face became red as he sputtered.

"W-well I want to have a family with you." he said sheepishly and you melted. "Plus, you're so cute when your pregnant." he added with a smirk and you smacked his arm.

"Shut up."

Your baby's arrival was nearing and Felix was doting on you until the end. He cooked for you, gave you massages, prepared you baths, he did everything he could to make this exhausting time as comfortable as it can be.

You had fun together, watching movies and playing videogames from the comfort of your home. Felix wanted you to be happy and feel good about yourself.

He even painted and built the baby's room together with some friends who helped him out and when it was done he proudly showed off his handiwork. You started crying immediately as you were touched and Felix was there to comfort you.

"This is wonderful, Lixie. I love you." you sobbed.

"Love you the most, bubby." he kissed your tears away, like he always did.

"God, I want this baby out of me. I can't do this anymore." you whined one day, close to your due date. Everything was ready, your overnight bag, the baby's room and of course Felix, who was buzzing constantly.

"You know sex can induce labor." he smirked at you while you laid on bed together and you threw a pillow at him.

"Anything to get into my panties, hm?"

"What? I just wanna love on my beautiful wife." he looked at you with a smug smile.

"Beautiful?" you scoffed. "I look like a whale."

"A very sexy and alluring whale." Felix said with a serious face and you gasped before bursting out into laughter.

"You're dumb." you nudged him with your foot and he slid closer to you.

"Dumb in love." he smirked as you rolled your eyes at him.

He grabbed your hands in his gently, staring at you adoringly.

The vibe in the room shifted as Felix started kissing your knuckles slowly, while keeping his eyes on yours the entire time.

"You were serious about fucking?" you chuckled.

"Not fucking. Making love to my wife." he smirked as he leaned up to kiss you.

"Cheesy." you chuckled against his lips.

"Only if you're okay with it. If not I will leave you alone. Might cry a little but I'll be fine." he pouted and you giggled.

"I'm okay with it. Just be quick, I wanna nap soon." you said, making Felix laugh.

It was cute, every day spent with you in a domestic setting made his heart overflow with happiness. He had fantasized about being yours for the longest time, never knowing just how happy he would be.

You were happy too, happiest you've ever been. Even though you still had doubts and fears about being a mom, everything was easier with Felix by your side. He gave you the right amount of comfort and support, he loved you more than anyone ever had before.

All the shitty things you went through, your strained relationship with your parents, your horrible ex, the sadness that existed inside you was now exchanged for a happiness you couldn't express in words.

Felix was sitting in your room, right in the middle of a game with his friends when you appeared on the doorstep.

"Felix." you said.

"Yeah, bubby? I'll be done in a minute." he didn't turn around, too concentrated on his screen.

"You gotta be done now. My water just broke."

With that, Felix's head snapped in your direction, his eyes widened as he scrambled to get up.

"Guys, gotta go. About to become a daddy." he quickly said into the mic before running to you.

"I'll grab your bag." he said, his voice shaking in panic as you started to feel the pain.

Felix drove to the hospital quickly, probably running over a few red lights.

"I can't do this!" you screamed as soon as you were situated in the hospital.

"Yes, you can bubby! Just hold my hand, okay? Break my fingers if you need to." Felix tried to be encouraging but you gave him a look.

"I'll break more than just your fingers." you threatened before screaming in agony.

Felix screamed with you, mostly because you were actually crushing his hand.

When it was time to push, Felix nearly fainted multiple times, especially when he leaned in to see the baby's head coming out.

"Oh my god." he squealed, the nurses giving him a look as you almost pulled his arm off by yanking him away from the sight.

"Stop looking." you groaned, not wanting him to pass out for real.

Felix concentrated on encouraging you as much as he could and before long, the nurse finally placed your daughter in your arms.

The feelings swirling within you couldn't be explained in mere words as you stared at the life you had created.

"Wow, she's beautiful. She looks just like you." Felix's eyes were wide as he stared at her, his heart swelling inside his chest.

"You wanna hold her?" you asked and Felix swallowed before nodding a little.

"She's so tiny, I'm afraid I'll break her." he gasped when he took her in his arms.

"You won't." you smiled at the sight, Felix holding your daughter and looking at her with so much adoration in his eyes.

You couldn't wait to go home and start your new life, just the three of you, your own little family.

The adjusment was hard at first, everything felt surreal and the time was going by too quickly. Your daughter was already almost 5 months old and you were wondering how the hell did all that time pass.

Felix was the most helpful husband you could ask for, everything he promised he'd do weren't just empty words and you were eternally grateful to have him.

One afternoon as you put your daughter into her crib for a nap, a knock came on the door.

Felix was in the living room and he stood up to open it just as you walked in. Both you and Felix were shocked to see your ex boyfriend standing there. You weren't expecting to see him ever again, an uneasy feeling spreading all over your body as your feet got stuck in the floor.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Felix was fuming immediately.

"I- I realized I was wrong. I want to have a family with you, y/n. I've been miserable since you left." he craned his neck trying to look at you but Felix stepped in, standing straight in front of your ex.

"It's a little late for that, buddy." Felix showed the guy his wedding ring with a smirk on his face and your ex gasped.

"You got married? To him?" he scoffed suddenly.

"I suggest you leave now." Felix ignored him as you stood there, still unsure of what to do or say.

"What a slut you are." your ex smirked and Felix snapped, quickly manhandling the bastard down to his knees as he twisted his arm back and placed his foot on your ex's back.

He yelped as you gasped, never seeing Felix this mad.

"Don't talk about her like that, scum. You never deserved her. If I ever see you anywhere near my wife or my baby I will fucking kill you." Felix growled, pressing his foot harder into his back.

"Do you understand?" he pulled on his arm, almost popping it out of place as your ex moaned in pain.

"I understand." he said through gritted teeth.

"Do you really?"

"Felix, it's okay." you intervened, not wanting him to go too far.

"I understand, alright!" your ex yelled annoyingly and Felix finally let him go as he scrambled to get up.

"Fuck the both of you." he spat before leaving and Felix watched him drive away before he turned to you, his expression softening.

"You okay?" he asked after closing and locking the door.

"God, that was so hot." you threw your arms around his neck and Felix's eyes widened as he chuckled.

"Really?" he asked and you let out a laugh as he circled his arms around you, pulling you closer to his body.

"Mhm. My sexy husband." you wiggled your eyebrows as he blushed.

"Does the sexy husband get a reward from his beautiful wife?" he smirked.

"Why of course." you chuckled, leading him to your room.

"Are you sure? We haven't since- you know. I don't wanna hurt you." Felix shook his head quickly.

"I know you'll be gentle." you said, caressing his face and tracing his pretty freckles with your fingertips.

Felix smiled softly at you, leaning in to kiss you sweetly.

"We have only while she naps though." you said as the both of your started stripping.

"Okay quick but gentle." Felix nodded, making you laugh.

You were about to strip completely, when you stopped, biting on your lip.

"What's wrong?" your husband came up to you, his hands running up and down soothingly on your arms.

"My body is completely changed. And well, it could get messy."

"I like messy." Felix smirked and you shook your head with a smile. "You have no reason to be insecure with me. I love you even more than I did before. I admire you so much, you're my everything y/n. And you'll always be sexy to me."

"Felix." your lips trembled as your eyes filled with tears but he was quick to kiss them away. "I love you so much." you breathed out between kisses as his hands traveled under your shirt before he pulled it off.

The way he looked at you erased any insecurity in your mind, Felix was mesmerized, his eyes full of love and lust.

"Lay down for me." he said quietly and you smirked.

"No, I wanna be on top."

"Oh." Felix's cock twitched, straining against his boxers painfully. "Whatever you want, bubby." he licked his lips, no thoughts behind his eyes whatsoever as he kept staring at your full tits.

You pushed him down on the bed, stripping him out of his underwear so you could have all of him on display for you to play with.

You crashed your lips into his before kissing his jaw and his neck, your lips traveling on his skin, touching every precious freckle. Your nipples kept brushing against him and Felix whined, pushing his cock up towards you.

His hand flew to the back of your neck as he brought your face to his, kissing you again.

"Ah!" he groaned when your fingers wrapped around his length, giving him a few pumps as you observed his face, twisted in pleasure.

You hovered over him and he gasped.

"You're so good to me, bubby. I'm so lucky to have you." he whimpered as you ran his tip on your wet cunt.

"I'm the one who's lucky. I get to use this cock whenever I want." you smirked as you pushed the tip between your folds.

"Oh my god." Felix groaned, pushing up towards your heat. "Yes, yes, use me whenever you want!"

You slowly slid down on him and sat still, adjusting to the feeling of him inside you after some time. Felix kept staring at your tits and you smirked.

"You want these?" you grabbed them gently, jiggling them a little and you felt him twitch inside you.

"P-please. Can I- can I taste it?" he gave you his puppy eyes and you clenched at the thought.

"You wanna taste my milk?" you asked and Felix panicked.

"N-no, I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that! I'm sorry if that's weird, you totally don't have to." he sat up a little, his cock brushing against your sweet spot.

"I want you to." you said and he stared at you, his eyes wide.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Come on. Wrap your lips around it." you leaned over him, your breasts in his face and he whined as you dripped around his cock, slowly moving your hips in circles.

"Y/n." Felix moaned before giving your nipple a few kitten licks then wrapping his lips around it.

You gasped as he started sucking greedily, the taste of your sweet milk making him become rock hard inside you. Felix moaned as he swallowed, grabbing at your breast and squeezing it.

"L-Lixie!" you moaned loudly as he flipped you over, fucking into you, his hands on your breasts and lips around your nipple, drinking from you.

He couldn't get enough, fucking you with a semi-fast pace as he kept sucking on your tits. You felt so aroused, your body sensitive and you came, squirting around his cock.

"Fuck, bubby!" Felix licked at his lips, his eyes rolling back as he pulled out, jerking his cock until he came, ropes of white cum landing on your tummy and chest. You pouted at him, grabbing at his arm.

"Why didn't you finish inside?"

"I had to pull out or I'd get you pregnant again." he groaned and you giggled, biting on your lip.

"So what?"

"Baby, don't tempt me." Felix whined and you chuckled. "You should take some time to heal."

"I love that you're so caring but sometimes I wish you were just a little bit inconsiderate." you teased as he brought you into his chest, cuddling with you.

Felix laughed, the sound shaking your body as he held you close.

"Okay, I'll be a bad boy next time and forget to pull out." he smirked.

"Mhm." you smirked back and leaned in to kiss just as your daughter started crying.

"She's awake and hungry." you sat up and Felix kissed your shoulder before leaning his chin on it.

"I might be hungry for something sweet later too." he smirked and you smacked him as he laughed.

"I'm sure you will be."

Fall came around and with it all of the pretty colors had painted the leaves, it was your and Felix's favorite sight to see so you decided to go on a little stroll to the park with your daughter.

Felix pushed the stroller as you held onto his arm, taking in the scenery around you and the fresh air smelling of rain about to fall.

"What are you thinking about?" Felix asked.

"You. How happy we are." you smiled as you looked at him.

"I'm so happy." he smiled back sweetly and your daughter fussed a little.

"She's growing so quickly." you sighed wistfully and Felix nodded.

"She is. We can always make another baby." he added and you chuckled.

"I'd love that."

Later that afternoon, the rain poured outside as you sat under a warm cozy blanket with your loving husband and your sweet daughter, safe from any harm. You couldn't imagine a better life than this.

And it was all thanks to Felix loving you and making you love yourself again as the scars on your heart healed one by one.

~taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @starlost-mochi-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @eastjonowhere @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @halfwinterhalfuniverse

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lena-oleanderson · 2 years ago

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my version of "i wonder what else they have written - RPF hockey???" is my 22 ghostbusters (2016) fanfics i wrote within 2 of my 8 years on ao3

#in 16 months to be precise #there's like 90k words there - none of them are good #please do not read them #but i keep them up as like. mostly a reminder to myself as to where i came from #i cannot look back at that era of my life without cringing a bit (this is impossible to do in general for early teen years)#and honestly all of my writing pre-2020 makes me cringe too much to be able to read it #but like. i wrote So Much for that fandom and Through Doing it i improved a lot. and i wouldn't be anywhere close to the writer i am today #if i hadn't #for context - the only other fandom that comes close to rivalling that in numbers is supergirl with 18 fics spanning 5 years #and just over 77k words all of them added together #like in total i have 52 fics on ao3 that's 8 more than my gb total #and Nearly 230k words altogether #so technically i've written more non-gb than gb #but that 133k took me 6 years!!#granted it's bc good writing takes uh. more time. i wasn't even editing when i first started posting #and i've written lots of original work in that time #but All of that original work - i hope to get published maybe someday soon-ish #if that ever goes anywhere - i owe that in large part to fanfic bc that's where i got all my practise my immediate feedback so much communi #and all that originates from ghostbusters (2016)#my first real fandom - the first place where i really felt like i fit in (it was like. exclusively neurodivergent queer women & non-binary #people - i didn't even know i was neurodivergent back then!! i hardly knew what adhd was. i hardly knew who i was. i was still semi-recentl #out as gay. i was figuring out how i fit into the whole gender thing #and that fandom had so much genuine love in it. it really shaped me as a person and i'm glad i was a part of it #even when i - yk as i am today - i probably wouldn't gravitate towards that movie #i've avoided rewatching it bc i realise it is much better in my fond memories #but i'm glad i was there!!#so even if i cringe abt it now i also refuse to orphan those works

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solxamber · 7 months ago

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Hello, I love your writing! The isekai fics are so fun, Vil's was my favorite! Can I request the twst boys (+ staff if you have inspiration for it) comforting a reader who just breaks down in tears after the seventh overblot is resolved because they haven't had much support and time to process being in a new world away from everything they've ever known, were basically told to play therapist by Crowley, and have had their life and their friends lives at risk. Lots of angst but mostly comfort in the end! Thank you if you write this!

7th Overblot Aftermath

Characters: All NRC + Staff

hi! and thank you so much 🫶 vil was the first one I wrote I'm glad you liked it. I love this request and I hope you like it <3

The aftermath of Malleus’s overblot felt surreal. The sky had cleared, but the air was still heavy with the weight of what had just happened. It was over. Finally over. You had seen seven overblots now, each one pushing you and your friends to the edge, forcing you to confront darkness that shouldn’t have existed in people you had come to care for.

But this one had felt different. Maybe it was because of the sheer power Malleus wielded, or maybe it was because of how fragile the world around you had seemed as you fought to bring him back. You had nearly lost him—nearly lost everyone. And you were so, so tired.

Your knees gave out, hitting the ground with a soft thud. You stared at the grass beneath you, eyes blurring with unshed tears. Everyone was celebrating the victory, but all you could think about was the sheer exhaustion gnawing at your bones, the burden of playing mediator, therapist, and survivor all at once. You hadn’t signed up for this. You had been thrown into this world without warning, away from everything you had ever known, and you hadn’t had a moment to breathe since.

“I’m so tired…” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

And then it all came crashing down. The walls you had so carefully built around yourself crumbled, and before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face. Quiet at first, but then the sobs came harder, your shoulders shaking as you finally let yourself break.

You barely registered footsteps approaching until a pair of hands rested gently on your shoulders.

Ace Trappola

"Hey, hey," Ace��s voice broke the silence, softer than you’d ever heard it before. “What’s wrong? You’re... crying.”

You hiccuped, trying to suppress the sobs that wouldn’t stop coming. Ace was never one for emotional moments—at least, not the serious kind. He usually joked his way out of anything too heavy, but right now, he seemed out of his depth.

“C’mon, don’t cry,” he mumbled, his voice awkward but concerned. “We’ve been through worse, right? I mean, we beat Malleus of all people. If we can get through that, we can get through anything.”

He crouched beside you, his hand patting your shoulder in an attempt to be comforting, though he was clearly fumbling. “Just… talk to us, okay? We’re here. You don’t have to keep everything inside.”

You shook your head, not trusting your voice, but the tears kept coming. Ace sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly unsure of what else to say, but he stayed close, his presence enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Deuce Spade

Deuce knelt down beside you, his expression full of concern. His hand hovered over your back, unsure whether to touch you, as if he was afraid of making things worse. He eventually settled on patting your back gently, his voice unsteady but earnest.

“It’s okay,” Deuce whispered, his usual tough demeanor nowhere to be found. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re all here for you. I—I didn’t realize how much you’ve been going through.”

His face was a mix of worry and guilt, as if he felt bad for not noticing sooner. “You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore. You’ve been looking out for us this whole time, and I… I didn’t see how much that’s been hurting you.”

You couldn’t respond, your throat tight with emotion. Deuce, seeing your tears still falling, gently shifted closer, offering the only comfort he knew how: his presence. “We’re friends, right? And friends help each other. So… let us help you, okay?”

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle appeared beside you, his normally rigid posture softer now. He knelt down, placing a hand on your arm, his touch surprisingly tentative. He looked at you for a moment, eyes filled with unspoken regret before he spoke.

“I should have seen how much you’ve been carrying,” Riddle began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’ve been through so much—more than any of us realized. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

His words were measured, careful, as if he was trying not to overwhelm you. “I’ve been so focused on maintaining order, on fixing things after my own mistakes, that I failed to recognize how much weight you’ve been holding on your own.”

He sighed softly, guilt clear in his voice. “You’ve been our support through everything, but you’ve had no one to lean on yourself. That’s not fair to you, and it’s not something you should have had to do alone.”

Riddle stayed close, his hand still resting on your arm, offering comfort in the only way he knew how—through quiet sincerity.

Trey Clover

Trey crouched down beside you, his presence calm and steady, like always. He didn’t say anything at first, just rested a hand gently on your shoulder, waiting for your sobs to slow. He wasn’t one for grand gestures or overly emotional words, but he didn’t need them. His quiet support spoke volumes.

“You’ve been doing a lot for everyone,” Trey said softly, his voice low and warm. “More than anyone should have to. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed.”

He offered you a tissue, waiting patiently as you wiped your face, though the tears kept coming. Trey’s hand stayed on your shoulder, a grounding weight.

“You don’t have to keep everything bottled up,” he continued, his tone gentle. “We’re all in this together, you know? If you need a break, if you need someone to listen… we’re here. I’m here.”

There was no judgment in his voice, no impatience, just the quiet assurance that he’d be there for you whenever you needed.

Cater Diamond

Cater slid down beside you, his usual carefree smile nowhere in sight. Instead, his eyes were soft with concern as he pulled out a tissue and handed it to you.

“Y’know, it’s okay to break down sometimes,” Cater said quietly, watching as you wiped your face. His voice was unusually subdued, and for once, there was no joking, no lightheartedness to deflect from the situation.

“We’ve all been through a lot,” he continued, “but I think you’ve been carrying more than the rest of us. Crowley’s been dumping all this stuff on you, expecting you to handle everything, but you shouldn’t have to. Not alone.”

Cater leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve been the glue holding us together. But who’s been holding you together, huh?”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to answer, but the tears just kept coming. Cater didn’t push. He just sat beside you, his presence steady, offering you the space to cry without judgment.

“It’s okay to let it out,” he said, his voice soft. “We’ve got you now.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona crouched down next to you, his green eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of your trembling form. He let out an exasperated sigh, as if annoyed by the situation—not by you, but by everything you’d been forced to endure.

“Ugh, this is exactly why I hate people like Crowley,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Always dumping stuff on others and never dealin’ with the mess themselves.”

He placed a heavy, warm hand on your back, his grip firm but comforting. “Listen, you ain’t weak for feelin’ like this. You’ve done more than enough, and I don’t blame you for breakin’ down. Hell, anyone else would’ve lost it way before you did.”

Leona’s tone softened slightly, his voice low and steady. “You’re tougher than most of the idiots I know. So, stop thinkin’ you gotta do everything yourself. Just rest already.” He grumbled something under his breath about humans overworking themselves, but stayed close by, a quiet, protective presence.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie hunkered down next to you, his usual cheeky grin replaced by something much softer. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head lightly. “Sheesh, you really let all that pile up on ya, huh?”

He gave you a light nudge with his elbow, playful but careful. “Look, you don’t gotta carry everything by yourself, ya know? I get it—you’re tough. But even tough people gotta take a break now and then, yeah?”

Ruggie’s eyes gleamed with empathy, his voice taking on a gentle, comforting tone you didn’t hear often from him. “Life’s been a little unfair to ya, huh? I mean, Crowley dumpin’ all that responsibility on you… it’s not right. But you’re here, and you’re still standin’, even after all that.”

He flashed you a small, reassuring smile. “But you don’t gotta stand alone. You’ve got us now. Lemme know if you need a break—I’ll hustle for the both of us.” Ruggie winked, his familiar mischievousness flickering back into his expression, but the concern in his eyes remained genuine.

Jack Howl

Jack’s ears twitched as he knelt down beside you, his tail swaying slowly with a sense of unease. He wasn’t great with words, but the sight of you breaking down hit him harder than he expected. “Hey,” he began softly, his voice gruff but sincere. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

His hand hovered awkwardly for a second before settling firmly on your shoulder. Jack wasn’t sure how to help, but he wanted to—more than anything. “I know you’ve been strong… probably stronger than anyone should have to be. But it’s okay to let it out.”

He shifted slightly, trying to find the right words. “I… I know how it feels to be away from everything familiar. To feel like you don’t have anyone to lean on. But that’s not true. You’ve got me. You’ve got all of us.”

His grip on your shoulder tightened briefly, like he was silently reassuring you of his support. “You don’t have to face all of this alone. We’re here for you. And I’m not gonna let anything happen to you—or anyone else.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul approached you cautiously, his usual calm and collected demeanor faltering as he saw you crumbling under the weight of everything. His steps were slow, calculated, but there was an unusual tightness in his chest. He knelt down beside you, his expression torn between concern and his usual polished facade.

“You’ve… been carrying quite the burden, haven’t you?” he asked softly, though there was a certain edge to his voice, almost as if he was angry—at the world, at Crowley, at everything that had led to this moment.

His hand hovered over your shoulder for a moment before he rested it gently, almost hesitantly. “I won’t lie to you,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I’ve always admired how capable you are. But no one should be expected to handle what you have. Crowley’s negligence… it’s unacceptable.”

Azul glanced away briefly, his sharp gaze softening. “But you’re not alone anymore. You have us. You have me. And I promise, I won’t let anyone take advantage of you again—not without consequence.”

There was a sincerity in his words that Azul rarely revealed, a vulnerability hidden beneath his usual polished exterior. “You don’t have to keep being strong on your own. Allow yourself to lean on someone else for once.”

Jade Leech

Jade knelt gracefully beside you, his usual serene smile gone, replaced with a look of quiet concern. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he was gauging how best to approach the situation. “My, you’ve been holding this all in for quite some time, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice as smooth as ever, but with an underlying warmth that was rare for him.

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, his fingers light but reassuring. “You’ve done more than anyone could ask of you. It’s no surprise that you feel overwhelmed.”

Jade’s gaze flickered over your trembling form, his mismatched eyes studying you carefully. “It’s a great deal of responsibility to bear, especially in a world so far from your own. But… you’re not alone.”

There was a softness in his tone that you didn’t expect, his usual composed demeanor shifting. “You’ve been strong for everyone else. Now, allow yourself to rest. Let us take care of things for a while. You’ve certainly earned it.”

He smiled gently, his hand still resting on your shoulder, steady and reliable. “And do not worry. Should anyone try to take advantage of your kindness again, they will have me to deal with.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd approached you in his typical loose, carefree stride, but when he saw the state you were in, his usual playful grin vanished. His steps quickened, and before you knew it, he was crouched down right in front of you, his mismatched eyes widening in genuine concern. “Whoa, hey, hey! What’s this?” he asked, tilting his head as he examined your tear-streaked face.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into a tight hug—so sudden and fierce that it left you breathless for a second. “You can’t cry like this, Shrimpy. It doesn’t suit you,” he said, his voice unusually soft, though still carrying that familiar teasing edge.

Floyd squeezed you tighter, his long arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. “If things are bad, you should’ve just told me. I’d go squeeze the life outta Crowley for you—he deserves it.” He chuckled, but his grip didn’t loosen, like he was afraid you might fall apart if he let go.

He leaned back slightly, still holding you close. “You don’t gotta be strong all the time, you know? You’re my friend, and I don’t let my friends break down alone. So, whenever you feel like this, just come find me. I’ll squeeze the sadness right outta ya.” His words, though playful, carried a weight of sincerity that made your heart ache a little less.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil stood before you, his expression unreadable, though his eyes held a rare softness. “You’ve let yourself reach this point of exhaustion,” he sighed, shaking his head slightly. “It’s not your fault, but you shouldn’t have been forced to carry this burden alone.”

He knelt beside you, his touch gentle but firm as he took your hand. “You’ve been strong for so long, but even the strongest need time to recuperate. Don’t mistake vulnerability for weakness. It takes great strength to admit you need help.”

Vil brushed a stray tear from your cheek, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “You’ve given so much of yourself, but now, it’s time to prioritize your own well-being. I won’t let you neglect yourself any longer. Remember, even a diamond can crack if too much pressure is applied.”

Rook Hunt

Rook’s eyes sparkled with emotion as he knelt gracefully beside you, his usual exuberance tempered by an uncharacteristic stillness. “Ah, mon ami, you have been carrying such a heavy heart all this time,” he whispered, his voice a melodic lilt.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch light, almost reverent. “To be in a world so foreign, surrounded by danger, yet still you’ve stood tall… such beauty in your strength. But even the most resilient soul must rest.”

Rook smiled warmly, leaning closer as if to share a secret. “Let us lift this burden from your shoulders, together. You are not alone. I, too, am by your side, always watching, always ready to catch you should you stumble.”

Epel Felmier

Epel crouched down next to you, his face tight with concern. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, not used to comforting others but determined nonetheless. “You shouldn’t have had to go through all this,” he muttered, his country drawl creeping into his voice. “Crowley’s a real piece of work, throwin’ all that on ya.”

He reached out, offering a hand in his own shy way. “You’ve been tougher than most, and I admire that. But that don’t mean you gotta keep it all bottled up. It’s okay to feel this way. We’re all here for ya, and I’m not lettin’ anyone mess with you anymore.”

Epel’s expression softened, his voice gentler now. “You’ve got us, so don’t think you’re alone in this. We’ll face it all together.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim immediately rushed to your side, concern written all over his face. “Oh no! You’ve been carrying all this by yourself? Why didn’t you tell me?” he exclaimed, kneeling down and grabbing your hands with both of his, his usual exuberance tempered by a rare sincerity.

He gave you a bright, reassuring smile. “You’ve been so strong for everyone else, but it’s okay to take a break. You don’t have to do everything alone—you’ve got us! And I promise, from now on, we’re all going to make sure you’re okay too.”

Kalim’s warm eyes sparkled with optimism. “Let’s go celebrate once you feel better! Something fun and happy—just to take your mind off everything. I’ll plan the best party ever, and you can just relax, okay?”

Jamil Viper

Jamil crouched down beside you, his dark eyes watching you carefully, as if assessing your every emotion. He sighed softly, his voice low and calm. “You’ve been under more pressure than anyone should have to deal with, and none of it was your fault.”

He rested a hand on your shoulder, his touch firm and grounding. “You shouldn’t have had to bear all this alone, but you don’t have to anymore. I understand what it’s like to carry more than you should.”

Jamil’s eyes softened, though his expression remained calm and composed. “From now on, you can rely on us. I won’t let things spiral out of control again, and I won’t let Crowley push you to your limits anymore. You deserve to take a step back and breathe.”

Idia Shroud

Idia stood awkwardly at a distance at first, his usual nervous fidgeting even more pronounced as he saw you breaking down. He hesitated before kneeling beside you, keeping his hands to himself. “I, uh… I get it,” he muttered, voice quieter than usual. “Feeling like the world’s too much to handle? Yeah, I’ve been there.”

He shifted uncomfortably but spoke with genuine understanding. “You’ve been through way more than anyone should. And, uh, it’s okay to not be okay. You don’t have to act like everything’s fine all the time.”

Idia’s blue flames flickered a bit brighter as he added, “If you need to… y’know, not deal with everything, I’ve got games and stuff to help you chill out. No judgment. Just… take it easy, okay?”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho hovered closer, his usual upbeat tone shifting to something far more gentle. “You’ve done so much, and I know it’s been really hard on you,” he said softly, his mechanical voice somehow conveying warmth.

He floated down beside you, his small hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “But you’re not alone anymore! You’ve got big brother and me, and we’ll help you through everything. You don’t have to carry all this by yourself.”

Ortho gave you a bright smile, his eyes glowing softly. “Let me help you feel better! We can work together, and you can lean on us whenever you need to.”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus approached you slowly, his imposing presence softened by the genuine concern in his eyes. He knelt gracefully beside you, his voice low and soothing. “You have been through much, more than anyone should bear. It is no wonder you feel as though the weight is too much.”

He extended a hand, his fingers brushing gently against your arm. “You are not alone in this world. I understand what it is to feel isolated, but you have friends, and you have me.”

Malleus’s gaze softened further, his voice almost a whisper. “I am here for you, as are the others. Rest now, and let us share in your burden. No harm shall come to you as long as I stand by your side.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia floated down beside you with a lightness that contrasted the gravity of the situation. His usual playful demeanor faded, replaced by quiet empathy. “Ah, little one,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with affection. “You’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

He rested a hand gently on your head, giving it a comforting pat. “You’ve done well, more than anyone could have asked of you. But now, it’s time to let go of some of that burden. There’s no shame in needing help.”

