#which is quiet unusual for her to do so in front of others

[tiramisuucakeee]

01. BRIOCHE ♪

IN WHICH: y/n, in the efforts of finding a quiet place to study, ends up in an unusual setting. a host club, and now, after a small mistake, she is forced to repay a debt as an assistant.

chapter one !

a warm breeze stirred the air around the high school courtyard, carrying the delicate pink petals of the cherry trees on its gentle currents. it was early, yes, but the entrance was already alive with the hum of conversation.

the chatter was a blur, discussions of extravagant vacations, vague mentions of family business, the usual gossip that floated through the air like empty confetti. to you, it was all noise, inconsequential and insufferable. but then again, in a place like this, perhaps it was to be expected.

you sighed softly, the sound lost in the rustling of the trees as you walked down the flower-laden path. you couldn't help but feel the weight of attention upon you. it was subtle, but unmistakable, the eyes that tracked your every move the second your footsteps disturbed the world. they weren't the kind of looks that belonged to friendly curiosity. no, these were sharper, calculating, like a predator sizing up its prey.

and you were the prey.

a girl who had somehow slipped through the cracks of this prestigious academy, not by wealth or connections, but by the wealth of knowledge packed into her mind. it had taken everything you had to get here, to prove you were worthy of a seat in this gilded world. if only you could turn that mental fortune into the kind of wealth these people took for granted.

for the past week, you’d been wearing simple clothes, an exception granted by the administration. the silky uniforms and the designer leather shoes felt like a costume, an armor meant to signify status that you could never afford to wear. it wasn’t that you were poor, not exactly. but compared to the others here, you might be in their eyes.

the private academy of ouran was defined by a few things. family status and wealth. it seemed that the students here had more time on their hands than they knew what to do with.

unlike you. if you wanted to stay here, you had to study. that was your main problem. despite the vast number of classrooms, you could never seem to find a quiet place.

room after room, they were filled with laughter, chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the rustling of pages. boys and girls gathered together - dancing, reading, talking - there was never a moment of silence.

you wandered through the hallways, up and down the grand staircases of the enormous building, searching for somewhere, anywhere, that might offer solitude. finally, you stopped in front of an abandoned classroom. it was music room 3.

holding your ear up to the tall door, you couldn’t make out any sound from the inside, so you decided that it was best to use this room before someone else found it.

clutching your book back closer, you opened the door.

you were instantly met with the sweet aroma of flowers and the soft notes of a piano drifting through the air. voices, light and inviting, mingled with the melody, gentle, like the first touch of a breeze.

“welcome to the host club,”

your mouth hung open as you took in the scene before you. the room looked like something straight out of a royal palace, a king’s master throne room, maybe. a grand piano sat in one corner, surrounded by elegant tables, delicate paintings, and fresh flowers. it was beautiful, extravagant, overwhelming.

but what really caught your attention were the people standing in the center of the room.

three guys. one was pale, his sharp features almost eerie, like something out of a gothic novel - if you didn’t know better, you might’ve thought he was a vampire. the next had delicate, almost ethereal beauty, his posture graceful, as if he were a princess from a fairy tale. the last had big, almost innocent eyes, reminiscent of a cat, and a mischievous smile to match.

beside them stood two girls. one had long, silky black hair that shimmered in the soft light, while the other was younger, with pink curly hair that bounced with every movement.

“a h-host club?” you managed to ask, as they blinked at your response, as if they assumed you knew what it was. you tightened your grip on your bag, still looking around in awe at the lavish decorations.

"oh, i recognize you. you're in my class," the tall girl said, her voice friendly but laced with curiosity. she turned to her friends and added, "she isn’t very talkative. she might be shy. i don’t know much about her."

that’s when it clicked. her face was familiar. she was always at the center of the classroom, surrounded by her friends, chatting, laughing, gossiping, and receiving gifts from boys, flashing that wide, effortless smile to anyone who’d give her attention. and there you were, always at the back of the room, near the window, trying to blend into the background.

“oh, how rude of us,” a boy then said, "you must not know what this is. welcome to the host club, new special student." his eyes practically gleamed with excitement at the words.

"what?!" the younger girl gasped, her pink curls bouncing with each step as she quickly ran toward you. "so you're the exceptional special student, y/n l/n?!" she blinked rapidly before smiling at you, her small hands reaching out to cling to your arm.

“how do you… know my name?” you asked, a nervous laugh escaping your lips as you took a small step back. but she only leaned in closer, her excitement overwhelming, like a child tugging at your sleeve for attention, or begging for games on a phone.

"well, the way this school works, it makes it very difficult for a commoner to get in," a guy from the group said, his tone casual, as though this was just another fact of life. "they say that if you don’t become a bookworm, it’s practically impossible to be accepted as a special student."

“huh, you’re so nice…” you rolled your eyes, prying the girl off of you, really not liking how they thought you were a ‘commoner’ just because you weren’t crazy rich.

"what i mean is, you're a hero, y/n," the guy continued, clearly getting carried away with his own thoughts. "even though you’re the number one student in the entire school, you're also the poorest one on campus." he pouted dramatically, his eyes wide with mock sympathy as if that somehow made you special.

you gave him a confused look, not sure whether to be offended or amused. "it’s not as bad as you’re making it seem," you replied, walking away from them, your feet moving closer to the door. you could feel their eyes on your back, watching your every step. "if you’ll excuse me..."

as your hand touched the door handle, you were suddenly yanked backward. the young girl had leapt onto your back, almost knocking you off balance. "wait, y/nnie, you’re a hero!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with childish wonder, as if she took every word he’d said literally. "you’re actually a hero!"

“agh-! no, i’m not not!” you managed to pry her off again, frustration edging your voice. "i'm just a special student, not some heroine- wait, who are you calling y/nnie?!" you shivered at the over-the-top enthusiasm that radiated from them, the extroverted energy that felt completely foreign to you.

the cat-eyed boy chuckled softly, his smile mischievous as he stepped closer behind you. "you know, i never imagined the famous y/n would be interested in the host club," he said, his voice smooth and teasing. "so, what's your type?"

"type? type of club? i mean, i guess i do like dancing…" you asked, your confusion clear on your face as you tried to make sense of his sudden question.

he cleared his throat dramatically before reaching out and gently grabbing your shoulders. without warning, he spun you toward the first boy, the one with the pale, almost otherworldly appearance. "the confident type?" he asked, his tone suggesting that it was the obvious choice.

you blinked, still not sure where this was going, but he wasn’t finished. he spun you again, this time facing the boy with the graceful, princely air. "the cool type?" he teased, raising an eyebrow.

then, with a smooth grin, he turned you toward himself, his smile almost blinding. "or perhaps me, the charming type?" he finished, his voice dripping with playful confidence.

you blinked, swallowing hard, completely unsure of how to respond. the boy, however, misinterpreted your hesitation and gave a knowing grin. without giving you a chance to react, he started walking you toward the two girls.

"maybe you're into girls, like her," he said, pointing at the girl from your class, the one who looked so poised and elegant. "the elegant type?"

your eyes widened in realization, and a wave of panic surged through you. you quickly stopped him, pulling his hand off your shoulder. "n-no! no! i don’t-” you stammered, feeling heat rush to your face. "i'm not here for anything like that!" your heart pounded in your chest as you took a few steps back, each movement heavier than the last. "i'm just looking for a quiet place to study... i didn’t even know you all were doing a host club in this abandoned-"

your words were cut off as you backed into the corner of a table, the sharp edge catching you off guard. you stumbled, and the next thing you knew, the sharp sound of glass shattering filled the room.

they all immediately ran towards you, peering over your shoulder at the scene. a vase, once pristine and elegant, now lay in a million jagged pieces scattered across the floor.

“aw, that vase was our star product for the school’s auction, thats a shame,” the girl from your class sighed, as a boy placed a hand on her shoulder.

“yes, and to think that we could’ve easily made 8 million yen from it,” he said sadly.

"8 million yen?!" you turned to face them, the numbers suddenly swirling in your head. for a moment, it felt as if the ground was slipping away beneath you, but before you could completely lose your balance, you felt a hand steady you from behind.

the "confident" type had caught you, but you were too dazed by the shock to even notice the placement of his hand on your back.

"can you pay for it?" the younger girl asked innocently, her voice full of curiosity. "i mean, can you? since you can’t even afford the uniform." she added, making you sigh deeply in frustration. you opened your mouth to retort, but the words stuck in your throat.

"what should we do, jungwon?" the older girl asked, glancing at the boy with cat-like eyes. he was deep in thought, his posture composed as he silently observed the situation. after a moment, he sat down, never breaking eye contact with you.

he studied your cold, unamused face for a long beat, and then finally spoke.

"have you ever heard the saying, 'when in rome, do as the romans do'?" he asked, his tone calculating, almost as if he were waiting for you to understand something unsaid. his gaze didn’t waver. "from today on, you’ll be..."

"the host club's assistant!" jungwon announced, his voice full of confidence.

everyone else in the room stood in stunned silence, eyes wide as they took in the weight of his words. even the two girls seemed momentarily speechless, staring at him in awe, as if he’d just made the most logical statement in the world.

except for you.

you stood frozen, feeling the last bit of life drain from your body as the reality of the situation hit you. assistant? you? you, who had just been looking for a quiet place to study, now bound to some kind of never-ending responsibility in a place you didn’t even understand.

with the amount of money you owed them for the vase, there was no way out. you weren't going to be their "assistant." you’d be their prisoner. and not just for a day, not even for a year. no, you’d be stuck here - serving them - until you were old enough to be a grandma.

MASTERLIST.

NEXT CHAPTER.

BTW: jungwon is blond in this, sunghoon has dark hair, ricky has dark hair too, wonyoung never really changes color so she is dark brown hair, and iroha has pink ‘tick tack’ era hair.

[sharky857]

What if Pierre was dumped into the luau soup and drowned for being a dick

But... But... Pierre is the lowest of the "bad quality food" one could ever dump in the potluck. 🙁 He would completely ruin the soup everyone worked so hard to make tasty. 😔

On the other hand... 🤔

Sam!

Sam might be perfecty capable of dunking Pierre in the soup. They may have banned him forever from dumping anything ever again in the potluck after that anchovies disaster, but nobody couldn't stop him from doing so for Abby's sake, if he ever acted fast enough ('sides, he actually gives zero 💩 about "impressing some old man everyone calls Governor").

[021894s]

THE GIRL FROM THE BAR ⭑ lhs

SYNOPSIS: After a tough workday, you visit a quiet bar to unwind, but are harassed by a persistent stranger. The charming bartender, Heeseung, steps in, defending you, sparking an unexpected conversation. As you connect, you feels your stress melt away, drawn to Heeseung's kindness and charm, setting the stage for a blossoming romance.

GENRE: romance, mutual pining

PAIRING: bartender!heeseung x f!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, smut, unprotected sex, oral (m & f receiving)

wc: 6.5k

It's an unusually quiet Wednesday night when you push open the door of the dimly lit bar. The cool air inside is a welcome contrast to the stifling heat of the summer evening. You make your way to the bar and take a seat, the events of your rough day still weighing heavily on your mind.

As you settle onto the stool, a man approaches, a sleazy grin spreading across his face. "Hey, beautiful," he says, leaning in closer than you'd like.

You roll your eyes, not in the mood for this. "Not happening," you reply, hoping he'd take the hint and leave you alone.

But he doesn't. "C'mon, don't be like that," he persists, his persistence grating on your nerves.

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the tension. "Pretty sure no means no."

You look up to see a man standing behind the bar, his gaze fixed firmly on the man bothering you. The guy scoffs, looking the man up and down. "Oh, and what are you, her boyfriend?"

His expression remains calm, but there's a steely edge to his voice. "No, but I don't need to be to know how to respect women."

The man's bravado falters, and he mutters under his breath, "Whatever, you weren't that hot anyway," before slinking away.

He turns his attention to you, his features softening into a concerned expression. "Sorry about that. We get the average asshole in here every night."

You're momentarily stunned by his beauty, the way his dark hair frames his face, and the warmth in his eyes, his lean build that wasn’t remarkably bulky, but just enough to make your mind race at the thought of being wrapped in those arms. It takes you a second to find your voice. "N-no, it's okay. Thank you for that."

Heeseung smiles, a genuine and reassuring smile that makes your heart flutter. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

You manage a small smile in return, feeling the tension of your day begin to melt away. "A gin and tonic, please."

"Coming right up," he says, his hands moving deftly to prepare your drink. You watch him, fascinated by the ease with which he works, the smoothness of his movements.

When he places the drink in front of you, you take a grateful sip, savoring the way the cool liquid seems to calm your frayed nerves. Heeseung leans against the counter, his gaze steady on you. "Bad day?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "You could say that. Work was a nightmare. Everything that could go wrong did."

He nods sympathetically. "I know how that feels. Sometimes it seems like the universe just has it out for you."

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk on your lips. "You? I can't imagine someone like you having a bad day."

He chuckles, a low, comforting sound. "Looks can be deceiving. I'm Heeseung, by the way."

"Y/N," you say, offering a small smile in return. "So, what brought you to bartending? Surely someone like you has other options."

He shrugs, a hint of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "I needed a job, and I like talking to people. Plus, it's a good way to pay the bills while I figure out what I really want to do."

You take another sip of your drink, feeling the alcohol begin to take the edge off your day. "And what do you really want to do?"

Heeseung's expression turns thoughtful. "I'm not entirely sure yet. Something creative, maybe. Music or art. I just know I don't want to be stuck in a nine-to-five grind forever."

You nod in understanding, your eyes sparkling with interest. "I get that. Sometimes I feel like I'm just going through the motions, doing what I have to do to get by. It's nice to meet someone who dreams big."

"Yeah, but sometimes you need to take a step back and figure out what makes you happy," Heeseung says, his gaze intent on yours. "Life's too short to be miserable all the time. And you seem like someone who deserves to be happy."

You feel a warmth spread through you, not just from the drink but from the unexpected connection you feel with this charming stranger. You continue talking, sharing stories and laughter, and as the evening wears on, you find yourself feeling lighter, the burden of your day lifting with each passing moment.

Heeseung leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone. "You know, I don't usually see someone as intriguing as you walk through that door. It's a nice change of pace."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you can't help but smile. "Well, I'm glad I came in then”.

By the time you finish your drink, you realize you haven't felt this relaxed in a long time. "Thank you, Heeseung," you say sincerely. "I didn't realize how much I needed this."

He smiles, a genuine, heartfelt expression. "Anytime, Y/N. Sometimes all it takes is a good conversation and a little company to turn things around."

You stand up, feeling a sense of clarity you hadn't had before. "I'll definitely be back."

"I'll be here," he says, his eyes lingering on yours. "Looking forward to it."

As you walk out of the bar, your spirits lifted and your mind clearer than it had been in a long time, you can't help but think about when you'll see Heeseung again.

Over the following weeks, you find yourself returning to the bar with increasing anticipation. Each visit seems to bring you closer to Heeseung, and your interactions grow more flirtatious and comfortable.

Heeseung greets you with a wide grin. “Look who decided to make my night again.”

“Couldn’t stay away,” you reply, sliding onto the stool. “I’ll have a gin and tonic , please.”

As he mixes your drink, he leans in a little closer than before. “You know, you’re quickly becoming my favorite customer.”

“Am I now?” you tease, meeting his gaze. “Does that come with any perks?”

“Maybe,” he says with a wink. “Depends on how many more times you show up.”

Conversation always came naturally in the time you found yourself spending with Heeseung. You’d find out something new about each other every time, like how he actually lived right above the bar. Perks of being close with the owner. It didn’t surprise you, his charms and genuinely good heart making it easy for anyone to love him.

You hadn't realized how much you’d come to rely on your nightly visits to the bar until your job started to get more demanding. The project you’d been assigned had become increasingly complex, with tight deadlines and a seemingly endless series of business trips. Each day seemed to blur into the next, and your usual escape—those comforting evenings at the bar—became a rare luxury.

One particular week, a major client needed hand-holding through a difficult negotiation, which meant back-to-back meetings and a whirlwind trip to a different city. You barely had time to catch your breath, let alone think about your next visit to the bar. The days were long, filled with endless calls and emails, and the nights were spent in sterile hotel rooms, far from the familiar warmth of Heeseung's presence.

As the days turned into a week, you couldn't help but feel a pang of regret each evening. You missed the easy conversation with Heeseung, the way his smile seemed to make your worries melt away, and the genuine connection that had formed between you. You wondered if he noticed your absence, if he missed you even half as much as you missed him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you wrapped up the business trip and headed back home. Exhausted but relieved, you decided to head straight to the bar, your need for familiarity and comfort driving you forward.

As you walked in, the bar was just as you remembered it, but something felt different. The usual hum of conversation and clinking glasses seemed more subdued. You made your way to your usual seat, and there he was—Heeseung, looking up from the bar with a mix of surprise and relief in his eyes.

"Y/N," he called out, his voice warm and welcoming. "Long time no see. I was starting to think ran off with a secret boyfriend "

You smile, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. "oh yeah, couldn’t wait any longer we just had to elope." you joke back “don’t worry though you can still be my lover”

He laughs, the bright smile you missed bringing a smile of your own to your lips. "tempting. you think he’d be ok with that?"

You take a deep breath, his flirty response catching you off guard despite knowing it was coming. "what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” you flash him a smile, “seriously tho, It's been... a lot. Business trips, endless meetings, demanding clients. I’ve barely had a moment to myself."

Heeseung leans on the counter, his eyes soft with sympathy. "Sounds like you could use a drink and some serious relaxation."

"You have no idea," you reply with a tired smile. "I'll have my usual, please."

As he mixes your drink, you let out a long sigh, finally allowing yourself to relax. When he sets the drink in front of you, he doesn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he stays close, his presence comforting.

"So, tell me more," he says, his tone gentle. "What’s been keeping you so busy?"

You take a sip of your drink, savoring the familiar taste. "Where do I even start? This project I’m on has been a nightmare. We had to fly out to meet with a client who needed constant reassurance. The whole team is exhausted, and I’ve been living out of a suitcase for the past week."

Heeseung listens intently, his eyes never leaving yours. "That sounds rough. I’m sorry you’ve had such a tough time."

"Thanks," you say, appreciating his sympathy. "I’ve missed this place. I’ve missed... you."

Heeseung’s smile is soft and genuine. "I’ve missed you too, Y/N. The place hasn’t been the same without you."

You feel a warmth spread through you at his words. "Well, I’m back now. And I plan to make up for all the missed nights."

Heeseung grins. "I’ll hold you to that. You know, I was worried about you. It's not like you to disappear without a word."

"I’m sorry," you say, feeling a pang of guilt. "I should have let you know what was going on."

Heeseung shakes his head. "No need to apologize. Just glad to have you back."

As the evening wears on, you finish your drink, feeling the comforting buzz of alcohol mixed with the profound exhaustion from your grueling week. Heeseung has gotten busier, a rush of customers filling the bar and demanding his attention. He glances at you frequently, concern flickering in his eyes whenever he catches sight of you.

You try to keep your eyes open, but the combination of exhaustion and the alcohol makes it increasingly difficult. You rest your head on your hand, your eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment.

From your spot at the bar, you watch Heeseung expertly handle the crowd, his movements fluid and confident. Every so often, he throws a reassuring smile in your direction, but the bustle of the bar pulls him away each time he tries to come over to you.

Finally, the exhaustion becomes too much. Your head droops, and you find yourself struggling to stay awake. Just as your eyes begin to close, you feel a gentle touch on your shoulder.

"Y/N," Heeseung's voice breaks through the fog of sleep. "You okay?"

You blink a few times, trying to focus on his concerned face. "Yeah, just... tired."

Heeseung's brow furrows as he takes in your weary state. "Why don’t you come upstairs and rest? You’re not driving home like this."

You hesitate, shaking your head slightly. “No, it’s fine. I’ve been up longer before. I don’t want to intrude.”

Heeseung’s eyes soften, his concern evident. “You’re not intruding, Y/N. I insist. You need rest, and I have a spare room. Please.”

"Come on," he says softly, guiding you to the door at the back of the bar and up the narrow staircase to his apartment.

Once inside, he leads you to the spare bedroom and helps you sit on the edge of the bed. "Stay here. I'll get you some water and something for the morning."

You nod, too tired to do much more than mumble a thank you. Heeseung disappears for a moment, returning with a glass of water, a couple of pills, and one of his soft t-shirts.

"Here," he says, handing you the shirt. "You’ll be more comfortable in this."

You change into the t-shirt, the fabric soft and comforting against your skin. Heeseung returns with the water and pills, sitting beside you on the bed.

"Take these," he says gently, holding out the glass and pills. "They’ll help with the hangover."

You do as he instructs, feeling a bit more coherent now. "Thanks, Heeseung. For everything."

Heeseung smiles, his eyes soft with concern and something else you can’t quite identify. "Anytime, Y/N. You know I’m here for you."

You look around the room, taking in the minimalistic decor, the photos of Heeseung with his best friend Sunghoon, and pictures of his family. The personal touches make you feel closer to him, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

"You really have a nice place," you say softly, feeling a bit more grounded.

Heeseung chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thanks. I’m glad you think so."

As you settle into the bed, Heeseung stands, looking down at you with a mix of concern and affection. "Get some rest, okay? I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything."

You nod, already feeling the pull of sleep. "Goodnight, Heeseung."

"Goodnight, Y/N," he replies, his voice gentle as he turns off the light and quietly leaves the room.

In the darkness, you let out a deep breath, the events of the past week finally catching up to you. But despite the exhaustion, a sense of peace settles over you. Knowing Heeseung is just a room away, that he cares for you enough to make sure you’re safe and comfortable, fills you with a warmth you hadn’t realized you were missing.

As you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel grateful for the connection you’ve found with Heeseung. And maybe, just maybe, there’s something more than friendship growing between you.

The next morning, you wake up to the soft light filtering through the blinds, your head surprisingly clear thanks to the water and pills Heeseung gave you last night. You stretch, feeling the comfort of his t-shirt against your skin, and remember where you are. The events of the previous evening come back in a rush, and you’re filled with a sense of gratitude and a hint of embarrassment.

You decide to freshen up, so you get out of bed and make your way to the restroom. Just as you reach for the doorknob, the door swings open, and you find yourself face-to-face with Heeseung, freshly showered, with only a white towel hanging low on his hips. His hair is damp, drops of water still clinging to his skin, and his well-defined torso is on full display.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You’re too stunned to speak, and Heeseung seems equally taken aback. His eyes widen slightly as he registers your presence, and then a slow, teasing smile spreads across his face.

"Good morning," he says, his voice a little huskier than usual. "Sleep well?"

You swallow, trying to maintain your composure despite the sudden heat rushing to your cheeks. "Y-yes, thank you. I was just... heading to the restroom."

He steps aside, still smiling. "It's all yours."

You nod, squeezing past him, trying not to brush against him too much. Once inside the restroom, you close the door and take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. After a moment, you gather yourself and freshen up quickly.

When you step out of the restroom, Heeseung is in the kitchen, now dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, his hair still slightly damp but styled. He’s making coffee, and the rich aroma fills the apartment.

"Feeling better?" he asks, glancing up at you with a warm smile.

You nod, walking over to join him. "Much better, thanks to you."

Heeseung pours you a cup of coffee and hands it to you. "Good. I’m glad. I didn’t want you to go through today feeling like a wreck."

You take the coffee, savoring the warmth. "You’re really kind, Heeseung. I don’t know how to thank you."

Heeseung leans against the counter, his expression thoughtful. "You don’t need to thank me, Y/N. I’m just glad I could help. You work so hard; you deserve to take care of yourself, too."

His words touch you deeply, and you find yourself smiling despite the lingering awkwardness of the morning. "Well, you’ve definitely made a fan out of me. I don’t know what I would have done without you last night."

Heeseung chuckles. "I think you would have managed, but I’m glad I was here. Besides, I like having you around."

You both fall into an easy silence, sipping your coffee. The atmosphere is comfortable, and you feel a sense of closeness that goes beyond the usual bar conversations. It's as if the bond between you has deepened overnight.

"So," Heeseung says after a moment, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Do you have any plans for today, or are you just going to recover from the week?"

You laugh softly, feeling the tension of the past days finally lifting. "I think I’ll take it easy. Maybe catch up on some sleep, watch a movie, and just relax."

Heeseung nods approvingly. "Sounds like a good plan. If you need anything, feel free to hang out here as long as you like. Mi casa es su casa."

"Thank you," you reply, genuinely touched. "I might take you up on that."

Heeseung’s smile widens. "I hope you do."

As you both finish your coffee, the morning sun streaming in through the windows, you realize that this simple act of kindness has brought you and Heeseung even closer. The easy conversation, the shared laughter, and the mutual respect all make you feel incredibly lucky to have found someone like him. Friend or someone thing more.

