#what was I saying before?… did I even have a point?
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toothfa-1-ry · 2 days ago
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YOU STILL LIKE IT THOUGH
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GENRE: Fluff, crack fic ish?
PAIRING: Choi su-bong/thanos x preg!fem!reader
FEAT: Nam gyu as the supportive bestie (that he never rlly was)
A/N: this fic i based of a request from anon !! Tbh i changed ALOT of the request (haha- sorry 😞) because I felt like it was a little repetitive and idk i just can't write rlly emotional scenes with Thanos for some reason (??) ALSO I feel like there are parts where Thanos seems ooc? Idk.. i wrote this instead of studying in the span of 30 mins
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"Whoo!" You hear Thanos shout on the top of his voice while he high fives nam gyu as they both jump up and down as if they were children in elementary school after winning a play ground game
You manage your groan, suppressing it while you stare at them from afar, of course that crazy fucker managed to pass through the first game.
You hated to admit it, but a part of you was relieved,
You always had a thing for psycho guys, and your ex boyfriend? The one with the brightly dyed hair who was now doing some weird dance seemed to proudly embody every part of that sentiment.
You carefully watch from afar, not wanting to catch his eyes, your hand unknowingly lay over your stomach while you move uncomfortably in the bunk bed
Fuck, your feeling dizzy all over again
You hear a thud against your bed post, you look up slowly, your eyes slightly squinting to see the purple haired boy with a usual frown on his face
"Hey" his eyebrows raise "are you okay"
"I thought I told you to get lost earlier"
Your mood swings weren't really helping either
"Geez woman" thanos tchs but sits beside you in your bed anyways "im just trying to help" grumbling under his breath but the cautious expression in his face saied otherwise
"I came here to brag about how amazing i usually am but seeing you like this is just killing the vibe yknow"
he makes a hand gesture in the air, leaning face closer in an attempt to make you smile which does not go wasted as the smile you tried to supress escaped your face
"Fuck off you loser" your still kneeling, your hands over your knees and your face hiding behind your knees but he hears the smile in your voice anyways.
He wouldn't want to admit it, but he was relieved
He always had a thing for girls with pretty voices and you? The girl right next to him had to have one of the prettiest voices he had ever heard. Ofcourse who would better know than a rapper like himself?
"I thought I told you to stick close to me, instead you leech to that crazy old man" thanos says as he points towards gi hun who sat far away in the opposite side
You immediately slap his hand, causing him to wince while retracing it back, rubbing it softly
"How many times will I tell you! You shouldn't point your hands at strangers especially to people who are older" you scold him rather loudly causing him to wince even more
"Agh" thanos ruffles his neon hair while complaining "why don't you shout louder so that everyone will hear and laugh at me?"
You resist the urge to roll your eyes upon his childish manners, he really didn't change
Thanos suddenly bangs the top of the bunk with a loud sound, taking you by shock
"Oi" his voice loud and almost threatening "nam gyu" calling out the man above the bed
Immediately your taken by shock once more when a man's head pops upside down, with black oily hair falling all over his face from above the bed
"Yes Thanos?" Nam gyu quickly inquired while sparing you a quick glance which didn't go unnoticed by the scowling man next to you
"Did you hear her telling me off?" He points at nam gyu before quickly adding "careful, there's only one correct answer"
Nam gyu pauses and thinks which seems to be the wrong thing to do as it just annoys Thanos
"Whats wrong with you, tell me quickly!"
"N-no! Not at all! Infact nobody heard anything!" Nam gyu quickly says, obviously lying but this seemed to please Thanos who now held a haughty face
Wow, this is was supposedly the father of your unborn child. Shame you and your taste in weird guys
Before Thanos could open his mouth to say something, a group of pink guards enter the room with large containers
Straight away you freeze up, shrinking behind the bed while your heart hammered, fear spread across your face
Noticing your expression on your face, instinctively Thanos covers you with his back, shielding you with his arms which covered your sides while his expression, though you could not see was filled with wariness
The pink guards open the large containers they were carrying as everyone watched quietly, scared as they were unsure of what to expect, you included
The pink guard with the white circle lifts up a piece of bread and milk "lunch time" announcing in the same robotic voice like all the other guards
A sigh of relief escapes your mouth as your shoulders relax, unlike you Thanos still shields you, covering your face with his back
You hit him with a thud on the back of his head
"What the hell man" thanos turns around, his eyes glaring at you
"Stop trying to act like a hero you shameless prick" you frown even though his actions did leave you with a warm feeling in your heart
"Your acting so protective after all the stunt you pulled before we broke up" you continue "seeing you act all so protective is just pissing me off even more"
Thanos throws his head back, groaning "give me a break woman. You know I was going through a hard time"
"Bullshit" your fold your arms, as if it was act to protect yourself, and the unborn baby in your stomach.
The poor thing was only 2 months old
The both of you hear nam gyu cough from above the bed, forgetting that he was there in the first place
Again Thanos bangs the top of the bunk, causing you to give him a look
"Stop doing that" you scold him
"doing what?" Thanos raises his eyebrow before banging the top of the bunk again while sticking his tongue at you
Nam gyu pops back down again, upside down, the sight would have been hilarious only if you weren't experiencing the pain in your stomach and the sight of the man sitting beside you
"Go get lunch for me and my girl" thanos tilts his head towards you while avoiding your eyecontact while you tell yourself not to think about the fact that he still referred to you as 'his girl'
"go fast what are you still doing here" thanks reprimanded nam gyu
Nam gyu awkwardly stood unsure of what to say "but it's just one bread and one milk per person"
"Then give her yours" thanos said simply "and go steal someone's lunch for me"
"Then what about for me?" Nam gyu asked dumbfounded which caused Thanos to pause and think for a while
"That's not my fucking problem man- now go" he pushes him away, leaving you with a heavy sigh
"I don't want to eat"
"Don't talk bullshit" thanos eyes you "you think i'm gonna let you starve? I never did, and i wont be starting now"
Again with the whole protective boyfriend act, fuck, why did it make your heart race a little?
"Your still such an asshole, you didnt change a bit" you huffed as you leaned behind, resting your back against the wall
"Well you changed" thanos says which quirks your curiosity
"How so?'
"I don't know" he shrugs "something is different. Something happened, i can't exactly ppint my fi ger at it though"
Your eyes dart away from his while your breathing started to fasten slightly
"Oh yea? How so?" You ask, your voice slightly higher than it was which Thanos picks up immediately
"Ohoho" he grins "did I get it right? Did you get something done?" He glances you up and down which leads you to hitting him
"Ow- i was just joking, you still take everything so seriously" he grumbled holding your hand from hitting him "I wish that part had changed'
Your other hand comes swinging which he again grabs softly
"jokingg" he says in a sing song voice before letting both your arms go leaving you with a scowl and him with a satisfied smirk in his face
"Asshole" you mutter which stretches his smirk even more
"You still like it though"
You almost swear you heard a hint of vulnerability in his tone, prompting you to glance at him quickly just to catch him already looking at you
"So? Aren't you gonna ask me what has changed?" You ask slowly, in your head trying to process whether your doing the right thing or not,
You first found out you were pregnant with your baby right after you and Thanos broke up.
The following days, whenever you went to pay him a visit, he was always missing, causing you to believe maybe it was better for him not to know. And then you suddenly meet him for the first time after your breakup during the squid games
The timing was almost comical
"Why?" Thanos continued still with an amused face "you still seem the same on the inside"
Your hand immediately goes to your stomach, slowly tracing along it from above the green track jacket which everyone wore
"Don't tell me your sick or something" thanos asks with his voice slightly raised as he notices your action "fuck are you?"
His eyes slightly widens as he frowns "hey" he snaps his finger upon your zoning out "are you sick?"
"Hm?" You ask confused
"What the fuck" he swears under his breath with a anxious expression on his face while his hand runs through his finger "is that why your here? To win some money for your treatment?"
"Su Bong its not like that-" All your attempts of correcting him seemed to be futile as he sweared loudly, getting out of the bed
"Shit shit shit!" He grabs his head while he paced around the floor, a sight you had seen a few times over the span of your relationship
"ofcourse that's why your here, you would only be here for a sensible reason"
"Oh, su bong" you attempt to appeal to him, reaching your hand out, pulling his closer towards you while he hands were still over his head, eyes lowered
"Fuck baby I'm so sorry" he breathed out "shit i never should have left, i thought" he paused "I thought I'd win some money and get you back, give you the life you really deserve but"
You watch his dazed expression while he rambled, you bit you underlip, hesitant of whether to tell him the truth still
"Fuck, i didn't even know that, i didn't even know you were sick-"
Before he could continue again you grab his face , forcing him to look at your face
"I'm not sick, that's not why im here"
Thanos breathed heavily, everything felt so real suddenly, he felt his cross necklace strapped around his neck, his fingers itching to pop a pill in his mouth to sooth his nerves
"I'm not sick" you shake your head as you lean your forehead against his "su-bong"
You can still feel his strained breaths and darting eyes
"I'm pregnant"
And it all stopped,
You held your breath, afraid of what would happen if you let go, your could heart your heartbeat from your ears, feel the realisation setting inside thanos,
You were scared. Scared of how he would react
He breaks away first, slowly and gently. Staring at you with no expression in his face,
"And it's yours" you rapidly feel the need to add, taken back by his silence which didn't not suit him "and i know having a kid was never in your plan, and i know things are over between us but-"
Your body is wrapped by his arms and his face nestles in your neck, pulling your deeper in his embrace
"Holy shit" thanos whispers in your ear, you can hear the giddiness radiating off his voice "im a dad"
"Yea you are" you laugh a little as you say "your a dad"
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I never got the chance to"
Thanos furrows his eyebrows but doesn't press any more "will you let me be our baby's dad?" He ask
"You know I grew up without a dad, this kid doesn't deserve that" he pokes your stomach with a soft grin which looked slightly odd against his eccentric features "I wanna be in this kids life"
You nodd softly, hearing his words
"And yours too" thanos looks up to you, grinning while he winked at you "senorita"
"You corny bastard" you laugh shaking your head
"You still like it though"
You nodd your head, with tenderness in your eyes and voice
"I do"
₊˚。⋆❆⋆。˚₊ extra scene pack !!
"Thanos!" Nam gyu came running with 3 pieces of sweet bread and 3 packets of milk "I got it! Do you know how much trouble i went to get all these-"
"Give it here " thanos grabbed all the bread and milk away "why did you take so long anyways"
Nam gyu held his hands as he pouted "I mean- i had to fight like 2 guys for bread and milk for us-"
Thanos brushed him off as he opened all the packets of bread and poked in the straw of all the milk packets
"Uhm thanos" nam gyu apprehensively called out "What are you doing?"
Thanos hands you all the bread and urges you to eat while he holds the packets of milk in his hand, ready to feed you
Thanos gestures towards you who was sitting in the bed, now wrapped in not only your jacket but his aswell "can't you see the lady is pregnant"
Nam gyu scratched his head "pregnant? With who?"
Thanos shakes his head, exaggerating his actions "dumb ass, she's pregnant with my baby ofcourse" he announced like it was the most obvious thing in the world
"Holy shit!" Nam gyu gaped his hand covering his mouth as he stares at you while you sheepishly smile at him
Thanos let out a small laugh which then slowly grew louder
"What? Why are you surprised? Ofcourse i succeeded in my first try- fuck" he kneels down in pain after being striked by you in the stomach
Nam gyu pulls a face in behalf of Thanos as he pats his back sympathetically while he whispers to you
"Don't worry. I know it probably wasnt his first try or anything- ow" nam gyu kneels on the ground after being hit in the stomach by thanos
₊˚。⋆❆⋆。˚₊
"What... what are you guys doing?" You question as you approach Thanos and nam gyu who were huddled up in a corner, in a long rather quiet conversation which seemed like an unusual activity for both of them to part take in
Both in the 'discussion' and 'quiet' part
Thanos loops his arm around your with a proud smirk on his face while urging nam gyu to announce what they were discussing
Nam gyu nodds eagerly as gets up in his two feet quickly, standing straight and tall with a loud and confident voice "we have decided the perfect name for the baby !!"
You see thanos's broad smile and nam gyu's confident voice, uneasiness settling in your stomach for whatever name they picked out
"These is the name that Thanos and i have personally given a lot of thought for and chosen after much contemplation !!"
Thanos nodded his head with a content expression while he winked at you, assuring that you'll like it
"Ahem" nam gyu clears his throat "before I announce the name that we have chosen, i would like to give recognition to the name we almost chose aswell !!"
Thanos immediately began clapping his hand loudly "waaah, I never knew you could speak so well "
This comment made nam gyu's chest fill swell with pride as he puffs out his chest a little
"I shall now, announce the first runners up, the name that almost was given to the new born baby"
nam gyu pauses which prompts Thanos to make the sound of drum rolls
"Nebula" nam gyu announces as he and thanos clap loudly.
Seeing your still figure both men urge you to claps aswell
"Nebula?" You mutter under your breath "where have i heard that name before?"
"And now, the name that has been selected over numerous selection test and discussion, the name of the baby is" nam gyu points at your stomach
"Gamora"
Thanos whoops loudly, both nam gyu and him clapping their hands in the air while you stand off handedly as it hits you
"Your naming our child after the daughter of the purple alien monster from a superhero movie?!"
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jeongin-lvr · 2 days ago
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🎼 ─┈┈ hubby heeseung ̩̩͙˚ ᩙ ⠀
husband! heeseung with the fattest crush on you literally ever. he worships the ground you walk on; he practically kneels before you, awaiting every need and command you bring to him. he’s so serious when he says he’d take every star out of the sky and give it to you as a gift if you asked. which also includes in bed when he has your face buried into the messed up, unkept bedsheets, whispering i love you’s as he kisses your g-spot with his fat cock. or when he has you in the shower, bent between your legs on his knees as water rushes down his back because you looked too pretty with soapy hair and skin. he mumbles against your clit as he does so, gurled by water but his point still comes across, “the prettiest girl... and you’re all mine, thank you...“
husband! heeseung who recites his vows as he fucks you in a mating press. its crazy but he does it every single time he has you all curled up, knees beside your head, too fucked out as buckets of his cum leaks out of you and stains the sheets. he’s telling you every promise he made on your wedding day and more. he’s reminding you it really is till death do you part. he doesn’t realize he’s doing it; it’s probably just because he gets so worked up, so full of love. every thrust into your flutterung hole is heaven, and all he can think about is how badly he loves you and how badly he wants to get you pregnant.
husband! heeseung who finds you the absolute sexiest when you’re wearing your glasses and his big t-shirt, bare legs, messy hair, rosy cheeks. it’s perfection, he can’t get enough. if he sees you like that fully expect to be completely ruined within the next hour. he fucks you with the glasses on, an dyou’re confused because he doesn’t get crazy like this when you actually dress up or put effort into your appearence, and all he has to say is, “this is the you that turns me on.“ he’ll pin your hands above your head and press your knees into your chest as he stuffs himself inside of you, loving the way the fabric of his shirt bunches at your hips. you weren’t even wearing any panties anyway, what did you expect <3
husband! heeseung who kisses your wedding bands whenever you two are having intimate, lazy sex. lifting your wrist and hand to his lips and pecking your knuckles, kissing on your shaky hands until his lips trace the cold metal, humming with a smile at the way your gaze flickers to his. its the cutest thing, immediately making you smile when you see the sparkles filling his gaze. its so obvious he loves you so much. he even promises to buy you more rings because, “you deserve it,“ and he never fails to fulfill his promise. the next day he somehow comes home from work with a new band, something new for your growing collection.
husband! heeseung who is the first to bring up kids and is very serious about wanting at least two. he’ll casually bring it up into conversations and its adorable... until he’s lifting you onto the counter and lifting your skirt because you’re ovulating and it’s, word for word, “the perfect time to get you pregnant.“ he says it sneakily, with a wink and a cunning grin. you can’t say no, especially since the idea of him being the father of your children was almost perfect. you’re both young but it doesn’t hurt to try does it? so he’s waking you up to his cock filling you up in the morning, or when you’re just watching a movie he ends up sitting you on his dick and filling you up. you have no complaints. just shaky legs and a nice, warm creampie.
husband! heeseung who finally gets you pregnant and is somehow even more obsessed with you. he’s doting on you hand and foot. every craving you get he’s finding every ingredient. every symptom you experience he’s researching diligently, telling you cures or remedies, scheduling doctors apointments to get an experts opinion. and on days when all you wanna do is be near him, feel him, feel sexy with him, he’s so perfect at being exactly what you need. he worships your body; praising you on how pretty you look full of his baby, how you’re glowing, kissing your ankles or your tits or anywhere you might feel a little unsure of.
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nichuuu · 2 days ago
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Paper Houses
Cho Miyeon x M reader
(1st instalment of The View Between Villages)
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Word Count: 18k+ Special thanks to @defmaybe for helping to draw out the best version of this fic.
(All the details? Really? Oh wow. Okay…)
(I’m gonna dissociate myself from this so… “you” is gonna appear a lot. Don’t sweat it cupcake—you’re not actually the one in this mess. 
It’s just a bad habit of mine, that’s all.)
--
(You’re lucky. You get the sweet start to it all. For what it’s worth: sweetness is a fucking deceiving concept when you have rose-tinted lenses.)
“You know: out of all the men I’ve dated, you cook the best.”
You raise an eyebrow as you flip the grilled cheese in your skillet. Frankly, there’s nothing to be impressed about over grilled cheese and tomato soup. Cheese sandwiched between two evenly buttered slices of bread, grilled till golden brown and served with a side of hot tomato juice in a bowl. Literally everything has been prepared for you and packed neatly into some package in a grocery store. All you did was heat it up and add a few of your own ingredients.
“Is that a compliment or a flex?” you ask, turning your gaze away from your skillet momentarily to look at Miyeon as she replies. Her face isn’t gonna add value to her answer, but you just like looking at her. She is hot after all. 
She scoffs and takes a sip of her coffee. “Jeez… Can’t a woman compliment her boyfriend in peace?”
You’ve had this conversation before, but you like to entertain her.
“This woman can’t,” you tell her, making sure she can see the smirk on your face as you turn back to the sandwich. You wave your spatula in the air as you speak, almost like you’re referring to PowerPoint slides. “She’s too weird about everything. Never take her seriously.”
“Oh, so we’re just gonna call me weird and neglect the fact you keep your butter in that?” she exclaims, pointing at the butter bell on top of your fridge. It was a Christmas gift from your mom last year, and even though you did think it was weird at first, you have not gone back to keeping your butter in blocks. 
“You keep my fucking butter bell out of this,” you warn, and it’s half joking and half serious. 
(No one fucks with your butter bell.)
Miyeon chortles. You don’t need to look at her to know that she’s raising her hands in the air when she says, “jeez man. Didn’t know you guys were tight like that…”
And it’s stupid exchanges like this that make you appreciate her company by bounds. It’s lonely in the apartment when she’s out being famous; really nice to have her around for the holidays, albeit for a short time. It’s been a while since she’s been back. There’s much to catch up on over an 11 am brunch. You don’t know why she’s up so damn early today, cause normally you guys sleep till the late afternoon, then go figure out what to eat for dinner before lazing around in the apartment.
So with cheese falling from the corner of her lip, she gives you the latest developments in her life. Then it’s your turn, and you're glad to say that nothing’s really of interest in either of your updates. That’s usually for the better: sometimes the news you give each other can be a little heart-attack-inducing, so it’s better that your lives are pretty bland.
“You know,” she says as she wipes her mouth. “I might just keep dating you for your food,” she tosses her tissue onto the dining table and lets out a sigh. “Fucking delicious.”
You scoff and sip on your coffee. “Bet you told that to all the guys,” you reply wryly. “Probably gets them real excited, huh?”
She grins. It’s cheeky, mischievous, maybe even a little naughty. “Not telling.”
“You don’t tell me a lot of things,” you chuckle, and you’re low-key unsurprised to hear a little bit of unintended bitterness in your voice. “Not that it matters or anything… I just value communication.”
Oh, you’re petty. So fucking petty that it makes your skin crawl a little.
Miyeon’s unfazed. 
“Don’t get your tits in a tussle, pretty boy,” she muses. She folds her arms and leans into the table. “You’ll know more when I trust you more. For now: I’ll give you information as I please.”
And you kick yourself because you forget she can be a bit of a handful herself.
“Ugh, what will I ever do with this mysterious woman?” you smirk, resting your elbow against the table as you lean in as well. To be perfectly clear: you’re not mad at her. Her secrecy just bugs you out a little, and she knows it. “Such little knowledge on such a hardened beauty… must be tough to really crack her open and figure her out.”
You love her eyes, and you love to make them roll (in multiple contexts). They kinda gleam as she tilts her head. “Fine… I’ll give you something since you’re so damn desperate,” she drums her fingers against her cheek while her chin nestles itself into her palm. “What I’m about to give you is gonna change your life in so many ways. It’ll probably redefine your whole damn existence.”
You express your interest by leaning in a little more. Miyeon checks her six—like she isn’t in the comfort of her own home—before leaning in. She’s all clandestine. You have no idea what for. 
“You ready?” she checks. And you know she isn’t expecting an answer, but you nod nonetheless. She checks her left and right for good measure. You never know: maybe your lamp is listening.
“I’m aching for cock right now.”
And you guys don’t even make it to the couch.
It’s on the floor next to your table where she has your face in her hands, and she’s kissing you aggressively. She’s properly kissing you, and it makes you knock the back of your head against the floor a little, but it’s really not too big of a deal. 
She lifts her lips off yours and smirks. “For the record: it’s your fault that we aren’t fucking on the couch.”
“Yeah, and I actually paid rent early for once,” you shoot back sarcastically. “And would you mind helping me clean the yacht I most definitely own on my luxurious salary? Thanks a bunch, honey.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. She knows you’re full of shit, but she’s full of the same shit as you. Form a shit pile or something, maybe even a shit mountain if you feel like it. You could really go on for a while about how you two can talk for hours, but that’s not the main event.
The real deal comes when she has her hand beneath the waistband of your pants, slithering down to the very thing she aches for. She has that smile on her face, the one that kinda says “Oh I’m gonna love this” or “you’re gonna love this” or maybe even both. There are ways to distinguish the messages by looking at her eyes, but you’re a little too lazy to go figure it out right now. And before someone calls you a bum, you can’t help it: she has her hand on your cock and a piercing gaze trained on you. How about you try and focus on discerning implicit messages when there's a hot woman touching you in the right places?
“How are you hard already?” she asks, a hint of a giggle in her tone as she presses your shaft against your body. There’s barely any space down there, yet she makes it work so easily. “I didn’t even, like, do anything yet.”
“Well,” you hum, just as she starts to squeeze your member, appling that toe-curling pressure to your tip and smiling as you strain a little. “I can kinda see your tits through your shirt.”
Miyeon raises her eyebrows. She doesn’t even look at her shirt. “Oh?” and she starts to pump. “I didn’t notice that…”
“Totally,” you grunt. “Like how you don’t notice that your shorts are barely shorts?” you continue, but there’s something more bugging you. “And at least pull my pants down if you’re gonna jack me off, would you?”
Miyeon snorts, but compiles nonetheless. She gets your pants and boxers off with ease. It’s one swift motion (it’s practiced grace really), and she gets back to the task at hand before she was so rudely interrupted. 
“What does seeing my tits have anything to do with you?” Her motions are languid and fluid, steady and flowing like a stream. She doesn’t need to look. She doesn't need to guess. She knows you like the back of her hand. “Does it turn you on? Excite you?”
You have it in you to roll your eyes before they shut. “Stop asking these fucking ridiculous questions.”
“It's a basic inquiry.” She laughs in this aloof tone that you know is paired with the most devious of smiles. “So you won’t let me compliment you and you won’t let me ask questions? Tsk. Chivalry is dead.”
Miyeon goes a little faster, adds a twist of her wrist. This is just her hand, mind you, and it’s already ruining you in a way that only she is capable of. The tender touch of Cho Miyeon is something no woman you’ve met could ever replicate, and it takes you to places that you can only visit with her. Those fingers are magic, that mouth is magic—hell, everything about her is magic. 
“Please,” you manage to quip past the jolts of magic being sent through your system. “We both know that you have the answers to all the questions you just asked.”
She giggles—playfully, you might add. This is all a part of the game you play with her; this is the way Miyeon’s cookie crumbles. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Who cares?”
You care: not a lot, but enough to make this as humorous as you want it to be. You kinda only give two shits because it lets you be kinda petty with her, but not that you externalise it or anything. You just have it pent up in you for the fun of it.
“Anyway,” she muses, halting the strokes of her hand to your cock. “Have I told you about how much I wanted you to fill me while I was filming?”
You take a moment to breathe. “No… But do tell.”
And gets to that, but not before ridding herself of her shirt first. By technicality, it’s your shirt, but it shrunk in the dryer at some point, so it just became hers. She gets into the details, the nitty gritty; tells you exactly what she’s imagining during the filming of her Music Video all while you kind just sit there and ogle at her chest. She takes her time, covers the stuff that you don’t really need to know but it’s kinda hot to know — things like “ugh, I needed you to bend me over the hood of that car and just fuck me at that point…” — because you admittedly get off knowing that she ever thinks about you that way and… God, you’re rambling aren’t you? Still pretty fitting though: it’s the way Miyeon talks when she’s thinking nonsense.
“Ugh. Now I’m wet,” she mutters. She speaks as if it’s your fault that she went on rambling about her fantasies with you. “You know you make me like, really horny right?”
“Oh no… Whatever will I do?” you’re really just rolling with it. Not because you want to, but because you want to get this bit where you tease each other over and done with. It’s kinda like marinating meat in the way it makes the sex a little hotter. Truthfully: you’re aching for her. Really: you want nothing more than to just get her pinned beneath you and writhing on your wooden floor. 
And frankly? You could do all of that right now.
So it’s with a bit of grace (and some dexterity) that you flip the positions: now you’re kneeling over her while she is the one that lies on the floor, if that makes any sense. Miyeon isn’t shocked by your sudden movements, more so delighted by the fact that you finally gave in to your carnal urges and just went for it. She smiles, knowing full well that she’s done something that's gonna give her that fuel she needs for the week. You know: sex that’s the opposite of soft; some shit that fulfills some wild thoughts. 
“Gotta say, you’re quicker than usual,” she has that cocky smirk on her face. You wanna wipe it right off her face, and you know just how. “Normally you’re all talk, no– Oh…”
You like that it really only takes a finger pressed against her panties to shut her up. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make her shut her eyes and shut up for a moment. The spot you press on is damp, soaked in that sweet slick. Gently, you trace the outline of those swollen folds. “You were saying?”
She has it in her to laugh—a breathy chortle. “Fuck you.”
“I’m working on that,” you fire back. Your cock twitches a little when you see her jolt in response to your touch. Your finger pressed down on that one spot that makes her weak, and it really works wonders: an airy gasp slips past those thin, luscious lips. The number of times you’ve kissed those lips swollen is not a number countable with 10 fingers.
Miyeon sighs, and it’s a mix of pleasure and frustration in her breath that humors you. She relaxes into the floorboards, her hips rock, her cunt rubs against your fingers. She's searching for some friction — sweet release in lewd movements. You let her move for a bit, watch her shake like the bough of a willow tree as she pleases herself against your fingers. 
“Enjoying yourself?” you quip. 
“Yeah..” she hums. “Passing time while you’re still not taking these shorts off me.”
Of course… How could you be so forgetful?
You stop for a moment to help her wriggle out of her clothing. It isn’t one of her most graceful moments, but it quickly passes. The shorts join your pants on the floor. Her panties are pink — not that subtle shade of pink or even like a darker version of pink. It’s Barbie fucking Pink.
“So we’re feeling loud today, huh?” you ask, letting your finger trail the lacy parts of the fabric. Miyeon smiles.
“Sana gave them to me,” she explains, not the least bit sheepish that her damp spot is visibly darker than the rest of her underwear. “Hope this doesn’t affect you in your work or anything…”
You feel the corner of your lip turn up. “No, no… Of course not,” you assure her, all while you let your hand slip between the fabric and her skin. You can feel her shudder, then you feel the heat of her cunt at the tip of your fingers. “You caught me on the right day actually… Pink’s in my rotation of favourite colours this fine morning.”
“Right,” her voice has a lilt. It’s shuddering a little too. “I knew that… Definitely had that in mind.”
You laugh. Your index fingers slip between her folds. She moans. 
You lower yourself, capture a swollen, taut nipple in your mouth. The sweet suction you deliver makes her gasp. Her hand finds itself in your head.
It’s all quite rhythmical, almost like a routine for the two of you. The way your bodies react to each other feels so natural that you think it might just be second nature at this point. You know her body: you’ve memorised the dips and curves and tender spots; the hot spots, the warm parts and the best parts. She knows you—the way you think, the way you talk; the way you play with her and the things you want to do with her. It would be safe to say that you guys practically have PhDs in the subject of each other, but that’s not a fair statement because you’re both a little more complicated than you let on. That keeps the sex exciting; it makes you crave each other a little more than last time. 
“One or two?” you whisper, letting your finger dip in and out of her lips and getting it all wet in her slickness. She takes a moment to think, or maybe she’s taking a moment to really soak in the teasing. Either way: she takes some time to reply. 
“Two,” she shifts herself a little lower, her clit pressing into the base of your middle finger. It makes her sigh — a low, kinda sonorous escape of air through her lips. “I hope you trimmed your nails this time.”
“That last time was a minor mishap,” you admit. You kinda want to pull your hands out to double-check, but you’re too mired in the moment to assuage your worries. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it all under control.”
She beams like the damn sun. “Good. I like it when you’ve got the reins.”
And that makes you suck in some air through your teeth. 
(God, does she know how to try you on.)
Your digits push themselves inside of her. They’re wrapped in her tight warmth, snug as a bug in a rug or whatever. You love the way her abs kinda flex as your fingers introduce themselves to her insides. It makes the best parts of her pop. Her chest rises a little more than the last time, her breaths becoming a little longer and more drawn out as your fingers explore her like always. The way she jolts when you get to that one spot at the roof of her pussy tells you that she has been primed and ready for this moment, loaded up like a shotgun and the trigger is really just any part of you that makes her cum. It could be your fingers, your tongue, your dick, your thigh—any part of you that can get her to that sweet high. Of course: you’re more than happy to assist. And so your mouth latches itself back onto her breast, tongue licking and swishing and flicking the swollen nipple atop her small yet generously sized breast. You relish the way it feels in your hand as you cup it—not too firmly and not too gently—and give it a squeeze, enjoying how the flesh spills out a little between your fingers but still fits in the palm of your hand.
“How do you only get better at this?” she hisses through her teeth. “I mean, I just saw you last week but… Oh god…”
You remove her nipple from your mouth. “Art is honed. This is art.”
She laughs, then throws her head back to let out a moan. “Well I’ll be damned,” her eyes close as she speaks, resting themselves for a bit so that she can enjoy the feel of your fingers in the best part of her slick. “Paint me like one of your French girls then.”
And you kinda have to kiss her after that. It’s a good line… and she’s, like, smoking hot right now.
You can’t track the exact moments where she starts to blue screen on you, but you can guess it's somewhere between you pinching her nipple and when you slide a third finger into her. The pressure, the stretching—it’s, like, everything she wants as of right now. She lets out this choked-up cry that you like to hear, the supple curve of her back growing more defined as she arches just a little more. She doesn't hold back, she never does. When you’re making her feel good, you can bet some good money that she’ll let you know. She’ll find her own way to express herself, be it through sound or action or words—sometimes a combination of all three. 
The way she feels around your fingers—delicate squeezing and sweet pressure around your digits as they stretch her to new lengths—is nothing short of enthralling. You can feel her pulse around you, the dull throb of her heartbeat as it beats for the sole purpose of getting all that blood rushing into the right areas. Your hand is kinda messy, fingers coated down to your knuckles in the sweet substance from her heat. Miyeon starts to writhe, squirm. A whine leaves her mouth. It’s followed by another, and another, and another—keeps going till the whiny stream ends with a guttural moan. 
Her legs close around your wrist. Her throat bobs.
“Mmph… baby…” her hand flails a bit as she tries to search for you. She catches your shoulder and her nails dig in. “Your mouth… I want your mouth on me.”
You always loved how forthcoming she is. 
“Miyeon…” you drawl, and this next bit is really just for the fun of it. “What’s the magic word?”
She laughs softly through the pleasure, lets a smile grace your eyes. She doesn’t fight it; she wants it—wants you. She just wants you in any shape or form. Any version of you will do; she’ll take all the different sides of you in a heartbeat. All she needs is you. “Please.”
You’ve never found so much delight in hearing that word. Kinda makes you want to hear it again.
“I can’t hear you,” your thumb presses down onto her clit. Her thighs start to twitch. 
“Please!” she yells that magic word in the form of a shout this time. Your cheeks hurt from how widely you’re beaming.
You retract your fingers. They come up to your mouth so you can taste her off of them. She’s nothing short of delicious, and you can kinda tell that she knows it because she’s smirking as she watches you clean off yourself.
“How are we feeling about the samples?” she has that proud gleam in her eye. “Pineapple’s been in my diet as of late… Just wondering if anything’s different.”
You smack your lips. “Picking up on a little tang here… Can’t be sure though.”
Her hands slide down to her hips, thumbs hooking into the band of her panties and pulling them down her thighs. “No worries. There’s more where it came from.”
The gall of this girl is insane, you’re thinking, smirking as you assist the journey of her underwear down her slim, milky legs. Like all your other clothing, it’s tossed aside. 
Miyeon spreads thighs, bends her knees so that her feet are flat on the floor.  You get in position, let your palms slide down her body with careful consideration: run your hands over the sensitive parts of the stomach, skim that one portion of her inner thigh that makes her shiver. She watches—waiting and anticipating while failing to keep her excitement off her face. 
She is glistening, swollen and plump to your eyes, kinda far ahead considering that you just used your fingers. She’s eager, unashamed and more proud than embarrassed about her arousal. Her legs shift a bit. She looks at you, a fingernail between her teeth as she exhales sharply when your thumb traces the outline of her pussy, careful in its endeavor as you feel the muscles around her slick tense up in response. Oh she’s so damn impatient right now, but she lets you get away with all of this because it gets her off a little harder; the teasing is just part of the show and the climax will probably follow pretty soon, fast and hard
“You’ve been looking forward to this, huh?” you remark, watching as her eyelids flutter when you put a little pressure with the pad of your thumb. 
“Mhm…” she replies. It’s a low hum, one that resonates in her throat rather pleasantly. “You have no idea…”
You laugh. Your eyes roll towards the ceiling then set themselves back on her. “Please… We both know I have some idea,” you stop your thumb on her clit, and you begin to draw small circles around it. “You did tell me” —and you have to pause for a bit to use your other hand to press down on her pelvic area, stopping her from jolting her hips up to get that sweet sensation of your thumb rubbing her swollen nub. She whines a little, a soft plea following suit— “about all the things you wanted to do with me.”
She desperately tries to shift herself, press herself a little more against you. The smooth wooden floor hinders her, the lack of friction failing to aid her. Her brows furrow. She’s frustrated. “Yeah, well, if you know what I want so much, why aren’t you fucking getting to it?”
You wink. “Relax. I’m just letting the meat tenderise.”
“Oh shut it you fucking—  Mmmph!”
And the way you part her with your tongue, it’s like she’s butter and you’re a hot knife slicing her open. You're slow with it, and you don’t stop when Miyeon’s thigh stiffens against your palm, or when she squirms a little and almost got your tongue derailed from its track. You know what makes her tick, what makes her hit the octave and gets her nice and messy for you. If anything gets Miyeon going more than actually fucking—it’s definitely gotta be when you get your tongue on her folds. 
“You’re never gonna let me finish my sentences, are you?” she laughs breathily. You watch her abdomen as it rises and falls together with the quick breaths she takes.
“Dunno…” you nuzzle your face in her folds for a little, giving her time to say whatever she wants for a bit. “You did say that chivalry is dead.”
From your bottom up view of her, you can tell that she just rolled her eyes. “No comment. You won’t let my finish it any— oh my fucking god.”
Now it’s the flat of your tongue against her clit that stops her dead in her tracks. Her juices have begun to lather your tongue in their addictive taste, drawing you into her just a little more with each lap of your tongue. You suck on one of her folds, then your tongue is inside her, and she moans, her hand finding a spot on the back of your head that she can grip on to. She calls you crazy, calls you baby, runs her fingers through your hair. Your tongue dips in, circles, laps; your nose brushes against all the right spots of her skin and it draws out these almost sob-like, quiet sounds from her chest and she’s… Fuck, she’s amazing.
