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#and requests are open!
multifandombitxh · 2 years
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What Happens in the Upside Down
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader
Genre: Angst/fluff
Warnings: mentions of blood, violence, and death, slight nudity
Requested by Anonymous: hello! could you write an eddie munson x reader where eddie thinks the reader is dead or something but it turns out she’s not?? sorry if it sounds weird 🙃
A/N: Definitely took this and ran with it lol, a little more in-depth than intended but I hope you like it anon!♥️♥️♥️
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Eddie sat on the edge of a nearby rock, his head hanging in his hands and warm, unrelenting tears streaming down his cold cheeks. He had only turned his back on you for a second- only a second- but in the Upside Down, a second was all it took to disappear. One minute he was releasing your hand to rub his tired eyes, and when he reached out to you again, you were gone.
Panic immediately set in the moment he realized you weren't with him anymore. After a few attempts of calling out to you and yelling for the others to turn around, he heard you in the distance. A scream so loud and so excruciating came from somewhere deep in the trees, causing Eddie to go pale in the face and his blood run cold.
Following the sounds of your painful cries, Steve and Eddie both dashed into the woods with Robin and Nancy in tow. After what felt like centuries, your screams abruptly halted, which was somehow more terrifying than hearing them in the first place.
They searched as best as they could until Nancy happened upon a clearing where she found splatters of crimson littering the dead and decaying foliage. Steve had pulled Eddie away from the scene while Nancy and Robin searched around, trying to talk sense into him. He was already hysterical at the sight; completely inconsolable and riddled with guilt. Steve kept trying to bring him back, but to no avail.
Eddie was convinced you were gone.
"We're gonna find her, okay?" Steve had said, firmly gripping Eddie's shoulders. "I swear to you, we are not leaving without her."
Eddie took no comfort in his words; he knew the truth in his heart. He collapsed on a nearby boulder, his emotions taking over and making it nearly impossible to breathe. How could he be so stupid? How could he do something like that in a place like this? His mind swirled with endless blame that showed no signs of stopping.
"Come on, dude," Steve said, "The longer we sit around, the longer it'll take to find her."
"What if we can't find her?" Eddie sniffled, "You know what the monsters in here can do. You've seen it, they did it to you. She's gone, man, I just- I know it- I-"
Steve sat beside Eddie on the rock, placing a hand on his back and giving him a solid pat as sobs shook his frame. "We don't know that yet. Until I see a body, I'm not convinced. She's out there, we just have to find her. But we have to keep it together, yeah?"
Though he didn't believe a word Steve was saying, he nodded, wiping away his tears on the back of his dirty hand. Steve helped him to his feet, patting him on the back a few more times and ushering him back to the clearing. Against his better judgement Eddie's eyes wandered to the spot where they found the blood, his heart rate spiking at the sight.
"Don't look," Steve instructed, guiding Eddie away from the scene. "Let's just find the girls and get the hell out of here."
"Hey, guys!" Robin called out from the edge of the woods, "I found something!"
The group hurried over to Robin, all taking notice of the trail of blood that led through the woods. It was bright against the dead plant life, almost like a beacon that would lead them straight to an answer. The problem was, Eddie wasn't sure he wanted an answer. If you were dead, there was no telling the state they would find you in. The thought alone made his stomach turn over.
"I think if we follow this, we might find her," Robin said, a little out of breath. "Right? That makes the most sense, doesn't it?"
"Could be a trap," Steve said, tapping his foot against the ground and placing his hands on his hips. "I don't like this. We need to find another way."
"You're the one who said we need to find her," Eddie said.
"I know, and we will," Steve said, holding up his palms defensively. "We just need to be smart about this."
"Y/N is out there, Steve," Nancy said, her tone scolding. "This is the only lead we have. She's out there and we are going to find her, trap or not. You can stay here if you want, but we're going."
Nancy and Robin both began to follow the trail, watching their footing as they stepped over dead vines and thorny branches. Eddie was hot on their heels, with Steve reluctantly trailing close behind. Soon they had all slowed to a steady pace so they could keep track of where the trail went. Robin led the search party, spotting patches of blood or gaps in the plant life that showed signs of disturbance.
Before long, the four emerged out of the woods to find themselves at an empty looking warehouse. It towered over them like a bad omen, the clouds in the sky swirling and churning above it. A broken chain link fence stood between them and the building, almost like a warning to turn back.
"I'm serious, guys," Steve sighed, "Something has to be using Y/N as bait. If we go in there, there's no telling what's on the other side."
While the others were busy discussing the best course of action, Eddie was lost in his thoughts. He couldn't stop thinking about how much he never got to tell you. How he never got to tell you just how pretty you looked when you were singing along to your favorite music, or how absolutely irresistible you were when you danced around in his kitchen. You were his best friend, but God, he wanted so much more than that.
Just before everything happened and his life was turned completely on its head, Eddie was planning on telling you how he truly felt. He was going to make it so romantic; taking you to Lovers Lake at night to watch the stars, playing your favorite music through his van, wearing his best cologne. He thought about how he wanted to kiss you under the night sky so tenderly, so passionately that it made his cheeks burn at the thought. Eddie was prepared to move onto the next chapter of his life, and he wanted to do it with you at his side.
Now, he feared he would never get that chance.
"Okay, you know what, fine," Steve said, breaking Eddie out of his thoughts. "But I'm taking the lead from here on out, got it?"