Lilia smiled gently, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “You’re not alone, not anymore. We’ll protect you. You can lean on us when you need to.”

Silver

Silver knelt beside you, his calm eyes filled with quiet understanding. “You’ve been strong for a long time,” he said softly, his voice low and soothing. “But you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his touch steady and grounding. “It’s okay to let yourself feel overwhelmed. It doesn’t mean you’re weak—it means you’ve been through too much.”

Silver’s eyes softened as he spoke. “You have friends here, people who care about you. You can rely on us. I’ll be here, watching over you, so you can rest.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek approached you with his usual fervor but hesitated when he saw your tears. His sharp voice softened, though it still carried his typical intensity. “Human! You have been through much, but you must remember—you are not alone in this!”

He stood tall beside you, his green eyes blazing with determination. “You have shown strength, but it is not weak to ask for help! Lord Malleus would never allow you to suffer alone, and neither will I!”

Sebek crossed his arms, standing like a guardian at your side. “You are under the protection of Lord Malleus, and by extension, my protection! No harm will come to you now.”

Crowley

Crowley fluttered over, his usual flamboyant demeanor subdued as he saw your distress. “Ah, my dear prefect,” he began, wringing his hands nervously. “It seems that perhaps I’ve… placed more on your shoulders than I should have.”

He knelt beside you, his expression uncharacteristically somber. “You’ve done so much for this school, more than anyone could have asked of you. And for that, I owe you a great debt.”

Crowley’s voice softened, uncharacteristically sincere. “But now, it’s time for me to take some responsibility. You’ve more than earned your rest. From now on, I’ll make sure you have the support you need.”

Divus Crewel

Crewel knelt beside you, his sharp eyes softened with concern. “You’ve been through hell, pup,” he said, his voice low but firm. “And it’s no surprise that you’re feeling the strain.”

He reached out and adjusted your collar with practiced precision, as if he could fix your emotional state as easily as he could fix your appearance. “You’ve shown remarkable strength, but even the strongest need a break."

Crewel’s voice took on a more gentle tone as he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not expected to bear the weight of the world on your own, pup. You’ve more than proven yourself, but now it’s time for you to let others shoulder some of that burden. I won’t allow anyone to exploit your loyalty or determination again.”

He straightened up, his steely demeanor still present but tempered with warmth. “You’ve got me in your corner now. If anyone dares push you to the brink again, they’ll have to deal with me. Understood?”

Mozus Trein

Trein approached slowly, his usual stern expression softened with concern as he adjusted his glasses. “You’ve been under undue stress, haven’t you?” he observed in his deep, calming voice. “No one should be forced to handle such pressure alone.”

He knelt beside you, his demeanor fatherly as he rested a hand on your arm. “This world has not been kind to you, I see that now. But you’ve handled it all with remarkable resilience. However, even the strongest minds and hearts need time to recover.”

Trein sighed deeply, his tone softening further. “I will ensure that you are given that time, without further demands placed on you. You’ve done more than enough.”

Ashton Vargas

Vargas came over with his usual boisterous energy, but seeing you in distress made him pause. His expression softened, and he knelt down beside you. “Hey, hey! What’s all this about, huh?” he said, his voice a bit gentler than usual. “You’ve been holding up the team for too long, I see. That’s a heavy weight, and it’s no wonder you’re feeling tired.”

He placed a strong, reassuring hand on your back. “You’re tougher than you think, but even the toughest need a break sometimes. You’ve done amazing—really! But now, it’s time to rest up and let others carry the load for a bit.”

Vargas smiled warmly, his usual energy tempered with sincerity. “You’ve earned it, champ. We’re not leaving you behind. We’ll get through this together.”

Sam

Sam quietly appeared beside you, his usual playful smile replaced by something softer, more caring. “Well now, looks like you’ve been carryin’ quite the burden, huh?” he said in his deep, smooth voice.

He crouched down next to you, his hand resting on your shoulder with a firm but gentle grip. “You’ve been strong for everyone else, but you can let that go for a bit. No shame in feelin’ overwhelmed.”

Sam’s eyes twinkled kindly, and he gave you a warm smile. “Remember, you’ve got friends, and we’re all here for you. Anytime you need a little pick-me-up, you know where to find me. No more carryin’ this all by yourself, alright?”

Grim

Grim strutted over, his ears twitching as he noticed the tears on your face. “Oi, what’s this?” he huffed, trying to sound nonchalant but clearly concerned. “You’re not supposed to be cryin’. You’re supposed to be tough, like me!”

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to handle the situation, before awkwardly patting your arm with his paw. “Uh... stop bein’ all sad, okay? You’ve been through a lot, but you’re still here, right? And that’s ‘cause you’ve got me, the Great Grim! I mean, you’re my henchhuman, so obviously you’re tough enough to handle anything!”

He puffed out his chest, trying to inject some of his usual bravado into the situation. “I’ll take care of things next time! No need to worry. Just... stop cryin’, alright? It’s weird. I’m supposed to be the one gettin’ pampered, not the other way around!”

Despite his tough words, Grim stayed by your side, his tail flicking nervously. “But, y’know, I guess... if you need to cry, that’s fine too. Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

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sundrop-writes · 8 months ago

Text

BRAINWASHED

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Everything’s clean - except for my thoughts. (Thinking about me getting you off.)

Can’t stop thinking you got me B R A I N W A S H E D .

Summary:

Stiles likes you. He really, really, really likes you. It's bordering on obsession, but he likes to believe that he has it under control.

So when you accidentally leave a pair of your panties in his presence, ripe for the taking, and they're in his backpack faster than he can blink - he realizes that he might not have it as under control as he would like to think. But he can't find it to be too much of a problem when he has those panties wrapped around his cock.

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Pining!Stiles/One Sided Fantasies. Panty Stealing. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 8,000

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and is described as having a vagina; Stiles and the reader have been best friends since childhood and they are in high school now (they are both the same age) (for argument's sake, they are both 18, but the horny parts were motivated by the hotness of a 20-something actor so idc what age you interpret the characters as); the reader's looks are mostly undescribed and left neutral in terms of race, hair texture/colour, height, etc. however the reader is implied to be fat/plus sized; mentions of the reader wearing dresses and tights (things that the other characters on the show would typically wear); mentions of the reader having a cat - I did not give the cat a name so you can imagine it's the same as your cat's name/what you would want your cat to be called if you had one; use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); brief mention that the reader would like wearing bikinis; the reader calls Stiles 'good boy' in non-sexual contexts and it turns him on; mentions of Stiles looking up the reader's skirt when she doesn't know it; some slight dubious consent because Stiles steals the reader's underwear without her consent and uses them in a sexual act (his masturbation); masturbation (Stiles touching himself); this is a one-sided/pining fic - all the sexual acts take place inside Stiles's mind as sexual fantasies while he masturbates; the reader character is described in these sexual acts as they play out in his mind, so that's why she is included heavily in the warnings; Stiles is submissive (even in his own fantasies) and he fantasies about the reader being dominant toward him; Stiles becoming aroused by the idea of the reader not shaving her pussy; technically there is edging - because Stiles edges himself to make his fantasies last longer; panty sniffing (though the panties Stiles took are freshly launder and not used ones); scent kink/sweat kink - Stiles likes the way you smell, including your sweat; kinks and sexual acts mentioned only in Stiles's fantasies (taking place only in his mind in this fic): car sex (in the back of the Jeep (typical, I know)), fingering (reader receiving), degradation kink (Stiles receiving - he likes the idea of the reader insulting him and being mean to him); pussy eating (Stiles fantasizes in depth about this); Reader makes a joke about spanking Stiles and Stiles has a small fantasy about being spanked by her; I think that's finally it.

A/N: Title for the fic comes from the song Brainwashed by Waterparks. Warning - Stiles might be a bit OOC in this because I wrote it before I started re-watching Teen Wolf again (and before I started watching Season 1 for the first time, because previously I had only seen 3B and beyond). In this, I have said that he's flunking classes and he's not really great with studying, while in the show, he's really smart and bookish and really well studied - but it could just be chalked up to the fact that he has a huge crush on the Reader that is distracting him from studying. So, interpret it how you want. I hope that you enjoy it, and please read through to my end notes to find out about a potential sequel to the fic!!

...

Stiles was hopeless.

That was the only way to describe his current state of being. Completely, utterly hopeless.

He was a complete and total loser, hopelessly in love with his best friend. And he was getting more stupidly caught up in that crush every single day. And of course, he didn’t even have the courage to admit his feelings for you so that it could be awkwardly out in the open. So that the two of you could get the rejection part over with, at least.

Basically - his feelings for you were slowly ruining his life.

Stiles had been in love with you for as long as he could remember. Well, maybe not that long.

See, you, him, and Scott had all been friends since the beginning of kindergarten, and naturally, Stiles always liked you as a person. He always thought of you as a good friend, even if he gravitated toward Scott more.

But he distinctly remembered the first moment when he had started to develop a crush on you. It was a very special memory to him - the day when you shifted in his eyes from annoying, slightly nagging friend to a beautiful, fierce woman.

It was the day when the three of you were out on Halloween night during the third grade - and that was around the time people started whispering about crushes in school, when people would have playground girlfriends and boyfriends that they broke up with every other week. That night, a group of eighth grade bullies began chasing the three of you, trying to take your candy.

Without hesitation, you picked up the largest rock in sight and threw it at one of them, causing a large cut across his forehead - and you loudly told them to ‘fuck off’ (the first time Stiles had ever heard such a word when it wasn’t coming from his dad). They had run away, somehow terrified of a girl a foot shorter than them.

That night, you had become his hero.

And since then, you had been the only object of his affections.

Of course, over the years, Stiles had plenty of opportunities to tell you about his feelings for you. He just… always felt too cowardly to do so.

In seventh grade, he had come very close to asking you out to the winter dance - only to have Scott beat him to the punch. When he pulled Scott aside to ask him about it, Scott confessed to him that he also had a crush on you. This resulted in their first ever fistfight. The first ever true rift in their otherwise close, brotherly friendship.

The boys didn’t speak to each other for days. Which, naturally, annoyed the hell out of you. Especially because, of course, neither of them told you why they were fighting, not wanting you to know that you were the source of the rift in their friendship. And to you, this only made the fight seem more stupid and immature.

So finally, when you demanded it, they called a truce. They agreed that they didn’t want to lose their friendship or lose you. They didn’t want to make you choose between them when it wouldn’t make any of you happy.

So Stiles proposed that the three of you should go to the dance as friends, which you loved, and they both got you a corsage, one for each wrist - and the three of you still laughed at the pictures of you holding each of their arms.

Eventually, Scott grew out of his crush on you and moved onto other girls, and he loved that he got to keep you as a close best friend, someone he could go to for dating advice if needed. Scott kept trying to convince Stiles to simply ‘man up’ and tell you about his feelings, but Stiles kept that same sentiment they had concluded upon years ago. Telling you about his feelings would only ruin the friendship. Not just between you, but between the entire group - it would fuck up the pack.

Though it felt like the more he tried to ignore his feelings for you, the more they festered like a tumor. While Scott was able to mature past his crush on you, Stiles only grew more intense, and more insane when it came to his ‘crush’ on you.

Over the years, his crush on you had grown from something sweet and childish into something much more. When puberty truly took over and lust was added into the mix, he now had to deal with the fact that you had grown into a gorgeous woman. He could barely control his arousal when looking at you, hearing your voice, smelling you, talking to you, thinking about you - even simply being in your presence made something in his mind melt. And it was growing much worse with each passing day. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t wake up with a raging boner fueled by sexual dreams of you.

And naturally, he would say that not telling you about his feelings for you was ultimately the best thing for him. He would steadfastly refuse to admit that him being distracted by all these fantasies of you was slowly eroding your friendship from the inside out. Slowly, bit by bit, his worst fears were coming true - your friendship was being ruined by his crush anyway.

But he tried to ignore that. Even if you were the most gorgeous, perfect being ever put on the planet, he tried his hardest to simply enjoy the platonic version of you. He tried to act like he wasn’t stupidly, head over heels in love with you.

He tried not to act like it.

But on nights like this, it was just so hard.

Tonight, the two of you were studying for an upcoming English mid-term that would be worth a decent portion of your final grade.

Logically, Stiles knew that he should have locked himself in his room and forced himself to study independently. Or he should have taken up Scott on his offer to study with him and Allison.

But no, he just had to ask you for your ‘help’.

And you pitied him and said yes, because he was doing poorly in the class. The only reason for that being because it was one of the classes that he shared with you, and he spent all of his damn time staring at you across the room during it. He had tried to tell himself that he really would study tonight, that he would really take advantage of your intelligence here and now to get his shit together in order to up his grade.

But no. That was just one of many daily lies that he told himself. Since the moment he had set foot in your bedroom that afternoon (and it was dark out now, well into the evening) - he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but you.

Sure, sometimes that worked to his benefit. Hearing you recite Shakespeare, the words coming off your sweet lips - it did force him to focus on the material at hand for at least a short period of time. But it wasn’t like he was actually retaining any of it. He was just thinking about how gorgeous your voice sounded and how amazing you would be in an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. One where he played Romeo, of course - and he would get to use someone else’s well-crafted words to romance you, finally getting to kiss you for the first time.

Again - he was hopeless.

Currently, Stiles was laying diagonally on your bed, sitting among a mess of books - the English textbooks, the assigned novels, the published copies of the play, along with binders of your notes and other notebooks, stray papers. He couldn’t pay attention to the notes he was supposed to be writing, not for a moment, not if his life depended on it. Not when you looked this stunningly beautiful while busy writing your own notes.

With the soft lighting from your bedside lamp brushing across your skin, making that skin look even softer, you were a goddess-like vision sitting on the bed across from him. You were wearing the simple dress that you had worn to school earlier that day, your modest tights since shed off in the name of ‘comfort’ (and so that your cat wouldn’t rip holes in them while crawling across your lap, you had remarked to Stiles). When you had stood at your hamper and peeled them off your legs, Stiles had a hard time not letting the drool spill out across his chin.

Your thighs were gorgeous. Thick, wide, spread out like a buffet for his eyes to feast on every single time you sat down. From his angle, laying down the way he was, he was up close and personal with the dimpling cellulite and stretchmarks you had there. The hem of your dress had ridden up when you had adjusted your position to get comfortable, and he felt absolutely spoiled by how much more of your thighs were revealed to him.

A few times throughout the evening, he had to physically clench his fingers, tight, to remind himself not to reach out and touch. To remind himself that he wasn’t allowed to touch. The last thing he wanted to do was to creep you out by randomly reaching out and touching your thigh. But he wanted so badly to touch.

How many times had he imagined what those thighs would look like bouncing and jiggling while you rode his cock? How many times had he imagined those thighs clamped around his head while he licked your pussy? (Far too many times for the good of his own sanity.)

Not to mention the concentration spread across your face - you were so fucking hot when you showed off your intelligence. Hell everything about you was hot - your sweetness, your laughter, your sarcasm, even your bitchy side. But your bookish side had to be one of Stiles’s favorites.

The way you would nibble your own lip when thinking, the way your brows furrowed slightly in thought. Everything about you - from the bra strap sticking out of the neckline of your dress to the chipped edge of your nail polish where you had chewed on it - you were a fucking vision. And Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tried.

It was a wonder that you didn’t notice Stiles staring at you - not as often as he did it.

Stiles felt strangely caught when you put down your pen and looked up from your notebook, then. He quickly scrambled to grab his own pencil and start writing something, to look busy. But of course, he just looked like more of an idiot when the eraser end began scraping across the page in nonsense patterns.

“Stiles,” You scolded him with a sigh, a way he was used to hearing his name come off your lips. “Have you gotten anything done? I told you to copy down at least half my notes-”

Of course. You pegged his blank page as simple laziness, rather than his brain slowly melting out through his ears due to his inability to think about anything but you (especially when he was in the same room as you). At least he hadn’t been caught staring at you in that creepy way yet.

You snatched up his notebook to check his work, and his heart dropped - if you looked too carefully, then he would be caught. In the back of that notebook, there were about three pages of his name and yours in hearts, and a few times he had practiced writing his signature as ‘Mr Stiles L/N’. (He was a feminist, and he liked the idea of starting a new tradition.) There was even a drawing he had made designing your theoretical wedding cake, including a cake topper where he was Superman and you were riding on his back while he was flying.

“Y/N, uh-”

He quickly snatched the notebook back, causing a glare from you while he sighed in defeat.

“Fine.” He shrugged, knowing that he had to admit to a smaller crime in order to cover up the larger one. It was something that he did with his father all too often. “I didn’t get anything done. I was slacking off. You caught me.”

“Stiles!” You scolded him again, reaching out to gently smack his shoulder. “If you keep this shit up, you’re never gonna graduate!”

Sadly, you were probably right. His crush on you was absolutely going to ruin him.

“Well, you could just let me copy off you,” He replied, giving you a wide grin that let you know he was mostly kidding.

You rolled your eyes in reply, and soon your gaze caught sight of the clock on your nightstand.

“Well, it seems like you have wasted enough of my time for tonight.” You scoffed sarcastically.

Stiles knew that you had intended this to be a joke - but he couldn’t help the twinge of pain the words caused in his gut. The idea that he was truly just a waste of time in your life. He pressed his lips tightly together to suppress a frown and didn’t say anything more, and then you continued.

“It’s almost your curfew anyway.” You pointed out, gesturing toward the clock. You were right. Stiles hadn’t even noticed how late it was getting - too busy enjoying his time with you. “We’ll pack it up for the night - but you should meet me at the library tomorrow morning, early, so we can go over everything again before the exam.”

Of course, you were still invested in the idea of him getting a good grade, even if that seemed unlikely to happen.

“You’re gonna make me get up early?” He whined, hating the idea of missing out on even ten extra minutes of sleep.

“Yes.” You stressed. “I want you there at seven o’clock. Sharp.”

Your ultra serious voice ordering him around was undeniably a turn-on for him. No matter what sexual fantasies Stiles cooked up about you in his mind, he could never picture himself having full control over you. In fact, most of the time, he found himself covered in cum at the idea of you having complete control over him. And it was likely because this was how most of your friendship went - you told him what to do, and he did it. And that was a huge part of why he fell for you in the first place.

When he didn’t verbally confirm the time, too caught up in his infatuation yet again, you let out a gentle growl of frustration.

“Stiles!” You called out his name. “You have to be there at seven. So you can’t get out of bed at seven - you have to set your alarm for like six-thirty, got it? Don’t make me come over there and get your ass out of bed like last time.”

This thought caused Stiles’s stomach to clench.

The last time you had come to his house to wake him up for school (because he had agreed to help you with some bakesale project and you were pissed off that he wasn’t there early to help you set up tables and whatnot) - you had charged into his house in a fury. You had your own key, of course, and his dad wasn’t there to busy you with conversation or pleasantries.

And you charged right up the stairs and nearly caught him with a hand around his cock, jerking off to a picture of you in a bikini from the summer before. And he had rushed to shove the picture in his nightstand and cocoon himself in the comforter to hide his body just as you made it to the top of the stairs, shouting at him for being late. Luckily, he had gotten away with the lie that he had slept in, rather than revealing the truth that he had been distracted because he had woken up with morning wood after having a heated dream about you.

When Stiles didn’t respond yet again, you grabbed a smaller decorative pillow from behind you and lightly hit him with it for emphasis, causing him to burst into laughter.

“Promise me you’ll be on time!” You said, smacking him with the pillow again.

“Yes, yes! I promise!” He finally agreed, his face becoming pink from laughter.

You dropped the pillow then, and leaned down, causing his eyes to inadvertently go straight to your cleavage while you gave him a gentle, friendly kiss on the forehead.

“Good boy.” You responded, praising him for agreeing to your terms. Obviously, it was another joke.

But these praising words combined with your lips even slightly brushing against his skin, along with your tits dangling so close to his face, had his cock swelling to hardness nearly instantly. He grabbed the pillow then, trying to look subtle as he put it over his crotch, desperately trying to hide the very obvious bulge that had popped up at the front of his jeans within seconds.

He was lucky when you shifted your attention away from him, now busy with cleaning off the bed, gathering your textbooks in a pile and moving to put them on your desk in the corner. You being distracted gave him a few moments to try and mentally will his dick down, which worked slightly. Only slightly.

“You could help me, you know.” You mocked him lightly - distracting him from his thoughts of baseball, trying to will the blood out of his cock.

He looked up and saw you standing there with his backpack, putting away his textbooks and notebooks now. He had been so dumbly distracted by his own dick that he hadn’t noticed you taking the kind initiative to clean up his things for him too.

“Right, sorry.” He jumped into action and did so, taking things from your hands and shoving them into his bag with haste.

“You don’t have to rush out, I just need the bed cleared off so I can pick out my clothes for tomorrow.” You told him.

“Wait - you actually pick out your clothes in advance?” He asked, thinking that this was entirely adorable, and explained why you were always so well dressed.

(And it explained why you were always so punctual in the mornings while Stiles was usually a mess - running around his house still half-asleep, shoving his head into a shirt that he had sniffed to see if it was clean, shoving things frantically into his bag in order to get out the door five minutes late.)

“Well you know not all of us are okay with just throwing on last week’s mustard stained tee shirt,” You said, playfully pointing to a mustard stain that he had on his shirt from lunch.

He rolled his eyes in return, trying to ignore the slight twist of embarrassment that wanted to swell up inside of him at the comment.

There had been a point where he used to make a very pointed effort to impress you. Back when his crush on you had first gotten serious - likely around the beginning of high school. He used to get up early every single morning, spending a lot of time being intensely picky about the clothes he wore. He drowned himself in cologne (until you had complained about it), he wore certain colors just because you mentioned liking them. But none of it seemed to garner any more of your attention than usual.

And so, he resigned himself to be the loser best friend who would always just float at the corners of your life, drowning in his secret affection for you until some better, hotter guy came along and swept you off your feet one day.

He was just glad that day hadn’t come yet.

Stiles was hesitant to leave - he wasn’t done being around you for the day yet, too emotionally attached. But he guessed that he would need to get some decent sleep before waking up at the asscrack of dawn in order to see more of you the next morning. (Even if it would include the horrors of studying at the library.)

“So - I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” He posed, ready to take his leave as he swung his backpack over his shoulder.

“Ooh, wait one second.” You said, eagerness twinging through your voice.

His heart pounded hard in his chest for a moment, wondering if this could be the moment he had been waiting so long for - would you stop him there, grab him by the shoulders and kiss him hard, and then tell him that you had been feeling the exact same way as he had for all these years?

“Which one?” You asked, spinning around from your closet to face him, holding up two dresses on hangers.

Oh. You were asking for his opinion about what you should wear to school the next day.

“The blue one.” Stiles said, motioning towards it. “That shade of blue looks beautiful on you - it compliments your skin tone well, and it makes you shine. But ya know, you look gorgeous in everything. You could wear a paper bag to school and everyone would still be jealous of how amazing you look.”

He rambled on for a moment too long, and realized that his genuine fondness for you - something straying too far into romantic territory - was slipping out.

“But - uh, yeah. I’ll see you later.” He quickly added on, now eager to leave before you could make any further comments.

Then he dashed out of your room and down the stairs, getting out the front door so fast that he practically left a poof of cartoon dust behind him.

He got into the Jeep and tossed his bag into the passenger’s seat - which, he hadn’t realized was not even zipped up. (A habit you often scolded him for - going around with his bag unzipped.) Papers and books spilled across the seat and underneath it, and he let out a loud growl of frustration.

“Idiot!” He screamed, scolding himself as he leaned down, trying to clean everything up. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!”

Partially, he was feeling so idiotic because he had just been so vulnerable with you and you probably thought he was weird for it. Actually, that was mostly why.

As he was picking up his things, he realized that - yup, he was missing his English textbook. He had forgotten it in your room. He heaved out a sigh and collapsed back against his seat. He could leave without it - but then he would get an earful from you in the morning about how he was ‘forgetful’ and ‘irresponsible’. Ugh.

He got out of the Jeep again and shuffled his way back into your house - your mom was working late, so there was nobody there to question him running out of the house at top speed and then appearing back so soon. All he got was a curious chirp and a head tilt from your cat, who was sitting on the top of the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Stiles remarked to the animal, stopping for a moment to pet him. “I’m pathetic. But you can’t rat me out, okay? I know she thinks highly of your opinion and I need you to put in a good word for me. Got it?”

The cat purred and pushed his face into Stiles’s hand, so he assumed that was a positive affirmation that he would root for Stiles - or at the very least, keep his secret.

Stiles linger for a moment to scratch the cat’s furry cheek, and then he stepped over the cat and made his way back toward your room. He passed the closed bathroom door and heard the shower running, and he almost cheered. If you were in the shower, then you wouldn’t notice him slipping back in to grab his book, so you couldn’t scold him for being a forgetful idiot.

He went into your room, and the second he made it through the mouth of your open bedroom, his eyes locked onto your bed like a hot target. Your clothes for the following day were spread out so neatly, and right there, on top of the blue dress he had suggested - there was a pair of lacy purple panties that were something right out of one of his fantasies.

Stiles had thought about your underwear before - many times. Too many times to count.

He had even caught small, passing glimpses of your underwear before - when you had worn dresses without tights and bent over in front of him. But he had only seen enough of it to determine the color, not to know if it was lacy or silk or cotton. And even that was enough to send him into a tailspin that had him rushing to the bathroom to relieve his aching cock.

In the back of his mind - or truly, the forefront of his mind whenever he jerked off to thoughts of you - he always wondered what kind of underwear you wore. What kind of decorative wrapping your pretty pussy would come in if he ever got the other-worldly privilege of getting his hands up your skirt.

Would they be simple, practical cotton underwear? Would they be cute? Would they be sinfully sexy? Would they be those underwear with the days of the week written across the front?

But seeing this now - seeing the tangible evidence in front of him that you actually planned to wear purple lacy lingerie to school - it was something that had all sense draining from his mind as blood rushed to his cock once again. He barely had time to think about it - and he didn’t think about it. Because then, they were in his hands, in his pocket, and he was back in the Jeep, hiding his stolen goods in his bag and hastily zipping it up so he could slam his foot on the gas and race home.

He didn’t even have a chance to think about the fact that he left without the textbook that he had gone back into your room looking for. He didn’t have the attention span to notice that said textbook was in a stack along with your own - almost as if purposefully kept there like an excuse to lure him back into your room, rather than clumsily forgotten by him.

…

When Stiles got into his room, he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, now entirely frantic, and thankful that his father was working a late shift again. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands shaking with anticipation as he unzipped his bag and pulled out the thing he had so hastily snagged.

His mind was warring with so many sensations. Guilt for taking the panties, paranoia that he would get caught, shame that he even had the urge to take them in the first place - but all of that was easily toppled over and forgotten in the name of lust. Overwhelming lust and arousal that he felt for you. Greed and joy at knowing that he had something so private of yours in his hands now - something so secret that he shouldn’t have. A perfect little piece of you.

His little secret piece of you.

He still couldn’t believe that this was the kind of underwear you wore on a daily basis.

Just imagining that this was what you wore to school - thinking about the fact that this was what you were wearing under your clothes during your everyday interactions with him: it drove him wild.

He easily pictured this pretty lace sticking to your cunt when you were wet, the lavender colored material getting slick and slightly darker, soaked through and visibly sticky when you spread your legs for him to see. He wondered if your pussy would be shaved or not - but you didn’t have a boyfriend, so currently, you didn’t have anybody to shave for.

He remembered a conversation from a few weeks ago where Scott had wondered if he should shave his pubes for Allison and you had remarked that ‘putting a razor near your junk’ was ‘ill-advised and stupid’ - so you probably didn’t even like shaving your pussy on principle.

This immediately put a picture in his mind of your pussy being covered in soft hair that matched the shade on your head - maybe a bit darker. It would clump together with your juices and become soaked when you got wet. The little hairs would probably stick out cutely from the sides of the bikini cut underwear, peeking at him.

Your pussy would be the prettiest thing he had ever seen, he knew that for certain.

Stiles imagined getting you in the backseat of the Jeep one night after a game.

He would still be covered in sweat from his efforts, worn out from trying his best. Sure, he wasn’t the best player, but you wanted to ‘reward’ him for his efforts on the winning side, even if he hadn’t directly contributed to the win.

So as soon as the game was over, before he even had time to change out of his pads or shower, you hauled him to the parking lot and shoved him into the car. His gear was only half-off, ditched hastily by your feet, and you were in his lap - a perfect prize after all the hard work he had done, sitting astride his already sore thigh muscles while you kissed him - hard. Your mouth greedily sucked the oxygen out of his lungs while you shoved your tongue past his lips, painting his tongue with your sweet spit - and fuck, it felt like he was made for this.

He got sucked so deep into the fantasy - it felt so damn real.

He imagined having his hands splayed out against your beautiful, plump ass, gripping you tightly, noting wanting you to separate from him for even a section. While you held on tightly to his face, sealing him into the kiss until his lips were sore. And you would only pull back to look into his eyes with glossy desperation and utter out:

“Please, Stiles. I need you. I need you to touch my pussy.”

And what else could he do but obey?