“I might take a while,” she whispers to you. You call malarkey, but play along nonetheless.
“Fuck yes,” your tongue swipes the entirety of her in a long, broad stroke. “Please, by all means princess. Take your time,” you don’t think you could ever sound as enthusiastic as you did right now. She pushes you down a little harder onto her slit, and you delight in how she squirms when you push your tongue a little deeper between her folds.
Her nails start to dig into your scalp a bit, and she starts pushing you down onto her cunt a little more.
“You know,” she speaks with this half-whisper-half-gasp, the type of tone that tells you that she’s fighting to stay in control of her own body. “I— mmph… Sometimes I lock myself in the changing room and just get off to the thought of you eating me.”
You suck on the other fold that you neglected earlier. “Oh yeah?” and you get a finger inside of her. She cries out, abdomen flexing deliciously as she turns pliant under the pressure of your finger getting a hold of that sweet spot. You can feel the heat—it feels like your skin is gonna melt. “Bet you get off real hard to it, maybe even harder than you will in like, two minutes.”
“Two?” she tries to sound a little defiant, but her voice is cracking and it’s really not working out in her favour. Your finger is barely pushing up by the way, yet it seems like she’s got thousands of pascals of pleasure weighing down on every part of her being. “Don’t put yourself on a fucking pedestal… I am nowhere close.”
You hum in reply, saving your energy to suck on her clit. And it’s almost like she’s spring-loaded in the way her thighs clamp around your ears immediately after. Her fingers eat into your scalp, a light, searing pain growing across your head as you kiss her right fold, then her left. You can tell that there’s liquid burning heat running through her body, spilling all over her. Miyeon tries to hold on, tries to prolong this for a little more by getting her nails deep in your scalp. But she’s falling apart, coming undone with each second.
“Baby.”
“One minute left,” you put your lips back around her clit. Her head thumps against the floorboards.
“I—can’t.”
“Ugh. Hate it when you lie.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Just fucking cum.”
And she ruins herself. She loses sense of the world for a bit—convulsing and twitching on the floor while you continue to lick her. No cry leaves her mouth; a strained, choked up phonic gets caught in her throat and refuses to dislodge. Her back arches, her thighs flex. Her world fades for a bit. 
Give or take: she takes a minute or so. When she gasps for air, you know she’s come back down to earth. You welcome her with a kiss to her abdomen as you rise up. Her cheeks are rubicund—flushed and making her glow as she smiles at you. She softly captures your cheeks in her hands.
“Okay,” she huffs, taking deep breaths as she strokes your face with her thumb. “Out of all the men I’ve dated: you can cook and eat the best.”
“Twenty dollars says that you’ve said that to at least four guys,” you muse. “Maybe five if I’m generous.”
She closes her eyes for a moment. Inhales. Exhales.
“Hand on my heart,” she uses one hand to push some hair out of her face. “I’ve only said this to you.”
Ignorance is bliss. Believing her is a sort of ignorance.
You willfully let yourself be blissful because you can.
--
(Then fast forward a little. Maybe like, three hours? Or however long it takes for you to have a nap and a shower to get ready to go out.)
“Are you seriously going out in that?”
And you have to stop at the door. You know that tone all too well.
“What is it this time?” you grumble, turning around to face the bed so that she can get a full biopsy of your outfit. It isn’t a bad outfit in your honest opinion, and you’re no stranger to horrible (unintentional) attempts at making fashion statements. Colour-blindness is a hereditary curse; it’s not your fault that you can’t tell that this shade of blue doesn’t work with that shade of grey and whatnot. “I swear I wore this a week ago and you said nothing.”
Miyeon slips out from under the covers. In your T-shirt, she saunters with purpose and urgency as she makes her way over. She stops in front of you and takes your tie into her hands. “It’s either you lose this tie or do something else to this already god-forsaken outfit.”
You consider the options for a hot minute. You’re kinda proud of this outfit—it took a lot of time and vetting through Miyeon to get it planned out and everything. The tie was kind of a staple piece—as important as the shirt or trousers. To hear that (in essence) you looked like shit admittedly dealt a blow to your ego, but why be petty when you can be cavalier?
“Whatever,” you reply, making no effort to stop her from trailing a nail up your shirt. “I couldn’t really care less about how this woman perceives me tonight. Not even into her anyway.”
Miyeon chuckles. The finger on your chest wraps itself around the top of your tie. “That’s an option as well,” she adjusts the knot, though it doesn’t look like she’s doing it to make you look better. “But can I give you one more alternative?”
“By all means, princess.”
She tugs on your tie, pulls you close. Your lips are just centimetres away from hers. You get a whiff of her scent. She’s using the shampoo you bought her. 
“Stay home,” she makes sure that her voice is kinda breathy, tickles your face as she lets the phonics dissipate into warm air. “Skip the date. You have a smoking hot girlfriend to fuck anyway.”
Oh and it takes you just about everything to stop you from grabbing her by the face and just kissing her. It's so easy: reach forward, get her face (or waist) in your hands and just smash her lips against yours. You know she’s thinking the same thing; but she’s waiting on you, anticipating what you’re going to do next. It’s a sick little game the two of you play, but it’s fun as hell and really doesn’t get boring in the near future.
“You know what my mom would say…” you begin, and you know she’s gonna stop you.
“Say you're sick”—bingo motherfuckers. She owes you five bucks—“tell her that you got the cold and so you can’t show up.”
“Expended on that one… And the work emergency one too,” you regretfully inform her. “And no: I will not be telling them that we’re actually a thing—“
“Cause you want to protect me and blah blah…” she interjects yet again, her fingers moving up and down, closing against her thumb in mimicry of a mouth moving. It’s petty, kinda frustrating—but it’s Miyeon. She’s a handful to deal with at times, but at least she’s your handful to deal with. “Been running the same jig for a little too long, tiger. I know your game.”
“I know,” you admit. “I’m a one-trick Pony and my carrot is you. What’s new?”
She chortles at that, and you take that moment to really get a good look at her because by god is she beautiful. Head-turner, eye-widener, heart-racer — not to be a bore, but again: it’s Miyeon. There’s a lot more about her that you could synthesize into words, but you won’t (not because you don’t want to or anything; but it’s more about the fact that you probably don’t have enough time to get someone to understand her.)
Cause here’s the thing (about her, you and both of you): she’s just as human as anyone, and that means she’s just about as complicated as anyone. You’ve got a story, she’s got her’s, and the two cross somewhere to form a midpoint before they start running parallel to each other before meeting again and running together and… You get it, don’t you?
No? Fuck. 
Okay. She may or may not be able to hold down a relationship; and you may or may not have been able to secure a relationship. You kinda get drunk with her over this revelation one night and you may or may not have joked over the fact that maybe you should get together. And then you may or may not have had the hottest sex you’ve had in years before you may or may not have realised that she’s the best thing to happen to you. It’s all kinda hypothetical to you cause you’re still processing the fact that this is all real. Still wondering if it’s a fling cause it’s only been about 3 months since this started.
(Calm down cupcake, no one likes a party pooper who prods on details in the midst of a story. It’s just… Ugh. The story behind how the two of you know each other is so boring and complicated—full of unnecessary exposition like this whole bit really. It hurts to retell it, so here’s a summary: she used to date your roommate, roommate moved out after they broke up, she stayed and hanged around you, here you are now. Fuck the details, there’s no room for it really. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.)
“Save the charisma,” she tells you, really putting on some breath behind her words. “I prefer it when you use it in bed.”
And you kinda have to kiss her after that. It’s a good line… and she’s, like, smoking hot right now.
The kiss kinda blurs the line between passionate and sweet (if there even was a line to begin with). It’s quite aggressive, a little tender but also a wee bit emotional. It makes you a little bitter, but don’t get it twisted: you love this girl with all your heart and you’d do anything to stay with her. It’s just that you’d love—more than anything—to lose the shirt and pants you’re wearing to make out with her, and then let things flow as they do. Unfortunately, your parents really want you to meet this girl, and you have to get going or you’ll probably get cut from the will or something.
She tries again. “Stay…”
“Miyeon—”
“I fucking need you… Please.”
It’s just so fucking tempting…. But there are only so many lines you can cross before you find yourself in trouble with border patrol. And if there's anything you hate more than lectures, it’s lectures from your mother.  
Her lips graze yours, hovering just millimeters away. She wants to kiss you—bite your lower lip and pull you into an undoubtedly sloppy lip lock. That will end with your hand somewhere on her body that gets the ball rolling (and we all know where that ball goes). She has it in her to do it; she has the right, the means and the fucking autonomy (and audacity). She’s just waiting on you, seeing what happens when she plants the seed of an idea in your head and waters it a little. 
Unfortunately for her, you’re too damn terrified of your parents to let that seed grow.
“I‘ll see you later,” you whisper, albeit a little reluctantly. “Call me if anything comes up.”
She understands that she’s lost. Doesn’t stop her from giving you that kiss though. “Don’t keep me waiting tonight… I love you.”
Ugh. She’s one hell of a woman, isn’t she?
--
So get this: this woman that your mother found for you is possibly the most boring person you’ll ever meet. She’s beautiful and all, but she has the personality that has just about the same amount of flavour as food in the west before spices.
She spends the meal talking about her job, and you kinda just fix her with a hundred yard stare and tune out. You couldn’t give a shit about computer security really—never was and never will be into that shit. It doesn’t help that your phone is kinda blowing up at the moment. It’s buzzing all over your thigh in your pocket. Pretty trippy, kinda makes you wonder if Miyeon had just slipped one of her vibrators into your pocket.
You excuse yourself to the bathroom at some point. You’re not sure how long she’s been yapping your ear off for, but it kinda doesn’t matter. All you’ve gotten from this meal is really just a handful of nonsense and a migraine. 
Anyway: it’s in the confines of the bathroom store that you check on the ruckus in your pocket. The screen lights up and you find that the spasming of your phone was caused by a combination of posts from a news outlet and from Miyeon. She takes precedence over the news.
Miyeon//8:01 pm: I swear to you I have no idea what’s going on 
Miyeon//8:01 pm: I’m getting this at the same time as you
Miyeon//8:02 pm: I don’t know what’s happening. Please come home.
And the way you open your news app almost instantly makes you feel like you’re all too familiar with this. It’s not a headline, but it might as well be from the way it makes your eyes widen and your breath stop for a second. 
You blink. You blink again. 
The words don’t change. 
Suddenly, you have a valid reason to get out of this dinner.
(How you get home is a little fuzzy, but that’s not really the important part. 
What? The headline? Oh you know it, don’t you cupcake? It was literally the only thing on people’s minds for some reason, as if an idol dating an actor is something unheard of.)
“What the fuck?” you ask when you step through your apartment door.
She sighs as you remove your coat and hang it behind your door. “Look… I’m just as confused as you are—”
“An actor?” you interject. You’ll admit that it’s a little rude, but you’re really just trying to make sense of this as fast as possible. “How long have you known this guy?”
“That’s the thing. I don’t,” she huffs. “I swear to you, hand on my heart and the other on the bible, I am not in love with that man.” She says. “I barely even know the fucker, never talked to him in my life.”
It’s a little hard to look at her right now. You have lots of things to say; lots of feelings and lots of thoughts. If you’re really gonna be honest with yourself: you’re scared, hurt and a little confused. Miyeon’s good at lying—a little too good for your liking. Pair that knowledge with your insecurities, and congrats: you’ve just given birth to multiple insecurities. They’re like little demons running amok in your chest. It’s suddenly hard to breathe.
You can’t do this with her now. Not when all this is all so fresh and new. 
But she catches your arm as you try to walk past her. Her grip is firm, pleading. 
“Please,” she utters, letting her hand slide down your arm to let her fingers wrap around your hand. “Trust me on this.”
You want to. You really want to. And so it hurts you to ask, “Am I just another fling?”
You can see it in her eyes when she realises the motivation behind the question. She doesn’t take long to come to the epiphany—just a little less than a second before her eyes soften and her lips part a little. Her expression scares you. You want to run from this all together and leave it to another day, but God knows that you won’t be getting any sleep with this weight in your head. It’s comical, almost hilarious if it weren’t for the fact that it’s your relationship with her on the line.
You like to think that she can’t express her answer into words, so she kisses you instead. You’ll never know why she chose to kiss you, but it's sweet and so powerful that you can kinda live with that gap in your knowledge. You may or may not have teared a little, and you may or may not have melted into her lips a little too quickly. What you can say for certain: when you find yourself back in those eyes, panting with your face between her hands—the words ‘I love you’ escape your mouth faster than you can think. You don’t say it for the sake of it; you say it cause you mean it. You want her to know that you’ll fight for this relationship, that you’ll fight for her.
And it makes her smile. 
“I’m like, in love with your goofy ass,” she mutters, thumb tracing a path along your cheek. “So don’t you ever think that I’d drop you for some slick-back fuck face.”
That’s more than enough for you. Her smile is contagious as you hold her waist. “Crude. I love you, Miyeon.”
“Yeah. I heard you the first tim—”
Of course: you don’t wait for a finished reply to kiss her. It’s a practice, almost a common tongue at this point.
Miyeon lets her hands fall, gets her arms around your neck while you reacquaint your lips with hers. She’s lovely, fucking divine and maybe even a little addictive—straight up dangerous if you’re to sum it up. You wonder, for a second, if you’re being manipulated, and it’s really only for a second because she’s got her teeth in your bottom lip and she’s dragging them towards her. She wants more—more of you and less of this need to prove her love. She touches your chest, palm flat against your flesh as she deepens the kiss. Ignorance is bliss. Believing her is a sort of ignorance. Kissing her deepens that ignorance, makes you all the more blissful.
“I need you,” you breathe, unashamed by your blatant desire to have her right now. Really: you can’t get enough of her smell right now. “Please Miyeon… Let me be the only one.”
She smiles softly. She runs her fingers through your hair. “Baby, you already are.”
You press your forehead against hers. “I know. But can we just…”
You can’t really verbalise what you want out of this. You want Miyeon, but you don’t just want the idea and concept of her. You long for that connection with her, that union and that closure, not just some fleeting, superficial feelings. This woman is quite literally one of your dreams. It’s selfish to say this, but you want that security—something tangible to know that you’re really hers and she’s really yours, a piece of her that you can hold on to that helps rid your heart of those little demons. You hope she can understand this through your closed eyes.
And something about the way she fixes your hair tells you that she does.
“It’s okay,” she assures you, her other hand finding that one spot on your chest. It feels like it’s touching your heart directly, calming it. “I get it,” her fingers wrap around the knot of your tie, loosening it till it unravels completely. “You’re hurt and scared. Frankly, so am I.”
Miyeon wraps the tie up neatly in her fist. Her hands cross over each other as she reaches down to grab the hems of her shirt. It slips off her, a layer peeled away. Then the tie rolls down from her hand. 
“I want you to know”—she drapes the tie around her shoulders, the thin portion ever so slightly shorter than the broader portion as they hang on either side of those perky mounds—“I will do everything I can to protect you and us.”
She tosses the smaller end across her body, cloth flying over her left shoulder and dangling behind her arm. The broader end is wrapped around her neck—once, twice. 
Miyeon steps closer and takes your hand. The broad end of the tie gets slotted into your palm. 
“And even though I might have to be seen with him,” she coos, and she’s a little clumsy as she reaches for the thin end behind her, but she gets it on her second or third try. “Even though I might have to hold his hand in public,” she slips it between her skin and the loop she’s made, ties it off. “You should know: I am yours.”
She shocks you into silence as always. You know what she’s insinuating. You know that she knows what she’s insinuating. Your eyes search her for consent, and you find that it’s the only thing you can make out behind the veneer of a tender gaze. She checks the makeshift leash she’s made. It’s not coming off anytime soon.
You wrap some of the tie around your hand. Your fingers close around the silky fabric. 
(Just so we’re clear: the tie may look horrible on you, but she looks amazing in it.)
You pull.
And it’s just that. 
Clothes come off, lips meet, sighs fly through the room. Her hands explore you, grab you, pump you; your kisses find the best parts of her, the parts you love the most and the parts she loves attention at. The tie never leaves your hand, and you give it a tug or two when you get your digits in her on the couch. You’ll never forget the way she looks when her head is forced up just after it whips back, the glassy look in her eye as she begs for you, keens for you. Never in your life has anything this debauched been so intimate. You’ve never heard sighs out of you and her so luscious. 
“Princess,” you quite literally growl as you address her. It’s not necessary, but the squelching of your fingers in her slick brings out something in you—a part of you that’s wild and somewhat untamed. “I fucking love the way you moan.”
Miyeon bites down on her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. “Yeah? She husks, her eyes going half-lidded in pleasure when you get your fingers in the same, soft, tender spot on the roof of her pussy. “It’s all for you. Ngh— A-All yours…”
And you don’t know how you can not believe her at this point.
You pull at the tie. She almost straightens completely. You kiss her. Her moans send pleasant vibrations down your windpipe.
It’s all so perfect. And it somehow gets even more perfect when she cums—waves of heat burning through her system; eyes shut and mouth agape; hands around your neck and your name spilling from her lips in a mix of curses (that mostly contain the word ‘fuck’); body convulsing and twitching in ways that make a low grunt emerge from the depths of your chest as you watch her. She’s beautiful—your beautiful princess.
When it’s over, you let the tie go slack. She crashes against the couch, forcing air back into her lungs with deep breaths. There’s sweat on her face, her body. Your hand finds its place on her tummy as you place small kisses on the corner of her lip, her jaw. Her skin is moist and sticky.
“Have me,” and it’s more so of a demand than a request. “Take me. However you want, wherever you want,” she runs her hands through your hair, “You’re the only one I want.”
You let out a low hum. It lightly vibrates at the base of your throat as you catch her earlobe between your lips. 
“Has anyone told you how fucking beautiful you are?” you can’t help but ask. She searches your face or a minute, then she chortles.
“About half the world,” she replies. “But it means the most coming from you.”
(Oh… That line really means the fucking world to you.)
You kiss her, hard. It’s messy, sloppy, and at some point you guys are scrambling to get on top of each other. She wins at one point, and so she rides you—dropping and rising hard and fast on your cock like a lewd merry-go-round carriage. She’s relentless, letting your cock fill her while she blanks out and just lets herself cry and moan like you don’t have thin walls in your apartment. You let her please herself, throw herself down onto your cock again and again till you decide that it’s your turn to have some fun. The tie is your friend, and you use it to pull her real close to not too kindly hiss your instructions into her ear. 
You’d kill to see the look in her eyes again.
And so you have her against the nearest wall in less than a minute, her back flushed against it and one of her legs bent in the crook of your arm. She reaches between your bodies, grabs your throbbing shaft and rubs your tip against her slit. You feel the heat of her pussy—the desire and depravity that burn in her core. You can’t believe she’s yours.
“I’m gonna put this in me,” she narrates her course of action, all breathy and silky. “It’s gonna fill me, fuck me… Maybe even cum in me.”
“I wouldn’t get ahead of ourselves here,” you whisper, your hand wrapping itself back in the fabric of the tie. “That last part? I dunno… Seems a little optimistic, don’t you think?”
She pushes your head in between her folds—not all the way, but enough to part them. “And why is that?”
You pop your hips, push yourself in a little more. She inhales sharply. 
“I only cum inside good girls.”
The smile that creeps its way onto her face is wicked.
“Trust me,” her hand finds purchase on your shoulder, pads of her fingers digging into the muscle. “I’ll be the best you ever get.”
She puts her weight onto the leg in your arm. You slide into her.
And you both take a moment to enjoy the unity—the feeling of the two of you being joined as one; your out of sync heartbeats that feel like pattering raindrops around your shaft. You want to say something witty, a quip that will get a nice chuckle out of her.
All you can really manage is, “Fuck.”
And in response: “Talk less. Fuck more.”
You draw back, push in. There’s the sopping sound of your shaft going in and out of her, wet pushing into warm flesh. You groan. She sighs. 
Tight, hot, wet, divine.
And it goes without saying: when you pick up the pace, she lets you know that she loves the feeling—the stretching, the filling, the push and pull. It comes to you in the form of pure filth: words that have very little consideration for propriety and no room for decency, something along the lines of “I can’t believe you feel this good. I can’t believe this cock is mine” or “That’s it. Keep filling me. Keep fucking— Oh” or maybe even a mix of both. You can’t be certain, because between you and her, you both know that the undulating of your cock into her tight, creamy heat and the almost torturous pressure around your dick is taking you under by the second. It’s not hard to lose yourself in her when she’s basically a little piece of you. 
Like always, she let her pleasure be known through desperate noises and choked up words. “Keep going, please, fuck—don't stop,” and it sounds like it hurts but you know it’s the other way around. Her pleasure coated tongue makes the lust in her words undeniable, her half-lidded eyes ruining the argument that she’s in any pain whatsoever. You yank on her tie, her body curves closer. You need a better look at that face.
(Trust me, it’s a face you don’t want to forget. 
For lack of a better word: it’s porny as fuck.)
It's a blissful dance – the rhythmic, almost metronomical give of her thighs as you slide yourself home again and again steadily and firmly. The smacking of sweaty and sticky skins colliding is almost evenly paced, sighs and grunts filling the spaces between slaps. She follows your lead, rocks her hips accordingly, angles herself and adjusts so that she can feel you in the deepest parts of her cunt. You lift her leg a little higher, spear yourself a little deeper. You listen to your body, she listens to hers. You give in to your desires.
You don’t mean to blurt it. You don’t mean to make the sex more complicated than it already is. But it happens—it fucking happens and you can’t stop it. 
“I love you,” your voice is nothing more than a rasp. She feels so fucking good around you — squeezing, pulsing and doing every little thing that makes your jaw tighten and you legs tense. “I fucking love you, Miyeon.”
She holds your gaze, then smiles, then nods. She nods vigorously, enthusiastically. “I know… It’s all I’ve ever known.”
Your hand on the tie releases it from your grasp. You catch a bouncing breast in your hand, squeeze the tight and taut nipple with your fingers. The tie shakes violently like a snake writhing, bouncing and swaying with each firm impact against Miyeon’s skin. She mewls, pulls you in, kisses you. She lets herself come undone with her chest flushed against you and your hearts aligned as she lets the cries transfer from your mouth to hers. You pump yourself faster, harder, faster, harder. Your finger digs into the flash near her knee. Your blood is boiling, molten metal spilling over and washing over you—gold rush, acid flux, saturating you in this bliss that numbs you out. You can’t tell where your thrusts start and end. They’re blurred by the heat washing over your eyes. You can’t get enough. The way you fuck her—it feels relentless, merciless, a fire that only burns brighter and can’t be put out, fuelled by the heat of Cho Miyeon flushed against you and the sublime squeeze of her slick heat. Everything about this is hot; everything about her is hot. 
“Don’t you ever let me go,” she hisses. “Fuck— don’t ever leave. This cock is mine. You are mine.”
“Princess, I’d never,” you nuzzle yourself into the crook of her neck, pepper her nicely with kisses. “You. Only you.”
“Yeah,” and her breath is hot on the nape of your neck. “Cause I can’t ever fucking imagine anyone else filling me this fucking good. No one has ever filled me this good.”
And her fricatives feel like acid: Aqua Regia—melting straight through solid gold just to get to you. It makes you burn a little hotter, fuck her a little harder. Your heart burns at the thought of her; your brain melts at the sight of her—glassy-eyed and mouth agape while cock pumps her full of pleasure and want. She finds a spot on your shoulder, whispers her proclamation of love— “I love you I love you I love you— Fuck—”—before she buries her face into your shoulder blade. Her love is an animal call, cutting through the darkness and bouncing off the walls, reaching a soft spot in your heart that you hold for her. Nothing in this world is gonna stop you from turning her into a messy little fucktoy. 
It’s hard to think. It’s hard to breathe. She’s become your world, the only thing you ever want to think about. Anything that isn’t her tight little pussy is irrelevant; what isn’t her thin lips pressed against your shoulder is invalid; no pair of eyes will ever match the glassy, lust-fogged ones that Cho Miyeon possesses. Your pulse is rushing, your head is reeling, your face is flushing. You want her—all of her. You suck hard on the milky skin you’ve caught between your lips, marking her, claiming her. She has no qualms nor worries; she tilts her neck to give you better access to that lovely patch of skin that becomes your canvas. She mewls, presses her forehead harder into your body, grounding herself in the sensation of her skin on yours. 
“I’m gonna fucking fill you, Miyeon,” you drawl. “I’m gonna cum inside this pretty little pussy and make a mess out of you,”
“Yeah, yes,” she’s barely holding it together at this point. “Please. Oh god please.”
Your hips move on their own now, taking liberties without signals from your fried brain as you pump yourself into Miyeon with the sole goal of piping her full of your hot seed. For long, wordless minutes, you're thrusting into her in a mindless, fervent fashion, giving in to your desires and your depravity and fucking her like she’s a doll. You relish the feel of her skin in your palms; the feel of her hands pressed against your chest; the sheer, strained phonetic atrocities that rise from the depths of her throat. Your shaft glistens in the light of the room, slick with her sweet juices as it slips in and out of her hot cunt, spearing into her with depth, making her legs weaker by the second. Miyeon cups your cheek, moans your name. You bury your nose deep in those silky locks of jet black hair. You need every last part of her to be close to you.
She's whimpering, eyes squeezed shut, toes clenching; she’s a coiled up spring, a bundle of nerves waiting to be released. Her bottom lip is between her teeth, her throat bobs. She's coming undone, breaking a little more with each thrust of your cock. You know that she’s cumming before she announces it, and when you fuck her over the point of no return, it’s bliss.
Miyeon melts, head whips back and thumps against the wall, positively combusts on the spot and ceases to hold on to the last bits of herself. She lets herself fall through the pleasure, orgasm almost ripping through her system as she shakes in your grasp. She’s such a precious thing, yet she can look like lust itself when she’s busy cumming all over your cock and whining like her life depends on it. She’s tighter, wetter, even better to fuck. 
She really is the best you’ll ever have.
“Miyeon–”
“Just fucking cum.”
Your line; same effect. You fill her, make a creamy mess of her cunt because you can. You fuck her through it, push your load deeper with each thrust. Your cock pulses, spasms, shoots load after load after load into her pussy till you can’t take it anymore and jitter to a halt, and there’s nothing left but a filthy mess flowing out at the base of your cock where her lips are splayed the widest. It’s a sight for sure. 
(And there really isn’t a word for the moment that the two of you share in that wrinkle in time, that moment where it’s just all warm and fuzzy and you have your forehead pressed against hers.)
You cradle her in your arms, kiss her chest, her jaw, her lips. It’s tender, it’s gentle.
“We’ll figure this out,” she pants through closed eyes. “I promise you: you and me, we’re gonna figure this all out.”
Somehow, you don’t doubt it.
--
(Still here? Great. We’re getting to the good part. Get your special sock out or something.)
So the newest rage of the K-pop scene is the photo of Miyeon kissing him in a car.
It's a publicity stunt—the whole damn relationship. They are supposed to appear in love according to Miyeon, and it was his idea to kiss her. She never consented and he just did it. It’s a pretty lewd photo: up close and personal and all. You can see his lips on hers, his hand on her breast and they’re like, clearly getting it on in three. Pretty steamy if you do say so yourself,
(...)
Oh fucking hell. Who are you kidding describing this photo like you’re just viewing an artwork. It makes your blood boil, and speaking to her after seeing this photo feels like dancing to alarm bells when you feign ignorance and just talk with her like it’s a normal Wednesday. You’re gonna hurt yourself at this rate, but she really means too much.  
She told you that he forced his lips on hers, you believe her to the best of your ability. You kiss her, tell her it’s okay, that she’s doing what she has to do to protect the two of you. She says she’s sorry, that she feels like she’s failed you. You kiss her again—albeit a little half-hearted—and assure her once more that it’s okay. You want to nurse her pain, but you also have your own problems to deal with.
And as if this fucking actor hasn’t interfered enough with your relationship, he has the audacity to call during the make up sex.
Her phone starts to ring when she’s on her hands and knees on your bed, and you’re fucking her into the mattress like she’s some pliant plaything. There's a rage inside you that hasn’t been quenched, and you don’t realise that it’s bringing out that dark side of you till you spank her ass a little harder than you intended to. It doesn’t help that you kinda twitch when you hear her yelp, and it really doesn’t help when she tightens after the second spank. The phone only continues to vibrate next to her head.
“Baby,” she rasps. “My phone…”
“Pick it up,” you hiss. “Pick it up and let whoever the fuck it is hear how you’re being fucked like a slut.”
Degradation has never really been a kink of yours, but you know she’s kinda into it. Even so, you’re not calling her a slut because you consciously want to. You feel like an asshole for being angry, kinda hate yourself a little for not being able to accept that she’s doing what she needs to do. And then you kinda hate her for making you hate yourself and— Ugh. It just gets more complicated the more you try and rationalise it. You can’t stop the hot blood from coursing through your system, fuelling your firm strokes into her tight heat like you’re trying to inject all the hate in your body into her. 
Her hand that was once clawing at the sheets now reaches for her phone. You keep thrusting as she flips it over, keep thrusting as she shows you the caller ID, keep thrusting as she looks back at you with a gaze that says “are you sure?”. You hope she isn’t met by that dark look you often see when you look at yourself in the mirror after a new headline about them hits your screen. It’s funny how one person can flip the idea of make-up sex on its head—turn it from something so tender and beautiful to a spite-fuelled fuck fest that’s gonna make things more complicated. She hasn’t even picked up the fucking phone, but you can hear his sick voice in your head as you drive yourself deeper into her cunt, fuck her harder and faster than you knew you could. She’s in no state to answer the phone, yet her finger taps on the ‘accept call’ button. 
(She would’ve rejected it if she could, but she got into some deep shit the last time that happened. Must’ve been threatened or something for her to pick up the phone while she’s getting fucked.)
“Hello?” she does her best to steady her voice, and she’s doing pretty well considering how loud the smacking of skin against skin is. She presses the phone a little tighter against her left ear. You don’t intend on stopping. Let him hear her being owned by you for all you care. “T-This is a bad… a bad time.”
Damn straight it is. 
Your hand caresses the curve of her ass. You spank her again, making sure that it’s loud and it leaves a red patch on her smooth, creamy skin. She contacts around you, gasps a little as you bend down and pin her down with your weight on her back.
“W-What?”—and it feels like she’s talking to both of you. You hiss into her other ear. “I’m going to fuck you like this,” your voice is actually a snarl, a dark one. Your body is energized by the promise of taking and ravaging the helpless, prone woman beneath you, your words dripping with loathing and your thrusts brimming with spite. “I’m going to fuck you hard and rough, and you’re gonna keep him on the fucking line so he can hear it.”—“No I’m… Jogging.”
She’s terrible at lying. You let her know through each thrust—hard and deep, uncaring for her pleasure or her comfort or anything other than your need to bury yourself again and again inside her body. There’s the need to dominate her, the need to make her yours. You hope this guy can act like he doesn’t care that his supposed girlfriend is being prone-boned by another guy, act like he isn’t totally aware of the fact that Cho Miyeon’s body is never gonna belong to him at any point as long as you’re alive. 
(Keep this between us: but with the way you're going down on her, it feels like the message is being transferred to her and not him.)
You hear indistinct chatter. Miyeon bites down on her lower lip, undoubtedly holding back the stream of cries and sighs and lyrical monstrosities that threaten to burst forth. With her eyes she begs, challenges you to do more. You could be reading her wrong by like, a hundred percent. Doesn't matter, not when you can take every liberty with her body because you couldn’t give more of a shit. There’s more indistinct chatter on the other end of the phone; Miyeon says something along the lines of “no. Don’t buy the choker for me”. You give her a choker—raise yourself up and reach around her to wrap your fingers around her throat. Her whole body tenses when you apply pressure around her windpipe. In no universe does this guy not know what’s going on right now.
Cause she’s there—right there, all choked up and struggling to breathe while the fucker keeps yap-yap-yapping away like he’s some fucking guard dog. It irritates the hell out of you. At some point, he kinda has to hear a squelch or smack or two, maybe even a moan or a cry as well. But he stays on the phone, and not once does Miyeon ever have to address the question of whether she’s being fucked on the other end of the call or not. You thought you were ignorant, but this guy is a whole new fucking level of blissfully ignorant. It feels like his sole purpose is to drive a wedge between the two of you, to make you hate her because you hate him. Again: it’s kinda complicated to say exactly what it feels like to be in this situation. 
And you can imagine the moans she wants to let out. They’ll tumble out of her lips like water down a waterfall, and they’ll mix with the sound of your lips smacking against her skin as you lean back down to kiss her neck, stopping at one spot that you know will be good to mark her and sucking hard. It feels like getting back at her—doing all the things you want to do while she can't speak her mind freely (and you know how tortuous it is for her when she can’t moan while she’s being railed like this). You’re not sure why you would ever need to get back at her when she’s done nothing wrong, but I guess it helps to synthesise and dumb down the emotions you’re feeling at the moment.
“Tonight?” she asks. Then she buries her head into the sheets because she can’t hold back this moan that almost explodes from her chest. You’re not squeezing really hard around her throat, mind you—only enough to make her a little uncomfortable, like a tie has been wrapped around her neck. She's getting off on it though: her walls squeeze you a little tighter; her breaths become more ragged and short. Honestly, she's taking your cock so well, and you communicate this to her with a growl. It makes her shudder a hell lot. 
Her other hand clutches the sheets, spasms. She’s pliant, she always is, but it feels like you can wrack her tiny body with so much more pleasure as you keep a hand around her throat and keep your dick pumping in and out of her. You wish you had a mirror to see that pretty face warping under the heat of her lust. You kinda forget that she’s still calling him when she speaks again, cause she follows up with, “I can’t— I can’t believe…”
And if that damn phone call wasn’t happening, she’d be saying something along the lines of “I can’t believe that you’re fucking me this good”.
“Sorry. I got cut off,” she pants. “Yeah… It’s harder to hear me when I’m running.”
Now she's talking to you. The reply is to him, but she’s addressing you. You take her up on it, and the slapping and squelching start to ricochet off the walls and ceiling. What you’re doing should be considered as a whole sin in itself. Technically, it’s adultery, but you’re not too sure if you can even classify this as something that simple. This is jealousy, hate and love mashed into one—a mix of things that kinda shouldn’t go together when you have a woman who’s quite literally like putty beneath you. It doesn’t help that she's this hot, this tight, this wet. She’s straining her moans, and it’s so cute that you want to choke her a little harder. You don’t do it (just clarifying some doubts here), but you almost do. 
“R-Really?”—you’re almost certain that what comes next is gonna be addressed to you. You can imagine her signing your name off on it—”wow… That must be so fucking good.”
Bingo. Gotta say: she’s kinda smooth with it.
“I’m fine. Out… Out of breath” you don’t know how she manages to keep her voice steady. “Y-yeah… I’m gonna come… Don’t worry.”
You hope that she can hold on.
You don’t know how long more you fuck her for while she’s on the phone. It’s a blur; you kinda only see red and you’re still choking her out even after she hangs up. It’s only when she goes, “Oh, fuck, daddy—!” with this breathless, perverse, pleading tone and a voice that’s so loud; her body unable to do anything other than gasp and moan and urge you to really give it to her, and when she says “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” like you’re not doing just that (and only that) at the moment that she’s hung up on him. Now she has every facility available to focus on the rock hard meat she’s receiving. You feel filthy, like you’re doing something wrong.
But hey: the sex is hot and Miyeon’s kinda into it, so you keep going. You keep fucking her into the bed—the same way you would if you were fucking her against the wall or in the shower or against any flat surface, really. It’s twisted, it’s dark, it’s hot; the angle her body is at lets you drive yourself deeper and faster and harder into her wet, tight and hot pussy like you never have before. You’re experiencing a novelty, a new chapter.
(Caveat: is it kinda messed up that you call her a cocksleeve? Not really? Huh.)
“God Miyeon…” you feel like the voice that comes from your throat is not your own. “You’re such a good fucking cocksleeve for me,” and you may or may not be tightening the grip around her throat as you speak. “So tight and wet for me. You’re such a good fuck.”