The whole party agreed and followed Steve toward the warehouse, squeezing through a gap in the fence and quickly rushing through the open parking lot. The blood trail had become less and less prominent as they approached the door to the warehouse, but no one could really say whether it was good or bad. With bated breath, the four made their way inside the pitch black building.
Steve decided to pair up with Nancy to look around, leaving Eddie with Robin. They searched one side of the warehouse while Steve and Nancy searched the other, hoping to cover more ground. Eddie ascended a set of creaking metal stairs, taking his time to avoid making too much sound.
"Hey, listen," Robin said in a whisper as she followed, "I know that you and Y/N are like, really close and all, but I was just curious about something."
"Yeah? What's that?" Eddie asked, picking up a stray metal pipe. Flakes of rust peeled off of it and stuck to his damp skin, making him clean his hand off on his jeans. He figured if there was something in there with them, he could at least use it as a weapon.
"Are you guys, like... together?" Robin asked with a hint of hesitation.
"Together, how?"
"I mean," She went on, "Like, are you dating?"
Eddie paused his footsteps at her question, feeling his heart squeeze in his chest. "No, we're not."
"But, you want to be, right?" Robin pressed, "It's just, I see you guys always being really like, affectionate and stuff. I guess I just thought it was an official thing."
"I wanted it to be," He admitted, "I really, really wanted it to be. I've never known anyone like her, she's everything I've ever wanted. But now..."
"We'll find her," Robin said, giving Eddie a small, reassuring smile. "I was just wondering because, well, she kind of told me a while back that she had feelings for you. I didn't know if maybe you guys were like, secretly together or something."
"Wait, she said that?" Eddie asked, turning to face Robin. "When did she say that?"
"Long time ago," Robin half laughed, "Probably like two or three years now. You're all she talks about when you're not around. That's why I thought you guys were official. It's kind of annoying sometimes honestly, she just talks about you and your club and your hair and-"
"I didn't know," Eddie interrupted, his chest tightening. "Why wouldn't she tell me?"
Robin paused, pursing her lips before responding. "She was scared."
"Of what? Of me?"
"She was scared of losing you," She went on, "She told me that if you ever found out how she felt about you, it would completely ruin your friendship or something. She made me swear on my life I wouldn't tell anyone. Like, blood-pact type shit. It was kind of scary."
"Why are you just telling me now?" Eddie asked.
"Just in case," She said simply, "Anyway, we should probably keep moving. It smells awful in here and my feet are killing me."
After a few minutes of finding nothing but decay and vines, Steve called out into the warehouse for Robin and Eddie to come to them. As quickly as they could, they rushed down the noisy stairs to the other side of the room. They followed the sound of Steve's voice into a closed off portion of the big open space where a wall had crumbled down to reveal a boiler room. Inside sat Nancy and Steve, both hovering over something.
Eddie could swear time stopped.
"Hey, Y/N, can you hear me?" Steve was saying, crouched down on the floor. Eddie's heart sank as he recognized your limp body laying before Steve, his stomach churning. There was blood coating your jeans and shoes, making him feel ever sicker than before. For the first time he noticed all of the dark, thick puddles of black goo that were scattered around near you. He followed them with his eyes and shivered when he realized they were still wet.
"Y/N, you need to wake up, come on," Steve said, clapping his hands above your face. Nancy was on the other side of you, applying pressure to a wound that had painted your shirt in bright red.
"No," Eddie whispered, "Please, not like this."
He dropped to his knees at your side as Steve moved out of the way. Nancy helped him lift you into his arms, your head on his bicep and your body in his lap. As Nancy was trying to stop your wound from bleeding, Eddie was cradling you like you were made of glass. In a way, that was how it felt to him; you could shatter at any moment and he would have no way to stop it.
Robin knelt down to help Nancy with your wound, the both of them chattering away about how to get it to stop quickly. Eddie couldn't hear anything, all he could hear was a ringing sound in his ears that grew louder and louder the longer you were motionless in his arms. He leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours, tears flowing from his eyes and splashing against your cheeks.
"Please," He begged in a whisper, "I need you to come back to me, Y/N. There's so much we need to do together. I had so many plans. I never got to show you how special you are to me. I love you, I love you so fucking much. Please, princess, please wake up."
You lay motionless in his arms, his words having fallen on deaf ears. Sobs wracked his body as he clung to you, unable to hold back the agonizing cries that ripped their way from his throat. His whole world had fallen apart, taken from him in just a matter of days, and now he was losing you, too. As he was letting his emotions out, he felt something brush against his cheek, startling him into opening his eyes.
Your hand had reached up and connected with his cheek, blood smearing against his cold skin. When he looked down at you again, your eyes slowly fluttered open and your mouth turned up in a weak smile.
"You're getting my face wet," You whined, your words cracking and your voice hoarse.
The air left Eddie's lungs and he cupped the side of your face, wiping the tears off of your cheeks. Nancy seemed to have been able to stop the bleeding using Robin's jacket as they were now leaning back, giving the two of you some space. You coughed harshly, turning to cover your mouth against Eddie's chest. He didn't mind one bit as you sputtered and coughed blood onto his favorite shirt; he was just so happy you were alive.
"What happened?" He asked cradling the back of your head.
You struggled to sit up but managed with some help, finally able to open your eyes enough to look around at everyone.
"Something just... Grabbed me," You explained, "Something grabbed me and covered my mouth, and then I was just flying backwards through the trees. I... I tried to fight it. But I couldn't see anything."
The group watched in awe as you began to form tears of your own. "It was so strong, and it felt like it was ripping into my skin while it was dragging me back."