Heeseung’s expression brightens, and he leans forward, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “How about we make today fun? I know you said you wanted to relax, but maybe we can do something together. It doesn’t have to be anything crazy—just something to take your mind off work.”

You feel a flutter of excitement at his suggestion. “That sounds great. What do you have in mind?”

Heeseung grins. “Well, there’s a little café down the street that makes the best pastries. We could start there and then see where the day takes us.”

You can’t help but smile back, the prospect of spending more time with Heeseung lifting your spirits. “I’d love that.”

As you get ready to head out, you glance around his apartment once more, the personal touches making you feel even closer to him. The photos, the simple decor, everything speaks of the man you’ve come to care about.

Heeseung grabs his keys and turns to you, his smile warm and inviting. “Ready?”

You nod, feeling a sense of anticipation. “Ready.”

The café Heeseung mentioned turns out to be a charming little spot with a cozy atmosphere and an enticing display of pastries. As you walk in, the smell of freshly baked goods and brewing coffee envelops you, making your stomach growl in anticipation.

Heeseung leads you to a table by the window, and you both take a seat. He smiles at you, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “What do you want to try first?”

You glance at the display, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the delicious options. “Everything looks so good. Maybe we should get a few different things and share?”

Heeseung nods enthusiastically. “Good idea. I’ll get us a selection. Be right back.”

As he heads to the counter, you watch him interact with the barista, his easy charm and warmth evident in every gesture. You can’t help but feel a surge of affection for him, grateful for his presence in your life.

Heeseung returns with a tray full of assorted pastries and two steaming cups of coffee. “Hope you’re hungry,” he says, setting the tray down with a grin.

You laugh softly. “I am. This all looks amazing.”

You both dig in, sharing bites and commenting on the flavors. The conversation flows naturally, the ease between you growing with each passing moment. It feels like the perfect way to unwind after the stress of your job, and you find yourself relaxing more and more.

After you’ve sampled nearly everything on the tray, Heeseung leans back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. “That was a good call. I’m stuffed.”

You nod in agreement, feeling content. “Me too. Thanks for bringing me here. It’s exactly what I needed.”

Heeseung’s eyes soften, and he reaches across the table to take your hand. “I’m glad. You deserve to have a break and enjoy yourself.”

Your heart skips a beat at the tenderness in his voice. “Thank you, Heeseung. For everything.”

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Anytime, Y/N. You know I’m always here for you.”

As you both finish your coffee, the café begins to fill up with the lunchtime crowd. Heeseung glances around, then back at you with a playful glint in his eye. “How about we take a walk? There’s a park nearby that’s really nice.”

You smile, feeling excited at the prospect. “I’d love that.”

You leave the café and head to the park, the sun shining brightly and a gentle breeze rustling the leaves. As you walk along the winding paths, Heeseung keeps the conversation light and playful, making you laugh with his witty remarks and stories.

At one point, you come across a small pond with a few benches nearby. Heeseung leads you to one of the benches, and you both sit down, enjoying the peaceful surroundings.

He turns to you, his expression thoughtful. “You know, I’ve really enjoyed spending this time with you, Y/N. It’s nice to see you relax and have fun.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. “I’ve enjoyed it too, Heeseung. You make everything better.”

Heeseung’s eyes hold yours, a hint of something deeper flickering in their depths. “I’m glad to hear that. You mean a lot to me, Y/N.”

Your breath catches at the intensity of his gaze, and you feel a rush of emotion. “You mean a lot to me too, Heeseung.”

For a moment, the world seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of shared feelings and unspoken words. The connection between you feels stronger than ever, and you realize that what you have with Heeseung is something truly special.

Heeseung breaks the silence first, his voice soft. “I’m really glad you came into the bar that night. It feels like we’ve known each other forever.”

You nod, your heart full. “Me too. It was the best decision I’ve ever made.”

The following week, after a particularly easygoing day at work, you decide to stop by the bar for your regular visit. The familiar sight of the dimly lit interior and the hum of conversations usually bring you comfort, but tonight, something feels off.

As you walk in, your eyes immediately land on Heeseung behind the bar. Relief washes over you, but it’s short-lived. Standing in front of him is a blonde girl, effortlessly beautiful, with a radiant smile. She's leaning over the counter, clearly flirting with him.

You freeze for a moment, feeling a pang of something sharp and unwelcome in your chest. Jealousy. It's a bitter taste, one you’re not used to, but there it is, gnawing at you as you watch them. The blonde girl is everything you feel you’re not—gorgeous, confident, and completely at ease.

Heeseung laughs at something she says, and it’s a sound you’ve come to cherish. But hearing it now, directed at someone else, it feels like a punch to the gut. You glance down at your work attire, feeling frumpy and out of place compared to her chic outfit.

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and walk towards the bar, determined to act like everything is normal. As you approach, Heeseung’s eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, his smile falters. He quickly recovers, but you can see the flicker of surprise and perhaps guilt in his eyes.

"Hey, Y/N!" Heeseung greets you with his usual warmth, but you can’t help but notice the way the blonde girl glances at you, her expression curious but dismissive.

"Hi, Heeseung," you reply, forcing a smile. You sit down a few seats away from the blonde, not wanting to intrude but unable to completely leave.

Heeseung shifts his attention to you, his gaze lingering as if trying to gauge your mood. "The usual?" he asks, already reaching for a glass.

"Yeah, thanks," you say, your voice coming out steadier than you feel.

The blonde girl pouts a little, clearly annoyed by the interruption. "I was just telling Heeseung about this new club that opened downtown," she says, trying to pull his focus back to her. "Maybe he could come check it out with me sometime."

You feel your heart sink further at her words, but you try to keep your face neutral. Heeseung, however, surprises you. He doesn’t immediately respond to her invitation. Instead, he finishes making your drink and slides it over to you, his hand brushing yours ever so slightly.

"Here you go, Y/N," he says, his voice soft. Then he turns to the blonde girl, his smile polite but distant. "I'll think about it, but I’m pretty busy these days."

The blonde girl looks disappointed but doesn’t push further. She lingers for a few more minutes, trying to engage him in conversation, but Heeseung’s attention keeps drifting back to you. Eventually, she gets the hint and leaves, though not without casting you one last curious glance.

As soon as she’s gone, Heeseung leans across the bar, closer to you. "You okay?" he asks, concern evident in his eyes.

You take a sip of your drink, the familiar taste grounding you a little. "Yeah, just a long day," you reply, managing a small smile.

Heeseung studies you for a moment, then nods. "Well, I’m here if you need to talk," he says, his voice gentle.

You nod, feeling a bit better knowing he cares. The jealousy still lingers, but seeing the way he prioritizes you over her, even subtly, helps ease some of the sting. For now, that's enough.

Over the next few minutes, the bar starts to fill up, and Heeseung gets busier, but he still finds moments to check on you, giving you reassuring smiles or quick touches on your hand whenever he passes by. It helps, but the image of the blonde girl still lingers in your mind, gnawing at your insecurities.

You watch Heeseung work, marveling at his ease and grace. He moves behind the bar with practiced efficiency, chatting with customers, mixing drinks, and flashing that charming smile. It’s clear why people are drawn to him.

“Another drink?” Heeseung asks, stopping in front of you.

“Sure,” you reply, handing him your empty glass.

As he makes your drink, you can’t help but blurt out, “She seemed nice.”

Heeseung glances at you, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Who? Amelia?”

“Yeah, her,” you say, trying to keep your tone casual.

“She’s a regular. Comes in every now and then,” he explains, sliding your drink over. “But I wouldn’t read too much into it. She flirts with everyone.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Everyone?”

“Everyone,” he confirms, his smirk widening. “It’s just her way.”

You nod, feeling slightly better but still uneasy. “Well, she’s really pretty.”

Heeseung leans closer, lowering his voice. “So are you, Y/N.”

You blink, caught off guard by his comment. “I—what?”

“I mean it,” he says, his eyes sincere. “You’re pretty, and you’re interesting. I enjoy our conversations a lot more than random flirtations.”

You feel your cheeks heat up, and you look away, flustered. “Thanks, Heeseung.”

“Anytime,” he replies softly.

Just then, a group of rowdy customers enters the bar, and Heeseung has to attend to them. You take a deep breath, letting his words sink in. It feels good to hear that from him, to know he sees you differently.

As the evening progresses, the crowd in the bar begins to thin out. Heeseung wipes down the counter, glancing at you with a playful smile. He sets down his cloth and approaches you, the energy between you two crackling with unspoken words.

“You know, Y/N,” he says, leaning closer, “I’m due for a break. Mind if I join you for a bit?”

“Not at all,” you reply, your heart racing with anticipation.

Heeseung slips around the bar and takes a seat next to you. He stretches his legs out and leans back, looking more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him while working. His scent infiltrates your nostrils. The cologne he was wearing wasn’t remarkably strong, but it mixed with the scent of fresh laundry and a little sweat. You thought the combination worked quite well. “So, how’s your night going so far?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“It’s better now that you’re here,” you say, your voice soft and genuine.

Heeseung laughs, a sound that sends warmth through you. “Glad to hear it,” he says. “It’s nice to get a break and actually talk to you without having to rush around.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” you say, feeling a growing confidence. “It’s good to have some uninterrupted time with you.”

Heeseung’s eyes lock onto yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your pulse quicken. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” he admits. “It’s like the highlight of my Fridays.”

You smile, feeling a thrill at his words. “Really? I didn’t know I had such an effect on you.”

“You have no idea,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone. “I find myself thinking about you more than I probably should.”

You laugh softly, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. “I guess that makes two of us then.”

Heeseung shifts closer, his arm brushing against yours. “You know, Y/N,” he says, his voice husky, “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

“What’s that?” you ask, your breath catching.

“Do you want anything to eat?” he asks, his eyes searching yours.

You feel a little disappointed at his question. You’re not quite sure what you expected but if your were being honest, you were hoping he’d finally ask you out. Moving past the disappointment, you feel a sudden surge of boldness, you lean in slightly, your lips curving into a mischievous smile. “You,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung’s eyes widen slightly in surprise before a slow, delighted smile spreads across his face. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement and something deeper.

“It is,” you confirm, holding his gaze.

The playful banter between you intensifies, and Heeseung inches closer, his face now mere inches from yours. “you sure you can handle me baby?” he says softly, his breath mingling with yours.

For a moment, the world around you seems to disappear. Heeseung’s eyes are locked on yours, and you can feel the magnetic pull between you. He inches closer, his breath mingling with yours, and you realize that this moment could change everything.

“Wanna find out?” you ask, your heart soaring with anticipation.

Heeseung takes hold of your hand, leading you through a door at the back of the bar, up a narrow staircase that creaks under your feet. The air grows warmer, and the intimacy of the space makes your pulse race.

Heeseung unlocks the door and pushes it open, revealing a cozy, modest apartment. The soft glow of a lamp casts a warm light over the room, highlighting the simple, comfortable furnishings. It feels like a sanctuary, a place where the rest of the world fades away.

Heeseung turns to you, his expression serious but tender. “I want you to feel comfortable here,” he says. “If at any point you want to stop, just let me know.”

You step closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “I trust you, Heeseung,” you say, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

He smiles, a mixture of relief and desire in his eyes. “Come here,” he murmurs, pulling you into his arms.

The embrace is electric, and you feel the tension between you dissolve as you melt into each other. Heeseung’s lips find yours in a kiss that is both gentle and passionate, a promise of everything you’ve both been yearning for.

He leads you further into the apartment, his hands never leaving yours. The world outside fades away as you step into the intimacy of his space, every touch and whisper drawing you closer together.

Heeseung guides you to the couch, sitting down and pulling you onto his lap. The feel of his body against yours is intoxicating, and you lose yourself in the sensation of his hands exploring your back, your sides, your face.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” Heeseung murmurs against your lips, his voice filled with a raw honesty that makes your heart ache.

“I know the feeling,” you reply, your fingers threading through his hair.

You leaned in and kissed him again. The kiss becoming hungrier, the both of you unfraid to show how needy you were for each other.

You could feel his growing length pressing against your clothed core, the both of you letting out a small moan when you ground your hips against him.

He reached down and pulled up your skirt, slipping his fingers inside your panties and finding you wet and ready for him “shit baby you’re so wet”. You gasped as he stroked your clit, his long, slender fingers applying just the right amount of pressure to get you squirming on top of him.

“shit, seung feels so good” his fingers slide down your folds, prodding at your whole. Without warning he slips one in, that singular finger reaching places you haven’t with your own. “You’re all I’ve wanted since I met you”, Heeseung tells you, his words making you clench around him , “m-me too”. He quickens his movements inserting a second, and then a third, the coil in your lower belly snapping at his “seung im cumming” you hardly manage to get out.

“let go for me baby, show me how good I make you feel” without another word, you’re coming undone.

Desperate for more, you reach to unbutton his pants pulling out his hard dick. It was long and thick. You didnt deem it possible for a penis to be considered pretty, but that’s the only word you could think of at the sight in from of you. You couldn't wait to feel him

“like what you see?” he asks. confidence in his voice, it was a stark contrast from how gentle he was towards you on your frequent visits to the bar. It made him all the more desireable. “mhm more than like”

You wrapped your lips around his mushroom tip and sucked him deep into your mouth. His length being enveloped bya warmth that had his eyes rolling to the back do his head. “shit baby”.

You clench around nothing, the newfound nickname one you never watched to stop hearing.

He groaned and grabbed your head, running his fingers through your hair, gripping it. You could feel him getting closer to cumming, but You didn't want him to just yet. You pull away and His eyes shoot open, looking at you with confusion “are you okay?” you smirk at him, climbing up from your spot and straddling his lap “mhm i’m more than okay”. You guided his dick to your entrance, teasing the tip on your slick. You slowly sank onto his cock, a low groan escaping his throat at the newfound feeling of your tight, wet heat.

“hee” you moaned, digging your nails into his shoulder at the feel of him stretching you so deliciously. “I got you pretty, s-shit you feel so good around me” He smashes his lips against yours, capturing you in a hungry kiss.

He pulls out slowly, whining at the loss, only to let out a loud moan as he slid back in, inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt. He repeated the action several more times until you grew frustrated with the pace. “Hee, please go harder”. At your plea, he snaps his hips forward, faster and harder, making you cry out in pure pleasure.

He grabbed your hips and thrust up into you, harder and faster, “y/n… come on baby cum for me”. You could feel yerself getting closer to cumming. You leaned back and ground your hips against him, rubbing your clit against his pelvis.

“hee i’m so close”. He reached up and squeezed your tits, pinching your nipples “so close, I can feel it”. You moaned, your pussy clenching around his dick. Felling you come undone around his cock, he couldn't hold back any longer. He grabbed your hips and pulled you down, cumming deep inside you. “f-fuck baby. so good”.

You pull yourself off his lap, collapsing next to him onto the couch, He joins you not a minute later, pulling you to him, your heard laying on his chest, hearing the quickened beats of his heart begin to settle down back into their normal rhythm. You lay there, panting and sweaty, for a few moments.

"I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you” He confessed. You couldn’t help but laugh at his honest revelation. “yeah well, at least i’m not the only one”, you tell him, a smile spreading across your face, as you look up at him.

He grinned down at you leaning in to press a soft kiss on your lips. "so…" he started as he pulled away, “I don’t want this to be a one time thing… but I also don’t want it to be casual”.

Your heart skipped a beat the moment you heard his confession. You’d fallen for him the moment you met, and the time you spent together did nothing to but increase those feelings. “well it’s a good thing I feel the same way then”, You smile, your big brown eyes bright, filled with promise as you kissed him again. The promise that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

taglist: @chaeyunloveeee @llvrhee @yohanabanana @simplicitysbabe @woorcve @soapsters @hwhjsthetic @iisvlinaiii @jaehoonii @txnwvc @rbf-aceu @vhuteryh @shuawons @tanisha2060 @mheretoreadff @laurradoesloveu @bllueorchid @seungjiseyo @isa942572 @deobitifull @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @yjwluvs @penny44224 @yohanseyebrowmole @blockbusterhee @cha0thicpisces @soobnuuy @slut4hee @pprodsuga @ineedsomezzz

[propertyofwicked]

BITTER - LN

summary - lando and y/n will go to any length to piss each other off, which works well as long as she doesn't mention another man.

warnings: smut! MDNI!! doggy (who am i??), oral (f! receiving), lowkey hate sex but honestly it's just a miscommunication trope. NOT PROOF READ

song rec - bitter by fletcher

masterlist the playlist

she loved her job at mclaren. race days, office days - she loved all of it. except for one thing.

lando was that one thing. she got along with all the team members but him, and she didn't really know what was the problem, it just never clicked between the two of them.

"talking to your boyfriend?" he asked as he walked by her, noticing the hurried typing on her phone.

“….no?” she replied, half disinterested in the incoming conversation, half defensive.

"then why are you all giggly while staring at your phone then?" he asked, smirking as his plan to piss her off was working - he loved to piss her off.

“and why is it any of your business?”

“just curious is all,” he smirked as he came to stand next to her desk, leaning against it while his arms were crossed against his chest.

“why?”

“just is,” he said, smirk widening. he then glanced over her desk, curious to see what she were typing, trying to peer at her phone screen, “ooooh, is it about me?”

“of course it is,” she replied, grinning sarcastically, “because obviously i don’t have anything better to do on my paid hours.”

“well obviously, have you seen me?” he joked, using his hands to gesture to himself.

“meh - i’ve seen better.”

he raised an eyebrow, a curious look in his eyes. he then pushed away from the desk to stand in front of her, towering over her.

"oh really? who?”

“i mean, have you seen oscar lately?” she replied, hiding the smirk that so desperately wished to rise on her face as she tormented him.

“sure, i’ve seen him,” he muttered slightly bitterly, as rested an arm on the desk next to her, leaning down slowly till he was level with her ear, “bet he couldn’t fuck you like i could.”

and with that he stood up once more, spun on his heel and left the room, leaving y/n to sit in her own thoughts, a blush rising from her cheeks.

and the thoughts stayed with her for the rest of the day, on the cab journey to her hotel, on the ride up the elevator to her room, and as she sat trying to distract herself with mindless scrolling.

she wouldn’t deny lando was an attractive man, no. but would she ever give him the satisfaction of letting him know that? most definitely, but not without a little reluctancy. such reluctancy that had her hesitating outside of his hotel room door, raising her fist to knock then lowering it quickly as she reconsidered her options.

lando had just gotten out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist while his hair was still damp when the sound of the knock on his door echoed through the room, making him frown slightly as he went to answer it.

when he opened the door, he saw y/n standing in front of him, a surprised expression appearing on his face.

"hey. what are you doing here? is everything ok?" he asked, slightly concerned at her unusual quietness.

“prove it.”

he looked confused for a moment, having no idea why she was here. but, seeing the determined look in her eyes flipped on the lights in his brain. she wanted him to prove himself, prove that he could do better than oscar. smirking as he stood to the side, he let her into his hotel room before quietly closing the door and trailing behind her. he noticed how nervous she looked, sitting on the edge of his bed and fidgeting with her hands.

lando walked over to the bed, standing in front of her. his eyes never left her body as he stared down at her, wearing only a towel around his waist that highlighted the water that clung to his torso, something that her eyes tried not to linger on for too long.

“see something you like?” he teased. his ego inflated more when he saw how her cheeks gradually reddened under his gaze. lando chuckled lightly at her embarrassment, before taking a step closer to tower over her and lean down, his face close to hers.

“so cruel,” she almost whined, raising her gaze to meet his. his hands reached out to her face, grabbing at her jaw, and tilting her head slightly as though her were weighing up his options. he knew he had her right where he wanted her, and he loved it. he relished in the power he had over her.

he leaned down, kissing her gently, slowly - his soft lips moving against hers, gradually gaining confidence with every moment. he wanted to savour this moment. his hand moved to rest on her waist, the other remaining on her jaw as he swiped his tongue across her low lip, desperate for more.

lando’s body trailed down hers, nipping at her neck, kissing his way down until he sat on his knees in front of her.

“is this ok?” he asked, so desperate to taste her that his nerves slipped out with every word, though she only nodded in response, “words, angel.”

“yes, fuck. please,” she mewled, nodding as she did and eliciting a satisfied hum from the man kneeling in front of her. in that moment she felt like a goddess, and god did lando think she looked like one - half convinced if he looked up at her face quick enough, a halo would appear around her head.

“up,” he prompted, hands tugging at the waistband of her shorts, urging her to raise her hips enough for him to drag them down her legs, her underwear in tow, taking his time for what she supposed was dramatic effect.

“beautiful,” he whispered, his breath fanning the expanse of her heat sending a rush of ice cold blood through her entire body. he gave her no time to react before his tongue swiped through her folds, briefly circling around her heat but not enough to elicit the pleasure she craved so desperately, “taste so good,” he added, though his mouth turned to her inner thigh, nipping at the skin lightly as his hands gripped her legs, pushing them up to her chest.

he ate her like a man starved, a man desperate to prove himself, a man who was convinced that if this was his last meal on earth, he would die a happy man. her legs wriggled in his grasp with every flick of his tongue, every nip of his teeth on her inner thigh, but he just gripped at her flesh harder, keeping her legs still.

lando could feel her getting closer and closer to her high. he was enamoured by the way her legs tried to clamp closed around his head, caging him in, but he never relented. his tongue lapped up at her slick, flattening against her clit before slowly dragging the tip through her folds, circling her sensitivity. he pulled back to catch his breath, loosening his hold on her legs momentarily as he brought his face up to look at her.

her eyelids were heavy, her chest heaving as small pants and whines fell from her lips. her face had screwed up slightly, desperately holding onto the rising pleasure in her stomach that had been halted.

“please,” she begged.

“patience,” he reminded her, running his fingers down the skin of her thigh softly, “need to feel you. you want that? you want me to fuck you?” he added, egging her on to keep begging for him as his fingers returned to her clit, dragging the bud through his fingertips. he loved it, he relished in the power.

“please lando,” she panted out, staring down at him, “need you. need you to prov-”

“fuck off with this “proving myself” bullshit y/n,” he huffed, rising to stand in front of her once more, a playful anger in his tone, “when im done with you, you won’t be able to think about any one else again.”

his hands grabbed at her waist, turning her over quickly and pulling her hips backwards to meet his. his movements were harsh but god did she love it. lando leant over her frame, his lips pressing soft, deceiving kisses to her shoulder blade.

“oscar this, oscar that,” he muttered in her ear, grabbing his cock in his hand and sliding it through her folds, “don’t even need to fuck you to prove i can make you feel better than he ever could.”

she smiled at the thought. why was he so driven by the thought of proving himself - she’d only jokingly mentioned oscar to piss him off and clearly it was working. his tip pushed at her clit momentarily as his slid his length through her folds, covering herself in his slick. she whined out for him, wiping the smile from her face.

he pushed into her slowly, feeling the way her walls clamped around his cock at the intrusion before loosening, allowing him to take her fully, their skin connecting for a moment as her hand reached around to grab the hand that rested on her hip, urging him to pause whilst she caught her breath.

“what’s the matter baby?” lando questioned, voice laced with genuine concern despite his previous demeanour.

“too big. need a moment,” she breathed out, relaxing her muscles to accommodate him. lando couldn’t help the smug smirk rising on his face, knowing the effect he had on her.

“s’ok angel. i’ll go slow - okay?”

“mhm,” she murmured, rocking her hips back into his slowly to set her own pace, “fuck. move.”

his hips rolled into her slowly, jutting slightly when his tip hit her spongy walls, watching as her head dropped to the pillow, resting on the side, her mouth parted as she breathed through it. her hand finally dropped his, allowing him to return it to her hip, holding onto her for leverage as his thrusts quickened, cock slipping in and out of her with ease as she opened up for him.

“feel so good y/n,” he grunted, his fingers trailing down her skin, a hand stretching the expanse of her ass cheek before gripping at the flesh harshly, “look so pretty filled with my cock. sound so good when you’re moaning my name.”

“as opposed to complaining about everything you do?” she quipped back, taken them both by surprise at her level of coherency.

“i love when you get pissed off at me,” he grunted, lifting his hand up to plant a light smack across her flesh, “love to know you’re thinking about me,” he continued, grabbing at her skin quickly before slapping at the skin again.

“keep going,” she babbled, face turning into the duvet cover to silence her moans.

“what was that angel? i didn’t catch that,” lando’s voice let slip the smirk on his face, “you like it when i take you from behind?” he cooed.

“fuck yes. feels good.”

“speak to me baby, who makes you feel like this?”

“you, lando, you,” she moaned out, beginning to shake around him as her high approached, bringing him closer to his.

“no one else?”

“no one else,” she echoed, unable to think for herself.

“good girl,” he muttered, grabbing at her waist to hold her still as he fucked into her, resorting to using her body to get himself off. lando could feel the way she tightened around him, watching intently as her back arched for him, pressing herself impossibly close as his thrusts quickened, heightening in intensity.