“Oh daddy, fuck you’re so big and deep in me,” she gasps. She has lots to say, even though air is like a fucking luxury for her. She rarely calls you Daddy, yet she’s using her precious air to do so now. “Fuck, fuck me as hard as you can, daddy! Do whatever you want with me! Own me! Take me!”
You barely recognise the woman she’s become: depraved, sordid and one hell of a hot mess. You love it. It’s fantastic. Fucking fantastic.
And she falls apart under you not long after, writhing and moaning and twitching as this beautiful mess of a woman you’ve made out of her. You want to cum in her, really own her; but your thoughts are fueled too much by the hate in your heart that they're wilder than anything she can ever imagine. 
You pull out of Miyeon, your shaft glistening in the dim light. You get off the bed, pull her away with you. Her mouth opens to say something. You kiss her—shut her up. She moans into your mouth, and you swallow it, bite her lower lip, and it's not rough, but enough to get her attention.
“You’ve gotten enough loads inside your pussy,” you husk. “Get on your knees. I want your mouth.”
She nods, and you relish the disappointment in her eyes. You push down firmly on her shoulders. She goes with the motion, and you're not sure if you can ever get over the image of Miyeon on her knees with her pretty little princess face staring at you with anticipation. You think about fucking her face, letting your cock thrust into the back of her throat over and over and over till you paint her face in a messy spray of cum. 
And you know what? You’ll do just that.
Of course, Miyeon perfectly understands what has to be done. You step up to her. She parts her lips and takes your cock right into her mouth, grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other. The pace she launches into is hard and fast; blurring her chocolate hair and your vision—taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with rapid urgency while her fingers work your shaft in a corkscrew motion. The suction of her mouth is almost lethal, the seal sublime; and the audacity she has to look up at you while she takes your cock in and out of her mouth is so exhilarating that it makes you weak in the knees. She’s gorgeous, even more so when she’s got cock in her mouth.
Your hand finds a clump of her black, sweaty hair, and you close your fingers around it, holding them in your fist. You push her head down onto your cock, pop your hips and start thrusting with firm, slow strokes. She exceeds every expectation you ever had, adapting to you, changing to please you. Your eyes shut involuntarily. Your brain blocks out all sensations that aren’t the wet, hot cavern of Miyeon’s mouth sealed tightly around your shaft. With the first entry into her mouth her wet tongue is pressed tightly against the underside of your shaft, lathering it with her spit. The backstroke is somehow even better, that pretty little mouth endeavoring to suck you right back in when you draw yourself back out. It feels like time stands still, but Miyeon’s still in motion, and she’s the one making you feel like all the natural laws in the world are being defied.
A small part of you knows that you have to see it happening in order to truly believe it’s all real, so you force your eyes open to watch the spectacle unfolding between your legs. Smoky eyes glazed with pure lust staring right up at you, watering, projecting perverse pleasure with a gaze; hollow cheeks and a seemingly unhinged jaw to accommodate your length; spit leaking from the corners of her mouth, dribbling down her chin.
“Fuck I—” is all you manage to say (or maybe ‘grunt’ is a better word) before your orgasm takes the reins to your body. It overwhelms your senses, but you force your eyes open to watch as you pull Miyeon off your dick just in time. Thick, glistening cum erupts from your tip to land on Miyeon’s face, on her cheeks and nose, painting her smoky features with pearlescent, warm ropes. You paint her face with your hot white seed, and it’s far from an elegant piece of art. She doesn’t look anything like one of the French girls she wanted to be painted like, but the look of utter lust on her needy features is still breathtaking—mouth open, tongue out, eyes closed in delight and bliss.
Ugh, she's one hell of a woman, isn’t she?
And when it’s all over, she takes your cock in her hand and licks off the drops that she’d been deprived of. 
“If you ever do that again.” you love the raspy touch to her voice. The lilt in it is doing wonders too. “I’m gonna make sure that you’ll be calling your mom the next time I blow you.”
You roll your eyes and sigh. “Whatever you say, princess…”
The hate seems to fade. Your heartbeat slows.
Maybe this relationship is salvageable. Maybe you guys can last.
You talk to her about it afterwards and apologise sincerely. She says that she didn’t think much of it when it was happening. Then you guys are at peace again.
(What do you think? How long does the honeymoon last? A month more? 
Two?
Generous.
Try one. Fucking. Week.)
--
“Okay. Hands down: this is the best Jjamppong I’ve eaten.”
The growing pile of clam shells beside her bowl tells you that you did something right. It’s the first time you've made this dish, and there’s always that lingering worry that you fucked up somewhere along the way when you eat it for the first time. The soup seasoning is a little off in some places (you don’t know where exactly), but it’s nothing a dash of fish sauce and some chilli flakes can’t fix.
“I mean,” Miyeon continues, speaking between small yet generous mouthfuls of noodles. “You only get better and better at cooking. I don't know how you do it.”
You give a half-hearted smile. Your noodles have kinda gone cold by now: you’ve been stirring them around with your chopsticks for the past five minutes or so. Appetite has become a luxury for you these days, and it’s one of those days where a new article about him and her comes out, one of those days where you both agreed to put a pin on it and just enjoy life. “Well… It’s a lot of love and care, I guess.”
“You can say that again,” she smiles. “Thank you for making dinner. No one cooks like you.”
“Thank you for cutting scallions,” you say. “No one cuts them like you do.”
She laughs and waves it off, then takes another slurp of her noodles. “I honestly don’t know if I like your tomato soup over this.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. My tomato soups have always been the peak of my cooking prowess.”
“I really don’t know!” she tells you, grabbing another clam from the centre of the table. “This stuff is all smoky and tasty… It just feels like home and I—”
You drop your chopsticks into your bowl. Soup splashes onto the table.
“How do I keep living like this, Miyeon?” you ask. There are only so many pins in your possession and you feel like you’ve used all of them. “I’d love to sit here and talk to you about how I made this meal like everything’s okay, and this is just Thursday and maybe we’ll get ice cream later… But it’s not like that right now.”
Miyeon takes your hand in hers. 
“I can’t pretend like things are the same when everything’s… different,” you close your eyes, take a breath. “I love you, Miyeon. You’re like, the best thing that’s ever happened to me and… I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”
You can hear her take a breath to start speaking. You really want to let her, but there’s too much on your chest. 
“I know you’re doing what you have to, for me, for us,” you want—oh so badly––to just bury your face in your hands right now. But once you do that, the tears will inevitably come and your ability to speak your mind will disappear faster than you can regain yourself. “But it hurts. It hurts to see you holding his hand, walking around and… and kissing him.”
Your heart stings when you see the tears welling in her eyes when you find it in you to look at her. The last thing you want is to see her in pain. This next bit hurts you even more to say, but you know that it’s better to tell her how you feel.
“I feel like I’m an open wound… and you're just pouring salt on me,” and you start to choke up a little. “I’m sorry to put it that way but—”
“No,” she interjects. “No. I get it… I-I understand.”
And for a moment, it feels like everything's okay for a bit.
Then she comes around the table to kiss you, and hell’s bells start ringing all over again. It hurts to kiss her, but it feels so right.
Miyeon leans into you. She kisses you. She pulls you close. She lets you run your hands across her body, down her back. You stand. Your tongue pokes into her mouth. One of you says I need you and you don’t know who it is.
And like when things were okay: you guys don’t make it to the couch.
You get naked. She gets naked. The sex isn’t about pleasure or thrill. It’s the aching within the both of you that drives your shaft into her cunt, rocks her hips as you fuck her. You quite literally make love with her, your strokes passionate and fervent; her cries are earnest and wanton, full of longing. For long moments when her chest is against yours, your hearts are aligned. You wish that you could fuse them together, take away the pain by making the two of you one singular person there on the floor. It feels possible when your dick is throbbing inside of her, pumping her slick with rock hard meat again and again and again.
But the thing that sucks the most is that you can’t do that. You’re two separate people with two separate problems that kinda overlap at the same point.
You have her bent over the counter, propped up on the kitchen sink—anywhere you could reach was a surface for you and her. And normally you’d be a bit of a party pooper about fucking on these surfaces, but today you really can’t give more of a shit. You want to feel like everything’s okay again, like you’re not fighting for your life to hold on to this relationship that’s being torn apart day by day, night by night.
And you may have pieces of each other deep within your souls, but they don’t seem to fit anymore.
When it’s all over and you’re panting against the dishwasher, reality hasn’t changed and you’re still torn. You have a wound that only you can heal through acceptance, yet you can’t find it in you to accept that this is the life you have to lead. You want to love her. You want it so bad. But you can’t find the will in you to love her when there’s another man in the picture, albeit that her love for him isn’t even minimally a concept. You can’t nurse her injuries either, and it hurts to know that as her delicate hands cradle your cheeks. Her touch is perfect, her breaths are soft on your skin. The two of you have tried so hard to make it work, yet you’ve only come so far. The solution to this problem is like thousands of hot fire pokers stabbing you simultaneously, and it only hurts because it’s the only way forward for the both of you. 
“Miyeon,” you can’t quite believe what you’re about to say. The tears streaming down your  cheeks aren’t making anything easier. “Let’s break up.”
(And this isn’t for pity: but you cry yourself to sleep after she leaves that night. Ain’t it fun being heartbroken? You would know how it feels, right cupcake?)
--
Three months, two weeks and one day (about 105 days if you really want to be fully accurate. Go write that down somewhere) pass uneventfully—and by that you mean, you never picked up any of the 138 calls that came from Miyeon. It would have been 140 calls if you hadn’t picked up two of them when you were drunk. But hey, she was drunk too. So it kinda cancels out… at least you like to think that it does. It does, doesn't it? Two negatives make a positive? 
(No?)
Ah well. Anyway,
(Okay, caveat, again: you’re thankful that she hadn’t showed up to the apartment once throughout this period. You’ve been stuck between your anger and a blame that you can’t face because you don’t know if you blame yourself or her or him. Drinking doesn’t help to lighten the ache in your chest, so you tried exercising: running, swimming, even pilates; you tried to pick up music—bought a guitar and everything. Your fingers still hurt when you play chords, and you’re considering giving up at some point; you tried to learn how to make those pain in the ass French desserts, and now you have a fire extinguisher permanently installed in your kitchen because you somehow managed to set fire to macarons; and you tried to write. That didn’t go well. 5 Wattpad users politely asked you to kill yourself. Not fun.
One way or another, your thoughts would end up drifting back to Miyeon, and you’d have to sit in place and kinda stare into the distance for a little. And yes, you did question your choice to end things with her many times if anyone is asking. You kinda hate yourself a little for not trying to make things work, and you also kinda hate her for not insisting on staying to make things work. 
It took two of the three months for you to realise that you were both kinda in the wrong. But it’s already too late by then.
You couldn’t get a grip of yourself and fight off your internal demons; she couldn’t stop doing what she thought was right to protect the two of you. Net-net: it’s a loss for the both of you in the business of love. Now you have to look for a way forward through this grey-area mess that you’ve made, learn to live with the fact that maybe you guys just weren't meant to be in the grand scheme of things.
The updates on Miyeon’s relationship with that damned actor kept coming, but it stopped as of late. But for a while, they were all the rage for gossip blogs. Every now and then, a shitty title like “Cho Miyeon stuns with her visuals on her date” would pop up, and you have to swipe away quickly before you accidentally tap on the notification and see her holding hands with him. You’ll admit that you opened some of the articles just to get a look at her face, then smile to yourself for a bit before you fight the urge to punch the spot next to her where Squid Game wannabe is smiling. You’ve succeeded so far.
You kept away from Jjampong and tomato soup with grilled cheese too. It’s hard to take your butter bell down from the fridge without tearing a little, and the fish sauce and chilli flake panacea for food doesn't apply to a broken heart by the way (it’s just really salty and spicy. You don’t know what you were thinking. Probably drunk. 0/10, please, please, please do not try). The two dishes are too homely; their tastes remind you of her.
Okay. Let’s ‘anyway’ for real this time.)
Yeah, so uh, remember how you said that sometimes the news you give each other can be a little heart-attack-inducing, so it’s better that your loves are pretty bland? Yep… Sad to say that the same confirmed hypothesis still stands, even when you guys are on day 106 of your break up.
This time the news comes in another headline—and you mean like front page, breaking news headline—on Tuesday night. Wonderwall isn’t treating you too well. You’re pretty sure that your finger tips might be turning purple. Your phone buzzes next to you like crazy, just like it did that night, and it’s like having an iPhone seizure. You don’t think too much when you put down the guitar and pick up your device. 
And you only read the first six words to give yourself a valid reason to reset your miscall streak with Miyeon.
Idol Cho Miyeon Slapped In Public…
(The title was a lot longer than that. You should know it since you’re here in the first place.)
It’s in moments like this when you kinda wish that speed dial was still a thing. (I mean there's siri and all, but do you really have time for that right now?) In a blur of great clumsiness, you open your contacts and experience no difficulty in locating her number again. She’s on the top of your miscall list, so it really takes no wizard to figure this out.
You hate that she’s letting it ring for so long. Every brr brr makes you tremble a little more in your seat. If your mum could see you now, you’d probably get an earful for your bad habit of biting your nails.
She finally picks up the phone. It’s good to hear her voice. “Hey…”
Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. Now you realise that in your hurry to check on her, you’ve yet to rehearse what to say to her. The debate between your head and gut almost tears you in two. 
“You okay?” you finally manage to blurt after some struggle. “I saw the news… Just wanted to check if, you know, you’re still up and kicking…”
You hear that familiar scoff from the other side of the phone. “Please. You know that it takes more than that to take me down.”
If your ears don't deceive you, you can hear a bit of a strain in her voice. She hates it when you jump to conclusions though, so you leave it as it is for now. “That’s… That’s great.”
And it’s silent again. If you were in the business of losing her interest, you’d be making crazy profits right now. Okay, better end this fast.
“Well uh,” you begin, stopping for a second to swallow some saliva to soothe your semi parched throat. “I guess—”
“Can I come over?” 
Like she always does, she shocks you into silence. Your throat dries up. Your mouth is the Sahara. 
“I… I miss you… if my miss-calls weren't clear enough about that,” she chuckles. You swear you hear a sniffle. “I’d like to see you again,” and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears, “for closure of course… and maybe tomato soup?”
Your heart joins the debate between your head and gut. It wins.
Minutes later, your butter bell is open, a knife scraping out the last bits of creamy butter out of it so that it can be used to evenly butter the other side of your bread. You’re moving on instinct, with glee and excitement. You’re not sure why you’re happy. You’re just happy—happy that you’re gonna see her; happy that you can prepare this dish again without the knowledge that you’re not gonna see her when you turn. It isn’t till the doorbell rings that the joy fades, and in its place comes that familiar tension of a two tonne weight wrapped around your chest. 
You aren’t sure why she rings the door when you haven’t changed the passcode to the lock. If she’s trying to be polite? You appreciate it. If she just forgot the pin? Well… you wouldn’t put that past her either, really. Your gut, head and heart agree you that it’s most likely the latter, and you kinda have to remind yourself as you open the door that she's just as forgetful as anyone else.
“Hi,” you catch yourself staring at her. You don’t mean to look at her dress first, but it’s the first thing your eyes are drawn to; it's been a while since you’ve seen her in anything other than a t-shirt and shorts. The white dress she’s wearing is bedazzled out, the light that’s reflected off of it catching you and making you a deer in headlights for a bit. Then you snap out of it. Your gaze travels up to her face and… “You look… Fucking terrible.”
You love her eyes and you love to watch them roll. “Thanks. You look not bad yourself. Gained some weight?”
You try not to stare. You fail—horribly you might add. 
But in your defence, it’s hard not to look at the purple spot on her milky skin. 
Miyeon covers her cheek. She looks down at your feet like there's something really interesting about them. “Are you, you know, letting me in? Or are we just gonna keep standing here?”
You blink. “R-Right.”
And soon she’s settled into her usual seat, nibbling on some grilled cheese while you ladle out her tomato soup into a bowl. It feels like nothing has changed, but you know that’s not true. Both of you know that everything’s different, that you can’t just give her tomato soup and peck her on the cheek.
“So you play guitar now?” she catches you off guard as the bowl makes a small thunk against the table. It’s in the same spot she always places it, and you know because a woodring has formed in that area. You follow her gaze and see that she’s spotted your Fender on the couch. 
“Sort of?” you reply, a little uncertain in how to rate your abilities. “Just basic stuff, you know?”
She smirks and picks up her spoon, starts chipping away at her soup “So you’re finally digging up the singer-songwriter in you… Good on you, man.”
Again, you find yourself staring at the bruise. It’s a deep shade of purple, splotchy and a sight for sore eyes. From the looks of it, he hit her hard. There’s a burning in your chest—a mix of grief, pity and anger as you watch her eat her food. You wish that you could’ve been there to stop it. You wished that you could’ve just dated her under different circumstances so that maybe, just maybe, you could’ve gotten that ending you wanted. You don’t know how she’s ever gonna cover that up when—
“If you’re gonna get something for this thing, go do it,” she mutters. “Chivalry hasn’t died completely, right?”
You nod and scuttle off. It’s easy to lose track of how long you’ve been staring when you’re lost in your thoughts. Is it scary how this feels like just another conversation between you two? 
The ice pack from when she bought that ice cream cake was still in the freezer, and it’s chilly in your hands as you grab it and return to the table. She has finished her soup—not a single scrap left inside the bowl. She must be starving.
Her grilled cheese is half eaten in her hand; she stares into the distance as she chews. 
(And she’s as beautiful as she can ever be, by the way. A lot of people haven’t seen her the way you see her, and you’re kinda glad that you get to witness that tender part of her that she rarely shows to cameras. It’s… It’s hard to describe what it means to know that someone like her finds it this easy to be herself around you, but you know it’s an honour and a blessing.
But when you're looking at her with your rose-tinted lenses stripped away from you, the notions you hold towards vulnerability become contradictory, because on one hand you know that she’ll never hurt you the way she did, but on the other you know that she’s not the same person when she’s not around you. So at the end of the day, you’re just kinda left figuring out which side of her is the real her. Do you believe what the Cho Miyeon you know tells you? Or do you believe what the Cho Miyeon the world knows? It gets confusing, makes you wonder why she ever has to put up two fronts in the first place. 
Then again, it’s not exactly her fault: she does what she has to so she can stay afloat. No industry is free from dirt. Some are just filthier than others.
I guess what I’m getting at is that… she’s this contradiction in my mind. I want to believe her, but I can’t, yet I still love her like she’s just a regular human and our lives are just a little messy. I know there's this whole argument about the fact that idols are humans too and all, but I guess it’s kinda… undermined? Yeah—undermined by the fact that they can’t exactly lead ‘normal’ lives once they’re famous. Look at me, using these big words.
So I guess… I guess dating her was like the worst of all blessings and the best of all curses. Does that make sense?
Ugh. I’m blabbering. 
Sorry cupcake, I’ll get back to it.)
And maybe you forget that she isn’t your girlfriend anymore, or maybe you just kinda blank out in the moment, or maybe you just wanted to do it. For whatever reason: you call her name, and when she turns, the ice pack in your hand is gently applied against her face. You don’t think much of it for like, three or four seconds. But when her wide eyes finally register in your head, there’s a moment where your breath is caught in your throat. 
This is important, so you should know: the silence is fucking deafening. 
She swallows the bit of sandwich in her mouth. “I refused to sleep with him, and he hit me like a girl. Fucking embarrassing on his part,” and there’s that smile on her face as she speaks, the same one that she loves to flash your way when she told you that she loved you. “Barely felt it. Light work.”
You can’t resist—your other hand cradles her unblemished cheek. “Miyeon…”
She closes her eyes. She knows that tone you’re using, the one that’s like ‘don’t lie to me’ or ‘it’s okay, you can tell me’. “Look: when the man that loved you the way no one else loved you breaks up with you, nothing can be more painful than that,” she whispers. Her throat bobs a little. She furrows her brows as her eyes squeezed themselves shut themselves a little tighter. “And that man is you by the way…” her voice cracks, her eyes open, “don’t know if I was clear enough.”
And you kinda have to kiss her after that. It’s a good line… and she’s, like, smoking hot right now. She always is.
The familiarity of her lips against yours almost makes you melt. The ice pack drops from your hand, your palm taking its place on her face. You kiss her like you used to. You kiss her like you want nothing else but her. You kiss her like you want nothing else but her because you want nothing else but her. She’s home – Jjamppong and Grilled Cheese with Tomato soup — and you don’t ever want her to leave again.
“I’m sorry,” she croaks, and you wipe the tear trailing down her cheek. “I should have never… We should have never—”
You shush her with your lips. She lets herself melt into you, her hands running through your hair the way she would sometimes when she called you crazy or baby. You don’t realise how much you’ve missed her touch till now.
“We were both wrong,” you tell her once you break away (rather reluctantly). “So how about we just call it a truce?”
She nods, and she does it enthusiastically. “If it’s cool with you…”
You scoff. “Why would it not be?” and your thumb gently caresses her bruise gently. You want to kill him, but you’ll save that for another time. “I’m the one who suggested it… Guess Chivalry is not all dead, huh?”
And it’s good to hear her laugh again.
“Come here you big idiot,” she giggles, and she kisses you again. 
Then you dive down to her collarbone when you can’t take it anymore. And the rest is history repeating itself.
You know: it feels like you’ve been picked up from the ground. Miyeon has come to get you… she's come to get you.
Maybe everything’s okay after all.
--
(And uh… The media covers the rest. What was it? Like, two weeks later? 
Ah whatever. You know what happens, don’t you? It’s pretty crazy, made headlines and all.
CUBE has some really good lawyers… And liars. Almost the same thing.)
--
“So that’s the story?” 
Nursing your third bottle of cider, you chuckle. You’d thought by fleshing out whole smuts in verbal form would have chased her away by now, yet here she is. Then again: she is an old friend of yours, so you guessed that she’d be rather adjusted to your bullshit. “Are you sure you’re an investigative journalist?” you question her, “I thought you’d ask something more along the lines of ‘what happens after?’.”
From across the booth seat, Chou Tzuyu shoots you a smirk. 
“The news covered it. Why should I pour salt into old wounds?” she admits. Her glass of wine swirls, manipulated expertly by her delicate fingers. “Anyway, I think I got… The main gist of it. Unless you have more information regarding the restraining order filed against you by CUBE, I have no further questions.”
You roll your eyes. No, you do not have any new information about why CUBE decided that you were a danger to Cho Miyeon, and you’ll never know if Miyeon knows either. She was out of town when it happened, and all she knows is what the news reported: you’re allegedly a stalker and hence a threat. You only know that she called and texted you frantically after, but…
You know what? Maybe you’ll think about this another time.
“You do know that, like, you're kinda bad at this right?” and you set your cider bottle aside, letting it join the almost empty whiskey bottle you bought yourself. You fold your hands and lean into the table. The world spins a little. “I don’t know why you’re prying, but I’m guessing that you heard something from the grapevine that you were itching to hear more about. Either that or you’re just… Could it be that you’re desperate to get something fresh, Miss Chou?”
She sips on her wine, leaves the question hanging in the air for a little as she swallows. 
“Keep this between us: I can’t trust Shuhua sometimes,” she muses. “If I’m gonna write about this, I’m gonna have to make sure that all the information I’ve gotten from her can be corroborated,” she pushes a wisp of hair behind her ear. “And for the record: I am not bad. I do my research as thoroughly as anyone else would—enough to know that you are someone who tells the truth.”
“So you’re saying that you trust me as a source?” you can’t help but scoff. “Me, the very guy that got fucked over by CUBE? I could be bigoted and biased for all you know. Or even worse: I’m lying.”
She smiles knowingly. “Respectfully, you have too much… personal voice in this recount that I might as well write an autobiography on your behalf.”
And she stuns you into silence. It occurs to you that you're a little drunk, and you’re pretty sure that you called this woman ‘cupcake’ multiple times. You’re not too sure; you don’t even have half a mind to know what you’re doing or saying.
Tzuyu gulps down the rest of her wine before she rises from her seat. 
“I best be going,” she opens her purse and fishes something out of it. She hands you a card, an address and a phone number handwritten onto it in what looks like a felt pen. “If you want your story to be heard, give me a call… Or a text. Whatever strikes your fancy. I’ll need a version of this that doesn’t include all the fucking and your drunk blabbering,” she shoulders her purse and smiles. “Can’t promise that I’ll buy you a drink to make you talk again, but I can treat you to some really good Chinese dumplings. Maybe we can catch up a little too. It’s been a while.”
You stare at the card, tracing the hooks and curves that form numbers and letters. Your eyes fix back on her. “Why are you doing this?”
She shrugs, and it’s not a “I dunno” type of shrug, but more like a “the proof’s in the pudding, open your fucking eyes” type of shrug. 
“I want to report the truth, and I know you well enough to know that you want that too.”
That's right. Another series. I know I'm doing everything but finishing up Beats Me, and you can go cry a river in my asks if you want. Just kidding, I love all of you, but I want to write what I want to write. Let me have my fun, would you? Also, for the record: I did not finish this 5 days after Beats Me 7. Beats Me 7 was finished before I vanished from tumblr for a bit. This has been brewing since December. You can thank long drives and Noah Kahnan for this.
Anyway, another big thank you to @defmaybe for being such a great sport and reading through the 39 page document that showed up in their discord DMs one fine day. This fic would have been full of typos and horrible grammatical errors if it weren't for them.
Stay safe, Nichu
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lyricthecat-12 · 2 days ago
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I urgently needed to talk about the last scene between Sonic and Shadow in the third movie, because I think what they did is simply beautiful. 🥹💙❤️🖤
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Before Sonic 3 came out, there was debate over who would be the one to change Shadow's mind since at that point, there was no solid indication that Amy or Rouge would appear. I was a fan of the idea that maybe they'd have Jojo be the one to remind Shadow of Maria's wish, since she was an established character from the start and fits the profile like a cheerful, caring, and optimistic girl.
However, seeing that in the end they made it so that Sonic was the one who talked to Shadow and convinced him to fight to save the world, surprised me and at the same time fascinated me infinitely more. Because they managed to make the change organic by connecting it with narrative elements that were also raised and developed from the beginning; Sonic's grief over losing Longclaw and his paternal relationship with Tom, making this moment something special and significant for both of them:
It is a moment of connection and understanding between two people who have lost the person who was once the most important in their lives, who loved them when no one else did and gave them a home,
That for a long time they had to deal alone with the pain and guilt of having been the trigger for their deaths but, as they emphasize in the film, While Sonic was able to find a family that would love him and help him get better and cope with that pain, Shadow was alone and the only person he interacted with after awakening, only manipulated him in order to fulfill his revenge.
Until this moment, where Shadow finally meets someone who not only knows his pain perfectly but has also learned to move forward and not let it corrupt him even in the most difficult moments, and who in turn motivates him to do the same.
All of this contributes fantastically to their connection, as it is no longer just that their personalities and ways of acting are opposite, but also the way in which their stories correlate and at the same time distinguish each other, creating a new and emotional parallelism between them: They are two sides of the same coin, two extremes that ultimately come together to bring out the best in each other.
Which is beautifully reflected throughout the final battle. Sonic and Shadow display effortless synergy, supporting each other, backing each other up, and even casually joking around.
A good reminder of the great chemistry and dynamism they used to have years ago. Unlike now that they make it seem like Shadow barely tolerates Sonic, before they both had a friendly rivalry where they respected each other, valued each other and helped each other without problem. And I'm really glad the movie brought back some of that dynamic and reflected it in such a natural and fun way, and I hope that continues for future SCU projects instead of sticking to the current direction.
And I'm not just saying this because I'm a fan of Sonadow, but because I genuinely believe that this is the most natural direction for their relationship after all this time.
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callmeagardengnome · 2 days ago
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✗ blood in the clouds ✗ | KIM HONGJOONG
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pairings ✃ mafia leader! hongjoong x flight attendant! fem! reader
genre ✃ mafia au, non-idol au, SLOW BURNN
synopsis ✃
it’s finally your last day as a flight attendant. you wanted nothing more than to laze on your couch and watch netflix - just to find out that one of your passengers blew out the brains of your pilot with a gun.
in which hongjoong hijacks a plane that his rival’s daughter is on.
w.c ✃ 10.5k (yes im a yapper im sorry)
c.w ✃ dark themes, vivid descriptions of gore, guns and knives, kiss scene but no smut, use of the nickname ‘brat’, ‘pretty’ and ONE TIME - ‘princess’, your dad’s a dick oops, vulgar language, reader is smart
author’s note: this is the first oneshot of my mafia series! yes it is long but i promise you that it does eat and that you’ll enjoy it. remember to reblog and comment if you enjoyed, any and all feedback helps!
not proofread!
masterlist
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white clouds drifted by the airplane window as the sky turned from a soft blue to a deep orange.
it would’ve been a pretty sight if it weren’t for the gun to your head.
you’d called in sick or put in your two weeks notice earlier if this was how your last day of being a flight attendant would end - but apparently, life hates you too much to let you catch a break.
HOUR 1 OF 7 - TAKEOFF
‘god- i can’t take this anymore,’ you thought to yourself. you hated waiting, despised it actually. 
after today, no more jet lag, rushed goodbyes or missing celebrations. you can finally unpack that suitcase for good, find someplace quiet and actually live in it. the thought alone was enough to keep you excited, but something bothered you at the back of your mind.
this trip didn’t feel right.
it wasn’t the plane itself, but your passengers? only 2 showed up in a plane that could seat at least 50 people. 
not that you were complaining. fewer passengers meant less work - which was a good thing. 
but the uneasiness you felt kept rising in your chest, no matter the times you tried to push it down. 
‘just 6 more hours,’ you thought. ‘then this will all be behind me.’
HOUR 2 OF 7 - MEALTIME
meal service started like any other: boring. 
after handing out the trays, you pushed the trolley back to its place and returned with beverages. you plastered on your most professional smile as you walked over to your passengers. “would you like a drink?”
the man with sunglasses turned to you lazily, his eyes shifting from the trolley to your face. “what do you have?”
you sighed, quietly but deeply. you had that stupid list engraved into your mind by now. “water, coffee, tea, coke, spri-” 
“-do you have alcohol?” he cut you off. 
your eye twitched. this dickhead.
first of all, he interrupted you. and secondly, you didn’t mention the alcohol on purpose. it was stored at the back of the plane and you did not have the energy to drag it out. 
“uh hongjoong- i mean, boss-“ the guy next to him whispered hurriedly. “i don’t think that’s a good idea-“
“-i think it is,” hongjoong interrupted before turning back to you. “where’s the menu?”
you gave him a forced smile as you pushed the alcohol menu towards him. he took his time with it, flipping through the pages slowly before finally saying, “two shots of whiskey.”
“sure thing,” you snatched the menu back. with a swift turn, you fetched the whiskey and the glasses, returning back to his seat.
you poured and placed the two shots on his tray table. he took the glass and drank it in one go, setting it back down with a thud. 
hongjoong then turned his head towards you, eyebrows raised. “what?”
you blinked. ‘what’? just ‘what’? where's the ‘thank you’? 
you were losing your mind.
“nothing,” you muttered through clenched teeth, moving away before he could ask for anything else.
grade A asshole.
HOUR 4.5 OF 7 - POINT OF NO RETURN
the shitty in-flight wifi was a joke as always. why did you even try?
with an annoyed sigh, you shoved your phone into your back pocket when suddenly-
static.
its piercing sound followed by faint garbled voices on the intercom startled you. you frowned as the sound continued, getting louder and more distorted.
with a groan, you stood up, straightening your uniform. ‘what are they doing?’ you thought as you walked towards the cockpit.
but when you passed by the first-class cabin, you paused. the seats were empty. both passengers were gone. ‘weird…’
things only got weirder as you approached the unlocked cockpit door. 
concerned, you pushed it open.
the smell hit you first - a metallic tang that twisted your stomach.
then your eyes caught up.
blood splattered the walls and windows in chaotic streaks, dripping down to the controls and the carpeted floor. the pilot and co-pilot laid in a gruesome pile to the side, the jagged holes in their skulls grotesque. 
a guy sat at the controls, steering the plane as though he wasn’t surrounded by horrors. 
grade A asshole- no, hongjoong, sat cross-legged on the floor, his sunglasses shattered at his feet. a gun rested in his hand and his lips curled into a smirk as he watched you enter.
“you’ve got to be kidding me..” you breathed out. 
pieces of brain and organ matter clung to the control panel as a simple blinking green light above that indicated that everything was, somehow, still functioning.
hongjoong tilted his head, amused. the gun shifted to point at what you now noticed was the crumpled bodies  of your pilots, their faces mangled in unrecognisable masses of flesh and bone.
“these your friends?”
you shook your head as you stepped back, wiping your sweaty hands on your uniform. hongjoong seemed to enjoy your reaction, his grin widening into something sickening. 
he smirked. “don’t worry, i won’t spoil that pretty face of yours.”
you coughed at the wretched smell as the crimson-stained carpet squelched beneath your heels, your mind begging you to leave.
“well-” you said, turning to the door. “i’m sure you don’t need me here, i’ll just-”
an audible click cut you off.
you froze.
slowly, you turned back to see a gun aimed directly at you.
“leaving so soon?” he raised an eyebrow. “let’s talk.”
HOUR 5 OF 7 - SKYDIVING DOESN’T SEEM TOO BAD
hongjoong dragged you to the first-class section to ‘talk’. it was the first time you’ve ever sat there and to be completely honest, this was not how you imagined yourself ‘enjoying’ it.
well, not like it mattered. you had other issues - like handcuffs locking you to the chair.
he stood infront of you, one hand gripping the gun while the other held a file. “‘____’, am i right?” he asked. 
you nodded slowly. “..that’s me.”
“3.6 GPA in university..” he muttered. “flunked out of med school during your first year..”
..how the hell did he get that information?
“you ended up as a flight attendant because your father owns the airline.”
“..yeah,” you reluctantly admitted, your stomach churning. “uh- was the med school part necessary?”
hongjoong ignored you, flipping to the next page. you watched his eyebrows shoot up as his eyes narrowed. “how close are you with your father?”
you blinked, confused by the weird question. “i mean- he’s my dad,” you replied. “but i haven’t seen him in years.”
“hm,” the sound came from him. hongjoong studied you for a moment longer before he spoke again, but this time, his voice was cold.
“do you know what he’s been doing during those years?”
your brows furrowed. “no, i-”
“killing. my. men.”
you didn’t even have time to process his words because he leaned forward when he said them, the gun uncomfortably close to your face. 
you swallowed the lump in your throat. “...are you sure you have the right person?”
his smirk widened into something eerie. “i have a gun pointed to you, don’t i?”
your pulse quickened. you couldn’t decide which was worse: the possibility that he was telling the truth or the fact that he was clearly enjoying your reaction.
“i always wanted to get back at that pig..” he held the gun up to the bottom of your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “and look at how kind the world is- blessing me with his daughter.”
you struggled to breathe, to think. the handcuffs dug into your wrist as you unconsciously tried to break out of them, a clink against the metal arm of the chair.
your voice trembled. “..what do you want from me?”
hongjoong didn’t answer immediately. instead, he leaned in even closer, so close that you could feel your foreheads touching.
“what i want,” he said slowly, eyes locked onto yours. “is for your dad to suffer.”
HOUR 6 OF 7 - SURPRISINGLY ALIVE
the stuffiness of the plane did little to calm your nerves. you sat quietly in the seat, staring at the shattered remains of your phone on the floor.
hongjoong snatched it from your hands a few minutes ago, grumbling about how ‘you don’t need devices’. great. just great. 
the sound of the cockpit door creaking open drew your attention. the other guy - or ‘pilot’, stepped out, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “boss.”
hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “what?”
the ‘pilot’ moved closer to hongjoong, lowering his voice. “air traffic control was notified of our path,” he said quietly. “they know something’s off with the plane, but i have no idea how.”
hongjoong’s eyes darkened as he processed the information. then, he glared at you, like he was accusing you.
you scoffed. “you shot my phone, how would i even contact anyone?”
for a moment, the two of you locked eyes and you swear that you could see him debating whether to believe you.
the ‘pilot’ cleared his throat. “what should we expect?” he asked nervously.
hongjoong leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his hair. “the police.”
HOUR 7 OF 7 - SHIT IS GETTING REAL
“what the hell…” you whispered to yourself as you peered out of the window.
SWAT teams and federal agents stood in rows, their weapons pointed directly at the plane. flashing lights of red and blue lit up the empty airport. 
you turned away from the window, watching hongjoong pull out a burner phone from his jacket. his fingers typed something out before he suddenly snapped the phone in half, tossing the remains on the floor. 