You looked down at your bloodied torso before you continued. "It carried me back here and it was just so dark, I couldn't even see what it was. I just remember being thrown down on the ground and something towering over me. It made this-"
You swallowed hard and squeezed your eyes shut before you continued.
"It made this awful noise," You went on, curling in against Eddie as you detailed the events. "I didn't know what to do, so I just... I grabbed something. I couldn't even tell what it was, but it was heavy, so I started swinging at it until I hit it. I think it gave up, because it ran away after I clocked it a few times. After that, everything just went dark."
"Whatever it was, you probably pissed it off, and it'll come back," Steve said, "We gotta get out of here, now."
Steve and Eddie helped you to your feet, Eddie supporting most of your weight while the group made their way out of the building. The plan was to head to the Wheeler's house, but it took a lot longer now that both you and Steve were injured. You took your time, but still tried to move quickly to avoid any more incidents.
When you made it to Nancy's home, Robin had the idea to check the bathrooms to see if any first-aid supplies were in cabinets or drawers. Steve and Nancy went into her parents bathroom while you and Eddie took the hallway bathroom, where he set you down on the side of the bathtub and began searching for anything that might be helpful.
"Hey, Eddie?" You asked, your eyes squinting to see him in the darkness.
"Yeah?" He asked as he pulled some bandages out of a drawer on the sink. He motioned for you to sit up and knelt in front of you, unraveling the bandages and helping you lift your shirt over your head. You could swear you heard his breath catch in his throat.
Whether it was the fact that you were half naked, or the fact that you had a massive gash stretching across your ribs, you weren't sure; but either way, Eddie couldn't seem to look you in the eye.
"Did you mean what you said earlier?" You asked, wincing as he began wrapping the bandages around you.
"What did I say earlier?" He asked in return.
You smiled and leaned forward a bit, your noses nearly touching. "That you love me."
"Oh," Eddie cleared his throat, "You heard that, huh?"
"I heard everything," You confessed with a small shrug, "I was waking up while Steve was clapping in my face like a seal. Kinda hard not to."
The air in the dark room became tense, something you expected. Eddie seemed shy regarding his confession, his gaze lowered and his hands busy patching you up. Having lost your patience, you grabbed his hand to halt his movements and let one of your hands come to rest on his jaw. This seemed to work as he stopped to meet your gaze, his eyebrows drawn together causing worried wrinkles to form on his forehead.
"Do you really love me, Eddie?" You asked in a soft voice.
Eddie sucked in a sharp breath at your question, his eyes squeezing shut as if he was bracing himself for the worst. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. So much."
Smiling widely, you leaned forward and captured his lips in a sweet kiss, completely catching him off guard. It only lasted a few seconds as you broke the kiss to lean back and gauge Eddie's reaction. His eyes fluttered open and he looked at you with a deep, longing look in his eyes- almost like he was ready to pounce on you right then and there.
Honestly, if you weren't in unbelievable amounts of pain, you probably would've let him.
He connected his lips to yours in a deeper kiss, his hands coming to rest on either side of your neck. Your hands found their way to his jacket, grabbing fistfuls of the leather and pulling him closer. Eddie sighed through his nose as he kissed you, his shoulders relaxing and his hands carefully caressing your bare skin. The sound of the others coming out into the hallway made you break apart, smiling at each other before Eddie finished bandaging you up and helping you put your shirt back on.
Steve poked his head through the doorway to tell you both that they'd be in Nancy's room, immediately darting away when he was done. The two of you shared a laugh before lacing your hands together. When you pressed a soft kiss to Eddie's cheek, he thought his heart was going to burst.
"I love you, too, by the way."
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bwabys-scenarios · 4 months
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NSFW
He likes to look up at you while he eats you out with those pretty eyes full of lust… “look at me, angel. look at how good I’m making you feel.”
He loves holding your hand, and if you look away he’ll hold your bud between his teeth lightly as a warning…
He usually doesn’t like to see you cry, but your eyes are so pretty when you’re crying from all the pleasure he’s given you.
He likes to tongue fuck you too but man… he loves sucking on your clit.
He likes to hear you whimper and whine, and loves when you tug on his hair or give him a little guidance
He can’t deny he gets really hard when you gently push his head towards your entrance, wanting some attention there too!!
The sounds…
He’s squeezing your thighs as he sucks, nibbles, licks… you’d think he was starving for pussy
He really just wants to make you feel good, but honestly he eats you out because he really really enjoys it.
He would do it regardless but… it does help that he loves it!
Trying to do anything around the house after he’s gotten a taste of pussy is hard. And god sitting on this man’s face?? He would go to cloud 9…
——————
|| GOJO|| NANAMI|| GETO|| SUKUNA|| CHOSO||TOJI ||KURAPIKA|| LEORIO|| CHROLLO|| ILLUMI|| FEITAN|| EREN|| JEAN|| ARMIN|| RENGOKU|| OBANAI|| TENGEN|| YOUR FAV
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distantdarlings · 3 months
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HESITATING // t. nott
RATING: R / 3.9K WORDS
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Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert
+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* After a trip to Hogsmeade, you realize that Theo seems to get an awful lot of attention from girls. To avoid getting hurt, you start to distance yourself from him to rid yourself of your crush. But Theo is not having it. (Smut)
+ WARNINGS - SMUT! No protection - piv, praise kink, slight body worship, biting (one time), fem reader, language, one time skip, dom!Theo (lmk if I missed any)
+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -
more than friends - Isabel LaRosa
---
Your eyes found the clock on your bedside table. You were supposed to meet Theo in the Great Hall in ten minutes, yet you stood completely still in your dorm, switching back and forth between two outfits. It was a Saturday, and you didn’t have the usual crutch of your school uniform, hence the inability to decide. 