“you gonna cum for me, angel?” he grunted, thumbs stroking gentle patterns into her skin, opposing the brutal snapping of his hips that echoed around the hotel room. she couldn’t even respond before she was shaking around him, rocking herself slowly into him as his hips faltered, allowing her the chance to catch her breath as she chased out the remanence of her pleasure.

“so good,” lando grunted out, “take me so well,” he continued, rambling as her heat squeezed at his length, luring him into orgasm. he pulled out quickly, pulling his cock through his hands a few times before watching as ropes of cum shot from his length, painting her back with intricate design.

he reached down quickly grabbing his towel from earlier to clean her up as her body collapsed in a pile on his bed, thanking the high heavens that he was in a hotel and would be able to request a new towel, no questions asked. manoeuvring her body, lando laid next to her, pulling her naked frame into his embrace and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“it’s interesting,” she uttered after a few moments of silence.

“what is?”

“you’re the one that brought up fucking me better than oscar could,” she replied, smiling, “i never said anything to the contrary and yet somehow just the mere thought got you so riled up.”

“…isn’t it obvious?”

“what?” she echoed his previous confusion.

“i want you. and i want to be the only one you want,” he replied bluntly, as though it was a fact, “so if i get riled up by the thought you with someone else - shoot me, i guess,” he added, shrugging nonchalantly.

[delusionalmultilingual]

Bakugou cries in front of you, and you only.

In the first few months of your relationship he keeps up a hard and cold barrier, of course getting his usual hot-headed self when someone even slightly irritates him, but you calm him down eventually.

It's not like he has no emotions other than anger, he just had difficulty showing them, even if he really really wants to, he can't.

So when he's hurt one of his friends greatly, he slams the door of his bedroom, laying on his back, on his bed. He even locked the door for good measures, but you had a key anyway. It's not like he couldn't keep you out anyway.

It's when his eyes start to water and he can feel a lump stuck in his throat, it's when he messages you. He normally doesn't use punctuation in his texts, but it's when he's upset he does.

'Come here.'

That's all he messages, even if you haven't messaged him back, he knows you've seen it, or you've heard it from someone that he's slammed his door.

In his past he used to cry a lot too, but only at home and when his mum or dad was with him. His mum would comfort him the best she could, after all she did care about him. Even if he was a bit of a jerk to her sometimes.

She would wrap him in her arms and squeeze him tightly, pecking his forehead softly, running a hand through his hair. Her words would be a lot softer than her usual yelling behaviour.

When he burnt his hands from using his quirk too much she would scold him before comforting him, tending to his wounds before sending him off so she can get back to whatever she was doing before.

"Katsuki?" Your voice sounds out into his pitch black room, the hallway light shining underneath the small crack of the door. Knocking quietly, and trying the knob, it didn't move at all.

The doorknob clicks and you can only just see inside of his room, pushing the door open gently, Katsuki was already sitting back down on his bed, looking away from you. The door clicks closed when you push it back. Leaving the room in darkness again.

All you can hear is the small sniffling coming from him, your steps quickly shift to the foot of his bed. Crawling towards him and giving him a hug, bringing his head to your chest and whispering to him.

"What's the matter, what's got you so upset babe?" Your soft words make him settle into your skin instantly, a small patch on your shirt becoming wet with his tears.

His voice was still harsh as he spoke, but his tears and upset state made his speech croaky when he spoke. "I fucked up babe... M' a shit friend."

"Don't talk down to yourself."

Your words were still soft as you lifted his face and squeezed his cheeks, looking into his tear-stained gaze. He hides his face in your neck and lays down on his back. Bringing you with him and you huff a strained groan, rubbing his hair and breathing in his scent.

His body shudders against yours and your heart aches for him, he squeezes you tighter before letting you lay down next to him, wiping his tears and looking up at his ceiling. Still avoiding eye contact with you.

Sitting up and tying your hair back into a low bun. Your legs cross and you stare at him in silence for a good minute or two.

"I said something about Shitty Hair's past. When he told me. I‐" His voice cuts off as he breathes down the lump in his throat. "I told him it was stupid to think like that."

You stay silent, not wanting to say anything that might anger or upset him more, all you did was nod to his words.

His eyes well up again, before rubbing his eyes with his hands and sobbing again, his hands and arms covering his face so you couldn't see him like that. He hated it when you saw him cry anyway, knowing you didn't mind but the embarrassment in the near future got to him.

Sliding next to his head, you run a hand through his hair and stay quiet. He was quiet, which was unusual of him. But this was a different circumstance, on that you have seen before but never really shown.

You knew your words would comfort him but wouldn't help with the situation, so you sit there and let him cry it out.

Even if he would end up sorting it out he probably wouldn't apologise, or at least give a shit apology. He would go back to you and fall asleep in your arms, asking if he fucked up anymore, to which you would reply that time would tell.

God he hated when you did that.

This was completely based off an image I saw on pinterest, its not the best work I've done but I do have more planned in the future (・ε・｀ )

Now officially edited and proofread

Should I make this a story?

[satzumosupremacy]

Elite Bodyguard Series: Pt.10

Desperation

Male reader x Jeon Somi

Tags: Smut, literally face fucking, daddy kink

2.8k Words

You have a history with Somi. Back when you were a freshly new bodyguard, she repeatedly sought out your services. Regardless of whether the close relationship you shared with her is just a distant memory for you, she still thinks of you from time to time—perhaps more often than you'd expect. And here you are, reminiscing about the old days and walking in front of Somi as she follows behind.

“Oppa, y’know my song was inspired by you.”

“Fast Forward?”

There’s a reason why Somi isn’t your client anymore—she switched agencies, that’s the only reason. You advanced quickly, gaining many celebrity clients along the way. It’s the law of attraction: when people seek top talent, companies turn to you. And when Somi needed to make a decision on her own career as an idol, she only had two choices: move to a different agency or continue to have you by her side. It was a hard choice for Somi until she came to the obvious conclusion. You didn’t hold any resentment; you understood her decision. This was all business anyways.

However, the glares in your eyes weren't always so friendly. Your presence was already intimidating, with the black suit, sunglasses, earpiece, and sometimes even a holster at your hip. You didn't smile much, but you got the job done. Initially, Somi thought you were a cold person, but that changed once you became her regular bodyguard. The more time she spent with you, the more her perception shifted. Despite your cold and intimidating appearance, you cared for and protected your client. That was the job you had signed up for.

“I took part in the lyrics,” Somi says, causing you to stop short before opening the door and look back at her.

“What do I have to do with your song?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles. “Just.. just missed you, Oppa. Don’t you miss me too?”

You couldn't give her an answer when she expected a 'yes,' but you remained silent. Was it wrong to forget about her? You had her phone number, but you never called or texted. Not even to wish her something like a 'Happy Birthday' or 'Happy New Year.'

Somi glances around to make sure no one is watching. Once she's certain both of you are alone, she takes your hand. “I know we are parting ways again after this. But can we catch up? I don’t want you to leave.”

“I think your manager is waiting, Somi. We can catch up next time. Promise?”

“But remember the promise you made with me last time?”

You're clueless. Her question was too vague. It's been years. "What promise?"

“May I come over, Oppa? You’ve seen my place. I never saw yours.”

Somi never slept with you, but it was obvious that she wanted to fuck at the hotel when you went overseas with her, which didn't went her way anyways since this was all business. “Does Chaeyoung talk about me to you, Somi? I’m sure she said something.”

“Oppa, just once. Please?” Somi’s begging for you straightforwardly, you can tell from her eyes that she’s been lonely for far too long. “Aren’t we close? How many years have we not seen each other? It’s been too long, Oppa.”

There’s also not a single lie that you can tell Somi was interested in you, not just sexually, but also romantically. When times change, it’s questionable when you and Somi parted ways.

“Ennik,” you say softly. “Somi.”

“Yes?” she smiles and lets go of your hand.

“Come home with me.”

She chuckles, “finally, you’re not playing hard for once.”

———

“Daddy?” Somi says cautiously out of the blue as you pull into the driveway.

“Is that like one of your kinks?” you chuckle.

“You don’t like it?”

“I’m not judging. I don’t mind it, Somi.” You turn the car off and close the garage door. “Let’s go inside.”

She's unusually quiet, waiting impatiently as you both exit the car and walk inside. There's no doubt that Somi won't let you off the hook the moment you step in. She's hungry. She's lonely. As you shut the door calmly, before you can even turn around, she gets on her knees with her hands in her lap, looking up at you desperately.

"Give it to me, Daddy," she softly pleads once you see her kneeling, slowly placing her hands on your pants and pulls down slowly.

“Somi,” you take a breath, "how much did you missed me?"

"So much." Somi leans closer, staring right at you from below and getting a whiff of your crotch.

"Then show me how much you missed me. Be a good girl."

Somi doesn't respond, but you can see it in her eyes that she wants to be proven worthy. And slowly, Somi bites onto the waistband of your boxers, then pulls it down with a wicked smirk, and you felt her nose dragging against your skin.

She’s not someone who you just met. You know that she's a horny one at heart. Somi didn't want to waste any time. Her breaths came shallow and quick, as if each breath were full of desperation. She gulps and stares at your cock the moment it flings out of your boxers. But before you give her a taste, what's the fun without a small tease? You already have her in a chokehold, and she wouldn’t want to escape it.

"Take off your shirt," you demand, caressing her cheeks. Somi didn't even hesitate and takes off her shirt, revealing a black bra as you stare at her cleavage. Her tit's are round and perfect, more than enough to where you would want your face in between.

“Good girl.” you say, smirking.

She leans closer again and only stares at you after a quick kiss on the tip of your cock. “I’ve been fantasizing about you. I thought about you late last night."

“I’ll make it come true, Somi.” You say, brushing her hair and getting a clear view of her beauty. Once her mouth opened, she wanted only one thing: to taste you. But knowing how desperate Somi is, you're not letting her. Not this easily. You pull her hair back and she gasp, staring up to meet your gaze.

Somi gulps, which was loud in this quiet house. “Daddy,” she whispers. You saw your own reflection in her eyes as she looks at you.

“Open your mouth,” you say, wanting to be in control. Quietly, she opens her mouth without hesitation and you slap your cock right on her cheeks, not once, but twice as she flinches and smiles, then Somi wickedly chuckles.

“I’m such a slut for you.”

“It should be that way,” you say, a deeper tone that made her heart to start fluttering. Your cock was right in front of Somi. She’s impatiently waiting like a good girl. “Keep your mouth open and your tongue out.”

Again, she listens to everything you demanded. Her eyes gleamed, begging you so desperately to the point she’ll do anything just for a small taste. And as you’re curious to how desperate she was, her salvia starts to drip off the tip of her tongue.

You slap your cock right on her tongue, then held her nape with no intentions on letting Somi have it her way. You’re planning to ruin her face. She deserves it. There’s no excuse if Somi’s been waiting for this day. And with a small thrust into her mouth, she chokes once you reached the back of her throat. You push harder, slowly every few seconds without pulling out your cock.

Somi's throat expands, and you could feel her trying to choke, when it’s only a weak one with your cock deep in her throat. She leans back, almost falling behind, and you intentionally did it to pin her against the wall. She closes her eyes shut, face trembling to how deep your cock was in. Well, you weren’t trying to make her pass out, but you did start to worry and gave Somi some room to breathe.

She takes a deep breath with your cock still in her mouth. Without a response, Somi grabs onto your hips, bobbing and tilting her head slowly. You couldn’t help but smirk at how much of a slut you made her. There was no sense of pride from Somi. She's going crazy for your cock.

“Good girl,” you groan, complimenting Somi. “Go ahead, have it. Take it.”

“Mhm,” she murmurs. Then there’s a long hum, the type of hum of tasting something delightful. You felt her perfectly manicured nails digging into your skin as she grips harder and harder, cock disappearing in and out from her mouth. Saliva drips down from her chin and right onto her cleavage. You give a hard thrust and her head’s now against the wall, perfect as you smirk to what wicked intentions you have for her face—a hard face fucking.

Somi closes her eyes, letting a tear out by how hard you were thrusting into her mouth. It’s the tears of happiness that everyone gets after getting what they’ve been longing for. You decide to suddenly stop, still with your cock deep down in her throat. And with your thumb on her face, you wiped her tears, smudging her mascara in the process. She looked more of a slut at this point, and you aren’t complain of seeing Somi like this when her hair is sticking to the wall.

“Good girl,” you say, more softly with a deeper tone. “You look so fucking beautiful like this.” Praising her is a cheat code, she loves being complicated and praised at, especially if it’s from you. You’re well aware of how much you meant to her. It’s no secret.

And it’s clear that you’re using her mouth like a toy, she’s choking and gagging. You could care less while you chase this peace of mind from a singer’s mouth. Somi’s not stopping you, neither would you want to.

“Fuck,” you groan softly, taking a quick breath, and seeing how much of a mess her face was and pulls out. Saliva drips down to her tits after she spits more out to make a mess. You love it how she’s just a slut taking your cock like there’s no tomorrow. Her lips are coated in saliva as she worships your cock with her lips pressing right on it.

“Am I being a good girl, Daddy?” she mumbles, lips on the tip of your cock.

“You are. Maybe you should stop talking and show me that you’re even better than a good girl.” Somi’s face was all fucked, a whole hot mess. She’s even more beautiful like this.

“I want it all over my face, Daddy.”

“Should maybe get ready then.”

You grab onto her face, squeezing her cheeks with your fingers and palm right on her chin to make Somi look up at you. You were once her love interest. You were her protector. And now, she’s on her very knees, in a mess taking your aggression. Somi couldn’t say anything, she’s more mesmerized by your glare. You push your cock back into her mouth to make Somi gag and continue to choke all over your cock.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good,” you groan. Your cock was shoved deep down to the point it bulges out her throat. Her eyes are closed, tears slowly coming down her face. You felt saliva dripping all the way down to your balls. Her small mouth couldn’t take it, but she's not stopping you from using her like a toy.

Your cock begins to throb, violently more as you keep shoving your cock into her mouth. There’s a whole mess on her tits as it’s drying out layer by layer. Somi’s taking it like a slut that she is. It doesn’t matter how rough you were, Somi loves the way your cock throbs. After a deep gasp, and a moan, you pull out. Webs of saliva flows out her mouth and on your cock down to her chest.

She grabs onto your cock to start stroking it. Somi knew what to do. She wants to make you cum all over her face. Her hands squeezes your cock, stroking it faster and faster while looking up at you.

“Make me cum, Somi,” you uttered quickly. “I’ll cum on your pretty face.”

“Give it to me, Daddy,” she murmurs. Her mouths wide open, tongues out, eyes all closed.

You cum by her small hands squeezing and stroking your cock, releasing all the built up sexual tension for years, but all Somi can feel was how much cum there was on her face. With a bright smile, and a couple flinches from cum shooting onto her face, she finally got her fantasy to come true. It’s warm. It’s thick. Just what she’s been craving for.

Somi’s face is the definition of getting face fucked. Her hairs a mess, cum all over her lips, cheeks, and even up to her hair as she couldn’t open her eyes but smile. Then strands of cum stretch and drip down her chin to her tits.

“What a mess,” she utters after swallowing your cum, and the biggest smile you saw from her today. Somi scoops all the cum on her face and licks every single finger.

“You’re missing more, Somi,” you say, wanting her to lick your cock clean. She crawls on her knees to suck you off without a word. “There’s some on your hair too.”

“It’s fine,” she says after pulling off your cock with a loud pop. “You taste good.”

“Was I too aggressive?”

“Kind of. Tolerable thought. But why should I complain?” She then leans in again to give your cock a quick kiss. Her chest is pumping after being used as a toy.

“Water?” you say, wanting to give her some care.

“No,” she whispers shyly.

You grab your pants and gently hand Somi her shirt. She’s still on her knees with the shirt rolled up into a ball as she covers part of her chest. “It’s not a problem if you want get in my panties if you’re thinking about it right now.”

Well, you did give her a hard face fucking. It’s only right that you give Somi a time to rest. As you put on your pants, she’s just staring down at the floor, lost in thought.

“What are you thinking, Somi?”

“Are you gonna kick me out?” she says, looking up at you. There’s a pure moment of silence, you couldn’t believe what she just said. After face fucking her? Why kick her out?

“Do you want me to, Somi?” you smirk, teasing her when you aren’t planning on kicking her out.

“You want my pussy? I’ll give it to you right now for as long as you want. Please let me stay for a while, Oppa. Please, Daddy?”

You’re dumbfounded to why Somi thinks that you’ll kick her out. “Calm down, let’s go sit on the couch. I’m not telling you to leave.”

“Oh,” she embarrassingly says and puts on her shirt. After Somi stands up, she follows you to the couch and sits right beside you. Somi couldn't belive that she got naked and took your cock like a slut. Neither did she want to fully admit of being one.

“How was it since you changed agencies, Somi?”

“I really missed you. I couldn’t stop thinking that I might of made the wrong choice to leave you behind. And now you’re with Twice.”

“I’m just a bodyguard,” you chuckle.

“So what? You’re so comfortable to be around with. Isn’t it obvious?”

You shrug, “don’t know.”

“Oppa,” she takes a deep breath. “Was it also obvious that I was interested in you?”

“It was. Why are you bringing this up, Somi?”

“If I can’t buy your love, I’ll sell you my body. That’s the most I can do for you to want me in a way.”

You sigh, “there’s gotta be a better way to word that, Somi. C’mon.”

She then sits closer to you and puts her head on your shoulders, “we never had a proper farewell to each other. I want to thank you for everything.”

“It’s..not like I’ll never take you in as a client again, Somi. If both our schedules are right, I don’t mind taking you.”

“Really, Oppa?”

“When’s your next concert? I’ll come with Chaeyoung.”

“Why come with her when you can be alongside me like we used to? Be backstage and we can eat at a restaurant after with my manager. I want to treat you for everything you’ve done with me.”

“Just text me, Somi. I’ll be there if your agency reaches out to me.”

“Mhm, I can’t thank you enough.”

“Do you plan on spending the night here?”

“I’m busy tomorrow morning, Oppa,” she sighs.

“I’ll take you home later, Somi.”

A/N: Lost motivation to write more, but hope this is enough. Half ass edit too.

[fangswbenefits]

Family

𓂅 𓄹 Summary: Miguel is a natural when it comes to being a father.

𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

No warnings! Pure fluff! Dad Miguel.

A flock of birds took flight from a nearby tree and the ruffling of the leaves was a clear indication that there was an intruder nearby.

Your moment of peace and quiet was short-lived, but you remained still, folding under your head as both you an Miguel soaked up the Summer sun.

"Pa~pá!" sang a small voice from inside the canopy.

"Ye~ah?" Miguel said, focused on his dimensional travel watch.

"Look at me~e!"

"I'm looking."

"You're not looking!"

You wrinkled your nose at him behind a faint smile, “Miguel O’Hara, I will smash that watch into a million pieces if you don’t focus on your daughter.”

He glanced up at you. “The multiverse—”

“—can wait,” you reassured him, nudging his arm with an elbow. “Jessica is more than capable of taking over for a couple of days.”

He nodded, but only half convinced, which was good enough, considering this was the first time Miguel was taking a few days off from the never-ending stressful work of keeping the canon intact.

It was pleasant enough to be able to go to earth-616B on a little family trip and enjoy the countryside with the guidance of Peter, MJ and little Mayday.

But Miguel was… well, Miguel. A natural worrier who disliked handing over his responsibilities to others.

“Hey, you have something on your face,” he suddenly said in a low voice.

“What is it?” you immediately brought both hands to tap along your skin, searching for anything unusual.

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on your cheek, which sent your heart into overdrive.

“Nice one, O’Hara…”

He replied with a teasing smile that you were so used to loving.

“EEEEW!” your daughter’s voice tore through the empty field, effectively distressing the surrounding fauna.

You watched as Miguel turned off the bleeping device on his wrist and rose from the meadow to his full height, headed toward the tree.

“Alright, little spider, come down.”

You spotted child of five descending upside down from a branch by her web, two front teeth missing, face covered in smudges of dirt, but beaming brightly at the signt of her dad.

“Papá!”

He helped her reach the ground safely and ruffled her unruly hair. “You need to be careful.”

Even from a distance, your heightened senses allowed you to feel the adoration in his voice.

The girl was wiggling now with barely suppressed excitement. "Hey, papá?"

Well, if that wasn't the most mischievous tone of voice you’d ever heard. "Hmm?”

"Do that thing."

"What thing?"

"The thing!"

"What thing?" he asked again, feigning confusion.

"THAT thing!" she cheered. "Where you go bzzzz and vssssssh and then BAM!”

"Oh," said Miguel. “That thing."

"Yep!”

"Maybe not," he sighed, but when her uplifted face began to wobble, you knew he had little choice. "Well, don’t tell mommy.”

"Yeeeaah!"

He brought a finger to his lips that she promptly mimicked. “Shhhhhh,” she then giggled.

“I can hear you!” you shouted, sitting on the grass to offer your seal of approval that came in the form of a wide smile.

You trusted her with Miguel, because Miguel trusted her with no one else but you. He would never consciously endanger his child, so you grew to accept that some of their playtime might involve something a bit riskier — as long as no loss of limbs was on the table.

She looked so tiny next to his impressive height, but was definitely a miniature copy of her father.

“We carry them inside us for months only for them to come out looking exactly like their father,” Jessica had once said and you wholeheartedly agreed.

He was wearing casuals, but his suit quickly began to engulf his entire body, leaving him only unmasked. Your daughter was bobbing happily along beside him.

"Stay back," he warned her lightly before sendind two laser-like red strings to coil around a thick branch, and effortlessly bending it into an arch until the tip hit the ground.

"Yey!" she yelped in excitement, toddling off toward the branch.

"Alright. Now, be careful.”

She met this warning with as much enthusiasm as she had for being offered an unlimited supply of candy of her choice. It didn't take much to excite her and you couldn't help but smile and follow as she began climbing up the branch with steady steps.

As she reached the middle, her knees bent as a way to maintain balance. “Do it, do iiiit!”

Miguel chuckled and the twin strings loosened ever so slightly in order to have it wobble up and down, sending the young child into a spiral of pure bliss.

“Faster! Faster!”

“Steady yourself,” he advised instead and she did as she was told, lowering herself and extending both arms as if riding a wave.

To a young spider, this was the closest thing they could get to a bouncing castle, so you didn’t mind this at all.

And neither did Miguel, because he instructed for her to climb onto his shoulders and offered the sweetest and most genuine smile ever.

He let go of the tree branch slowly, and his suit retracted at once, the little girl sliding both arms down his face for support and planting a kiss on top of his head.

“Did you have fun?”

"Yes!" she immediately said with a screech.

"And you’re strong and brave?”

"Yes!"

"And you know I love you, don't you?” he said as he paced toward you with her bouncing on his shoulders. “And mamá too, right? We'll always love you."

She was, delightfully, still very much of fan of such cheesy displays of affection. "Yes," she chirped happily.

You rose to your feet, feeling warmth spread throughout your body at the wonderful sight in front of you.

Miguel, for all his stubbornness and grumpiness, was a marvelous father. It was second nature to him.

"Another kiss?”

She leaned over and planted a noisy kiss on Miguel’s temple and giggled when he did his best to wipe it off with the back of his hand.

You welcomed them with a tight embrace and the feeling of a soft caress along your face as your daughter gave you a toothless smile.

"Let’s head out to uncle Peter’s house for a bath,” you said, pecking the palm of her hand.

“Don’t need one!”

Miguel squeezed her tiny calfs lightly. “Young lady, you do as your mother says.”

“But—”

Another squeeze and she bared her teeth, two tiny fangs emerging.

“Miguel, she’s showing off her fangs,” you said, feigning terror.

“Fangs away!” he said with a smile, bouncing her up and down his shoulders, which had her explode into a laughter.

Masterlist

[shhhsecretsideblog]

Working Late

Had this idea stuck in my head for past few days so had to write it up. Quick little oneshot, 1.6k words. Self inflicted birth denial, clothing birth, voyeurism, but soft fluffy ending. Enjoy.

You were working late again. The sun had set hours ago, the dark evening sky barely visible through the windows, the office an unusually quiet ghost town. Unfortunately the conference call with your American counterparts could not be moved and with the time difference you had to stay late, long after the rest of your company had gone home for the day. Well you weren’t entirely alone this evening; your wife, and joint business owner, also stayed late deciding to finish up some things before she went on maternity leave next week. It made sense to work the same hours and go home together.

When your meeting was finished, you packed up your things and headed down the corridor towards her office. The door was slightly ajar, you were just about to knock and enter when you heard a long quiet moaning sound.

You paused, putting an ear closer towards the crack in the door, a smile pulling at your lips realising what she was doing. The pregnancy had made her insatiably horny, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d relieved that itch here in this office. Though you were a little miffed she hadn’t invited you this time deciding to go at it solo.