“…who are you?” you asked quietly.
he raised an eyebrow. “you don’t need to know, pretty.”
your survival instincts told you to move, to do something. but the second you tried to stand, hongjoong shoved you back down. 
“stay seated until we land,” he said before tilting his head. “isn’t that your job?”
you rolled your eyes, gripping the armrests as you tried to calm yourself down and steady your breathing. 
but that was when you heard it - gunshots. 
“they’re shooting us?” you panicked, flinching with each sound. 
no answer.
“hey-“ you tried again, but was cut off by the tires hitting the terrain. 
the landing was rough - harsher than anything you’ve experienced as a flight attendant. the plane rattled like never before.
your chest tightened when it rolled over something particularly large. “what was that?” your voice cracked. 
no answer. 
when the plane finally came to a halt, you barely had time to catch your breath when hongjoong moved. in a blink, he uncuffed you from the chair, only to secure the handcuffs on your wrists once more. 
he brought you to your feet, pulling you so close that you could feel his breath against your ear. “don’t do anything stupid,” he hissed. 
the cockpit door opened and the ‘pilot’ appeared. he quickly unlocked the emergency exit and you saw the makeshift ramp that had been attached to the side of the plane. 
a van rested just outside of it, hongjoong dragging you towards the vehicle. you descended the ramp, the cool air hitting your face as you looked around. 
but that was when you saw it. 
blood. 
on the wheels of the plane, the dark colour leaving a fresh trail on the ground.  
“did you..” you gulped, your voice barely above a whisper. “did you run over them?”
hongjoong glanced at you. “i didn’t,” he shrugged. “the plane did.”
you stopped in your tracks, your feet stuck rooted to the ground as you stared at him in horror. how could he say that like it was no big deal? just who was this man?
“move,” hongjoong ordered. but when you didn’t, he clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “god- you’re such a brat.”
before you knew it, you were shoved into the back of the van. the ‘pilot’ closed the door with a loud slam and sat in the driver’s seat while hongjoong took the passenger’s seat up front. 
you met hongjoong’s eyes through the rearview mirror. his glare was sharp, acting as a warning to keep your mouth shut. you didn’t need to be told twice.
the van drove forward and you caught glimpses of city lights in the distance, slowly growing closer. civilisation - maybe you could get help. 
but against your mind’s wishes, you felt your eyelids getting heavy - and you did something that no one should ever do when they’re in a car with armed strangers.
you fell asleep.
HOUR 14 OF 7 - HIP HIP HOORAY YOU’RE NOT DEAD
you heard a voice whine. “why can’t we kill her?” 
“do you want boss to kill us?” you heard another reply.
your eyes fluttered open. your head felt heavy as the room came into focus, your stomach twisting. 
the space was dingy, poorly lit by a bulb hanging from the ceiling and an unnecessarily tall lamp on the ground. the walls were stained and the air stunk of blood.
you tried to move, only to feel tight ropes against your wrists and ankles. you were tied to a chair.
“i can’t believe we have to babysit the pig’s daughter,” a man with a knife groaned.
“calm down, wooyoung,” the other one sighed.
“calm down?!” wooyoung exclaimed. “yeosang got to fly a plane! how is that fair?”
“he has a license,” the second man rolled his eyes. 
“it’s still a plane, jongho-”
“shut up,” jongho interrupted. “the girl’s awake.”
both men turned their heads to look at you, the sudden attention sending a shiver down your spine. wooyoung’s grin stretched across his face as he got to his feet, jongho following behind.
“aw look who’s finally awake,” wooyoung approached, his voice childish. “you slept like a baby- and we didn’t even drug you!”
your heartbeat quickened as he leaned in close, his grin widening as he studied your face.
“i read your file,” he began. “you’re smart…” wooyoung paused, his eyes inspecting you and your ridiculous uniform. “and hot.”
your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to respond. “thank you-?”
“-what’s your favourite feature about yourself?” he asked, twirling the knife in his hands.
“uh-” your mind scrambled for an answer as he got nearer, the knife glinting. “i- my eyes?”
“your eyes,” wooyoung repeated, the grin stuck to his face. “good choice.”
he brought the knife closer, the cold steel trailing down the side of your face. you flinched as the blade hovered near your eye, your breath hitching.
“you’re going to answer all our questions,” he stated, almost in a sing-songy way. “and if you dont-”
he tilted the knife, now directly above your eyeball. “-i’ll dig those lovely pearls out of your sockets.”
your chest tightened, terror paralyzing you from head to toe. you couldn’t even breathe, every cell in your body pleading you to stay still.
“hey-” jongho tapped wooyoung on the shoulder, whispering. “uh.. boss said we can’t scratch her..”
“are you serious?” wooyoung scoffed. “then what’s the point?”
jongho bit the inside of his cheek, avoiding eye contact with his friend.
wooyoung groaned, throwing the knife to the ground with a strength that made it bend. “fuck this- torture isn’t even fun anymore.”
he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
silence was in the air until jongho cleared his throat awkwardly. he turned to face you. “uh..” he hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. 
“change of plans.”
HOUR 15 OF 7 - DAY DRINKING IS FUN
you never imagined yourself in a hideout, drinking vodka with one of your captors - yet here you were. 
the whole thing felt absurd: a shaky barstool beneath you and a scuffed counter separating you and jongho. he poured you a shot he claimed was ‘very expensive’, before proceeding to chug most of the vodka from the bottle in a long gulp. 
your legs were untied now, though your wrists were still bound, the rope loose enough for your hands to rest infront of you. “what are we waiting for?” you asked. “hongjoong?”
jongho froze, his eyes snapping to yours. “don’t say his name,” he whisper-shouted.
you raised your tied wrists in apology. “okay.. what should i call him?”
“call him boss.. or mr kim.. or anything that isn’t his first name,” jongho said, his words rushed. 
you nodded slowly, looking at the man infront of you with mild concern. he looked even more scared than you did. 
then suddenly, the door slammed open. 
both you and jongho flinched, watching two figures stumble in. 
the first was a tall man - storming into the room. the second was him, hongjoong, clutching his side in pain.
“mingi- boss!” jongho panicked instantly as he ran to help the injured man. “holy- you’re hurt!”
“the pig called for backup,” mingi sighed heavily. 
you blinked, stunned as the sound of hongjoong coughing violently brought your attention back to the injured man. 
blood seeped through his fingers, staining his sleeves and skin. you don’t know what took over you, but you pushed yourself off of the barstool and rushed towards him. 
“what do you think you’re doing?” mingi stepped infront of hongjooong, his hand resting on his gun protectively. 
you glared at him. “do you want your boss to bleed out?”
mingi studied you. after what felt like ages, he exhaled sharply and stepped aside. “fine,” he muttered, keeping a hand on his weapon. 
you knelt next to hongjoong, trying to make him face you as you grabbed his arm. though, he snatched himself away from you quickly. 
you rolled your eyes. “i’m trying to help you. let me see it.”
hongjoong’s eyes pierced your soul. you could see the cogs in his head turning on whether he could trust you. 
a few moments passed before he finally faced you with a sigh, revealing a large gash on the side of his stomach - a wound created by knife. 
“i need water.” 
jongho blinked, clearly thrown off. “what?”
“to clean his wound..?” you explained. “get me water. now.”
jongho hesitated before snatching a bottle of water from a mini fridge. he pushed it to you, the little amount of liquid sloshing inside. “you should stay still for this,” you said before slowly pouring the water over the wound. 
crap- a gash this big needed a stitch. 
“untie me,” you said, holding your wrists up to your captors. 
jongho glanced at his boss worriedly for permission. hongjoong gave a small nod and jongho quickly pulled out a small knife to cut the rope. 
once free, you quickly looked around for something to stitch his wound with. when nothing looked remotely useful, your eyes dropped to your uniform - a skirt with a yarn trim. it wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.
you began to unravel the yarn from the hem.
“what are you doing?” mingi asked, frowning.
“stitching him,” you sighed as your fingers worked hurriedly. “or do you want him to get an infection?”
hongjoong let out a groan, shifting uncomfortably. “just hurry.”
you finished unravelling it, but now you needed a needle. your hand instinctively reached up to your hair - pulling out a small bobby pin. it was definitely not as sharp as a needle, but you’re sure that hongjoong can handle his pain.
“shit- i need to sterilise this,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.
“vodka,” jongho said instantly, grabbing the bottle and handing it to you.
you poured the small amount over the pin, letting it drip onto the floor. then, threading the yarn through the makeshift needle, you glanced at hongjoong.
“this will hurt,” you warned.
he looked at you with clenched teeth. “i don’t care.”
you placed a hand on his side to steady him, feeling the tension in his muscles as he tried to not flinch. carefully, you began to stitch the gash, each pull making him wince. 
when the stitching was complete, you tied the yarn and tore it off with your teeth - but the wound was still bleeding slightly.
you glanced down at your sleeves. without hesitation, you tore a strip of fabric free. you used it to dab away the excess blood, then folded the remaining fabric to wrap it around his side. 
“that should work. for now,” you sat back as you wiped your forehead with your arm.
“...you know how to treat people?” hongjoong asked, wincing slightly. 
you nodded slowly. “yeah.. i know the basics.”
“hm,” he tilted his head. “you’re more useful than i thought.”
you blinked. was a good thing or a bad thing?
“wooyoung,” he yelled out. 
a loud crash was heard in another room, followed by the muffled sounds of frantic movements. within seconds, wooyoung appeared in the doorway. 
“yes, boss?” wooyoung said out of breath, brushing off his shirt as he looked around the room. 
hongjoong didn’t respond immediately. instead, he looked you up and down, his lips twitching into what seemed like a smirk. “get her some actual clothes. we have an event to catch.”
HOUR 17 OF 7 - WORDS TALK BUT GUNS TALK LOUDER
“woah..” your eyes took in the building before you. glittering lights and an impressive exterior that was way more extravagant than anything you imagined hongjoong to be involved in.
he parked the car, the engine coming to a stop. before you could say anything, hongjoong stepped out of the car, closing the door shut. you scrambled to follow him, your heels clicking against the pavement as you caught up.
the two of you approached the man stationed at the door - a bouncer with a pen and clipboard.
without warning, hongjoong’s hand snaked around your waist, pulling you snugly against his side. you flinched at the sudden contact, but with how tight his grip was, there was no room for protests.
“ah, mr kim,” the bouncer greeted. “you made it.”
hongjoong offered a brief, fake smile before dropping it immediately. “let us in.”
“hold on now,” the bouncer said, flipping through the papers on the clipboard. “we can’t let her inside.”
hongjoong’s brows furrowed. “why?”
“new policy,” the man sighed, pretending to sound disappointed. “no more plus-ones.”
hongjoong rolled his eyes, not bothering to respond. instead, he reached into his blazer, about to pull out a-
“nevermind!” the bouncer’s face turned pale. he stepped aside with a nervous laugh. “you’re all set- enjoy the night.”
the interior was breathtaking - chandeliers hung from high ceilings and round tables were scattered across the venue, draped in pristine white table cloths. 
“don’t eat or drink anything here.”
you blinked, nodding slowly at hongjoong’s words. “okay.. but why-”
“-and if you really want to stay alive,” he interrupted, his lips brushing your ear. “don't leave my sight.”
his voice sent a chill down your spine. “okay,” you mumbled as he brought you further into the room.
he led you to a seating area - though it looked more like a conversation pit, where an old man sat waiting. 
hongjoong released his grip on you to sit across the man, gesturing for you to follow. you hesitated briefly before settling next to him.
“mr kim,” the old man greeted gruffly. his eyes shifted to you, studying your face. “i see you brought someone.”
hongjoong gave a nod, glancing at you. “introduce yourself, brat.”
“oh uh-” you put out your hand reluctantly, forcing a polite smile. “i’m ‘____’.”
the old man’s eyes narrowed before they widened in realisation. “her father-“
“-i’m glad you noticed,” hongjoong cut in. he slowly reached into his blazer again, but this time, he actually pulled out his pistol. 
your eyes widened as he aimed it to your waist, the cold metal brushing your side. “wha-“
“w-what are you doing?” the old man’s face drained of colour, panic flashing in his eyes. 
hongjoong tilted his head. “let’s negotiate.”
“mr kim-“ the old man began, his voice cracking. “as his friend, you do understand that i have to tell him she’s here.”
“do it,” hongjoong shrugged, leaning back. his arm returned to your waist, pulling you to him as he tapped the gun against your side. 
“let’s see if he values his money more than his own daughter.”
HOUR 18 OF 7 - LIFE ISN’T FAIR
a loud crash echoed through the venue, making you jump. the sound of heavy footsteps grew violent with every second.
hongjoong’s hand tightened around your waist as he stood, dragging you up with him. “move.”
“wait-!” the old man called after you, but hongjoong didn’t stop.
his grip on you was firm, the barrel of his gun pressing against your stomach. you tripped over your feet, struggling to keep up his pace.
“where are you taking me?” you panicked as you glanced over your shoulder at the armed men closing in.
“to your father, princess,” he sneered, his voice mockingly sweet. 
“mr kim! stop right there!” 
you froze, whipping your head around. standing at the far end of the room, infront of a small army of armed men, was your father. 
“let go of my daughter,” your father ordered. he pointed a gun directly at hongjoong, his men following suit. 
your eyes glanced around the room - seeing guests cowering against the walls, some injured and others dead.
“i’m not giving up the brat until i get what i want,” hongjoong demanded.
“what you want is an impossible amount of money!” your father yelled, his grip on his gun tightening.
“impossible?” hongjoong’s eyes widened with craze. “you have more than $500 million tied to your name! did you think i’ll forget who you killed to get here?”
your blood ran cold. “dad.. you killed people?” you asked, your voice trembling as you looked at him.
for a split second, your father’s eyes softened, though that quickly disappeared with a scoff.
“if i didn’t, you wouldn’t have a roof over your head,” your father spat. “you were too stubborn to do anything after you dropped med school.”
the world seemed to tilt, your father’s words more piercing than any bullet. “but i didn’t-”
“-you did,” your father interrupted you. “i spent all that money bribing them just for you to fuck up.”
your heart sank as tears welled in your eyes. hongjoong noticed your reaction, his grip on the gun loosening slightly. 
“i’d appreciate it if you didn’t make my hostage cry,” he said. “do you really want those to be your last words to her?”
“shut up,” your father snarled, his finger close to the trigger. “i’ll say what i want. she’s too stupid to argue back anyway.”
the tears you held back spilled over and all you could hear was your dad shouting, “get her!”
HOUR 18.5 OF 7 - THEY WANT YOU SOO BAD
gunshots were heard in every direction, completely deafening. 
the pungent smell of gunpowder burned your nose as you stumbled, your legs barely holding you up. hongjoong shoved you to the ground, his hand against your back. 
“stay down,” he ordered you, raising his gun and firing without hesitation.
you flinched with every shot, watching in horror as armed men fell one by one with his aim. the world felt like it was spinning too fast and you could barely keep up.
suddenly, a hand grabbed your arm.
“stop moving!” your father yelled, his grip painful as he dragged you towards the exit.
“no!” you choked out, your heels digging into the floor in an attempt to resist. panic ran through your veins as your eyes darted around desperately.
your eyes landed on a fallen gun near your feet. you quickly snatched it, hands trembling as you tried to point it towards him.
“don’t make me do this!” you cried.
your father didn’t stop and without thinking-
-you pulled the trigger.
a bang was heard, followed by his rough scream as he collapsed to the floor, clutching his bleeding thigh.
“oh my god,” you whispered, the gun slipping from your hands as tears flowed uncontrollably down your cheeks. you sank to the floor, staring at the blood pouring out of him.
“you bitch!” he shouted in pain.
out of the corner of your eye, you caught hongjoong watching you, something strange flashing across his face. was that.. surprise? pride? maybe he was impressed?
hongjoong fired a shot at an armed man without looking, moving to you quickly. 
“didn’t think you had it in you, pretty,” he looked over his shoulder. “but we need to leave.”
he led you to a small janitor’s closet near the exit. the narrow space smelled of bleach, but at least it was quiet.
hongjoong shut the door behind you and dusted off his blazer. without a word, his dark eyes inspected you, checking your shoulders and arms.
you stood motionless, too shocked to stop him as he gently tilted your chin up, his thumb wiping away the mascara-stained tears from your cheeks.
“nothing broken,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “no scars either..”
he pulled out a burner phone, typing something quickly.
“i- i just shot my dad,” your shoulders shook as new tears welled up in your eyes.
hongjoong glanced up from the phone, meeting your eyes. “..are you bragging?” he asked bluntly.
“what? he’s my dad-”
“-and he’s a dick,” hongjoong cut you off. “you might share blood, but that man clearly hates you.”
you hiccuped, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “...am i going to hell?”
hongjoong scoffed. “come on-“ he began, but stopped himself when he looked at you and the tears spilling from your eyes. “you didn’t kill him… you’re fine.” 
you opened your mouth to protest but he silenced you as he continued typing. “and even if you did,” he added. “you’re doing the world a favour.”
he smashed the burner phone onto the ground, discarding the pieces. he reloaded his pistol before turning back to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as he led you through bodies and debris.
outside, a black van waited by the curb. hongjoong pushed you inside before climbing in after you, slamming the door shut behind him.
“drive,” he ordered.
as the street lights went past you, you slumped in your seat, completely exhausted. “where are we going?” you asked softly.
hongjoong studied you for a moment, watching your eyelids go heavy. “...go to sleep, brat.”
DAY 2 - OH HONEY I'M HOME
you woke up with a jolt. you sat up from the couch you laid down on, completely disoriented. your eyes darted around the dimly lit room. the hideout. 
relief and fear spread within you. you were safe - for now.
just then, a knock from the doorway made you jump. “didn’t mean to scare you,” a man said, leaning against the frame. “boss wanted me to check on you.”
you blinked. “i- okay,” you coughed to clear your throat, wincing at how dry it felt.
“i’ll let him know you’re awake.”
and with that, he disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone once more.
though that didn’t last long. moments later, hongjoong entered. he carried a stool over, setting it down across from you before sitting. 
“how long did i sleep?” you asked hoarsely.
“a day,” he replied with a shrug.
your eyes widened. it was only then you noticed your attire - a baggy t-shirt replacing the outfit you were wearing before.
“who changed me?” you blurted out, heat rising to your cheeks.
“i did,” hongjoong answered. he noticed your flustered expression, tilting his head. “what?”
“did you-” you cleared your throat. “did you see anything?”
“i’m not a pervert,” he scoffed. “if it makes you feel better, you were changed in the dark.”
you fell into an awkward, heavy silence as you sat across each other. for the first time, there was no danger, no gunfire or anyone yelling out orders. just silence.
“your dad..” hongjoong began, speaking up. “wants you dead.”
“...what?”
he held up a cassette tape, tossing it onto the table between you, your hands trembling as you picked it up. hongjoong then brought out a cassette tape player, allowing you to hear your father’s voice.
‘mr kim, we’ve had our ups and downs, but i’m sure that we can agree on one thing - that bitch who shot my thigh is a liability. an idiot that made it this far because of me. she’s no longer my responsibility or family, so expect to find her head on a stick when you turn your back. have fun.’
“what the fuck..” you whispered shakily as it came to an end. 
“to be honest, your only purpose was to be a hostage.” hongjoong’s fingers drummed the edge of the stool. “and now that he doesn’t want you.. you’re useless-”
the world around you crumbled, his words making you feel worse. 
“-to him.”
your eyes widened, looking at him in confusion.
“you’re smart,” he shrugged. “and you stitched me.”
you blinked. “…where are you going with this?” 
“i want you to be an addition to my team,” he replied.
“do i have to kill people?” you blurted out. “or steal, or-”
“no,” hongjoong raised a hand to cut you off. “all you’ll be doing is treating my injured men. quite the opposite of killing.”
you frowned, furrowing your eyebrows. “why would you trust me with that?”
“because,” he said, leaning forward. “you have nowhere else to go.”
“that’s not true-”
“really?” hongjoong smirked. “do you know how many businesses your dad owns?”
you shook your head.
“more than 80% in the country,” his eyes sparkled with something dark. “now that you’ve shot him, you’ve burnt every bridge he’s built for you.”
your jaw dropped. “but-”
“no job, no family, nowhere to live either since he owns most of the real estate here.”
you stared at him, struggling to process his words.
“here’s my offer,” hongjoong continued. “you get a decent amount of money, a place to live and protection...”
“...just to treat people?” you asked in disbelief.
he nodded. 
you bit your lip, staring at the floor as you picked at your nails. how could your dad do this to you? abandoning you just like that? and now he wanted you dead? you could feel yourself getting angry just thinking about him.
after a long moment, you lifted your head, meeting his gaze. “deal.” 
MONTH 1 - FAMILY BONDING 
that evening, you sat on the floor with san, wooyoung and yeosang, eating a batch of cheap instant noodles. it was a little awkward - mostly because you just joined, but you were silently appreciating their efforts to make small talk with you. 
suddenly, a loud bang was heard through the hideout. the three men jumped up immediately, pulling guns and knives from who knows where. 
“back entrance?” wooyoung asked as he sharpened his knives. 
your heart raced as you watched the three of them shift into combat mode - and you caught yourself lagging behind. you hurriedly stood up and grabbed the medical kit you kept close. 
“stay here,” san said firmly. 
you shook your head. “if someone’s injured, i’m coming.”
the three of them shared a look before yeosang gave you a reluctant nod. “…just stay behind us. we’ll get in trouble if you get hurt.”
they moved swiftly and silently through the narrow halls of the hideout, weapons in hand. you trailed closely, your heart pounding as you gripped the medical kit tightly. 
when you reached the back entrance, san motioned you to stay back while they checked the door. 
the signs of forced entry were obvious - the lock was broken and scuff marks lined the floor. 
wooyoung scoffed, speaking under his breath. “stupid piglets.”
yeosang sighed. “looks like they took a few weapons and left.”
“are they testing us?” san asked, inspecting a footprint on the ground. 
before anyone could respond, the door slammed open making all of you jump. you turned to see mingi, his chest heaving as he leaned against the door frame. 
“meeting. now.”
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
the hideout’s ‘meeting room’ was more of a cramped closet with mismatched chairs and a comically large table in the middle. hongjoong paced at the end of the room, his jaw clenched. 
“we can’t stay here any longer,” he began. “it’s only a matter of time before they come back in full force.”
hongjoong stopped pacing and crossed his arms. “we need to move back to our old apartments. they’re scattered enough to keep us hidden until we figure out our next move.”
you shifted uncomfortably. 
hongjoong noticed this. “what?” he asked, his sharp eyes landing on you. 
“i uh-“ you hesitated. “i don’t have a home..” you said sheepishly. 
hongjoong raised an eyebrow. 
“my dad owns the house,” you admitted. “and that’s not really an option anymore.”
“right,” hongjoong sighed, running a hand through his hair. “shit..”
“alright, who has space?” he clapped, glancing around the room. 
everyone exchanged uneasy looks. 
“we don’t,” yeosang said, gesturing to himself, san, wooyoung and jongho. “the four of us are already crammed into one place.”
“same here,” yunho spoke up. “mingi and i barely fit in ours.”
hongjoong turned to seonghwa, his face hopeful. 
“no,” seonghwa said without hesitation. 
a heavy sigh escaped hongjoong as he pinched the bridge of his nose. he leaned against the table, deep in thought. 
minutes stretched into what felt like hours before hongjoong finally spoke up. “you’re coming with me,” he said, looking directly at you. 
your eyes widened in surprise. “..what?”
“you’re staying at my place.”
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
the car sped down the (somewhat) empty highway, the faint smell of vanilla from the air freshener mixing with the lingering scent of old fast food. 
you gripped the edge of your seat as the streetlights ran by the window in a blur. “are we in a rush?” you nervously glanced at hongjoong. 
“no,” he replied flatly. 
there was a black car beside you that had been keeping pace for the past few minutes - and just as you shifted in your seat, it suddenly swerved infront of your car and slammed the brakes. 
“what the-” you barely managed to say before the impact. the car jolted violently as it hit the one ahead, the sound of metal crunching loud. 
hongjoong let out a low string of curses under his breath. his face was weirdly calm as he unbuckled his seatbelt, stepping out of the car without a word. 
“wait-” you scrambled to undo your own seatbelt. 
from your seat, you saw him approaching the car. the moment he glanced inside, his eyes widened. he reached for his gun and pulled the trigger instantly. 
the loud gunshot made you flinch and your stomach twisted as you saw the slumped figure in the driver’s seat, blood splattered across the windshield. 
your heart pounded as you stumbled out of the car, rushing towards him. “why did you do that?!”
hongjoong turned to you, his jaw clenched. “it was a piglet.”
“wha-“ your eyes drifted to the body, a shiver going down your spine as you saw the bullet hole clean through the skull. 
hongjoong, completely unfazed, went back to the car. you stared at the lifeless body for a moment longer before hurriedly following him. 
once you were back inside, you swallowed the lump in your throat, attempting to break the suffocating silence. “….how did you know he was a piglet?”
hongjoong didn’t respond immediately. his fingers flexed against the steering wheel as he glanced at you. 
“they have a bullet tattoo..” he said finally, pulling down his collar to point to his collarbone. “..right here.”
you blinked. “oh.”
“if you ever come across one,” he continued. “kill them on sight.”
your eyes widened, your throat tightening. “what about the police?”
he fell silent for a second, his eyes fixed on the road. then, a faint smirk crossed his face. “you don’t need to worry about them.”
his answer left you unsettled, but before you could question him further, the apartment building came into view. it was modern - standing tall with the city skyline. 
hongjoong smoothly pulled into the parking lot. the abruptness of the stop sent you forward, but his hand shot out instinctively, pressing against you to keep you steady. 
“sorry,” he muttered, his voice soft - though he didn’t look at you as he retracted his arm. 
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
some might describe hongjoong’s apartment as ‘minimalistic’, but to you, it’s just an excuse for a grown man to avoid decorating. 
the walls were devoid of any art or family photos, the kitchen was spotless - though it was definitely untouched with how there was almost no food in the fridge. and from what you saw, the only source of entertainment was a lone TV. 
“do you..” you began, looking around the bare space. “do you even live here?”
hongjoong ignored your comment and walked towards the big couch and began to pull it into a makeshift bed. the springs creaked slightly as he unfolded it. “this is where you’ll be sleeping,” he said, dusting himself off. 
“cool.”
“don’t complain-“ he stopped himself mid-sentence and narrowed his eyes when he realised what you said. “wait, you’re okay with this?”
you blinked. “…yeah?”
“hm,” he said, slightly surprised. he looked you up and down before turning to the long hallway. “get some rest, we’re getting you a phone tomorrow.”
MONTH 2 - LIVE LAUGH LOVE GUNS
you should’ve known it wouldn’t be long before the piglets attacked you again. 
hongjoong sent you on a simple supply run - nothing unusual. but as you stood in the small pharmacy, you felt the air shift when the cashier’s demeanour turned cold. 
it all happened so fast. 
the moment you saw the gun aimed at your chest, your eyes fell to the faint outline of a bullet tattoo peeking out from his collarbone. great. 
your breath hitched as your body moved on impulse. you barely avoided the first shot as you ducked behind the display rack. 
the pharmacy was strangely empty, no one else to intervene. your heart pounded as the sounds of footsteps and gunshots echoed. 
fumbling with your phone, you dialed every number you could think of. yet, no one answered. 
your hands trembled as you typed hongjoong’s number, your last resort. 
he picked up after one ring. 
“this better be important, brat,” he grumbled, groggy like he just woke up. 
“i need help-” you semi-yelled as you narrowly dodged another shot, darting behind the counter. “i’m getting attacked-”
“-send your location,” hongjoong interrupted. “i’m on my way.”
the line went dead before you could respond. 
you sent your location and shoved the phone back into your pocket. the cashier reloaded the gun, his footsteps growing louder. and just as you moved, he charged. 
he grabbed you, trying to pin you down. you barely managed to fight back, until you made an educated attack - kicking him in the groin. 
he groaned, stumbling back. you took the opportunity to snatch the gun from his hands. 
you pointed it at him, your hands shaking. “stay back,” your voice cracked. 
the man scoffed. “over my dead body,” he lunged at you again. 
your finger moved instinctively, pulling the trigger. 
once. 
twice. 
again and again and again. 
the sound of gunfire rang in your ears, the recoil sending waves through your arms. you didn’t stop until you heard a clicking noise that meant that the gun was empty. 
when you opened your eyes, he was no longer standing. 
you looked down, the cashier laying sprawled on the ground, the concrete dark with blood. bullet holes littered his body, evidence of your frantic shots. 
you dropped to your knees, your chest heaving. you reached out to check his pulse. nothing.
you just took someone’s life. 
your eyes fell to your hands, bloody and shaking. from young, you always wanted to save lives - not take them. tears fell from your eyes, blurring your vision. 
the door slammed open. 
hongjoong stood in the doorway. he took in the body on the floor and your frozen form in a single glance. he sighed, stepping in. 
“come on, let’s go,” he crouched to grab your arm. 
you couldn’t move, your eyes fixed on the lifeless body. 
“hey,” his fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face to meet his. his eyes were intense, his touch warm against your cold skin. “we need to leave before more show up. you don’t want to kill anyone else, do you?”
you shook your head quickly. 
he pulled you to your feet, wrapping his arm around yours as he guided you to his car. the ride back was silent as you stared out of the window. 
and before you knew it, you were back at his apartment. 
you hesitated at the door, unable to bring yourself to step inside. 
hongjoong sighed, grabbing your wrist as he tugged you in. he tossed his gun and his keys in the kitchen counter before turning to you. 
“go take a long shower. i’ll be in the living room.”
you nodded, moving to the bathroom in a daze. 
the water was scalding as it hit your skin. no amount of soap or scrubbing would ever make you feel clean from the bloodied-stains. every part of your body felt foreign - even your puffy eyes and lips.
once you were done, you dressed in the softest clothes you had, hoping that it would provide you with some form of comfort (it didn’t).
the pull-out couch was prepared with brand-new pillows and fluffy blankets when you returned to the living room. hongjoong sat on the edge, gesturing for you to sit. you sank down beside him. 
the silence stretched on until it became unbearable. 
you spoke up, your voice barely audible. “…i killed someone.”
“you did,” he nodded. “good job.”
your head snapped up, your eyes wide. “i killed someone.”
“and so have i,” hongjoong leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “does that bother you?”
“i…”
he leaned back. “it should. the first time always does.”
“i don’t think i can do this,” you breathed out shakily. “i don’t want to hurt people..”
the two of you locked eyes for what felt like ages. you could see hongjoong’s adam's apple bob up and down, his jaw tightening slightly. “no one wants to hurt people,” he replied softly. 
you blinked. 
“i shouldn’t have sent you out alone, especially with your dad targeting you,” he sighed. “that’s on me.”
“but-”
“-though i do have to say, this made me realise how.. unprepared you are,” he continued.
your eyebrows furrowed. 
“if you want to survive, you need to know how to defend yourself,” he drummed his fingers against the couch. “...you’re off supply runs. from now on, you’re training with the others.”
you stared at him. “what?”
“the rest have some ‘schedule’ for training. i’m sure you can join without any problems.”
you hesitated. the thought of the blood, the body, the gun in your hands made you nauseous. the idea of training scared you. 
he noticed this, his eyes softening slightly. “you won’t be a killer, just someone capable of self-defense.”
you swallowed the lump in your throat. finally, you nodded, your voice small. “okay.”
MONTH 3 - LET’S GO GAMBLING!
the casino was glitzy and loud with copyright-free music, its neon lights casting eerie shadows on the dark streets outside. 
“you three, cover left. you two, check the vault. the rest of you will stay near the exit,” hongjoong ordered.
you waited for your assignment, expecting to be grouped with someone. instead, hongjoong said, “you’re with me.”
you sighed. “alright.”
you followed hongjoong to the right side of the casino, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses filling the space. he moved silently, keeping his gun concealed but ready. you tried to mimic his focus, clutching the knife wooyoung lent you earlier.
the first sign of trouble came when the alarms blared.
armed men swarmed into the casino. piglets.
hongjoong moved first, taking them down in a single shot. you ducked behind a pillar, your heart pounding.
the fight moved fast. hongjoong was precise - he wasn’t even touchable, killing the men easily.
but that was when you saw it before he did: a piglet creeping up behind him, raising and aiming the gun to his head.
“boss!”
without hesitation, you hurled wooyoung’s knife to the piglet.
the knife pierced and plunged into his neck, causing the man to fall, his gun clattering to the ground. 
hongjoong whipped his head around with wide eyes, shooting the man infront of him before spinning to kill the piglet you just hit.
the silence that followed was deafening.
hongjoong’s breathing was heavy as he lowered his weapon. he dusted his clothes off, looking at you with an unreadable expression.
he gulped, finally speaking up. “...good job, pretty.” 
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
slowly, everyone regrouped in the corner, collapsing onto the floor in a circle. bottles of water were passed around as everyone caught their breaths.
for a while, no one spoke, the only sounds being an occasional groan.
“hey,” wooyoung hiccuped, breaking the silence as he turned to you. “give me my knife back.”
you looked at him awkwardly before handing him his completely bloody and dented knife - basically ruined.
“what the hell!” he exclaimed. “that was one of my favourites!”
you shrugged. “you shouldn’t have given it to me then.”
“i didn’t know you were actually gonna use it,” wooyoung complained. “i thought you would just watch.”
“you’re such a dick,” you rolled your eyes.
wooyoung leaned in closer - his voice annoyingly sweet. “aw, don’t be mad, sweetheart. i’ll get you a better knife- one that won’t bend in your delicate fucking hands.”
“shut up,” you groaned, shoving him lightly as the others chuckled.
hongjoong leaned against the wall, his arm crossed over his chest. his eyes shifted from wooyoung to you. 
his chest tightened in a now-familiar way: you’re fitting in too well.
it wasn’t jealousy - at least, that’s what he told himself. it was about control. your presence was a distraction he didn’t account for. but the others took you in so easily, which was technically a good thing, right?
and yet...
why did his stomach twist every time one of them smiled at you?
hongjoong blinked, realising how his leg was bouncing restlessly. he forced himself to stop, sighing deeply.
“you good, boss?” yunho asked.
hongjoong paused. “...i’m fine.”
yunho raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it, turning away.
hongjoong’s eyes returned to you. you were leaning a little too close to yeosang now, laughing at some joke wooyoung said - sending a strange pang through his chest.
why did this bother him so much?
you weren’t doing anything wrong. you were building trust, meshing with the group - just like he expected.
but this wasn’t about the group, was it?
he frowned, thinking. you stitched him right after he kidnapped you, you saved him from getting shot even though you were definitely not ready to fight.
what has he ever done for you?
introduced you to a world of crime? to a world of killing, stealing and hatred? accidentally ruined the relationship between you and your dad?
hongjoong closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.
shit.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
without bothering to change, you sank into the pull-out couch - exhaustion pulling you to it like gravity.
you heard hongjoong locking the door behind him, the soft click sounding loud in the quiet apartment. his footsteps shuffled toward the kitchen, the sounds of cabinets opening and closing reaching your ears. you were way too tired to look.
you didn’t realise you drifted off until you were awoken by something heavy on your body.
your eyes fluttered open groggily. for a moment, you thought you were dreaming. hongjoong was in the middle of draping a large blanket on you.
“what are you doing?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.
his eyes darted to yours briefly. “nothing.”
you frowned, shifting to sit up - but he placed a hand on your shoulder, pressing you gently back down. “sleep.”
you let out a quiet sigh. “shouldn’t you be sleeping?” you muttered.
he paused, his jaw tensing. “....tomorrow onwards, you’re training with me.”
you stared at him, stunned. before you could even say anything, he turned and walked away without a word.
…did your boss just tuck you in?
MONTH 3.5 -  PUNCH, KICK, SNARE
“again,” hongjoong said, slightly out of breath. 
the living room felt smaller than usual with the two of you moving around. the coffee table and couch was pushed aside, leaving just enough space to practice your punches without tripping over the furniture. he claimed training here would teach you how to ‘fight in tight quarters’.
he sighed. “your moves are sloppy.”
you groaned, shaking your aching wrists. “i’m trying.”