As the year progressed, the temperature dropped outside as well as within the castle. When chills were scattered across your arms in class, your teeth were almost clacking together. At the thought, a small shiver went through you.
You decided on a heavier sweater and jeans, noting that if you were cold in the warmth of your dorm, you’d likely be cold in the stone Great Hall. 
You slipped the outfit on, selecting a thick pair of socks and a ratty pair of shoes you’d had since fourth year. It wasn’t the most stunning style, but it was efficient and comfortable. Five minutes to go.
You slipped your wand into your back pocket and headed toward the hallway, slipping the dorm door closed behind you. Theo was likely already there with his group of friends, ones you liked to call friends, as well. The sons of big names around Hogwarts and the wizarding world, in general, though they were just boys to you. 
As you arrived at the grand doors of the Great Hall, the boys in question caught your eye and shot excited waves at you. While some of them had a bit more pride than others, they always seemed happy to see you. A smile broke across your face as you walked over to the Slytherin table, claiming the space between Theo and Mattheo. 
“Hello there, darling,” Theo purred in your ear when the group went back to their conversation. A twinge of heat flared in your chest. You hid a smile.
“Miss me?” You asked, voice low. He smiled. 
“Of course I did.” He threw a playful arm over your shoulder. Though it seemed to be a friendly gesture, it felt like a claim to you. A claim by him placed onto you, alerting all who you belonged to. It made you embarrassingly happy. 
“Any plans today, boys?” You asked. The group turned to you. 
“Actually, we were thinking of heading down to Hogsmeade for the day,” Mattheo said. “We were going to ask if you wanted to go with us?”
“I’d love to, as long as I’m not forcing myself on the group,” you said, only half-joking.
“Of course not,” said Enzo, a sweet smile on his face. “We love hanging out with you.”
“Yeah?” You teased. Mattheo rolled his eyes.
“You know we like you,” he joked, running a mean hand over your head, tousling your hair. You exclaimed and pushed his hand away, laughing along with the dark boy.
“We definitely do,” Theo laughed, pulling you tighter against him for a moment. 
“Well, alright,” You laughed. “Heading there now?”
“Yes!” Enzo clapped his hands together and stood, already headed toward the door. The rest of you laughed and made to follow him. 
“What about jackets? It’s cold out there!” You exclaimed, rubbing your hands over your arms.
“Ah, I’ve prepared for that,” Theo said, picking up two jackets that had been placed beside where he’d once sat. You hadn’t noticed them originally. 
He selected the smaller brown one and slipped it over your shoulder while he pushed his arms through the black one.
“Theo!” You exclaimed, running your hands over the nice corduroy material. “Where on earth did you get this? Whose is this?” 
“Yours, of course,” he laughed as the four of you exited the castle and headed down the cobblestone path to Hogsmeade.
“What do you mean?” You asked.
“Call it an early Christmas gift,” he said, smiling smugly. 
“You can’t be serious!”
“Of course I am,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I saw it in one of the shops last weekend and thought of you.” 
If you weren’t the wiser, you’d have thought your heart had melted and poured down through your rib cage. A blush filled your cheeks and your stomach at the thought of Theo thinking of you and then buying something. 
“Thank you, Theo,” you sighed. He laughed and shrugged it off as if he hadn’t just made your whole week, if not your whole decade. 
The whole way down to Hogsmeade, your heart refused to let go of your brain. The pink filter that had been placed before your eyes glowed brightly. This little crush of yours seemed to have elevated a bit, but you’d never admit that, of course.
The group stopped before the Three Broomsticks, eager to slip into the cozy building’s warmth and order several rounds of Butterbeer. 
The four of you pushed through the door and selected a round booth near one of the back windows. Enzo and Mattheo headed to the front counter to order for the group. 
“Have you got any plans for the rest of the day?” Theo asked, naturally sliding his arm around the back of the booth behind you. 
“Well, if you’ll have me, I’d love to stick with the three of you,” you suggested.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he smiled, playfully tugging on a piece of your hair. He was hoping you’d say that? 
“Here we are!” Enzo cheered, placing two pints of Butterbeer on the table before the two of you. Mattheo was close behind him, carrying two for the both of them. They slid into the booth beside Theo, with you and Mattheo on the ends and Theo and Enzo between you. It felt comfortable.
Between each of your smiles, all with different personalities, you’d found a very safe space to stay. Every moment with these people made up a memory you knew you’d remember until you could no longer. Nothing could have ruined this evening.
“Oh, my God!” A loud voice said, drawing the syllables out. The four of you turned to look at the unfamiliar face standing before your table. “Teddy? Is that you?”
“Teddy?” You asked, wrinkling your nose at the nickname. 
“Holy shit, Laverna!” Theo laughed. “How long has it been?” 
“A while! I’ve just been visiting recently and thought I’d stop by Hogsmeade after not having seen it for so long.” 
The girl standing before your table was incredibly gorgeous, with flowing platinum hair that reached the bottom of her spine and shocking blue eyes. Her skin appeared flawless and luminescent beneath the comforting lights within the restaurant. A fire of jealousy broiled in your chest. 