“Mmmnggh- oh god!” Moaned your wife beyond the door.

The arousing sounds had an immediate effect on you, turning you on despite the late hour and the long work day. You quietly opened the door a little more, wanting to watch and catch her in the act. But instead of seeing her in her chair with one hand down her pants as you expected, she was standing, her back to the door, bracing the wooden desk and swaying her hips.

“Oooohhhh-…don’t come now…” she moaned quietly.

What on earth was she doing, you wondered. The question was soon answered when she grunted and slightly squatted in front of her desk.

Oh my god, she was in labour! Panic clenched your heart. You should rush into her office, to help and support her, but her continued moaning and grunting kept the arousal firm in your pants. You couldn’t go in there like this.

“Mmmmmffh- baby wait a bit longer please!” She panted and shifted around the room, unaware of your presence. “Your daddy is in an important m-meeting… mnnnnhh… when he’s finished he can - take us - to hospital… then you can come o-outtt… nnnnngghh”

You watched the way her hips circled in between each contraction, the way her knees dipped at every pain, the way her beautifully tight round stomach having dropped low on her hips a few days ago contracted visibly through her thin dress, the way her swollen breasts heaved with every laboured breath. The sight had you frozen, in fear and fascination and arousal, leaving you standing in the dark corridor watching her through the gap in the doorframe.

“Oooohhhh it’s so low…. Mnnnnghhh-oh god! I t-think..I need to p-push… hooohooohooohooo no! Not now… daddy isn’t here yet…”

Your labouring wife grasped the edge of her desk, moaning and whimpering. Her stance had widened, her knees were buckling, and yet you couldn’t move. Every sound escaping from her lips pumped more blood to your groin.

“Nnnnngghhhh!” She leant an elbow down on the desk, her other hand cupping the swell of her heavy stomach which just accentuated the size of her full term bump. It really was huge, you had no idea how she managed to carry the extra weight and still dress the way she did - in her staple black dress and heels. Even when heavily pregnant she was still every inch the successful corporate woman you fell in love with.

“Hooohooo- you can’t come out now baby…. Please. Oooohhhh…Don’t push… don’t push…”she panted a mantra to herself.

You were transfixed; watching her struggle and sweat and labour in the office where your baby was probably conceived.

Suddenly she grunted, a deep gravelly sound, and you nearly climaxed in your pants.

“Oh my god…was that- shit, my water just b-b-broke!” She looked past her swollen stomach to see her stiletto heels now soaked in amniotic fluid. “Ooooohhhhh… Y-you’re really coming n-now aren’t you little o-one? Hoooooo- where’s… where’s your dad?”

Rubbing her contracting stomach and raising her head, your wife looked towards the door. You had no idea why but you disappeared out of sight the second she looked up, concealing yourself behind the wooden door. You should go in, you should help her, she was having your baby. And yet, your legs didn’t move.

“Okay… okay baby. Looks like hooooo it’s just you and m-me…” You heard her say, still out of sight but well within earshot. You heard movement inside the room and took a chance peeking round the door.

She had kicked off her heels and lowered herself to the ground, kneeling beside her desk with her arms up gripping the edge. She hummed, rocking slightly back forth, clearly preparing herself for the next wave. Then suddenly she sucked in a gulp of air before letting out a long lowing sound, deep and primal, and sinking back on her heels as she pushed. Hard.

Your jaw slackened, watching fascinated from outside. This woman was incredible, absolutely beautiful, listening to her body and following her instincts, birthing your baby right here in her office. You fell more and more in love with her with every grunting sound she made.

“Mmnnnggghhhh!!!!!!!” She roared, “fuck…. The head… I can feel it coming….”

She let go of the desk, a little unsteady without the support, scrambling underneath her flowing dress. Oh my god, she was delivering your baby, right here right now.

“Oh oh oh no- I can’t…. get-them-off!!!!” She cried, and you realised she was still wearing her underwear and was struggling to get them past her hips with her widened knees.

“Hooooohoooo oh baby wait a second… need to make room… I’ve got to take them off… I’ve got to…. I’ve got to…. Oh shit I’ve gotta pushhhhhh-NNNNGGGGGH!”

Your wife growled again, bearing down with everything she had despite her underwear blocking the baby’s exit. It was the hottest sound you’d ever heard. She gasped in between pushes, trying to tug her knickers out of the way. But to no avail.

“Oohhhhhhh I can feel you…. Oh my god there’s your h-head-hoooohoooo.” Her dress was pulled up and you could see her cupping the bulge that was pushing against the fabric of her underwear.

You baby was crowning, but your wife was struggling. The fierce lioness from a moment ago, who was confidently delivering her baby unassisted, was starting to panic. The baby was coming out and she was pushing hard, but she couldn’t move to take off her underwear, the head retreating after every push by the restrictive fabric. You could see the panic gathering in her eyes as she failed to break free from her knickers and her body struggled to birth the head. Tears welled in her eyes and it broke your heart; the spell of your voyeurism vanished in a heartbeat.

You immediately threw open the door and rushed over to her.

“Oh sweetheart.” You whispered, kneeling down beside her.

“You- you made it. Hooooo The baby…. is coming….” She grasped on to your for dear life, pulling at the lapels on your suit jacket as she grunted and pushed again.

“You are doing amazing, darling.” You encouraged, supporting her weight under her arms.

“Get-my-pants-off-now!!!!” She growled against your chest.

“Okay, just hold on to me. I’ll get them off.” You assured, moving her trembling hands to your shoulders, freeing your own to help deliver this child.

The thin material stretched across her widened hips, you hooked your thumb on either side and pulled down but they would only go so far with her knees splayed.

“I need to you move a little bit-”

“Move?! Are you serious? I can’t move! Grrgghhh!”

“Just a little bit darling, I need your knees closer together so I can get these knickers off…”

“I can’t… this baby needs to come out now. Oh god I need to push!!!!! Just get them off-get them off!!!”

You tried to rip the fabric but it was stretched too tight you couldn’t break it. Frantically you looked around to see if anything else could help, and thankfully your eyes found the scissors on your wife’s desk. Grabbing them quickly, you carefully cut the fabric at one hip and they immediately fell to the floor.

“Oh thank fuck!” Your wife gasped, still clinging on to your shoulders she widened her legs and sank closer to the floor in a deep strong push. “Here it comes…. MNNNGGGHHHHH!”

Before you could react, the head popped out with another gush of fluid. Your wife eased her grip on you, panting heavily in relief.

“Hoooohoooo- oh my god… that’s our baby.” Her hand cupped the newly born head, and she looked up at you and smiled.

“You are incredible.” You kissed her sweat-dampened forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in labour?”

“I didn’t realise I was in labour, and when I did… hooooohoooo you were on your conference call. I knew it was important and I thought I had plenty of t-time… ooooohhhhhh god. I’m feeling pressure again….”

“Do you need to push? Is it time?”

“I think so… mmmnnnnh… are you ready to meet our b-baby?” You wife asked, a smile still tugging at her lips despite the rising pain.

“Of course, let’s meet our baby.”

Your wife shifted, stealing herself ready for the peak of the contraction that was building. Her hands braced against your shoulders, while your own were poised ready between her thighs.

Your beautiful wife grunted again, deep and long, as she pushed. You held her hips steady when she twitched and yelped as the shoulders stretched her wide, and a few seconds later your baby was born into your hands. A baby boy born at 8:56pm on the floor in your wife’s office at the company you’d build together.

[moonstruckme]

hi Mae! I've never requested anything before, so forgive me if I'm doing this wrong. Can I request poly!marauders x reader who has a cold? I've just gotten sick and I feel icky, and these type of stories always make me feel better 😅 no worries if you can't, thank you!

Thanks for requesting lovely! You nailed it don't worry <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

Your home is suspiciously quiet when Sirius enters. You and James ordinarily beat him there, but there’s no blaring TV or sound of something sizzling in the kitchen, he can’t even hear the shower running upstairs. The only evidence of either of you are your shoes by the front door, yours lined up neatly as they always are and James’ strewn a couple of feet from the doormat (as they always are). 

Sirius kicks his own shoes off, leaving them amongst James’, and starts to go in search of you upstairs. Only, as he passes the couch, he does hear something. A quiet whistling. 

He turns, and there you both are. Slumped where he couldn’t see you from the door, your body laid over James’ and his head propped at a painful-looking angle against the arm of the couch, the both of you covered in blankets. Your breath wheezes in and out of you. 

An unintentional tsking noise comes from Sirius’ mouth as he crouches beside you. He slots a hand underneath James’ neck, trying to alleviate the cruel bend. 

His boyfriend makes a sulky groaning sound. Mile-long lashes (which go sorely unappreciated by their owner, by the way; Sirius would do much better with them) flutter reluctantly as James turns his head towards Sirius. 

“Hello,” Sirius says softly, a smile tugging at his lips at the sight of the other boy’s sleep-glazed eyes. “Are you very comfortable like that?” 

“M’sweltering,” James admits, “but she’s cold.” 

Sirius feels his brows furrow. “I meant your neck, Jamie.” But it is odd that you’d be cold, considering that he’s a bit warm and he has no blankets. You don’t usually get so chilled. “She’s cold?” 

James makes a face that’s half pout, half frown. “She’s ill.” 

Sirius frowns harder, and only then does he realize how unusual it is for you not to have woken while they’re talking right above you like this. He sets the back of a hand to your forehead and finds it scorching. 

“Oh.” The coo drops from his lips almost without his notice. He feels your cheek with his other palm as if that will change things, but it’s the same. “Since when?” 

“She was home when I got here,” says James. “Don’t think she ever made it to work this morning. I gave her some paracetamol.” 

That had to have been hours ago. Sirius is about to ask if James is feverish himself, or what other delusion caused him to nap with you instead of calling him and Remus home, but you start to stir, saving your boyfriend a berating. Sirius’ attention goes to you. 

“Hey, sweetness.” He strokes his thumb along your cheekbone, hoping to wake you gently. “You’re not feeling well?” 

You make an unhappy humming sound Sirius takes to mean No. Sniffle wetly. James grabs a box of tissues from beside him on the floor and offers them to you like it’s a routine.

“When did this start?” 

You blow your nose before replying. It sounds awful, and when you’re done Sirius can see that the tip of your poor nose already looks chapped. “I think it set in overnight,” you croak. James winces at the sound of your voice. 

Sirius strokes your cheek again, doing his best not to look too severe. “And why didn’t you call us, lovely girl?” 

Over the top of your head, James mouths emphatically, She wouldn’t let me. 

You only shrug, burrowing further into your blankets. “No point. Why should you come home just because I’ve got the sniffles?” 

Sirius sighs. He gives your cheek a mean little squeeze, standing and pulling out his phone. 

“What’re you doing?” you ask suspiciously. 

“Hush, don’t hurt your throat.” 

You pout, but Sirius is not James, and while he’s far from immune to your sweetheart face, he won’t be swayed by it. Remus picks up on the third ring. 

“Hi, love.” He answers already sounding weary, albeit lovingly so, used to Sirius getting home around this time and calling him impatiently. Remus works too much, Sirius comes home every day itching for a kiss from all three of you; it’s a routine they both love to hate. “I’m just about to wrap up here.” 

“Right, I totally believe you,” Sirius scoffs (affectionately). Remus is always ‘wrapping up’ when Sirius calls, one chapter bleeding into the next until it’s dark and one of you goes to collect him. “I just wanted to let you know that our bird never made it to work today; she’s come down with something.” 

He can practically hear Remus’ frown forming. “She didn’t say?” 

“What do you think?” 

A sigh crackles through the line. “And bad enough that she stayed home, hm?” 

Sirius looks at you, finding your eyes still big and expression pouty. He pouts back. “Yeah, she’s got a wicked fever and whatever it is has turned her nose into a poorly tuned woodwind instrument.” 

Your expression sours. James hides a smile in your hair. “It’s only a cold,” you say. 

“Honestly, Rem, she’s incoherent.” 

Sirius can hear movement on the other end of the line, the quiet snap of his boyfriend’s laptop shutting. “I’m coming. Try to get her to drink something, please?”

He appraises you. You don’t look particularly happy with him. “I’ll try.” 

“Thanks, love. I’ll be there soon.” 

“Alright, drive safe. Love you.” 

“Love you, too.” 

“That was so unnecessary,” you complain as soon as he hangs up. 

“Sorry, I can’t understand you when you’re all stuffed up like that,” Sirius replies flippantly, pocketing his phone and crouching in front of you again. “All your consonants sound like ds and bs.” 

He uses his cold hands to his advantage, pressing them to your cheeks and allowing his genuine sympathy to surface in his expression. It wins you over quickly; you tilt your face into his touch. Fever glazed eyes droop indulgently. 

“Now, my lovely snot monster, would you like ice in your water or do you want it plain?” 

Remus bustles in when you’ve halfway drained your cup. Sirius can tell he’s worried because he hardly kicks his shoes into alignment next to each other, not taking the time to bend over and arrange them as neatly as he always does. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says in his most dulcet tone, dropping a kiss on your temple while he feels your fever with his knuckles. “Jamie, you’re not ill too, are you?” 

“No, I’m just here in solidarity,” James assures him from beneath you. “I’m tip-top, promise.” 

Remus nods, his mouth an unhappy line as he appraises the two of you. “I think you need to lose the blankets, dove. We need to get your fever down.” 

“But it’s cold,” you whine. 

“It’s not,” Sirius promises you. “It’s just that you could roast a marshmallow on your forehead right now.” 

“You can still have Jamie,” negotiates Remus, already peeling the blankets off you and balling them up out of reach. 

“S’all you really need,” James says agreeably. You look unsure, but you relax a little when he cuddles you closer. 

“And how about some tea?” Remus palms the side of your face, frowning slightly at the heat while he drags his thumb across your cheek. “It’ll help with your throat and keep you warm, yeah?” 

“Okay, yeah.” You take Remus’ hand, bringing it to your lips. Your eyes are fever bright. “Thanks, Rem. I’m sorry you came home.” 

“Now, what kind of thing is that to say?” Sirius teases. “I, for one, am very glad to have Remus home.” 

You attempt a glare; it’s poorly executed. “I meant I was sorry you called him.” 

“Well, I’m not,” Remus says firmly. Sirius fights the urge to stick his tongue out at you. “You should always call me, sweetheart. Or just any of us, but we can talk about that later.” (Oh, Sirius cannot wait. The scolding he wants to give you would have paled in comparison.) Remus gives your cheek a little pat. “I’m going to make your tea. Try to finish your water before I get back, please.” 

Sirius follows him into the kitchen, pleased to hear you asking James to pass you your water behind him. 

“Hey,” he says, coming up behind Remus at the stove. 

Remus sighs, turning around and looping his arms around Sirius’ shoulders. “Hi.” He rests his chin atop his boyfriend’s head. It’s a welcome weight. “Sorry.” 

“Sorry for what? Don’t be.” Sirius runs a hand up his spine, feeling each knob. “Sorry I worried you on the phone. I was freaked when I found her like this. She’s alright, though.” 

“She’s alright,” Remus agrees. “I just hate to see her so poorly. Her throat sounds awful, poor love.” 

“I hate that she didn’t tell anyone.” Sirius intends to sound a tad bitter, maybe with an edge of teasing, but his voice comes out whiny and wounded. 

Remus kisses his hair silently. He knows Sirius has trouble with the people he loves suffering in silence, even when it comes to things like this. “That, too.” 

“I hope you lecture her into never doing it again.” 

“That’s the hope.” 

“James aided and abetted, too.” 

The faintest traces of a smile in Remus’ voice. “You want me to do something about that, do you?” 

“If you think so.” 

“Mm. I think you just want me to be the bad guy.” 

The kettle starts to whistle, and Sirius steps out from his boyfriend’s arms, pecking him on the cheek as he gets it. “I mean, you’re already so good at it.”

[targaryen-dynasty]

PRECIOUS DELIGHTS. (3/5)

Maegor Targaryen x pregnant!niece!Reader

WORDS: 2.4 K

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest (uncle and niece), p in v, pregnancy sex, lactation kink (finally found the perfect plot to add this!!), size kink, breeding kink, soft Maegor Targaryen (yes, that's a warning lmao)

NOTES: You know I'll never let the chance of writing some uncle and niece Targcest slip. So, here it is. The bathtub scene is inspired by the one of Vizzy and Aemma.

Moons had passed since the maesters informed your uncle-husband Maegor that you were with child, and thereafter, you were confined to your chambers. Three stillborn children were born to him before the announcement came, and thus, your husband was more than determined to not make it four. 

Several of your ladies-in-waiting tended to your every wish ever since, doting on you and keeping you satisfied and well cared for. So it seemed, at least. 

The handmaids could only do so much, but your body longed for something they couldn’t give you, for someone, despite your middle being heavily swollen carrying a pureblooded Targaryen offspring. With the end of your pregnancy creeping closer and closer, Maegor’s visits became rare, and the doors to your chambers opened scarcely to welcome anyone other than a maester or maid. Everytime you asked them to call for your husband, the same excuse followed: ‘he is meeting with the small council.’ 

When the doors to your chambers opened around the Hour of the Eel, and the clicking of the lock pulled you out of your slumber, you were ready to scold your maid Talisa for disturbing the quiet hours of your bath, but the approaching footsteps were eerily heavy and clearly didn’t belong to her. With how well protected your chambers were, main entrance and secret passageway alike, there was only one man they could belong to. 

“You spend more time in that bath than I do on the Throne,” his raspy voice rang out. 

You blinked a few times, raising a hand from below the warm water to rub your eyes, before Maegor’s paw came to rest upon your other one on the rim of the earthenware tub. “How would you know that?” you asked, your purple eyes meeting his own as he crouched down next to the tub. “You hardly visit me anymore.”

He dipped two of his thick fingers into the water, and couldn’t stop to trail his eyes over the curve of your breasts that slightly emerged from the opaque water. “It’s tepid,” he remarked, not paying any attention to your previous words. 

“The maester’s will not allow it any warmer,” you said, “and since this is the only place I can find comfort these days, I bow to their orders.”

“Don’t they know dragons prefer heat?” Maegor asked to which you just hummed. “After this miserable pregnancy, I wouldn’t be surprised if I hatched an actual dragon,” you said, looking to the side. The pregnancy itself wasn’t as miserable as you claimed, however, it was the dungeon you had found yourself in, not allowed to leave your chambers nor set one foot in front of the other for longer than a few moments. But not even that stopped you from hearing the castle’s rumors, and you knew the majority of the people around you blamed Maegor for the failed pregnancies of his other wives, yet Maegor had told you on more than one occasion that it was the doing of his third wife, Tyanna of the Tower. 

Maegor caressed your hair with his other hand, unusually tender, and a part of you begged to be with child even longer, because he had become a different man around you, less cold and rough, and it actually seemed he genuinely cared for you–if it wasn’t for you being locked up on his orders. 

He hadn’t retorted anything to your comment, merely fidgeting with your slender fingers and massaging the palm of your hand, before pressing a tender kiss to the back of it. “Please, let me out, Maegor. I want to walk the Keep,” you eventually whispered, wide, pleading eyes searching his for any sign of sympathy. “Have dozens of guards escort me on the walk, seven hells, escort me yourself, but you know better than to chain a dragon up.” 

You leaned toward your husband, clasping his large hand in both your small ones, and watched his brow furrow with what you could muster as uncertainty–something you hadn’t seen on his face before. Your chin rested on your joined hands, a soft ‘please’ leaving your lips. 

Maegor sighed, “you know I can’t do that.” 

“Birth is unpleasant enough as it is, so, why shall I prepare for it with a woeful pregnancy?”

Pity was written all over his features as he bowed his head closer to yours, and though you spotted it on his face for the first time, you loathed the sight. It made you feel weak, vulnerable and even worthless, knowing you had no say in anything that concerned your own body. 

“I can’t risk exposing you to any danger,” Maegor eventually confessed after a pregnant pause, “not if it means I could lose you or the boy, or both of you at once.” The boy. He had proclaimed the babe to be a boy very early into the pregnancy, and consistently pointed out that he had never been more certain of anything. In his dream, the boy wore the crown of his father, the Conqueror, and would wield his sword when he was older. But you knew nothing would cause the babe to grow a cock, if it didn’t already possess one. 

His forehead dipped against yours, and the proximity caused you both to close your eyes and release a deep sigh. You understood his reasoning, especially after he had lost three children and a wife before, which still didn’t mean you agreed to his methods of keeping you safe. 

Your arms wrapped around his thick neck, his heavy shoulders supporting them, and without having to say anything, Maegor knew what it was you wanted–or needed. His hands grabbed your upper body just under your armpits, effortlessly lifting you out of the bath with a tenderness that was borderline frightening. 

He was careful with your swollen bump, and immediately placed one hand on your arse and the other on the small of your back as you bound your legs around his waist. With your head resting against your upper arm, he pressed his lips to the side of your face, and carried you into the chambers to gently place you down on the bed.

There were rarely any moments you weren’t in the mood for him, but with the built up aching in your core, and his soft demeanor towards you, you were desperate. 

Maegor kneeled between your parted legs, one hand resting on your knee, while the other one ran over the swell of your stomach. Before the pregnancy, his paws covered your stomach in its entirety, yet, however, they seemed more fitting in comparison to it.

“Look at you,” his voice was reverential and raspy, and the purple of his eyes was almost non-existent, drinking in the sight of you lying bare in front of him. His hand trailed up to cup your heavy breast, teasing the darkened bud to the point a few droplets of milk leaked out of it. Your breasts were sensitive to the touch, and a pathetic moan left your lips, which grew in volume as the bull of a man leaned forward to lick over your teased bud, gathering the liquid with his tongue. 

You released a shaky breath at that, your mouth agape, and your eyes were wide. “I need you, husband,” the words a throaty whisper, and your own despair had you rutting your hips against the front of his breeches as far as your bump allowed you to. 

His lips had latched around your bud, suckling on it, and he let you rub yourself against him to a certain point, a large hand on your hip applying just a bit of pressure to keep your movements limited and shallow, barely giving you enough friction. It prompted you to whine in despair, despite the relief his mouth brought to your breast. 

“Gods, please, fuck me,” you whined, and Maegor slightly tilted his head to meet your eyes, the cocked eyebrow indicating that he was surprised by your choice of words, since you hadn’t used a term like that before. He pulled back from you with a lewd pop, licking his lips to collect every drop of your milk that had spilled past them. 

“You want my cock?” he teased, and started to pay attention to your other breast, dragging his tongue around the perky bud, before wrapping his lips around it to release some of the tension from you. 

Your hands disappeared into the short strands of his silver hair, and your back arched against his body, shoving your breasts into his face. “Yes, please,” you breathed, “give it to me.” One hand fisted his hair and the other cupped his face in a lousy attempt to push him off you, yet Maegor didn’t budge. How could he, with you using so little force?

Even though there was no urgency in any of his movements, Maegor merely reached between your bodies, as he kept his lips on your breast, to undo the laces in the front of his breeches and not undress any further, freeing his hard cock that stood to full attention. You blamed it on his inability to part from you, having been without you long enough already. 

When he withdrew his mouth from you, he pressed a fervent kiss to your lips that stood in stark contrast to his previous actions, though you welcomed it with a matching ferocity. 

“How could I ever resist you?” he asked, making you blush. “Not if you look like this, swollen with my child under your heart.” There was a possessiveness in his tone that alone had you moaning, and you bit your bottom lip as you looked at him with pleading eyes, nodding eagerly. 

Being soft and gentle was unlike Maegor, especially when it came to the pleasures of fucking, and watching him move his bulky frame to lie on his side right next to you, draping your leg over his hips as he angled them just so his cock prodded at your entrance made you feel appreciated. He saw you, and paid attention to anything other than himself, to your current state, because in any other setting, he would’ve flipped you onto your stomach, pounding you into oblivion without much preparation. 

The position allowed you to lie on your back, one leg raised without you having to do that much, without struggling to keep them up and parted. He was close to you, his massive size in comparison to yours allowing him to embrace you almost completely, one hand possessively placed on your bump while the other supported the back of your head. 

His cock breached your tight entrance, pushing in with little resistance thanks to your arousal. While you braced yourself for the stinging pain of the stretch, you fisted the bedcovers with one hand, and grabbed his waist with the other, his flexing muscles tensing and relaxing beneath your palm. 

Despite his carefulness, he was pushing into you all the way until his cock was enveloped by you like Dark Sister by its sheathing. You clenched around on him, and Maegor inhaled a sharp breath that didn’t go unnoticed by you, even though your heartbeat was pounding in your ears. 

“As soon as this boy is born,” Maegor rasped, drawing his hips back to the point only the tip stayed inside, shoving his cock right back into you, “I am going to fill you up again, breeding you, so you’re always round with my child.” His words were interspersed with grunts and groans, and he moved quick enough for your voice to catch in your throat. 