“that’s not enough when someone’s aiming a gun at your head,” he replied, stepping back and raising hands. “your punches are too weak and your balance is all over the place. reset your stance.”
you rolled your eyes but obeyed, repositioning your feet. it wasn’t the first time you’ve heard those words from him.
hongjoong moved closer, tapping your wrist. “keep your guard up. always.”
you threw another punch, but it barely made his hands move. he lowered them, sighing. “that’s not going to hurt anyone-“
“-i’m doing my best, okay?” you snapped. “i’m not a fast learner.”
his eyes softened for a moment before narrowing again. “that’s not an excuse when your life is on the line.”
you tsked. he was right of course, but that didn’t make it easier to hear.
“again.”
you tried once more, throwing a combination of punches that he blocked with ease. when you attempted a kick, you stumbled, nearly losing your footing.
he caught you instinctively, his hands steadying you.
“watch your balance,” he said automatically, going on a tangent on how training is important and blahblahblah. 
you tried to focus on your surroundings, on the words he was saying, but it was hard to ignore the proximity between you. the smell of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of sweat in the room. his touch wasn’t rough or aggressive like you’d expect - it was gentle.
your eyes drifted to his face, catching the faint scars along his cheekbones and jawline. were those always there? or was this the first time you really noticed?
his brows furrowed, likely in frustration at your lack of response, but the concern in his eyes snapped you back into reality, making you realise that you were staring the whole time.
“i don’t think i’m cut out for this,” the words spilled out before you could stop them.
hongjoong paused, his lips parting slightly - he wasn’t  expecting you to say that. for a moment, he was silent. he then leaned in, his eyes piercing. 
“you don’t get to quit.”
the intensity of his voice made you forget about the aches in your muscles and the sweat dripping down your back. his words weren’t angry - they were commanding. 
“why do you even care?” you whispered, barely audible.
his grip on your arms loosened slightly, his eyes searching yours for what felt like eternity. then out of nowhere, he stepped back, clearing his throat as he avoided your gaze. “take five,” he mumbled, walking to the kitchen.
MONTH 5 - BLOOD, BLOOD AND MORE BLOOD
the office building looked ordinary. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was just another corporate HQ. but you knew better.
and so did hongjoong.
you held up the new knife wooyoung gave you, one that wasn’t as pretty as the last. it was finally the day you ambushed your dad, the man that’s been wanting you dead for months.
you looked up to face hongjoong. “i don’t want to see it,” you said suddenly.
he raised an eyebrow. “see what?”
“when you kill him. my dad,” you clarified, your throat tightening. “i’m.. okay with it, but i don’t want to see it.”
his eyes studied you. after a moment, he nodded. “make sure to stay close to me,” he said before turning to the building.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
the group slipped into the building through the side. hongjoong led the way, gripping his pistol tightly as you stayed close behind him.
“elevators are too risky,” hongjoong looked back at the group. “we’ll take the stairs.”
the group nodded, their weapons drawn as they moved quietly through the halls. the fluorescent lights did nothing to mask the sinister aura that was buried in the walls.
when you reached the stairwell, the sound of footsteps echoing above sent everyone into high alert.
the first shot rang out.
gunfire filled the stairwell. the air was thick with smoke and gunfire. you pressed yourself against the wall, trying to avoid all of the attacks happening around you. you tried to go in to fight but-
-someone grabbed you.
you struggled, twisting out of their grasp. but before you could scream, a hand clamped over your mouth, dragging you away. “stay still.”
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
the stench forced your eyes open - a horrid mix of stale cigar smoke and alcohol. the office was dimly lit and your father crouched infront of you, his face smug as he cornered you.
“you think you’re better than me, don’t you?” he sneered.
you glared at him, your heart pounding. “fuck off.”
a bitter laugh escaped his lips. “you’ve gotten worse since you joined that boy,” he spat. “should i cut off your tongue? unhinge your jaw? or maybe i’ll be basic and shoot you.”
“you’re insane,” your stomach twisted. “it’s hard to believe we’re related, especially with how ugly you are.”
“you-”
before he could finish, you jammed wooyoung’s knife into his other thigh, dragging it down to create a large gash. he let out a guttural scream, stumbling into a desk as blood gushed out of his thigh like a fountain.
you moved quickly, scrambling out of the corner, but two piglets grabbed you before you could get far.
“stupid bitch,” your father hissed, forcing himself up as he took out the knife in his thigh, looking directly at you. “you’re going to regret that.”
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
as hongjoong shot another piglet with his pistol, he looked around the haze, searching for a certain someone. “where’s ‘____’?” he asked.
the group stayed silent.
“shit- we don’t know,” wooyoung said nervously.
hongjoong’s face darkened - and without hesitation, he grabbed a nearby piglet by the collar, slamming him against the wall. “where’s your boss?” he snarled.
the piglet squirmed. “i- i have a family!”
hongjoong’s grip on his collar tightened, his eyes widening scarily. “then bring me to him.”
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
“your mother should’ve gotten the abortion,” your father said before settling down infront of you, the bloody knife close to your face.
“i’m surprised that a woman like her fucked you,” you breathed out shakily as the blade hit your skin. 
“shut up-“
the door burst open as the knife grazed your skin. hongjoong stepped in, his gun raised. “let go of her,” he ordered.
the piglets hesitated, glancing between your father and hongjoong. your father’s hand didn’t move, a scar forming on your face. 
“you want her that badly?” your father asked mockingly. “you’re becoming soft.”
hongjoong didn’t answer. instead, he moved faster than you thought was possible, shooting the two piglets that held you with ease.
the bodies hit the ground - causing your father to shove you harshly against the wall. pain shot through your body as you heard something crack.
hongjoong froze, his pistol trained on your dad. 
“stay back,” your father warned, hovering the blade near your temple.
hongjoong’s jaw clenched. he dropped his gun slightly, making your father relax.
but then hongjoong lunged.
the fight was brutal, all punches and grunts. you slumped against the wall, your cheek bleeding uncontrollably as every part of your body ached.
after what felt like ages, hongjoong finally gained the upper hand, pinning your dad down as he pointed the gun to his head. but then his eyes landed on yours, wide and terrified - making him freeze.
“shit,” he cursed under his breath, lowering the gun. he turned and rushed to you, pulling you into his arms.
your father tried to crawl away, but hongjoong didn’t let him go far. with you in his embrace, he covered your eyes and ears tightly as the sound of a singular gunshot echoed in the room.
you clung to him, your tears soaking into his shirt. his hand cradled the back of your head, his touch soft. “it’s over,” he whispered as you sobbed.
you shook your head against his chest, the salt in your tears stinging the cut on your cheek. “i almost died.”
“i know,” he said softly. “but i wouldn’t let that happen.”
his words settled over you like a warm blanket. you pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his face. you could feel the heat of his body as he kept you close.
hongjoong shifted, his hands moving to your shoulders as he looked at you carefully. his thumb brushed over your scar, wiping away the trail of blood on your face.
“you’re shaking,” his eyebrows furrowed. “you need to breathe.”
“i’m trying.”
he reached for a nearby chair and pulled it over, guiding you to sit. hongjoong crouched infront of you, your hands trembling in his.
“you’re safe,” his eyes locked onto yours. “i’ve got you.”
something inside you cracked at his words - and tears spilled once more. hongjoong didn’t say anything, but his presence was enough. he stayed crouched infront of you, letting you take all the time you needed.
when you finally looked up, there was something unspoken in his eyes - a mix of guilt and relief that made your heart ache. “...thank you,” you whispered.
his lips parted like he wanted to say something, but the words never came. instead, he nodded slowly, his grip on your hands tightening for a moment before letting go.
at that moment, you leaned forward, closing the small distance between you. your lips brushed against his, just enough to make his entire body stiffen.
for a second, you thought you made a mistake. his hands paused midair and his breathing hitched.
but then, he moved. to you. 
his hands cupped your face gently, pulling you closer into a kiss. it was slow at first, but when you gripped his shirt tightly - the feelings he’d been keeping were let loose.
his lips pressed against yours with urgency. his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you like you might disappear if he let go. 
you responded instinctively. your hands found his neck, his jaw - brushing over them softly in a way that made him groan. “fuck- you’re so pretty.”
the world around you spun in swirls of blood, smoke and cologne, overwhelming you in a way that made you lose your breath.
hongjoong broke away for a moment, panting slightly. his lips curled into a smirk, before he kissed you again, softer this time but no less intense. it was grounding, reassuring and impossibly warm.
when the two of you pulled back, his thumb traced your scar. “this..” he began quietly. “..this isn’t what i expected tonight.”
you let out a soft, shaky laugh. “me neither.”
he pecked your forehead as he stood up, his legs slightly wobbly from the kiss. hongjoong held out a hand, helping you to your feet. “...let’s go home.”
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BONUS SCENE - MINE
the apartment was quiet as you laid on the pull-out couch, staring at the ceiling. sleep wasn’t coming - your mind was too busy replacing the events earlier.
the memory of hongjoong’s arms around you stayed, along with the feeling of his lips on yours. how could a man as dangerous as him bring you such comfort?
a soft knock against the wall broke the silence.
you sat up slowly, seeing hongjoong standing in the hallway. his hair was slightly damp and he wore a loose black hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. he hesitated before walking to you, his movements weirdly awkward.
“...you okay?” you asked the nervous man.
he shrugged, trying to play it off as he sat next to you. “i’m fine. you?”
“i’ve been better.”
there was a pause as the two of you stared at each other, the silence heavy. finally, he cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably.
“i’ve been thinking..” hongjoong trailed off.
“uh-oh.”
“i-it’s not a bad thing-” he said hurriedly. “it’s just that.. tonight made me think about a lot of things.”
you tilted your head, confused.
his voice softened as he continued. “but this isn’t just about tonight. it’s about.. everything. i don’t want you to feel.. unsafe all the time.”
“i don’t,” you said instantly, but you’re not sure how much you believed yourself.
he leaned back slightly, reaching into his hoodie pocket. when his hand reappeared, it was holding a pistol - his pistol.
“take this,” he held it out to you.
you blinked, staring at the weapon. “what? why?”
“because it’s mine,” he replied simply leaving no room for argument. “and now, it’s ours.”
you hesitated, your hand hovering over the gun. “i.. i barely know how to use this.”
“then i’ll teach you.”
you looked up at him, searching his face for answers. “...why are you giving this to me?”
you noticed the way his eyes darted down as you looked at him, his fingers tightening around the pistol as he pushed it to you. 
“because,” hongjoong began quietly. “i trust you.”
your fingers paused before finally closing around the gun. the cold metal felt deadly in your grasp, but the way his eyes lit up made your heart swell.
“you trust me..?” you asked softly, a faint smile on your face. “hongjoong..”
his usual composure faltered as you said his name, a blush dusting his face. he swallowed the lump in his throat, gathering himself. “you’re not just a part of the group,” he said. “you’re more than that. to me.”
your eyebrows shot up, completely stunned. “...i don’t know what to say.”
“say yes.”
you blinked. “yes to what?”
“to being mine,” hongjoong’s hands fidgeted slightly.
your heart raced as you heard his words. a wide smile spread across your face as you realised what he was really asking.
“are you..” you paused. “are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”
his breath got caught in his throat as he nodded. “yeah.”
the man that was the literal leader of an entire gang, was sitting nervous infront of you. it was a funny sight to see, but you brought yourself back to reality, answering his question.
“yes.”
a wave of relief washed over his face as he let out the breath he seemed to be holding. he reached out, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he leaned closer. “wanna sleep in my bed tonight?”
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tokkiwrites · 2 days ago
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game show host!joel miller x contestant f! reader ▪︎summary: it's the late 1970s, and you're fresh out of college. for your graduation gift, your parents got you a special ticket to be part of your favorite game show, 'Love Jive'. They didn't know you didn't like the show itselfㅡ but it's smooth talking MC, Joel Miller. ▪︎tags: pwp, age gap (pretty hefty one), super flirty joel, shy/lovestruck reader, afab!reader, pet names galore!!, p in v (unprotected), mirror sex kind of, slight breeding kink, creampie, joel kind of has an innocence kink idk.
▪︎this has been sitting in my drafts for two months now. Hopefully, you enjoy this short and silly 2.45k words one. There is no plot for it honestly, just thought it would be a cute concept. maybe a series might come from it, who know? love ya!!
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It was the summer of 1979, and the air felt heavy with possibility. You were fresh out of college, diploma in hand, and ready to take on the world—or at least that’s what you told yourself when your parents asked what came next.
Their graduation gift to you? A surprise ticket to Love Jive, the hottest game show on TV. You’d tried to hide your awkward smile when they handed it over, the envelope sparkling with glitter that matched the show’s logo. What they didn’t know was that it wasn’t the show’s ridiculous premise that had you tuning in every week.
It was him.
Joel Miller.
The man was a legend, smooth as honey and twice as sweet. The way his Texan drawl slid over those ridiculous love-related catchphrases? You swore it had ruined you for men your own age. He had to be at least twenty years older than you, but that salt-and-pepper hair, that sly smile, those broad shoulders stretching under his velvet blazer? They didn’t make men like Joel Miller anymore.
So here you were, standing nervously behind the curtain in the Love Jive studio.
“Contestants, ready?” a stagehand called.
Your stomach did a flip as the warm-up announcer's voice boomed through the speakers. The audience clapped and cheered, the excitement infectious. Before you could second-guess yourself, the curtain lifted, and the stage lights bathed you in gold.
And there he was.
Joel Miller stood center stage, microphone in hand, looking like he owned the room— and maybe he did. That million-watt smile lit up his face, his dark eyes sweeping the contestants before landing on you. He did a double take so subtle you almost missed it, but when his smile softened just a fraction, your heart skipped a beat.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” His voice rolled through the air like warm molasses, drawing chuckles from the crowd. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves some fine contestants tonight. Y’all ready to find love and maybe a little bit of fun?”
The audience erupted in cheers, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to join them. Not when Joel Miller was staring at you like you were the most interesting thing in the room.
“And what’s your name, darlin’?” Joel asked, pointing the microphone toward you.
You blinked, mouth suddenly dry. “Uh—uh, it’s—” You blurted out your name, voice cracking slightly. Joel chuckled, low and smooth, his dimples deepening as he grinned. “Well now, ain’t you just the sweetest thing. Y’all hear that? Even her name’s cute as a button.”
The crowd ooh’d and ahh’d, but Joel’s gaze stayed locked on you.
“Tell me, sweetheart,” he drawled, leaning ever so slightly closer, “what brings a lovely little thing like you to Love Jive? Lookin’ for romance? Or just here for the spectacle?” Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and you prayed the lights were too bright for anyone to notice. “Um, I—I guess you could say both?”
Joel’s eyebrows lifted, and his grin turned downright wicked. “Both, huh? Well, darlin’, I can promise you this much—you’re in for one hell of a show.” The crowd roared their approval as Joel winked at you, leaving your heart thundering in your chest. You’d come to Love Jive expecting to admire Joel Miller from afar. You hadn’t counted on becoming the center of his attention.
And as the game began, one thing became crystal clear: Joel wasn’t just hosting tonight. He was playing a game of his own— and you were the prize he had his sights set on.
Fast forward to the 15-minute commercial break.
The knock on the door came firmly, pulling you out of your flustered thoughts. You glanced at the mirror, smoothing down your blouse and trying to will away the redness on your cheeks. “Come in,” you called out, voice trembling slightly.
The door creaked open, and in stepped Joel Miller, the man of all your desires.
The sight of him so close took your breath away. He leaned casually against the doorframe for a moment, his dark eyes settling on you. His smile, warm and teasing, was the kind that made you feel like you were the only person in the world. “Well, there you are,” he drawled, his voice like velvet. “Thought I’d come check on you, see how my favorite contestant’s holdin’ up.” You blinked, trying to find your voice. “Oh, uh—fine! I’m fine,” you stammered, your hands twisting nervously.
Joel stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The dressing room wasn’t large to begin with, and his presence filled it completely, making the space feel even smaller.
“Fine, huh?” he said, leaning against the vanity, his arms crossing casually over his chest. “Can’t blame you for bein’ a little flustered. All those lights, all those people… and me.” His grin turned teasing, his gaze dropping to your lips for the briefest moment. You laughed nervously, shaking your head. “It’s not—I mean, you’re not—”
“Sweetheart, relax,” Joel interrupted, his voice a low chuckle. “I’m just messin’ with you.” His eyes softened, and he tilted his head. “But if I’m bein’ honest, you’ve got somethin’ about you. That’s got me wonderin’ if maybe I’m the one a little flustered tonight.”
Your heart skipped at his words. “Me?” you asked, disbelief clear in your voice. Joel’s grin deepened, his dimples on full display. “Yeah, you,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. He stepped closer, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Pretty little thing like you walkin’ in here, lookin’ all sweet and innocent, got every man in the audience wishin’ he was sittin' in my shoes tonight.” You felt like your face might catch fire. “I don’t think that’s true,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.
Joel reached out, gently lifting your chin so you had no choice but to look at him. His hand was warm and firm, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Well, I do,” he said softly, his dark eyes holding yours. “And I don’t say things I don’t mean, sweet girl."
You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as he leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping even lower. “I was thinkin’... maybe once this show wraps up, you and I could get outta here. Go somewhere quiet. Just you and me.” Your pulse thundered in your ears, and you felt dizzy under his gaze. “You mean… like a date?”
Joel chuckled, the sound rich and deep. “Exactly like a date,” he murmured. “What do you say, sweetheart?” You nodded before you could overthink it, your shy smile breaking free. “I’d really like that.” Joel’s grin turned downright wicked. “Good,” he drawled, his hand sliding to cradle your cheek. “’Cause I’ve been dyin’ to do this all night.”
Before you could say another word, Joel leaned in and kissed you. His lips were warm and sure, moving against yours with a perfect mix of confidence and tenderness. You felt your hands instinctively grip the vanity behind you, your knees going weak as his other hand settled lightly on your waist.
The kiss lingered, soft and sweet, but with just enough heat to leave your head all dizzy. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his thumb brushing over your cheek.
“Damn,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, “even better than I imagined.” You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of you, shy and giddy all at once. “You imagined kissing me?”
Joel grinned, pressing a quick, playful kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Oh, I imagined far more than kissing you, darlin’. Hard not to when you look at me the way you do.” Your heart felt like it might burst, but before you could respond, a sharp knock sounded at the door. “Mr. Miller, we’re back in two!”
Joel sighed dramatically, giving you a wink as he stepped back. “Guess I better get back to work,” he said, his tone light but his eyes still lingering on you. “Don’t go runnin’ off after the show, y’hear? I’m not done with you yet.” You nodded, still too flustered to form a coherent sentence. With one last smirk, Joel turned and strolled out the door, leaving you breathless.
The show had ended in a blur of applause, flashing lights, and the announcer’s booming voice thanking everyone for watching. Contestants and crew mingled briefly as everyone prepared to leave. You’d just stepped to the side of the stage when one of the other contestants, a bubbly blonde in a bright orange jumpsuit, sidled up to you with a knowing smile.
“Well, well, well,” she teased, nudging you with her elbow. “Looks like you really got Mister Smooth swooning all over ya.”
You blinked, startled. “What? No, I don’t think—”
“Oh, honey,” she interrupted with a laugh, crossing her arms. “Everyone could see the way he was devouring you with his eyes. I swear, I was worried he might forget the rest of us were even there.” Your face went hot, and you shook your head quickly. “You’re imagining things.”
“Sure,” she said with a wink, already walking away. “If by ‘imagining things,’ you mean watching him look at you like you hung the moon. Enjoy it, sweetie. A man like Joel Miller doesn’t come around every day.”
Her words echoed in your head as you made your way back to your dressing room. Closing the door behind you, you exhaled deeply, desperate for a moment to collect yourself. The quiet was a relief after the chaos of the show. You slipped out of your stage outfit and into the dress you’d brought for afterward. A soft yellow dress with bell sleeves, a cinched waist, and a flowing A-line skirt covered in a delicate floral print. It felt like something out of a sunny dream, and you hoped it might give you a touch of the confidence you sorely lacked.
You were smoothing the fabric over your hips when the door opened without warning.
“Oh, wow.” The single word made you whirl around. There he was. Joel Miller, standing in the doorway. His tie was loosened, his shirt collar slightly unbuttoned, and his dark eyes were locked on you. “You’re gorgeous,” he said, the words leaving his lips like a breath. Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you managed a shy smile. “Oh, it’s just… just a dress,” you murmured, brushing your hands nervously over the skirt.
Joel stepped inside, closing the door behind him as he approached. His gaze was unwavering, taking you in like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Just a dress, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and rough. “But you could be wearin’ a paper bag, and you’d still be the most beautiful thing in the room.” You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Joel stopped in front of you, lifting a hand to gently cup your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin, his touch warm and steady.
“Fuck it,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, before closing the space between you.
His lips met yours in a kiss that was anything but hesitant. Where the earlier kiss had been soft and tentative, this one was sure, filled with hunger and intent. His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a passion that made your knees weak.
You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak— only feel. His touch, his warmth, the way he held you like you were something rare. “Been thinkin’ about doin’ that since the first time I saw you,” he admitted, his voice rough.
You let out a breathless laugh, your hands clutching the lapels of his jacket for balance. “You’ve kissed me twice tonight, Joel,” you teased, your voice trembling slightly. Joel grinned, his dimples making an appearance. “Yeah, I have a soft spot for sweet girl like yourself. ” he said before pausing shortly. “And if you’ll let me, darlin’, I’d be doin' a lot more than kissing you.”
Stopping him was the furthest thing from your mind.
"I'll let you.."
Without thinking, you tilt your head up, meeting his gaze with a mixture of defiance and submission. His eyes darken, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if he's won some battle. " You're a good girl," he breathes, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. The contact sends sparks through you, and your skin burns where he touches. Without any hesitation, he spins both of you so that you are facing the large golden mirror above the counter. Joel groans, rolling his shoulders back as he bends you over the vanity, your hips snug in his grip. "God, you're so fuckin' gorgeous, angel."
you look down. "Please.." The man shakes his head and lands a hard smack on one of your asscheeks, making you yelp in the process. He takes his time pulling up your flowy dress, finally taking a look at your soaking panties, white with laced blue details. "Fuck, look at her." His calloused thumb makes contact with your clothed folds, dragging it up and down, in painfully slow circles. In mere seconds, you hear the material rip and then feel the flimsy undergarments fall on the cold tiled floor.
"What a pretty pussy." he mutters under his breath, undoing his trousers. he pulls them a bit down, enough for his manhood to spring free and slap against his covered bellybutton. you can see it all in the mirrorㅡ it's huge, to say the least. you gasp softly as you feel him drag the wet tip of it against your swollen bud, and you hide your gaze, head hanging low in embarrassment. this doesn't last long, as his rough palm grabs at your face pulling it up again. you're making eye contact with him through the lit up mirror and you see him shake his head. "No, baby. You watch while I wreck this pussy, understand?" you shake your head, agreeing, but that isn't good enough so he slaps your cheek with the back of his hand, lightly.
"Speak, sweetheart." you breathe out. "Yes, Joel." he drags the pulsing tip up and down, up and down as if he didn't make you wait long enough. truthfully you never wanted it to end, so maybe him teasing was his way of making sure this lasts. after he thinks its sufficient, Joel starts to push inside, and godㅡ your breath gets stuck into your throat, from the feeling laden with thorns. every prick of discomfort is soon replaced by an unexpected surge of delight.
Your tears fall down onto the surface under you, little moans gripping your throat as he slips inside further. "You're alright..." he assures you, asking you to surrender.
"Take it all. Atta girl, just like that..." he praises, lifting your hips a bit to get a better angle. Joel moves gently at first, each stroke hitting deeper within your core, the pain soon converging with ecstasy right as he alerts his movements. His hips dive down with force, one of his palms snaking up and wrapping itself tightly around your throat, assuring you see how good he's destroying you.
Your head was spinning, heart pounding, as his whole weight dominated over you. "That's it, little girl, look how tight she's suckin' me in." his thrusts are rough, each hit making your body bounce, the urgency as he hit that very spot each time. your whole insides burning, too cock drunk to talk or respond, other than some pathetic whines that perfectly accompanied the wet sounds your pussy made wrapped around him.
"Oh, god, please.." You manage. pulling at your hair, he starts chuckling. "Am I your god, baby? Ya like beggin'?" While thrusting relentlessly into you, jelly like legs barely holding you up anymore, your knees buckle. Feeling you tightening, the hand that was around your throat slips down to your clit, while the other makes you spread your legs wide again for easier access, this allowed you to take in a big gulp of air before you feel him deeper in your guts.
"want me to breed this young pussy, huh? feel you up with my babies? let people inside this roomㅡ let them film it for the whole world to see?" the room spins around you, vision blurry with tears and brain all fuzzy. you try your best to reply. "yes, oh, p-lease, please! "
"Go ahead." the man succeeded to say, between his breathy groans. "Thank you, thank you, oh god, thank you so much, Joel!" you cry out, praying to him whilst he keeps fucking into your pulsing cunt. The man buries himself into you as you come down from your high, body almost too limp to register your surroundings. then he slaps your ass, and watches you writhe under him. You looked perfect, like a carved our porcelain doll. With a few more snaps of his hips you feel he's close, his nails digging roughly into your skin as he finally paints your velvet walls with white ropes of come. "God fuckin'ㅡ!" you know that will leave bruises.
the dressing room feels sticky, and the mirror in front of you is all fogged up, but you can just barely make out your face, all tearstained and messy. You moan as he pulls out, the sudden feeling of emptiness leaving you shivering. Joel watches intently as his seed drips out of you, your body beautifully splayed out right under him like the most beautiful piece of art.
You're both quiet for a bit, before he breaks the silence. "You're still up for that date, little lady?"
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seumyo · 19 hours ago
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the price to pay when you’re a passenger princess.
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You knew that there had to be a catch when Bakugou said he’d pick you up after your 12-hour shift at the hospital. But the thing was, you were too exhausted to dwell on the thought.
Or so you thought.
“You look dead on your feet,” he commented as he opened the door for you.
“Thanks for the compliment,” you replied dryly, tossing your bag into the backseat. “And they say chivalry is dead.”
The sleek, jet-black Porsche 911 Turbo S roared through the empty streets like a predator on the hunt, the low rumble of the engine vibrating through your very soul. Bakugou, of course, looked completely at ease, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift, a calm expression seen on his face.
You’ve come to understand that your husband was relatively calm when not provoked.
“Katsuki,” you started as the car picked up speed, “you do realize this is still a hospital zone, right? Maybe don’t speed like you’re in a Fast and Furious movie.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You literally just did.”
“Relax,” he drawled, shifting gears with precision. “You know I’ve got this.”
You, on the other hand, were internally reciting every safety procedure you could think of in case of an unfortunate circumstance to come.
“Should I call my assistant to make an appointment in advance?”
Bakugou snorts. “What? Don’t trust me?”
“Oh, I trust you. It’s the laws of physics I don’t trust,” you muttered under your breath, earning a low chuckle from him.
The worst part? There was barely any traffic this late at night, which only encouraged Bakugou to push the limits of what his new Porsche could do. You glanced at the speedometer and instantly regretted it.
“Katsuki, I swear to God—”
“What? It’s not like I’m breaking the speed limit,” he said with mock innocence, though the mischievous glint in his eyes told you he knew exactly what he was doing.
The Prefectural Government’s Public Safety Commissions should really revoke his license one of these days. Or you might not live to see the next one.
“By less than two!”
You leaned your head back against the seat, staring at the darkened city skyline as it blurred past you. You were exhausted from your shift, your feet aching, bone tired, but all of that was being drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of your life flashing before your very eyes.
You double-checked your seatbelt again. It’s never too late to actually be safe.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he said without taking his eyes off the road.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to yell at me for being too hot and good at everything.”
“Wow? The audacity of my husband making such a bold claim,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him. “Have I fed your ego too much that you’re about to float away like a hot-air balloon?”
“Didn’t deny my claim.” He got you there.
You couldn’t argue with that.
“Just so you know,” you muttered, clutching the grab handle even tighter as he effortlessly weaved between two cars, “if I die tonight, I’m haunting you. And I’ll make sure to mess with you when you’re trying to sleep.”
“Good,” he said with a grin, finally glancing your way. “At least then you’d be with me all the time, huh?”
You stared at him, momentarily speechless. “Are you seriously flirting with me right now? While you’re driving like a maniac?”
“Who says I can’t multitask?”
Before you could fire back with another retort, the car slowed as you neared your apartment complex. Your death grip on the handle loosened ever so slightly, though your heart was still racing.
When Bakugou finally parked, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You unbuckled your seatbelt, your hands still trembling a little.
“I hate you.”
“Love you too or whatever.”
“I—wait, you actually said it.”
“What? Can’t a man just say he loves his wife?”
“Good point, but you rarely say it!”
“I pick you up after your every shift and make sure you don’t die of starvation or poor health. That’s enough than saying it, no?”
“But you said it! So it’s different.”
“Not.”
“It is!”
“Not.”
“Is!”
Terrifying car rides aside, there was no one else you’d rather be stuck with. Even if your husband drove you absolutely crazy—both on and off the road. This must be the price of being Bakugou Katsuki’s passenger princess.
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rafesheaven · 2 days ago
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stopping at the hospital to bring your dad something to eat for dinner and seeing his best friend doctor rafe and when you're walking down the hallway someone suddenly takes your hand to pulls you into the empty room 🤭 you turn around to see rafe and when you ask him why did he do that he just shrugs, smirking down at you as he takes your face between his big hands to whisper "maybe i'm just hungry too?" before he goes down on you like a starved man <3
warnings — dbf!doctor!rafe, age gap (rafe is 35, reader is early 20s), sneaking around, public sex, oral (f. receiving), praising
more of my doctor!rafe au found here !
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“hey sweetie, what are you doing here?” your dad greeted when he noticed you. “figured i’d bring you some dinner since you’re working the overnight shift tonight,” you gestured to the tupperware in your hands. “you didn’t have to do that,” he chuckled, “i know, but i wanted to, besides, i know how crazy the hospital gets during this time of the year,” you shrugged.
“yeah, the holidays tend to do that or make people do crazy things,” he snorted, carefully taking the tupperware and tucking it under his arm. your ears perked at a familiar voice, and your eyes landed upon rafe, your dad's best friend, who was already looking in your direction while talking to one of the nurses. rafe had that same signature smirk on his face, shooting you a playful wink, and chuckling to himself when you quickly averted your attention back to your father calling you, "honey?"
"sorry dad, what were you saying?" you mumbled, hearing him sigh at the sound of his pager going off, “it's okay, honey. i was just saying that i have to go, but thank you for bringing dinner.” you smiled softly, nodding as he planted a kiss on your forehead, “i’ll see you at home, alright?”
after he rounded the corner, you looked back to find that rafe was nowhere to be found before you started heading down the hallway to get to the elevator. just as you were about to pass one of the supply closets, a hand reached out, encircling your wrist and yanking you into the small, confined room.
"what the hell—" you spun around, crashing right into rafe's broad chest. "rafe? why did you drag me in here?" you questioned. the older man shrugged, smirking down at you as he cupped your face in his large hands, "thought you'd be happy to see me, babydoll."
"i am, but what if someone saw you dragging me in here?," you argued. "you worry too much, you know that?" rafe chuckled, earning a playful smack to the chest, "yeah, for good reasons."
“you need to stop worrying so much, it’s not good for your pretty little head,” his thumbs caressed your cheeks. he gently pulled your face closer as he dips his head down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. you melted like putty in his hands, your hands grabbed at his scrub top, balling it into your fists to pull him closer.
“see? isn’t that better?” rafe hummed, kissing along your jaw to your neck. “a little, still doesn’t explain why you dragged me in here,” you pointed out, moaning softly when he nipped at your flesh. "maybe i'm just hungry too," he muttered against your skin. "what—" you watched as he lowered himself to his knees, his hands pushing your skirt, causing it to hike around your waist.
“fuck, haven’t even touched you and you’re already soaking through this little thing,” he groaned, his fingers hooking into your panties, tugging it down till it pooled around your ankles. he helped you step out of them before pocketing them into his scrub pants, “gonna need something to help me get through the rest of this shift.”
you lean your back against the shelves in the closet as he nudged your thighs further apart. “fuckin’ missed this sweet little pussy,” rafe groaned, his tongue running through your slick folds to your puffy clit.
"oh—" you hiccuped, his tongue circling your clit, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth, making you sink your teeth into your bottom lip to muffle your moans. you looked down at him with heavy-lidded eyes, and saw he was already looking up at you. his nails dug into the skin of your hips, pulling you closer as the tip of his tongue flicked at your clit, moving to prod at your entrance.
you forgot how good he was at this, but he's never failed to make you cum from his tongue alone. small, desperate pants slip from your lips as he ate you out like you were his last meal.
"missed tasting you on my tongue, babydoll. taste as sweet as you look," rafe moaned against your cunt, his tongue delved into your cunt. "fuck, rafe," you whined, his nose grinding against your poor clit as your rut your hips, grinding against his mouth desperately.
your legs started to tremble as you felt the familiar knot forming in your stomach. "oh fuck...'m gonna cum," you whimpered pathetically, your hand clutching the back of his head. "c'mon, babydoll, just let go," he groaned, sucking your sensitive bud back into his mouth harshly,
you quickly clamped your hand over your mouth as a cry erupted from your throat, pure bliss washing over you. rafe watched in awe, taking in your pleasure-ridden face, his tongue lapping at your release before pulling away to kiss along your inner thighs. he slowly stood up, helping you fix your skirt, "did so good, baby," he peppered your face with kisses.
"c'mon, let's get out of here before we actually do get caught," he whispered, carefully opening the door and peeking his head out to ensure no one was looking. you carefully stepped out behind him, "thanks for dinner, sweetness.”
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tagging moots: @oceandriveab @cameronwillow @bloodibambiidoll @rafesangelita @nemesyaaa @ilovefiction4lmen @cameronsprincess @starkeysbabygirl @rafesthroatbaby @rafeyscurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx @cxrrodedcoffin @dollyfiles @littlelamy @fallbhind @sturnioloshacker @heartsforvin @jjslaybank @fae-of-prey @cybersunnie @zyafics
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woso-dreamzzz · 1 day ago
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Leaving VIII
Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader
Summary: You win Olympic gold
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Alexia will be the first to admit that she doesn't understand tennis.
She gets it from an objective stand point like how she gets football. Two teams (two opponents) meet on the pitch (the court) and kick the ball around (hit the ball over the net) to score a goal (get a point).
The scoring for tennis confuses her as does the terminology.
She doesn't get the words they use like ace and deuce and double fault.
She kind of thinks a double fault is like a foul but she still can't understand how because you're not tackling anyone.
Either way, Alexia doesn't understand tennis but this is a final and even though she's got her own quarter final today, she's still travelled to Paris to watch you.
You're against Zheng.
She knocked out Iga but now she's against you.
You've played her once before in at the United Cup and she'd knocked you out as well.
This was revenge though.
You serve hard and fast or, at least Alexia presumes you do.
You're wearing your Barcelona cap and your gold Nike shoes and you look like an absolutely beast on the pitch (the court). You hit the ball viciously, catching Zheng off guard completely with the force of your shots.
"Has she got somewhere to be today?" Eli says, a little laugh escaping her as you breeze through the first set.
Alexia frowns. "No? I don't think so. I think her only plans are to go back to bed."
Alba laughs. "It was a joke, Ale. Mama thinks Y/n has somewhere else to be which is why she's getting through the set so fast."
"Wait, is she going too quickly?"
Alba sighs. "You've been to countless tennis matches, Alexia. How do you not understand it yet?"
"They're complicated!"
"She literally hits the ball over the net!"
You seem anxious to get the match started up again, wiping off what little sweat you've produced and drinking half of your water. You don't even reach for your energy gel or anything of the like.
You're up on the court as soon as you can be, bouncing around on your feet, kicking up some of the clay dust underfoot.
Zheng serves next but that's all she really ends up doing because, yet again, you dominate.
Alexia can feel the atmosphere swell from the audience and gets the funny feeling that she's missing something again.
Her head ping pongs around trying to keep the ball in sight.
There's an uproar in the crowd as Zheng swings.
And misses.
Alba's on her feet, fist pumped up in the air and a cry of triumph out of her mouth.
Eli's got her hands covering her mouth in shock.
Just lower down, Alexia can see your training partner and coaching team celebrating.
You're grinning. You kiss your racket before turning to face your family.
You bow, the exact same pose and the exact same way Alexia did at Camp Nou and at the Champion's League final.