So he would lift up your skirt - a particularly short skirt that you had worn with nothing else but a pair of knee-high socks. Something that you knew he loved to see you cheer for him on the sidelines while wearing. Even though it was a chilly night, you couldn’t feel too cold when you saw him glancing at you every single chance he got. Of course, those distracted stares had gotten him screamed at by Coach more than once. But he loved the way your skirt would flutter up in the nighttime breeze, teasing him. The way the fucking beautiful thick fat of your thighs would jiggle whenever you would jump around in order to cheer him on.

He was a man of simple, divine tastes.

So - he would lift up that perfect skirt to find those purple lacy panties underneath; to find the perfection of your wet cunt waiting for him, growing slicker by the second, more needy for him. You were humping yourself against his athletic cup, which his hard cock was practically dying inside of, bursting to get out of the hard shell of plastic to touch you. But he ignored his own needs for a few minutes longer in favor of yours. Reaching forward, sliding his fingers along the wet spot at the front of your panties, absolutely indulging in the beautiful gasp you let out when his touch grazed across your swollen clit through the fabric.

“Stiles, please.”

He could almost hear it - it was so fucking clear inside his mind. The way your voice would be so pitched with desperation, so perfectly needy curled around his name. He wanted so badly to hear it in real life.

And he would push those panties to the side, pushing his fingers inside of your hot, wet cunt-

Back in the real world, Stiles’s cock gave a needy pulse, leaking into his boxers.

He heaved out a sigh, his cock practically vibrating with blood. He had driven home the whole time trying to ignore that boner, but he simply couldn’t do that anymore. He just had to give in.

He hesitantly put your panties aside - already feeling a strange sense of attachment to them - and reached to his nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube that he had in the drawer. Shamefully, it was already half empty, mostly due to the fantasies that he had about you. He undid his pants and had them around his ankles in record time, and whipped off his shirt for good measure, knowing that he was quite a ‘splasher’ and not wanting to get cum on it to pair with that ugly mustard stain.

He lubed up his cock more than a healthy amount, knowing that it would contribute to the fantasy of you being so wet around him. It was a distant fantasy that he would never actually get to achieve, but hell - a man can dream. Then he began to slowly pump his cock in hand, wanting to milk it and truly enjoy it, and he let his mind get back to work.

He thought back to your place. A place he was comfortable, spent a lot of time at hanging out with you.

He imagined that early that night when he had forgotten his book, rather than you being in the shower, he went back to your room and found that you had been getting ready for bed. You were rubbing sweet-smelling lotion on your arms, pulling back the covers, wearing nothing but a pair of cute little socks, a tiny camisole - where he could very visibly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, with the natural teardrop shape of your breasts bared to the eye, your nipples poking through the fabric - and those purple lace panties.

When he would appear in the doorway, you would gawk at him and ask:

“Stiles? What are you doing? Did you… forget something?”

But you would be positioned half leaning over the bed, taking back the covers so it would be comfortable for you to sleep - and your ass would be unintentionally on full display. Your sweet pussy lips peeking at him from behind, the roundness of your ass so fucking inviting, daring him to leave bite marks across the beautifully fat flesh.

And after a few moments of him staring so brazenly, saying nothing, simply drinking in the gorgeous sight of your body bent over, wearing so little clothing, wearing those perfect little lace panties-

(Stiles sped up his hand on his cock, the lube sounding downright sloppy in the silence of the room.)

You would stand up to your full height, come to him in the doorway, put your face so close to his and say:

“If you’re gonna spend so much time staring at me like a gaping idiot, then you should do something about it.”

Stiles had to stop the swift movements of his hand and clutch his grip tightly around the base of his cock, making his entire dick throb hard as he edged off his own orgasm.

He still wasn’t sure why the idea of you calling him an ‘idiot’ in such a brazen tone made him want to cum so hard - but he didn’t have time to unpack all that now.

He grabbed up the panties again with his non-lubed hand. Something in the back of his mind thought that it would be a crime for him to get them dirty. Another part argued that he would absolutely love to get them covered in his cum, not clean them, and then return them to you. That it would be fucking thrilling to have you wear them in that dirtied state.

Though he knew that would never fucking happen.

If he returned the panties to you covered in his cum, then you would slap him, call him a pervert, and likely have Scott beat the shit out of him with his newly harnessed werewolf strength. Stiles pushed this thought to the back of his mind, though.

Out of curiosity, he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a whiff. They smelled like fresh laundry - a nice lemony detergent. Of course they weren’t ones you had previously worn - they were a pair you had been planning on wearing tomorrow.

He distantly wondered if that meant you would not be wearing underwear tomorrow, because he had taken your intended pair. And that could have led his mind down a whole different filthy track, but instead - he began to wonder what a pair of your dirty underwear might smell like.

You should take a pair of used ones. A voice in his mind told him. Snatch them right out of the hamper. Come on, you’re over at her place all the time. She won’t even notice them gone.

Terrible idea. Terrible rabbit hole.

But what would they smell like?

He wasn’t deluded enough to think that pussy smelled like roses. He had never been close enough to one - a real pussy - before to actually know. Yes, he was a virgin. He could have said that he was waiting, ‘saving it’ for you - but every other girl, including you, was smart enough to look past him. There were plenty of other guys who were better looking and more charming than him, and probably better in bed than him, that girls had chosen instead of him.

He wondered if your pussy smelled like that perfect bit of sweat that you gathered at the end of a long day. Sometimes when he went to hug you before the two of you parted ways, he would catch a whiff of the tiniest undertone of musk, a good amount of sweat paired with the berry scented body spray you had put on that morning, and orange tic-tacs you had popped after lunch. It was a delectable combination.

He imagined that your cunt would smell like that bit of sweat, combined with the blueberry body wash you used - the one he knew about and loved because of the time you had insisted he use your shower while stinking up a study session because he had skipped the showers after lacrosse practice when he was late to be with you.

He imagined getting hints of that blueberry body wash smell coming off your thighs when his head was buried between them. What would your cunt taste like? That was a mystery he wanted to solve live.

He could always imagine the other aspects so well.

He could imagine the feeling of the heat under his tongue, the perfect feeling of your wetness mixing with his spit. He imagined getting to bounce your swollen clit against his tongue and while feeling your moans and cries of his name vibrate through your body as he pleasured you so well - the feeling of your pubes brushing against his cheeks as his entire face became soaked with your wetness.

But the taste - that was something he could never conjure up in his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

He knew that eating your pussy would be perfect. Not just because he would be giving you pleasure, serving you. But he so often dreamed of having his head smothered by your thighs, having you grab his head and shove him tighter into your cunt, you purposeful and demanding. You having that beautiful control over him while he drowned in your wetness.

He knew that he would likely cum in his pants from eating you out if he ever got the privilege of doing so, and even if you laughed at him - stupidly, he would find that hot too.

Stiles picked up the pace again, pumping his cock in hand evenly and firmly - even reaching down with the other hand to cradle his balls, gently rolling the flesh in his hand as he got lost in another fantasy of you.

He imagined the two of you in his bed - textbooks forgotten and pushed off onto the floor, your dress hiked up around your hips, and again, those fucking purple lace panties. He was on top of you, hovering on his knees so that his hard cock wouldn’t brush against you (even through his jeans) while the two of you sloppily made-out.

It wasn’t long before you pulled away from his kiss-swollen lips.

“Stiles,” You purred into his ear, kissing along his neck. “You know, you’re so pathetic.”

These words had his cock jumping, spurting out precum - in his fantasy, it made his underwear messy as you undid his fly.

In the real world, it made his hand messy as he continued to rhythmically jerk his cock.

“I’m not gonna let you fuck me.” You told him, contrasting these words with your intentions as you put your hands inside his waistband and shoved his pants and underwear down over his hips - down to his knees until his hard, throbbing cock was exposed. “Not until you prove yourself.”

Before Stiles could ask the question, the beautiful, fantastic you that he had made up inside his mind gave him the perfect answer.

“Get yourself off by rubbing your pathetic dick against my panties. And then - I might let you fuck me.”

In the real world, Stiles let out a throttled moan - a choked sound that surely would have had his father knocking on the door to ask if he was okay if he was at home. And then he rushed to grab the panties again, and without even thinking, he used his sticky lubed up hand to position the fabric around his dick. It was a coarse roughness compared to the slick smoothness he had previously been feeling, but it did wonders to complete his fantasy as he delved back to the you inside of his mind.

He started rubbing the slightly lube-sticky rough fabric up and down his dick at a very slow pace as he imagined it:

Being perched between your thighs, with the fabric of the panties stuck to your wet cunt, his cock hard and leaking as he tucked himself right up against you and began to rub his dick against you in order to get off. Just like you wanted, just like you had ordered him to do.

“Please.” Stiles chanted, the words leaking out of his lips, chanted into his empty bedroom as he pleaded to the imaginary you that would always have a hold over him - just as tight of a hold as the real you had. “Please, please - oh fuck.”

He moved the fabric over his cock faster as he moved his hips faster in the fantasy, imagining how hot your pussy would feel against him, imagining your nails digging into his hips as you looked up at him with mocking and adoration in your eyes. He imagined you forcing his hips faster, trapping him in place with your knees bracketed around his thighs, showing him absolutely no mercy.

“Please, please, please.” He chanted, knowing with a distant part of his mind that he must have sounded utterly delirious. “Please, Y/N, lemme cum-”

“Cum for me, Stiles.”

Confirmed by that fantasy version of you and truly unable to hold it any longer, Stiles arched up off the bed, cumming all over his own fist. Just as he had predicted, it was an utter, uncontrollable mess. He shot cum all over his stomach, and absolutely soaked the fabric of the panties - making a horrible mess of them. Which, the lube had definitely already done. He laid there for a single moment catching his breath before it truly hit him.

Fuck. He had fucked up.

You would definitely notice the underwear missing after a while and he certainly couldn’t return them to you in this condition.

…

Stiles spent the next hour in the bathroom, absolutely panicking over how to get them clean. Luckily, he wasn’t a total idiot and he looked up the washing instructions online - and after hand-washing them in warm water with a ‘gentle’ detergent (handsoap was the best that he could do), they came out perfectly clean.

The only problem?

Hang to dry.

He set his alarm for early, earlier than you suggested, and prayed that he wouldn’t sleep through it. In fact, he set three more alarms just to make sure. He couldn’t have you or his father barging into his room to wake him up when he had a pair of your stolen panties pinned to his corkboard in order to properly dry them so that he could sneak them back to you in good condition.

…

The next day, he departed for school by 6:45 with the stolen goods hidden away in his bag, ready to sneak them back into your room later that afternoon. He made it to the library ten whole minutes before seven, and you seemed shocked that he was not only on time - but early.

“Wow.” You said, having just gotten there yourself, spreading out your items at a table - including a tray with some coffees. “You know, Stiles, I am impressed.”

“You don’t have to act so - so shocked.” He replied, partially interrupted by a yawn.

You leaned over to get a pen from your bag, and Stiles’s eyes immediately went to your ass, unconsciously trying to spot panty lines through your dress and tights - wondering if you were even wearing underwear because he had stolen the ones you had intended for today.

Focus, Stiles. Focus.

“Well, if you weren’t here by seven sharp like I told you, I was gonna pour this in the garbage.” You told him, taking his coffee out of the paper tray and sliding it toward him.

“You don’t have to be so mean.” He chuckled, airy and light - very secretly annoyed with the way your ‘mean’ streak affected him sometimes. Why did he have to be turned on by you scolding him and punishing him? Why?

“Hey, if I’m not mean then you never get anything done.” You told him truthfully. “And you know how it works by now. Good boys get rewards and bad boys get spanked.” You told him, letting out a bright laugh - indicating that it was clearly meant to be a joke.

But instantly, it shook his mind with imagery of you bending him over the table, ripping his pants down and spanking him until he came untouched and cried for mercy, forcing him to agree that he would behave and listen to you. He became downright dizzy at the thought.

You meant it as a joke - he had to sharply remind himself. But the way you so casually called him a ‘good boy’, said that he was deserving of a ‘reward’ - it sent chills down his spine and already had his cock waking up. Too early. Bad rabbit hole.

If he was any sort of brave, he would have pushed it more and asked you what kind of ‘reward’ you had in mind. But he wasn’t, and he was too tired to analyze the potential consequences.

“Oh!” You said, as though suddenly remembering something. You moved to grab your bag again and Stiles closed his eyes to forcefully keep himself from staring at your ass. “You left this at my place last night.” You told him, sliding his English textbook across the table toward him.

He was too busy trying to calm his own lust that he missed the smirk on your face - the mischief lingering in your eyes, the intention in your tone. He was too caught up, drowning in his own affections for you that he never would have pieced together that you had taken in and hidden it on purpose as a ploy to get him to come back. That you had put out some other bait for him to find.

“Thanks.” He said quietly. “So - what do we need to go over before the test?”

“Everything.”

Stiles groaned.

...

Due to much pressure, not the sequel has been posted. I am fully of the belief that this fic is complete and perfect on its own, but if you would like to keep reading, click on the link below. I highly encourage you to leave a comment before you press on, though, and tell me what you enjoyed about this fic since you have gotten this far.

Happy reading!

Keeping Reading Here: Stupid For You - Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

#sundrop writes #stiles stilinski x reader #dylan o'brian x reader #dylan o'brien smut #stiles stilinksi smut #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles stilinski #stiles x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf x y/n #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf smut

2K notes · View notes

stllmnstr · 9 months ago

Text

sacred monsters: part one

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: academic rivals to lovers, vampire au, slow burn

part one word count: 19.3k

part one warnings: swearing, blood and all sorts of other vampire-y things, semi graphic descriptions/depictions of violence, I don't know anything about publishing and wrote about it anyway, not quite as much in this part, but I want to forewarn you that while there is still nothing explicit, we do get a little ~sexier~ than most stllmnstr fics

note/disclaimer: I have been itching to write an enha vampire fic for ages because hello? the material is RIGHT THERE!! this is a story I'm super excited about, and it's definitely gotten me out of my comfort zone. in order to help build this world, I did draw from some outside sources. primarily, a lot of the vampire lore and some plot elements are inspired by the dark moon webtoon series. I did also pull some things from twilight and other well-known vampire myths. lastly, there is a section with "poetry" in it. these "poems" are translated lyrics from still monster, chaconne, and lucifer by enhypen. some are in their original form and some I altered slightly. everything else is straight from yours truly! as always, happy reading ♡

soundtrack: still monster / moonstruck / lucifer - enhypen / everybody wants to rule the world - tears for fears / immortal - marina / supermassive black hole - muse / saturn - sleeping at last / everybody’s watching me (uh oh) - the neighbourhood

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

A literature student in your third year of university, you’ve been dreaming of having your writing published for as long as you can remember. With a perfect opportunity dangling at your fingertips, the only obstacle that stands in your way comes in the form of a ridiculously tall, stupidly handsome, and unfortunately, very talented writer by the name of Lee Heeseung. Unwilling to let your dream slip out of reach, you commit to being better than the aforementioned pain in your ass at absolutely everything.

But when a string of vampire attacks strikes close to your city for the first time in nearly two hundred years, publishing is suddenly the last thing on your mind. And, as you soon begin to discover, Heeseung may not quite be the person you thought he was.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

The last sip of your coffee tastes bitter on your tongue. Acidic, like it was left to brew too long. Or maybe not long enough. Your limited knowledge of coffee extends to its effects on your alertness and little else.

Taste has always been an afterthought, something of little consequence. Besides, some bitterness is to be expected when you take your coffee black.

Suppressing the small wince that always follows your final sip, you set the reusable thermos down on your desk. Next to your open notebook and favorite ballpoint pen, it settles in nicely with your other class essentials.

Call it poetic or romantic or unbearably pretentious, but you actually do prefer to take your notes by hand. Partly because it feels more fitting for a literature major and mostly because your laptop is on its last leg and between tuition and rent, you don’t exactly have the funds to shell out for a new one.

Frowning at the bitter taste that still lingers on your tongue, you feel another pang of regret for forgetting to pack your water bottle this morning. But no matter. Today is a day for optimism. The bitterness now only means that your imminent victory will taste that much sweeter in comparison.

Because today is the last day of the fall semester of your third year. Which means that this is the last morning you’ll be sitting here in this lecture hall in the minutes preceding 9 am.

Which means that today is the day of your professor’s long awaited announcement. You still remember the day, nearly four months ago, when he first told the entire room of undermotivated, overcaffeinated students about it.

A publishing opportunity. A real, actual publishing opportunity. Something most literature students would sell their soul for.

Because Professor Kim, while a rather mediocre professor who prefers to dish out criticism and bite back praise, has an excellent eye for great writing. So much so that nearly twenty years ago, he founded his very own publishing house.

Known by the name New Haven Publishing, it’s a small operation that deals mostly in short pieces that are marketed more for niche literary circles than mass public appeal. Being published by New Haven may not be a straight shot to the New York Times’ Best Sellers List, but it’s still professional publishing.

And a week into classes, he announced that for the first time ever, he would be choosing one of you to not only intern at New Haven the following semester, but also to publish an original piece of short fiction with them.

You’ve been fantasizing about it for months now. You can already imagine it. A piece of your very own, marketed and edited by professionals. Published and complete with Professor Kim’s stamp of approval.

It’s what you’ve been craving ever since you decided to switch paths and pursue literature studies at the end of your first semester. It’s everything you’re sure you need. Validation that your writing is good, that your words are worth reading.

Hell, maybe it will even earn you the approval of your parents.

And, perhaps most satisfying of all, you will have officially beaten Lee Heeseng once and for all. You don’t want to speak poorly of the rest of your classmates and their writing abilities, but this has always been a competition between you and him.

Or, at least, it has been for you.

It’s the last day of the semester, and honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if Heeseung still had a hard time remembering that the internship was even happening. Then again, you wouldn’t exactly be shocked if he couldn't remember your name, either.

And if you were hard pressed to choose only one thing, that would probably be what annoys you the most about him. Not the way his hair is alway somehow perfectly mussed. Not the way his writing is painfully beautiful and poetic that you swell green with envy just thinking about it.

No, the root cause of your infinite ire when it comes to Lee Heeseung is how damn aloof he is. Like his classmates and professors and even his greatest rival aren’t worth the effort of remembering.

And it’s not like it’s because he’s got some kind of crazy social life outside of academics. Other than mandatory discussion groups, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him so much as talk to anyone.

But that’s just the way he is, you suppose.

Perfect Heeseung with his perfect hair and his perfect writing and perfect attendance record doesn’t need anyone but himself—

Wait.

Perfect attendance record.

Glancing at the clock mounted high above the front door of the lecture hall, you can hardly believe what you’re seeing.

8:59.

There’s no way. There’s no fucking way that the universe is rooting for you this hard, that the stars are aligning this perfectly.

Despite your doubts, the second hand continues its onward march. You suppress the sudden urge to bounce your leg in a matching rhythm.

He has five seconds.

Four. Three. Two. One.

And it’s official. A ridiculous amount of pent up tension drains from your shoulders as your spine straightens. You can’t believe it was that easy.

A semester of agonizing over every word, every sentence, every assignment you handed in for this class. A semester of panicking over missed buses and waking up way too early just to make sure you always beat the clock.

But today is the day where everything comes to a head.

And Lee Heeseung is officially late.

Professor Kim, at the beginning of the semester, had only two pieces of advice to offer his students that were suddenly all gunning for a shot at being published:

One: “Don’t make me read awful writing.”

And two: “Don’t be late to class. I have zero tolerance for tardiness.”

Heeseung has just broken a cardinal rule. One row down, nine seats to the left from where you sit. It’s the place that would usually be filled with an annoyingly broad set of shoulders and distractingly sharp jawline. In fact, Heeseung usually beats you here most days. Not that you’re keeping track, of course. And not that it matters.

Because this morning, this fateful morning, that particular seat, his seat, is glaringly, gloriously empty.

Your eyes flicker over to it again without your permission. But you can’t help it. You’re so antsy now, teeming with self-satisfied excitement. It’s almost unbelievable actually. A golden stroke of luck that he chose today, of all days, to be late.

In fact, you think the more you stare at the empty seat, Lee Heeseung is such a reliable presence that the entire lecture hall suddenly seems a bit off kilter. Tilted too far in some precarious state of imbalance.

Your smugness is still there, yes, but now there’s also a heavy feeling beginning to settle at the bottom of your gut. Why on earth is Lee Heeseung late?

You’re so distracted by his absence, the endless loop of possibilities and explanations running through your mind, that you almost miss the second abnormality of the morning.

Because now the clock reads 9:04, and Heeseung isn’t the only one missing.

All at once, your attention is on the podium at the front of the lecture hall. It’s empty, too. And Professor Kim may be a hardass, but he’s no hypocrite. Never once throughout this entire semester has he ever begun a class even a millisecond late.

Frowning, you pull out your phone to confirm that the clock on the wall is not playing tricks on you. Maybe there was a power outage or something, and maintenance hasn’t had time to correct it yet.

But your phone screen lights up, and 9:05 is the time that stares back at you.

Glancing around, no one else seems too particularly bothered by this. There are a few titters, a few annoyed grumbles that sound like hypocrite and double standard where they reach your ears.

But still, the clock ticks forward.

The minute hand has fallen another two notches when the front door finally opens, Professor Kim striding in unhurried. Despite his lateness, his steps are steady, even. There’s nothing frantic or apologetic about the way he sets his briefcase down next to the podium, pulling out his laptop and a small stack of notes before clearing his throat.

As the students around you fall silent, class begins as it always does. Other than the time, nothing is out of the ordinary.

But your spirits are still high, and you figure you can cut your professor some slack. Maybe he ran into a bad bit of traffic or spilled coffee all over his shirt. Maybe he’s too embarrassed to draw more attention to his error and has decided that not acknowledging it at all is the best course of action.

Oh, well. It’s no use ruminating on it now. Settling back into your seat, you do your best to focus your attention on the front of the room and not that damn empty chair. But the distraction isn’t necessary for long.

The clock is just striking 9:12 when a second late arrival draws the eyes of the class to the front door of the lecture hall. Like your professor, Heeseung maintains a certain air of composedness as he makes his way towards his seat wordlessly.

There’s a moment, a fraction of a second, where Professor Kim pauses, letting a sentence drift into silence.

Twelve minutes late. It’s a rookie mistake. For a fleeting moment, you almost feel bad for him. Because surely Professor Kim is about to make an example of him. No one walks into his lectures late and leaves unscathed.

Wincing, you remember a handful of weeks ago when a poor girl that sits a few rows behind you arrived late. Not only had Professor Kim stopped the entire flow of his lecture to draw attention to her tardiness, he had also assigned her an extra short story for homework. One on the merits of punctuality.

But the ebb in the lecture begins to flow again, the moment passing as soon as it comes. Heeseung settles into his chair. Your professor resumes his sentence.

For the remainder of the class, you do your best to pay attention, but you’re having trouble finding a point. It’s not like he can assign homework or an exam or a discussion on the last day of the semester.

Like you, most of your peers are fully zoned out, just waiting for him to get to what everyone has been dying to know for months.

Who’s interning at New Haven? Who’s getting published?

But distractions in this class have never been hard to come by. More than once, you find your wandering gaze drifting to the back of Heeseung’s head. Usually, you’d be bitterly admiring how soft his hair looks. But today, there’s only one question that plays in your mind as you stare.

What on earth happened that made perfect Lee Heeseung late?

Your thoughts are only interrupted by the sudden shuffle of small movement around you as everyone sits up a bit straighter in their seats.

“Ah,” Professor Kim glances at the time. “That wraps up our semester, then. As promised, I would like to announce the student who will be interning with New Haven Publishing this upcoming semester. And, of course, the student that will have the opportunity to publish an original piece with us.”

He pauses for a moment, looking down at his notes. You wonder if the people sitting close to you can hear the way your heart pounds in your chest.

Please be me. Please be me. Please be me.

The rushing in your ears is so loud that you almost miss it. But not quite. Because the sound of your own name is something you’d recognize anywhere.

Because it was your name that he said. Not anyone else’s. Not Heeseung’s.

You. You did it.

You’re officially going to be interning with New Haven. You’re going to be published.

When he asks you to stay a minute after class to discuss the details, it’s all you can do to nod. Butterflies are still scattered in your stomach.

As the rest of the students begin to file out, you pack up your materials with hands that shake slightly. It doesn’t feel real. It feels too good to be true. You poured your everything into this all semester long, and now it’s actually happening.

Your mind is a mess, and an erratic movement almost sends your empty thermos flying. Luckily, you snap out of it long enough to catch it before it hits the ground. With everything packed back into your bag, you make your way down to the podium on slightly unsteady feet.

A handful of passing classmates congratulate you on their way out, and you smile in return.

You’ve almost made it to the front of the lecture hall when a body blocks your path. It takes a moment for your brain to register the identity of the offender. And once it does, it spits his name with venom. Heeseung.

Oblivious and self-centered as always, he nearly knocks you over. Rolling your eyes, you move to step around him. Apparently whatever gift he was given for writing doesn’t extend to his spatial awareness or consideration for others.

But as you lean to the left, he follows the movement, still in your path. Your gaze snaps up, eyebrows raised when you find him already looking at you.

Oh. So it’s not a spatial awareness problem, then. He’s in your way on purpose.

As always, his expression is infuriatingly blank. You can’t get any sort of read on him, and it unnerves you. Irritates you. Here he is, blocking your path, and the only thing he has to offer you is an empty, silent stare.

You could just say excuse me, force your way around him, and be done with it. You should. The semester is over, your professor’s decision is made, and you have no stake left in this game.

But you’ve been biting back snarky comments and masking irritated expressions with mild indifference for months. The nerve he has to block you. The utter gall of it all. To physically stand in your way when he’s been your metaphorical obstacle to success all semester.

When every time you look at him, you still remember that one sunny afternoon, early in the semester. The time you tried, actually tried to be his friend. When he waved you off like a buzzing fly that was nothing more than a nuisance.

You inhale, weighing your options. His head tilts slightly at the movement, and it’s your last straw.

There’s poison in your voice when you bite, “Oh, what? Now that I’ve proved myself, you can spare some time out of your day to talk to me?”

Heeseung’s eyes widen, lips parting slightly. It’s the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him, and he’s wasting it on shock. As if he can’t quite comprehend why the girl he’s been giving headaches for months might not want to stop and have a friendly chat with him. Not that you imagine he’d even be capable of that if you tried.

Already, you regret your comment. In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have said anything. You’d be just as detached and cold and aloof as he was on that day you hate to think about. You still remember it like it was yesterday. Without your permission, the memory floats front and center to your mind.

It was warmer, then. The last clutches of summer were still holding on tight. Sunlight was bright in the sky, and it felt like a good time to breach the barrier of your comfort zone.

Class had just ended. Usually, Heeseung was one of the first to leave. You had to pack up abnormally quickly just to catch him in the quad right outside the lecture hall.

But you did catch up to him.

And in a voice braver than you felt, you asked, “Hey, it’s Heeseung, right?”

You’d been brighter, then. Still full of an energy you haven’t been able to muster since midterms. Not yet burdened by the weight of assignments and rejection, your disposition was as sunny as the sky above.

Heeseung hadn’t bothered to dignify your question with an actual answer, but he had at least stopped walking, and that seemed like an invitation at the time. Now, with the power of hindsight, you wince. You should have spared yourself the regret.

You remember watching as he pulled out his earbuds, tucking them back into his pocket before turning his attention to you. Or at least half of it. Even then, you never felt like he was truly looking at you, hearing you. His mind always seemed off in the distance, preoccupied somewhere you could never quite reach.

You recall being nervous, heat in your cheeks as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes tracked the movement like a cat tracks a ray of sunlight. Lazily, intently. With an energy you weren’t quite sure what to do with.

Instead, you had stuttered, “I, uh, I wanted to tell you that I thought your analysis today was brilliant.” The worst part is that it really was a brilliant analysis. Although you’d never admit that today, and much less to his face.

Instead, you cringe just thinking about it. You should have taken his blank stare as a sign. You should have just let the one-sided conversation die there. With at least a little dignity and some of your pride left to spare.

But you hadn’t.

“I never thought about the use of sunlight as a metaphor for life. I mean, now that you’ve pointed it out, it seems kind of obvious.” The memory of your nervous giggles settle like rocks in your stomach. “Anyway, I feel like I’m rambling, but if you ever want to get together and look through assignments or review each other’s analyses, I’d love to—”

You’d heard his voice before, of course. In class discussions and presentations. But never this close. And never directed at you.

He kept it short, his interruption, his response to your shaky offer.

“I’m busy.”

And that was it. Two words. Two fucking words. And not even an explanation or an I’m sorry or a sheepish expression to go along with them.

With that, you’d watched, a bit helplessly, as he pulled his earbuds out of his pocket, put them back into his ears and turned away from you before you could realize just how thoroughly you’d been rejected.

With a sudden haze in the air and hope dying in your heart, your friendly smile slipped into confused dismay as you watched him track a steady path across the quad.

If your cheekbones felt warm before, you were sure they must have been aflame by then. After all, it was your body’s natural response to the crushing weight of the embarrassment and thoroughly bruised ego he’d left you there standing with.

Fine then, you’d resolved after walking as quickly as you could in the opposite direction, sending a prayer to the heavens that no one from your class had just witnessed the most mortifying interaction you’ve ever had. If Lee Heeseung wanted nothing to do with you, the feeling could be mutual.

In fact, it was probably for the best. You were vying for that internship and if the past class discussions were anything to go by, Heeseung would be your only real competition. If he was too busy for you, then you would just have to be too busy for him.