You clung to his waist, digging your nails into his flesh tight enough it would surely leave some bruises in the morrow despite him still wearing a tunic, but you didn’t care–not when he gave you the pleasurable pain you had waited for for so many moons. 

“You were made for me,” he grunted, “made to carry my children–to give me my heir.” 

Your back arched, and your hand released the covers to rest atop his on your belly, grasping his fingers and squeezing them tightly. “G–Gods, yes,” you hiccuped, your eyes closing for a moment. 

It was a race for completion, and Maegor seemed to have lost some of his initial inhibitions, pounding into you as fervently as the position allowed. He fisted the silver hair in the nape of your neck in a feeble attempt to keep his urges at bay, he mostly did, and as much as you wanted to whine and squirm away from the sting at the back of your head, you couldn’t–not when he was making you feel so good at the same time.

“I shall fuck you all day once the babe is born. You’ll be dripping with my seed,” he groaned. “Is that what you want?”

“Y-Yes, husband, yes, please!”

Your fingers clung to his thumb as his hand trailed down to the apex between your legs, his thick digits swirling around the bud that made you writhe beneath his touch. Not long after, you toppled over the edge of your peak, moans loud enough to let the whole Keep know how well your husband was tending to your needs escaping your throat. 

His precious, silver hair stuck to his forehead as he fucked you through your peak, until he reached his completion, too. When his cock spent itself inside of you, Maegor shuddered, the movements of his fingers seizing. “Good girl,” he growled through gritted teeth, “take everything I give you.”

Judging by how long his peak took its toll on your husband’s body, you were certain you would’ve been with his child after that–if you weren’t carrying his offspring already. It seemed that he hadn’t been indulging himself with his other wives for as long as you had. 

When both your breathing slowed down, and his cock had grown flaccid again, Maegor bent a bit closer toward you to lap up droplets of milk that had leaked out of your buds from the force of your peak. 

You gasped at that, still as sensitive as before, if not a bit more, and smoothed out his dampened hair. “Might you stay for a bit?” you asked almost shyly, as you were afraid to be rejected by him. 

Maegor looked up at you, the purple of his eyes reflecting in the dim light of the candles lit around you. “I will stay all night.”

General Taglist: @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1

[uglypastels]

Ridlington Park | I | Eddie Munson regency!au

Author's Note: It has been a long, long time, but I am back with another obnoxious AU. I hope you enjoy as we embark on this new adventure in Regency England. This story has been in the works for almost 2 years and is still far from finished, but I am having too much fun with this and have way too many ideas on where to take it, so suggestions are very much appreciated.

Word Count: 10k

Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story in its entirety may contain:

female!reader. slow burn. forbidden romance. jealousy. pining. smut. alcohol consumption. swearing. OC family. horses. talks of arranged marriage. historical facts as well as trivial inaccuracies.

Due to the adult nature of the story, this author also kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works. 

The Ridlington Park Collection | Correspondence | Join the Taglist

Chapter One: A Game of Perseverance

“I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.”

– Jane Austen, Letter to her sister Cassandra, 1798

Three stories high, full of balconied windows, the house stood tall and overlooked the entire street. Ridlington Park, they called it, and situated at the centre of life–that is, London–the front door of the building was enveloped in flowers matching the seasons all year long. Currently, it was bright peonies that caught the onlooker’s eye. The perfectly trimmed bushes and trees were planted symmetrically, leading up to the front doors, giving visitors the right impression of what they could await once they stepped inside.

The residing family had spent a good fortune and effort ensuring the house represented them perfectly: clean, fortunate, and grand, but all done so in the utmost respectable and modest fashion as they were never the ones to boast. The walls had a light, warm tone reminiscent of early mornings in Spring, and the interior was decorated with portraits, new and old, beautiful oil sceneries of lands near and far, and busts and vases. 

The evening was slowly approaching, the sun setting over the windows of the drawing room, enwrapping everything in a golden glow. The family sat silently around the room, giving each other the peace and quiet required for an uneventful afternoon followed by a slow night of fortunate sleep. The only sound appreciated was the pianoforte siding against the window, gracefully played by Mother. Four children sat around the separate corners of their world, enjoying the music while focusing on their own activities. Like most nights, these consisted of either reading or needlework, engaging in small conversations with one another occasionally. 

As typical as any evening at Ridlington Park, it was highly unusual for the rest of London– a city which runs on scandals and gossip. Outside, the streets were bustling with lords and ladies of the Ton making their way back home from the markets, gardens and their fellows’ tea parties, gossiping about the latest impropriety to have occurred. After all, such topics, no more than nonsense really, were simply inescapable. And no matter how hard they tried to ignore it all, one way or another, it would always find its way up to the Byrnwick family. Most of the time, you, Gentle Reader, could hold yourself accountable for introducing the rumours proudly, much to your brother’s annoyance, who did his best to turn the pages of his novel as loud as possible as you talked with your mother from across the room. 

‘Have you heard what happened at Lady Faulkner’s ball?’

  ‘Yes, sordid, really.’ Your mother sighed, turning around. ‘I am sure her family is in quite the uproar.’

‘Please,’ Christopher, your brother, shut his book down in frustration, clearly incapable of making any progress amidst the conversation. ‘If she had not wanted to get caught, she should have maybe ought to think twice about being out with a man in the middle of the gardens for everyone to see.’ 

You glared up at him. ‘Well, it is absurd that a woman cannot even stand in a public space with a man without bringing disgrace onto her entire family.’

‘Believe me; she did much more than just standing.’ Christopher scoffed, quickly receiving a cold stare from your mother. 

‘Still, it is unjust.’ You ignored his insinuations. ‘Think of how men are free to go out at any time of day or night with whomever they please.’ You stabbed your needle through the cloth a bit harsher than intended.

‘My, you sure seem to be giving all this much thought. Have you any plans we should know about, sister?’ Your brother smirked.

‘Christopher!’ Your mother scowled. ‘That is quite enough.’

‘I was only joking, Mother,’ Christopher sighed, ‘we all know she is not going anywhere anytime soon.’

You were ready to retort angrily, or at least throw your needle at him, when the doors to the drawing room opened, catching everyone’s attention by storm. Five pairs of identical eyes directly aimed at the door frame, only softening when recognising the intruders. A welcoming of surprised gasps greeted the Lord and his eldest, Nicholas, as they entered the room. Not one foot in the room, and all activities were being put to a halt as the rest of the family gathered around the men—a loving reunion after a months-long journey from the Americas. 

It was a surprising return, for father and son had yet to write of their plans in recent times. The last letter was received at Ridlington Park over three weeks ago, stating that the weather was amiable, if not a bit too humid, and that the family missed each other deeply. The lack of correspondence, therefore, was also an immediate subject. 

‘But why did you not write, dear?’ asked Mother, after embracing her son. Nicholas was too occupied by his youngest sibling to answer; airways tightened in the arms of his 11-year-old sister, Marjorie. His father responded instead:

‘How could we write at sea, my love? The message would not have gotten here any faster than we did,’ the lord chuckled to his wife. He was correct, too, of course. His eyes seemed to surpass the gaze of his present family members in search of the one missing piece. ‘Where is Annabelle? I thought she would be home by now.’ 

‘She is home, with her husband,’ you explained carefully. Your father blinked slowly, coming to terms with this fact he had tried to avoid for so long. Annabelle had married last season and was very well off, to a Duke, no less, but it was still a big adjustment for the family seeing her gone and out of the house. Even with her frequent visits, it was strange to have one head less at the dinner table; one less chair occupied each evening, one less song played on the pianoforte. 

‘Ah, well then,’ Father cleared his throat, ‘then we are complete.’ He looked at his wife and five children. One day, there would be even fewer of them. They will all be leaving the nest one by one. For some, marriage was long overdue, and as a man of high society, he could not wish his children a suitor or a lady soon enough, but as a father, he dreaded the day that the following proposals would take place.

Marjorie, becoming impatient and not as sentimental about her family’s reunion, tugged at Nicholas’ sleeve. ‘Come, you must tell us everything about your journey!’ She kept pulling until the eldest brother had no choice but to follow her and sit on the couch. Soon, everyone else joined on the chaises. 

‘I am afraid there is very little to tell,’ Nicholas said, taking a chocolate biscuit off the tray beside the sofa. ‘It was all rather dull.’ 

‘Do not be ridiculous, brother,’ Fitzwilliam, the second-youngest and still hungry for adventure and the world outside of the Ton, looked at his older brother with high expectations. ‘I do not believe you and Father had been gone this long and did not experience anything worthy of a tale.’ 

You listened on as your siblings bickered, arguing over the value of a story, and its worth of being told and heard. Finally, after listening to it for about a quarter of an hour, you had to agree with Nicholas; it was all rather dull. No wonder neither he nor father did not bother to mention anything but the weather in their correspondence. Their days quickly grew into a pattern one is used to in travel and business. A pattern you might have understood if you cared to pay attention. 

This attention only returned to the room when you heard your name being spoken. The conversation had shifted from the events that had been missed overseas to the town's happenings. Just as dull and irrelevant, some might say, the most interesting thus far was the staff changes at the house, and even these held very little consequence to you, but to this, some may disagree wholeheartedly. 

‘So, the season has begun, has it not, sister?’ Nicholas asked. 

‘Some weeks ago, yes.’ You did your best pretending not to feel an effect from this, occupying yourself with your needlework that was turning out far below the usual standard. ‘But do not worry; you have not missed much. In fact, I think things will finally begin to get a bit interesting with you back home.’ Nicholas had always had a taste for dramatics and had been known for having a very… loving nature. In the past years, you must have witnessed him falling in love at least a dozen times, preparing a proposal to half of these women, going through with it twice now, with one nearly making it to the alter if not for the bride getting caught in quite a compromising position with a footman.

For the next few weeks, Nicholas was known as the heartbroken gentleman, and you would have felt bad for him… if it was not for the fact that women from all over town came around to console him, day after day, of course not knowing that when his bride-to-be had been making arrangements with other men, your brother had been too busy charming ladies himself. It took a month for him to proclaim his love to another woman again.

‘I do not know what you mean,’ Nicholas deflected your comment, quickly looking over to your mother and second oldest brother, Christopher, ‘any fitting suitors I should be aware of?’ As the eldest brother, Nicholas made it his duty to ensure his sisters found good husbands. That meant status and wealth but, above anything else, a good and genteel nature. You remembered how picky he was when Annabelle had been searching for a husband, even more so than your parents. Still, it was something you appreciated about your brother. His protectiveness showed the little heart he still held for you and the rest of your family, as much as he tried to hide it away. 

Your mother bit her cheek, holding in the many thoughts and opinions she must have kept for herself. So did Christopher, who shared a very knowledgeable look of many words with Nicholas, one he understood clearly but you could not decipher just yet. However, you assumed the general message had been sent and received. 

‘If you had seen the choices, brother, you would understand my predicament and situation all too well, believe me.’ Pretending to seem unbothered by the encrypted messages being sent around the room, you preoccupied yourself once more with the needlework. 

‘I believe it is what you believe, sister,’ Nicholas turned back to your mother, ‘do you have a list of names? I shall go through them in the morning, see if it really is as bad as we are being told.’ 

You had wanted to reply, most likely in a dishonourable way, but you held your tongue and fell back in your seat, letting the rest of your family plan out the rest of your life, just like they had always done. 

Unbelievable, Nicholas was home for all of five minutes, and he was already making lists. And knowing him, which you would like to think you did, it was merely a formality for your sake. He would already have a dozen names at the top of his head, ready to send out invitations to men for an audience with you. 

Therefore, you were not surprised when, only a few days later, at the breakfast table, Nicholas told you about all the guests Ridlngton Park would soon be welcoming. 

‘There is Mr Elton, and Mr Brookes will be coming over for tea; I also heard Lord Frankworth is interested in a visit, so is Mr Campbell, and—’ he kept on giving you names, with all of them entering one ear and immediately leaving through your other. You could not care less who wanted to see you, not after spending the last month trying your hardest to escape all of their attempts at promenading, lunching, and chatting of sheer nonsense. 

‘I must ask you to be ready for your first audience before 10; a dress is already prepared in your room.’ Of course, there was a dress. All you could do was smile as you bit into a forkful of egg. 

‘Oh, and there is one gentleman I would particularly like you to meet,’ your father chimed in, almost as if with an afterthought that he recollected at the last minute. You looked up at him apprehensively. ‘I had made a nice acquaintance of his father on our travel. What was his name– Harrolds, no…’  ‘Harrington, father. It was Mr Harrington.’ Nicholas corrected before looking over to you as he shared more. ‘He is a tradesman, quite successful. His only son had joined us on the ship back to England.’ The emphasis on his lineage was made with an apparent inclination. There were no more heirs, meaning the son would inherit the man’s entire wealth. ‘Certainly seems like a reasonable young man, clever too. The two of you will have lots to speak of.’

Well, I certainly cannot wait to meet him,’ you forced out a smile before quickly getting on with your meal despite losing all your appetite. At that moment, your stomach felt like a hollow pit, eating away at you, ironically.

‘You know, if you gave this all a chance, you might find yourself to actually enjoy it in the end,’ your mother commented with a tight lip. 

‘I am sure I shall enjoy it then, as it means that it has all, in fact, ended.’ You sighed deeply, ‘I simply do not understand why this is a must in my life? Why must I marry this instant?’

‘Do not worry, dear. You are still young; you still have plenty of time, ' your father said, missing your point entirely and making you roll your eyes. ‘But your mother is right, too, a more agreeable attitude towards this will make things much easier.’

‘For whom, exactly? Is it for me to enjoy myself, or for everyone else as you will not have to endure me any longer?’

‘Can you really blame us?’ Nicholas mumbled, receiving a kick in the shin in return. He spent the rest of the discussion rubbing the targetted spot on his leg with a pained crease between his brows. You, besides gaining the small victory of maiming your brother, found yourself yet again on the losing side of another family dispute. Like all its predecessors, this battle ended with you pushing back your chair with a harsh scrape of the panelled floor and slugging back to your room where a dress awaited. 

It was beautiful; you could not deny that. Elegant and straightforward, it accented all your finest assets for interested suitors. It was comfortable: not too heavy or too textured in its pattern, it was made of soft material that slipped right on, with the fit of a well-tailored glove. Your hair was pulled up and out of your face, leaving nothing to hide behind. 

‘You look lovely, miss,’ your maid said with a kind smile as she put the final pin in your hair. 

‘Thank you, Claire.’ You muttered, noticing the saddened sympathy enveloping her features as she knew like no other how much you detested everything about what you were about to go through. ‘Have you got any advice? On how to endure it all?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ she shrugged, brushing something off your shoulder. ‘I suppose you could try making them uninterested in you, so they will want to leave sooner.’

‘That thought has crossed my mind,’ you admitted, ‘but I also do not want to put my entire family to shame.’ 

‘Of course, miss.’ Claire nodded. As she finished working on your presentation, you pondered over your possibilities. Indeed, presenting yourself as improper had been your first idea, and its appeal remained, but you were too afraid of the repercussions. If the gentlemen were to think of you as a lady without any manners, all it would do was put your upbringing up for question, something your parents did not deserve whatsoever. 

You also considered spreading gossip about the men coming to introduce themselves, which would scare your mother off them immediately, ensuring they were never to return by your parents’ preference. But it felt cruel to make up such lies. You were sure that in other circumstances, these were perfectly fine men. At this particular moment, you just happened to despise them and everything they stood for.

Perhaps the most appealing option was to simply not attend the audience. To run away and never to return… at least until the afternoon, once all the men had lost all their patience. But that would only cause you more trouble.

The ideas rolled around your head for the rest of the day, even once the suitors sat opposite you in the room. It was all incredibly dull, if not just mortifyingly humiliating, with your mother sitting only across the room, occupying herself with a book, or so it seemed because she most definitely was listening to the conversations attempted on your part.

‘So,’ as most of the dialogues began, the Lord whose name you already forgot spoke, clearing his throat, ‘I hear you read.’

‘Yes, ' you said, blinking to avoid staring too blankly at the wall behind the man, ignoring the balding patch atop his head. 

‘Grand,’ he smiled, somehow satisfied with your response already.

‘Do you… ride?’ you asked, hoping that at the least your mother heard your attempts at making a connection and would release you from this torment soon enough on the principle of your good sportsmanship.

‘No, God no, horses are far too beastly for my liking, unless we are speaking of the track, of course.’ The man scoffed, ‘However, I prefer more dignified activities, such as hunting.’ 

‘Of course, you do,’ you smiled, but the expression never reached your eyes. ‘What about chess? Do you play?’

‘I do not have the patience to commit to such silly games.’

Patience, you thought, or intelligence? And how ironic of him to speak of perseverance. You watched him take another small sandwich from the tea tray provided on a side table, which you were taught to ignore so as not to be observed as “gluttonous”. After all, no one wanted to marry a lady that ate all day. 

Considering that, you grabbed a plate and a piece of cake from the top of the tray and bit into it. The soft sponge melted on your tongue. In the meantime, you were asked a question, but you could not possibly answer with a mouthful of cake, could you? Once you had finished, you considered grabbing a second portion, but you could feel the judgmental look of your mother digging into the back of your head. 

You put the plate back down and your hands on your lap. 

‘I’m sorry, my lord, could you repeat the question, please. I fear I may have lost myself for a moment.’ And so, it continued. Thankfully, the man excused himself not long after, thanking you and your mama for the time, just for his seat to be replaced with someone else almost immediately. This time, the gentleman was significantly younger, with thick hair atop his head and charming eyes, but the second he spoke, you knew this would not reach much further than the comfort of this room. At the least, you did not see this relationship going any further than any of the other acquaintances you had made that day.

By lunchtime, you felt your eyes burning with fatigue, possibly caused by a constant suppression of tears. How much more could you possibly take of this torture?

‘Mr Elton was quite a charmer, was he not?’ Your mother commented as she sipped her tea. 

You suppressed your initial thought, rephrasing it to cause less offence, ‘He is too stubborn and self-centred. He barely let me speak a single word, too occupied by his own achievements to expect me to have any.’ 

‘Well, Lord Frankworth seemed to care very much for what you had to say.’ 

‘Only because he barely managed to string any thoughts together himself,’ you sighed. 

Your mother tightened her grip on the teacup before smiling. ‘Soon enough, we will find you a perfectly fine young man, dear. You just have to remain open-minded.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Speaking of, your next suitor should be here shortly.’ 

You did everything in your power not to groan at the announcement and instead nodded politely. ‘Who is it?’ 

‘Mr Harrington, the one your father was so keen on you meeting.’

‘Ah,’ yes, the American. The only thing that gave you some slight hope in the situation was that Mr Harrington had already spent plenty of time in the company of your father and brother Nicholas and had seemingly gained their blessing. But nothing could help you gain the energy to entertain yet another man with polite conversation. The sun had been beaming into the room since the early morning, only growing warmer and warmer, making the hairs at the small of your neck stick. 

‘Will you just excuse me for a moment, mother.’ You got up. 

‘Is something wrong?’ She looked suspicious but with a glint of worry in her eye. 

‘I am quite fine, just require some fresh air, I think,’ which was not entirely a lie.

‘Alright then, just make haste, child.’ Mr Harrington was on his way, after all. ‘We do not want to keep the man waiting.’ 

‘Of course not,’ you smiled, heading towards the door. When the large panels closed behind you, you picked up your skirt and ran toward the gardens. Your footsteps echoed through the corridors, and you caught several members of the house staff glancing your way with inquisitive looks. 

Ever since you could remember, the grounds around Ridlington Park had a fantastical power about them. It had been the turf on which you would spend countless childhood summer days playing games with your siblings, whether the competitive or imaginary type. But no matter what the six of you could think of, your favourite game would always remain Hide and Go Seek. The gardens were a perfect place for it, with endless nooks and crannies one could disappear into. It was nearly a giant maze, and you had mastered it from a very young age. Whilst most got lost between the shrubbery and flowers, you knew exactly where you had found yourself. 

There were plenty of hiding spots you enjoyed over the years, some that to this day remain a mystery to the rest of your family, but nonetheless, it was the stables you adored the most. It was a safe haven for you on many days, to the point that you had nearly become invisible to the staff working there. 

The stables were located in the far east corner of the grounds, and the walk towards it already cost more time than you had if you had ever planned on returning that quickly. Undeniably, there was a pinch of shame and guilt nipping at your heart towards the strange Mr Harrington, but that soon dissolved when you heard the neighing of Barley Sugar, a golden-brown mare you proudly called yours. A gift and result of a successful business trade made by your father years ago, the horse technically belonged to all of the Byrnwick children, as much as any of the other horses under the family’s possession, but the bond between you and that particular horse just turned out to be that much stronger. 

This was visible as soon as you entered the stable. Barley Sugar went wild at your presence, happily swinging her head from side to side. 

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ you grinned, petting the horse, who leaned into your touch immediately. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’

But your plans were quickly interrupted by a voice. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ 

❀❀❀

An average sea voyage from the Americas to England should take approximately 16 days, considering the weather corresponds with the sails of the ship. During this journey, passengers would most likely endure days upon days of heavy and tall waves bashing across the ship’s sides, and that is to be expected in favourable conditions.

As Lord Byrnwick and his eldest had boarded the ship headed to London, the sky had been bright blue, and it did not change far beyond that. There was, of course, a risk for the two of them to sail across the world as they did, them being head of the family and its heir. A journey such as this one can go awry in many ways, and if it were not for the dangers of seafaring, there were the Anglo-American tensions to consider. After all, the previous year's war was still fresh in everyone’s mind, and one could not be careful enough when entertaining both sides. Luckily for the Byrnwicks, they were not of the superstitious kind, and good fortune had always seemed to be in the family’s favour up until the very moment they stepped on the boat to return home, many years beyond that. 

Ever the convivial one, the most considerable success of the trip, according to Lord Byrnwick, was not the business or diplomatic aspects of their ventures but the social. The man immensely enjoyed meeting other like-minded spirits from across the pond, and there had been plenty of fine nights at gentleman’s clubs spent over fine spirits and betting games, discussing all sorts of topics and exchanging information on all subjects. Promises were made to keep in touch whilst arrangements were made for more future meetings. It was only the polite thing to do. 

But aside from acquaintances and business partners, an addition to the household had also been made. Of some sort, that is, for it seemed that the two had found a new groom in America.

Now, Gentle Reader, do not conclude of the worst, as the groom we speak of is not the sort one is meant to meet at an altar but the kind who spends his days tending the horses and carriages. The young man, Mr Munson, had been doing precisely that when the Byrnwick heir stumbled upon his conveyance services in town, in dire need of transport for his regular means, which had already been occupied by his father for the day. It was an encounter by utter chance but certainly one with greater consequences. 

Several days later, coincidentally, a letter from London had arrived. Five pages long, each written by a member of the family recounting their most notable memories of the week. The children spoke of the ton's gossip and anecdotes of what occurred at home. Mother, however, took it upon herself to write of more important matters regarding the household. Many topics had to be discussed, but in the middle of her letter, there was mention of the unfortunate passing of the family’s barn manager, Mr Falstipp. It was an unexpected death, leaving the entire house in shock as the man had been working for the family for longer than the children had been alive. But it also resulted in the question of what was to be done now? 

It was likely only because the interaction had been so fresh in his mind that Nicholas suggested finding a replacement for Mr Falstipp here in America. This was an unusual offer, as his father commented, especially since they would not leave for home until another few days, but that was to be resolved by having the footmen take care of the horses for the time being. Besides, Nicholas was sure his siblings would be more than happy to help with the chores. 

The next day, he returned to the public stables and immediately noted how much cleaner they seemed than any other in town. The horses also looked exceptionally well taken care of and content. 

Mr Munson had just been feeding a colt when Nicholas eagerly announced, ‘Mr Munson, may I offer you a proposition?’ 

This, to no surprise, startled the other man for various reasons. ‘Sir?’ 

‘This must be a peculiar request, but you see, as of recently, my family has found itself in need of a new stablehand and from what I have seen you do, you, sir, would be the perfect candidate.’ Nicholas had the smile of a man losing his sanity, but his words could not be more genuine. 

‘Your family—’ Munson blinked, ‘you mean in London.’

‘Yes, and I understand that this might be a problem, but trust me when I say that you will most certainly find England to your liking, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ 

‘As you wish,’ Nicholas agreed. 

Eddie pondered over the offer for a short moment. It would have taken him no time to decide if it was not for what he was to leave behind, but he knew that his current employer would be able to find his replacement in no time, as jobs in town were hard to come by. 

But what must have been even more challenging to obtain was a ticket out of the wasteland he called home. For years, he had dreamt of an escape, never imagining it to be possible, and suddenly, here comes this stranger offering it to him on a silver platter. 

It would be terrifying to move so far away, he knew that, with many risks, but the further away he could manage to go from where he was now, the better. 