You come up, grinning before bursting into tears.
You move to your coaching team first, being drawn into a hug by everyone including Iga.
"Should I start getting worried about my space as number one?" She teases but all you can do is let out a wet little laugh.
You make your way up to your family next.
Alexia gets to you first.
She may not understand tennis but she knows a winner when she sees one.
She gets to you before anyone else, tugging you into a hug.
You've always been smaller than Alexia. That was to be expected but you'd shot up around puberty, growing like a weed.
She's glad that you're still smaller than her though, still small enough the she can easily hold your face in her hands and kiss your forehead.
You smile at her, sniffling.
"I won."
"Yes."
Your smile widens. "You didn't even realise."
"What?! Yes I did!"
"Don't lie. I saw you. You thought we were meant to go for another set."
"What's a set?"
Laughter overtakes your tears, bubbling out of your throat at the clueless look on your sister's face.
"No, seriously, what's a set? Is it like the two different halves?"
"Don't worry about it, Ale."
"No, wait, I want to know! Did you already have halftime? The match went kind of quick. Surely you should have had halftime before it finished?"
You're properly laughing now and behind Alexia, you think Alba and Eli are laughing too.
"Does it really matter?" You tease," I just won Olympic gold."
"No, I guess not."
There's silence between the two of you for a moment before you shriek.
Alexia lifts you like you weigh nothing, like you're just that little kid again with a scraped knee and pigtails.
Like you're not the Olympic tennis champion.
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harrycinnamonbun · 1 day ago
Text
focus - lando norris
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lando norris x fem!reader
word count - 1.7k
summary - trying to get attention from your streamer boyfriend takes a turn
warnings - 18+, smut, oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, nipple play, voyeurism/exhibitionism if you squint?
a/n - ik this is kinda overdone but the trope is so good... requests are open gimme ideas! masterlist here
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4 hours. 
that was how long lando had been streaming for today.
gaming with his friends had become somewhat of a routine for your boyfriend, but you quickly grew tired of the monotony. it forced you to spend more time alone than you usually liked, as his fervent dedication abandoned you to your own boredom.
you lounged on the bed in your pajamas, a pair of cute tiny shorts and a tank top, hoping to grab his attention. a book was open in front of you, sitting neglected as your attention was drawn to the other side of the bedroom where lando was angrily yelling to his friends on the stream. 
“mate you were supposed to cover me! that’s why i died you freaking muppet!” lando threw his hands up in defeat, letting out a huff as his friends berated him for being shit at the game. 
you rolled your eyes at the interaction, finding it all too familiar. 
“landooooo,” you call out, “come cuddle for a bit, you’ve been streaming for a while.”
from afar you can see the influx of chat comments greeting you at the sound of your voice, the fans happy to even just hear you. you giggled at that as lando mutes his mic and turns his chair around to face you. 
“baby, i’m just gonna play one more round and then i’ll be done, promise” he says, flashing you a grin and turning back towards the screen, unmuting his mic. 
“thats what you said an hour ago…” you grumble underneath your breath. at this point you had enough, you needed to get his attention somehow. sitting up straight, you looked around the bedroom to think. a sly smile spread over your face as you eyed the empty space under his desk, just the right size for you to fit under. 
maybe if you annoyed him enough, he would fuck you until you couldn’t walk. it was worth a try. 
you quietly slid off the bed and onto the floor, crawling over to lando slowly. you were careful to keep low, avoiding his webcam and the thousands of people observing him rage about pixels on a screen. 
he looks down at you quizzically as you nestle yourself under his desk. sliding to insert yourself between his legs, your finger rises to meet your lips motioning him to be quiet. 
you smile mischeviously as you edge your fingers up his leg, tracing up to his thighs as he draws in a sharp breath. he gives you a warning look, eyes following your movement like how a predator tracks its prey. 
“what are you doing?” lando whispered, his voice faltering a bit as your hand ghosted over his now prominent bulge. you stifle a laugh as you watch his expression turn from panic to lust.
just the idea of you giving him head while he was streaming made him hard, and the feel of your fingertips lightly touching his length through his shorts did nothing to help. lando gulps and tears his gaze away from you, eyes focused back on the screen in front of him as max yells in his headphones. 
his attempt to stay calm was futile as you began to palm over his dick, rubbing him through the thin fabric of his shorts. lando bit his lip to suppress a moan, fingers still moving over the controller. 
you decided to take it a step further to see if you could break his concentration, pulling down his waistband to release his throbbing cock. his tip was already leaking as you stared at it, flicking your eyes up to his startled face before you sealed your lips around it sucking lightly. 
lando threw his head back, letting out an involuntary groan.
“you alright there mate?” max asked lando in a concerned tone. 
“yeah yeah,” he replied, clicking his camera off. “just uh– having some trouble with the webcam.” 
you felt a rush of adrenaline as you took him further into your mouth, tears pricking your eyes as he hit the back of your throat. you moan around him, his hands immediately flying to your hair and pulling lightly.
lando groans again as you bob your head, running your tongue along the bottom of his shaft as you come up. he looks down at you with dark eyes, clearly paying attention now. 
you looked so pretty with your lips wrapped around him, he couldn’t take it anymore. 
“hey max,” he choked out into the mic, “i’ll be back again later i uh, think i left the oven on.”
“mate you don’t even cook-” max was cut off as lando ended his stream, ripping his headphones off in a rushed manner. 
he immediately let out a louder moan, no longer restricted in his reactions to your lewd movements. his pupils dilated with lust as you moved faster, the obscene sounds of your mouth edging him further and further. 
lando abruptly pulls you off of him, guiding you out from under the desk to straddle his lap. the chair was stable enough to hold the both of you but you still gripped his shoulders for comfort. 
“you wanted me so bad huh baby? couldn’t wait ‘till i was done?” he whispered into your ear, running his hands up and down your soft thighs. 
you let a whimper as you grind against his hardness, hoping for some relief on your aching clit. “just wanted you to focus on me.”
“oh i’m completely focused now,” he assures you, pulling your shorts aside finding you bare, instantly starting to rub circles on your bundle of nerves, “no panties? you planned this to happen.” you whine out, feeling the heat in your core building as you move your hands to play with the curls at the nape of his neck. 
lando continues his assault on your clit, moving his fingers tantalizingly slow. he craned his head to place small kisses on your neck, tracing a path down to your collarbones and stopping at the neckline of your tank top. he moved his hands up to grope your breasts, thumbs running over your nipples, hardening from the stimulation under the thin material. 
“mmm my naughty girl, did you want everyone to hear you choking on my cock? tsk tsk tsk– what would they say” he chides as he tugs your top down, leaving it to pool at your waist. he was almost salivating at the sight of your tits, the supple skin inviting him to have a taste. 
you could only croak out a small “yes” in response as he dipped down to capture one of your nipples, the wet heat of his mouth making your brain go fuzzy. lando sucked lightly, running his tongue over the sensitive peak as he pinched your other nipple gently between his fingers. 
“lando”, you panted out, “please– need you.” he raised his head from your chest to capture your lips in a deep kiss, caressing your tongue with his. 
you just wanted to feel him. all of him. 
“alright baby i’ll give you what you want,” he said with a smirk as you lifted your hips to hover over him. you pulled your shorts aside again, exposing your wetness to the cold air of the room. 
his hands lingered on your hips to help guide you over his painfully hard cock, feeling his tip nudge between your folds. your entrance welcomed him as you sank down on his length, your head falling back in pleasure. 
his hold on you tightened, fingers gripping so harshly on the flesh they would surely leave a mark. lando relished in your flustered state, examining how your lips parted in bliss, eyes squeezed shut while trying to adjust to his length.
 his own mouth fell open at the sight of you, a low groan escaping him at the feeling of your wet walls embracing him deeper and deeper until his tip finally kissed your cervix. 
you began to bounce up and down slowly,  lando’s strong arms assisting your movements. you leaned onto his shoulders for support, your head falling down into the crook of his neck as you both gasped and moaned at the pleasurable feeling of him hitting the deepest parts inside you.
“lando,” you whined out, speeding up your movements as the noise of slapping skin filled the room. 
you were panting harder now, your thoughts only occupied with the feeling of him inside you. your clit brushed against him every time your hips met, sending shocks through your body. the familiar feeling of your orgasm loomed in your core, threatening to overtake you very soon. 
“c’mon baby take what you need,” lando groaned out, helping you pick up your pace, thrusting his hips up to meet yours now. you could tell he was getting close too, your bodies moving urgently in tandem to reach your highs simultaneously. 
“almost– ah, there! please lando,” at your plea he reached down between your legs, rubbing your sensitive nerves to finally send you over the edge. 
your orgasm crashed over you, sending waves of shocks through your body as your movements slowed down. you cried out for him, his name the last thing leaving your lips as an immeasurable bliss took over. lando kissed your neck tenderly as he gripped you harder, stabilizing you as he rammed into you faster. 
“fuck baby you’re doing so good, im almost there. such a needy girl, had to have me right away.” he flashed a glowing smile at you as you came down from your high, his hands pawing at the flesh of your ass as he fucked you deeply. 
his breathing grew ragged at his eyes screwed shut, breathing your name out with a moan. his release was warm inside you, filling you up as his hips stuttered and slowed. 
you sat like this for a minute, still joined, recovering and whispering sweet things into each other’s ears. lando kissed your shoulder as he pulled out of you, a whine leaving your lips at the absence of him. 
“maybe i should stay on the stream longer if this is what it gets me,” lando joked, seeing how much he could annoy you. 
you hit his shoulder playfully in response, “absolutely not! but honestly, max probably thinks you burned the house down by now.” 
“ah– i’ll deal with that later. all i’m focused on right now is you.” 
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webzazes · 2 days ago
Text
making this danny phantom teehee ❤️
My family always seemed like the most normal people in the world. But, we're filthy rich. I'm not a fan of it, but it's whatever. At least I have funds for passion projects, and hopefully, in due time, my own greenhouse (I've wanted one for years).
I actually only learned what really made us so successful recently, though. Ever since I was young, I was told over and over again that it was due to an invention, something useful and prominent in everyday life. However, it turns out that we're so wealthy because of black magic.
The thought alone inspired me so much, and I was already into gothic and fantastical things- it practically tripled my obsession. My parents, however, thought I was "too obvious" or "too gloomy" for our happy little family, especially because of my style of dress, but I was dead-set on breaking away from the norm after I learned how, well, not normal we are under wraps.
This made me a loner at school. I was different, and I wasn't a fan of going out of my way for friendships, let alone any unnecessary social interaction. I kept to myself, and became "the weird goth girl". Honestly, I was happy with that.
But, being a loner led me to Danny. And, of course, his friend Tucker. They accepted me- although we did butt heads at times, as is natural. We'd go to Danny's house, hear about his parents' work, and especially, their obsession with ghosts.
As someone getting into the occult, (I was actively training myself with books from our family library) I was interested. Very interested. I knew about souls, zombies, and demons, but not so much about ghosts themselves, the physical representation of a consciousness and soul tied down to Earth.
So, when Danny brought us to his basement to show us the "ghost portal" his parents were working on, I was excited. Really excited. Of course, I didn't let that show, I figured it might be as dumb as all of the other Fenton tech, and I wasn't expecting it to be dangerous, either.
But, when Danny stepped in to try and turn it on, I realized it was, in fact, dangerous. Very much so. The sheer amount of force I felt when the portal opened was almost painful- but never could be as painful as the sight of what happened to Danny because of it. He looked almost burned in places, and practically wilted to the ground.
He was limp. And he didn't look right, either- his hair was a shocking, clear white, and his eyes were green. At the time, I didn't even notice that the protective suit he was wearing had changed. But I could 100 percent tell that he was dead. Stone cold and limp, dead.
Tucker looked to be on the verge of tears, but I didn't care. I had to do something! I could feel some kind of residual energy on Danny's body, and I thought, "a source". A source of power for me to use, something I could heal him with.
Healing was my passion. I've always cared for life. Especially in this instance- Danny wasn't allowed to die. He couldn't die. I don't know what I would've done if he did..
So, in a split second, I was by his side. I was full healer mode, to the point I knew I couldn't let Tucker see my face. If he saw my eyes, well, he certainly wouldn't have been able to forget them any time soon..
I grasped at the energy left on Danny, and I made it mine. My emotions made me strong, determined, and I used that energy to successfully make an offering to Danny's soul. It was like summoning a demon- I'd seen my mom do it before- but more intimate, as I touched his spirit, poured its power into his bloodstream, and pulled at it, as I tied it to his body. I could almost feel the ectoplasm in my hands- and that's when I realized what the residual energy really was. Ectoplasm.
The ghost portal was real.
All in all, the whole process of "fixing" Danny, well.. it felt like nothing. And it really was quick. Thankfully, once I told Tucker that Danny was breathing, he didn't think to question the wait. He said nothing. And I couldn't bring myself to say that Danny was still cold..
So, hurriedly, we took Danny to his room, and told his parents he was tired. We said that he fell asleep while playing games with us. That was it.
That is how it all started.
You always wanted to be a Healer. Unfortunately, your dad was an Necromancer and your mother a Demon Summoner. So your healing was a bit… unconventional to say the least.
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lambilegs · 1 day ago
Text
getting acquainted with the dildo: attempt #1
contains: sevika teaching reader how to suck the strap, dry humping (reader doing it on sev's thigh), friends with (resolved, thank god) tension, slight humiliation kink, a bit of a spit kink, teasing, inexperienced reader, implied age gap (both reader and sevika are adults), sevika calls reader "kiddo" teasingly, reader's body is referred to w/ the following terms: "pussy," "clit," "cunt"
when you tell sevika that you've never used a strap-on before, you nearly beg some higher force to let the ground swallow you whole. you two have been friends forever, but lately, it's undeniable that some sort of molten desire has been pooling at the center of what you have. maybe it was always there, and had just been in denial. but, it's undeniably present now, impossible to ignore, thick and heavy in the air, lining every interaction with a sort of hot lava.
and it's made confessions like this, ones filled with sexual secrecy and exposed desires, carry a lot more weight than they did prior. you're pretty much confiding in a woman who you're aching to have sex with about just how much experience she should and shouldn't expect of you. it's way more vulnerable, and it feels like you're spoiling her prematurely by peeling away sexual secrets that in a different circumstance, one with just regular dating, she would've discovered on her own in the context of wanting to have sex with you. but, doing it in a friendship, when you don't even know for sure what she feels, is more uncertain. it's farther away from the line of actual romance and desire, and therefore feels risker to admit. because if your inexperience deters her, maybe she'll easily dismiss and rid herself of any attraction she might've once harboured for you, since it'd be simpler to as just friends.
so, to say the least, you're scared when confessing this secret to her.
at least, that's until you see the way her lip curls up when, while laying on her couch, you confess that you're nervous about one day using the strap due to never having done it before. she seems equal parts intrigued and amused by the revelation. from where she sits, picking at one of the screws in her arm, she asks, tone low, steady, "well, do you feel ready?"
"I don't know." you stare up at the ceiling, for the thought of maintaining eye contact through this conversation is a bit too unnerving for your liking. "I mean, I'm sure everyone feels... not ready when they start using it, right?"
she shrugs. "maybe. to a degree. but, you don't need to push yourself if it really scares you." her voice has turned tentative, face absent of the initial mischief. with the way she angles herself away from you, it seems that she's somewhat uncomfortable with giving such earnest advice.
"thanks for the sex-ed," you laugh, trying to ease the mood some.
"well, considering I've actually worn the strap and you've barely touched it, you could use all the advice you can get."
you try not to visibly tense up at the casually tossed comment. you knew sevika has used a strap, of course you did. you've been at her apartment enough times to catch sight of her lube or dildos (because, yes she has several) scattered about. but, god, the idea of it taut on her pelvis, ready to be used to pump into you, has your thighs tightening.
"well, then, oh-wise-one, what would be your advice?"
she shrugs, avoiding your gaze for a few seconds before saying, "getting acquainted with it. with things like sucking, touching, you know."
"sucking?"
"yeah." the corner of her lip quirks up as she raises an eyebrow at you. "never done that either?"
you feel your face warm, feeling awfully pathetic under her pointed gaze, years of experience behind it. "no." you groan, swiping a hand across your face. "god, I'm gonna be so horrible at it when I first do it."
"then, practice."
you scoff. "with who?"
"by yourself?" she drawls, casting you an incredulous look as though she aims for you to question your own stupidity.
you huff, turning away. "I can't do it on my own, how will I know if I'm even doing it right?"
"then, I don't know," she sighs exasperatedly, lighting her cigar. "someone you trust, I guess. someone who wants their dick wet."
"the only person I know who wants to get their dick wet is you," you snap, a petulant part of you hoping you can embarrass her as much as she does with you.
her lips wrap around the tip of the cigar, that scar on the bottom one seeming to deepen. it's almost entrancing, hooking your eyes in and leaving you resistant to its power.
you only snap out of the spell when she says, "is that your way of asking for it to be me?"
the words have your lips parting before you can force them shut. what the fuck is that supposed to mean? you're well-aware of the tension that's been there between you two, of course you are. but, you never imagined that sevika would actually initiate anything. sure, she's flirted here and there, and you're convinced she's started purposely mentioning stopping at babette's for the sole purpose of making you jealous (after all, she always has such a shit-eating grin whenever you fidget or glare at her in response). but, still, it's never amounted to an actual offer, an actual step over the threshold between friendship and, well, something else.
you know it's the more responsible decision to say no, and shut this down before things get complicated. or at least until you clear up whatever it is you guys consider yourselves to be in relation to each other, and if it's something that carries as much emotion to her as it does to you.
but, part of you wants to give into the throb between your legs, the thick tension crackling in the air, the way her gaze is resting on you calmly, as though debating whether or not she should pounce. and god, you want her to, itching with curiosity as to what she'd say if you teased back.
and so, you do. "why, are you offering?"
you get a world of satisfaction from the way she coughs at the question, puffs of smoke blowing from her mouth as she roughly clears her throat. beneath it all, though, is a very apparent underbelly of nerves in your stomach, tingling in anticipation for her answer.
when she finally sets the stupid thing down, giving her lungs a well-deserved break, she says, "why, do you want me to?"
you grit your teeth, a spark of irritation set aflame from this back-and-forth. you wish she could treat you with the courage she does anyone else, just answering your question then sweeping you off your feet with no action required of you. but, no, she just has to be cautious, and hesitant, and sweet. today, of all times.
you sigh. you suppose it's on you to end this game. your chest is tight with anxiety, the words about to roll off your tongue heavy and filled with consequence. but, you push through, anyways. if you remain vague, she will too. if you say no, you may lose your chance with her for god knows how long. so, the only option is: "fine, yes."
immediately, regret weighs upon you, sinking down into your guts. you shift, eyes pointed down to your knees, trying not to panic, when a small huff meets your ears.
it's sevika. sevika chuckling.
your eyes tentatively raise up to her, nails digging into the plush of the cushioned seat you're on. her small, endearing gap flashes as she shakes her head slowly, her laughter sounding split between amused and incredulous, bordering on a scoff.
you feel nearly glued to your spot when her eyes finally rest upon you, the grey shine in them wrapping around you and pulling, pulling and pulling.
she leans back in her couch, spreading her legs out. "well, then, hop on, kiddo."
and that's how you wind up on her thigh, her arm wrapped around your torso as you fist at the fabric taut over her broad shoulders. her mechanic hand squeezes into the silicone balls of a dildo, eyes stuck on your lips as she traces the tip over them. your breaths are heaving with anticipation as she strokes the head along the inside plush of your lips, getting the bulb of it wet and slick with your spit. the experience is exhilarating, for you know she's capable of going harder than this, of fucking your throat raw. but, no, she wants to take her time with you, draw out every drop and dribble of pleasure for the both of you.
"who knew you had it in you?" she muses with a raspy laugh.
before you can even speak to protest, she slides the entire head in, capturing your voice and transforming it into a broken, wanton moan of surprise. her eyes practically gleam at that, and she slides the dildo out of your mouth's confines with a pop before sliding the tip back in. your lips latch on automatically, hugging around the head and letting it roll around the flat of your tongue. despite the sheer anxiety of having sevika's attentive eyes on you, the motions of her push-and-pull into your mouth is almost -- well, relaxing? the repetitiveness of it, the way it gives you something to direct all your five senses to as it lolls about in your mouth, your lips tightening and loosening -- it makes your brain feel softened, hazy, lost in this.
"ah, look at that," she coos, her tone hushed and sharpened with an edge of mockery. "sucking on that like that's all you're good for."
the playful degradation makes your clit fucking throb, and without meaning to, your hips automatically jerk forward, the firmness of her thigh making your eyes nearly roll back.
"oh, someone liked that," sevika mutters.
her thigh suddenly bucks up, sending you bouncing on her lap and nearly toppling over if not for her muscular arm steadying you. the pressure against your pussy makes you whine around the toy, your lips stretching open to release the noise only has her pushing it in deeper, nearly a quarter of it now sliding up and against your tongue.
"suck it in and out, just like that," she whispers, her eyes burning into your skin as she intently watches you. you try to follow her directions, but your sucks are too eager, too fast, and sevika reaches her hand up and gently grabs your jaw, coaxing it into fluid motions that has the dildo being softly pressed and released by your lips' grip, over and over and over again.
you know this is a horrible idea, a fact that only becomes more punctuated with every thrust of the toy into your mouth. you know you should've had some more self-control, and should've put a stop to this inane idea before it had manifested into a reality. but, no, you just had to think with your pussy, and now look where it's landed you? on your friend's, a good, loyal, helpful friend's, lap, practically rutting like you're in heat and sucking dick with zero technique.
"when that gets a bit too repetitive, you can lick it." she abruptly yanks the dildo from your mouth, and an embarrassing wad of spit stretches out with it, spilling thickly down your chin. your face is practically burning from the heat of humiliation, but sevika doesn't seem to mind, only smirking and saying, "now, I was gonna tell you you can get messy with it, but you're a step ahead."
now that your mouth is finally freed, at least you get to spit out, "you're such a dick," as though your pussy isn't practically leaking with arousal.
"oh, so you suck off any asshole, then?"
"maybe I will once you're done with this lesson," you haughtily snap back.
her eyes narrow at that, but she says nothing to it, smacking the tip lightly against your mouth. "open."
despite your snapping, and much to your annoyance, your mouth immediately goes slack, falling open for her.
"tongue out, now."
you obey, sticking it out.
she snorts, shifting in her seat as she raises the dick to you. "such a little sub."
you roll your eyes at her words, jerking when she grabs your jaw, forcing you to face her. "keep those eyes on me."
your pussy clenches down on nothing. god, you need her. not that you'd ever admit it -- the last thing she needs is another ego stroke.
"show me how you'd lick this."
giving you so much control causes your confidence, however little you had of it, to waver. you hesitate before tentatively stroking the flat of your tongue along the head, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time. a tiny burst of pride ripples through you when you see her eyes widen imperceptibly. it's barely there, but you know her well enough to know it wouldn't have happened unless, at the very least, a small part of her was surprised, or maybe even impressed.
the reaction eggs you on, and you do it again, running your tongue along the entire length of the dildo, using the tip to trace along the bulging veins. when that's done, you lap at the head, the flat of your tongue quickly moving along it in steady movements.
when sevika speaks, her jaw is clenched, and the deep breath she takes shudders. "good."
"yeah?" the clear effect you're having on her is most definitely getting to your head, and it makes you desirous to push and prod at her more. "am I being good?" you end the question with a kiss right to the tip.
almost as though sevika is tethered to the toy, she swallows hard at the sight. "yeah," she says, her voice firm. "you're doing good."
the praise has your hips bucking again, and you internally curse at the leverage you've so clearly given her, another wicked smile curling at her lips.
her thigh resumes its actions from before, pumping up to meet your clothed core as her arm grips your waist tightly, keeping you anchored as she encourages you to rub yourself on her. your body acts before your mind can catch up, hips pressing down so that your clit receives some friction through the layers of fabric. you hate to admit it, but sevika's muscled thigh is a perfect helper.
"you can flick your tongue on the tip, too," she says, her voice a lot rougher than it was a few minutes back. you derive some pleasure from it, for even if your resolve is loosening and waning in wake of her touch, at least hers seems to be too.
"how?" you ask, your voice an embarrassing pitch from the desperation accompanying the word. but, as soon as it slips from you, your mind conjures up a single image, and it drives you to ask, "can you show me?"
"you kidding me?"
"no." you bat your eyes, hoping it'll get her more susceptible.
"I'm gonna need a bit more convincing than some pretty eyes."
oh, well, never mind. you deflate physically, though something tickles your stomach at knowing she finds your eyes pretty.
"oh, c'mon, please, sevi," you say, tugging on her arm with a jutted bottom lip.
after a few moments of casting you a deadpan stare, she sighs, tentatively turning the dildo around and raising the head to her mouth. voice warm, so velvety, she murmurs, "like this."
you hold your breath as the tip of her tongue pokes out, flicking along the head of the toy, flapping over it fast and hard. she may not realize it, but she's giving you a crystal clear shot of exactly how she'd look devouring your clit. you pocket the mental image, already knowing you'll pull it out the next time you get off.
when you follow suit, lapping at the tip, your tongue's point making little zig-zag wags, sevika's hand tightens on your hip, and with just one pull, you're back to riding her thigh. the pleasure coursing through your pussy, deep and aching from the pressure, is making you lost in sensation. your eyes flutter close as your hole clenches and your clit swells up, sevika's muscular thigh hard and lovely.
meanwhile, she's easing the toy into your throat, laughing when you gag all over it, spit gushing from your mouth. she's relentless in her practice, just coaxing you to move faster on her thigh as you struggle to accommodate the dildo, pathetic whines tumbling from your mouth everytime she pushes it in and your throat seizes with a choke. it leaves you more sloppy, more wet, more nasty than you were before, saliva trailing down your chin and getting your neck cool and sticky.
sevika's hand slides up your waist, just barely grazing the side of your breast on the way up, before brushing a thumb against the corner of your mouth, wiping away the residue. the touch seems wholly intimate compared to the ones that preceded, especially when she uses the digit to encourage your mouth to open and take the dildo in again. she seems to be more cautious of your limits now, easing it only halfway in. your eyes flutter shut, sucking nonsensically at it, losing yourself to the rhythm as you jut against her thigh faster.
sevika's eyebrows furrow in as you speed up, her breathing laboured, and you nearly giggle around the toy at the evident impact you're having on her. but, that's not all there is to it, for her expression only has a series of more hot, tempting mental images bursting through your mind. her panting like that when thrusting into you, her eyebrows scrunching in concentration like that while she lavishes attention all over your soaked cunt.
the thought has you bouncing faster, and sevika growls. actually fucking growls. her hand abandons your face, opting to grip your ass tightly and drag you harder against her. your bud is practically weeping with desire now, desperate to have its wants sated as you grind down harder. the weight of the toy on your tongue, the way your mind is numbed from the bodily chaos of sucking, thrusting, clutching -- it sends you rolling close to your orgasm, just barely teetering on the edge of it.
what finally sends you hurdling past it is how sevika bites her lip when she pulls you forward again, her thigh pumping up and down to meet your thrusts. she looks so concentrated on you, her dark eyes hooded and intense, and the pure want on her face makes you feel so desired, so aroused at the idea of how many ways you can get that expression on her face again. that, paired with another aggressive press from her thigh, and a tight suck on the dildo, sends your body crashing with an orgasm, walls spasming as your thighs go taut. you writhe in her arm, nearly tipping all the way back if it weren't for her catching you and holding you close. your chest presses flush to hers as you tremble like a leaf, clit sopping and stinging in sensitivity as she continues pushing against it.
you whine in protest, slightly lifting your hips, and she immediately takes the hint, slowing her movements to a stop. all the while, you keep sucking on the dildo, the shape of it in your mouth, the way it offers you something to latch onto and ground yourself with, practically addictive.
sevika watches you carefully for a few moments before gently tugging it out, a string of saliva hooked between the head of it and your bottom lip.
you moan in surprise when shr leans in and runs her tongue along your chin, curling it right at your bottom lip, swallowing down the saliva all for herself.
"you're such a mess," she mumbles, sucking languidly at your chin.
"it's not my fault," you grunt, voice raspy from all the noises you made. now that the heat of the moment has worn off, the searing burn of embarrassment begins to imprint itself on you. god, you were so loud, so desperate, so--
"you looked good."
you lick your lips, some of the nerves calming. "yeah?"
"don't let it get to your head."
"that's true, I already had my fair share of head for today."
her eyebrow raises at you in a distinct lack of amusement. "you're lucky you're cute."
your stomach sizzles with oh-so-stupid butterflies. god, why does she have this much of an impact on you? and it's so effortless on her end too, which makes it all the more frustrating for you.
"you think I'm cute?" you ask, forcing your tone to sound teasing so she doesn't realize just how earnest you are.
when she falls silent for a few moments, you tense up, wondering if she can tell how serious you are.
"who's the one leaking through my favourite pants right now?"
or maybe not. face twisted into a cringe, you grip her shoulders to stumble into a standing position, her hand still loosely hanging by your waist. "on that note, I think I'll go wash up."
her fingers dig with a bit more pressure into your skin, and to your shock, she says, voice gruff, "not just yet. just sit for now."
you let her tug you back into her lap, your arms immediately winding around her neck. "what for?"
she shrugs. "just comfortable." her eyes finally lift to you, and it's like you could plummet to the ground with how swept over her steady gaze makes you feel.
"was it not you who just made made that stupid pants comme--"
"do I need to get the dildo again?"
you burst into laughter, eyes crinkling as you shake your head at her. "is that gonna be your go-to whenever I piss you off now?"
"amongst other possibilities." her fingertips ghost your waist, and you shiver.
other possibilities? you know it's not the smartest thing to dwell on -- after all, she might've just said casually with no serious intent. but, sill, your stomach warms from something you had been trying your best to avoid this entire interaction.
hope.
but, when she touches your waist like that, and seems to struggle to remove her hand from you as you walk away, you can't resist the little part of you of that whispers, maybe it's warranted.
but, you don't want to get ahead of yourself. so, you keep it at just a maybe.
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violetrainbow412-blog · 1 day ago
Text
Intoxication [S. R]
Spencer Reid x fem!reader
wc: 9.2k
Summary: when Spencer and reader accidentally consume aphrodisiacs, it seems impossible to maintain control of themselves. It all comes down to who will lose their mind first.
warnings: +18, mdni!! alcohol consumption, mentions of weed, unintentional use of aphrodisiacs, explicit descriptions, oral (f receiving) fingering, kissing, porn with plot, p in v, protected sex, no y/n!
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It had been just over half an hour since I entered the fraternity building, fully aware that within the first second, I’d feel the need to leave. Attending any gathering wasn’t a regular thing for me. The noise, the crowds, and the multitude of germs everywhere were reason enough to avoid them.
However, that time, I thought, why not? I had never been to one of those university parties and wanted to experience it. However, I never considered the fact that, to enjoy one, you either: a) went with a group of friends or b) drank until you forgot your name and the discomfort you felt about yourself. I didn’t have the first option, nor did I want to do the second. So, after a few minutes of reflection, I decided I would walk back to my apartment and go straight to bed.
The place was huge, and since my postgraduate program didn’t include the benefit of dormitories, I rarely found myself in places like that. I was about to leave when a hand grabbed my forearm to stop me. In front of me, smiling widely, was her. The moment I saw her, I could swear my face lit up.
“Hi”
“Spencer! I didn’t think I’d see you here.”
Without letting go of my arm, she came closer, wrapping me in a hug and planting a kiss on my cheek before I could react.
I quickly glanced at her, and in the dim light, I noticed her wearing a fitted, spaghetti-strap dress in a deep burgundy red with delicate floral embroidery that looked hand-drawn on the sheer fabric. The material, likely chiffon or tulle, clung to her figure as if custom-made. I tried to focus on her leather jacket instead because the last thing I wanted was to make her uncomfortable by staring too long.
“I was just about to leave, actually.”
“Why?” she asked, noticing my sigh.
“It’s just... I don’t know anyone here.”
“Well, that problem is now solved,” she kindly murmured.
I didn’t even get the chance to respond when she had already walked over to another girl, whispering something in her ear, probably to let her know she’d be away for a while.
Even though I wanted to decline to stay, the truth was that I genuinely enjoyed her company. Rejecting her would have been too rude. We had met some time ago thanks to the advanced classes she took, which overlapped with mine. She was younger than me, of course, but only by one or two years.
She had always been kind to me, attentive, and one could say she was a friend. After all, I trusted her enough to let her hold my hand and guide me through the crowd, despite my aversion to physical contact… and people.
“It’d be a crime to let you leave so early after finally coming to a party,” she breathed once we were both seated on a tiny couch where the noise was slightly muffled. At least she had been considerate in that regard.
“I don’t even know why I came,” I said, shifting uncomfortably. She was leaning against one side, legs crossed, looking at me with a smile. “I don’t like parties.”
“Do you like drinking?” she asked. I shook my head “Maybe that’s the root of the problem.”
“Getting drunk to the point of losing control isn’t my thing,” I replied.
“That’s not what it’s about,” she murmured almost compassionately “It’s more like… fuel for your social battery, you know? You don’t have to deal with these people. I don’t even know half of them, but the guys in this fraternity are disgustingly rich and just want to get as many girls drunk as possible to sleep with whoever they can. They won’t mind if you drink a little. Enough to have fun, but not so much you end up in some stranger’s bed.”
I thought about it for a second and silently nodded. I didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of her by saying I didn’t want to drink because, come on, what kind of university student doesn’t drink?
“I understand your point, and I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but alcohol has a more complex impact than it seems. It’s not just something that ‘fuels your social battery’; it’s a central nervous system depressant, which means it slows down brain and motor functions. That initial feeling of euphoria or relaxation happens because it inhibits the prefrontal cortex—the part of your brain that regulates judgment and self-awareness. So, technically, drinking a little might make you feel more uninhibited or confident, but it can also impair your ability to make rational decisions if you overdo it, even if you don’t notice right away.”
I paused, gauging how much more I should say before losing her interest. Hearing no objections, I continued:
“Additionally, strong liquors, which have high ethanol concentrations, can hit your system faster than diluted drinks. And if you drink too quickly, you could easily exceed your liver’s ability to metabolize the alcohol. The excess ethanol stays in your bloodstream, raising your blood alcohol levels and increasing the risk of intoxication.”
I avoided looking directly at her, partly because I didn’t want to get distracted by her gaze and partly because I was nervous around her.
“It’s not that I want to ruin your fun, but if you’re going to drink, you should do it slowly, alternating with water, and never on an empty stomach. Not to seem smarter than everyone else, but because staying in control can be the difference between a fun night and a situation you don’t want to be in.”
I expected her to look bored, confused, or even indifferent, assuming she’d left halfway through my rambling. But when I looked at her, I was surprised by the admiration shining in her eyes, accompanied by an amused smile.
“All right, genius boy, if you know all that and basically have the perfect recipe for not making stupid mistakes while drinking, why do you still refuse?” she teased playfully. I didn’t know what to say, but luckily, she answered for me “Listen, I drove here. How about we make a deal? We can drink a little, have a good time, maybe dance if you want, and if either of us starts doing something embarrassing, the soberest one will make sure to drag the other to the car and drive them home. Deal?”
She handed me her car keys, and I wasn’t sure if the brush of her hand against mine was intentional or if she had decided to linger a little longer.
I agreed to her proposal, and a second later, she was already off her seat, walking toward where I assumed the kitchen was. No one noticed us entering, too absorbed in their own business to care if we were strangers.
There was every type of alcohol scattered around, and she took the liberty of pouring me a shot of a clear liquid, which I guessed was vodka. She warned me to drink it in one gulp, and when the warmth hit my throat, I barely managed to avoid coughing. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything.
“Tastes like… strawberry.”
“It’s good, right?” she laughed, giving my shoulder a playful nudge.
Our previous seat was already taken, so she opted for us to stand in a quiet corner. I have to admit that, although I still felt slightly awkward, the vodka was having the desired effect; making me feel more animated to talk.
Talking to her was almost hypnotic. Maybe it was the rhythmic movement of her lips, still stained with traces of what had once been red lipstick, or perhaps it was her tone, but it made me feel like I had to watch her. She never faltered when she spoke, always exuding confidence and calm, no matter the topic.