Too busy perfecting every assignment and acing every exam. Too busy drowning in dictionaries and thesauruses and reference materials to make sure everything you submitted was perfect — no, scratch that — better than perfect.

Too busy to attempt another conversation or interaction or do anything but nod along politely whenever he did make an unfortunately great point in class.

So, no. Heeseung doesn’t get to dictate your time or attention or conversation now that you’ve actually been awarded with a publishing opportunity, now that all of your efforts and dedication and late nights have paid off.

If Lee Heeseung wants a bit of your attention on today of all days, at this moment of all moments, then you’re just going to have to be too busy to entertain him.

Standing in front of you, still blocking your path to the podium, Heeseung has the nerve to look confused. As if you have no reason to give him the cold shoulder. As if you’re the one being unreasonable here.

His brow furrows further. “What?” It’s the third word he’s ever spoken directly to you. It makes your blood boil. “No, I…” he trails off. You can practically see the gears running in his mind, like this wasn’t the conversation he expected to be having. Like he has no idea how to navigate it now. “I was just going to say that you should maybe reconsider.”

Your voice is ice when you ask, “Reconsider what?”

“Well…” He’s treading in dangerous territory, and he seems to realize it too. “The internship,” he clarifies, and it’s the second most insulting thing he’s ever said to your face.

You screw your eyes shut. Cold and detached. Blank and aloof. All the things you should be. But you’ve always run a little hot. And end of the semester exhaustion finds you more willing to throw caution to the wind.

“You have got to be fucking with me.” Eyes reopening, you’re met with that same expression of mild shock. Brows raised, lips parted. And god, he even looks good like that. “Yeah, right. Let me guess, so you can do the internship and publish a piece of your own? If all you came over to do is insult me, then save your breath.”

“What?” He still looks so damn confused. “No, I—”

You don’t want to hear it. “I have nothing to say to you.” If he won’t get out of your way, you’ll just have to go through him. The shoulder check is maybe slightly more intense than it needs to be as you shove your way past him. He barely stumbles back an inch. It makes you want to rip your hair out. “Besides,” you add, not bothering to turn back to look at him. “I’m busy.”

It’s a dig at him, yes, but it’s also true. You are. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, and Lee Heeseung is not about to ruin it for you.

To your unending gratitude, he doesn’t try to intercept you again. Your path to the front of the lecture hall is clear, and Professor Kim is just tucking his laptop back into his briefcase when you reach the podium.

Ultimately, it’s a watered down version of the million times you’ve imagined this moment in your head. Even coming on the tail end of the most annoying interaction you’ve had in months. Professor Kim congratulates you again, and hands you a printed schedule of when you’ll be expected at the publishing office for the first time.

There are also submission dates. Deadlines for you to submit drafts of the piece that you’ll be publishing. You take it all in with a beam and enthusiastic nods, mishap with Heeseung from minutes ago all but forgotten.

That is, until Professor Kim’s gaze lands somewhere over your shoulder after he tells you he’ll also send you a follow-up email with all the information you need.

You watch as his expression shifts, something uneasy, distrustful entering his gaze as he looks beyond you. “Something I can help you with, Mr. Lee?”

Following his gaze, you turn to look behind you. The lecture hall is empty, students cleared out from the class that dismissed nearly five minutes ago. All except for one, that is.

Gone is the shock from Heeseung’s delicately sharp features. Instead, he wears his mask of indifference again, betraying no emotion. You must be imagining the way it looks almost strained this time, as if he’s forcing his expression into neutrality instead of it there of its own accord.

Wordlessly, his gaze shifts to you.

And now it’s your turn to be confused, but you won’t let it last long. At least not outwardly. You’re quick to match his gaze with nothing but pure ire, venom dripping seeping from every inch of your glare.

Is he seriously still trying to ruin this for you? So much for being busy.

“No, sir.” Heeseung shakes his head. He’s addressing your professor, but he’s still looking at you. A muscle ticks in his jaw, betrays a hint of tension. “I was just on my way out.”

True to his word, he begins a steady descent towards the front door.

Your professor clears his throat, turns his attention back to you, resuming the wrap-up of your conversation.

You’re extra grateful for that follow-up email now, given the way movement in your periphery distracts you from Professor Kim’s last few statements. Instead, your focus hones in on the even footsteps that carry Heeseung to the door, allow him to slip through it silently.

It must be a trick of the light, must be a figment of your overworked, over irritated imagination. But you swear you see him linger there, just on the other side of the small glass window carved into the door.

Professor Kim says his parting words, and you thank him one final time. If there’s an unnatural quickness in your footsteps as you turn to leave, you tell yourself that it’s because you’re excited to get started on your draft, not because you have the sneaking suspicion Heeseung is still standing just on the other side of the door.

But you swear that’s his silhouette you see as you draw closer, shrouded in shadows but distinct all the same. You’re debating the merits of shouting at him or maybe accidentally shoulder checking him again as you pull open the door handle, a little more roughly than you intend.

But the only thing that greets you on the other side of the door is a nearly empty hallway, save for the pair of students bent over a laptop a few paces away. You ignore their twin expressions of shock as you let the door fall closed behind you, much more calmly than you opened it.

…..

The blank expanse of your notebook stares at you accusingly.

You’d stare back, if that would somehow make words appear on the page. Sighing, you reach for your long forgotten cup of tea sitting on your desk. Taking a slow sip, you realize it’s gone cold.

That just makes you double down on your frustration. How long have you been sitting here, waiting for inspiration to strike?

People always talk about the merits of a change in scenery, but ever since you started your first semester of university three years ago, your favorite place to write has always been here, at the small, simple desk that sits in the corner of your bedroom.

Back then, writing was a hobby. Something to do when the last of your biochemistry homework was finished. A way to release pent-up stress and tension from long days in the university lab and long hours feeling like you were drowning between all of the extra study sessions, TA workshops, and office hours.

At first, it had been worth it. You maintained high grades and high spirits. Mostly because of the small sprinkles of support your parents showered you with.

Every little You got this! that lit up your phone screen on dreary afternoons and We believe in you! that made your evening lectures a little more bearable felt like tokens of your parents’ affection. Something tangible to show for the care they held for you.

Most of all, you cherished the We’re proud of you messages. You can’t remember the last time you received one.

And it’s not like they were mad, exactly, when you told them you wanted to change majors. They did their best to be supportive in the ways that they knew how.

For your father, that was concern. “Are you sure? Literature? What do the job prospects after graduation look like?”

And for your mother, that was letting you know that she thought you were capable of more. Of better. “It’s not that literature is bad, sweetie. It’s just… Well, you’ve always been such a smart girl…”

You get it; you really do. All the questions and prodding comments that felt like criticism were wrapped in nothing but love. But that didn’t do much to soften the sting.

In the end, it was this desk that made you follow through with your change in major. Slumped in your hand-me-down chair late one Friday night, half finished lab report sitting untouched in your bag, the threat of tears burning at the corners of your eyes, all you wanted to do was write.

To put into words the feelings and emotions and fantasies and frustrations that you could never seem to express otherwise. To commit a piece of your soul to paper and wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was someone else out there who would read it and find a sense of solidarity, of common ground.

You submitted your official change request the next morning. You never regretted it once.

But your parents still make comments, still share their concerns. And for the last three years, you haven’t had anything to show for it except for empty promises. But now, you have something. A real something.

Publishing a story of your own is the exact validation that you need that your choice was the right one. And it’s the proof you need to assuage your parents’ fears, to show them that pursuing literature was the right call. That you can carve out a life for yourself with it.

You’ve fantasized about this for years. For the chance to have your voice heard, your words read. There are a million half-baked thoughts and partially written drafts scattered in your notebooks and digital documents and on the corners of takeout napkins that have been lying in wait for a moment just like this.

But no matter how hard you stare at the page in front of you, the words just won’t come. The more old drafts you scour, the more amateur your writing feels. The more you feel like maybe Heeseung should have won the internship over you.

It’s a miserable cycle your brain works itself into. The less you write, the more you criticize, the more you wonder.

What if he hadn’t been late that morning? What if Professor Kim was hoping to choose him instead? What if the reason he didn’t say anything when Heeseung finally arrived in class was because he was so disappointed that his first choice wasn’t an option anymore?

Groaning out loud to an empty room, your head falls on your desk with a muted thud.

It’s there, facedown on your desk, where an idea strikes you. If you can’t manifest a draft out of thin air, maybe you just need some parameters. A general guide to get the creative juices flowing.

Lifting your head back up, you push your notebook to the side and reach for your laptop. Opening a web browser, you navigate to New Haven Publishing House’s homepage.

It’s a simple website, reflective of its simple namesake. Chin in one hand, you click the link that reads Recently Published.

The list that pops up is modest. Unlike a larger, more corporate publishing house, your professor’s self-made enterprise is churning out new releases at a slower rate and smaller volume.

Perusing the titles and descriptions, you note that the vast majority of the works are short form fiction. There are very few full length novels. The majority is made up of essay and poetry collections, short stories, and memoirs.

Scanning the list again, a title close to the top catches your eye.

The Thirst for Revenge: An Analysis of Contemporary Vampire Activity. It was published less than a month ago.

Your cursor hovers over the link, brow furrowing. It strikes you as odd that something so… archaic would be published so recently.

Professor Kim has always come across as a discerning man. Someone that prides himself on his well curated taste.

But vampires… that’s hardly a headline worthy topic these days.

While most people still practice caution walking down dark alleyways at night and some even go so far as to carry charms infused with garlic cloves, monsters of the night are by and large a thing of the past.

The entire species of bloodthirsty, ravaging immortals were hunted to near extinction almost two hundred years ago. Those that survived relocated to remote areas. Some adapted to life in the countryside by learning to enjoy the taste of animal blood. Others found humans willing to donate small portions of their own blood intermittently. You won’t pretend to understand, but you suppose it’s preferable to the alternative.

Some still hunted in the traditional way, of course, but vampire attacks on humans are few are far between these days. After all, vampires, as a means of survival, have all but forsaken major urban areas. Population density spells demise for their species.

You’d have to confirm through research, but if you remember correctly, the last recorded vampire-related death in your city was nearly two hundred years ago.

Without bothering to click on the link, you continue scrolling down. Honestly, it was probably just a fluke. After all, who knows? Maybe there’s some niche circle out there that enjoys analyzing vampire literature, regardless of how outdated it is.

The next title seems a bit more promising. Shadowless Nights. The brief description marks it as a short story published half a year ago.

You click on it, take a sip of room temperature tea while the page loads.

Night was my favorite time of day, the first line reads.

I loved the stillness of it all, the all encompassing serenity. With the moon in the sky and stars in my eyes, every moment felt like a secret between me and the universe. Something we alone shared.

I whispered secrets to the earth and held hers in return. My days felt like dreams. Distant, blurry, faded. It was only then, in the distinct stillness of midnight, that I truly came alive.

Interesting, you think. It’s a bit more melodramatic than you expected, but maybe your professor prefers a poetic touch.

In the night, I earned peace. And in the night, I learned fear.

It came slowly at first, that sinking feeling of dread. The horrible suspicion that made the hair on the back of my neck feel sharp, the air in my throat feel shallow.

But if I have learned anything of monsters, it is that they revel in that fear. That sickeningly overt reminder of mortality, of humanity. The way I couldn’t help the racing of my pulse, the darting of my eyes.

He enjoyed it, toying with me from the shadows. Watching me become desperate, watching me become weak.

But it paled in comparison, I’m sure, with what came next. Every story has its climax, and every beginning has its end. For him, it was the sweet, clean taste of my blood.

Wait. Another vampire story? One was strange enough, but for the last two published works at New Haven to be vampire related doesn’t feel like a coincidence. Especially since the more you read, the more you realize it’s not as much of a story as it is thinly veiled anti-vampire rhetoric.

The dramatized descriptions of a weak, innocent female lead being victimized by a faceless, bloodthirsty monster. It just feels… strange. Outdated. Irrelevant, even.

Clicking back to the list, you scan over the next five entries. All of them are more or less the same. Some are more metaphorical than others, abstract in their rhetoric, but the topic is always the same. And the conclusion always affirms the immense, inevitable, irredeemable blight that vampirism is to the world.

It’s just bizarre. Especially considering that Professor Kim never once had you analyze any anti-vampire propaganda throughout the entire semester. In fact, you were never assigned to read anything vampire related at all.

If this type of literature is so central to his professional career, it doesn't make sense to you that he wouldn’t incorporate it into his class. Especially considering the fact that he was awarding an internship at New Haven to one of the students.

You take another long sip of cold tea. Well… you could try to come up with something that aligns with the current profile of New Haven’s recently published works. It’s not like you’ve ever written anything related to vampires. Maybe you just need to think of it as a writing exercise, a challenge of sorts. Producing a piece that feels relevant and fresh even if the central topic is a bit out of style.

According to the revision schedule Professor Kim gave you, your first draft issue in a week and a half. The same day that you’re set to go to New Haven for the first time and tour the office you’ll be interning at once winter break is over. It’s an ambitious timeline, but he did specify that he’s looking more for a solid concept than a well polished draft. But something in you wants to have more than just a concept. You want his approval, to impress him.

So you have a week and a half to come up with a draft that will catch his attention, that will convince him that you were the right choice for this opportunity. Not anyone else in your class. Not Heeseung. You.

A concept that will excite New Haven Publishing House’s usual reader base, that will maybe actually earn you some commercial success.

A story that will prove to your parents that literature was the right choice for you. That your words do matter, that you can make a name for yourself with your writing.

Well, you think, suppressing an internal groan, it looks like you have your work cut out for you.

…..

Despite your admitted lack of vampiric knowledge, once you have your topic, the words start to flow. You’re not sure if it’s your best work. You’re not even sure if it’s good. But it feels a hell of a lot better than staring at a blank page for hours.

This afternoon finds you in the corner of your favorite coffee shop. Mostly because they offer half priced lattes on Wednesdays. As you make a dent in yours, the pen in your other hand continues to fly over the pages of your notebook, occasionally stopping to scratch out a word or rewrite a sentence.

The bare bones are there. Just like in the handful of stories you perused on New Haven’s website, your plot features a young woman. It’s a historic setting, mostly because you still can’t quite bring yourself to write vampires into the modern day when the reality is so starkly different.

And it’s not a vampire story. At least not at first glance. Instead, you weave an enduring metaphor to symbolize a parasitic relationship between two lovers.

The woman in your draft is young, full of life and energy and optimism. And she dreams. Vivid, brilliant dreams that she clings to in order to escape the harshness of her reality as a lower class woman in the countryside.

Her husband, however, is a brute. Older than her and with a decidedly less sunny disposition. When he learns that his health is failing, he discovers that he can heal himself temporarily by stealing these dreams from her.

So, no. It’s not overtly about vampires. But it does fall into step with some of the more abstract anti-vampire tropes you came across in your preliminary research.

Crossing a dark line through the word you just penned, you sigh.

This is the fastest you’ve put a story together in ages. It’s cohesive, and the writing is solid. Your use of metaphor is strong and concise, and the prose feels true to your identity as a writer.

But something in you withers a bit with every new word you commit to paper. It’s not that you hate your topic. If anything, it’s just that you have no stake in it at all. It doesn't feel innovative or exciting or representative of your creativity.

No matter how easily the words flow out of you, something about it just feels… flat. One dimensional.

You need something new. A different angle or an alternative perspective or… Or a fresh set of eyes.

Struck with a sudden idea, you pull out your phone, plan taking form in your mind. The literature club at your university hosts bimonthly peer review sessions, and you haven’t taken advantage of them nearly as much as you should. They’re a chance for any writer, literature major or otherwise, to come together and workshop any piece of writing of their choice.

Tapping your finger impatiently on the table, you wait for the page to load. The fall semester did end almost a week ago, so it may be a long shot. You’re not sure if the club typically holds sessions over winter break. But as you pull up the club’s calendar of events, a small smile tugs at your lips.

Luck seems to be on your side this time. It’s written there in plain, bold font that there will be a session this upcoming Friday evening. That means that if you attend the session and get some solid ideas for revision, you’ll have exactly five days to refine your draft before you present it to Professor Kim.

The idea of having not only a topic, as the schedule outlined, but an actual complete, well-written draft to show him next Wednesday, turns your small smile into one that overtakes your features.

Energized with a new vigor, you reach for your pen again. It doesn’t have to be perfect, you remind yourself, even as a turn of phrase makes you cringe. Even as a piece of punctuation feels out of place. It just needs to be written. You just need to have as much content as you can to share on Friday.

Besides, you’re sure that a second opinion will help you fine tune this story into something you’re proud to share, something you’re excited to attach your name to.

The afternoon is quick to blur into early evening, and you’re still bent over your favorite corner table. Coffee long drained, you’re full of a new confidence. The thought of proving yourself suddenly doesn’t seem like such an unachievable, out of reach task.

And when you do finally gather up all of your belongings and make your way back to your apartment for the night, you’re sure that this is the exact boost you needed.

That same stroke of self-assuredness carries you all the way through a finished first draft. It’s rough and messy and littered with loose ends, but it’s tucked away in the bottom of your tote bag with a smile as you haul it to classroom number 105 in the university liberal arts building Friday evening.

You pause at the door to the classroom, only for a moment. The inhale you breathe in is deep, full. Nodding to yourself once, you push open the door.

You haven’t been to one of these workshop sessions since the second semester of your first year, back when you had just switched to a literature major. You remember being wide-eyed and incredibly protective over your work. It was hard to part with it, to let anyone else read over the sentences you were so unsure of. The writing you had little confidence in.

But your partner had been kind. Another girl in her first year, she had nothing but gentle feedback to give and reassurance that your writing was worth reading. Honestly, it was such an overwhelmingly positive experience that you would have come back for more sessions if you weren’t constantly struggling to find minutes to spare in the day.

You’re hoping that tonight will be just as rewarding as you enter the classroom, tote bag in tow. But as you survey the space around you, your face falls flat, easy going smile dropping from your lips.

You weren’t expecting a big crowd, considering that it is winter break and most students are deliberately avoiding campus right now, but you were hoping there’d be more than one other person in attendance.

Well, you think, deciding to look on the bright side of things. At least you’re not the only person.

The other attendee is sitting in the far corner of the room, occupying a desk near the front of the classroom. At the sound of your entrance, they turn to face you.

With that, your small disappointment is quick to snowball into an intense wave of exasperation. Because why is the universe so hellbent on playing games with you?

Your mouth drops open without your permission. “Heeseung?”

Your sudden outburst fills the room and lingers long into the awkward silence that follows. You hadn’t meant to say anything, but really, what are the god forsaken odds?

If he’s bothered by your reaction to seeing him, Heeseung doesn’t show it. Instead he looks strangely… relieved. It makes absolutely no sense for him to feel any sort of relief at the sight of you, but it’s hard to put a more apt descriptor to the way tension drains from his shoulders, crease between his brows softening as he looks at you, scans you from head to toe.

A moment of stilted silence passes between the two of you. Another. Your heartbeat feels too loud in your chest.

You exhale, a cross between a scoff and a laugh so humorless it could freeze a flame. Weighing your options, the most tempting by far is to just turn on your heel and exit the way you came.

Heeseung seems to read your intention before you can commit to it.

Breaking the heaviness in the atmosphere, he acts as if you’ve greeted him like an old friend, not as the source of all your recent headaches.

“Hi,” he nods, so tentatively you almost want to let your jaw drop open in shock. Almost.

Because what the fuck does he mean by ‘Hi?’ This has to be some kind of mind game, some way to get in your head and ruin this for you.

“Right.” Your lips pull into a tight line. You don’t bother to return his greeting. “I’m just gonna go, then.” Hiking up your bag on your shoulder, you turn to do just that. Your first draft will just have to be unpolished. Oh, well. You’re sure Professor Kim will have better feedback for you than Lee Heeseung ever would anyway.

Once again, Heeseung’s voice cuts across the classroom. “Wait.” There’s a command in his voice. Gentle, but firm. Insistent. So pervasive that you find yourself following without really meaning to.

Mind made up and dead set on leaving, now you’re just annoyed. What a waste of a Friday evening.

“What?” You turn back to him. You’re not sure if there’s more venom in your voice or your eyes.

And Heeseung, who commands a classroom with quiet grace, with his steady, unwavering presence, suddenly looks so damn unsure. As if tormenting you is uncharted territory. As if he’s never once left you in the cold with flaming cheeks and a thoroughly shattered ego.

“I…” he trails off, not quite meeting your furious gaze. “Didn’t you come here to get feedback?”

“Right.” You scoff again. “Because I’m sure you’d love nothing more than to tear my writing to shreds. Forgive me, but I’m not interested in being the butt end of your joke tonight.”

“What?” If you didn’t know any better, the ignorance he feigns would be rather convincing. “That’s not why I’m here.” He shakes his head. “I brought something I want reviewed too.”

Your brow arches. He can’t be serious. “Even if I did stay,” you counter, “you’re actually the last person I would want to read my work. Feel free to be offended by that, by the way.”

For a solid minute, Heeseung just looks at you. He wears that same damn deer-in-the-headlights expression he had after you brushed him off when he intercepted you in class the other day. He pauses, weighing words on his tongue. “Look, ____.” The sound of your name on his lips strikes a strange chord in you. Until now, you were certain he didn’t even know it. “Did I do something to offend—”

And no. Absolutely not. No way are you rehashing that day in the quad with him now.

“You know what,” you interrupt. You need to go. Now. You need an out. “I’m actually, like, super tired. I think I’m just gonna head back, and—”

But then it’s his turn to cut off your train of thought. “It’s your piece for Professor Kim, isn’t it?” Heeseung takes your silence as confirmation. “Publishing is a big deal. A second set of eyes will only make your work stronger. And if you hate my feedback, it’s not like you have to use any of it.”

You hate it. You despise the way his reasoning matches your internal monologue nearly word for word. The way your thoughts align exactly.

You pause, a decision weighing heavy on your mind. He is an excellent writer… There would probably be substance to his feedback. Real, actual, good substance that you could use to make your writing bloom into something truly amazing. He could be the exact spark you need to make your story come to life.

You purse your lips. “What’s in it for you?”

Heeseung smiles, a nearly imperceptible quirk of his lips. He knows he’s won. “Like I said, I brought something I’ve been working on.” There’s an intention you can’t quite read behind his gaze when he adds, “I want to know what you think of it.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

With a grumble, you take reluctant steps towards where he sits on the opposite side of the classroom. And if you slide down into the seat next to him with a little more force than necessary, well, it’s just because you’ve had a long week. No other reason. None at all.

“Fine,” you relent, reaching to pull your notebook out of your bag. “You get twenty minutes.”

“That’s not nearly long eno—”

“Thirty,” you concede. “And don’t push it.”

Sensing your disdain, Heeseung doesn’t respond. Instead, he accepts the notebook you reluctantly hand him with an outstretched hand and an open palm. The transfer between the two of you is gentle. You have the distinct sense that he’ll treat your work with care, in more than one way.

Still, something in your heart seizes at the thought of letting your work be read. Of letting him be the one to read it.

In return, he offers you a notebook of his own. Bound in brown, aged leather, it’s certainly much more refined than yours. Of course.

He hands it to you still closed. Staring down at the cover, you ask, “What page?” It feels intrusive to start flipping through his writing uninvited.

“There’s a bookmark.” Heeseung nods his chin towards the small piece of paper sticking out of the top edge that you missed at first glance.

And then the transfer is complete. A piece of your heart is spread open on his desk, and a piece of his soul is in your hands.

Ignoring the way your fingers tremble with a slight shake, you delicately open his notebook to the bookmarked page, letting it fall open on the desk in front of you.

At first glance, the writing strikes you as odd. The paragraphs are strange lengths, ending at random junctures instead of extending all the way to the margins. And then it hits you. They’re not paragraphs. They’re stanzas.

Poetry. Lee Heeseung writes poetry.

You sneak a sidelong glance at him out of your periphery. He’s already engrossed in the pages of your notebook, pausing occasionally to jot a note down on a scrap piece of paper. His brow is furrowed, and there’s a tension in his jawline that only makes it sharper.

Still, the image of his profile is shrouded in a distinct sort of softness. The kind of effortless beauty that feels like it should be reserved for intimate moments in the dead of night, secrets passed between lovers. It’s wasted under the fluorescent lights and patchy, beige walls of an underfunded classroom, but you waste another minute staring at him all the same.

For a fleeting moment, it’s not hard to imagine those hands, those long, delicate fingers maintaining an even grip on a ballpoint pen to write something as romantic as poetry.

Shaking your head, you clear the errant thoughts. Instead, you turn your focus back to the page in front of you and begin with the first poem. Forcing your eyes to focus, you read.

As if nothing happened,

She looks at me

With shadowless eyes.

But it is me who has been

Forgiven and reborn countless times.

You inhale. Exhale. Short and succinct with a distinct twinge of tragedy. That was… not what you were expecting. Pushing forward, you move onto the next entry.

Even the stars in the universe

Will close their eyes one day.

Underneath their watchful gaze,

All of these moments are precious.

For memory, for regret,

I will carve them

Into the repetition of the moment.

Again, you pause, taking a moment to breathe. It’s so… melancholy, so poignant in its evocation of pain, of regret. While you’ve been familiar with Heeseung’s ability to analyze the hell out of a novella, this was not something you thought you’d find in his repertoire. And the more you read on, the more you realize these aren’t flukes. This is his identity as a writer, or at least a significant part of it.

The world that abandoned us

Slowly turns to ash.

But I don’t feel the pain.

I only feel the cold.

My god. You nearly close the notebook on instinct. Without your permission, your eyes flick ove to the desk next to you. The broad set of shoulders that fill the seat. What has this boy been through? Why is he letting you read this?

Heeseung looks up. Not at you, but the movement is enough to startle you out of your staring. Returning your eyes to his notebook, you read the last entry on the page.

A shaded castle with no sun

The thick scent of dying roses never fades.

In a broken mirror, I see myself.

And my reflection whispers, “Monster.”

The breath you release is long. Audible. You’re overcome with the urge to run your fingers over his words, to feel the indents his pen made as he carved pain into the page. His writing is gorgeous. It’s beautifully, tragically haunting. Of that much, you’re certain. But you have no idea what to do with that information.

His words feel too raw, too terribly intimate. Like something that was never meant for your eyes. You can’t understand what on earth possibly possessed him to let — no — to encourage you to read these.

You can’t fathom any kind of feedback you could offer him. These feel like pieces of his soul, not something to be commodified or commented on in a writing workshop. Discussed in the cold, unfeeling walls of an old classroom.

Despite the discomfort that lingers with each passing stanza, his writing has an almost addictive quality. Over and over, you find yourself rereading each brief poem. You’re searching for meaning, for clarity, for something hidden between the lines that you missed on your first handful of reads.

Thirty minutes pass in a trance, and Heeseung, true to his word, is the one to break the silence when your half hour is up.

Mind still reeling, you realize with a sinking feeling that you have absolutely no feedback to give him at all.

Instead, you turn to face him. Throwing a meaningful glance at where your notebook still lies open on the desk in front of him. Doing your best to not look too hopeful, you ask, “Well?”

For a moment, Heeseung just looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. Tension pulls at his temple, his jaw. Frustration seeps from beneath his skin, and you can’t tell where it’s directed.

“Oh, come on,” you prod when his silence extends even longer. “I know you’re dying to spill the gory details of how grossly incompetent I am and how horrifically amateur my writing is, so don’t—”

Heeseung wastes no fanfare. “This is awful.”

Your lips flatten. “Or just cut right to the chase.”

He’s quick to clarify. “But not for any of the reasons you just listed. I mean, sure, there are some craft issues here, but even those seem like a result of your concept.”

“What’s wrong with my concept?” The edge of defensiveness in your voice escapes without your permission.

Heeseung just levels you with a look. Returning his gaze to your notebook, he reads from your draft verbatim, “...Stashing away the light from her life. Tucking it into his back pocket like extra change just for the satisfaction of temporary happiness. It was never love that bound him to her, but the promise of a never ending fountain of life. Of wishes and thoughts and hopes and dreams that he could use to sustain himself as long as he subjected himself to the numbing pleasure of existing at her side.”

He raises an eyebrow, turns back to you. “I mean, really, ____? I’ve read some nauseatingly vitriolic vampire pieces in my life, and this just about has all of them beat. Besides, the whole vampire thing just feels so… irrelevant. Do people still read this stuff anymore?”

Your first instinct is to defend yourself, your work, even if his thoughts mirror your own. Before you can, Heeseung is pressing on. You don’t have the space to get a word in sideways. “I mean, what happened to the writing from that piece you presented back in September? I don’t remember all the details, but there was something about watching birds land on water and connecting it to the feeling of belonging but never truly fitting in.” He looks at you again. There’s more emotion, more glittering life in his eyes than you’ve ever seen from him before. “That was a fresh take and a well done metaphor.”

Your mind is reeling. It’s far too much information to take in all at once. But something stands out amongst the rest. Because that almost sounded like—

“Was that a compliment?” It seems unlikely, but you can’t find another way to take his words. “You paid attention to my presentation?”

You liked it? You don’t ask that question out loud, but the needier parts of you crave his answer anyway.

“Yeah, of course I did. Peer review was a mandatory component of the course.” Heeseung’s cheekbones remain the same, even, honey-tinted tone, but you swear you see a flash of embarrassment in the way he averts his gaze.