“Guys, this is Laverna,” Theo introduced her. “We were pretty close before her family moved to France, and she transferred to Beauxbatons.” 
“That’s me!” She giggled. It sounded like she even had a hint of a French accent. You struggled not to roll your eyes. 
“I was just going to get a drink. Do you want to catch up a bit?” She asked.
Theo ushered Mattheo and Enzo out of the booth. A bit confused, they got to their feet and allowed the boy next to them to slide out and give a hug to the beautiful woman. You sipped your Butterbeer. 
The other two boys sat back down and glanced up at you in scattered patterns. You ignored their eyes. You were pretty sure they knew about your little crush. Scratch that. They definitely knew. 
Over your shoulder, you could hear the two of them laughing and carrying on. You attempted to ignore the burning in your cheeks. Mattheo and Enzo nursed their drinks, fidgeting randomly. 
A few moments of randomized chatting passed before Theo finally came back, a poignant smile still painted over his lips. You looked away from him. 
“Sorry about that,” he laughed, scooting in next to Mattheo. You tried not to think about the fact that he didn’t sit next to you. You were being dramatic. 
“Alright, where to next?” He asked. The four of you discussed what to do with the rest of your day with random store names circling about. The final agreement was to head over to Honeydukes to enjoy some of their Christmas sales, and so Enzo could stock the small jar that sat beneath his bed. He tended to snack throughout the night as he was tending to assignments, refusing sleep. 
You gathered together and made your way through the small town, window-shopping here and there. Every time you pouted over Theo’s seemingly obvious interest in the gorgeous girl, you remembered the jacket currently around you. Theo cared about you. Was it the way you wanted him to? You weren’t sure. 
Once inside the colorful store, the four of you split and wandered your separate ways, each looking for different sweets. You always headed right toward the chocolate frogs, eager to extend your vast collection of cards. Perhaps it was a bit childish, but who cared? It was a fun hobby. 
You stopped before the rack piled high with the blue boxes and stared. You tried to guess which one would have a card you’d never gotten before, conjuring up every ounce of intuition you had.
With another second of thought, you chose the one sitting on the shelf directly in front of your face. You were excited to open it with Theo; he always loved to see you add to your collection. 
You turned the box over in your hands, examining the packaging. Out of the corner of your eye, a flash of red catches your attention. You turn to the left and notice Theo laughing aloud, talking with that same girl, Laverna, and another girl. A dark-haired goddess with blushed cheeks and a perfect figure. Fuck’s sake. 
The urge to crush the chocolate box in your hand flashed through your mind. You rolled your eyes and headed further into the store, trying to put distance between the two of you.
Mattheo was standing against a wall, browsing a rack of magazines, occasionally picking one to flip through. You stopped before him, leaning up against the same wall. 
“Pouting, are you?” He asks, not looking up from the magazine in his hands. You scoff.
“No, I’m not…I’m just…,” you sigh and close your eyes.
“Just in love?” He asked, glancing up at you with a smirk. 
“Fuck off,” you groaned. Was it that obvious? Maybe it was. You didn’t know. An exhausted sigh left your lips.
Uproarious laughter sounded from the corner. You recognized one of the laughs as Theo’s. The others belonged to women. That was it.
“Okay, I’m heading back to the castle,” you said, throwing your hands up. “Tell Theo I wasn’t feeling well or something.”
“What? Are you sure?” Mattheo asked, finally dropping the magazine. “We still want you here with us.” 
“It’s okay, I’m just tired,” you said. “I think I’ll just head back for a nap until dinner.” And with that, you paid for your candy and headed back to the castle. 
xxx 
Over the next week, you made an unintentional decision to skip meals with the group. You weren’t trying to avoid them—or maybe you were—but you found yourself wanting to be alone more and more the past few days. 
The thought of having to see Theo after Saturday, when he had the attention of half the girls in Hogsmeade, made you want to vomit. Perhaps it was jealousy pushing you away, but it was your anxiety keeping you there. Every time you thought of heading back to eat with the group, you reminded yourself that Theo hadn’t tried to reach out since you’d stopped seeing them. If he wanted to, he would, right?
With your decision to keep away from the boys for a while, you’d taken to eating in your dorm over your lunch break. Nobody else was ever in there, and it was kind of comfortable, to be honest. You would nibble on your meal and read, or draw, or whatever came to mind, and it was nice and quiet. 
You set your book on your bed and gathered the little meal you’d prepared for yourself. Pulling the covers back, you settled in and grabbed your novel. This was absolutely lovely after a busy morning.
Just as you’d begun to settle yourself into the routine you’d started the previous week, two shouts of your name shot through the air. Before the disappointment and onset of anxiety came shock. Was that Theo?
Rapid steps grew closer and closer until the dormitory door echoed a gentle knock as if the person behind it had slowed down just as they’d arrived. 
“Um…who is it?” You asked awkwardly.
“Baby, it’s Theo,” a breathless voice came from behind the door. “Please open the door. Please. I need to talk to you.”
Baby? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? The constant mantra rushed through your head as you shakily ripped your comforter away, ignoring your food and book. 
You slowly pulled the door open, seeing a nervous Theo. His eyes were shot with blushed red, and his lips were swollen. Had he been crying?
“Theo, what—?”
“Please, can I come in?” he asked. His breath exited his body in short, rough pants. You nodded wide-eyed and moved out of the way. He pushed into the room, walking to the center of the room. His hands pushed through his hair repeatedly.