Eventually, after a minute of silence that left Nicholas restless and on the verge of embarrassment, Eddie smiled: ‘It would be my pleasure to work for you, sir.’ And he had meant that wholeheartedly. While it had only been a short few interactions that he had had with the man, the young Mr Byrnwick had already shown Eddie far more kindness than any of his prior employers, or any other man in his life, for a fact. Most importantly, the man knew nothing about Eddie’s past, which must have been the biggest selling point in the life-changing choice. 

‘Marvelous. You will not regret this, Eddie.’ Nicholas leaned in to shake his hand, only to realise that Eddie was still carrying the giant bucket of feed. ‘Well, we shall finalise everything on the boat, shall we?’ And so they did. 

A week later, Eddie found himself still in shock at his circumstances. He could not believe he was really to be leaving for England until the moment he set foot on the boat, and even once the sails had set and the American coast was nothing but a grim line on the horizon, the fact did not seem to settle in his mind just yet. 

Over the next 16 days, he had encountered the Byrnwicks only a handful of times. First, to meet Lord Byrnwick who, as head of the household, wanted a final say on the matter. A bit late, thought  Eddie, as the boat had long departed the harbour by then, but his ticket had already been paid for, and thus, he had little else to complain about. He had quickly made peace with the idea that he could make his new life across the ocean work no matter the circumstances. He had done it before, so what is one more homeless night under a new sky?

But the lord seemed all too happy to have found his staff replacement. Overall, the man was nothing like Eddie had expected a gentleman of English high society to be. From his previous experiences, the type often was rather conceited and arrogant, with a transparent opinion of anyone below their class. His new employer and his son, while undoubtedly lordly, had a modest nature about them. Quickly, Eddie had also gathered that the spontaneity with which Nicholas Byrnwick had called upon him for a job opportunity was not uncharacteristic of him, as the young man was rather energetic in his step and impulsive in his actions. 

But no matter how unassuming the men were, they did belong to a different rank of man and, therefore, stayed on the boat to the upper decks, engaging with the rest of their kind. 

The travel moved on slowly, but in the end, it was also a mere blink of an eye moment, and before he had realised it, Eddie had reached the shores of England. It was another day or two of travel to be done by horse. A carriage had been acquired for Nicholas and his father, but Eddie and the rest of the staff that travelled with the family for their adventure rode on horseback. No matter how much Eddie enjoyed the form of transportation, it was a tiring experience after several hours, but it also allowed him to meet the people he was to work with and, through that, those he would work for. 

‘So, what is the rest of the family like,’ he asked Mr Trowbridge, the lord’s valet. If there was anyone who could tell Eddie something, it would be this man. 

‘Well,’ Mr Trowbridge had a particularly nasal tone about his voice that especially came forward at the beginning of his sentences, ‘I do not believe there is much to tell. They are as any other family, really.’ 

‘My good man, you can hardly expect me to believe there is nothing worth telling about these people,’ Eddie laughed. ‘If it puts your mind at ease, I am only asking for the simplest facts—nothing to interest my fancy.’

The valet pondered over this for a moment. ‘Very well. You have, of course, met the Viscount and his eldest.’ He took a moment for Eddie to respond with a nod in agreement. He then took another moment to consider his following words. The longer he took, the more keen Eddie felt to suggest what to speak of. 

‘What about Lady Byrnwick?’

‘Lady Byrnwick is most amiable and has a very caring character, but you will not find her in the stables often unless she is searching for her children.’

‘Not fond of horses, is she?’

‘Rather the outside—-’ Trowbridge cleared his hair vigorously. ‘In the sense that the sun and pollen often leave her poorly. But the children…’ he punctuated his half-sentence with a heavy sigh. 

‘They are a handful?’ Eddie assumed. To this, Trowbridge searched for another description but found himself lacking the vocabulary, leading to a confirmation. 

‘I have worked for this family for nearly three decades, and I will assure you that each member is as proper a member of society as the next. While boisterous, they have been taught to be independent individuals.’ The valet's tone made Eddie consider how much of their good decorum was in gratitude for the man’s own intervention and guidance. 

‘At 27 years, Nicholas is the eldest, and the responsibilities of this role are one of the few aspects of his life which he takes seriously, I cannot put any doubt behind that.’ Indeed, whilst extremely impetuous, the heir’s son also understood the duties of his position and towards his family. 

‘Then there is Christopher. The boy has immense athletic abilities but not much beyond that. For a young man of his age of five and twenty, one would assume he would be able to compose himself with a bit more propriety, but it is very difficult for him. He is adventurous and rarely can sit still for an extended period of time, including his mouth. It is suggested that people be careful of what they say around the man.

‘The eldest daughter, Annabelle, married just before we had departed for America, thus is now the lady of her own house.’ Something in his tone suggested he was sad to see the young woman leave home. This possibly has to do with the fact that Miss Annabelle (Now known as Duchess Annabelle Ramsbury) was the most dutiful and respectful of the six children. ‘The marriage had been long overdue as she had just turned 22 on the day of the ceremony, but a love match was found nonetheless.’ The valet guffawed with pride. It was clear to Eddie that, while considering them a nuisance, the man cared deeply for the family he served.

‘I must admit, Trowbridge,’ Eddie chuckled in this horse’s trot pattern over the uneven paths. ‘When you began speaking of the family, I had imagined the children to be… well, children.’

‘How old are you, Munson?’ Trowbridge asked, somewhat bluntly. 

‘Twenty, sir.’ Perhaps closer to his next birthday than the last.

‘Ah, just the age of the second daughter then,’ he nodded in agreement. ‘She may perhaps be the most… rebellious of the kin. It is all in good spirit, as you must imagine, and I am sure the interest in such nonsense will dwindle as she matures. She is also the most fond of the family horses; thus, you will see her quite often, I expect. But as her sibling, she has mastered the care for the animals as well as the equipment.’ 

As he spoke of your skills, something about Trowbridge's expression communicated particular dismay to Eddie. ‘Is that bad? For a young woman to know how to carry herself around a horse?’ He, for one, certainly did not see a problem in it. On the contrary, it was an instrumental skill to develop for anyone. 

‘It is not exactly lady-like, is it?’ Trowbridge spoke as if that was the only relevant argument on the matter. Eddie had learned from a very young age that some opinions were better left unsaid, and seeing him as the senior in age and position, Eddie thought it unwise to argue with the valet on his first official day of employment. He instead simply nodded in understanding. Instead, he opted to continue the civil interrogation—

‘What of the youngest two? What are they like?’

‘Fitzwilliam is a dapper fellow. He is but seventeen, but very accomplished, though I cannot say he knows how to put his acquired skills to good use. He has ambitions that cannot be denied; it is just a question of whether these ambitions can ever be met. 

‘And lastly, we have Miss Marjorie. A darling girl, I assure you,’ Trowbridge stated. I can only suggest not letting her size fool you, Munson. She has managed to wrap her family around her little fingers the moment she learned to mumble a word, leaving her to cause quite the ruckus for the past eleven years.’ 

‘I do not see how that involves me, Sir,’ Eddie said. By this time, the sun had begun to set over the fields they passed, and soon, the company would break for their overnight travels at a nearby inn. 

‘It had come to my attention over the years that Mr Falstipp–the previous groom, that is— had been quite lenient on the children and their usage of the horses. This has caused a number of incidents that I would rather not see a repetition of.’

‘Understood.’ 

‘I am unaware of your er– American customs,’ the valet began his lecture, ‘but you must also know that here, ladies are not to ride unaccompanied—something that has been protested in the family to no avail, but it is simply the procedure. There must always be a chaperone nearby to supervise, whether that is a senior member of the family or an entrusted member of the household.’ 

‘I do not expect to have gained that trust just yet,’ Eddie said earnestly.

‘But let us hope you will.’ The smile Trowbridge gave Eddie was kind at first glance, but the movement of his eyes that inspected him told an entirely different story. He knew he still had much to learn about navigating himself around the kinds of people that were the Byrnwicks, even those who worked for them. The moment he set foot on English soil, he knew it would be challenging to fit in if he ever planned to do so. 

The truth is that he did not plan such a change. For you see, Dear Reader, Mr Eddie Munson was also a radical. He did not believe in adapting to society, which was visible in his entire being. One can also imagine the struggle he had to endure when given a uniform to wear. Frankly, the ensemble did not differ much from how the man dressed himself before, but the simple fact that he was told to wear this particular set of clothing upset him severely. 

On the first day after his arrival at Ridlington Park, he had managed to justify himself out of dressing in the required clothing by claiming that the trousers were a smidgen too tight. Without another size available, he was told to wear the clothes on his back until the new, fitted attire arrived.

But the clothes did not even begin to reach the problem of the horses he was meant to care for. 

Turned out, while he had been given all sorts of warnings against the family, what Eddie should have been preparing for was the beasts that homed the stables. The stubborn animals would not let him touch them, and any attempts were met with angry stares and stomping of the hooves. 

‘Easy, there,’ Eddie spoke as softly as he could, taking small steps in any direction that would not enrage the stallion whom he was currently attempting to feed. White Liquorice, a white Arabian, was undoubtedly an animal worthy of a viscount, and from the moment he had stepped into the Ridlington Park stables, Eddie knew that the Kentucky Saddlers and Quarter Horses he grew up with were no match for these and he would quickly have to learn to get on with them if he was to stay here. 

Yes, the first days were hard, but not even one week later, he had gotten used to the rhythm of operations. It helped that, working as the barn manager, he was the one in charge and mostly left alone. Mr Trowbridge had visited him to ensure he was adjusting to the new working conditions, which was kind, but besides that, Eddie rarely saw anyone but footmen requesting the carriage to be prepared for the family. 

That is until one afternoon when he heard the doors open and someone walking inside. He had been around the corner of the stables, cleaning some grooming tools. 

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ he heard the intruder speak. It was soft and gentle, most likely referring to one of the horses. Immediately, Eddie was reminded of one of the conversations shared with Lord Byrnwick’s valet. He swiftly got up from his seat and immediately found the culprit. 

He watched you pet one of the horses—Barley Sugar, was it—-petting her in a way he had not yet managed to do confidently. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’ These words triggered him to jump into action. 

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ He stepped forward, but his words startled you, causing you to turn around. As you did so, your foot got caught in an old set of bridles Eddie had still planned on detangling and putting away. The surprise coming with the unexpected presence of someone else, combined with the awkward position of your foot, led you to fall over with a shriek. 

Eddie cursed under his breath as he watched you huff on the ground. ‘Let me help you,’ he extended his hand to you, ‘and my apologies, it was not my intent to—’ 

‘Who are you?’ you said in a tone that could only be deemed skittish, if not directly fearful, but not enough to deny his offer to help you stand. Your reaction was validated as you had never met the man standing before you. You eyed him up and down, and the more details you noticed, the more you were sure that you had just stumbled upon a robbery, nay, a kidnapping. 

The man's presentation spoke for itself, truly. His long hair was dark and unkept, well over his shoulders. His clothes were nothing like the workers around your house were meant to dress like, making him stick out like a very sore thumb. The trousers were old and worn, and the shirt was loose over his upper body, revealing—oh god, was that a tattoo?

It was clear this is how you were to die.

‘Are you here to steal my horses?’ you blurted out before you could think. 

‘What?’ He blinked. ‘No, please, listen—’ but you did no such thing. Instead, you did the only thing a lady in distress could do. 

You screamed bloody murder. 

‘Help! Anyone! Help—’  you would have kept on going, shouting over his attempt at reason until he finally shut you up by placing his hand over your mouth, his other hand sturdily over your upper arm. The two of you stood there for a moment, chests both heaving in all forms of panic, listening for footsteps or any other presence, but the only sound was the soft breathing of the animals around you. 

‘I will let go now, miss,’ Eddie said slowly. Both your eyes were wide from the uncultivated situation that had just occurred. ‘And I will explain everything to you, just, please—and I beg you— do not scream.’ You nodded your head beneath his palm in agreement. Eddie counted to three as he stepped back and finally let go of you. Despite him never blocking your airways, you inhaled deeply. 

‘There is absolutely no reason to panic, ma’am.’ His accent was distant, one you had never had the pleasure of hearing before. His eyes, large and dark, locked you in, almost making you lose count of the lingering feeling of his hands on your body. He had given you a moment before he continued speaking, ensuring that you would not resume your screaming or make a run for it.

‘What is your reason of being here?’ You inquired. 

‘I work here. Have been, for the past week. I think it was your brother, in fact, that gave me the position. We met on his travels.’ 

Now, come to think of it, you remembered your family's conversation on the day your father and brother returned. There had been talk of new staff—a young man they had brought along with them from America as an official replacement for the late Mr Falstipp. But that did not explain his attire. 

‘You could be fired for breaking the dress code alone, you know. Not to mention for the, uhm, actions you had just performed.’ You commented.

‘Well, you can always report me, miss.’ Eddie, against all his better judgement, smiled. 

‘Maybe I should.’ Your heart was still pounding, and you felt so disoriented that even a simple smile made your head spin. ‘What is your name?’

‘Eddie.’

‘Well, Mr Eddie—’ you began, just to be quickly interrupted.

‘No, just Eddie.’ Eddie shook his head.

‘What do you mean? Do you have no family name?’ You had heard of men bringing in street urchins to work for them, but surely, this man was too old for such charity. And you could not imagine your brother to perform such acts of kindness anyway.

‘I do.’ His smile only widened in amusement at the conversation. ‘Eddie Munson.’

‘My, is it usual in America to introduce oneself like that?’ Never had you heard of a man introducing himself by only his first name, let alone a byname. 

‘It is usual to me,’ he quipped, ‘And it is more common than not introducing yourself at all.’ The way in which he looked up at you from under his lashes felt accusatory, but you could not find it within you to be upset at the critique, so you gave him your name instead. 

‘Pleasure to meet you, Miss Byrnwick.’ He gave you a small, polite bow that reminded you more of how children play Lord and Lady rather than a gentlemanly act. Next thing you knew, a smile was pulling at the corner of your lips, and a small giggle was ready to escape. 

For some reason, you hesitated to say your following words: ‘It is a pleasure, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ While always respecting the titles of others, Eddie never saw himself as one to follow such formalities. 

‘That is most improper.’ You held back the urge to scoff. 

‘But I insist.’ There was something in the corner of his eye that you managed to catch a glimpse of—this spark that no sunlight or fire could match. It was pure mischief, a spirit of chaos. But still, to call a man you barely knew by his first name was simply not right. Your family may jest as they please about your rebelling attitude to primitive customs, but you had to admit that some things ought to be done in a proper manner. And this was certainly not it. 

However, Mr Munson saw it in another light but did not find enough of an interest in the subject enough to argue it further. Rather, he cleared his throat briefly and observed you for a moment. 

How silly you must look in your fancy dress! Your hair was done up to match, and your shoes were most likely covered in mud. There was also no doubt that he had overheard you talking to your horse about running away. You had good faith that he could connect the pieces to form the complete picture. 

A bird flew past a window, making you glance past Eddie’s shoulder in haste. 

‘I hope I am not keeping you from any other plans, miss?’ He finally asked. Could you be so bold as to admit that he was saving you from other commitments by conversing with you?

‘No, of course, not Mr Munson,’ you persisted. ‘I am simply cautious.’ Come to think of it, your screams must have been heard all around the grounds. If those who heard, in turn, had an ounce of common sense amongst them, they would have called for someone in the house. If that was the case, your mother would be here momentarily, and then it was back to the house for you. All you could do now was hide. 

‘May I ask what are you being cautious of?’ Eddie followed you with his eyes as you walked through the stables, looking for a hiding spot. 

‘If you must know, I am currently on the run,’ you stated while looking over a haystack in the far corner. 

‘Ah, so whilst you had accused me of being a criminal, it was you who had been committing the crimes then? Should I now scream for help?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, ' you said, attempting to climb the hay to get past it. ‘I have already brought much too much attention to myself.’ Your foot slipped, making you tumble back down to the ground. The accident made you stop for a moment before attempting to climb again, looking over your shoulder at the man. ‘Are you not going to even try and stop me?’ 

‘Oh,’ it was as if he had awakened from a deep thought or had just realised that what you suggested was exactly what he ought to do. ‘Well, would you listen if I told you not to climb up there?’ 

You pondered his question for a short moment. ‘No, I highly doubt it.’ Thus, you resumed your climbing. As you did, you heard the shuffling of his feet behind you. The next time you slipped up, this time from a far higher distance, he had been in precisely the right place to catch you in his arms. 

‘I cannot assure you I will be able to catch you once more, so it is in good conscience that I suggest you stop, ma’am,’ he said as you got back to your feet. 

‘You are right,’ you admitted. Then you realised just how close the two of you stood and quickly occupied yourself by looking for another hiding place. That is when you noticed it. You had spent years in this stable and knew every inch of the space, yet… ‘Have you moved things around?’ You looked back at Eddie. 

‘Only a little. I’m afraid my predecessor did not have a flair for organisation,’ he explained.

‘That may be so, but I would prefer you would put things back as they were.’ 

‘Excuse me?’ Eddie could not help but laugh at the demand.

‘Your new floor plan has completely disoriented me, ' you admitted. ‘It is unbecoming.’

‘My apologies. I will be sure to put things back as they were, then.’ His laugh still echoed his words.

You had not expected him to actually agree to this request. ‘You will?’ But quickly, you regained your composure and tried to hide the surprise in your voice. ‘Very well, thank you. Then, since you have discarded all of my possible hiding locations, what do you suggest I should do?’ 

‘I suggest you run.’ But it was not Eddie who had answered you. 

‘Mother, ' you gasped. What was it, in God’s good name, with everyone sneaking up on you today? Lady Byrnwick stood at the threshold of the stables with her arms crossed. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she took a step inside. You prepared yourself for a disciplinary outburst, but instead, your mother focused on the man standing next to you. 

‘You must be Mr Munson.’ The kindness in her voice was laughable. The overcompensation of her kindness threw both you and Eddie off. 

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ You noticed that he bowed his head in a much more orderly fashion than he had done to you. 

‘I hope my daughter has not been too much of a nuisance.’ 

‘Not at all.’ Eddie politely replied. 

‘Good, good. Well, I can already see that my son did a good job in finding you,’ she stated as she looked around the retouched interior. ‘And I hope that you will grow to enjoy England.’

‘I’ve had nothing to complain of yet.’ Eddie proudly said with that smile of his, and for a moment, you thought to have caught his eyes on you for just a second. Your mother nodded along with his words in satisfaction, but this cheeriness dissipated as soon as she directed herself to you. 

‘Has your headache cleared, dear?’ Her eyes were spitting fire. 

‘Yes, mother.’ 

‘Then we will be on our way.’ She stepped aside, giving you room to walk outside. ‘Goodbye, Mr Munson.’ Eddie had become the unintentional victim of the venom that perferred your mother's words. 

He was polite enough to look away as you made your shameful walk through the aisle between the horses’ stalls, but you couldn’t help but look behind you one final time as you left and catch his favourable grin. What a peculiar man he was, indeed—one whose presence you immediately began to miss. 

Perhaps that was because of the company you were in at the time. 

‘Have you gone completely mad?’ Your mother scowled. ‘Mr Harrington has been waiting for well over half an hour.’

‘He is still here?’ You stopped in your tracks. This day could not have gone any worse. It seemed like everything you had been doing was working in your favour.

‘Yes, so you better come up with a clever excuse for your tardiness as I will not be embarrassed any longer. I swear, have you no shame?’

‘I am truly sorry mother, I had lost track of the time.’

‘Doing what exactly? What were you doing in the stables, exactly? Considering you had told me you were going out for some fresh air.’ Yes, the air around the horses was not exactly to be called “fresh.” 

Unfortunately, you had no satisfying answer to any of your mother’s questions. Come to it, you yourself were unsure what exactly had brought you there in the first place, not to mention what made you stay. It must have been a sense of child-like naivete to think you could hide from your problems the way you attempted. 

Problems that were coming closer as Mr Harrington walked towards you through the aisle of hyacinths that grew all around you in various colours. 

‘What is he doing here?’ you mumbled towards your mother.

‘Considering the lovely weather, I had offered for us to sit out in the gardens.’ Your mother spoke out loud. That is when you noticed the set table and chairs under a large parasol on the patio. 

‘I hope you do not mind. I took the initiative of taking a stroll in your absence.’ Mr Harrington spoke in a cadence that would have been new to you if not for the fact that you had spent the last hour in the presence of a very similar tone. 

‘Of course, not,’ your mother had regained her ability to smile. ‘May I introduce my daughter.’ And so she did. 

‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting, sir. I completely lost track of time.’ You apologised and were ready to offer your hand to Mr Harrington when you noticed how filthy your gloves had become. In a panic, you pushed both your hands behind your back, trying to distract the man with a wide grin.

‘The important thing is that we are all here now,’ he manoeuvred, which you could not help but agree with, then led you to the patio. 

The next hour went by faster than you had ever imagined it would. Mr Steve Harrington turned out to be not only a great conversationalist but a rather fascinating one at that. It was only a fault of your own that you were distracted for a larger part of the conversation. There was simply something about the man’s brown eyes that constantly reminded you of somewhere else. He was very charming and, abiding by your brother’s promises, had a great, though perhaps somewhat awkward, wit. It seemed that his confidence, once clearly overt, had been lowered, causing him to stumble over his words at times and laugh at his own mistakes in a deprecating manner, but never enough to make it a bother in your eyes. Truly, it was all rather endearing.

But you could not, for the life of you, figure out what exactly caused these fumblings in his character, as nothing seemed to be particularly wrong with the man. Though you did not see him as an academic or scholar of any sort, from the way he spoke, you could tell he was one of the more clever men you had the fortune of meeting. And his looks were certainly no topic of discussion either. He was tall and lean, with a wonderful smile and soft brown hair that apparently was more common than imagined, as were those dark eyes and the way he held you in his arms—

You took a sip of the cold water as Mr Harrington expressed his gratitude to your mother for the audience and made sure the message would be conveyed to Lord Byrnwick, too. You nodded and smiled along. Even when he bid you farewell and bowed his head, your mind was elsewhere. As if expecting something to emerge from behind the hyacinths, you could not help but glance in the Eastern direction of the gardens. 

‘See, it was not all that bad, was it?’ your mother immediately said, pulling you back to the patio. By then, Mr Harrington had excused himself and was crossing the patio to the exit from the grounds but had turned briefly for a final goodbye, which you met with a polite wave. 

‘No, I suppose you are right, mother.’ You had persevered against all odds. As you watched the gentleman leave, you felt quite content with the meeting—happy, some would even say. The only problem was that you could not make quite clear what, or rather, who brought on this particular mood.

Chapter 2

Thank you so much for reading!! I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Remember the best way to support writers is to reblog and share. I love to hear what people think of my stories so feel free to leave a comment or an ask or message.

[021894s]

THE GIRL FROM THE BAR ⭑ lhs (COMING AUGUST 6 @ 6 pm PST)

SYNOPSIS: After a tough workday, you visit a quiet bar to unwind, but are harassed by a persistent stranger. The charming bartender, Heeseung, steps in, defending you, sparking an unexpected conversation. As you connect, you feels your stress melt away, drawn to Heeseung's kindness and charm, setting the stage for a blossoming romance.

GENRE: romance, mutual pining

PAIRING: bartender!heeseung x f!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, smut, unprotected sex, oral (m & f receiving)

WC: tbd

REPLY TO BE ADDED TO TAGLIST!!!!

It's an unusually quiet Wednesday night when you push open the door of the dimly lit bar. The cool air inside is a welcome contrast to the stifling heat of the summer evening. You make your way to the bar and take a seat, the events of your rough day still weighing heavily on your mind.

As you settle onto the stool, a man approaches, a sleazy grin spreading across his face. "Hey, beautiful," he says, leaning in closer than you'd like.

You roll your eyes, not in the mood for this. "Not happening," you reply, hoping he'd take the hint and leave you alone.

But he doesn't. "C'mon, don't be like that," he persists, his persistence grating on your nerves.

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the tension. "Pretty sure no means no."

You look up to see a man standing behind the bar, his gaze fixed firmly on the man bothering you. The guy scoffs, looking the man up and down. "Oh, and what are you, her boyfriend?"

His expression remains calm, but there's a steely edge to his voice. "No, but I don't need to be to know how to respect women."

The man's bravado falters, and he mutters under his breath, "Whatever, you weren't that hot anyway," before slinking away.

He turns his attention to you, his features softening into a concerned expression. "Sorry about that. We get the average asshole in here every night."

You're momentarily stunned by his beauty, the way his dark hair frames his face, and the warmth in his eyes, his lean build that wasn’t remarkably bulky, but just enough to make your mind race at the thought of being wrapped in those arms. It takes you a second to find your voice. "N-no, it's okay. Thank you for that."