“Well, yeah.” It’s not a justification that holds much weight in your mind. “But you don’t exactly seem like the type to really pay attention to other people’s stuff. Especially if you think it’s not worth your time.”

“I just told you your presentation was good, didn’t I?”

You arch a brow. “Yeah, right after you finished calling my draft horrific.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “I didn’t say it was horrific…”

“Oh, please. Spare us both the semantics. That’s what you meant.” You’re not sure why your mind always goes back to that day in the quad, but you find yourself still sore from his rejection, his new assertion of your work poking at old wounds. Picking at poorly healed scabs. “And it’s not like you were jumping for joy at the chance to review my work back then, either.”

Heeseung’s brow furrows. You can practically see the gears turning in his mind. You’re not sure if it makes you feel better or worse, the fact that he doesn’t seem to remember that day at all.

In the end, you decide to spare him the effort of empty recollection. With a sigh, you spill your shame. At least this time around, you’re the only two that will bear witness. “That one day in class. Back at the beginning of the semester. We had to present our analysis of that one short story. You remember, the one about planting seeds in bad soil.” Heeseung nods, but there’s no spark of realization. Not yet.

Continuing, it only pains you slightly to admit, “Your analysis was brilliant, and I gushed about it in front of the whole class. Laid it on thick with the compliments. And then after class, I stopped you in the quad.” Something flickers over Heeseung’s features. A memory tugging at the back of his mind. “When I asked if you wanted to review each other’s pieces for the next assignment, you completely brushed me off.”

Brow still pulled downwards, Heeseung is thinking back to that day, too. But it doesn't seem to hold the same awful, leaden weight in his mind. “I didn’t brush you off,” he argues. “I think I said I was busy.”

It takes a lot of willpower not to let your jaw drop open. “That’s brushing someone off!” Your voice is too loud for the near empty classroom, for your close proximity. “Like literally the textbook definition. Everyone knows that ‘I’m busy’ is code for ‘leave me the hell alone.’”

Almost imperceptibly, Heeseung’s features soften as he watches yours strain. The fluorescent light bulbs that fill the room suddenly don’t seem quite as harsh when he says, “Well, that's not what I meant. I was busy.”

It’s hardly a satisfying answer. But you suppose it makes little difference. If he wants to stick to his story, you’ll continue to feign indifference. “Whatever. It’s not like it matters now anyway.”

And then your mind is back on his poems. His beautiful, tragic, gorgeously phrased stanzas scribbled in his handwriting. Fragments of vulnerability that he handed to you without hesitation.

It’s like comparing apples to oranges in a way, but there is no doubt in your mind that between the two of you, the writing he brought tonight is better. Better than your story, better than most things you’ve ever written, probably. The imagery is evocative, striking in a way you’ve never quite been able to achieve no matter how many seminars and workshops and lectures you attend.

Not for the first time, your brain dangles a dangerous thought in a place where you can’t avoid it. What if Professor Kim chose wrong? What if Heeseung hadn’t been late to class that day? Would you be sitting here with a mediocre draft and a raging inferiority complex?

You’ll never know, not really, but you find yourself asking anyway, “Why were you late to class that day?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you wish you could take them back. It’s not like his answer will change anything. And it’s invasive. Far too personal to ask someone you barely know. That up until thirty minutes ago, you actively avoided.

But maybe the universe is on your side for once. Maybe you got ridiculously lucky and he didn’t hear you, despite the fact that it’s dead silent in this classroom. Maybe—

“What?”

Or not.

Well, you’re committed now. “The last day of class. When the winner for the publishing opportunity was announced,” you clarify. “You were late. Honestly,” you add with a wry smile, “you’d probably be the one writing overdramatic vampire slander right now if you hadn’t been.”

It’s a self-deprecating joke. It might land poorly, but you’re hoping it will lighten the atmosphere.

A dark shadow crosses Heeseung’s features. “Trust me, ___. You winning had nothing to do with me being late that day.”

If he thinks flattery will get him anywhere, he’s wrong. You can feel your frustrations bubbling in your throat, clawing at your mind. You won. You beat him. So why doesn’t it feel like it? Why doesn’t it feel like anything you do is ever good enough?

“C’mon, Heeseung.” He doesn’t deserve your anger. At least, not now. But he gets it anyway. Insecurities and inferiority and frustration all wrapped in rage. “You were practically a shoe-in, and everyone knows it.”

He’s just as insistent. Leaning towards you slightly, he looks anything but aloof now. “No I wasn’t. Professor Kim chose you to intern with him. He read both of our submissions all semester and chose you to publish with his firm. I told you, your writing is good. Really good.” Glancing down at your notebook, he adds, “Even if this one is a bit… uninspired.”

A compliment and a slight. His version of the truth, wrapped up in a bow and delivered right to your waiting ears. You don’t know whether to be furious or overjoyed. Maybe it would be best to feel absolutely nothing at all. It scares you, just how much weight his opinion holds.

But approval from him has its way of feeling like a long sought victory, and now the air feels fraught with something delicate, fragile. Precarious, even.

It’s early evening in a threadbare classroom. The most neutral territory imaginable. But it’s the two of you, alone, secluded. And suddenly, that frightens you.

“Right.” You won’t tell him ‘thank you’ for the compliment or ‘go fuck yourself’ for the criticism. Both options feel like you would be revealing too much.

Instead, you take a glance at the clock. It’s not late, but it’s an excuse. “I should probably get going.”

Heeseung exhales. Leans back in his seat. “Of course,” he concedes easily, reaching to hand you your notebook.

You do the same with his, almost sad to watch his poetry pass from your hands to his. It’s odd, the way his words already feel like something you’ll miss.

You realize then that he hasn’t asked you for your opinion on his work. For your advice on how to make it better. In all honesty, you’re relieved. You haven’t the slightest idea what you would say.

So instead, you busy yourself with repacking your tote bag. In your haste, you knock your pen off of your desk. The sound it makes as it strikes the thinning carpet can’t be loud, but it feels thunderous in your ears.

As you reach to pick it up, Heeseung does the same. There’s a moment, fleeting but unmistakable, when the skin of his hand brushes against yours.

Instantly, Heeseung recoils as if you’ve burned him. His hand is back in his own space at a speed so fast you nearly miss it.

It was an accident, a tiny blip with no real consequences, but the way he’s looking at you with those damn eyes makes you feel like you should be apologizing.

“Sorry.” The severity of his reaction stings like rejection. It’s not like he’s exactly your favorite person either, but at least you have the common decency to not look repulsed at the thought of touching him. At the accidental brushing of your hands.

Heeseung frowns. Shakes his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts. “No, I…” he trails off, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he concludes, but it feels disingenuous. And he doesn’t bother to elaborate. Looking over your shoulder, he reads the clock on the wall. “It’s getting kind of late. Where are you parked? I can walk you to your car.”

His hands are busy putting his notebook back in his back. It’s a considerate offer, but coming on the tail end of everything else, it doesn’t hold much weight with you. His words don’t match his actions, and you decide you’d be a fool to take them at face value.

“Don’t bother. I’m walking home, not driving.”

Heeseung freezes, hand still inside his bag. He’s not looking at you, but you feel the weight of his attention all the same. “Do you need someone to walk with you?”

The way he phrases the question makes you feel like a burden. He’s asking if you need someone to walk with you, not offering because he wants to. A subtle difference maybe, but the last thing you want is to feel like you owe him any favors.

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” He does look at you now, concern painted across his features. “It’s getting dark earlier these days, and—”

His words are wasted on you. You’re already halfway to the door. “I’m sure.” But before you leave, you decide one more hit to your pride can’t worsen the damage that’s already been done. At least this time, it will be by your doing. Standing under the doorframe, you turn back to him. “Thank you for your feedback. It was good to hear an honest opinion.”

Your words sink into the air. Linger for a moment.

Heeseung nods. Something in his jaw tightens. “You know, if you do decide to change topics, I’d be happy to read whatever you write.”

It almost sounds like another compliment. Or maybe another insult. Either way, you’re sure that even if you figure it out, you’ll still have no idea what to do with it. You nod, only once, and then your back is turned again before you can linger too long on any of it.

But his words, the sweet ones this time, replay in your mind the entire walk home.

Maybe if you weren’t so distracted by the ghosts of compliments, you’d have noticed the pair of quiet, even footsteps that trailed after you in the distance. That only retreated once the front door to your apartment was pulled shut and locked tight behind you.

Then again, maybe not. Heeseung has always had a knack for going undetected.

…..

You wake up the next morning with Heeseung’s words replaying in your mind.

Awful. Irrelevant. And of course your favorite, ‘nauseatingly vitriolic vampire piece.’

In the faded glow of morning light, you groan out loud to your empty bedroom. The worst part of it all is that he’s not even wrong. But it’s Saturday morning, and your first draft is due on Wednesday. The thought of starting a new story from scratch and writing it to completion within that time frame is enough to make you want to curl into a ball and screw your eyes shut until you can pretend the world outside your bedroom is nothing but a figment of your imagination.

So no, you don’t think you can start over entirely. But maybe, just maybe, you can rework things. Tweak the narrative to feel less cliche, less outdated. More true to you.

Part of you wants to abandon the vampire concept entirely, convinced it’s what’s holding you down. The other part is hesitant to do so based on New Haven’s list of recently published works.

And while Heeseung’s criticism was the confirmation you needed that your story needs reworking, it’s not like he gave you any ideas as to what you should change. What direction you should take.

Nauseatingly vitriolic vampire piece. That seemed to be Heeseung’s biggest problem with your draft. Not that it alluded to vampirism. No, you think he disliked that it was a tired and rehashed propaganda piece on the inherent evilness of vampires.

Everyone knows that vampires were monsters. Writing about it, no matter how many metaphors and symbolic phrases you wrap it up in, just isn’t interesting.

That’s the route you’ll take, then, you decide. You don’t have to invent a new concept out of thin air. You just need to find a way to bring something new to the table. Something worth reading. Climbing out of bed, you switch your pajamas for clothes more acceptable in public.

And then you make your way to the university library.

Just as you suspected, it’s essentially empty. Between long rows of meticulously shelved books, vacant study rooms, and community computers, the only other person you see is the librarian that greets you as you arrive. Even her eyebrows raise in mild shock to see someone else during the break, and on a weekend at that.

Heading to the second floor, the first section you peruse through is historical records. But between old newspapers, reports, and journals, the content itself is quite cut and dry. Detached descriptions of vampire attacks that only contain details of the date, time, and death toll aren’t exactly riveting. And you don’t think they’ll do much for your feeble draft.

Before long, you move away from the nonfiction section. Navigating to supernatural fiction on the third floor, you start browsing titles. Vampire stories make up a rather small portion of the texts, and from what you can tell, the vast majority align with what you found on New Haven’s website.

From Demons of the Dark to Left in Cold Blood, you doubt that most of what you find will offer any kind of new perspective. But on your third, slightly desperate scouring of the shelf, you make a discovery.

It’s a small, nondescript book. The muted tones and faded lettering on the spine go easily undetected amongst the much flashier copies of anti-vampire propaganda it’s nestled between.

Pulling the book out from the shelf with a delicate touch, you flip the cover face-up in your hand.

Sacred Monsters: A Collection of Essays on the Origins of Immortality

It piques your interest. At the very least, it seems different from all the other novels.

Book in hand, you make your way to a nearby desk. Once you’re settled in, you pull out your notebook, opening to a new page with the intention of taking notes.

The book you lay on the desk next to your notebook seems like it’s lived a long life, the old scent of dust and aged paper and time all contained within its pages. Flipping open the front cover, you look for an author or publication date. But there’s nothing there, not even a title page or a table of contents.

Glossing over the slight oddity, you decide the beginning is as good a place as any to start.

The Taste of Blood, is the title at the top of the page.

And the first sentence begins:

It is neither sweet nor particularly savory. There is no distinct aroma, no compelling flavor profile, nothing that appeals to the eye or excites the taste buds. The only merit is the fact that it is necessary. For even those blessed with immortality know what it means to survive. And even those cursed to live forever know what it means to die.

Frowning, you flip back to the cover, as if that will provide any clarity for the strange passage you just read. But nothing is different. Nothing new stands out. Just the same, faded title. No author or indication of any kind of publication date.

Intrigued, you turn back and resume where you left off.

Some are said to enjoy the act. The purity of release, of giving in to the instincts that can be convinced into domesticity but never fully silenced. I have never found such relief. The ghost of my humanity has always been stronger than the voice of the monster, even as he screams with unbounded ferocity.

Without it, I feel incomplete. With it, I feel irredeemable. Even now, I dodge the truth, omit the profane. I have seen many moons, enjoyed their silver glow. I have stolen the very same pleasure from countless others. And yet, I struggle to call it by name. I cannot reconcile the battles waged in my bones, the war fought in my mind.

There is no winner in either. All that remains in the taste of it. Lingering on my breath. Haunting my waking dreams. That which I cannot name.

The taste of blood.

In my fervor, it soothes like honey. In my regret, it turns to ash.

And still, nothing changes. And still, nothing remains the same.

-- Anonymous

Well, if you were looking for something different, you found it. Because what the absolute fuck are you reading? If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it were written from the perspective of a vampire.

Then again, shelved in the fiction section, you suppose it’s plausible. Actual vampires may have housed little room in their consciousness for anything outside of bloodlust, but it is an interesting idea to think of vampires as conflicted. Haunted by the brutality of their innate instincts.

You’re not exactly sure how or if this will be able to influence your own story for the better, but something about it makes you want to keep reading.

Alone, tucked amongst the dusty shelves of a neglected section of the library, you lose yourself between the pages of the mysterious book.

As the title indicated, it’s a collection of essays. Most are quite short, around the same length as the first one you read. And none are claimed by an author. All are signed off with the same boldface type that spells Anonymous. There are subtle differences in the writing though, stylistic choices that make you think that more than one person wrote these essays.

Despite that, they’re all woven together by a common thread. The first essay, as you discover, was not a fluke. Every single one is written in first person from the perspective of a vampire.

The writing is compelling, humorous in places and deeply upsetting in others. It seems odd to you, just how much humanity is captured within the pages, within each turn of phrase.

You feel inclined to root for the narrator in some stories and abjectly horrified by them in others. But never once does the writing make you think that vampires are incapable of self-actualization, of reflection, of morality.

In all honesty, aside from Heeseung’s poems, it’s the most interesting thing you’ve read in ages. So much so that by the time you realize you’ve finished the last essay, the winter sun is teeming dangerously close to the horizon, and the library is nearing its closing hours.

The notebook page you intended to use for notes, to jot down points of inspiration, is still woefully blank. But as you make your way back to the front of the library, the small, strange book comes along with you.

Stopping at the front desk to formally check it out, the librarian frowns when she enters the number from the spine into the system. She clicks around on her computer for a moment longer before handing the book back to you.

“I’m sorry, but the book isn’t coming up in our system for some reason. Would you mind writing down your student ID number for me? I’ll have to enter the information manually.”

You oblige her request, tucking the book into your bag before you leave.

It’s chilly outside, the cold clutches of winter gaining a full grasp on the crisp, frigid air. After a long day in a stuffy library, the freezing air is almost soothing. Tucking your hands into your pockets, you turn towards the direction that will take you home.

You’ve barely taken five steps when a voice calls your name from behind. Pausing, you turn to find the source of the sound.

“Heeseung?” But there’s no mistaking it. That is most definitely Lee Heeseung, currently jogging towards you on the otherwise empty sidewalk in front of the university library.

He catches up to you easily, no sign of perspiration or even a hint of breathlessness when he asks, “What are you doing walking alone at night?” As if you’re the strange one in this situation.

You give him a once over. The loose jeans and dark winter coat he wears are nothing special, but he wears them well regardless. You suppress the urge to sigh. “I could ask you the same.”

“Fair enough.” His tone is too light, too casual. Like he’s forcing it. Like he’s hiding something. “Are you headed home? I’ll walk you there.”

And if you weren’t suspicious before, you sure as hell are now. Why on earth would he want to walk you home? “I’m fine, thanks.” You turn away from him, heading in the direction of your apartment and hoping he’ll take the hint.

Your wish goes ungranted. He matches your pace easily, even as you try to quicken it. “It’s after dark, ___. And there are a lot of…” He trails off, searching for the right word. “strange people out at night these days. I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

Lips tight, you don’t bother looking at him. The idea of Heeseung letting you do anything makes you want to throw things. “I’ll be fine.”

But he’s persistent. He’s all smiles and a strange amount of desperate when he says, “Either you let me walk you back or I’ll just follow you at a weird distance, which will be far more uncomfortable for both of us.”

That makes you stop in your tracks. And now you do turn to look at him. “Well, when you put it that way…”

Heeseung nods, “Exactly. So—”

You arch an unimpressed brow, crossing your arms over your chest. “It sounds like you’re the strange person at night I need to stay away from.”

Heeseung sighs, matches your eye. A strand of hair falls into his eyes, and he pushes it away with long fingers. “Are you gonna start walking or are we gonna stand here and argue a little longer?”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“What a great night to find out.”

You stare at him a moment longer, lips tight. You don’t want to be the one to give in, to hand him any kind of victory, no matter how small.

But it is getting late. The walk from campus to your apartment is never one that’s made you uneasy, but it never hurts to have someone at your side. Besides, you think he was serious about following you. He’s made it clear that he’ll be tagging along one way or another.

“Fine,” you huff, arms still crossed over your chest. “But only because the streetlight a few blocks away is out.”

Heeseung inclines his head, a minute acknowledgement. There’s a hint of movement at the corner of his lips. “Naturally.”

You resume walking, and he falls into your pace with a practiced ease, hands in his pocket, eyes on the stars. It’s a cloudless evening. The sky above you feels vast, immense as the last rays of daylight lie to rest on the distant horizon.

With a slight shiver, you pull your jacket tighter around your body. Heeseung notices the movement. Parts his lips as if he wants to say something. Changes his mind. Closes them.

You’ve just reached the far edge of campus when he breaks the steady silence.

“How’s your draft coming?”

“It’s…” You trail off, not sure how well honesty will serve you here. It feels vulnerable, like a blatant weakness to admit that you’ve got nothing. But something about cold air and the vast expanse of night has you wanting to tell the truth. “Not great.”

Heeseung lets your response settle. Turns it over in his mind a few times. You’ve noticed that about him. He’s careful with his responses. Weighs his words before breathing them to life. “Still looking for inspiration?”

“I don’t know if it’s inspiration I need.” It’s easier to talk to him like this, when your eyes have something to focus on, when your body has the constant repetition of steps to occupy part of your mind. Without little distractions like these, Heeseung has a way of becoming all consuming. “I feel like I backed myself into a corner with the vampire concept. I’m not sure if there's really anything there to explore that won’t feel outdated and irrelevant.”

“Mm,” Heeseung muses. It’s noncommittal, neither an agreement nor an argument. “Maybe. You said it yourself; vampires are nothing but bloodlust. Riled completely by instinct. Nothing left of their humanity.”

Frowning, your footsteps almost falter. “I didn’t say that.”

“Forgive me.” If there’s a tinge of bitterness in his tone, you suppose it must be because of the cold. The fact that he’s wasting his Saturday night walking you home. “Heavily implied it.”

“Honestly, the only reason I even wrote that story was because there were a lot of similar ones on New Haven’s list of recently published works.” Your reasoning feels almost stupid when you admit it aloud like this. You’ve always prided yourself on your originality, your commitment to staying true to yourself as a writer. But when push comes to shove, you let your desire to impress your professor get in the way of that. “I wanted something that would align with their usual publications.”

You’ve admitted a weakness, a poorly made choice. You’re expecting ire, more of that haughty contempt. But Heeseung’s mind is going in an entirely different direction.

He’s not questioning your abilities, not even alluding to them at all when he asks, “What do you think of vampires, then?”

His question catches you off guard. Why on earth would he care about that? “What’s it to you?”

“My bad. We can just walk in awkward silence if you prefer.”

It takes a ridiculous amount of your energy to swallow the laugh that bubbles in your throat. Since when did Heeseung crack jokes? Since when did you have to fight the urge to giggle at them like a schoolgirl with a crush? You suddenly find yourself grateful for the cover of night, the way shadows make the heat on your cheeks undetectable.

But his question still lingers. Ruminating on it, your mind flickers to the small, odd book currently sitting at the bottom of your bag.

Sacred Monsters.

It feels like a strange combination of words, two concepts that shouldn’t fit together.

“I think it’s more complicated than that,” you breathe. You don’t know if it could possibly be true, the idea that creatures of the night have a high level of consciousness, the ability to moralize, to feel conflicted. But it certainly makes for a more interesting story.

“I mean, vampires had to have some level of base cognition, right?” You’ll never know for sure, but the more you think about it, the more it makes sense. “They were hunted to near extinction, but they put up a good fight. They hid. They fled. They tried blending in as humans. Some resorted to drinking animal blood. I guess there’s no way of knowing, but that doesn’t feel like pure biology or an evolutionary response alone. It feels like… something a human would do.”

“Wouldn’t that be worse?” Heeseung’s voice is low. If the faint hum of faraway traffic were any louder, you might not hear him at all. “For them to know what it means to be alive and still make the choice to take that away from someone else? To exist as a parasite.”

“It would certainly be tragic.” The words of the first essay come back to you.

For even those blessed with immortality know what it means to survive. And even those cursed to live forever know what it means to die.

“It’s a fatal flaw, a cruel design. They need blood to survive. The very thing that their bodies used to create on their own. It’s parasitic, yes, but that doesn’t make it animal instinct. I can’t imagine the horror of having to experience that with the burden of human consciousness.”

You feel the weight of Heeseung’s gaze on the side of your face. “It’s still evil, is it not?”

His words feel heavy, weighted under moonlight. Though you can’t imagine why, you have the distinct sense that your answer is important to him.

“Like I said, I think it’s more complicated than that. Taking someone’s life is evil, yes, but that was never unique to vampires. Is a vampire that chooses animal blood still evil just because they’re a vampire? Is a human that chooses to kill another absolved of their crime just by virtue of being human?”

Your words settle into the space between you.

“That,” Heeseung finally breathes, “would make a much better story than the one I read last night.”

This time, you do laugh, a light airy thing. It feels easy, lighthearted as some of the tension drains from the atmosphere.

“Unfortunately, I’m not so sure Professor Kim would agree. Based on everything New Haven publishes, he seems to have some weird anti-vampire vendetta.”

As you round the corner, your apartment comes into view. Nodding toward the staircase that leads to your front door, you tell him, “This is me, by the way.”

Heeseung glances at the stairs, then back at you. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets. “When is your draft due?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you groan. “Wednesday.”

“Mm,” he winces, an offer of understanding. “What time?”

“I’m supposed to be at New Haven by three, so—”

“What?” Heeseung cuts you off, expression suddenly tense, voice suddenly sharp. “You’re going to the publishing office?”

“Yeah.” You nod slowly, unsure why that would possibly warrant such a strong reaction. “I’m dropping off my first draft and getting a tour. The internship starts right when spring semester does, so he told me I could come in person to familiarize myself with the space first.”

“Right.” Heeseung nods. The tension in his jaw doesn’t relax.

It’s all so strange. He always seems to be speaking in riddles, dealing with invisible problems you can’t detect.

You’re tired and confused, and the moon that hangs above you doesn’t feel like a remedy for either of those things. In fact, it might be making things worse.

Because despite the way you feel like you’ll never quite understand him, bathed in the shimmering glow of moonlight, Heeseung looks…

He looks like all the things you’ve been trying to avoid calling him for the duration of the semester. Ethereal. Beautiful. Maybe even kind, at least when he wants to be.

After all, you’re standing at the base of your staircase with company, and it wasn’t due to any insistence on your end.

The silence lingers. A string somewhere is pulled taught.

You’re standing still, and you’re still a little breathless when you tell him, “I should go.” You don’t want to. You’re not sure why.

Again, Heeseung only nods.

The movement sends shadows dancing over his features. The bridge of his nose. The plane of his cheek. The line of his jaw. Things you’ve never let yourself linger on. Things you’re having a hard time looking away from now.

But he’s seen you home safe and sound, and even nights under the stars have their inevitable end.

It occurs to you then that you have no idea how he plans to get home, or even how far away he lives.

After he walked you home,it’s the least you could do to offer, “Do you live far? I could help you pay for a cab or something if—”

Heeseung shakes his head. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It won’t take me long. Besides, I like to walk at night.”

“Okay.” It feels strange, trading these bits of kindness. You’re craving some normalcy, something unwavering. So with a final wave and a small goodnight, you climb the stairs to your door.

You couldn’t say for sure if his eyes follow you on the way up. You feel the heat of them, the weight of a steady gaze on your spine. But it’s a fickle sensation and you’ve been wrong before. And you can’t quite bring yourself to turn around and look.

The door closes behind you. Surrounded by the stillness of an empty apartment, you release a long held exhale. It drains out of you audibly. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath.

…..

Dawn breaks Wednesday morning and carries with it a certain kind of dread.

Despite your efforts, and there have been many, your draft remains far too close to its original state for your satisfaction. No matter how many times you pour over Sacred Monsters, you can never quite seem to find a way to make your submission more interesting while also staying true to New Haven’s general themes.

If anything, the book has been a distraction. Long hours that you could have spent editing or revising or rewriting were instead dedicated to detailed web searches with a variety of keywords and spellings that never seemed to bear any fruit.

It doesn’t matter which search engine you use. It doesn’t matter which database you browse. Other than the copy sitting on your desk, Sacred Monsters doesn’t seem to exist.

But the annoying, wonderful, awful thing about time is that it passes. Time doesn’t care that you haven’t found it in yourself to produce a draft you’re proud of. Time doesn’t relent just because you always feel like it’s slipping through your fingers.

And Wednesday morning turns to Wednesday afternoon with the same steady predictability as always.

You’d like to think that you know the area around your university quite well, but New Haven’s main office is in an entirely different part of the city. You’ll have to leave now if you want to catch the bus with a little cushion of time to spare. The last thing you want to do is be late to your first day. Especially since the draft tucked neatly into your bag isn’t one you can hand over with confidence.

To your relief, the bus is relatively empty. You tuck yourself into a seat and thank your lucky stars that you missed the afternoon rush.

Popping your headphones in, you’re searching for something to fill the time. There’s the draft sitting in your bag, of course, but the last thing you want to do is spend the next thirty minutes agonizing over it. For now, it will just have to be the mess of mediocrity that it is.

Instead, you reach for your phone. Maybe some mindless scrolling will be what you need to put your nerves at ease.

But when the app loads, the first post you see doesn’t have you giggling or rolling your eyes or scrolling on without a thought at all. Instead, your spine straightens, shoulders suddenly tense.

Because the words you’re reading are not something you ever expected to see in your lifetime.

Three dead in suspected vampire attack, the latest headline from your local news reporting channel reads.

Clicking on the article, the details are hazy, but that does little to lessen the grip of fear that makes a sudden grab at your throat. Fragments of sentences capture your attention as you scan the page.

Three bodies found near the river…

Bite marks on their necks…

No trace of recent animal activity in the area…

Eyes widening with every new piece of information, fear claws at your throat.

Bodies completely drained of blood.

Two hundred years. Two hundred years of the belief that vampires have all but been eradicated. Shattered in one fell swoop.

And in your city, of all places. At the river. Somewhere you’ve been. Somewhere you wouldn’t think twice about going. It’s not particularly close to your apartment or university, but it’s not exactly far enough away for comfort.

You shudder, suddenly grateful that Heeseung was there to walk you home last night. Not that he would be able to do much if you did stumble across the path of a vampire, but—”

Oh god. Oh god.

Heeseung.

You have no idea if he made it home safe after parting ways with you and you have no way of checking. He hadn’t made any indication as to where he lived before saying goodnight. For all you know, he could have been heading in the direction of the river. He could have been at the river. Right when the attacks occurred.

Doubling down on your phone, you scour the article for any information you can find on the victims. Objectively, it’s probably a good thing that they’re described only vaguely. Probably an intentional choice to protect the privacy of grieving friends and families.

But ‘three victims, two men and one woman, all in their early twenties’ does very, very little to assuage your terror. In fact, it only heightens it.

Blood pounding in your ears and dread pooling in your stomach, thirty minutes passes in the blink of an eye, you nearly miss your stop. But as you get off of the bus, you’re spiraling. Should you even be here? It feels wrong, leaving such a terrifying loose end untied.

But then you think it through a little further. Even if you got back on the bus, rode it all the way to the stop by your apartment, you have no idea where you’d go from there. You may have shared insults and confidence and a moment under the moonlight with Heeseung, but you don’t know anything about him. Where he lives, where to reach him, where he could possibly be right now.

But Professor Kim might. You’re sure that student information is strictly confidential, but if you explain the situation to him, he might be understanding, might just be willing to bend the rules a bit for you.

So with a heaviness in your heart and fire in your footsteps, you double check the address of New Haven’s office and start walking away from the bus stop. Your surroundings are not a primary area of your focus, but it does strike you as odd how deserted the whole area seems.

Other than a few residential looking buildings, the street you walk is mostly empty lots. Abandoned houses. Not the kind of place you would consider ideal for any business.

Despite the cold morning sunshine, the afternoon has brought a cover of clouds. Squinting towards the distance, you wonder if you should have brought your umbrella, just in case. It almost looks as if it’s going to rain.