You pushed the door closed and pushed the lock. When you turned, he did the same, eyes on yours. His eyebrows were furrowed together, desperation painted on his face. His lips were parted, his eyes wanting. 
“What is it—?”
“You have to tell me what I’ve done,” he begged. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean! Where have you been? You’ve been gone for days; the boys say you’re mad at me, that you might not come back—what the fuck are they talking about?” he demands, his eyes wide. 
Your lips parted stupidly. No words came, no matter how hard you searched for them. The only thought that could process within your brain was how you were gonna kill Enzo and Mattheo for saying such stupid things to him. If anything, they were likely trying to get him to come and talk to you—which, it seems, has worked.
“Theo,” you cave, “it’s not that I wasn’t returning or mad at you…I was…” You could barely get the words out. He watched you with intent and pressure. It felt as though you were about to suffocate.
“What? Please tell me. What’s wrong?” He begged, his voice cracking. He moved toward you, his hands raising to touch you, then hesitating and dropping. A line of shimmering tears pool within his eyes, and the pure shock of seeing Theo about to cry had your lips parting again. 
“I was…,” you groan, “…jealous.” You practically whispered the last part.
“Wait, what?” He gasped, his eyes widening even further.
“Theo, please don’t make me repeat it,” you sighed, pressing your hands to your face. “I’m embarrassed as is, I was jealous of those girls from last Saturday. I feel like every time I saw you, you were making another girl laugh, and they were all fucking perfect, of course, and I-I like you so much, Theo—”
His hands pressed to either side of your face, his fingers tight and warm. His eyes were widened, his breaths heavy. 
“No more,” he breathed, “please, tell me to stop, and I will, but I have to…” 
His lips pressed roughly to yours, his breath more like pants. He kissed you like you were air, his lips desperate and biting. The sound he pressed against your mouth was like one of relief. You gasped against him, finally realizing where you truly were and what was happening. Your fingers tightened in his hair, begging him closer to you. 
“I n-need you,” he shivered against your lips, breath shuddering. You nodded fervently, barely having time to wrap your arms around his neck as his hands placed themselves around your thighs. He yanked you into the air and placed himself on your bed, settling you over his lap. The way he’d forced you to straddle him pressed his firming core against yours, sending a shock of excitement through your body. 
His fingers began to quickly work the buttons of your shirt apart. When the fabric was finally split down the middle, he pressed his mouth to the top of your breasts, mouthing hot kisses against the soft flesh there. You sighed softly, letting your head fall back to allow him all the necessary room. 
“Wanted you for so long,” he mumbles against you. Your fingers brush through his curled hair, gently scraping against his scalp every so often. The feeling of his lips against you made your heart race to the point of beating against his tongue. 
Much to your dismay, he pulled away and shoved you back. You fell against the foot of the bed, completely helpless as he climbed over you. The domineering air he carried with him spread over your body, rendering it pliant beneath his searing touch. 
His fingers gently cradled your hips as he worked his mouth over your stomach, dipping his tongue across every curve and dip, savoring the taste of sweat that slid down your skin. As his lips heated your skin, the shaking breaths he blew through his nose cooled it down and had you reeling. The ceiling above you was all but spinning. 
He followed the curve of your body all the way up to your mouth, allowing his tongue to learn every inch of your abdomen. When his lips found yours again, the both of you were panting. The only thing standing between the two of you was your uniforms.
With a burst of confidence thanks to his session of worship, you gently cradled him in your hands, applying slight pressure against his most sensitive area. At the touch, he choked against you, sucking in a rough breath.
“Please,” he moaned. “Let me fuck you. I'll do anything.” He whispered your name. Over and over and over. Begging and begging. 
“Anything?” You smirked, watching as his eyes seemed to well up with the same liquid. He nodded quickly.
“I want you to do whatever you want to me,” you whispered. And if it wasn’t like giving someone a million bucks. 
“Thank you,” he whispered, a wave of relief washing across his face. The obvious desire written across his face and actions had you feeling wanted and gorgeous. The confidence built by the second.
His fingers quickly found the hem of your skirt and pushed it up over your thighs. At the sight of the thin bottoms you had on, a slow moan pushed itself between his lips. “Fuck,” he whispered.
His thumb came down to slowly swipe down the center of your core through your bottoms. You jolted at the soft action, not prepared for it. A smile spread over his face.
He gently pushed the fabric to the side, reveling in the feeling of the white lace against his fingertips. Once he’d revealed you, an even louder moan escaped from him. Only a moment passed before he pressed two fingers to his lips, coating them with a thick layer of saliva. He pulled them from his lips and began to lather you in himself. 
Your lips parted in a breathy whine at the feeling. His fingers were gentle but direct, only brushing the most sensitive spots before slowly filling you up to the hilt of his fingers. 
“Fuck, you just opened right up for me,” he groaned. His words sent shocks of lightning through your stomach. His skilled fingers stretched you out perfectly, preparing you for what was to come. The want in his eyes was growing darker and darker, imagining the next few minutes. It was all too much; you couldn’t wait any longer.
“Please, Theo, just fuck me,” you whined, “no more.”
“Yeah, baby? I’m gonna fuck you, don’t worry about that,” he whispered. “‘ve been dreaming about this cunt for months.” He makes quick work of his trousers, roughly ripping the clinking belt from its loops. He separates the button and pushes them down, revealing the dark briefs that framed every muscular curve. 
He separated your legs and placed himself neatly between them. His hands reached down to agonizingly trace himself up and down your core. You moaned at the feeling, bucking your hips against his warmth. You attempted to salvage any of his warmth, begging for the feeling of him within you. 