He smiles, a genuine and reassuring smile that makes your heart flutter. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

You manage a small smile in return, feeling the tension of your day begin to melt away. "A gin and tonic, please."

"Coming right up," he says, his hands moving deftly to prepare your drink. You watch him, fascinated by the ease with which he works, the smoothness of his movements.

When he places the drink in front of you, you take a grateful sip, savoring the way the cool liquid seems to calm your frayed nerves. He leans against the counter, his gaze steady on you. "Bad day?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "You could say that. Work was a nightmare. Everything that could go wrong did."

He nods sympathetically. "I know how that feels. Sometimes it seems like the universe just has it out for you."

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk on your lips. "You? I can't imagine someone like you having a bad day."

He chuckles, a low, comforting sound. "Looks can be deceiving. I'm Heeseung, by the way."

"Y/N," you say, offering a small smile in return. "So, what brought you to bartending? Surely someone like you has other options."

He shrugs, a hint of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "I needed a job, and I like talking to people. Plus, it's a good way to pay the bills while I figure out what I really want to do."

You take another sip of your drink, feeling the alcohol begin to take the edge off your day. "And what do you really want to do?"

Heeseung's expression turns thoughtful. "I'm not entirely sure yet. Something creative, maybe. Music or art. I just know I don't want to be stuck in a nine-to-five grind forever."

You nod in understanding, your eyes sparkling with interest. "I get that. Sometimes I feel like I'm just going through the motions, doing what I have to do to get by. It's nice to meet someone who dreams big."

"Yeah, but sometimes you need to take a step back and figure out what makes you happy," Heeseung says, his gaze intent on yours. "Life's too short to be miserable all the time. And you seem like someone who deserves to be happy."

You feel a warmth spread through you, not just from the drink but from the unexpected connection you feel with this charming stranger. You continue talking, sharing stories and laughter, and as the evening wears on, you find yourself feeling lighter, the burden of your day lifting with each passing moment.

Heeseung leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone. "You know, I don't usually see someone as intriguing as you walk through that door. It's a nice change of pace."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you can't help but smile. "Well, I'm glad I came in then. I think I needed this more than I realized."

By the time you finish your drink, you realize you haven't felt this relaxed in a long time. "Thank you, Heeseung," you say sincerely. "I didn't realize how much I needed this."

He smiles, a genuine, heartfelt expression. "Anytime, Y/N. Sometimes all it takes is a good conversation and a little company to turn things around."

You stand up, feeling a sense of clarity you hadn't had before. "I'll definitely be back."

"I'll be here," he says, his eyes lingering on yours. "Looking forward to it."

As you walk out of the bar, your spirits lifted and your mind clearer than it had been in a long time, you can't help but think about when you'll see Heeseung again.

REPLY TO BE ADDED TO TAGLIST!!!

[candyeager]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄

— ran haitani x fem!reader

synopsis. in which you fall under the spell of Ran Haitani, where his charm wraps around you like a sweet whisper, but as the truth reveals itself, you see him for what he truly is—a liar with a pretty face.

warnings. mature themes ahead, explicit sexual content, drug use. tags. female reader insert, bonten au, heavy pining, angst, hurt no comfort.

wc. 5.1k words.

Loving Ran Haitani was far too easy. The kind of easy that made you question how quickly you fell for him, how dangerously seamless it felt, like slipping into a dream you knew you shouldn't be having.

The first time you met him, it was just another early morning at the café your grandmother had owned for as long as you could remember, where you spent your days tucked behind the counter. The place was still waking up, with only the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the quiet air. You were wiping down the counter, settling into the routine, when the doorbell chimed, signaling the arrival of a customer.

You glanced up, and your world paused.

There he was.

His presence alone demanded attention, a stark contrast to the gentle stillness of the café. What struck you first was his hair—a striking blend of purple and black, cascading in deliberate waves that looked as if they'd been touched by a painter's hand. He wore a tailored suit, purplish-blue that clung to his broad shoulders and tapered at his waist, paired with a pink tie that perfectly matched the hues in his hair. His eyes—an unusual, captivating lavender—were half-lidded, their gaze indifferent, as though nothing in this world could possibly faze him.

It was the kind of effortless beauty that felt almost unreal, as if he'd walked out of a glossy magazine and into the quiet of your world. He moved like he owned the room, each step measured, one hand buried lazily in his pocket while the other held a sleek black briefcase. You were no stranger to attractive customers, but something about this man made your heart skip in a way you hadn't experienced before.

He stopped right in front of you, and suddenly you became acutely aware of how close he was. His height cast a shadow that swallowed the counter between you, and you felt small beneath the weight of his gaze. The air around him was magnetic, almost stifling, and for a fleeting second, you forgot what you were supposed to do.

His lavender eyes locked onto yours, more piercing up close, and you could feel yourself unraveling under his attention. You were staring, openly, and it must've been obvious because his lips curled into a knowing smirk—a small, lazy twitch that sent your heart into overdrive.

You swallowed, clearing your throat as heat crept up your neck. "Uh—what would you like to order, sir?"

He chuckled, a low sound that sent shivers through you, and the smirk never left his lips. "First time here. Any recommendations?" His voice held a playful lilt that invited a similar response.

You leaned forward slightly, dropping your voice as if you were about to share a secret. "I'd steer clear of the cold brew latte. We've had, uh... mixed reviews. Too bitter for most folks."

You glanced around quickly, making sure your grandmother wasn't within earshot. She prided herself on that cold brew and though you loved her dearly, you didn't have the heart to let her know it wasn't the hit she thought it was.

You saw his lavender eyes gleamed with amusement, as if your attempt to protect your grandmother's pride entertained him. He leaned on the counter too, closing the distance between you. "Is that so? Sounds like it's exactly what I'm looking for. I'll take that."

You blinked in surprise, momentarily thrown off. "Are you sure? It's... really not what people expect."

"That's why I want to try it." His voice was smooth, his confidence unwavering, as if his choice was the most obvious thing in the world.

You nodded, a little unsure but intrigued nonetheless. You proceeded to make his drink with deliberate focus, aware of his lavender eyes never leaving you, watching your every move. It felt strange, like you were on display, but not in a way that made you uncomfortable—just more alert. When you handed him the cup, his fingers brushed yours briefly, sending a strange, electric current through your skin.

He took a small sip, then nodded, as though satisfied, and without another word, he turned and walked out. The door swung closed behind him, and you found yourself staring at the empty space where he had just been.

That's it? you thought. He's gone, and you'd probably never see him again—especially after tasting that bitter cold brew. But life had a strange way of surprising you.

The next day, he was back.

The bell chimed, and as you turned, there he was—purple and black hair catching the light, eyes scanning the room until they found yours. Your heart leaped in a way that both excited and unnerved you.

"I'll have the cold brew latte," he said, as casually as if he hadn't almost disappeared from your life forever yesterday.

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. "You're still set on that drink?"

"I like it," he replied with a shrug, his smirk growing a fraction wider, like there was more he wasn't saying.

"Then you must really like bitter things," you teased lightly, but there was a question in your voice, a curiosity that was growing the more he showed up.

His lavender eyes twinkled as he leaned in a little, lowering his voice. "Depends on the kind of bitter."

His words lingered in the air between you, thick with a meaning you couldn't quite place, but it sent a flutter of warmth through your chest. There was something so deliberate in his presence, in the way he spoke and carried himself.

You didn't even know his name yet, but in your mind, you simply called him the "pretty face". It was easier that way—keeping some distance between yourself and this enigmatic man who seemed to be weaving his way into your quiet little world.

The next time he came in, your heart reacted before your mind did, a now-familiar jolt coursing through you the moment the door chimed. The pretty face was back. He moved through the café with that same effortless grace, his lavender eyes already seeking you out as if no one else in the room mattered.

And for some reason, it felt like maybe they didn't.

You didn't ask what he wanted anymore. You just started on his cold brew latte, trying to keep your hands steady while feeling his gaze on you. It was as though he found amusement in how easily you anticipated his order, how quickly you learned his routine.

When you slid the cup across the counter, he met you with that usual smirk—one that had begun to chip away at your resolve. "Cold brew latte, right?"

He nodded, lips curving into a familiar, lazy smile. "You're good at this," he said, his voice smooth, like he was talking about more than just your ability to make coffee.

"You're persistent," you quipped, trying to keep your voice light and teasing, even though his gaze was doing strange things to your pulse.

"Maybe I just like coming here."

There was a silence that stretched between you after that, thick with unspoken tension. You could feel the weight of his words, the way they hung in the air like a challenge, daring you to ask what he meant. But you didn't. You couldn't.

Instead, you swallowed, averting your eyes. "Well, if you're not here just for the coffee, I guess that's a good sign."

That's when something shifted. His eyes, which were usually laced with amusement, darkened, just for a moment. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping low enough that only you could hear. "Oh, it's definitely not just the coffee."

There it was again—that warmth spreading from your chest, up to your cheeks, faster than you could stop it. You glanced down, pretending to busy yourself with cleaning the counter, but your hands were shaking slightly.

What did he mean by that? Was he flirting with you? Or were you reading too much into it?

You tried to tell yourself he was just playing, that an attractive man like him wouldn't be interested in someone like you. He was too smooth, too composed, his world far too different from yours. He looked like the kind of man who had a story for every scar and a lie behind every smile.

The tattoo snaking up his neck only added to the mystery, a stark reminder that this man wasn't just another ordinary customer in your grandmother's café. No matter how curious you were, you knew better than to get involved with someone like him. But knowing better didn't stop your heart from fluttering every time he looked at you like that.

And he looked at you like that a lot.

Still, you couldn't help but wonder what his world was really like, what stories were tucked behind that calm, confident smile. You wanted to know why he kept coming back, day after day, ordering a drink that you knew most people found unbearable.

Maybe it was that same pull—the same strange, irresistible pull that had your heart racing in his presence, the one that left you wanting more even though you knew you shouldn't.

Because now, you weren't just making him coffee.

You were waiting for him to come back.

The club was a chaotic blend of neon lights and pulsing beats, the kind of place where you could lose yourself if you weren't careful. The music thrummed through your body, making your bones vibrate, and the alcohol had done its work. Your limbs felt light, your inhibitions loosened just enough to let you float through the night without a care. You leaned against the wall, scanning the dance floor through the blur of bodies, feeling distanced from the scene yet still tethered to it, your mind somewhere between reality and a tipsy daze.

Then you saw him.

The pretty face.

The man from the café, the one whose presence had lingered in your mind longer than you'd care to admit, even though it had only been a few days since you'd last seen him.

You couldn't tell if it was fate, or maybe just the alcohol playing tricks on you, but there he was, gliding effortlessly through the crowd. His tall frame moved like he was part of the music, his lavender eyes scanning the room until they found you.

And once they did, it was like the whole club faded away. The noise, the lights, the people—it all blurred into the background, leaving only him, walking toward you with that slow, deliberate stride. Your heart skipped a beat, though you weren't sure why. Maybe it was the way he seemed to fit perfectly into this scene, like he was made for the dark allure of places like this.

Or maybe it was the way his eyes never left yours, locking you in place before he even reached you.

When he finally stopped in front of you, that familiar smirk tugged at his lips—the one that had haunted your thoughts since the moment he first walked into the café.

"Didn't expect to see you here," he said, his voice smooth, cutting through the noise like it was meant just for you. The confidence in his tone made it sound like he wasn't surprised at all.

You blinked, trying to shake off the haze, though the alcohol didn't help. "Same. What are you doing here?"

He leaned in, his lips brushing close to your ear, the heat of his breath making your skin tingle. "Looking for a little fun. You?"

His proximity made your stomach twist, a subtle shiver running down your spine as his body radiated warmth. It was the kind of closeness that felt intentional, calculated. He was pulling you in, daring you to respond in kind.

"Just... hanging out," you managed, your voice barely steady. You hoped he didn't hear the tremble in it.

He chuckled softly, his breath skimming the sensitive skin of your neck. "Hanging out alone?"

His question caught you off guard, and you averted your gaze, suddenly aware of how vulnerable you felt under the weight of his attention.

"I came with friends. They're... around somewhere." You waved a hand vaguely, though you hadn't seen them for a while now.

You saw his smirk deepened, his lavender eyes glinting with amusement, but there was something darker there too—something that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Looks like I'm your company now."

You should've pulled away, kept your distance. But instead, your pulse quickened, a thrill shooting through you that you couldn't shake. There was an undeniable magnetism about him, drawing you in, and you couldn't resist the urge to see where this would lead. Perhaps it was the alcohol clouding your judgment, or maybe it was simply him.

The night became a blur of sensation after that. You remembered the two of you drawing closer, your conversations a murmur beneath the pounding music, your body brushing against his more than once. His touch was subtle but deliberate—fingers grazing your waist, the back of your neck, sending sparks through your skin. You couldn't tell if it was intentional or if you were imagining it, but every glance, every brush of his hand made your heart race faster.

Before you knew it, you were outside, stumbling into a cab with him, your head spinning but not just from the alcohol anymore. His lips found the skin of your neck, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh as if he had all the time in the world. And even though you knew you should be thinking this through, all you could think about was how badly you wanted him to keep touching you.

By the time you reached your apartment, you were barely holding onto reason. His hands were on you the moment you closed the door behind you, his fingers gripping your hips as your back hit the wall. His lips crashed against yours, and you responded with equal intensity, fingers tangling in his hair, your body arching into him.

His kiss was urgent, almost hungry, yet beneath that roughness was a surprising gentleness. His hands moved over you with a mix of care and possession, and when he finally pushed you onto the bed, it felt like you were falling into something deeper than just a fleeting encounter.

His mouth trailed down your body, slow and deliberate, igniting every nerve until your thoughts were nothing but static. When he finally reached between your legs, your breath caught, the sensation almost too much, too perfect. His tongue moved with expert precision, each flick sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You grabbed at the sheets, your body trembling as he pushed you closer to the edge, until finally, you were lost in it, your world narrowing down to nothing but him.

The morning sunlight filtered through your bedroom curtains, casting a golden glow on the room. You stirred, feeling the warmth of a body next to yours, the weight of an arm draped across your waist. You thought you were still dreaming. But then you felt his breath on your neck, his hand lazily tracing circles on your back, and reality settled in.

His lavender eyes were open, watching you with a soft, lazy smile, the intensity of last night replaced by something gentler, something almost tender. His fingers continued their slow, soothing motions against your skin, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in the comfort of it.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice low and rough with sleep.

You blinked, still groggy, your mind trying to catch up with what had happened. As the events of the night before came rushing back, you opened your mouth to say something—anything—but one glaring fact stopped you.

You didn't even know his name.

Heat flooded your cheeks in embarrassment. You'd spent the night tangled up with him, shared something intimate and raw, but somehow, you hadn't learned the most basic thing about him. Biting your lip, you hesitated. "So... I’m drawing a blank. What’s your name?"

His grin widened, a playful spark lighting his eyes. "It's Ran. Ran Haitani." He chuckled, his voice laced with amusement. "Don't you recall moaning it last night?"

Your face burned even hotter at that, and you buried it in the pillow with a groan. "Oh god..."

The pretty face—Ran—laughed softly, his hand rubbing your back in soothing circles. "Relax. I'm not judging."

You peeked up at him through the haze of your own embarrassment, your heart still thudding in your chest. "Is this... was this just a one-time thing?"

Ran's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as if considering your question more seriously than you'd expected. Then, with that same infuriatingly smooth tone, he replied, "Is that what you want?"

You hesitated, your fingers tracing idle patterns across his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. "No... not really."

A grin spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Good," he said, without missing a beat.

Then he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "I was hoping you’d say that. Tonight, then."

True to his word, Ran returned that night, and kept coming back every night after that. Some nights he would arrive unannounced, his knock soft but purposeful, and the moment you opened the door, he'd pull you into him, his hands already sliding over your skin before the door even closed. His lips would capture yours in a hungry kiss, his body pressed hard against yours, as if he had been starving for you the entire day.

Other times, his presence was quieter. He'd crawl into bed beside you, wrapping his arms around your waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world, both of you cocooned in the unspoken connection that had grown between you. No words were needed—no labels or discussions about what this was. But there was an unspoken truth in the air, something more than just casual encounters.

Ran's touch had become familiar, yet each time it felt like a discovery. He knew your body better than anyone else ever had—every curve, every gasp, every way you trembled beneath him. His fingers were always precise, like he was mapping you out with every touch. His thrusts were hard, relentless, but never careless. He'd push you to the brink with a ruthless kind of attention, his focus sharp, knowing exactly how to unravel you. And when you thought you couldn't take any more, that you were completely undone, he would find a way to pull you into another wave, your body responding to him without hesitation.

But there were moments, between the raw intensity, when something shifted. There were nights when Ran would slow down, his movements more deliberate, his lips brushing over your skin with a gentleness that seemed to contradict the ferocity of his desire. His forehead would rest against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet between thrusts. And in those moments, something deeper passed between you, as if his body was speaking what his words wouldn't.

One night, after an especially heated round of sex, you found yourselves caught in one of those moments. His body was still pressed against yours, his hip movements slower now, deliberate, each thrust deep and intimate, as though he wanted to make you feel every inch of him.

The sweat glistened on his tattooed skin, your half-lidded eyes tracing the intricate patterns on the left side of his chest, his throat. In that moment, he seemed so different from the dangerous, mysterious man you'd first met.

The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, a confession that had been sitting heavy on your chest for too long.

"I love you..."

It was quiet, almost instinctive, but it hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of its meaning.

Ran froze, mid-thrust, his entire body tensing as if the words had struck him like a blow. His lavender eyes locked onto yours, wide with surprise, as though he hadn't expected you to say it—or maybe hadn't allowed himself to think about the possibility.

The seconds stretched out, your heart hammering in your chest, fear creeping up your spine. Maybe you'd ruined it, broken the fragile balance you'd been walking.

He swallowed hard, his breath shallow, voice rough as he managed to ask, "What?"

You bit your lip, a wave of uncertainty crashing over you. But you didn't back down. You couldn't.

"I love you," you repeated, quieter this time but with all the conviction in your heart. It wasn't just a slip of the tongue. You meant it.

For a moment, Ran just stared at you, his brows drawn together, as if he was processing what you'd said. But then, a flicker of darkness passed through his eyes, and before you could react, his hands gripped your thighs tighter, pushing your legs up higher and closer to your chest, and he drove himself deeper into you with a renewed intensity that took your breath away. His thrusts were rougher now, almost frantic, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck.

"Fuck... say that again," he growled, his voice hoarse, filled with a kind of raw need you hadn't heard from him before.

The desperation in his voice sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you didn't hesitate. "I love you, Ran... I love you," you whispered, your voice breathless, trembling as you clung to him.

"Fuck," he cursed again, his pace becoming erratic as he buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You felt his body tremble above you, his fingers digging into your skin as if he needed to anchor himself.

"Love you too, baby," he moaned against your throat, his voice breaking as he pushed you both toward the edge.

Your heart stuttered at his words, at the vulnerability in them, even as pleasure overwhelmed you. His thrusts became more uncoordinated, more frantic, and you felt yourself hurtling toward the peak, your body responding to his with an intensity that left you breathless. You clung to him, nails raking down his back as you both reached your climax, the world narrowing down to the sensation of him inside you, his body trembling against yours as you came together.

When it was over, Ran collapsed onto you, his weight comforting, grounding. His head rested against your shoulder, his breath still coming in uneven gasps as his chest rose and fell against yours. He was still inside you, the warmth of him filling every inch of your body. You could feel his heart hammering against your own, both of you caught in the aftershocks of the moment.

As you lay there, the afterglow of passion still lingering, you saw something different in his eyes. It wasn't just lust, or satisfaction, or even that cocky smirk he so often wore. It was something softer, a vulnerability that surprised you. His lavender eyes searched yours, and for a fleeting moment, you saw it—love. Real and raw, something he didn't say often, maybe something he hadn't allowed himself to feel until now.

He loved you. He really loved you.

Or at least, that's what you wanted to believe.

Your relationship with Ran Haitani had always felt like a whirlwind—fast, intoxicating, and all-consuming. It was a heady rush, each night spent tangled in sheets, each day a stolen moment of passion. Ran never hesitated to claim your time, whether it was quiet afternoons spent wandering the city or chaotic nights in the throbbing heart of nightclubs. In those moments, when the bass pounded through the air and the sweat clung to your skin, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, and in those fleeting hours, nothing else mattered.

He had a way of making you feel like you were the center of his world, even though there were pieces of him you could never quite reach. His eyes, that lazy, predatory gaze, would linger on you in a way that sent shivers down your spine, yet there was always something lurking behind them—something he never allowed you to see. Whenever you asked about his life, his work, the parts of himself that stayed locked away, he'd brush off your concerns with that signature smirk.

"Oh, it’s nothing much. Just a bit of this and that. You know, nothing too serious.” Ran paused one day, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied your face. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’m always safe, always in control.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Besides, I've got you to look after me, right?"

A small smile tugged at your lips as you tried to hide your concern. You knew better than to pry, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Ran than what he was letting on.

Slowly, the cracks began to show. The nights together became fewer, the distance between you growing with each passing day. Weeks stretched into months, and his absence became a haunting presence in your life. You clung to every fleeting appearance, every time he showed up with flowers or an exhausted smile, desperate to believe that this was just temporary. That he would come back to you, like he always had.

But, one day, he simply stopped coming altogether.

Your calls went unanswered. Messages left on read. The silence was deafening, and each passing day felt like a slow descent into despair. You told yourself he was busy. That something had come up. But deep down, a gnawing fear had already taken root in your heart. Something was wrong, and you were helpless to stop it.

Then the doorbell rang.

Your heart leaped in your chest, hope surging through your veins. You practically stumbled to the door, expecting to see him standing there with that familiar, infuriating smirk. But when you opened the door, the sight that greeted you wasn't Ran. It was a group of police officers, their expressions stern, almost apologetic.

"Are you familiar with a man named Ran Haitani?" one of the officers asked, their voice flat, emotionless.

You froze. The blood drained from your face, your hands suddenly clammy. "Ran?" you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, I... why? What happened? Is he alright?"

The officer's gaze hardened slightly. "We've received information that he may be hiding drugs here. We have a warrant to search the premises."

For a moment, you couldn't process the words. It felt like the ground had disappeared beneath your feet, the world tilting violently. "Drugs?" you echoed, disbelief thick in your throat. "No, there must be some mistake. He—he wouldn't..."

"Ran Haitani is a member of Bonten, ma'am," the officer continued, voice clipped. "A criminal organization involved in drug trafficking and other illegal activities. He's been under surveillance for months."

Bonten. The word hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs. You had heard the name before, in passing—whispers of a syndicate that controlled the city's underworld. A dangerous, ruthless group that no one dared to cross. But Ran... your Ran.... was part of that?

Numbness spread through your body as you watched the officers step inside, moving past you with cold efficiency. They didn't wait for permission. They didn't need it. For the next hour, you stood there, frozen in place, as they turned your apartment upside down. Every drawer, every cupboard, every corner of your life with him exposed to their cold, methodical search.

And then they found it.

Tucked away behind a pile of your clothes in the back of the closet—several small packets of drugs. The officer pulled them out, holding them up as if they were the final, irrefutable proof of your own naivety.

You stared at the stash, the air leaving your lungs in shallow gasps. It felt like a nightmare, like the world was shattering around you. How could you have been so blind? How had you not seen it? The man you had fallen so deeply for, the man with the charming smile and the pretty face, had been using you. Playing you.

The officer noticed your stunned silence, offering you a pitying look. "I'm sorry. But this isn't uncommon. People like him—people in his line of work—they use those closest to them as cover. It's easier to hide their tracks that way."

The words felt like daggers, twisting inside you. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you forced them back. "So... everything he said, everything we had—it was all a lie?"

The officer hesitated, as if unsure how to answer. In the end, he didn't. His silence spoke louder than words ever could.

They left, taking the drugs with them, leaving you alone in the echo of your now-empty apartment. The space felt colder, emptier, as if Ran's absence had finally filled the void it was always destined to leave. You sank to the floor, knees drawn to your chest, your body trembling as the weight of everything came crashing down on you.

The memories—of his laugh, his touch, the way he'd pull you close in the dead of night—now felt like sharp fragments cutting into your soul. You had fallen for him so completely, let him into every part of your life, and he had shattered you in return. How easily you had believed in him, in his lazy smiles and gentle touches, all the while he had been weaving a web of lies.

He was the liar with the pretty face. And you? You had been his willing victim, drawn in by the allure of his charm, too blinded by love to see the truth.

As you sat there, the tears finally broke free, silent and unrelenting. You wanted to scream, to rage, to tear apart the image of the man who had once made you feel like you were everything. But all that came was quiet sobs, muffled by the crushing weight of betrayal.