When you do finally find the building, you have to stop to double check the address. Not only is there no signage, but New Haven’s supposed headquarters looks just as run down as all of the other buildings in the area.

Frowning, you reread your email. The address does match the faded numbers next to the front door, and Professor Kim seems too meticulous to make a mistake like an incorrect address. Then again, he also seems too well off to run his publishing company out of a decrepit building far away from any of the city’s major business centers.

But you won’t bother worrying about it now. Even your dreary first draft feels like an afterthought at this point. Who cares if the building’s not what you expected, if the location isn’t ideal? Right now, you need to focus on finding Heeseung, on making sure he’s okay.

Because the alternative…

No, you refuse to let yourself spiral there either. But the pressure of grief borrowed from the future is already pressing firmly against the backs of your eyelids, blurring your surroundings.

As you approach the front door, you notice a small, faded placard.

New Haven. Well, at least that confirms that you’re in the right spot. Even if it is a bit odd that they left off Publishing.

Standing at the door, you hesitate. Should you knock? Just walk in? You take a sidelong glance at the window, scanning for any sign of movement. But there’s nothing there. In fact, it looks as if the lights are off.

Dark, quiet, desolate. Strange, yes, but not something you’ll waste time ruminating on now.

You knock once. Twice. The sound echoes; the only response is the whistling of the wind.

Deep in the pit of your stomach, a sense of unease begins to build. It feels off, like something is wrong. Senses on high alert, you force the feeling aside. You need a way to find Heeseung, to make sure he’s okay. Besides, the lingering unease is probably just the anxiety of not knowing if he’s safe.

Steeling your resolve, you reach for the door handle, twisting it tentatively. It opens slowly, the hinges groaning in protest. As if the building itself doesn’t want you there. Stepping inside does little to shake the feeling. Dark and devoid of any decoration, the interior is nearly as gloomy as the sunless sky outside.

And even the layout of the building is strange. The front door opens to a long, dark hallway with no lights on. It’s eerily quiet. Too quiet. Too empty. You weren’t expecting a welcoming party by any means, but it’s hard to imagine anyone, much less Professor Kim, even being here.

“Hello?” You call, clutching your bag a little closer to your body, suppressing the shudder that licks at the base of your spine. “Professor Kim?” You wait a moment, but sustained silence is the only response.

Forcing your footsteps forward, you tread tentatively down the hallway. After all, you didn’t come this far just to turn around. Especially now that Professor Kim might be your only way of finding Heeseung.

Taking slow steps down the dark hallway, you pass two doors, both of them pulled shut. The end of the hall opens into a larger room, still empty of any furnishings. It certainly doesn’t look like a publishing house. It doesn't look like much at all. At the very least, there’s a bit more visibility here, faint traces of faded daylight streaming in through the half drawn blinds on the other side of the room.

Turning to your left, you see another door. This one is also pulled shut, but there’s a name placard on the front. Drawing closer, you read your professor’s name. It still doesn't feel right. Ducking down slightly, you check the gap between the bottom of the door and the hardwood floor for any sign of light, of movement. But it’s just as dark, just as quiet as the rest of the strange building.

As you stand back up to your full height, you raise a hand to knock. Just before your knuckles make contact with the door, you see it. An odd array of crimson stains near the handle. Peering closer, your brow furrows in a combination of disgust and confusion.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think it looked like blood.

But that doesn’t make any sense. None of this does. You won’t pretend to know Professor Kim, but he’s never shown up to a lecture with so much as a hair out of place. Why on earth would he run his publishing company out of a building that’s nearly falling apart? Why would there be strange, suspicious looking stains on the door to his office? Why would it be empty at the time he asked you to come present your draft and tour your future internship location?

You have no idea what to do. Opening the door to his office and letting yourself in would feel like an inappropriate invasion of privacy, but you’re at a loss. This entire thing is so strange.

Before you can decide how to proceed, you hear something. A faint noise, barely there, but distinct from the wind that still whistles outside. It’s disjointed, arrhythmic like the sound of hushed voices. Overlapping. Arguing, maybe.

Inclining your head, your brow creases further. It sounds like it’s coming from your professor’s office, but how could it be? The noises are too muffled, too distant to be coming from right in front of you.

You lean closer. Deciding you’re past the point of maintaining decorum, you press your ear to the door, careful to avoid any of the suspicious looking stains.

For a moment, you hear nothing. Half convinced the voices were nothing but a figment of your overactive imagination, you almost pull away.

But then you hear them again. Still muffled, still indecipherable, but undoubtedly louder than before. Which means they must be coming from behind the door. The voices pause, suspend you in silence once again.

And then you hear another noise, different this time. Less like a voice and more like movement. Scuffling, maybe. Feet dragging against the floor. It’s punctuated by a strange gurgling noise. Something wet and thick and throaty. The kind of sound that makes you wince in a subconscious reaction.

And then a sudden thump has your bones jolting beneath your skin, everything muscle in your body tensing as you suppress an uninvited gasp. Because that didn’t sound far away. It was loud, too loud to be anywhere but right on the other side of the door.

Mild unease is quick to transform into sheer panic as you stagger backwards on shaky footsteps. You need to leave. You need to leave now.

You’ll find another way to get ahold of Heeseung, to make sure he’s okay. And maybe there’s a rational explanation for all of this. Maybe this is an old New Haven office and Professor Kim forgot to send you the new address. Maybe there’s an email in your inbox now, and he’s apologizing for the oversight and rescheduling your draft meeting. Maybe he’s—

The sound of the front door you walked in through minutes ago slamming shut kills the train of thought. This time, you can’t bite down the noise that crawls up your throat.

It’s stupid, from a logical perspective. A fatal flaw of human nature that your first instinct is to scream. To alert whatever danger surely lurks nearby of your exact location, the precise depth of your fear.

But the terror that leaves your lips is muffled. It comes from behind, the palm that covers your mouth. The outline of a body that presses into your back, forces you into submission with a hand around your wrist.

You thrash against the ironclad grip to no avail. Dig your heels into the ground but find little purchase in the hardwood floor as you’re dragged backwards, every nerve in your body singing with terror as you’re forced into a dark room. Even with your elbows flailing and head jerking, the grip on you remains steady, firm.

In the end, it’s a bite that frees you. The hand that covers your mouth drops away as soon as you sink your teeth into the flesh of your captor’s fingers. There’s a muffled grunt of pain in your ear as you spin on your heel.

Again, it’s stupid. You should be running, sprinting in the opposite direction, but everything in you is begging to know. To gain some sense of control over the situation. Eyes still adjusting to the dark and blinded by fear, you turn to find—

“Heeseung?” Your mind is spinning a million miles a minute. There are too many thoughts, too many emotions to keep up with. Relief. Fear. Confusion.

Relief, because he’s okay and he’s here, but—

“What are you doing?” You have a million questions that demand answers. “Why are you here? Why did you grab me like th—”

“Are you okay?” Heeseung takes a step closer to you, reaches his hands out as if to grab you again. Thinking better of it, he lets them fall back to his side with a slight shake of his head. There’s terror in his eyes too when he clarifies, “You’re not hurt?”

“No, I…” What the hell is going on? “I’m fine, but—”

A flash of relief makes itself apparent on Heeseung’s features before they’re morphing again, regaining all the urgency, the fear that was there before. He’s serious, gravely so when he tells you, “We have to get out of here.”

“Okay,” you stumble forward as he reaches for your wrist again, intent on tugging you behind him. “But I don’t understand. What’s—”

“I’ll explain everything later.” He’s frantic, you realize. Desperate. And so terribly afraid. Emotions you’ve never seen him wear. Not in the cool, calm mask of indifference he had in class. Not in the faint flickers of vulnerability from stolen moments under moonlight. This is different. This is so much worse. “But we have to go. Now.”

With that much command in his voice, that much fear in his eyes, you’re putty in his hands. But in the end, it makes little difference. The door to the room he’s dragged you into opens with a resounding bang before the two of you can make your escape. The sound is so loud, so frightening that you feel reverberations in your marrow as the door collides with the room’s interior wall, no doubt leaving a sizable dent.

And standing there, shrouded by the gray tones of sunless winter daylight, your professor blocks the room’s only exit.

Instinctively, you take a step closer to Heeseung. He does the same, pulling you towards him, behind him, until half of your body is covered by his. Peering over his shoulder, the sight that greets you is one that will haunt waking nightmares for a long time to come.

Professor Kim, who always prided himself on maintaining a neat, clean appearance couldn’t be further from that now. His clothes are ripped, hanging from his body at odd angles, adding an element of disfigured monstrosity to his silhouette.

And his eyes. His eyes. Bloodshot and so wide they must hurt, they dart around the room, narrow in on you and Heeseung like he doesn’t see humans. Only targets. Enemies. Prey. Mouth open and snarling, you swear you see a glint in his mouth, the shape of a tooth far too long and pointed to belong to any normal person.

But even those things you could force yourself to forget.

What horrifies you the most is the blood. Even in the shadows, the unnaturally potent shade of crimson is unmistakable. It stains him, covers him, drips from him. Seeps from his clothes and his skin and his mouth.

Panic clawing at your throat, you suppress the urge to vomit.

“Get behind me,” Heeseung whispers, low. “Now.”

But a split second of averted attention is all your professor needs. Professor Kim, lover of literature, beacon of taste, a role model you’ve looked up to since the first time you stepped foot in his class a handful of months ago, pinches a tiny object between his long, bony, blood-covered fingers. And then he throws it.

With startling precision, it whistles through the air, races through a hazy cloud of confusion and panic before it strikes its target true.

It doesn’t hurt, not really. The hand that flies to the side of your neck is instinct, more than anything. But the fingers that linger on your pulse point don’t find the smooth expanse of your unblemished throat that they usually would.

Because there’s something there now. An object lodged just beneath your jaw. Delicately, you draw your hand back in front of your face. There’s no blood on your fingers, but that doesn’t stop them from shaking.

As you look over Heeseung’s shoulder, the world starts to blur around the edges. Darken, as if your eyes are closing of their own volition, against your will. You see him retreat, the terrible ghost of your professor. In the dark, he looks almost forlorn. Regretful.

“Fuck,” Heeseung whispers. He doesn’t see the way your professor spins on his heel, runs in the opposite direction. His attention is trained fully on the space beneath your jaw. “Fuck.”

“Heeseung?” Your voice sounds strange to your own ears. Distant, muffled as if you’re submerged beneath water. You have so many questions.

But it’s suddenly so cold. And you’re so tired. Wouldn’t it be nice to just lay down? Rest for a moment? Surely that couldn’t hurt anything.

Your legs are wobbly beneath you, and you would collapse to the floor in an ungraceful heap if it weren’t for the two hands on your waist, supporting your weight.

“I’m here,” he tells you. Cold. When did it get so cold? Your eyes try to focus on Heeseung, but your vision is swimming. You wonder if he would be warm. “I’m right here. Just… fuck.”

Gently, he eases you both to the ground. The floor is hard beneath you, but it feels like a reprieve. You’re tired of holding the weight of your body upright. Your blinking is becoming slow, lethargic. Your head is suddenly far too heavy for your neck.

Slowly, Heeseung removes his hands from your waist, relocates them to either side of your jaw. With the care of someone well versed in patience, he delicately maneuvers your head to the side, exposing the length of your neck.

Whatever he finds there must be displeasing. You can’t imagine why. You can’t think much of anything. The world has taken on a sort of dreamlike quality in which everything feels loose, fluid and unburdened by the laws of any physics.

“Fuck,” he whispers for the fourth time. The curse scatters over your cheekbone like a kiss.

Pulling back slightly, he meets your half-closed eyes. “I’m sorry.” It sounds like a prayer. “This might…” he swallows, something in his resolve wavering. “This might hurt.”

Pain. You can barely conceptualize the sensation. It feels like a distant memory.

And then he’s tilting your head to the side again. His face draws closer, overcomes the last of your remaining senses, demands the full attention of what’s left of your consciousness.

You think he might kiss you. Whatever desire remains in you almost wishes he would.

Your eyes flutter shut, lips parting slightly as your eyelashes fan against the tops of your cheeks.

But his mouth never finds yours. Instead, you feel the soft caress of his lips against the side of your neck, a fleeting touch against the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw. Inhibitions whittled to nothing, you shudder against the sensation, release the airy ghost of a sigh.

He was wrong, you think. With his mouth on your neck, pain is the last thing you feel.

You feel his lips part against your skin, chasing away some of the cold that has only seeped deeper into bones, into the very essence of your being.

And then you feel it. Whatever capacity for sensation that remains all focuses on the sudden flash of agony as his teeth pierce the skin of your throat.

The tiny moan that escapes your lips is pitiful. Your ability to think, to rationalize, feels like something that’s dangling in front of you, just out of reach. Your body is too heavy, too weak to respond to the flash of searing pain as your skin is pierced deeper.

He can’t speak, but you feel the shallow vibration of a hum against your neck. Soothing, calming. His hand that doesn’t bear the weight of your head moves to push a stray strand of hair from your forehead. It’s gentle, reverent. In complete opposition to the war he wages against your neck.

Mouth still full of you, a groan escapes him. It’s heady, throaty, and you feel it travel the length of your spine, settle in the pit of your stomach. Sensation is the only thing tethering you to this world, and you can’t quite tell if this is pleasure or pain.

He pulls back, the absence of his steady heat leaving your jaw vulnerable to the chill in the air.

“Hold on,” you hear. You can’t pinpoint where the noise comes from. Sound surrounds you, washes over you in a strange uniformity. You feel the ground fall away, something warm and solid behind your shoulders and under your knees.“We’ll be there soon.”

Floating, you think. You must be floating. It’s hard to tell. Moments are bleeding into one another too quickly for you to keep up.

Eyes closed, body molten, you relax into the steady grip that carries you.

And the last thing you hear before reality loses its hold is the fervent, whispered sound of your name.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

CONTINUED IN PART 2 (which can be found on my masterlist!)

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: THANK YOUUUUU for reading!!! this is pretty different from what I usually write plot wise, so I hope it made for a good read. vampire heeseung and this oc are near and dear to me, and I'm excited to continue their story. the rest of this fic is fully plotted and partially written. I'm actively continuing to work on it, and hearing your thoughts/theories/screaming/feedback/etc. is great motivation! as always, I love know what you're thinking. ♡

#heeseung fanfiction #heeseung x reader #heeseung fanfic #enhypen fanfic #enhypen x reader #heeseung x you #enhypen x you #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #heeseung scenarios #heeseung imagines

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cloudyluun · 29 days ago

Text

Silver Springs | (famous!harry x famous!reader)

Summary: Falling for Harry Styles was never part of Y/N’s plan. As the daughter of Stevie Nicks, she’s spent her whole life running from the spotlight, carving out her own identity in the indie rock scene. But when fate keeps pulling her back into his orbit, resisting becomes impossible.

A slow-burn friends-to-lovers romance filled with stolen glances, whispered lyrics, and a love too big to keep secret forever. Featuring: a dramatic rain-soaked love confession, a very public grand gesture, and enough Fleetwood Mac references to make Stevie proud.

Because some love stories are meant to be legendary.

A/N: Okay, but why was this request everything I’ve ever wanted in a fic?? The slow burn?? The secret relationship angst?? The messy, desperate, I-can’t-breathe-without-you love confession?? And let’s not even talk about that post-confession smut scene because I need a moment. To the lovely soul who requested this, thank you for feeding my drama-loving heart. This was so much fun to write, and I definitely got way too emotionally attached. (Also, I need a rockstar AU in real life ASAP.) ALSO I’m sorry, I definitely overdid the scene dividers oops.

Word Count: 8,5k

Warnings:

Slow-burn tension that hurts (but in a good way)

Secret relationship chaos

One rain-soaked love confession

One hot, messy, emotional SMUT scene (18+)

Paparazzi stress & PR nightmares

A duet so romantic it might ruin your standards

Fleetwood Mac lyrics used as emotional warfare

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Y/N had been born with the weight of a legacy she never asked for.

From the moment she took her first breath, the world had already decided who she was. The daughter of Stevie Nicks. Rock royalty. A ghost of the past in a modern world. The media had never let her be anything else. They picked apart her features, searching for traces of her mother—the same high cheekbones, the same wild hair. They hunted for echoes of Fleetwood Mac in the songs she wrote, dissecting every lyric, every melody, desperate to find a connection. And when they couldn’t?

They made one up.

Her father’s identity had been a secret from the start, a mystery wrapped in whispered rumors and unanswered questions. Some tabloids swore he had been a rockstar, a fleeting love affair lost in the haze of the ‘70s. Others speculated he had been someone ordinary, someone her mother had chosen to protect from the chaos of her world. Y/N had stopped wondering a long time ago. Her mother had always said, "You don’t need to know where you come from to know where you’re going, baby." And maybe that was true. But sometimes, when she looked at herself in the mirror, she wished she knew which parts of her belonged to Stevie Nicks and which belonged to a stranger.

Still, despite the world’s obsession with her past, Y/N had built something of her own.

Her music was raw, poetic—a fusion of indie rock and dreamlike lyricism that belonged entirely to her. She wasn’t interested in stadiums or radio hits; she wanted songs that lingered in the bones, the kind that made people ache without knowing why.

And yet, no matter what she did, the headlines always found a way to reduce her to a footnote in her mother’s story.

"Stevie Nicks’ Daughter Haunts the Music Scene—Can She Ever Escape Her Mother’s Shadow?" "The Princess of Rock ‘n’ Roll: Y/N Nicks Inherits a Legacy of Magic and Tragedy."

She ignored them. Mostly.

But some nights, when the whiskey burned too much and the music wasn’t enough, she wondered if she’d ever just be herself.

The first time Y/N met Harry Styles, she was fifteen.

It was a warm summer night in Los Angeles, the kind where the air was thick with nostalgia, humming with the remnants of a golden era long gone.

Fleetwood Mac was playing at The Forum, and backstage was a haze of cigarette smoke, laughter, and the scent of aged leather. It was a world Y/N had always known, one that felt like home and yet never quite belonged to her.

She had been curled up on one of the velvet couches, her combat boots propped up on a glass table, flipping through an old notebook of half-written lyrics.

Her mother had walked in then, a force of nature even in her sixties, wrapped in flowing black fabric, rings glinting under the dim lights. And beside her—

Harry.

He had been twenty, freshly cut from the boyband machine but still unmistakably him. Messy curls, dimples carved deep into his cheeks, a floral button-up that hung loose over his chest. There was an ease to him, a confidence that most people his age hadn’t yet earned.

Stevie had smiled, her voice all warmth and amusement as she introduced them.

"Harry, this is my daughter, Y/N. Y/N, sweetheart, this is Harry Styles."

Y/N had barely spared him a glance, disinterested in the way only a fifteen-year-old girl could be.

She had looked him up and down, unimpressed, before muttering, "Oh. You’re the boy with the hair."

There had been a beat of silence. Then—

Harry had grinned, wide and unbothered. "And you’re the girl who hates the spotlight."

That had made her pause.

She had finally looked at him properly then, taking in the twinkle of mischief in his green eyes, the way he had spoken to her like he knew her, like he could already see the edges of her soul.

She had hated that.

So she had rolled her eyes, shutting her notebook with a snap. "Yeah? What gave it away?"

Harry had only chuckled. "Just a feeling."

They hadn’t known it then, but that moment—that first careless exchange in the glow of The Forum’s dressing rooms—had been the beginning of something that would follow them for years.

They had drifted in and out of each other’s lives after that, their paths crossing at industry events, in backstage corridors, in places where music and fame blurred the lines between strangers and something more.

But they had never been close.

Not yet.

That would come later.

And when it did, neither of them would be able to stop it.

It was a city built on illusions, a place where the past and present blurred under neon lights and whiskey-soaked conversations. People changed here, or they lost themselves trying.

Y/N had spent years learning how to exist in the industry without letting it consume her. She had built walls, wrapped herself in the armor of cigarette smoke and sharp words, refusing to let the world shape her into something she wasn’t.

But some nights—nights like this—she felt the weight of it all pressing against her ribs.

She had been in the music industry long enough to know that these parties weren’t really about music. They were about power. Influence. The quiet, calculated dance of networking, where every glance and every handshake meant something.

Y/N hated it.

And yet, here she was.

The party was in the Hollywood Hills, tucked away in a mansion that reeked of old money and new fame. The kind of place where people got too drunk on tequila and promises they wouldn’t remember in the morning.

She had come because she had to—because being seen mattered, even when she wished it didn’t.

She was twenty-five now, no longer the sharp-tongued teenager who had met Harry Styles in the glow of The Forum’s dressing rooms.

She had grown into herself.

And so had he.

She saw him before he saw her.

Harry was in the center of the room, as he always was, laughter spilling from his lips as he leaned against a marble bar, his rings catching in the dim light.

He looked different now—older, surer, carved out of something stronger.

The curls were shorter, but still wild. The tattoos more visible, inked stories along his skin. He wore a suit, something sleek and expensive, but the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a silver cross against his collarbones.

Even here, surrounded by actors and musicians and people who pretended they belonged, he was the only one who looked like he truly did.

Y/N had spent years pretending she was immune to the charm of men like him.

But as she stood there, watching the way he moved, the way people gravitated toward him, she felt something stir in her chest.

Something she didn’t want to name.

She turned away, heading toward the bar, but it was already too late.

She heard his voice before she felt his presence.

“Well, if it isn’t rock royalty.”

Y/N exhaled, bracing herself, before turning to face him.

Harry was smiling, that slow, lazy grin that had made girls weak in the knees for over a decade.

“Pop star,” she greeted, raising an eyebrow.

His dimples deepened. “Didn’t think this was your scene.”

Y/N shrugged, lifting her whiskey glass. “It isn’t.”

Harry’s gaze flickered over her, assessing. “Then why are you here?”

“Same reason you are,” she said, taking a slow sip. “To remind people we still exist.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t have to remind anyone, love. They never forget a Nicks.”

There was something in the way he said it—something almost… knowing.

She tilted her head, watching him. “And they never forget a Styles.”

His smirk deepened. “Touché.”

The conversation between them felt effortless, the kind of back-and-forth that came with years of shared history, even if most of it had been from a distance.

She had always liked that about him.

That he could meet her wit for wit. That he never backed down.

That night, they danced around the past without ever acknowledging it, teasing each other between sips of whiskey and stolen glances.

He called her "rock princess" like it was a private joke.

She called him "pop star" with just enough mockery to make him laugh.

The undercurrent of something more was there—tangible, electric, waiting to be acknowledged.

But neither of them touched it.

Not yet.

Later, when the party had thinned and the air inside had grown heavy with heat and smoke, Y/N slipped outside.

She kicked off her heels, stepping onto the cool stone of the balcony, and lit a cigarette with steady fingers.

The view of the city stretched before her, a glittering sea of headlights and broken dreams.

She inhaled deeply, letting the nicotine settle in her lungs, humming a familiar melody under her breath—one of her mother’s, an old Fleetwood Mac song that had been stitched into her bones long before she was born.

She didn’t hear him approach.

Didn’t realize he was there until he spoke.

“Still hate the spotlight?”

His voice was softer now, missing the teasing edge from before.

She exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the night. “I hate what it does to people.”

Harry leaned against the railing beside her, silent for a moment, as if turning over her words in his head.

Then, he huffed a quiet laugh. “Still the girl who hates everything?”

Y/N smirked, side-eyeing him. “Still the boy with the hair?”

Harry grinned, running a hand through his curls. “I like to think there’s more to me than that.”

Something unspoken passed between them then.

A shift. A breath.

A moment on the edge of something inevitable.

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them said a word.

But in the silence, they both felt it.

A crack in the walls they had spent years building.

A spark that had always been there, waiting for the right time to catch fire.

Harry called her three weeks after the party.

It was late—too late for anything that wasn’t trouble.

She had been sprawled across her bed, an open notebook balanced on her stomach, trying to piece together a song that didn’t want to be written, when her phone buzzed against the nightstand.

She didn’t need to check the name.

There was only one person who would call her at this hour, as if he knew she’d still be awake.

She let the phone ring twice before answering. ��You lost, pop star?”

Harry chuckled, his voice low and lazy. “Not lost, no. Just… thought of you.”

Y/N rolled onto her side, tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear. “Oh? Should I be flattered?”

“Dunno.” He paused. “Wanna come to the studio tomorrow?”

That made her sit up.

She knew Harry was working on a new album. The industry had been buzzing about it for months, but he had been careful—secretive, even—about who he let in.

And now, he was inviting her.

Y/N hesitated for only a second before saying, “What time?”

She arrived at the studio the next evening, her guitar slung over her back, dressed in a well-worn Fleetwood Mac t-shirt just to mess with him.

Harry was already there, sitting on the edge of a couch with a notebook in his lap, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the cover.

He looked up when she walked in, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

Y/N dropped onto the couch beside him, stretching out like she owned the place. “Didn’t think you actually had a studio. Thought you just wrote love songs in expensive hotel rooms.”

Harry chuckled, flipping the notebook shut. “Maybe I do both.”

The night unfolded in quiet moments and half-sung melodies.

She watched as he disappeared into the recording booth, slipping the headphones over his ears, eyes fluttering shut as the music took over.

And for the first time, she let herself really listen to him.

Harry had always been a good singer. That much was obvious. But there was something about watching him like this—seeing the way he poured himself into every lyric, the way his voice carried a rawness that no amount of polish could hide—that made her breath catch.

He was singing something new, something unfinished.

And as his voice curled around the notes, thick with longing and something unspoken, he looked up—straight at her.

Y/N’s grip tightened around her whiskey glass.

The booth’s glass separated them, but the way he stared at her—intense, knowing, like he could see straight through her—made her feel like there was nothing between them at all.

She swallowed hard, looking away first.

Harry smirked.

One studio session turned into two. Two turned into three.

And then, before she knew it, she was on a plane with him, tucked into first-class seats as his tour swept across the country.

She told herself she was just tagging along for inspiration, a creative escape.

She told herself it didn’t mean anything.

But the late nights in hotel rooms told a different story.

They fell into a rhythm—drinking whiskey on balconies, trading lyrics like secrets, letting conversations slip into the kind of honesty that only existed between two people who didn’t want to admit what they were to each other.

Some nights, they wrote.

Some nights, they just existed—stretched out on hotel carpets, hands brushing when they passed the bottle back and forth, staring at ceilings like they held the answers to questions neither of them wanted to ask.

She hadn’t expected this.

Hadn’t expected the way he looked at her when she wasn’t paying attention.

Hadn’t expected the way she wanted to memorize the shape of his laughter.

Hadn’t expected the way she craved him, in the quiet, in the spaces between words, in the way his voice curled around her name like it was something sacred.

One night, she fell asleep in his hotel room.

They had been listening to records, the vinyl crackling in the background, the bottle of whiskey between them half-empty.

She had kicked off her boots at some point, curling up on the couch, his hoodie draped over her shoulders like she belonged in it.

Harry had been mid-sentence when he noticed she wasn’t answering.

He turned, finding her tucked into the cushions, her breathing soft, her hair spilling across her face.

Something in his chest tightened.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw, telling himself to let it go.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in, brushing her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering a second too long.

She stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

And for the briefest moment, Harry let himself want it—let himself imagine what it would feel like to close the space between them, to taste the whiskey on her lips, to see if she’d kiss him back or push him away.

He hovered there, so close, so fucking close—

And then he pulled back.

Shoving a hand through his curls, he let out a quiet curse, grabbing the nearest blanket and draping it over her instead.

Not now, he told himself.

Not yet.

He sat back, forcing himself to look away.

But even in the dark, even in the silence, he knew.

He was already in too deep.

London was cold, the kind of damp chill that clung to bones and made her wish she was still waking up in different hotel rooms, still stealing sips of his morning coffee, still pretending she didn’t care when he hummed her songs under his breath.

The withdrawal was annoying.

But not unexpected.

She had just finished scribbling notes for a new song when her phone rang.

“You still in town?”

She smirked, setting her pen down. “Didn’t know you missed me so much, pop star.”

Harry chuckled, that deep, lazy sound that made something twist in her stomach. “Not even denying it, are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “What do you want, Styles?”

“Dinner.”

That made her pause.

Sure, they had spent weeks living in each other’s pockets—whiskey-soaked late nights, studio sessions stretched into dawn, long looks across dimly lit dressing rooms—but this felt… different.

Intentional.

Like he was asking for something neither of them were ready to name.

Still, she played it cool. “Where?”

“I’ll text you.” A pause. “Wear something nice.”

She showed up to the restaurant in a leather jacket, ripped jeans, and her mother’s old silver rings.

Let him try and tell her what to wear.

Harry was already there, tucked into a quiet corner, a half-full glass of red wine in front of him. His curls were messier than usual, his sweater hanging loose on his frame, and the moment he saw her, his dimples deepened.

“Very fancy,” he teased, flicking the collar of her jacket as she slid into the seat across from him.

Y/N smirked. “If you wanted a date, you should’ve said so.”

Harry’s lips twitched. “Didn’t say I didn’t.”

The air shifted.

She ignored the way her pulse quickened, instead reaching for the menu. “So. What’s good here?”

They fell into easy conversation, talking about the tour, the highs and lows, the stupid inside jokes they’d collected along the way.

But somewhere between the laughter and the second glass of wine, the mood softened.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” she asked, twirling the stem of her glass between her fingers.

Harry tilted his head. “Of what?”