When he finally pushed himself into you, there was no resistance. The sounds that left your mouth chorused each other, echoing across the dorm room. He gave only a few seconds for you to adjust before building his pace rapidly. The pure length of him hit everything within you with ease. This time, there were tears welling up in your eyes as he abused every inch of you. 
Sweet nothings left his mouth as he pushed roughly into you. His strong hips showed no weakness, and the hands that gripped you branded bruises against your flesh. Every second of this moment would visit you for years to come, promising you’d never find someone like Theo. He was the body made to fit perfectly against yours, with the intent to love and please and hold. And, fuck, if he wasn’t doing exactly that. 
As he worked you closer and closer to the end, he reached down and pulled you quickly against his chest. Out of habit, your arms wrapped around his neck. Despite the change in position, he never let up on his speed or brutality. The only thing you could feel was his strong hands bouncing you up and down him. His teeth pressed into your neck, piercing the soft flesh there. And that was what did it for you. 
You finished around him hard and heavy, your limbs becoming pathetically weak. As you came down from your high, you could barely keep your hold around him. His arms tightened around you, holding you up as he fucked himself into you, harder and harder, until he was coming, too. The feeling of his release pouring within you and every thrust he performed to push it back within you pulled you out for the final moment. 
Stars danced around your head as he finally set you back down against the bed, his touch so gentle in comparison to what he had done prior. The contrast of his touch against you as he pushed the wet hair clinging to your forehead was blinding. You sighed contently as he lay next to you, eyes watching you closely.
“I’m sorry I was so emotional,” he whispered. “I thought I was going to lose you forever…before I’d even had the chance to tell you what kind of feelings I was harboring.”
“What kind of feelings?” you whispered back, turning over to face him.
“That I’m completely in love with you and have been for a long time.” Your heart swelled at the confession. Quiet giggles spilled from your mouths at the realization of what he was saying.
“I’m in love with you too, Theo,” you laughed. “That’s why I was so jealous.”
“Because I’m so sexy?” he teased. You rolled your eyes and placed a playful smack on his arm.
The moments that followed were filled with quiet laughs and sweet kisses. And before either of you had noticed, you’d both drifted off against each other. Afternoon classes were a lost cause, as was the hope of meeting back up with Mattheo and Enzo for dinner, but neither of you minded. 
*Tag List: @lilymurphy03 (if you want to be added to the tag list for any future works, please send me a dm or message in my inbox, thanks!)*
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mimisplayground · 1 month
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trust exercises with Ghost but its him fucking you in the full nelson. Holding you in front of a mirror and bouncing you up and down like a fleshlight because you hadn’t let him carry you out of a building when you had tripped.
It had nothing to do with distrust in him. You just didn’t want to be a burden on him. But he had whispered in your ear that he wanted to work on your trust in him and then you had found yourself here.
He had a solid grip on you too, one hand perfectly snug around your throat with both arms hooked under your knees. Your face was smushed into the mirror at this point, drool stringing from your mouth.
Fucks you through more than one orgasm, leaves you an incoherent babbling mess and groans in your ear the whole time. Only takes mercy on you when you promise that you trust him.
:( i wanna do trust exercises with ghost
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moonjxsung · 5 months
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Lost in Translation
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Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.
Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader
W/c: 26.5k
Warnings: accidental nudity, hospital visit, mention of masturbation, use of pet names, breast/nipple play, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex, bulge kink, sexual asphyxiation, breeding kink, creampie, oral sex (male receiving), brief mention of pregnancy
Synopsis: The older brother of the boy you babysit is an enigma, in every sense of the word- and you’re determined to figure him out.
[this work was based off a request by @antoniorhinothethird - thank you for requesting!]
18+. Mdni!
The idea of babysitting isn’t some brilliant proposal you conjured up in a day- but it’s not exactly a choice, either. The idea isn’t even yours, in fact, the advertisements you published on the colorful inquiry site at your mother’s behest. But “college courses are virtual these days” and “you’ll be a mother at some point in your life,” according to her. So two months into the semester, you’ll now spend the majority of your time in a new place you’ll call home, just 30 minutes out at the Lee Household.
The Lee household is considerably larger than you’d originally anticipated it to be, spanning a sizable amount of grassland and standing nobly tall at 2 stories high. The exterior of the flashy home is surrounded by paved gravel driveways, lining the neat rows of bushels and vines that surround the off-white architectural build. Giant glass windows reflect sunlight in nearly every room of the house, with the exception of the dimly-lit library on the second floor, which flaunts colossal cherry wooden bookshelves that line the walls and cover most of the smaller windows.
“Joon is usually very mellow in the daytime,” Mrs. Lee tells you as she walks you through a tour of the garden. “You’ll only have to worry about his feeding schedules, which I’ve already written and posted on the refrigerator.”
She pivots in front of you, stopping for a moment and gesturing to the stone fountain by the rose bushes. “Do you like it? It was a gift from my husband. When he’s not running the furniture business, he works in restoration a lot. This was his first project.”
“Wow,” you say, your lips parted at the sight of the koi fish and the cascading waterfall from its lips. “It’s very beautiful.”
Mrs. Lee smiles at you in response, turning on her heel and continuing to the iron gates in the front.
“Do you have any other questions?” She asks, clasping her hands together and shooting you a saccharine smile. She’s intimating, not because of her personality, which you quickly clock as rather warm and inviting. But rather, because she’s so elegant, her navy silk dress perfectly complementing the chunky pearl earrings she wears, making her look like a character from an old film. You’re not sure you’ve ever crossed paths with such an interesting woman before.