And even through the pain, a part of you still waited—still hoped—that one day, Ran would come back. That he would walk through that door with that same infuriating grin, lavender eyes gleaming as if none of this had ever happened. Because love, even when built on lies, is hard to kill.

But deep down, you knew. He wasn't coming back.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the cruelest lie of all.

< the end >

© CANDYEAGER. do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my works in any other platforms.

[sideblogofhell]

a forbidden fruit

summary: pietro eats something he shouldn't have pairing: pietro maximoff x male reader word count: 1.1k warnings: 18+ warning, s3x pollen, blowjobs, unprotected sex a/n: part iv have fun do leave comments if u liked it

masterlist | the repentant's corner

Pietro dashed around the lot sixteen times to make sure no one was there. You rubbed your hands together for some heat against the chilling night. The grass crackled beneath your feet trying to chase after your partner. You ended up a panting mess next to him, your knees shaking. 

“So I was thinking, after this patrol maybe we could go out sometime?” he said, his breath unwavering. You gulped and tried to let out a word, your voice dry and coarse. You nod, sweat dripping down your forehead. 

“Can you focus?” you said, trying to open the door. He broke open the warehouse padlock with ease, vibrating at a pace that dislodged the gears that kept the lock secure. 

You slide the rusty door open into a dark room. Pietro used a flashlight to look into the path. The warehouse was small, almost the size of a barn, the floor a flat grey concrete, the walls tall and rusted. There were a few broken wooden crates scattered all over the floor, a metal table on the farthest left. 

Your partner zoomed into the room like a faint blue flare. He checked to see the contents of the crates, all seemed empty.  He sat on the metal table, a few newspapers sprawled out and a white dish used as a makeshift ashtray. 

“Look at this,” he pulled out a small ziplock bag filled with different sugar-coated candy like Skittles. He takes one out and puts it in his mouth, licking the sugar off his fingers. You took the bag from him, smelling the contents; sweet and fresh. “Want one?”

“You idiot! I don’t think this is candy,” you took the bag inside your pocket, Pietro smirking. “We have to send this to the lab.”

“It’s fine, fast metabolism remember?” he shrugged. 

The plane ride back to the compound was quiet. Pietro sat away from you and kept to himself, which was very unusual. He would always try to bother you while you flew the quinjet, always teasing and messing around, but right now he was slumped over to the side using his phone. 

You arrived at the compound a few hours later, the airdock marshalls taking over the jet. You asked other agents to rush to Dr. Cho’s lab to send the candy samples. “Pietro and I found this on patrol tonight,” you gave the pack to her assistants before they went on to test the samples. 

Your phone dinged to a message from Pietro. Meet me in the conference room at 4B ASAP. 

“Fine, I’m an idiot,” he said. “My dick has been so hard for the past five hours and I can’t make it go away!”

“Your what?” you looked at the tent in between his legs, his knuckles were pale white as he gripped onto his pants. “Well I knew it was a drug but I didn’t know it was that kind!”

“What are we gonna do?” he said, his silver-gray hair all tousled over his forehead. He zoomed around and around the room, a cobalt blur blew gusts of wind everywhere he went. He stopped in a corner, his legs shaking and his face flushed. 

“We?” you clamored. “How the fuck am I supposed to help?”

“I don’t know you’re smarter than me!” his eyes widened, his voice shaking, sweat dripping down his forehead. He braced for another run but you held onto his arm. He shuddered, his skin was hot. 

“We should tell Dr. Cho,” you said. “Get you medicine or something.” 

“Absolutely not,” he pleaded. “It’s embarrassing,” his eyes wandered all over the room as if the answers were written on the walls. “We should deal with this the way it's intended.���

“Yeah, no,” you said before turning for the door. Pietro suddenly was in front of you blocking your exit. 

“Please draga—“ his lips were dead set. Pietro was an ill-tempered man, his demeanor was quick like his abilities, charismatic but also stubborn. You thought for a second, you’re helping a co-worker that’s all right?

“Well, how do we do it?” you said. He removed his jacket, and his blue shirt underneath. You marveled at his taut chest, the ridged cuts across his abdomen, and the two lines pointing down his sex. You tried to look away, but you couldn’t believe someone could look like that, like a Greek sculpture. 

“Come here,” he said, pulling you into a kiss. His lips were warm against yours, his stubble pricking at your cheeks. Your hands find his chest for stability, snaking around his neck to pull him closer. His large arms circle around your waist, finding the hem of your pants and going through to your ass. 

He spun you around and pinned your hands above your head, using his other hand to pull your pants down. He smoothed his palms on the plump mounds before giving it a spank, leaving it a red blush. He practically rips his pants open, his thick cock hard and leaking. He spits on his free hand, using it to prepare you. 

“I’m gonna go in okay?” he said in a whimpering tone. You nod, your cheeks warm. He spits again to lube his cock before feeling the pressure on your hole. It was sharp for a bit, the pressure easing as he flushed himself in, the base of his cock hitting your ass. He stops for a second, relishing the heat from your body. “So tight—”

You grunted when he pulled out, only to thrust back in. He began to fuck you at a languid pace, the sensation soothing the tingly feeling Pietro got from the drug. He tried to go slower, to make sure you won’t get hurt but he couldn’t. As you tried to move your hips at the same beat of his body he started to—vibrate. 

You let out a gasp, you thought of the toy you had at home, the one you use thinking about him, but the speed and intensity could not rival him. Pietro let out a series of cusses in Sokovian, it sounded like he was pleading to a god. Your knees turned wobbly from his thrusts, his body vibrating at a pace that made your eyes roll back, your own sex hard and leaking in your trousers. 

“Pietro—fuck,” you moaned.

“I can’t control it, you’re too warm,” his words shaking. “And good,” He let go of your hands, shifting to your waist, he gripped so hard you knew it would bruise. He moved quicker, like a piledriver into you, it stung but the pleasure of hitting your prostate compensated. 

When gripping onto your waist wasn’t enough, he wrapped his arms around your body hugging you, and began to thrust into you harder, his silver hair plastered on his forehead wet. Your body tried to keep you up but your legs betrayed you. You fell down, his cock pulling out. “I can’t stand.”

He pulls you to the table nearby, propping you with your legs on his shoulders. He lines himself back into your hole driving back into his thrusts. The vibrating began again, shaking the table as he gripped it on its edge. You let out desperate cries, he tried to soothe you by kissing your lips, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth. “I’m close—” he cried out.

You nodded, the constant stimulation to your prostate was going to make you cum untouched. His thrusts became erratic, still a vibrating mess. Pietro stood up and you marveled at the glistening sight, his abdomen contracting and relaxing on each thrust, his head pulled back and his lids closed. 

And then the climax hit, cum shooting inside you in thick, your own release spewing on your belly. The vibration slows, Pietro a panting mess for once, a side of him you’ve never seen. He places a peck on your lips and mouths praises. 

“So about that date?”

[cregansdingdong]

ɢᴜᴀʀᴅᴇᴅ.

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Wife!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: he does get snappy for a second so very slight angst, his boo thang doesn't tolerate that so don't worry, period-typical misogyny, gets a tiny bit suggestive at the end but nothing crazy hes eating her coochie out off camera; lovers spat but he can't resist her this is so Honeymoon by lana del ray also love and war by Fleurie

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Aemond was not a man of many words. His wife knew that upon their marriage. She knew he had a fortress around his heart and his mind in order to better protect himself, and it wasn’t something she took complete offense to—there was no point in taking it personally; the walls would not come down because they took vows in front of the High Septon. Day by day, she would have to chip at him, speck by speck, brick by brick, until all that was left…well, she had yet to figure that part out. But still, she persevered. Their nuptials were built on a political agreement in the night—like everything else among the highborns—her father brutally negotiating his terms to bend the knee to King Aegon. She remembered what it felt like being stirred out of her sleep by her handmaiden, dressing in the dark to make an appearance for their princely guest. There had been little explanation at the moment, and even her sisters hadn’t a clue.

Until they saw him. One-eyed and formidable; standing there, the silver-haired Targaryen Prince didn’t need to do much to strike fear in the hearts of Borros Baratheon’s five daughters. Lined up like prized cattle, they waited for him to take his pick. She thought he’d pick Cassandra—the son they’d create together would most likely be the heir of the Stormlands. That was the smart choice. Instead, as she stared ahead humiliatingly, a gaze of amethyst locked onto the slope of her shoulder, trailing the silhouette of where her jaw met her neck. Her throat. It was predatory, almost, the way he inspected her. A viper choosing the most appetizing little mammal it could find. Then he approached her, somehow even taller than he seemed—he stood close enough that she could feel the heat of him emanating into her chilled skin, his even breath fanning lightly against her cheek. “This one.”

The words were so final. There was no arguing, no further negotiations to be made. He’d chosen her. That was all. A year passed, and it was a long one. His betrothed did her best to ignore the whispers of the men of her father’s court. One-eyed Kinslayer, they’d say, the youngest is his bride. He’ll come to claim her soon. The day did arrive when the Targaryen prince returned on dragonback to collect what he was entitled to. There had only been the bare warning of a raven just a day before, leaving her enough time to decide what she wanted to take to King’s Landing and send her trunks ahead. Vhagar arrived after dawn, her rider as stoic and unyielding as he’d been the last time they met. Saying goodbye to her sisters was difficult, but she managed, remembering the very firm prompt Lord Baratheon had given her about crying in front of the prince. And she didn’t, despite the indignation that came with being sold like a broodmare. Her entire life she’d known her birth would only be useful as a bridge between Houses—but being a bride of war felt shameful, vile, and held no pleasantries.

Meeting the dragon churned her stomach terribly. Other than a few of the quiet shushes in High Valyrian, Aemond hadn’t said much during the exchange. The ancient beasts hadn’t cared to eat her, thankfully. The first hurdle was over with. She rode on the back of Vhagar that morning—which was somehow more terrifying than it sounded…and a tad humiliating for how long it took her to actually climb to the mount. She’d expected him to rush her, to make a comment, but he remained silent and unusually patient. The journey itself felt longer than it was, her fists clenched around the hem of his doublet, but it was over soon enough. They’d married within the week, barely having said a word to each other. Every day after that was a power struggle. Aemond must’ve thought she’d be meek, or perhaps quiet, but he’d been either sorely mistaken or genuinely misled. But the deed was done, the marriage consummated thoroughly. He made his bed and he had to lie in it. Whatever the case was, their shared chambers—his idea—worked dually as a bedroom and a battlefield. While she was successful at times in penetrating his armor, the circumstances did not change even after half a year of marriage.

“What is wrong now?” She hummed, watching him stare down into the flames of the lit hearth, hands pensively behind his back. She knew his habits like they were imprinted in her skin. He only stood like that when something was bothering him. Her embroidery was paused in her lap as she waited. Aemond turned his head slightly, his eye flicking over to her. He said nothing for a few more moments, as if he was debating entertaining such a question at all. Sometimes he liked when she pushed at him. She wasn’t sure if this was that sort of evening. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with, wife.” There wasn’t as much bite to his words as she expected there would be, but if he wanted to start, she would finish. “I would like to concern myself, thank you, lest you go blind staring into the fire before our anniversary. What has you in such a foul mood, husband?”  She puts her craft down on the table, staring at him impatiently. He stiffened at her words, and she knew then that she struck a nerve. It seems to work though. Aemond’s features harden, the slightest bit of the real him seeping through his endless stoicism. “Small Council.” Was all he said. She gets the gist of it. “I see. Would you like to share anything else?”

“No.”

Something about the blatant rejection thrilled her. She was no fool as to what probably happened—the King was drunk, angry, or plainly at odds with whatever it was that her husband and the rest were trying to suggest to him. She’d heard from the Dowager Queen they had begun talks of making a match for young Jahaera. Aemond was a hard man to read, but he wasn’t completely indecipherable. “I’m going to offer you my council then.” She doesn’t wait for him to respond, legs uncrossing upon her standing. He doesn’t move as she strides toward the fireplace, as unyielding as she’d been the moment she entered the sept and became his wife. “His Grace, the King, is courageous and inspiring. He’s a man of the finest breeding and a formidable, yet merciful, attentive ruler–”

“If you’re going to give council that I did not ask for, at least speak plainly.” He grumbles, irritation emitting from his poreless face. “In this room, it is only you and I, and neither of us wish to lie. I care not to hear compliments of my brother fall from the lips of my wife.” She considers her words for a few moments. “Alright. The King is a drunk who lives in his own world—but he is still the King, and that means the ideas of his advisors can be very easily dismissed by a mere word if he so wishes. Attempting to speak sense into him, or to convince him, will never work when he has such power.” 

“If you’re suggesting I play into his drunk delusions, I will not.” He scoffs, eye narrowed in reproach. She tries not to get angry right away. “That is not what I’m suggesting. Before you so rudely interrupted me, I was going to say that your best chance is convincing the second highest person in the realm. The Queen.”

“This is a matter between men. Helaena is just as much in her own deluded world as he is—worse, even. She is dreaming her life away. Speaking to her is not unlike catching a cloud, wife.” Aemond says, walls coming back up to ignore her again. His coldness returns in an instant. “Your council has proven useless as I knew it would be. You should return to your embroidery.” And now she was angry. “We’re the perfect pair then, aren’t we, my prince? You dismiss me as Aegon dismisses you.” Her words came out like a challenge, daring him perhaps to actually consider what it was she was trying to say. He reacts accordingly. A long, slender hand wraps itself around her arm in an inflexible grip, yanking her to him seemingly to remind her of their roles. It didn’t hurt. The words were gritted from between his teeth. “What did you say to me, wife?”

“You heard me. Your unwillingness to accept another perspective of how to get what you want will be your downfall. And to think I was almost about to offer to speak to Helaena on your behalf. Perhaps she is a cloud to you, husband, but she’s quite tangible if you treat her like a human being.” She huffs. Aemond pauses at that, in thought as his hand loosens ever so slightly. “I should bend you over my knee for speaking to me that way—you’re lucky I’m not in the mood for it. Talk to Helaena then. Tell her Aegon is behaving like a stubborn fool and convince her that the Lannisters are the strongest choice for Jahaera if she cannot produce another male heir—I’m not asking.” His gaze stared down into her face, imploring her to refuse and see what was going to happen.

“Is my husband demanding my help?” She grins, something absolutely infuriating to him. Help. He loathed that word. “You said it yourself. You’re not asking. My idea must truly be valuable to you—my bond with Helaena even more so. I thought it was a matter between men?” The taunt in her voice was exhaled against every nerve in his body urging him to act. To show her how maddening she was. To fuck the teasing out of her right there beside the fireplace. He was itching to have her do as he wished, and to do with her as he wanted. “You’re testing my patience.” He warns, something uncompromising burning behind his eyes. So different, and yet exactly the same. His wife leaned in closer, undeterred. “If you’re not willing to say please verbally, husband, you can do it another way. Or, of course, you can hurry along to the next council meeting if you’re so eager to be at Aegon’s mercy. What will it be?”

“Another way?” He murmured, eyes locked down at the juncture of her throat. “Hmm. It seems we’ve come to an understanding, wife. Lift your skirts.”

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

[patscorner]

What Love Broke

Summary: You and your girlfriend go through a rough patch

wc: 2,144

Contains: angst, couple kisses, reader petty asf

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You don't exactly remember what started the argument, but you knew it had escalated far more than it should've.

“I'm just saying- it's so unfair how you can't manage to come to a single one of my games when I've been to every one of yours!”

“Oh, I'm sorry that I'm busy with actual things to do. Maybe if you played an actual sport, I'd come to one!” Neshy shouted back at you, her accent thick.

Things have been tense for a while between you and Ines, the stress of your upcoming softball tournament and her basketball tournament stopping you from seeing each other. The wall between you two was built by two people who were so in love that it was painful.

Now here you both are, arguing in front of your closest friends, desperately trying to hold onto the last string that connected your hearts.

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

Ines’s face flashed a twinge of regret, but quickly recovered. “Nothing, look-”

“No, I fucking knew it! I knew that's why you never came to games. You weren't busy, you just didn't fucking care!”

The evening started fine, some of the team gathering in Paige’s dorm to hang out before practice the next morning. Ines had been unusually cold, and everyone noticed her icy demeanor. It was embarrassing for you, so you tried to subtly ask if you'd done something, only to be met with the same frozen heart.

You tried to let it go, but as the night went on, you’d had enough. You had dragged her into a separate room in an attempt to fix whatever you had broken.

Which led you to now, the pair of you, face to face, shouting at each other.

“I care! All I do is care! You're so fucking ungrate-”

“Bullshit, Neshy!” You ran your hand over your face, a weak attempt to calm yourself.

“How can you call me ungrateful when all-”

“Because, with all I do in this relationship, you don't do anything to match it!” her accent ringing through the air thickly.

“With all you do?!! What about all the time I've put in?! All the time spent watching your fucking games, instead of doing homework of my own! All the times I've stayed up going to games, then going to an afterparty, just to watch you get drunk!” your voice shakes at this, but it doesn't matter, not to her anyway.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was such an inconvenience for you to support your girlfriend!” Ines had been pacing this whole time, clearly overwhelmed, and normally you'd respect it. You drop it and pick it up later, but this time, this time, she was gonna listen to what you had to say.

You scoff out a dry laugh. “It's not an inconvenience, Ines, it's just not reciprocated. And until you figure that out, don't bother coming.” You turn to face the door, tired of this argument, tired of fighting, tired of this.

“So that's it?! We're gonna leave it like this?!” She asked, her voice carrying a different kind of weight to it.

“I'm tired, Neshy. I can't keep fighting you like this.” You say spinning around.

She's quiet for a bit, clearly thinking of where to go from here. You can almost hear her thoughts, her face flipping through emotions, until she picked one. The same one she's had all day.

“Don't come to any of my games, then.” She hissed out.

Your heart stuttered, but you didn't let her see that. “Okay.” Is all you say before you turn around and leave, closing the door behind you.

You walk out, finally allowing the tears to fall before remembering you weren't in your own dorm, meeting the eyes of your girlfriend's teammates.

Their eyes carry pity and sympathy as they reach yours.You wipe your eyes before grabbing your phone and mumbling a goodbye.

It's a day before the game between Uconn and Syracuse, the second round of the NCAA Tournament. It's been 3 days, 13 hours, 6 minutes, and 40 seconds (but who's counting) since you've talked to Ines. During those painful hours, you've left your dorm once. One to return a notebook to Paige that you'd borrowed for math help.

You'd seen your girlfriend around campus a couple of times, but quickly avoided her gaze. Your entire goal was to cool off before you went to the game the next day, but that plan failed when you returned to your dorm to your room unlocked.

At first, you panicked, but when you saw Ines in the kitchen, you let out a breath of relief. You set your keys on the counter and your bags on the floor.

“What're you doing here?” You ask softly.

She yelps, putting her hand on her chest. “Jesus, you scared the fuck outta me.”

“Sorry.” you mumble.

“It's okay.”

The silence between you both is not the comfortable one you were used to. This silence was loud, filled with the unspoken words of your hearts. You stare at your feet, avoiding the intense gaze from Neshy.

“What're you doing here?” You repeat.

“I-I, uh, left my jersey here. I didn't think you'd be home soon.” she whispers the last part.

You raise your eyebrows. “So that's why you're in my kitchen?”

Her eyes widened. “Wha- oh, uh. I jus- I noticed your Brita was out of water, so I was just filling it up.”

Your heart shattered. Even after all the fighting you two have done, she still shows that she cares.

You nod. “Thank you, that's- that's very sweet.”

She just hums in acknowledgement, before grabbing her jersey off the counter and heading for the door. You watch her as she turns around to you.

“Are you coming to the game?”

“Oh-uh. I don't know.” You whisper.

“Please.” She begs.

“Neshy.”

“Jus- think about it. Please. I need you there.”

You sigh. “I'll see.”

“Okay.” She opens the door, but turns around and walks back towards you, pulling you into her chest by your waist.

Her lips interlock with yours briefly, a silent plea for you to go.

“I love you.” she whispers.

“I love you, too.” you smile sadly.

And with that, she walks out and closes the door behind her.

Tomorrow comes sooner than you wish, and so does the game. After careful consideration, (and a long conversation with Nika) you decide to go to the game. Even though you were still upset, and the relationship was far from fixed, Ines was your girlfriend, and you were going to support her, regardless of hurt feelings. Plus, you were still friends with the rest of the girls, and wanted to support them as well.

You still didn't want to talk to Neshy, and you made it a goal to avoid her at all costs. At that point, you knew you were being petty, but you didn't care.

Uconn won the game, Ines scoring three 3s and getting a crucial steal at the end of the third quarter. Even though her head was elsewhere, she played well. As you sit in the stands, you help but feel disappointment. She never cared enough to come to one of your games. She never experienced being in the stands, cheering on her girlfriend like you had. She had no idea what that was like and didn't seem to care to find out. Regardless, you couldn't help but feel your heart swell with pride for her. You considered staying and waiting for her, like you usually do. You were undoubtedly happy for her, but she hurt you. You wanted to stay. You wanted to hug her and whisper her congratulations. You wanted to kiss all the angry words you'd exchanged away. That's what you wanted.

But what you needed to do was protect your peace. You needed her to care. You needed 50-50, not 75-25. You needed change. Something had to change.

Your heart fought with your feet as you walked out of the stadium, nobody stopping you.

A knock sounded startled you awake. You groaned as you rolled over, ignoring the interruption of your sleep. Well, you tried, but it didn't work, as whoever it was, knocked again. You grumbled as you rolled out of bed, cursing whoever woke you up at– you check your phone –3:23am.

You swing the door open, to see none other than your girlfriend, and boy, did she look pissed. Her eyes were red and puffy, and bags stark against her pale skin.

“Where were you?” She demands.

“Ines, it's three thirty in the fucking morning. Do you really want to do this right now?”

“You seriously didn't come? I thought you'd be mature enough to put one stupid fight behind us, but you clearly aren't. Like, I'd love to hear the reasoning.”

“Neshy-”

“No, no, actually, never mind. I don't wanna hear whatever your bullshit excuse would be.”

“Ines.” she was spiraling right in front of you, and it was the hardest thing for you to watch.

“I don't even know why I came here. You probably don't even have a good reason. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you forgot.” She rambles. “I can't do this, goodnight.”

And with that she walked away. You contemplated letting her go. She told you what she was thinking, and she seemed pretty sure of herself. But you shook your head, clearing them of those thoughts. She didn't mean it, and you both knew that. You knew that if you let her leave, she might not ever come back.

You stepped out of your dorm in your her large tee-shirt and sweats. “I was at the game.” You call after her. She pauses before looking back at you. She'd made it halfway down the hall at that point. Damn that athletic speed.

“W-what?” Her eyes twinkle with surprise and her eyebrows furrow.

“Come inside.” You say, moving to make room for her in the doorway. You watch her as she walks back to you, pausing for a moment, seemingly looking for permission. The politeness is foreign to you, but you respect it.

You nod before following her inside. She walked into your dorm, and stood at the island.

You wordlessly walk to the refrigerator and get the Brita filter that she'd filled, pouring you both glasses of water. You walk up to her, chest to chest, and set the glass on the table. You look at her, and wipe her tears gently. You feel her hands hesitantly hover over your waist. You almost roll your eyes. It didn't have to be like this.

“You came…? But I didn't see you, a-and you didn't say hi after.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I should've said hi, but I was still pissed.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around her neck.

You both look at each other for a beat before you speak again.

“It can't be like this.” She hums and nods in agreement. “I know.”

“I just need fifty-fifty. I understand if you don't have time during the week, you're an athlete, I'm an athlete, and it's bound to happen. I get all of that. But it can't be like this.” You gesture between the two of you.

Ines nods again. “Okay. I'm sorry. I'm just stressed, I didn't mean anything I said, I was just upset.” She mutters shamefully.

“I know.” You say leaning close to her. Your lips ghost across hers and your heart pounds at the way her breath hitches.

Ines pushes her lips against yours, whining so quiet you almost miss it. Almost.

You break the kiss, locking eyes with her once again. “It's late. Let's go to bed. We can talk in the morning.” You whisper. She nods and you can see the exhaustion set in. She probably hasn't slept in days.

You lead her to your room, falling into the familiar rhythm that is cuddling. You face her as she wraps her arms around your waist, your face buried in the crook of her neck. You listen to Ines take a deep breath, inhaling your scent as if you'll disappear. You press a kiss on her collarbone, humming.

“Neshy?” You whisper. She opens one eye, grunting in acknowledgment.

“You ever yell at me in front of the team again, I will beat your ass.” You smile, but she knows you're dead serious.

“No need, KK said she'd beat my ass if I ever made you cry again.” You let out a soft giggle, moving impossibly closer to her.

“Good.”

“Mhm.” She mumbles, closing her eyes once again. You shift up to kiss her lips before returning to your previous position. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight, my love.”

Even though your relationship was far from fixed, there's no harm in a night's sleep before you mend what love broke.

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