“Being… this.” She gestured vaguely at him, at the world outside the restaurant doors, at the weight of fame that followed them both. “The cameras, the expectations, the pressure. Do you ever just wanna disappear?”

Harry studied her, running his thumb along the rim of his glass.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But then I remember why I started. And it’s not about all the noise. It’s about the music. About…” He exhaled, shaking his head with a small smile. “About moments like this.”

Y/N felt her heart lurch before she could stop it.

She cleared her throat, forcing a smirk. “Sappy.”

Harry grinned, leaning back in his chair. “You love it.”

She did.

That was the problem.

They should have known better.

A quiet dinner in London? No such thing.

The next morning, the headlines were everywhere.

Harry Styles and Rock Royalty: A New Power Couple?

The Fleetwood Mac Connection—Is Y/N Following Her Mother’s Footsteps in Love, Too?

Spotted: Harry & Y/N, Cozy London Date Night or Just Old Friends?

Y/N groaned, tossing her phone onto the kitchen counter. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Harry’s name lit up her screen.

She answered without greeting. “Tell me this will blow over.”

Harry chuckled. “It’ll blow over.”

“You’re lying.”

“I am.” Another laugh. “We could deny it.”

“Obviously.”

“Or…”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Or?”

Harry’s grin was practically audible. “Could always lean into it.”

She snorted. “You wish, Styles.”

He hummed. “Yeah, maybe I do.”

Her stomach flipped.

Before she could respond, there was a knock on her door.

“Gotta go.” She hung up quickly, shaking off the warmth curling in her chest.

Then she opened the door.

And found her mother standing there, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

Y/N barely had a chance to step aside before Stevie breezed past her, silk scarves trailing, the scent of patchouli and incense filling the space.

She made a beeline for the kitchen, plucked Y/N’s phone off the counter, and squinted at the headlines.

Y/N sighed. “Good morning to you, too.”

Stevie hummed, tapping a red-lacquered fingernail against the screen. “So… you and Harry Styles.”

Y/N groaned. “For fuck’s sake, it’s nothing.”

Stevie arched a delicate brow, taking a slow sip of her tea. “Sure, baby. Keep telling yourself that.”

Y/N scowled. “It’s not love.”

Stevie’s lips curled into a knowing smile.

“Love is messy in this business, honey.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, snatching her phone back. “I wouldn’t know.”

Stevie just laughed, something soft and far too smug in her gaze.

Because she knew.

Long before Y/N was willing to admit it to herself.

She spotted him immediately.

Harry.

Leaning against the marble bar, whiskey in hand, dimples out in full force as he laughed at something Lizzo said. He looked too good, annoyingly good, all effortless charm and understated power in his black suit, his sheer shirt open just enough to tease golden skin and the sharp edge of his collarbone.

Y/N swallowed hard.

It had been weeks since the headlines. Since her mother’s knowing smile. Since she had convinced herself she wasn’t thinking about him like that.

But now, with the golden glow of the chandeliers casting shadows over his cheekbones, his green eyes flicking up to meet hers across the room—she felt it.

The pull. The inevitable, undeniable pull.

She found herself at his side before she could think better of it, sliding onto the barstool beside him.

Harry glanced at her, eyes flicking over her outfit—a silk slip dress in deep navy, barely-there straps, silver chains glinting against her collarbone. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers tightening around his whiskey glass.

Interesting.

Y/N smirked, plucking an olive from the garnish tray and popping it into her mouth. “Enjoying yourself, pop star?”

Harry exhaled a laugh, tilting his glass towards her. “Was just about to ask you the same thing, rock princess.”

She arched a brow. “You clean up well.”

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “So do you.”

Her breath hitched, but she masked it with a slow sip of her drink.

They fell into easy conversation, but the teasing was sharper tonight, laced with something dangerous. He was closer than usual, his knee brushing against hers, his fingers grazing the inside of her wrist when he reached for his drink.

And every time she laughed, his eyes flickered to her lips.

Sometime after midnight, when the party was loudest and the drinks were strongest, Y/N felt the walls closing in.

She had spent the last hour with his hand on the small of her back, his voice low in her ear, his eyes dark and unreadable whenever she so much as looked at someone else.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

So she grabbed his wrist.

“Come with me.”

Harry blinked, surprised, but let her lead him through the crowd, up a grand staircase, and through a side door that led to the rooftop.

The city stretched out below them, glittering in the darkness. The muffled bass of the party throbbed beneath their feet, but up here, the air was crisp, cool against flushed skin.

Harry ran a hand through his curls, exhaling. “Y’finally had enough of all that?”

Y/N scoffed. “I just needed to breathe.”

A beat of silence. Then—

“You think about it too, don’t you?”

Her stomach clenched.

She turned to him, arms crossed. “Think about what?”

Harry took a step closer. “This.”

Her heart hammered. “Harry—”

“I think about you too much,” he admitted, voice quiet but firm, like he had been holding it in for years.

The air crackled between them.

Y/N’s nails bit into her palms. Her voice was steady when she said, “Then do something about it.”

Harry moved before she could take it back.

His hand found her jaw, fingers tilting her face up to his. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, his breath fanning against her lips—giving her a chance to stop it, to pull away.

She didn’t.

So he kissed her.

Slow at first, teasing, like he wanted to savor the moment. His lips were soft but firm, tasting like whiskey and warmth, like something she hadn’t realized she had been starving for.

And when she kissed him back, something inside him snapped.

A groan rumbled in his throat as he deepened it, his other hand sliding around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The cold rooftop wall pressed against her back, his body against her front, caging her in.

She melted.

Her fingers tangled in his curls, tugging just enough to make him growl into her mouth. She felt his smirk against her lips before he kissed her harder, licking into her mouth like he wanted to learn every single inch of her.

The city blurred around them.

There was only this.

Only him.

Only the moment they had spent years pretending they didn’t want.

When they finally broke apart, Y/N was breathless, lips tingling, her hands still fisted in his hair.

Harry smirked, eyes dark and hazy.

“Was wondering when you’d let me do that.”

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, her fingers tracing his jaw.

“Shut up and do it again.”

And so he did.

They didn’t talk about it, not really.

They just acted.

And once that line had been crossed, there was no going back.

The secrecy of it all was intoxicating.

It turned the smallest moments into something electric—her fingers grazing his when she passed him a drink, the press of his palm against her lower back as he guided her through a crowd.

They stole kisses behind dressing room doors, in dimly lit hallways, in the backseat of a blacked-out SUV. It was a game neither of them acknowledged but both played with fervor.

It was thrilling.

It was dangerous.

It was them.

Harry had sent her nothing but a single text:

Room 1107. Door’s open.

So she went.

The moment she stepped inside, he was already reaching for her.

His hands were warm as they slid around her waist, pulling her in. His lips found hers before she could even make a remark about his audacity, and suddenly she was backed up against the wall, gasping softly into his mouth as his fingers gripped the hem of her hoodie—the one she had stolen from his suitcase weeks ago.

It smelled like him.

It felt like home.

“Missed you,” he muttered against her lips, his voice rough with exhaustion but laced with something softer, something sweeter.

She smirked, her fingers curling into his T-shirt. “You saw me three hours ago.”

Harry hummed, dragging his lips down the column of her throat. “Still too long.”

She rolled her eyes, but the shiver down her spine betrayed her.

But sleep had other plans.

Y/N woke up tangled in crisp white sheets, her limbs a lazy sprawl across the mattress. The scent of Harry—cologne, whiskey, and something distinctly him—wrapped around her like a second skin.

And then—

A knock at the door.

Her eyes flew open.

Harry groaned into the pillow beside her. “Fuck’s sake.”

“Harry? You up?”

His assistant.

Shit.

Y/N scrambled upright, heart racing. She barely had time to throw on his hoodie before Harry was tugging her off the bed, dragging her toward the closet.

“Oh, you have to be kidding me,” she hissed.

He just grinned, pushing the door open. “Get in.”

“Harry—”

“In, love.”

She barely had time to flip him off before he shut the door behind her, sealing her in darkness.

Y/N pressed a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, crouched between his suitcases, her bare legs chilled by the cool air inside.

She could hear everything.

The door creaking open.

Harry’s voice, rough from sleep. “Morning.”

The assistant’s knowing tone. “You sound like shit.”

A pause.

Y/N could feel the smirk in Harry’s response. “Yeah, well. Long night.”

Her glare could have burned through the door.

From the other side, she heard rustling—probably his assistant rifling through a bag.

Then—

“Oh, and by the way? If you’re gonna sneak someone in, maybe don’t leave two pairs of shoes by the door next time.”

Silence.

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

Harry, to his credit, barely missed a beat.

“Right. Yeah. Noted.”

The door shut a moment later.

She barely had time to breathe before the closet door swung open, revealing Harry’s smug, dimpled grin.

“Next time,” he murmured, offering his hand to pull her up, “you’re hiding under the bed.”

Y/N smacked his chest.

And then kissed him.

It was meant to be quick—just a press of lips in playful retaliation—but Harry wasn’t one to let a moment slip away. His fingers curled around her waist, holding her there, deepening the kiss. It was languid, familiar, the kind of kiss that tasted like late nights and secrets, like comfort and hunger all at once.

She sighed against his mouth. “I should go.”

“I know.”

Neither of them moved.

It was only when the morning light began creeping through the curtains, spilling over their tangled limbs, that she forced herself to untangle from him. Harry stayed in bed, arm draped over his forehead, watching as she slipped into her jeans and pulled on his hoodie—her own top lost somewhere in the haze of the night before.

His voice was hoarse from sleep. “At least let me get you a car.”

“I’ll call one,” she assured him, raking her fingers through her messy hair.

Harry sat up then, brows knitting together. “Y/N—”

“I’ll be fine,” she interrupted, flashing him a small smile. She pressed a last kiss to his cheek, inhaled the warmth of his skin, and slipped out of the room.

And right into a camera flash.

The second she stepped onto the pavement, she knew.

The street wasn’t exactly swarming, but one paparazzo was enough. He was already snapping rapid shots, the sound of the shutter slicing through the dawn stillness like a guillotine. She didn’t run—that would make it worse. Instead, she pulled up the hood of Harry’s sweatshirt, kept her chin down, and slid into the waiting car.

Her phone buzzed before she even reached her apartment.

Maddie: Shit. Have you seen TMZ??

Y/N’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t even shut the door behind her before she was pulling up the link.

The headline screamed at her in bold print:

Y/N Nicks Spotted Leaving Harry Styles’ Home—Rock Royalty & Pop Prince?

Her pulse pounded as she scrolled. Dozens of pictures. Some from last night when they arrived separately at his house. Some from this morning, catching her in the same outfit.

And then the comments.

Not surprised. The tension in that interview was insane. She’s not even that famous wtf. Fleetwood Mac and One Direction crossover??? Didn’t she date that bassist last year? She’s literally wearing his hoodie. IT’S HAPPENING. Harry can do better tbh.

Her fingers tightened around the phone.

She should have known.

By noon, it was everywhere. Entertainment news, gossip sites, even actual journalists weighing in on the implications of her and Harry. She ignored the notifications, silenced her phone, but then came the email from her publicist.

And worse—Harry’s PR team.

We need to get ahead of this. No comment is best for now. We’re drafting a statement.

It was bullshit.

By mid-afternoon, she was at his house.

Harry was pacing the living room, phone in one hand, stress written all over his face. He looked up when she walked in, exhaling heavily. “They want me to deny it.”

Y/N’s breath caught. “What?”

“They think—” He dragged a hand through his curls. “They think we can ride it out, wait for something else to distract them. If we say nothing, it dies faster.”

Something bitter lodged itself in her throat. “Say nothing? Or lie?”

He hesitated. And that was enough.

“You said we were in this together,” she said, voice sharp.

“We are,” he insisted. “But you know how this works, Y/N. It’s different for me. The fans.”

Her laugh was hollow. “Oh, the fans.”

“That’s not—” He sighed, shaking his head. “You know what I mean.”

“No, Harry. I don’t.” She crossed her arms. “Because last I checked, I’m in this industry too. I’ve had my entire existence scrutinized since birth. Do you think I don’t know what it’s like to have people picking apart my every move?”

His jaw clenched.

She pressed on. “But I’m not ashamed of you. And I sure as hell don’t want to pretend this isn’t real just because some PR team is scared of a few bad headlines.”

“I’m not ashamed of you,” he said, voice low.

“Then why are you acting like you are?”

Silence.

Her heart hammered.

Finally, she exhaled shakily, voice barely above a whisper. “I want us to stop hiding. Please.”

He didn’t say anything.

And maybe that was her answer.

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat, nodded once, and turned for the door.

The quiet thud of the door closing behind her felt heavier than it should have.

It wasn’t dramatic—no slamming, no storming out. Just the quiet finality of leaving.

And yet, it echoed.

She didn’t cry in the car. Didn’t cry when she got home. Didn’t even cry when she scrolled through Twitter and saw her name still trending, the discourse evolving by the hour.

What does Harry see in her anyway? She’s just another nepotism baby. She’s so private—does she think she’s better than his other exes? She’s clearly using him for clout. She’s lucky to have him, but he deserves someone who actually appreciates him.

Her fingers hovered over the screen before she locked her phone and tossed it onto the couch.

Let them talk. Let them spin their stories. It wasn’t like the truth mattered.

She went silent.

No Instagram stories, no late-night tweets, no cryptic lyrics. The press called it a calculated move, the fans called it suspicious, but in reality?

She just didn’t have the energy.

She slept too little and drank too much coffee. She ignored calls from her publicist. Ignored texts from mutual friends who wanted to check in but were probably just fishing for an inside scoop.

And Harry?

Harry didn’t reach out.

Not once.

Which, of all the things, hurt the most.

It had been three days.

She was at her mother’s house when it happened.

Stevie had always been able to tell when something was wrong, no matter how good Y/N thought she was at masking it. She hadn’t pried, though. Not yet. Instead, she let Y/N exist in the space, offering quiet company rather than questions.

But Y/N knew she wouldn’t escape forever.

That night, the house was quiet except for the hum of the wind outside. Stevie had gone to bed hours ago, leaving Y/N alone in the dimly lit living room, the grand piano standing in the corner like it was waiting for her.

She didn’t even realize she was walking toward it until her fingers brushed against the keys.

She sat down.

And she played.

It started as muscle memory, the chords slipping out in a familiar pattern, soft and haunting. The kind of song that lingered in the bones, that carried the weight of something unfinished.

"You could be my silver spring..."

The words came out quieter than she intended, but they were there.

"Blue-green colors flashing..."

Her voice wavered.

"I would be your only dream..."

Her fingers trembled over the keys, the melody filling the empty room.

"You will never be my lover..."

The tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them.

God.

She hadn’t cried. Not when the pictures leaked, not when the headlines turned ugly, not even when she walked away.

But here, under the weight of this song—her mother’s song—she broke.

She barely heard the footsteps approaching behind her.

But she felt the presence.

A hand, warm and familiar, rested gently on her shoulder.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop playing.

Stevie sat down beside her on the bench, saying nothing.

She just listened.

And when Y/N’s hands finally fell away from the keys, when her head dropped forward and her shoulders shook with silent sobs, her mother reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Oh, baby," she murmured softly.

And that was all it took for Y/N to shatter completely.

She turned into her mother’s arms, hiding her face against her shoulder as the heartbreak spilled out in ways she hadn’t allowed before.

Stevie just held her.

She didn’t say I told you so, didn’t say you knew this would happen, didn’t say I warned you, love is messy in this business.

She just let her cry.

Because what was there to say?

Y/N had been willing to fight for this. She had been willing to face the noise, the scrutiny, the world dissecting her every move—for him.

And he hadn’t even reached for her when she walked away.

She had loved him. Had let herself believe, even just for a moment, that they could exist beyond the secrets, beyond the fear.

But maybe she had been wrong.

Maybe he was never hers to begin with.

Meanwhile...

Harry hadn’t slept.

He had spent the last three days running on autopilot, going through the motions of studio sessions and meetings, pretending like everything was fine when it wasn’t.

He had tried to tell himself that this was the right move. That letting the story die on its own was the best way to protect them both.

But nothing about this felt right.

He had checked his phone a hundred times, fingers hovering over her contact, but he never typed anything. What could he say? Sorry I didn’t fight for us? Sorry I let the fear win?

He wasn’t sure what finally pushed him over the edge. Maybe it was the lack of her name in his messages, the absence of her voice. Maybe it was the fact that he had spent years wanting her and only had days before she slipped away completely.

Or maybe it was the video.

It wasn’t even a full clip, just a fifteen-second snippet someone had posted online.

Y/N, at a piano. Playing Silver Springs.

It was grainy, the lighting dim, but he knew her silhouette anywhere.

And he knew what that song meant.

His stomach dropped.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t just the weight of the media or the PR teams or the fans that mattered.

It was her.

It had always been her.

And if he didn’t move now, if he didn’t do something, he was going to lose her for good.

The rain was relentless.

It hit the pavement in steady sheets, washing the city in silver streaks and the glow of streetlights. It soaked through Harry’s clothes, plastering his shirt to his skin, curling his hair against his forehead, dripping down his jaw like the storm itself was trying to pull him under.

But he didn’t care.

His heart was hammering, his chest tight with something wild and desperate as he stood in front of her door, fist poised to knock.

This was it.

No more hiding. No more silence. No more pretending like he could live without her.

His knuckles hit the wood. Once. Twice.

Nothing.

He swallowed hard, knocking again, harder this time, rainwater slipping down his wrist.

Still nothing.

His stomach clenched. What if she wasn’t here? What if she didn’t want to be here—what if she had already left, had already moved on—

The door swung open.

And there she was.

She stood barefoot in the doorway, an oversized sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder, her hair damp, like she’d just stepped out of the shower.

She hadn’t been expecting him. That much was obvious.

Her eyes widened, lips parting slightly as she took him in—the way his shirt clung to his chest, the way water dripped from his curls, the way his breath came ragged and uneven.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then—

“Fuck the PR,” he blurted, voice raw. “Fuck the headlines.”

She blinked.

“I love you.”

The words hit the air like a lightning strike, sharp and electric.

A breath. A pause. A crack in the silence.

The rain hadn’t let up.

It streaked down the windowpanes, tapping a steady rhythm against the glass, pooling in the crevices of the street outside. The air smelled like wet pavement and something electric, something on the verge of breaking.

He stood there in her doorway, dripping onto the hardwood floors, soaked to the bone. His shirt clung to him, darkened by the rain, molded to the sharp lines of his chest and the ridges of his stomach. Water curled at his jaw, trailing down the hollow of his throat. His breaths were heavy, ragged, like he’d run here in the downpour, like nothing in the world had mattered more than making it to this moment.

And she—

She just stared.

Chest rising and falling, lips slightly parted, fingers trembling at her sides.

Silence stretched between them, thick and weighted, every unspoken word, every unshed tear, every almost hanging in the space between their bodies.

Her fingers fisted in the damp collar of his shirt.

She yanked him inside.

The door slammed behind them, but neither of them noticed.

His back hit the wood, a sharp inhale punched from his lungs as she pressed against him. Their bodies were a tangle of heat and desperation, a collision of limbs and longing, the storm outside nothing compared to the one building between them.

Her hands slid up, skimming over his shoulders, gripping the nape of his neck, pulling.

Their mouths crashed together.

It was rough. Messy. Clumsy in the way only something utterly inevitable could be.

Her nails scraped against his scalp, and he groaned into her mouth, his fingers threading into her damp hair, tugging just enough to tip her head back. His lips slanted over hers, deepening the kiss, tasting her like he was starved for it.

She gasped when his mouth trailed lower, down the curve of her jaw, the column of her throat. He bit down, just enough to leave a mark, just enough to make her shudder against him.

Her hands fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, but the fabric was stuck to him, refusing to give. Frustration twisted her features.

“Off,” she demanded, voice breathless, thick with need.

He barely pulled back long enough to shove the wet fabric off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor with a damp slap.

She pressed her palms against his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the erratic beat of his heart beneath her touch.

Then, she leaned in, running her tongue over the rain-slicked skin at his throat.

His whole body tensed.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped.

Losing Control

They didn’t make it far.

They stumbled through the flat, hands desperate, mouths never parting, breathing each other in like oxygen.

Her sweatshirt was the next casualty, pulled up and over her head, landing somewhere behind them. His hands were on her skin instantly, fingers tracing the delicate lines of her spine, dragging down, down—gripping the back of her thighs and hoisting her up.

She gasped against his lips, legs wrapping around his waist.

He walked them backward, moving blindly, guided only by instinct and the sound of her breathing, the little whimpers she made when he kissed the hollow of her throat, the way her hips shifted against him.

They hit the couch.

She was weightless for a moment, air rushing from her lungs as he dropped her onto the cushions, hovering above her, chest heaving.

His hands spread over her bare thighs, sliding up, up, until his fingers hooked into the waistband of her shorts. He glanced up, meeting her gaze.

“I’ve wanted you since that first night,” he murmured, voice rough, wrecked.

Her breath caught.

A single heartbeat. A moment suspended in time.

Then she was tugging him down, capturing his mouth with hers.

Heat.

That was all she could feel.

The press of his body, the weight of him between her thighs, the scratch of his stubble against her skin as he kissed a path down her stomach.

Her nails raked down his back, catching at the waistband of his jeans, tugging. He groaned, the sound vibrating against her skin, his grip tightening on her hips as he pushed himself lower.

His lips ghosted over her navel, down further, until—

Her back arched, a sharp inhale punched from her lungs, a curse whispered into the air.

And then everything blurred.

A tangle of limbs, clothes stripped away piece by piece, moans swallowed in kisses, bodies moving together, frantic, unrestrained, the storm raging both outside and between them.

He pressed inside her with a shuddering breath, forehead dropping against hers, their hands gripping, clutching, desperate.

“Look at me,” he murmured, voice hoarse, raw with something deeper than lust.

She did.

And in that moment, it wasn’t just sex.

It was everything.

They collapsed against each other, breathless, bodies tangled.

Her cheek rested against his chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles over her bare spine.

The rain pattered softly against the window, but all she could hear was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, quietly—

“You didn’t stop me from walking away.”

He exhaled, his lips brushing over her temple. “I wanted to.”

She glanced up at him. “Then why didn’t you?”

His throat bobbed. “Because you deserved more than that.”

Her heart ached.

She shifted, fingers trailing over his jaw, over the curve of his mouth. “And now?”

His hand tightened on her waist.

“I’m done running.”

She stared at him for a beat.

Then, slowly, she smiled.

And when she kissed him, soft and lingering, he knew—

So was she.

The world could burn. The headlines could scream. The fans could theorize. The PR teams could scramble.

None of it mattered anymore.

Because they were done hiding.

They chose the timing.

They chose the words.

They chose each other.

The cameras were set up in a cozy, softly lit studio, with plush chairs and warm lighting that made everything feel a little less staged, a little more intimate. She sat beside him, their hands resting on the space between them—not quite touching, but close.

The interviewer, an older woman with kind eyes, smiled at them both.

“So,” she began, “I think it’s safe to say the world has been dying to know. What’s the truth?”

Harry exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. He glanced at Y/N, his dimples peeking out as he grinned, then looked back at the camera.

“The truth?” he repeated, voice playful, teasing.

She nudged him, a silent Behave.

He ignored it.

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging like it was the easiest thing in the world. “I’m in love with her. Always have been.”

The interviewer made a sound of delight. The world outside exploded.

She turned to Y/N, who was smiling so wide her cheeks ached.

“And you?” the interviewer asked gently.

Y/N looked at Harry.

He was already looking at her.

“I’m in love with him too,” she murmured. “Obviously.”

The arena was packed.

The energy in the air was electric, a chorus of cheers and music and flashing lights. The setlist was nearly done, the concert winding toward its final moments. But before the last song, Harry paused.

“Alright,” he murmured into the mic, stepping back from the center of the stage. “I’ve got something special for you all tonight.”

The crowd roared.

His eyes found her, standing just offstage, watching him with an amused smile.

And then—he extended his hand.

She hesitated.

Not because she didn’t want to. But because, for the first time, this wasn’t just between them. This was in front of thousands.

He must have seen it in her eyes, because he smiled—soft, reassuring, knowing. He wiggled his fingers, beckoning her.

“C’mon, love,” he said. “Duet?”

The audience screamed.

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous,” she mouthed.

But she took his hand.

The moment she stepped onto the stage, the noise doubled, an eruption of cheers and chants and camera flashes.

But none of it mattered.

Not when he was looking at her like that.

The first chords of the song played, slow and sweet, the melody wrapping around them like something sacred.

And then—

He lifted her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

Soft.

Lingering.

Devoted.

The crowd melted.

But in that moment, as the lights bathed them in gold, as their voices wove together, as their fingers stayed entwined—

It wasn’t about the world watching.

It was about them.

Because for once, it didn’t matter who was looking.

They had each other.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading, you’re a total angel! Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! It means everything to me! 💖

taglist: @oscahpastry @mema10 @angelbabyyy99 @iloveharrystyles04 @cinemharry @drwho06 @donutsandpalmtrees @panini @mads3502 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @one-sweet-gubler @rizosrizos26 @ciriceimpera @everyscarisahealingplace @hello-heyhi @sexymfharriet @lizsogolden @hannah9921 @chicabonitasblog @huhidontknowstuff @berrywoods1245 @jennovaaa @angeldavis777 @prettygurl-2009 @almostcontentcreator @run-for-the-hills @maudie-duan @dipmeinhoneyh @harrrrystylesslut @georgiarose94 @stylestarkey @watarmelon212 @hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east @bethiegurl19 @adoredeanna @secretisme4 @harry2121 @hopefullimaginer123 @fangirl509east @uncassettodiricordi @2601-london @zbaby @harryscherries28 @michellekstyles

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gyuswhore · 4 months ago

Text

Cherry Picker [teaser]

part of the winter with you collab hosted by @camandemstudios!

Choi Seungcheol x reader

est. word count: um 30k (?) EDIT: projecting near 20k [see reblogs] EDIT pt2: we're back to 30k (possibly more)

est. release date: January 10th

warnings: Hockey player! Seungcheol, figure skater! reader, *deep breath* ENEMIES TO LOVERS, angst, fluff, smut [MINORS DNI], more to be added in final post

synopsis: Cherry Picking [ice hockey]: a manoeuver in which a player, the floater, literally loafs (spends time in idleness) or casually skates behind the opposing team's unsuspecting defencemen while they are in their attacking zone. There wasn't much you counted on in life; just your skates, your drive and how it felt to win. And of course, your local ice rink, that is now being colonised by an obnoxious hockey team in all their big, loud, stinking glory. Neither does it help that one particular red donned specimen forgets to leave his cherry picking on the ice.

‼️ JOIN THE TAGLIST by sending an ask or replying under this post. AGE INDICATORS ON YOUR BLOG ARE NECESSARY. ‼️

[a/n]: I first wrote hockey player Cheol quite literally a full year ago and I promised to expand on the concept, so here we are!!! im so excited for y'all to read this bc im genuinely putting my heart and ass into this fic. lmk your thoughts about the teaser!!! please remember to support the rest of the fics coming out in association with the winter with you collab, all of these writers are working so hard to bring you fics you're going to love 🥹

masterlist

The ice is empty, mostly. Placing your laptop in the sound booth and your shoes under the benches, you step foot on the ice. They’re there, on the other end, sitting on the cold ice with their jerseys still on, eating what looks like cups of dippin dots.

Seungcheol and Jeonghan, you remember from Lorelai’s squealing, either don’t notice you on the ice, or simply choose not to. Because it’s easy as you skate up to them, gaining speed from across the rink, you slide to a stop, sending a perfect spray of ice from your skates, directly into their cups.

Seungcheol’s full spoon hangs mid air, halfway to his mouth, now garnished with ice shavings.

“Thought you’d have the respect to keep the dippin dots out of this,” Jeonghan comments, disbelief in his eyes as he looks up at you.

“Ice is booked.”

“What time?” Seungcheol asks. Your gaze flickers to the left side of his face, a nasty bruise blooming purple and blue that you hadn’t noticed before.

“Two sixteen. It’s nearly fifteen minutes past.”

“You’re only one person.”

“And?”

“And…you have about 97% of the rink to yourself.”

You raise your brows, hands on your hips. “But I booked 100% of it. So I’m gonna need that plane of ice you’re currently sitting on.”

“What if I don’t move?” Seungcheol presses. It’s menacing, the way he looks at you, like he’s a dragon only waiting to be provoked.

“We’ll find out another day,” Jeonghan sings before you can snap back, grabbing onto the collar of Seungcheol’s red and white jersey to yank him up. He continues to glare as he obliges with his friend’s tugs, nearly as angry as you are. “Let’s go, sport.”

You watch as they walk to the exit of the ice, realising they’re wearing their shoes instead of their skates.

Jeonghan calls from the benches, right before he and Seungcheol move out of view. “Trash those for us, would you?”

Their half eaten dippin dots cups, with the ice now melting on them remains on the floor of the rink.

Once again, the unexplainable urge to kick something befalls you, hearing them laugh and talk from far away as they exit the rink behind their long gone teammates.

You give in, swinging a leg over to kick the cups and spoons, dippin dots and plastic scattering across the ice. It’s another sprawl of mess you’ll have to clean up, but it feels good to ruin something of his, no matter how inconsequential.

The empty rink is only encouraging you, needing to scream so loud the plastic barriers crack and break. You know it’s impossible, but that doesn’t stop the urge.