On the other hand, whenever I responded, I completely lost focus. No matter what I said, she kept looking at me with a wide smile, nodding, and even leaning closer when something made her laugh. But her laugh wasn’t mocking—no, it was as if she genuinely found my intellectual jokes or nonsensical remarks funny.
Gradually, my glass emptied, and she guided me back to the kitchen, serving us moderately but consistently. After an hour, all my nerves had vanished, leaving only a normal guy enjoying the terrible background music, unconcerned about how dirty the place was, and utterly captivated by the woman next to him.
“It’s strange, you know? I didn’t think I’d enjoy something like this. Parties always seemed so… chaotic,”
She looked around with a slight smile.
“That’s true. They’re not exactly calm, but in a way, the chaos has its charm. It lets you leave everything else behind for a while.”
“I suppose you’re right. Sometimes, you just need to disconnect.”
“You seem less tense now, huh? Are you sure it’s not the vodka helping with that?”
She moved closer, almost leaning against my chest in a friendly way, and seeing her looking up at me made my face feel hot.
“Maybe. But it’s also largely due to the company.”
She seemed surprised by my sudden boldness and let out a laugh that I interpreted as a sign of approval. We continued drinking, laughing, and soon my stomach demanded food. Even in my slightly tipsy state, I still remembered that eating would help lessen the effects of the alcohol.
I have to admit that the way I held her waist to guide her to the kitchen was entirely intentional. However, she didn’t seem bothered by the contact. By this point, I’d realized that no one really cared about what we took or didn’t take, so we felt free to rummage through the pantry.
“There are chips, pretzels, Cheetos, some cookies...” she began listing, handing me each package she found.
I grabbed a stray cookie, and suddenly, she let out a sigh of admiration.
“What is it?”
“Chocolate,” she murmured happily. It was a half-eaten, luxurious-looking golden package with no label “Do you want some?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. Chocolate has properties that can slightly boost energy and mood. Both alcohol and chocolate can be hard for the body to handle, especially with a combination of high sugar and alcohol content. This can lead to stomach discomfort, dizziness, or a stronger hangover the next day.”
But she wasn’t listening. She had already popped a sizeable piece of chocolate into her mouth. Immediately, she offered me a piece, slightly bigger than hers.
“You have to try it,” she moaned.
I resisted, but I have to admit that the fact she grabbed my shirt and pulled me closer caught me off guard enough to let her slip the chocolate into my mouth.
“Hey!”
“You’ll thank me later.”
It was delicious, that’s for sure. Like a pair of sneaky raccoons, we kept scavenging for snacks in the kitchen until we were satisfied. She grabbed a bag of chips, and I took the bag of pretzels.
After our little break, she poured us another round of drinks, and something inside me told me it was time to stop. I decided that would be my last glass for the night.
Let’s dance she suddenly whispered, and once again, I let her lead me toward the crowd.
I didn’t know how to dance; I think that was pretty obvious. But the situation managed to make me forget that fact.
She was patient with me and laughed every time I made a mistake. Even though there was smoke around me, probably from weed, that didn't stop me from staring intently, and even somewhat intimidated, at my friend. Beautiful, statuesque, and drunk friend.
We danced for a long time until something in her swaying movements, in the way she smiled at me, began to make my head spin. It was as if the atmosphere was charged with something more—something I couldn’t identify at first.
She leaned closer, and my pulse began to quicken slightly. Her hands rose to tangle in my neck, bringing a warm sensation that followed: my thoughts seemed clearer, sharper. I wondered if it was the alcohol, but then something different began to course through my skin.
The warmth intensified, not just in my body but in my mind as well. I felt more alert, more awake, yet the calmness of the vodka lingered, balancing the sensation. My skin felt more sensitive, as if every little touch sent vibrations through me in a more intense way.
My eyes focused more on her movements, her voice, and the way the air filled with her perfume. I wanted to get closer, as if there were an invisible force pulling me toward her. And though my body responded with a soft yearning, my mind remained present, conscious of every second.
By the way she was looking at me, I imagined I wasn’t the only one experiencing these kinds of emotions.
“Sweetheart.”
“Hmm?”
“Can we sit down for a moment? I’m completely sweaty, and the smell of weed is starting to bother me.”
“Of course.”
My hands rested on her waist, unsure of where else to go, and we stumbled out of the crowd, finding a couch to collapse onto.
I was sweaty too, and we were both breathing heavily. When I saw her lean her head back against the seat, leaving her neck exposed, something stirred inside me.
“You move well, Reid.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I mean it. You just need a little confidence,” she smiled. Perhaps the alcohol dulled her sense of personal space, which is why she leaned so close to me. “You’re so smart that, with a bit of practice, you’d be the most skilled at a lot of physical activities.”
Did she know how nervous she was making me? My face was already flushed from the alcohol, the effort, and now from the way she was looking at me while twirling a strand of her hair around her finger.
I wanted to say something else, but a voice interrupted mine: a tall, burly guy accompanied by two others who seemed to be flanking him. Probably a member of the fraternity hosting the party.
He specifically addressed her, asking how she was enjoying the party and throwing in a compliment, clearly with ulterior motives. For a moment, I felt disheartened. Of course, she could have gone with him and I would have understood. I was far too used to rejection.
“I’m having a great time—with my friend. Thanks,” she exclaimed, cordial but curt.
“Want a drink?”
“Honestly, no.”
By the uncomfortable smile she gave the men, I assumed she was politely ending the conversation. With some reluctance, the guys walked away.
Suddenly, my breath caught when I felt her hand rest on my thigh, sliding painfully slowly down to my knee. I couldn’t even hear her words over the heat of her fingers on my pants.
“Sorry?”
“I thought you were going to say something, earlier.”
“No,” I quickly replied, smiling like an idiot because of the way she had leaned toward me. “Nothing.”
“I like listening to you. You know so many things, and you don’t make me feel dumb when you explain them. That’s very sexy.”
“Sexy?”
“Yeah,” she smiled, because I’d replied in a voice an octave higher than normal. “You are very sexy.”
Her compliment was followed by a soft, distracted kiss on the line of my jaw, which sent my brain into overdrive.
“Uhm… you… you’re beautiful. Very beautiful.”
My clumsy compliment seemed to please her, and I felt one of her nails, long and painted black, tracing circles on the skin of my knee. Each small movement felt deliberate, as if she knew exactly what she was doing.
“Did you know fireflies don’t just glow to communicate but also to… attract?”
Her voice broke the silence between us, soft but layered with a double meaning that made me lift my eyes to her.
“Yes, I know,” I responded automatically, my brain switching to autopilot. “Bioluminescent signals are a form of courtship. The light patterns vary by species and can be very specific.”
She turned her head toward me, her lips curving into a lazy smile.
“Of course you’d know that. But tell me something—do you think it actually works? Making someone notice you just by glowing?”
My throat went dry. There was something about the way she was looking at me, like she was expecting a more personal answer than a scientific one.
“I guess it depends on who you’re trying to attract,” I murmured, feeling ridiculously exposed under her gaze.
“That makes sense.”
Her hand slid slightly—barely noticeable—toward the edge of my knee. After tapping her fingers on my pants, she withdrew it.
She didn’t move from the couch, and neither did I. There was something about her posture that held me captive—the way she leaned back against the seat, relaxed yet naturally elegant. Her dress had ridden up slightly along her thighs, revealing more skin than I felt prepared to handle at that moment. I tried to look elsewhere, but it was as if my eyes had a will of their own, always returning to the same place.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with a hint of amusement.
“Yes, of course,” I replied quickly, turning my head in the other direction. Perhaps too quickly, because my neck cracked slightly in the process.
She didn’t say anything, but her suppressed laughter made me feel even more awkward. In the silence that followed, I forced myself to focus on something safer: the empty glass on the table, the flickering lights through the window, anything but the curve of her leg or the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.
“It’s hot, isn’t it?” she commented suddenly, with almost theatrical casualness. Then, without warning, she leaned forward as if to adjust her shoe, causing the neckline of her dress to dip even further.
“Do you think so?” I muttered, my voice raspier than I intended.
She smiled, a gesture somewhere between innocence and knowing.
“Yes, definitely. Though maybe it’s because we’re sitting so close,” she said, glancing around as if she had only just noticed the temperature.
Her words felt like both a slap and a caress at the same time. I tried to keep my gaze fixed on her face, but it didn’t help that her eyes shone with a kind of mischievous intent. Then she lifted one leg, bending it to get more comfortable on the couch, and her knee accidentally brushed against my thigh.
“Did you know you have a very particular way of distracting yourself?” she remarked while toying with the hem of her dress, as if unaware of the chaos she was causing in my head.
“Do I?” my voice sounded weak, almost a whisper.
She nodded slowly, leaning in a bit closer until I could feel the warmth of her proximity.
“Yes. It’s like you’re trying to avoid something but… you can’t.”
My throat went dry. I wanted to say something clever, to steer the conversation away, anything to regain some ground. But instead, all that came out was a nervous, forced laugh.
She didn’t stop looking at me. Then, with exasperating slowness, she smoothed the fabric of her dress over her thigh—a casual gesture.
“You know, sometimes you seem so self-aware. It’s something that can be endearing, but also… well, how do I put it?” she paused for a moment, bringing a finger to her lips as if she were reflecting. “It makes you seem easier to impress.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s nothing, Reid. It’s just me rambling” her voice softened, and I felt the lightest touch on my nose as her finger grazed it. I tried to ignore the fact that her gaze had lingered on my lips “Scattered thoughts I have in my head.”
Without warning, she let out a loud exhale and leaned back into the couch, arching her back as if trying to relieve some muscle tension. I know she probably wasn’t aware of the movement, but it was what finally made me lose the little composure I had left.
“I need to use the restroom. Can you give me a moment?”
I escaped. Cowardly, completely, I got up and practically bolted toward the bathroom, desperate for a moment of peace. As soon as I entered, I realized I had an obvious problem in my pants—I was hard as a rock, and that wasn’t good. I looked at myself in the mirror, surprised at how flushed my face was. My pupils were dilated, my lips dry… What the hell was happening to me?
It quickly became clear that she was the reason for my situation.
The alcohol prevented me from feeling the embarrassment I surely deserved, and instead, I felt like my head was spinning. I placed a hand over the fabric of my pants, letting out a frustrated, pained groan.
I stayed there for a while, trying to think of something that would make my erection go away, but nothing worked. A couple of knocks on the door startled me, and that forced me to leave. Once in the hallway, I walked for a bit until I bumped into someone.
“Spencer! I’ve been looking for you. Are you okay?”
“No! I mean, yes… it’s just…”
I needed to think of something quickly—something believable, but not catastrophic. However, it was hard to concentrate with her body so close to mine, mere inches away from her noticing my situation.
“Did you throw up?”
“No, no, it’s not that. It’s nothing. I think the vodka didn’t sit well with me, uh, maybe I got dizzy from dancing, I don’t know. I think it’s best if I leave.”
“Poor thing,” she murmured, pouting “I’ll take you home right now.”
“I can take a cab.”
“Nonsense. That was our agreement, remember? If one of us was in bad shape, the other would take care of them. Plus, I was the one who encouraged you to drink. I’d feel bad if something happened to you.”
She was already putting on her jacket—she’d been holding it, probably suspecting the situation—and tried to find the keys in her pocket. My outstretched hand reminded her that she’d already given them to me earlier.
When she placed her hand on the small of my back to guide me out, my breathing deepened. The sensation of excitement coursed through me in a way I couldn’t ignore. I realized that something in me desperately wanted her. Too much.
It wasn’t an impulsive desire but a subtle one that had been building throughout the night—with every glance, every gesture. Perhaps the vodka had intensified my evident attraction to her, but whatever the reason, it had turned into something far more palpable.
It was almost as if my body was begging me to stop her right then and there, to kiss her recklessly, and maybe, just maybe, ease the relentless ache inside me.
The cool night air made me feel better, and as the noise faded behind us, I began to calm down. I fervently tried to hide the bulge in my pants, but the truth was she didn’t even seem to notice. Then again, it would’ve been strange to catch her staring at my crotch, right?
“Are you sure you’re in a condition to drive?”
“I’ve driven home in far worse states of drunkenness. Don’t worry,” she smiled.
She looked more lucid now, as if her intoxication had vanished in an instant. I decided to trust her abilities.
The drive home was silent, and I kept shifting in my seat, trying to find strategic positions to avoid embarrassment. I guess she attributed my silence to the supposed discomfort I was feeling, as she didn’t try to start a conversation.
She didn’t say anything when she caught me looking at her through the rearview mirror. It was an innocent glance, at least on my part, simply admiring her. Her lips were driving me crazy, her eyes, slightly narrowed from the lack of light and smudged with mascara, seemed the most beautiful to me. I didn’t know what she saw in me, but I think—no, I feel—that it was something she liked.
“Thank you so much for bringing me home… and for everything.”
“Did you have fun?”
“Quite a lot, actually.”
“We should do this more often.”
“Go to university parties?”
“Just go out in general. To a bar, grab some drinks, a coffee, the library if you’d prefer,” she laughed “The place doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re there.”
Was she implying she wanted a date with me? I swallowed hard and looked at her, trying to decipher what she wanted me to do. I couldn’t figure it out.
“I’d like that, yes. We can talk about that later. Thanks again for the ride.”
A kiss on my cheek marked her goodbye, and I rushed out, eager to get inside my apartment. I was about to unlock the building’s door when the sound of a car horn made me turn around.
“Hey, would you mind if I use your bathroom? I’ll be quick,” she promised.
I needed to get to the shower and turn on the cold water, but I didn’t protest when she turned off the car engine.
Almost no one visited me in the apartment, so I kept the space however I pleased. It wasn’t really messy, but there were plenty of things on the desk and several books scattered around.
She entered, as she had said, rushing to the bathroom. It was only then that I dared to put a hand over my pants, swallowing a moan that was about to escape from my throat.
In my limited sexual experiences, nothing like this had ever happened to me, and I wondered what the cause might have been. Alcohol couldn’t be blamed, of course, but it was responsible for ruining my ability to react enough to find another explanation.
The shirt began to feel heavy on me, and almost out of necessity, I undid the first buttons to let myself breathe. I tried to ventilate my skin by tugging at the fabric with the tips of my fingers, but it was useless. I sighed.
I glanced around the room, just wanting to make sure nothing was embarrassing in view, and at that moment, she came out of the bathroom. She looked flushed and had some wet hair, as if she had washed her face.
“You okay?”
“Yes, just… suddenly felt a bit feverish”
“Let me check”
My intentions were purely medical when I cupped her face with one hand, putting the back of the other against her forehead to confirm or deny my suspicions. Of course, I hadn’t considered how close we would be. Or maybe I had, subconsciously, and that’s why I moved forward.
My choice of words wasn't the best either.
“You’re hot,”
“I don’t think it’s as much as you.”
A daring smile slid across her lips, and I held my breath as her fingers traced up to the line of my collarbone, exposed by my shirt.
“Why are you saying that?”
“Don’t you like it?”
“It’s just… I don’t understand it.”
A soft laugh echoed in my ears.
“Well, I think you’re very handsome. Would there be any other reason for that?”
I swallowed deeply. She noticed the movement of my Adam’s apple.
“No… I think… I think not. It’s the most logical thing.”
“Don’t they tell you that often?” she murmured, genuinely confused. I shook my head “That’s a shame.”
Her hand, which had been tentatively caressing my skin, moved up to my neck and pulled me just a few inches closer to her.
“Hey, Spencer.”
“Yes?”
“Could I kiss you?”
A chill ran down my spine. And without thinking, I answered yes.
Her mouth found mine with a softness that contrasted with the whirlwind of sensations inside me. It was a heady contrast: the sweetness of her lips against the intensity of the desire that had been building up in every fiber of my being.
My hands instinctively moved to her waist, hesitating for a moment, as if fearing that this might just be a product of my imagination. But she didn’t hesitate. Her body leaned into me, closing any distance that remained.
Her lips were insistent, demanding, and before I could process what was happening, her hand slid down to my chest, pushing me gently back until my back collided with the wall.
“I’m sorry…” I managed to murmur between kisses, pulling my face slightly away. My voice came out more trembly than I wanted.
She raised an eyebrow, tilting her face toward mine, her fingers now brushing my jawline.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“For this” my gaze dropped quickly before returning to her eyes. “No… I didn’t want you to feel it. It’s embarrassing.”
For a moment, I thought she would pull away, that the spell of the moment would break. But instead, her lips curved into a mischievous smile.
“Embarrassing? I thought I was the only one feeling all this tension,” her tone was low, almost a whisper, but filled with a certainty that made my breath grow even more erratic.
Before I could respond, her lips captured mine again, this time with more intensity. The kiss was everything I didn’t know I needed: desperate, intoxicating, completely consumed by the connection between us. I felt her body press against mine, her curves fitting perfectly as if they were made to be there. And then, all my doubts, all my attempts to hold back, vanished.
My mind was a whirlwind. Every touch of her lips, every time her tongue sought mine, was like a fire I couldn’t put out. My face was hot, yes, but now not because of the alcohol, not even from the effort of holding myself back. It was her closeness, her touch, her condescending voice still echoing in my head.
She knows what she’s doing. And she’s slowly killing me.
“Hey, wait…”
“What’s wrong?”
“Do you feel okay with this?”
“A lot. Do you want to stop?”
“No. It’s just that… you’ve been drinking. I don’t want you to think I took advantage of you” my voice came out hoarse, full of doubt and repressed desire.
Her eyes met mine, firm and warm at the same time, as if her gaze could completely disarm me.
“Relax. You’ve been drinking too, pretty, and I think if anyone could make that accusation, it would be you. Do you feel like I’m taking advantage of you?”
“No”
“I’m fully aware of everything. I don’t even feel drunk anymore. The only thing that’s making me dizzy right now is you, Spencer…”
I shivered when I heard my name on her lips like that. She continued:
“I’m just as anxious as you are. I’ve been holding back all night, trying not to make this too obvious, but I can’t anymore. Please, don’t doubt me. Don’t doubt what I want. I want you”
Her confession hit my heart like a blow and ignited a spark that set my entire body on fire. My hand moved up her back until it tangled in her hair, while the other rested on her hip. The pull was gentle but enough for her to understand that my inner struggle had ended. I wasn’t resisting this anymore.
I wanted her too. I wanted her now.
“I never imagined…”
My words were barely audible as our lips brushed in a kiss that was both an explosion of emotions and a long-awaited relief. Her mouth was soft, and so perfectly synchronized with mine that I felt like the world stopped at that moment.
Her hands gripped my shoulders, anchoring the connection between us, while my thumb traced a slow path along her jawline, savoring every detail of her skin. It was more than a kiss. It was the confirmation of something that had been lingering all evening.
When we parted just a centimeter to breathe, our foreheads stayed pressed together.
“Did that clear your doubts?”
“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say all that,” I replied with a weak smile, the only one my pounding heart allowed me to form.
“Then stop overthinking”
The space between us disappeared again as we kissed with desperation we had both been suppressing. Her low laugh vibrated against my lips, and I couldn’t help but smile. How did she do it? How did she drive me crazy with so little effort?
But now wasn’t the time for questions. It was time to feel.
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The whole world had reduced itself to him: his warm breath, his lips that wavered between soft and desperate, and the hands that roamed my waist with a mix of reverence and clumsiness, making me want him even more. Spencer had always been an enigma to me, a balance between restraint and passion that I didn't know how to decipher... until now.
I had waited for this moment more than I would ever admit. Maybe it had been the way he looked at me when he thought I didn't notice, or the warmth in his voice when he said my name, as if it were something sacred. But now, with his body pressed against mine and his doubts finally gone, I knew I hadn't imagined anything.
It was as if the pieces of a puzzle I had been trying to put together in the dark finally clicked into place, and the resulting image was more beautiful than I had ever dreamed.
Wanting to reverse the roles, it was now him who gently pushed me against the wall, and I felt the control he always seemed to have begin to crack. His breath was heavy, his body trembling slightly, a sign that this was as new and overwhelming for him as it was for me.
"Spencer..." I murmured his name again, feeling it resonate in my chest at the same time his lips moved more intensely against mine. "Can I ask you something?"
I received an affirmative exhalation, and to let me speak, his lips moved to the hollow of my neck. Although my mouth was free, the soft and wet kisses I was receiving blurred my judgment a bit.
"Tell me”
"Did you really feel bad at the party? Or was it just..."
"I didn't want you to notice what you were doing to me. Although I think at this point it doesn't matter much, right?"
Contrary to what I expected, Spencer pushed his hips against mine, as if he wanted to prove that it was true. I could even call it a claim, something that said: look what you did to me. And I wanted him to know just how much my body was begging for him.
Carefully, I moved one of his hands from my waist, and before he could protest, I guided it to one of my thighs, dangerously close to my core. I was glad I had thought of lingerie as a great complement to my dress, maybe in an attempt to feel sexy even if no one saw it. But now, he was going to see it.
Spencer understood my silent request. Those long, slender fingers, which seemed made for more than just flipping through the pages of a book or scribbling frantic notes on paper, slid across my smooth skin. I sighed as I remembered the veins tracing a map under his fair skin, like rivers of contained energy.
Until they finally reached where I needed them. And his touch... God, his touch was something else. They were hands made for discovery, for holding, for exploring, but in those moments, they seemed to be made only for me.
Spencer wasn't an overly bold guy, so it didn't surprise me that he just traced shapes above my panties, as if he wanted to diagnose my anatomy before making any move. My sighs at his ear seemed to please him.
Suddenly, he stopped kissing me, and I huffed, since I liked the attention he was giving my shoulder, until I felt his lips drop just slightly. A loud, pathetic moan escaped me when he squeezed my tits while burying his face to leave an experimental kiss.
I was barely processing that when he knelt in front of me and, carefully, took the edge of my dress and lifted it.
My legs trembled with anticipation at the thought of what he was going to do next, and then I felt his lips brush my thigh. He started gentle, kind, but soon he began sucking every bit of skin he could, and in the end, he made sure to leave bites strong enough to make me whimper.
Who would have thought that this man, seemingly so inexperienced, turned out to offer the best foreplay a woman could desire?
I squealed as I felt his kisses trail down to the fabric of my panties, pausing for a moment to lick the length of my still-clothed pussy.
“You’re dripping wet,” he observed. I was too focused on not giving in right then and there to say anything "Is oral something you're into?"
“I don’t know,” I exclaimed honestly. I didn’t care how vulnerable I looked as I confessed that no man had ever dared to give me head “You?”
“It’s an idea that piques my curiosity, yes.”
Gently he slid some of the fabric aside to clear the way for his tongue, and I felt as if my entire body was only aware of the parts he was probing, kissing, sucking. When he raised my thigh to shoulder height, deepening his thrusts, I felt like I was going to pass out.
I lowered my hand to his thick head and tried, in vain, to push him away from me. I honestly didn’t have the strength or desire to do so, much less when he had picked up the pace.
I moaned a sweet nickname out loud and then Spencer pulled away, looking up at me with glossy, swollen lips.
“Take me to bed, please.”
He didn’t need me to say it twice as he immediately stood up and took me by the waist to guide me to said spot. I was able to taste myself on his lips and for some reason that only turned me on.
Once we hit the mattress the way he laid me down was gentle and I sighed at that. How could he be so sweet all the time? I wondered. And worse yet, how much would this little adventure affect my future expectations?
Because if it was about standards, I was finding out that Spencer Reid was the standard.
Seemingly more enthralled now by my lips than my pussy, he continued with the make-out session we were having. With each touch we had, my excitement was increasing more and more. In the midst of it all I managed to unbutton his shirt and take it off to leave it somewhere on the bed; the semi-darkness of the room shielded any insecurities he might be feeling, as well as my own.
“You are painfully stunning, did you know?”
My tone was one of reproach, and he laughed at that, looking down almost embarrassed. Maybe he wasn't used to compliments, but something told me he was definitely enjoying it.
I heard him murmur something under his breath about me, while he took down the straps of my dress. My hands almost instinctively went to unbuckle his belt, and before I could do anything, he pulled away from me. Needless to say, this left me confused.
"Sorry, I..."
“You don't want to?” I murmured understandingly. I thought maybe he wasn't a big fan of these situations, and I understood, but somehow I felt hurt.
"No! Sure I want to. I want it a lot, but..." he tried not to look at me, as if avoiding confrontation "It's just that I don't have any protection here”
A laugh escaped my lips, and I feared he might interpret it as mockery, so I stretched my neck to steal another kiss.
"One would think there are many girls who pass through these sheets."
"Don't make fun of me."
"I'm not making fun of you. It's cute, actually. It even makes me feel guilty," I murmured, smiling "For a second, I was afraid something had made you uncomfortable."
"No, it's not that."
I hesitated for a second whether I should suggest what was on my mind.
"We could do it like this. It doesn't bother me."
"It's not just about avoiding an unwanted pregnancy..." he began. At that moment, I saw him return to his usual nerdy mode. "Although, of course, that counts. But there are things like sexually transmitted infections, some of which don't even show symptoms at first and could complicate things if not detected on time. I know this doesn't sound very attractive, but believe me, protection isn't just for avoiding future problems; it's also to take care of you now, so you don't have issues later: because sometimes men can transmit diseases we're asymptomatic for, and to be honest, I've never done those kinds of tests. A lot of people don't think about it, but the risks are real. And don't get me wrong, I trust you, but even though you trust me, diseases don't discriminate. And I'd like us both to have that peace of mind. Prevention is never too much."
“You conflict me deeply. On the one hand, I admire how responsible you are; it's very cute. But on the other hand, I just urgently need you to fuck me deep and cum inside me”
Spencer was surprised by my desperate whining and tensed when I placed one of my legs around his waist, trying to persuade him. But I was even more surprised when I felt him pull completely away to stand beside the bed.
"Where are you going?"
"To the pharmacy," he announced, putting a jacket over his bare torso.
"Are you serious?" I laughed widely, sitting on the bed now that my companion had moved away.
"Definitely. I feel like I can't handle it any longer, it’s physically painful, and when you talk to me like that, it just drives me crazy” he groaned, joining in the fun. It was the first time something like this happened, and I honestly thought it was absolutely hilarious “I'll be back in a minute, I swear! Please, don't go...”
"I couldn't," I murmured sweetly. He came closer, and I took the opportunity to kiss him again "Be quick. I'll be waiting anxiously for you."
Something in my tone of voice affected the man, or maybe it was the wink I gave him, but I saw him bolt out the door. I flopped back onto the bed, taking a moment to digest what was happening.
I have to admit that my classmate had always been attractive to me, but I never thought he could feel the same way. Not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would be waiting for him in his bed so that, with any luck, he could ravish me without holding back.
As I reached out my arms, I could feel the fabric of the shirt I had previously removed from him, and then I brought it up to my nose, inhaling without thinking. A familiar scent hit me immediately: the mix of sweet cocktails he had drank during the party and a subtle trace of cannabis, as if the night was still impregnated in him. I could distinguish a hint of wood, perhaps from the furniture in the place, combined with a light scent of sweat that was not bothersome, but rather natural. And then, among all that, there was his perfume: a citrus and spicy aroma that evoked something fresh, but also deep, sensual, as if every molecule of his being was waiting for something more. I breathed harder, feeling that this aroma, this moment, defined him.
I didn't know why that particular night my whole body was screaming for his closeness. I was crazy about him and it wasn't the alcohol's fault, because I'd had too many drinks to know. Neither of us had ever done drugs and for a moment I was terrified by the idea that I could want to be with someone like that, with such fervor that it was worrying.
Still dizzy from the excitement of the moment, I lowered one of my hands to my crotch to get rid of my panties. I thought about him, wondering how skilled he was. Not that I doubted his abilities, but just like I’d told him that night, he might need some practice.
I started to fantasize about helping him through this situation, maybe guiding him or pampering him by just asking him to lay back so I could do all the work. Spencer was the kind of man who invited you to please him, the kind of man you wanted to satisfy because he never pressured you into it.
Playing with myself, I sniffed his shirt again, desperately wishing I could have the source of said scent with me, until my brain was filled only with daydreams in which he was the protagonist and my fingers were replaced by his. That's why I didn't notice when he opened the apartment. And that's why I didn't know he was watching me from the door frame until I heard him let out a ragged sigh.
Being caught in that position made me feel embarrassed at first, but the way he practically lunged at me and kissed me more decisively than before, I figured he liked seeing me like that.
"Busy?"
I was caught off guard by his sassiness and I knew he was proud of it by the smile I felt on my neck.
“I guess you found what we need, right?”
“Uh-huh”
“Have you read any books on female anatomy?”
“Quite a few”
“So I guess you know a lot about sexuality, don’t you?”
“In theory, yes. Unfortunately, I haven’t had many opportunities to put it into practice.”
A smile spread across my face, which luckily he couldn't see because he was too busy leaving a trail of kisses along the top of my torso.
“How unfortunate, considering you’re a scientist. I wouldn’t mind becoming an object of your study, though, you know?”
He subtly slid the straps of my dress and revealed my bra, from which a considerable part of my boobs protruded, which he happily kissed.
At the same time his hand came down to caress me, making me shiver with anticipation, resting on just the right spots. It was the least I could expect from such an intellectual man, one who definitely knew about the thousands of nerve endings concentrated in my clitoris, which he was definitely tapping into to satisfy me.
“May I?” he whispered, looking at the little underwear he still had on.
I nodded immediately and arched my back to make it easier for him to unbutton it, which didn't take too long. He was practically worshipping every inch of my skin, which, combined with his gentle yet firm fingers rubbing me, was driving me crazy.
We both moaned in unison as he pushed a finger into me. It felt just as good as I had imagined.
I had read somewhere that, physiologically, women need more time to achieve an orgasm and although none of my exes had cared about that, this one seemed to know that fact. Maybe that was why he was giving me such attention, which I was undoubtedly grateful for.
“Honey…” I choked out “you’re doing great, really, really good, but would you mind if we replaced those fingers? I want to feel you inside me,” I practically begged.
I never begged, I felt like a fool doing it, but if that got me the intensity of the kiss he gave me, I wouldn't mind starting to do it.
Spencer pulled away from me, searching for the packet of condoms he'd run off to get, and while he unbuttoned his pants I got rid of my dress, which by this point was just a mass of fabric around my waist.
My body wasn't perfect, but I figured that wouldn't matter to him. Besides, I doubt he'd be rude enough to mention it.
“Need a hand?” I joked playfully, noticing that he was struggling to open the silver package.
“I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous,” he said to himself, hoping I wouldn’t mind too much.
I wanted to reward him for treating me so well a few moments ago and I took the package from his hands, placing my palm on his chest until I laid him down against the mattress. Once in that position it wasn't difficult to get rid of the wrapping to place the piece of latex on him, thinking that I didn't have a single complaint about his body.
My hands on him made him nervous and I watched him turn into a mess as I began pumping his cock up and down to make sure he had the condom on properly.
“You don’t have to hold back. I like the sounds you make,” I exclaimed in a velvety tone, trying to sound as genuine as possible “That way I know you’re enjoying it.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to hold out for much longer,” he confessed, as my hand continued to move along his length. Although I wished I could take better care of him, I understood the situation.
“Your wish is my command”
He didn't complain when I put each leg on his sides and he bravely hardened as I teased him for a moment before sinking my pussy onto his dick. I started slow, trying to make him last as long as possible, but with each second it was getting harder to keep up a pace.
I tried my best to ride him, trying to give him the best experience as a thank you for all his hospitality. And from the whimpers coming out of his throat I assume I was doing my job well.
At some point his hands ended up on my hips, guiding me as he pleased. Sometimes he pushed me down, as if he wanted to get to the bottom of me, and other times he manipulated me so that the thrusts were fast.
He wasn't lying when he said he would cum in no time, as the repressed desire added to the previous sexual actions had him on the edge of the abyss. I knew he had reached orgasm when he closed his eyes and his hips slammed against me, in erratic movements.
I kept riding him a little longer, chasing my own climax, and when I got it I put my hands against his chest, arching in pleasure. Spencer, breathing heavily, grabbed my wrists in his hands and then pulled me so that I was against his torso, my lips too close to his.
He placed his palm on my cheek and pulled me in his direction, seemingly asking for a kiss. I granted it.
“Are you satisfied?”
“I am,” I sighed wryly. It was cute that he didn’t know that sometimes girls don’t even make it. “How was it for you?”
“I'm speechless.”
I laughed and, to a certain extent, felt flattered that I had left a man who knew a million ways to express himself in that state.
We enjoyed the high we had just had for a few minutes and waited for our breathing to slow down; when our sighs took the same rhythm, he spoke again.
“You should go to the bathroom. It’s, uh… healthy for you to do it after every encounter.”
I reached for the garment he had been wearing and, trying to protect myself from the cold air, I put it on over myself.
“Do you mind lending it to me?”
“Nu-huh,” he hummed, eyeing me as if I were a cupcake. I would later learn how affected he was to see me using his clothes to slide out of bed.
When I came out of the bathroom he already had his boxers on, probably wanting to maintain modesty, and when he went to attend to his needs I also looked for my panties. It wasn't long before he returned to keep me company.
“Do you want to cuddle? I’d feel like a whore if I just left”
“Yes, of course I want”
He made sure to throw anything that was on the bed onto the floor and patted the pillows to make them more comfortable. I settled into the space next to him, leaning against his chest, right at heart level.
One of his arms was holding me from behind and in some strange way that made me feel safe; protected.
“Your feet are frozen, are you cold?”
"Not much"
“Do you want me to get you some socks?”
“I’m fine, Spencer,” I laughed softly. I brushed my cheek against his skin and tried to snuggle closer to him. “It’ll just get colder if you leave.”
“Did you know that the human body is incredibly efficient at maintaining its temperature? When two bodies are nearby, like… now,” he paused, settling a little closer to me, “heat transfer occurs due to thermal radiation and direct conduction. Essentially, each body generates heat that helps the other maintain a stable core temperature.”
“So you’re like a human blanket”
“That’s right. In fact, in situations of severe hypothermia, sharing body heat in this way can literally save lives.”
I raised my head to look at him and noticed an excited gleam in his eyes, the one he always had when he shared something from his vast knowledge.
“I’ve been thinking quite a bit about what you said earlier, about female anatomy,” seeing him frown, I continued, “No field of study considers one experimentation enough, right? Everything needs to be replicated two, three, four times. Ten times if necessary.”
“Your guess is quite accurate.”
“Say no more. We must give everything if it is in the name of science”
From the smile on his face, I knew that my joke had pleased him and that my proposal seemed to please him. To seal the deal I reached up and kissed him softly. We remained silent for a while, him caressing me over his own shirt and me enjoying the closeness.
“I like you a lot”
“I had a feeling,” I teased, earning a soft laugh from him “I really like you, too."
He pressed a kiss to my forehead and for some stupid reason a blush crept up my cheeks, even though we had just had sex. I carefully placed myself on top of his body and buried my face in his neck, feeling him hug me around the waist.
It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, I could tell by how calm his breathing was becoming, and I tried to enjoy the peace he emanated a little longer, until, eventually, Morpheus picked me up in his arms too.
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@spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @shuichiakainx @gghostwriter @cafters @weallhaveadestiny @your-left-sock @jaeminsmilk @tmrs-basilisk @kristennotstewart @lostinwonderland314 @f4tpo3s @lortheswiftie @dark-unicorn222 @samsienichole @blackholegladiator @gretaandthatsit @cherrysprlte @halfbloodwriter @piercethefic @reidingandallthat @ariel-23-19 @zorrasucia @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat @juluina @kylakins88 @tinainaction @sadroses98 @dumbbunnys-safes
Thank you very much for your interest! I hope you liked it, if you feel like it, let me know what you think :)
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dreamwritesimagines · 1 day ago
Text
Sunshine [14] - Shelter
AN: My loves, thank you so so much for your wonderful support and lovely comments and HCs! ❤️ You’re amazing! ❤️
I hope you like this as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! 🥰
Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader
Summary: Some storms lead one to their shelter.
Word Count: 3758
CW: Explicit language, angst, adult themes MDNI
Series Masterlist
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Theo had definitely taken after you when it came to making friends, and you were beginning to think that it had something to do with the fact that you both could speak for hours nonstop once you found someone to listen to you.
And Laura was apparently no exception.
“…And she does speak but only sometimes!” Theo told you as you helped him put his clothes into the small luggage so that you could wash them at the weekend. “And she says Sir Bartholomeow is nice to her too, which is so weird because I thought I was the only one he was nice to! Mommy, how did you know we could be friends?”
You grinned at him. “Moms have superpowers Bean.”
“Do you know um—do you know if Sir Bartholomeow and Cheeto and Popcorn will ever be friends?”
You hissed in a breath, scrunching up your face.
“I wouldn’t hold my breath on that sweetheart,” you said. “Cats and fish aren’t known for being good friends.”
“Maybe we could get a catfish.”
“Bean, that’s not…” you tried to hold back your laughter. “That’s not how names work in the animal world.”
“Sheepdog get along well with sheep,” he pointed out and you smiled.
“Good point, my little genius,” you said, ruffling his hair. “But think about it this way, do you think tiger sharks get along well with tigers?”
Theo thought for a moment. “I don’t think they spend enough time to get along well, one of them is in the ocean and the other one is on land.”
You nodded your head with a laugh, zipping his luggage up.
“Alright,” you said. “Everything seems to be in order, so we can—” you were cut off when you turned to find Laura by the door, half hiding behind the doorframe. You smiled at her softly, and waved at her.
“Hi Laura,” you said before you introduced yourself and she eyed you in complete silence, shifting her weight from one foot to other.
“Laura, this is my mom!” Theo said with a bright smile. “She’s awesome and the best mom in the world!”
You could feel the happiness filling you with warmth in your chest as you squeezed his shoulder in an assuring matter.
“Theo told me all about you,” you told her and her eyes flitted over to Theo before looking up at you again. “Did you like Cheeto and Popcorn? Theo says you’ll look after them for the weekend.”
A small smile twitched her lips before she nodded her head quietly.
“That’s so kind of you,” you told her. “They’ll definitely be happy to have you to keep them company.”
“And they can keep you company,” Theo added. “That way you won’t get bored while I’m away!”
“I’m sure Laura can spend time with her other friends while you’re not here, Bean.”
Laura stole a look at you and shook her head for a moment, a gesture so subtle that you couldn’t even be sure whether you’d seen it or not as if it was an automatic response. You tilted your head in confusion but then the thought hit you; Laura still didn’t have any friends other than Theo. Theo blinked up at you, fixing his glasses and you felt a pang in your stomach, then smiled at Laura.
“Laura,” you said. “Would you like to spend the weekend with Theo and I?”
 Theo gasped, a huge smile lighting up his face and Laura’s eyes snapped up to yours before she looked over her shoulder, biting inside her cheek.
“Ask your father, but he knows me,” you said and turned to Theo. “You can go with her, Bean. I’ll wait you two in the car, okay?”
“Mr. Logan isn’t here mommy, he’s away on a mission.”
Oh, that explained his absence.
“I see,” you said. “Is it okay if I call him then, Laura?”
Laura nodded fervently and you grabbed your phone out of your pocket.
“I’ll be right back,” you told them and stepped out of the room to find Logan’s name on your contacts. Your finger hovered over the screen, your heart skipping a beat before you touched the name and took the phone to your ear.
“Hey,” Logan’s voice reached you and you felt a smile pulling at your lips before you frowned to yourself. “Uh…accidental call?”
“Intentional, strange as it sounds,” you said. “Are you busy—”
“No!” he answered too fast. “I’m not, at all.”
“Aren’t you on a mission?”
“It can wait, I can—uh, I can come back.”
You repressed your smile.
“No need for that,” you said. “So as it turns out, Laura still doesn’t have any friends.”
“She has Theo.”
“She only has Theo,” you corrected him. “Which is why I called. Is it cool if Laura stays with us this weekend?”
“What?”
“Yeah I mean, she will apparently be alone while Theo is with me, and I don’t want…” you trailed off. “I don’t want her to feel alone. So?”
There was silence on the other line and you looked at the screen to check whether he was still there;
“Logan?”
“I’m here,” he said. “Sure—I mean sure, but will it be okay for you?”
“Yeah I don’t mind,” you said. “I’ll drop her off on Sunday then?”
“I can pick her up if I’m back by then—”
“It’s fine,” you said. “I can just drop her off at the institute, no worries.”
A momentary silence fell upon you and you cleared your throat.
“Well okay then,” you said after a beat. “Be careful on your mission, whatever it is.”
“You too.”
You pulled your brows together. “Careful on my mission?”
“No just…be careful in general?” he asked and you bit back a smile.
“Sure,” you said. “See you later I guess.”
With that, you hung up the phone and made your way back to the room to peek your head in.
“Good news, you’re staying with us for the weekend,” you told Laura who gave you a bright smile and Theo jumped in his spot with giddiness. “But I’m going to need one of you to carry Cheeto and Popcorn’s tank for me. We can’t possibly leave them here for the weekend.”
                                                       *
You and Theo had your traditions when it came to the weekend, especially since Theo had started attending Professor Xavier’s school. You would have a picnic and feed the ducks by the lake, go home for dinner and on Saturday morning you’d have breakfast with Jamie and Nik and Julie. Laura was still incredibly shy around strangers, but she seemed to be more comfortable around you now because you didn’t push her at all. She and Theo spent the whole breakfast playing with Nik and Jamie’s cat while you had coffee with Jamie, Julie and Nik in the kitchen.
“It’s a trauma response,” Jamie told you. “Very common. Do you know anything about the lab she was raised in?”
“Not really.”
“That’s so fucked up,” Julie whispered, shaking her head. “I can’t imagine how scared she must have been. For years.”
“Is she seeing a therapist?”
“I doubt it,” you said. “I mean I’m sure they’re trying their hardest at the institute but—”
“She needs an actual therapist,” Nik insisted and turned to Jamie. “Can you make that happen?”
“I can ask around in the hospital,” he said. “We’ll need Logan to sign the papers though, if he’s the only parent she has—”
“Logan would be okay with it,” you said. “I’m not sure about Laura though. She grew up in a terrible lab, I doubt she’d be comfortable around doctors.”
“Home therapy?”
“That sounds like a better idea.”
“Poor baby,” Julie pouted. “I want to go and hug her.”
“I actually think Hayes also knows someone,” Jamie said. “How are things between you by the way?”
“Oh it’s fine.”
“Still taking it slow?”
You sipped your coffee and nodded your head.
“He’s very sweet,” you said. “Which is exactly what I need right now.”
“Did you know you can rent magnet cranes?” Julie asked, making all of you turn to her. “The ones they use for construction sites and stuff?”
You blinked a couple of times. “Julie?”
“Yes?”
“How do you know this information?”
“Google.”
“You googled whether they rent magnet cranes?” you asked her and she shrugged her shoulders.
“Just in case you want to fuck with your ex.”
“Jesus—”
“You do realize that they don’t accept driver’s license for those?” Nik asked while Jamie hid his smile behind his hand. “Technically speaking, you’d need to get a crane operator license.”
Julie waved a hand in the air. “Says who?”
“Says OSHA, Julie!”
“Listen, I could get that license,” Julie said. “I’m good with stick—”
“Your sex life is irrelevant to this conversation.”
“Nik.”
“Just saying.”
“Guys,” you interrupted them while Jamie let out a laugh. “Jules, you’re not getting a crane operator license just to mess with Logan.”
“I need a hobby nowadays.”
“Being a crane operator is not a hobby.”
“Not with that attitude it’s not,” Julie muttered and you shook your head, then heaved a sigh.
“There’s no need for that,” you said. “Seriously. I’m completely over him.”
Jamie raised his brows. “Are you though?”
“Yeah,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “Yeah, of course. Trust me, I’m so over Logan.”
                                                *
On Sunday morning, you decided to bake some cookies before Theo and Laura woke up. You figured it would be a nice surprise for them and Laura could take them to school when you dropped her off in the afternoon. You had become very used to being silent in the kitchen so that you wouldn’t wake Theo up, but you had forgotten how Logan had mentioned Laura had all his abilities.
Including hearing even the slightest noise.
When Laura stepped into the kitchen in her pajamas, you looked over your shoulder and shot her a small smile.
“Good morning!” you said. “Sorry if I woke you, but I figured you’d want cookies.”
Laura stole a look at the kitchen, still rubbing her eye before her gaze went back to you.
“Would you like to help me?”
She blinked a couple of times, then nodded and made her way to you, still slightly skittish in her steps. You held up the bowl.
“So I’m guessing you like chocolate chip cookies,” you said. “But today we’re also putting rainbow sprinkles on them. I’m going to roll them into balls and you’ll dip them in sprinkles, does that work?”
Laura nodded her head and you rolled a piece of cookie dough in your palm, then gave it to her. She carefully dipped it in sprinkles and looked up at you with curious eyes as if asking you if she did it right, and you gave her a proud smile.
“Oh my God, you didn’t tell me you used to bake!” you told her. “That’s like, chef quality Laura. Surely you did it before?”
A smile lit up her face and she shook her head vigorously, and you gasped.
“You haven’t?” you asked. “And you’re this good already? Oh you have great talent then, it took me so much time to do it right when I was first learning but look at you!”
Laura’s smile widened and she took a step closer to you as if excited to do the next one, so you rolled another piece of dough before putting it into her palm.
“My favorite one is mint chocolate chip cookies,” you told her. “I have been meaning to try pumpkin ones though, have you ever had them?”
Laura shook her head.
“I had them at a café,” you said. “I feel like they would go well with—wait, Laura! We should make hot chocolate as well, do you like hot chocolate?”
Laura thought for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders, biting inside her cheek.
“Have you ever had hot chocolate before?”
She shook her head and you felt your heart clench before you took a deep breath.
“I’m about to blow your mind,” you told her before you washed your hands and grabbed the milk from the fridge, then poured it into a saucepan and put it on the stove. “So technically speaking, it’s not the healthiest thing in the world but do we care?”
A small giggle escaped from her lips before she shook her head.
“Exactly,” you pointed out. “Thank you. Would you like to sit down?”
She shrugged her shoulders before climbing on a chair and you gave her a piece of dough for her to dip in sprinkles.
“So there’s this diner right around the corner,” you told her. “They make great pancakes, and also their hot chocolate is so good, so I actually asked them what they use and bought the same thing. The diner I work at, our hot chocolate didn’t use to be so good until I made them change it as well. Our cook makes a great pie though, I’ll bring you some the next time I drop Theo off. Have you tried apple pie?”
Laura nodded her head.
“It’s so good, isn’t it?” you asked and took the milk off the stove before you poured it into a mug, put the hot chocolate powder in and grabbed the pack of marshmallows. You put a bunch of them into the mug, then put it in front of Laura.
“Ta daa,” you said. “Let me know if you like it or not.”
Laura blinked a couple of times before she took a sip of it, then her eyes snapped up to yours, surprise written all over her face. You tilted your head.
“Good?”
She nodded her head again, taking another huge sip and you turned to roll another piece of cookie dough in your palm before you heard her small voice.
“…Thank you.”
You could feel the smile pulling at your lips and you turned your head to look at her.
“Anytime honey,” you said, your voice soft. “Thank you for helping me with the cookies. You and I will make a great team, hm?”
                                          *
The rest of the weekend went in a breeze. After dropping Laura off at the institute, you and Theo returned home and spent the rest of the night watching Theo’s favorite documentaries with his favorite snacks. On Monday morning you dropped him off at the institute as well and couldn’t help but notice that Logan wasn’t around, but you figured the mission was taking longer than he expected.
When you got home from the diner, you were way too tired to even move so you just heated up the food you took home from the diner, and was dozing on the couch when the sound of your phone vibrating on the coffee table snapped you out of your nap and you took a deep breath, then rubbed at your eyes to grab your phone and answered it.
“Hello?”
“Hey stranger,” Hayes’s voice reached you, making you smile. “Bad timing?”
“No no, it’s not,” you said, clearing your throat. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much, I’m on a short break,” he said. “How was the weekend with Theo and his friend?”
“Oh it was wonderful!” you said. “I baked her cookies and she thanked me! I take that as a good sign.”
“If there are any leftover cookies, I volunteer as tribute.”
You grinned. “Maybe a couple,” you said. “I can bring them tomorrow if you’re going to drop by the diner.”
“This is the best news I’ve received today,” he said, making you giggle.
“Slow day?”
“I wish.”
“Aw I’m sorry,” you said and heaved a sigh. “Are you okay?”
“Trying to be,” he said. “But hey, uh…I wanted to ask you, what is your opinion on charity galas?”
“That I don’t have the money to even look at one as I walk past it.”
He let out a chuckle. “Would you like to?”
“What?”
“So the board of the hospital is planning this gala for the children in need,” he said. “And I have two tickets, so I was hoping maybe you’d be interested.”
You blinked a couple of times and sat up straighter, rubbing at your eyes again.
“Hayes—”
“If it gets boring we can just leave.”
“No, that’s not it,” you said with a shake of your head. “It’s just…I’m not sure if I’m a—a gala person.”
“What is a gala person?”
“Someone who has been to one before, maybe?”
“That’s nonsense,” he said. “Come on. I can’t promise it’ll be fun, but I can promise I will make it fun.”
You thought for a moment, then bit at your nail.
“And you’re sure you want to take me there?”
“What kind of a question is that?” he asked with a laugh. “Of course! And I think Jamie will be there too by the way, if my presence isn’t enough to convince you.”
“Oh is that how you’re going to play this?”
“I never said I was above bribery and guilt tripping.” You could hear his grin. “Is it working?”
“Maybe.”
“I can turn it up if you’d like,” he teased you. “Come on, you can’t possibly leave your friend without a date at a gala—”
“Fine,” you said, a giggle climbing up your throat. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I am,” he said and you opened your mouth to ask when the gala would be but the knock on the door made you turn your head. You sat up straighter in the couch, then rubbed at your eyes.
“Hayes, is it okay if I call you back?”
“Sure thing,” he said and you hung up, then made your way to the door. You looked through the peephole, your heart skipping a beat as you did and opened the door with a confused frown.
“Logan?”
He was still in his superhero uniform, the cowl pushed back behind his head and even though there were no visible wounds on him, he still had blood on him. He was slouching, leaning on his arm which was against the wall and something in his gaze was so haunted that it made your stomach flip. His eyes searched yours frantically as if trying to make sure you were in fact there and he swallowed thickly.
“Can I come in?”
“Uh…sure,” you said, stepping aside so that he could go inside and you closed the door behind him, then made your way to the living room with him following you like a lost puppy.
“You okay?” you asked even though you knew the answer, and he paused for a moment before he nodded quietly.
“I just…” he motioned at you. “Needed to see you.”
“Why?”
He shook his head slightly and you licked your lips, then took a deep breath.
“I think I still have some of your clothes,” you said. “I’d been meaning to return them but uh—if you want to take a shower or anything, you can. All that blood on you has to feel uncomfortable.”
He nodded again, swaying from one foot to other and you offered him a small smile.
“I’ll give you a towel, come on,” you said and walked to the hallway with him on your tail. After grabbing his clothes from the bottom of your closet, you handed them to him with a towel and he made his way into the bathroom while you went back to the living room, incredibly confused by what tonight was turning into.  
When he got out of the shower and made his way to the living room, you were pouring hot water into two cups and you ripped the package of herbal tea bags to put them into cups before walking to the living room as well. His hair was still wet but there was no trace of dried blood on him anymore, and he looked so handsome sitting there that you stared at him for a second, then tried to snap out of it.
“There you go,” you said, putting the cup in front of him then cradled yours with your hand. “It’s sleepy time tea, supposed to calm you down or whatever. Julie recommended it, I’m not sure if it would work on you but…”
“Thanks,” he said curtly, reaching out to take the cup into his hand, his eyes cast on the floor and you thought for a moment.
“So uh…hard mission?”
Logan nodded his head in silence and you cleared your throat.
“Is everyone okay?”
He nodded again and you shifted your weight, leaning back to the table in the middle of the living room before taking a sip of your tea.
“What happened?”
“He—” Logan paused, then shook his head and put the cup back on the small coffee table beside him. “The guy fucked with my head.”
“How?”
That made Logan fall into silence again and you raised your brows, then heaved a sigh.
“You know what Logan, I’m really trying here,” you told him. “I mean I get that you’re from a time where people didn’t believe in therapy or anything, but this whole too tough for emotions macho guy bullshit is getting tiring and—”
“Take me back.”
His voice was so soft, so quiet that it took you by surprise and you pulled your brows together, not even sure that you heard him right.
“What?” you asked and his jaw clenched, his gaze still fixed on the floor.
“Take me back.”
Your heart started pacing in your chest while you gawked at him.
“Logan…”
“I don’t—” he trailed off and shook his head, letting out a breath. “I don’t even have to touch you. I’ll stand outside your door the whole night like a fucking guard dog if you want me to, just…take me back.”
You could feel the warmth spreading through your system and he reached out to gently pull you to himself, wrapping an arm around your waist before he pressed his forehead on your stomach. You raked your fingernails through his hair, softly scratching at his scalp and his arm around you tightened, making you heave a sigh. You knew you were supposed to say something, anything but—
This felt way too peaceful.
“We’re going to have that conversation later, but….” you paused for a moment. “Would you like to stay the night?”
He nodded without lifting his head, your fingers still brushing through his hair and you bit inside your cheek, deep in thought.
Great.
As it turned out, Jamie was right
You were, in fact, not over Logan.
333 notes · View notes
enderlovez · 3 days ago
Text
out on the couch
Spencer Reid x Reader WORD COUNT: 1300+
Summary: You and Spencer have an argument, and in the heat of the moment, he says something pretty hurtful.
Content Warning: arguments, it's winter and cold, hurtful words, guilt
────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────
The argument starts over something stupid. It always does—not to say you fight with Spencer frequently, but when you do, it's always over something ridiculous.
Maybe it's the way he corrected you on something small—some minor detail that really didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Or maybe it's the way you left your coffee mug on the counter instead of rinsing it out immediately.
You don't even remember the specifics. All you know is that it escalated fast, the frustration mounting between you like a growing storm.
"I don't understand why everything has to be a debate with you!" you snap, throwing your hands up in exasperation.
Spencer's jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I'm not debating you. I'm just pointing out that—"
"That I'm wrong?" you interrupt, your voice sharper than you intended it to be.
"No, I—" He cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. "You're twisting my words again, Y/N. You always do this."
That does it. His tone is clipped, dismissive, and it slices through you like a hot knife. Your chest tightens to the point of pain as you glare at him, trying to hold back the sting of tears.
"Right," you say bitterly, your voice trembling. "I'm impossible to deal with, aren't I? That's what you're thinking."
It's cruel of you to say. Even in the moment, you know it's wrong. Spencer's eyes flash with irritation, and before you can take back the words, he says the one thing he shouldn't.
"You said it, not me."
The room goes quiet.
It's not the loud kind of quiet (you know), where tension hangs thick and heavy. It's the hollow kind (you know that, too), the kind that presses against your chest and makes it hard to breathe.
You stare at him, your lips parted in shock, but no words come out. He doesn't seem to notice—or maybe he does, but he's too stubborn to back down.
Instead, he turns on his heel and storms off, his long legs carrying him into the bedroom. The door shuts behind him, not quite slamming but still loud enough to echo in your ears.
You stand there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where he stood. The weight of his words lingers, heavier than the argument itself. You swallow hard, the ache in your chest growing as the tears you'd been holding back finally spill down your cheeks.
But you don't follow him.
Instead, you grab the old throw blanket draped over the back of the couch and curl up on the sofa. It's not comfortable—the cushions are firm, the blanket thin, and the chills of winter seeps into your bones—but you can't bring yourself to go into the bedroom.
────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────
In the bedroom, Spencer sits on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.
The anger that had burned so hot just moments ago is gone entirely, snuffed out like a candle. What's left is the cold weight of regret, pressing down on him like a lead blanket.
He knows he shouldn't have said what he did. He knows it was cruel, unnecessary, and completely unfair—especially when he could see the beginning of an apology on your face.
But at the time, it had felt like the only way to defend himself.
Now, with the argument over and the silence settling in, all he can think about is the look on your face when he said those words. The way your shoulders sagged as if weighed down, the way your eyes widened just slightly, as if he'd struck you.
The thought makes him feel a little nauseous.
He waits for you to come to bed, his heart sinking further with each passing minute. The silence stretches on, broken only by the faint hum of the heater kicking on in the corner.
You don't come.
Maybe at some point in his life, he'd have been grateful for the quiet. But now that he's spent almost every day with you when he's not working, listened to your quiet ramblings, it feels more suffocating than comforting.
You're comforting.
Finally, he gets up and steps into the hallway. The dimmed light from the living room spills into the darkness, and he follows it, an unfamiliar discomfort swirling around his stomach.
When he sees your curled up on the couch, trembling slightly, his chest tightens painfully.
You're lying on your side as to stay on the narrow sofa, your knees tucked up to your chest, the thin throw blanket doing nothing to shield you from the cold. He can see the way your shoulders are hunched, the way your body is curled in on itself, as if trying to make yourself small.
The sight breaks his heart.
"Y/N," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
You stir, blinking groggily as your eyes flutter open. For a moment, you just stare at him, the hurt in your gaze twisting the knife of guilt in his chest.
"What're you doing out here?" he asks, kneeling beside the couch.
You shift slightly, your voice quiet and trembling when you finally speak. "I figured you wouldn't want me in the room."
The words hit him like a punch to the gut.
There is nothing on Earth that could make him not want you around, not even a silly argument. Nothing that could convince him to keep you at arms length for more than a few minutes.
His breath catches, and he reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm. You don't flinch, but you don't lean into his touch like you usually would, either. The hesitation in your posture is enough to make his broken heart ache.
"Y/N," he murmurs, his voice thick with regret. "That's not true. I didn't mean what I said. I was angry, and I wasn't thinking. I... I never should have said that, I promise you're not impossible to deal with."
You don't respond, your gaze dropping to the blanket. He lets out a shaky breath, his fingers curling into his palms as he tries to find the right words. His hands somehow find your face, thumbs wiping away the dampness still there.
"I'm sorry," he continues. "I was wrong. I hurt you, and I hate that I did. You're not impossible. You're—God, you're everything to me..."
For a long moment, you don't say anything.
Finally, you sigh, your voice barely audible. "It d-didn't feel like that earlier."
Spencer's shoulders slump, his head bowing as shame washes over him. "I know," he whispers. "I was awful to you. I don't have an excuse, but I... I can't stand the thought of you feeling like I don't want you around. Because I do. Always."
You look at him then, your eyes glassy with unshed tears. "It's hard to believe that when you say things like that, Spence."
"I know," he says again, his voice breaking. "But I'll spend every moment for the rest of my life making it up to you, if I have to. If you want me to."
Your lips press together, and for a moment, he thinks you're going to push him away. But then you shift, sitting up slowly and letting the blanket fall away from your body. You lean into him slightly, nose pressing against the top of his head.
"Come here," he says softly, holding his hand toward yours.
You hesitate, but eventually, you take it. He pulls you into his arms, wrapping you in his embrace as if he's afraid to let you go. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, chasing away the lingering chill.
"I'm sorry," he whispers again, his lips brushing against your hair. "I'll do better, I promise."
You rest your head against his shoulder, the tension in your body slowly melting away. "Please... just don't make me feel like that again."
"I won't," he vows, holding you tighter.
He'll never let you feel like this again—like you're less than enough. Like you're not everything and more to him. Like he doesn't want you around. Like he doesn't love you. Never.
And as he carries you back to the bedroom, his arms never leaving your frame, you let yourself believe him.
385 notes · View notes
feitanii-ll · 2 days ago
Text
“ GUMI’S HOME!! “.
Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 …
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✮ pairing: gojo satoru x reader (romantically). and megumi fushiguro x reader (platonically)
✮ synopsis: in which,, megumi comes to the realization over the years that he in fact does have a family. Or, raising megumi w satoru.
✮ contains: heavyyy flufff, long-term relationship w gojo, young megumi growing up :(, reader and gojo are the same age and get marrieddd. NOT LORE ACCURATE (kinda). ONLY SLIGHT SEASON TWO SPOILERS. crack-fix type dialogue. Megumi and Satoru scuffle. Not a lot of reader until the end. Uhhh, slight cursing. Centered around megumi’s POV!!
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September, 2007
Upon first meeting Satoru Gojo, Megumi could confirm (with much confidence) that the man was truly an odd ball.
Like a snake, he slithered his way in with that cocky attitude. A stupid, smug grin and a bravado that made the little boy cringe. Crouching down before him to try and get on his level. Just who the hell did he think he was?
“You’re… fushiguro’s kid, yes? Man, you look just like him. It’s almost uncanny.” the silver haired male gets too close for comfort, thoroughly observing the boy as he mentally points out the similarities between him and his father. “It’s a shame you zen’ins are a bunch of deadbeats—“
“Do you, like, need something–?“ megumi butts in, voice sounding irritated in a way that says he ready to ditch this conversation completely, but curious as to what the hell he could possibly want from him. And just what the hell did “his” clan have to do with him? As if they even knew he existed.
“Well, yeah, actually. Fushiguro is—“
“—something Important.” He emphasizes just before he could finish his sentence.
“Just, about your dad— we aren’t on the best of terms. I ki—“
“Don’t care,” the ravenette huffs, and the sorcerer is surprised at just how much emotion is in such a tiny body. Or, lack there of.
“You.. don’t care?” The male pouts, hands dropping to his sides.
“Haven’t seen him in years. Nor do I remember his face, or what the hell he has going on. Why would I?”
Satoru’s lips purse, and his eyebrows raise in shocked amusement.
“Really. I’ll admit, I’m a little baffled,” he cackles in a way that has the boy frowning in disgust. “You’re stronger than I thought, then. Both physically, and mentally. I’m sure you see that within yourself, too, don’t you, Megumi?”
Megumi stares blankly, and the older boy takes it as a silent agreement.
“Well then! I guess I don’t have anything to say, after all.” With a slap to his knees, satoru stands up from his crouched position, his height shading the smaller boy from the sun. Megumi can now truly see him— the silvery stands of hair, pale skin, and though protected by the expensive branded sunglasses adorning his face, the uncanny, borderline disturbing radiant color of his eyes.
A blue too vibrant to look away from. It was far from comforting, really.
“I’ll be seeing you around, Megumi!” Satoru laughs, and because he has no damn sense of decorum, ruffles megumi’s hair, much to his dismay. “You stay outta trouble, ya hear?” He beams, a huge contrast to the disturbing news he was just about to break to the kid.
“Uh huh,” he hums, watching as he steps off. When out of sight, he scoffs.
“What a dummy..”
He doesn’t leave the area until the voice of his sister beckoning him over rings out through the alley from atop of the balcony. He takes a good look at where the sorcerer just was before slowly feuding his way back home, backpack straps clenched within his tiny fists.
──────
For a boy his age, Megumi is, for the most part, an emotionally intelligent, levelheaded kid. Other than a short temper, he’s always been good at simply ignoring the things that tick him off for the sake of his sanity.
But this? A grown man screaming out in the middle of a crowded street in front of a billion strangers? A very noticeably grown man, and a very obvious frightened looking child as the lanky weirdo sprints towards him, ignoring the cries and disgruntled curses of disagreement from the innocent people in which he shoves.
“Megumiiiii! Megumiii—!”
“Oh, no… no no no no no,” Megumi’s eyes widen, shaking his head to himself while simultaneously backing away slowly.
The calls of his name grow closer, and just as he turns on his heel to book it out of there, he’s tugged by the book-bag by an unnecessarily strong grip, and pulled backwards.
“Megumi, there ya are!”
A yelp escapes the boy as he’s lifted into the air, kicking his feet as he’s held like nothing, hanging by the armpits of his bag.
“Don’t ya know it’s dangerous to be walking home on your own like this? You could get kidnapped. Or worse, what if you get squished by car!?” Satoru gasps dramatically, arm extended out in front of him as he angles his hand so that the boy is facing him.
“Nothing—“ Megumi grunts, small feet kicking at the man’s torso to no avail, “is worse than this!”
“You make me sound like a monster.” Satoru whines in faux sadness.
“You might as well be!” By this time, the other patrons seem to dismiss the little scuffle as just a boy throwing a tantrum. For the most part, they aren’t wrong.
“Come on, I just wanted to check in on ya!”
“I’ll scream.” The boy deadpans, tiny fists shaking my his sides.
Satoru, pauses, the cocky smile on his face dropping slightly as a small bead of nervous sweat trickles down his temple.
“You won’t—“
“HELP! I DONT KNOW THIS MA— umpfff”
Satorus eyes widen as he clamps a large, sweaty hand over megumi’s mouth.
“Shhhhh shhh, alright, damn, kid!” He sets the boy back down on the floor, but still keeps his mouth clamped as he crouches down to his level. After touching down, Megumi goes quiet, but his silent rage is loud and clear as he glares and crosses his arms.
“Listen, I’ll make it up to ya with a an ice cream cone, huh? How ‘bout that? Actually, whatever dessert ya want, it’s yours! How’s that sound??” He questions desperately. After a beat, the boy nods, making the older man sigh in relief.
“Alright… now I’m gonna let ya go— fuck!”
With a gasp, Satoru pulls his hand back and clutches it to his chest. He glances down at his hand to see a curved row of lines engraved between his index and thumb, and he looks back up to see Megumi, spitting onto the pavement dramatically and wiping at his mouth as if he’d just consumed the worst thing imaginable.
After looking between him and the kid for a little bit out of pure disbelief, Satoru scoffs, “You little shit, you bit me!”
“You kidnapped me!” Megumi rebuttals, whipping around as he wipes his mouth on his sleeve.
“I was having a conversation with you,” the sorcerer stands to his full height, cradling his hand as he rubs the stinging spot with pouty lips and furrowed eyebrows. “You’re just like your father!”
“Shut up, crazy! I wanna go where you wanna take me so that we can get this over with. I need to get back home. I’ve got homework—“
“After you bit me? Hell no—!”
“I’ll tell the cops!” Megumi points and accusatory finger, and Satoru is genuinely shocked at just how… difficult he was.
“Fine! C’mon..” he mumbles, now sulking as he basically lets the boy lead him to whatever dessert shop he desired.
For the first time, Satoru felt… defeated. Beat by a child, no less.
──────
That same day, Satoru finds out that megumi’s favorite dessert is mochi ice cream. At least, it’s what he can assume after being demanded to order 10 pieces, all various flavors, before eating them before the frost can even melt.
The duo sit in a red-leathered booth within a quiet dessert shop. The golden rays of sun spill through the large window pane, painting the walls and floors of the shop a rich shade of orange. The sunset meaning that he’d soon have to be taking Megumi home. Within this time, the two take the time to learn about one another. Satoru is surprised when Megumi actually seems interested and asks questions! Albeit, very rudely.
“So, are you like… homeless?”
“Nope!” Satoru purses his lips,
“Then why are you always around on the street?”
“Maybe I just like going outside?” His silver brows dip down in annoyance.
“Don’t you have friends?”
“Yes.”
“That didn’t sound convincing.”
“I do!” He shouts, to which the boy stares blankly.
“… I do” Satoru persists
“I don’t know why you’re still trying to convince me.” Megumi shrugs.
“Because—!”
The light bickering continues to flow through the area, though to Megumi, it’s honestly the most amusement he’s had in what seemed like a while. Long over due.
“There’s my best friends Suguru, and Shoko— I’m like, super cool with all my teachers,” The man lists off with his fingers, looking away in thought.
“And most of all, my amazing, beautiful girlfriend!”
“Oh—“ a shaky chuckle rings out between them. Escaping megumi’s lips.
Satoru whips his head towards the boy, not knowing whether to be shocked or offended at the blatant laugh at his statement. On one hand, he’s happy he finally got to break that tough exterior of the little man. On the other, he doesn’t believe he’s got a partner. Doesn’t believe he’s got you.
“Something funny?” Satoru grins, crossing his arms and leaning back against the seat.
“There’s no way you have a girlfriend,” Megumi mumbles, shoving the last piece of mochi into his chubby cheeks. “Who the hell would date you?”
“Her, thank you very much!” He sits up, pouting. “And I sure do have a girlfriend. Soon to be wife, actually!”
“How muush ju pay ‘er?” The boy mumbles with a full mouth, still not believing a word he says.
“Nothing!” He gasps, offended. “I’ll have you know, her and I are very much in love. I’m sure you’ll meet her one day.” He huffs, confident.
Megumi shrugs, swallowing and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. A bad habit, Satoru notices.
“Whatever. Can we leave, now?”
“Sure,” Satoru goes to move, but pauses. “Aht aht, wait. Before I forgettt,” he rummages through his pockets before slipping out a pen and swiping a napkin from the holder before scribbling something down.
“Boom! That’s my number, and home address. In case of emergency.” He slides the napkin across the table. And though Megumi silently judges the sloppy writing, he simply sighs and pockets it.
“Sure, thanks.” He mumbles, and the two slip out the the booth, Satoru ruffling his hair just as they walk out the shop.
Satoru was.. weird. But he wasn’t bad. Megumi glanced up to Satoru, who looks as if he doesn’t have a care in the world as he he walks the boy home. Lost in his own stupid world. What was the end goal here? To be a babysitter? An older brother?
‘And the stupid address. Like I’d ever need that stupid thing.’ He thinks to himself
──────
2 days after
Right now, Megumi hates that the world is seemingly out to test his already thin patience. Of all of the beautifully sunny days this week, this had to be the one day in which it’s pouring raining.
And the weather wouldn’t usually bother the boy, if when he had gotten home, he had actually felt his home key in his pockets. He pats his shorts frantically, eyes widening when he can’t seem to locate them. His frustration grows as the weather grows heavier, rain pouring just slightly harder.
“Don’t tell me…” he groan to himself, simultaneously pounding in the front door with one hand as the other searches for his keys.
“Tsumiki!” He shouts, but to no avail. “Hell… I forgot she’s out the house.”
Feeling hopeless, Megumi slips his hands into his pocket and kicks at a rock, groaning. Only then does he feel… something, in his pocket. He furrows his brow, pulling out the item and pausing.
The napkin.
──────
Everything in megumi’s being is dreading knocking on this damn door. A fairly large, but simple house with a wooden patio. It’s kind of.. out of the way, which he finds surprising, knowing how dramatic the male is.
He sighs, double- checking the napkin again before sighing. He wipes his wet face, now sheltered from the pouring rain as he stand in the patio. With a hesitant hand, he knocks three times.
He almost thinks he didn’t knock loud enough as there wasn’t any sign of movement for a while, until he sees the light just to the side of him turn on through the window. Then, the soft padding of footsteps. A pause. And then suddenly, the door creaks open.
And before he can be displeased by the face of Satoru Gojo, his annoyance disappears when the sight of a woman appears instead. Confused, shocked, and curious as to what he’s probably doing here.
“Oh… sorry. Must have the wrong house.”
The lady stares at him with pinched brows, as if trying to put pieces together as to who he was. He pushes his lips into a thin line and begins to turn on his foot before the voice cuts him off.
“Are.. are you Megumi?” The woman asks, as the boy turns, surprised. How..?
“Uhm, yeah—“
To his shock, the lady straightens up, in an odd excitement. “Oh my goodness! Megumi! Come come, it’s pouring out here! What are you doing out here in this weather? Honey—!”
He watches as you turn your head over your shoulder and call out for… for your husband? Boyfriend? Wife? He didn’t know.. his brain was trying to piece together where all this excitement was coming from from this stranger. And… if this was Gojo’s home, then—
As if on cue, there’s a heavier thumping from behind the woman. He watches as she smiles, but Megumi’s expression is the exact opposite as the face of that… monster, pops up over the woman’s shoulder.
Immediately, Satorus face is etched with excitement, and he smiles.
“Megumi!? Whatcha doing here, kid? Come inside!” He chuckles, and as if he’s in auto pilot, tiny feet shuffle their way through the door. He can’t even take in the beautifully places decor. The house plants, the smell of fresh clothes and lemon. The in-taste furniture— no way this was his home.
“You.. you live here..?”
He glances between Satoru and the woman, and drops his mouth in shock when he approaches her, wrapping his arms around her middle and pressing a kind kiss to her cheek, to which he smile. Grins, actually.
“We, live here, actually.”
Megumi doesn’t like that tone…
“Is this..?”
“Megumi, this is y/n. My girlfriend of three years.”
You laugh at the shock on the kids face, shaking your head. “Hopefully he hasn’t been giving you any trouble, Megumi. I only knew you from how much he talks about you, it’s good to finally meet you. Will you be staying?”
For the first time, Megumi felt defeated. And as he looks at Satoru a stupid, smug face— he begrudging responds to your kind offer.
“Yes… please, if you don’t mind.”
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