You channel it into the most aggressive warmups on ice you’ve ever done. Your spins are faster, your jumps higher. But this also means you crash heavier, fall harder.

It’s then, sitting on the bench to take a break, breathing so heavy you can hardly sip your water, you find an unmistakable headline on your browser home page.

Everything stops.

!HOT TOPIC!

SEAT AT RISK FOR SVT HOCKEY TEAM’S SHINING STAR? Read All About It Here!

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simpjaes · 1 year ago

Text

desecration. (s.j)

the one where no gods exist when you’re alone with jake sim.

minors dni !! | if you read it, reblog it.

WORDCOUNT ― 6.4k

PAIRING ― jake sim x afab reader

GENRE ― top/dom jake sim, characters are in their twenties, sub/bratty reader, religious kink/fetish

WARNINGS― mild dub con, desecration of holy a relic, inaccurate descriptions of whatever religion this is– im not doing research for a 5k fic that’s mostly smut, sorry.

NOTE― if you’ve read this before, it’s because I wrote it for mark lee over on my other blog [ncteez]. we wanted to make it jake, and by we i mean me. i wanted to read this as jake. sorry to religious ppl, don’t read this if you don’t wanna be railed by a hot guy wielding a cross.

smut tags under cut::

smut tags― DUB CON. use of the words: whore, slut, for the record, the cross is not raw wood and has a smooth finish, reader is first attempting to seduce the priest through confession lmao, she’s also just a massive whore just like me :), jake is the priest’s son, jerking off, penetration using a wooden cross, unprotected sex, spitting, choking on and/or sucking off a cross, degradation, and name-calling, he’s a godfearing man but also he likes sexual perversions, humiliation, explicitly getting fucked in a church, kind of fingering?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake wonders why you’re always making confessions, time and time again, once a week, every single week….eagerly. Like you’re excited for your sin or something.

Huh.

Then again, once a week his father is expected to listen to confessions from the other churchgoers, even Jake himself is expected to confess. Often he will make up sins that he has committed just to seem as though he has been learning from some sort of mistake. Never would Jake actually tell his father through a confession booth what he has done or is willing to do. He’s an adult, he can confess whatever he wants.

You, on the other hand, you’re working his father to the bone in terms of forgiveness.

Jake’s interest piques at the very idea of a young woman, around his age, wanting to confess so much. Did you hurt someone? Does you hurt yourself? Did you kill someone? Or maybe you’re just caught up in a situation that makes you commit atrocities? He can’t even imagine what one person could be doing to elicit such an eager need of forgiveness so consistently.

Always the first in the box, always with those inappropriate outfits too.

Jake makes his way to the back of the church to complete his duties and, of course, he isn’t surprised to see you enter the confession booth. After all, it is the start of a new week.

Hushed whispers were echoing through the large space and only now does he realize that you almost always confess when the church is nearly empty. You must not be unaware of his presence at all, unaware that he is the son of the priest that you spill your sins to, and unaware that he can absolutely hear you when he walks closer.

He isn’t entirely sure why he is listening. The walls of this church echo any and every sound, and to be fair, the only reason his interest is piqued is because his father was silent from the moment you had entered the booth. All he heard was you. You didn’t seem to start the confession off in a proper manner either, so yeah, maybe it caught him off guard too.

His ears make attempts to adjust to the words coming from the booth, but your voice is coming out in a tone that he has never used himself when seeking salvation. Minutes pass and he still hasn’t heard his father speak a word back to you, not to encourage you, not to stop you. It’s just you, addressing dreams, visions, wants, and needs.

Certainly not confession. In fact, you’re actively sinning, attempting to seduce.

“I woke up shaking, Father. What should I do?”

Jake notes how quiet his father is still, despite you asking him what to do about the dream. His face sours when you continue to speak, this time in a slightly louder tone.

“I just can’t help myself sometimes, I–”

It’s not that it’s intentional, really, it isn’t. If anything at all, Jake is incredibly disgusted by your attempts to dirty talk during a confession. Disgusted that you’d do such a thing, and…maybe intrigued by what you may have said that he wasn’t quite able to catch before. He quietly moves to the other side of the booth, the side where you seem to be spouting off all sorts of things, and he raises his head to listen a bit more.

“You were big, you know? I can’t get thoughts of you out of my head. Have you ever touched a woman, Father?”

Jake leans in further, his body reacting more than his disgust. Unfortunately, his length growing in his pants ceases the moment his father cuts you off.

“Enough.” His father finally stops you from abusing the booth, from abusing him.

Not another word is spoken and Jake does his best to back away quickly and quietly as you exit the booth. Of course, he’s acting as though he is sweeping a corner when he turns to look at you. Eye contact is made and he can feel an intense rush of heat spread across his cheeks.

Ah, so you’re a whore.

His father stays inside of the booth for a long, drawn out, three or so minutes before exiting and all Jake can think about is if you walked out of the church soaked and warm between your legs. It’s not even that Jake is into sinning. He isn’t. His entire life was built around this church, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a man. He has needs just like you do, apparently.

Never would he get what he needs from a woman as dirty as yourself, though, it doesn’t stop him from thinking about it and how your voice sounds when you were actively trying to fuck his dad.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“You’re disgusting.” Jake narrows his eyes at you when you pass by, spitting the words at you with a grimace.

“Excuse me?” You ask, stopping in your tracks and looking back at him just as harshly. You didn’t provoke him to speak to you at all, let alone fucking insult you?

“You think I can’t hear the way you speak to my dad during your little “confessions”?” He takes a step forward as he whispers at you, air quoting the word confession with a roll of his eyes.. “You really think he’s just going to take you up on the offer?”

Narrowing your own eyes, you step closer to Jake to stop anyone else from hearing his little tantrum.

“Wanna tell me why he always listens to my “confessions” then?” You question back, mimicking the air quotes and smirking as you walk away from him, not even letting him answer.

Jake watches as you leave, upset that he didn’t get a rise out of you at all and instead was offered a genuine question that sits in his mind. Why does his father allow you to make a confession after confession if all it is, is an attempt to seduce him? You’re even ashamed of it, it seems, and it pisses him off to no end.

Rushing after you, he is quick to grab at your dress and pull you back.

“Might as well just show up naked with the way you act around here,” He starts with a bite in his tone, dragging you off, down the hall and into a side room that usually remains empty.

He intends to put a stop to this because he’s heard several more of your confessions by his own will and learns that, apparently, your only sin is being a fucking slut.

“You have no place here.” He adds as he closes the door behind the two of you. Unintentionally locking you into a space that he’s directly saying you don’t belong in.

“Acting like you don’t think about fucking. Hah. We both know I’m not the only one,” You laugh, walking across the room with a shrug. It’s not the first time you’ve been reprimanded in a church, and it probably won’t be the last. “Besides, your dad probably thinks about me late at night after tucking your grown ass into bed like a child.”

Jake narrows his eyes even more at you.

“Bet that pisses you off.”

“You’re ridiculous to think he would even want someone like you.” Jake scoffs harshly at you, gut bubbling with annoyance. “To think about sex this often too? I can’t imagine anyone would want to touch such a slut.”

You watch him walk towards you, with his perfectly tucked shirt and his darkened and angry eyes. Being alone with him doesn’t help his argument though because, in all fairness, he’s just as hot, if not hotter than his father.

“What about you then?” You ask, leaning against one of the shelves in the room, running your hand up your legs, and hiking your dress up a couple of inches.

“Your dad with his lingering eyes won’t admit to having ever touched a woman. Yet here you are.” You call out the priest’s lie with a snide chuckle before continuing. Fingers massaging your own fleshy thighs, watching the way Jake struggles with his own lingering eyes. “What about you? You ever fuck anyone?”

Jake grimaces, wrinkling his nose as he watches you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He questions, stomping over to you and pushing your dress back down below your knees.

“Oh!” You laugh, ticking your tongue at him and tilting your head. “You said a bad word. Aren’t you going to ask for forgiveness?”

He stares at you for a few seconds, being face to face with a woman that seems so desperate for any touch has his heart racing. He’s trying to call you out, not turn you on.

“Can’t you act decent? I barely know you and you’re flaunting yourself at me.” Jake bellows, stumbling back from you and examining the way your body is relaxed.

You really seem to be enjoying this.

“You’re the one who pulled me in here. Was it really to argue with me, or were you trying to get to me before Father does?”

Thinking for a moment, Jake realizes he’s the reason this is happening. He could have just let you leave like everyone else, after all, you were attempting to go home. Here he is though, and there you are.

“He would never.” Jake laughs, mocking your attempts to pretend his father would be interested in you.

“And again, what about you?” You shoot back instantaneously, watching the way his words get caught in his throat.

He’s a weak man, truly, because the very thought of what’s under your dress, the very idea that you’re so willing, fogs his brain to the point of almost malfunctioning. It would be so fucking easy if he wanted to.

No one would even know.

Before you even know it, you can feel the air in the room change as he storms closer to you and rips your dress upwards to your waist. Instantly, he’s shoving his hand straight between your legs.

A small yelp leaves your throat followed by a laugh. Perfect.

“I knew it.” You giggle, bumping your head a bit against the shelf at the force of his movement. You can feel the way his palm cups your core and presses in harshly through his silent breaths. “I fucking knew you were dirty.”

“Stop,” Jake demands, bringing his other hand to cover your mouth. “Stop talking.” He continues, already pulling his hand from your core and second-guessing himself.

“If you want it so bad, I’m going to need you to shut the fuck up.”

You nod with a smile against his palm, breathing in when he pulls it back and trusts your ability to stay quiet. He’s staring directly into your eyes as if he’s threatening you. As if he will stop if you make a single peep. A promise that he will probably get you banned from the church if anyone were to find out what’s happening in this room right now. At his darkened gaze, you poke your tongue out, licking his palm and watching him pull back in aroused shock at how unashamed you are regarding your arousal. But, you do stay true to your work and remain quiet once his eyes trail down.

He looks at you as if you’re some sort of monstrous entity, and for him at this moment, you probably are. But even with that, you see what’s growing in his pants before he lowers himself onto the floor. Positioning his face right in front of your clothed pussy.

What a dirty, dirty boy.

Jake can see the wet stain of your panties and all he can do is roll his eyes.

“You’re insane.” He laughs, eyes darting up to your face, looking at you like he wants to shame you. “Getting so messy in such a place, all for men who don’t fucking want you?”

You nod, wiggling your hips at him in an attempt to entice his lips to attach there. But he doesn’t. He just stands right back up to his feet and takes a step backwards.

“I bet if I left you here, you’d chase after me.” He mocks. “I bet you think I’m gonna stick it in you, don’t you?”

Proudly, you smile with a nod. Of course he's going to stick it in. You can see how hard he’s gotten. Sin or not, you know when a man wants to fuck you. Jake won’t be able to resist sooner or later, son of the priest or not.

“Wow,” He laughs quietly, shaking his head at you as he reaches behind a podium and pulls out a large, lacquered wooden cross. “You really are stupid.”

Great, you think as your face falls. He’s definitely about to start preaching to you with that stupid fucking cross. Maybe he will even attempt to perform an exorcism to expel the horny demons out of you.

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes, standing yourself up straight from against the shelf and patting your dress back down into position. “Don’t start this shit.” You’re already preparing to walk out without looking twice at him, but he laughs right back at you.

“You think you know everything.” He chuckles, walking towards the door and locking it. He stands in front of it now, crossing his arms and staring at you.

“Don’t I?” You ask, eyeing the way he presents himself to you right now.

“Did I not just imply that I wouldn’t use my cock on you?” He questions, twitching in his pants at the way you stand before him, much smaller in energy now.

He can tell you’re still trying to act brave, and it delights him to see the realization spread across that pretty, silent mouth.

Oh. Oh.

“You’re going to–?” You swallow hard, realizing that of all the sins you could commit, the implication of being penetrated with a cross, solely so this man doesn’t have to fuck a whore isn’t one you ever thought of.

This room doesn’t even feel like part of a church now as he holds the cross with more reason than praying.

“Yeah,” He assures you. “I am.” Stepping forward toward you and looming down at your face. “Now get on the desk.”

You don’t know why, but your body acts on instinct for him. Immediately walking to the desk and propping yourself onto it.

“Take off your clothes.” He demands again, watching you intently as he stays in place, rubbing the long end of the cross much like he’d like to do for himself right now.

God, watching such a stubborn woman do everything he says is…well, it’s new for him and it ignites a new type of arousal within him.

And you watch him back as you begin to slip your dress from your shoulders, lifting your ass so that you can push it down and onto the floor.

“Oh, now you wanna act shy?” He mocks, walking towards you as you attempt to tug at your panties. “And keep those on. No one wants to see that.”

Goddamn, you don’t even have the decency to wear a bra to service? Lucky for him though, your breasts are enough to drive him past the point of return. There’s no thought, fear, or prayer in his head right now as you reveal yourself to him. Going as far as trying to flash your pussy? Oh, he could laugh.

You stay quiet, doing as you’re told and watching the way he examines you. He must feel so in control right now and you’re happy to let him, but you can see him falling apart behind his eyes.

His cock is incredibly obvious beneath his nice dress pants, but you wouldn’t dare reach out to touch him, not yet at least. You’ll let him have his fun, despite the slight nervousness within you regarding that cross.

“Open your mouth.” He says, dragging the cross against your nipples and onto your chin. “Suck it.”

You almost shake your head at him. Such a hard wood sliding down your throat would surely hurt. It’ll bruise, it’ll fucking suffocate you.

Jake doesn’t seem to care about any of that though, because all he does in response to your widened and fear-stricken eyes is press the wood against your lips with a face of concentration.

You purse your lips, muffling a displeased grunt at his acts.

“You scared?” He smiles first, pulling the cross away and now tracing his fingers along your lips before prying them inside and hooking your mouth open. “Come on, don’t act like you don’t know how to suck.”

You relent this time, feeling the cold and smooth tip of the cross enter past your lips when he resumes his previous assault. It’s not that you are against doing it, you just…haven’t done it before.

You’re not exactly sure of how to respect a holy relic such as this one when you’re expected to choke on it.

“That’s it.” Jake coos, pressing the cross further into your mouth. “Open up real wide.”

You close your eyes at his voice, licking the smoothed object with an intensity you didn’t know you had. After all, it’s been so long since you’ve been intimate with a person, hence the constant wet dreams about your priest. This is somehow, incredibly hot to you. To have his son fucking your mouth, regardless of what object he’s using to do it.

Still, it does hurt. The intricate edges of the cross bruises each time it hits the clenching walls of your throat and mouth, but Jake seems to like the sound of you choking and sobbing around it. After all, he just continues to press the cross further and further in. Probably relishing in the way you try to swallow around it and relax your throat.

His eyes are so focused, seeing how much of it you can take and only imagining how good it would feel if it were his cock choking you right now. Despite your sputtering and crying eyes, you’re taking it so well.

Yeah, you’ve definitely done this before. Probably swallowed up some guy’s cum and begged for more despite still having a cock wedged in your throat. How lucky for them to have someone so desperate to be gagged.

“You’re filthy for doing this, you know that?” He laughs at your pain and how you don’t try to pull at his pushing hand, tipping the cross just a bit so that its hardened wood hits your throat in a way that hurts a bit too much.

You cough around it, only now pushing his hand back in protest. The tears are pouring from your eyes when the cross slides out of your mouth, and all you can do is blink up at him as you try to regain your breath.

Half expecting him to immediately hold your head in place just to shove the cross back in, Jake pulls back instead, tilting his head down to look at your panties.

Your legs instinctively cross to hide your arousal, but he prys your legs open regardless, forcing you to act as the whore you so wanted to be. For his father, for him, for anyone who would be willing, honestly.

You’ve gotten wetter.

“You’re so gross, I can’t believe you get off to this–” He laughs, feeling his cock begin to fucking ache. “You can take more, then.”

No, no. You don’t want to keep sucking it, but your mouth opens anyway. Too turned on by the idea of seeing Jake’s reaction to watching you be so dirty, so blasphemous.

The way he moans when you open your mouth willingly this time is…well, he looks fucking good. He sounds even better.

You take it into your mouth without so much as a second thought this time, allowing him to slide the cross back and forth against your tongue and into your throat. You willingly swallow around the harsh edges, tears falling all the while, of course.

You’re gagging so softly around it, he’s almost jealous over how you wanted his dad before you wanted him. Surely no one would do this for you, right? His father would never be with such a horny, needy, and dirty woman.

Jake though….shamefully, is very into it.

Into you, rather.

When he pulls it out this time, your saliva coats the cross in a way that nearly breaks his brain. Intensely, he stares at your lips, slack and waiting for him to continue his abuse. God, he’s so jealous. To think you would do this with someone else? With anyone? Anything?

It turns him on beyond belief, but feeling jealous of the fucking cross isn’t exactly something Jake wants to admit. His father? Sure, whatever. But a relic he’s prayed to his whole life? Growing resentful of it just because you take it down your pretty and bruised throat?

No.

Jake shifts now, unable to satiate the arousal within him without grabbing your hand and forcing you to grope his hidden cock. So hard, so fucking hard, he nearly lets out his own sob at the euphoric touch when he actually does it.

You’re a bit shocked that he’s letting you touch him, but you take the opportunity and run with it. You press your palm against him without any amount of shame, and all you can do is watch as he hangs his head, the saliva coated cross still gripped in his other hand.

“Bet you wanted to fuck my mouth.” You croak out, your voice sounding just as raw at your throat. “Bet you wanted me to take all of it and beg for your cum.”

His head shoots up in response to that as he grabs your face harshly, bucking against your hand at the same time. “Stop talking.” He seethes, releasing your face and inserting his fingers into your mouth instead. “Stick your tongue out.”

You do as he says, feeling his heavy cock twitching against your palm with each press.

Jake seems like an expert at this, you aren’t sure, but when he presses your tongue down with his fingers to open your throat up, he spits into your mouth so easily that you have no choice but to swallow it.

Well, okay. He could probably get away with doing that a few more times if he wanted to.

You moan when you swallow, lending him a dopey smile that shocks him. You weren’t supposed to like that in his eyes, but when you grab his cock in response rather than just palm at it, he can’t help but moan back at you.

His fingers continue to hold your tongue down as you jerk him off over his pants, and his hips stutter all the while until he loses all composure. Within a second, he stalks even closer, slamming both hands against the desk on either side of you and leaning forward to pin you there.

And then he grinds forward against your weak hand, pinned between him and the edge of the desk.

Yet still, he’s gripping that fucking cross as he pins you here.

“You want me to fuck you so bad, I can see it.” He croaks, not even allowing you to offer him a nod before he’s got his lips attached to yours and he’s licking into your mouth. It feels impossibly better than that cross pressing against the back of your throat but you swallow his kiss just as easily.

His hips continue to grind as he licks into your mouth like a man who doesn’t know how to kiss at all. So rough and messy with it, groaning more and more before he’s nearly a panting mess before you. He pulls back from the kiss only for a moment to stare at you, eye contact more fierce than it was before.

“I think you’re the one who wants to fuck me.” You manage to slip out before he can silence you again, and his eyes narrow instantly.

More than anything, that’s what he wants to do to you. He wants to shut you up in as many ways possible right now, and he definitely wants fucking you to be one of those ways. But he can’t, and he won't.

“Hah–you’d love that.” He laughs, reaching his empty hand between the two of you to press his pants down enough to let his cock spring free.

You can’t even get a good look at it, because he’s instantly grabbing himself and fucking his fist before looking back up at you.

“Go on, look.” He says, leaning a bit so that you can watch him jerk off in full view now. “Bet you’d beg for it if I told you to.”

“Please?” You instantly let out, eyes staring at the angry head of his cock leaking and pulsing.

“I didn’t say to actually beg–” He groans, halting his hand and instead, thrusting his hips into the tightly formed hole he’s created. “I’m not going to fuck you.” He laughs again, now pulling the cross back and into your view with a wicked smirk.

Of course. The cross. Well, at least you’re going to be fucked with something right?

You eye the piece of wood and then go back to watching him. You’re not sure what it is about this situation but it feels like your body is on fire. Maybe it’s because hell is right beneath you, just a floorboard away from what the two of you have gotten yourselves into behind this locked door.

“Oh?” He halts his hips and licks his lips. “You actually want me to fuck you with this?”

You nod frantically, spreading your legs in front of him and showing off how large the spot on your panties has grown since he last inspected it. You watch as his eyes practically burn a hole through your pussy.

Only then does he release his own cock and look back into your eyes. More seriously this time when reality and guilt clicks in his head.

“You are aware of what we are about to do, right?” His confidence falters blatantly as he glances at the cross. “Like, if you ever tell my dad about this, I will be disowned.”

“You think I’d snitch on you?” You roll your eyes, body nearly shaking to get fucked. God, why does he have to stop now?

“Well, since you’re so inclined to confess every fucking day–”

“Jake, you literally just fucked my throat with it.” You deadpan, hooking your legs around him to pull him close enough to feel his cock hit your wet panties. “You’re the dirtiest one here, I’m not going to give that up just to see you get disowned.”

He laughs at you for that. Because yeah, maybe he is. Maybe he’s the one who shouldn’t be in church, and maybe he’s the one who should have been confessing this whole time. Never in his life has he ever done this, or so much as imagined doing it, it’s so perverse. So, wrong. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what’s attractive about it.

For some reason, his cock jumps when you say you’re not giving him up because he’s dirty.

“And–” You soften your voice, trying to lure him. “You don’t have to use the cross, you know.”

“No.” He barks out, pulling his hips back and pressing the cross against you instead. “Now, keep your legs open.”

He gets right back into it without a second thought. He doesn’t care what he’s doing or what the repercussions of doing this will be. It’s not like he wasn’t going to hell before any of this, not based on the fantasies he’s had anyway.

Jake hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down your legs harshly, to the point that they’re stretching so far that it feels like they could cut through your skin. He backs away for a moment upon seeing you grimace at that, allowing you to slip them down your legs before positioning himself back between them.

“I’m dirty?” He says, looking at your pussy and the way it clenches around absolutely nothing. He sees the slick seeping out of you already, and it’s not only pathetic but so fucking desperate of you. “Fucking look at that.”

You smile at it, knowing that he’s degrading you but absolutely loving the view if his focused eyes are anything to go by.

Before the cross, he experimentally traces his fingers along your folds until he gets to your hole, and without hesitation, he slips one of them in. The grip of your walls alone could probably send him over the edge if he were to make a last-minute change and shove his cock into you, but he holds back. Instead, he traces the cross against you in the same way he did with his fingers, slowly inserting it alongside his digit.

Pulling back, Jake watches your face as the cross opens you up, probably dragging against your walls uncomfortably as a reminder of the ultimate sin you’re committing with him right now.

When your face doesn’t contort into that of pain, he pulls his finger out of you and places his hand back on his cock. Still staring at your face, he fucks the cross in and out of you. Relishing in the sound of how wet you are for this, and for him to give it to you.

He does this until, finally, you moan.

Upon that little whimper of a moan, Jake is sent into a different headspace. One that quickens his pace with the object inside of you, one that tightens the grip on himself.

Now, oh now, he’s playing for fun. He presses it in and then pulls it all the way out just to see your pussy beg for more. Holding back a moan over how fucking hot it is to see, he opts to coo out at you.

“Bet it would feel so good.” He breathes, trying to ignore the shiver that shoots through his body at the way you yearn for it. “Could shove my cock right in, you’d just take it, wouldn’t you?”

Before you can answer, he’s thrusting the relic right back into you. In, out, in, out. Deeper, harder, fucking faster. And he offers the same for himself, tightening his fist, nearly abusing his own cock at the sight of your swollen hole swallow up the wood. Really, he makes a point to fuck himself just to imagine it’s you that’s squeezing him.

If he thinks hard enough, it really is almost like he’s the one fucking you.

He keeps this up for a few minutes, up until your legs are shaking around him and you begin to reach out with your hands. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s incredibly fucking horny right now, he’d probably be rushing for the altar to save you from whatever demon is possessing you.

But, he knows that this is no demon, this is all his own doing. He’s loving it. Every single bit of this situation is being burned into his memory, and when your legs shake, it only urges him to fuck the object into you harder.

You whimper out strings of nonsense, almost begging for a release from this grasp he is holding over you both physically and mentally, but he doesn’t relent. Your pathetic cunt is being pounded by an object that should have you crying in fear, but instead, you’re so close to release you can only beg for more, more, fucking more.

And god, he keeps giving it to you.

In an attempt to open your eyes, you feel dizzy with lust. Your hips buck up against the object with intent, and you can’t stop watching him.

“Goddamn.” Jake stutters a sin, watching you fuck yourself against the holy relic. Thankful to rest his arm and be able to just…watch.

And oh, he’s watching and intensely imagining that it’s you on him. He can’t stop thinking about how fucking warm you must be, how tight, how sinfully delicious your pussy must be for you to be acting like this. And that thought is what forces him to lose it.

You were so focused, on the verge of your orgasm when you feel him practically tear the cross out of you, dropping it to the floor before – oh fuck.

You feel him. Something bigger, something thicker ramming into you. He’s prying you open more than he did previously, already pumping in and out at a frantic speed. Instantly, you cling onto him with a bruising grip, listening to his shameless moans as he realizes the lack of control he has over his own body or thoughts.

Jake practically falls over you in euphoria as you cling, forcing you to fall back against the desk as he relentlessly plunges his hips. His breath is heavy against your neck as he loses himself, and all you can do is thank the same god you just disrespected for this cock that’s abusing your hole in all of the right ways.

“I can’t–” He groans out against your ear, his hips not stopping their relentless assault. “You’re so fucking dirty.” He insults, pushing you up the desk with each thrust. “So good.”

You can barely make a sound from the force behind his hips, only small yelps leaving your throat each time he slams in. And fuck, you want nothing more than to rub your clit right now. You could cum all over him, you could really make him feel good.

And as if your prayers are answered, Jake apparently knows exactly how to pleasure a woman. Hm, curious. He knows how to do it fucking well too, as you feel his fingers rub against the swollen nub in the exact same way you would right now. Painful, intense.

The fact that he wants you to cum is delicious.

Your orgasm hits you almost instantly, pussy sucking in him each time he goes to thrust, and the sounds coming from your throat could be considered demonic by some, but he swallows them up with ease when he notes that you’re cumming all over him.

Jake licks into your mouth, soothing you with dirty words when he pulls back to breathe.

“You should see yourself–” He pants out, sticking his tongue out to lick against your lip. “Getting me all messy too?” He says again through a moan. “You’re beautiful.” He adds like a period at the end of a sentence.

That alone makes you feel…different. In fact, it prolongs your orgasm far past sensitivity when he continues to thrust into you. You can’t tell if he said that because he’s close, or if it’s because he meant it.

Quite frankly, you could give less of a fuck if he meant it.

Jake stutters his hips when you lift your head just slightly, gripping his hair and skewing his head to the side so that you can whisper into his ear.

“Want me to beg for your cum?” You whisper with a shaking voice. “You’d love that too, wouldn’t you? I know I would.”

His eyes squeeze shut as he aggressively turns his head and, once again, pries your mouth open with his tongue. A bruising kiss follows as he fucks his last few thrusts into you, doing just as you implied he should.

He pumps his cum into you relentlessly, thankful that it’s not all over his pants and entirely milked into that sinful cunt of yours. Thankful that you also got off around him instead of that forgotten cross on the floor.

He wants nothing more than to remind you time and time again who got to you first. It was him, not his father.

You smile at him when he pulls back out of breath, examining his pants before stuffing his sensitive cock back into them and reaching down for the cross.

“If you ever fucking tell my dad about this–” He seethes out of breath, trying to pretend that he can regain composure so soon after fucking you the way he just did. Still, he narrows his eyes at you much as he had done before.

“Go on.” You say, voice shaking as you try to grasp back onto reality from whatever world his cock had sent you into.

Jake is at a loss for words, because, what could he possibly do about it if you were to tell? He looks at you, still spread out against the desk, dress crumpled, his cum seeping out of you in a messy show of how much of an absolute whore he forced you to be.

“Just, don’t tell him.” He finally says, averting his eyes from you and looking at the cross in his hand.

“Do you feel bad already?” You ask out, finally lifting to get off of the desk.

“Don’t you?”

You shake your head, struggling to stand as the seething pain of having a wooden cross stuck into you shoots through your body. “Not really.” You try to laugh, but you wince instead.

“Yeah, I figured you’d probably be hurting after all of that.” He finally says in a somewhat apologetic tone, walking up to you with a soothing hand.

You’re a little shocked by his kindness.

“Yeah, a little.” You laugh it off though because, at the moment, it felt good. You wouldn’t have wanted it any other way despite how blasphemous the act was.

“Oh.” Jake seems sorrowful in his tone, but his gaze doesn't leave you. “I- um, I don’t know how to make it like, not hurt?” He scratches the back of his head.

In your attempt to put your dress back on, you do note that the pain inside of you isn’t unfamiliar. You’d been fucked hard before, but that was a long time ago. You missed this feeling, realizing that it was exactly what you think you needed.

“It’ll pass.” You assure him, taking a deep breath and trying to stumble your way to the door. “I guess I’ll see you later, then?”

Jake dips his head with a small nod, feeling guilty for what he’s done. Not because of the cross, not because of the sin, but because he’s unsure of how to pretend like he wouldn’t want to do it again.

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