“I think that covers everything,” you say finally, giving her a small bow. “I’ll be sure to provide updates throughout the day.”
“Oh, no need,” she says quickly. “Unless it’s an emergency, l know you’ll have your hands full doing your work while watching Joon. Feel free to just give us a little summary when we’re home for the evening.”
She shoots you a little wink when she finishes speaking, clasping her hands together again and smiling down at you.
“We’ll see you tomorrow for your first day!” She exclaims warmly, opening gate doors as you make your exit out of the garden. When you begin down the paved road, Mrs. Lee suddenly gasps, calling out to you again in a frantic manner.
“Oh! Y/n, wait please!” She calls, pulling the skirt of her dress up to her ankles to jog over to where you’re standing.
“My other son will be home from school in the afternoon tomorrow. Don’t be alarmed if you hear him moving about the house. He’ll just keep to himself.”
You ponder the words for a moment, a little frustrated when you realize there will be two kids in the household instead of one, like she’d previously mentioned. But you just nod and smile at her, seeing yourself out of the driveway once again and beginning the journey back home to prepare for your first day here tomorrow.
*
This castle-at-end-of-the-road is eerily quiet when no one’s home, a once lively sight of rose bushes and marble statues appearing like something out of a horror movie when you’re by yourself. At every corner you turn, your brain runs rampant with paranoia, placing shadowy figures and silhouettes of people where there are none- except for when you’re in the presence of Joon.
At just a year old, Joon is considered one of the cutest ages, only being able to babble incoherent noises and flail his little hands around when he wants something. His closet is full of matching neutral tones, per his mother’s styling, and his sparse black hair is combed neatly to one side.
Mrs. Lee is right about him- he doesn’t cry. Nor does he ever make a fuss, really. He simply sits quietly, in the comfort of his crib, or his high chair, and he curiously peers at the world around him. You’re certain he’s taken a liking to you already, judging at how he smiles when you spoon-feed him mashed carrots and mimic airplane noises. And he only cries briefly once in the day, stopping almost immediately when you put him down for his nap.
This may be an easier gig than you thought.
While Joon naps, you take the opportunity to get some work done in the library, settling comfortably on the velvet armchair in the corner and running through a few of your online class assignments for the week.
Although you’ll be babysitting here for the next few weeks, you’re also completing your final year at university this year, your last semester being completely remote. Which gives you time to take on the babysitting task as a side hustle, and hopefully save enough money to travel a bit after university like you’ve always dreamt of.
At half past noon, Joon is still peacefully asleep in his crib where you’ve left him, the ambient sound of waves echoing softly from his baby monitor as little snores emit from his curled lips. He looks like an angel when he sleeps, and you can’t help but feel your heart swell to twice its size at the sight of him.
The gentle breeze of the October wind travels through the open windows of the library, sending chills up your spine when you sit down to work again. You get up from where you’re sitting on the armchair to latch the windows shut, making sure to lock them, before turning around to take your seat again- quickly startled by the figure standing in the doorway.
“Jesus,” you yelp, one hand clutching your chest in fear as you nearly drop your laptop.
The figure- or man, rather, says nothing, scanning the room like he’s searching for something, before turning on his heel and exiting the room once again.
He’s tall, with a slim yet muscular build, honey tanned skin complementing his chocolate brown tresses. He’s also dressed rather casually in a pair of light-wash jeans and a black top, a black leather jacket thrown over his broad shoulders and left unzipped.
“Sorry, did you need something?” You call out, perplexed by his demeanor. You can’t remember if the Lees warned you of potential visitors, but you’re suddenly panicked for Joon, remembering you left his door open.
“Nope,” the man calls out over his shoulder, not turning around to face you. And then you see it- a black backpack, slung over one shoulder and seemingly filled to the brim with textbooks.
Their other son.
This must be the son Mrs. Lee warned you would be making appearances in the afternoon. But you had assumed him to be much younger, especially considering he’s definitely old enough to be watching over his own brother.
Before you can gather your thoughts to introduce yourself, he’s gone again, disappearing down the hall the same way he so mysteriously appeared. And you wonder, briefly, how he can be so much colder than his own mother.
*
The first day of your new job is a success. When Mrs. Lee returns home for the evening, she pays you in cash, true to her traditional style, and sends you home with a tin of shortbread cookies as another ‘thank you’, though she’s already voiced it a million times. But the second day is rougher than the first, reminding you of why babysitting isn’t always an easy task despite what it may seem.
Joon is particularly antsy today, flailing his arms around when you try to spoon feed him and whining relentlessly when you pick him up. He needs several diaper changes in just your first few hours of working, and when you finally do get him clean, he’s a crying, screaming mess.
Fortunately, he still goes down for his nap at noon, which means you have a narrow window of time to complete your work for the day and get freshened up. The windows in the library are propped wide open again, a cold breeze coming through as you settle in your new favorite spot and open your laptop.
There are a myriad of assignments to complete today, and you’re briefly panicked that you won’t be able to complete the necessary few pieces if Joon suddenly wakes again. But still, you try, skimming through textbooks and typing away as much as you can to make steady progress. And at the hour mark, Joon begins to cry. Rather he wails, loudly, from the other room, startling you when you’re already in deep concentration working through a practice quiz.
You make your way down the hallway and to the right, where Joon’s room is, approaching the crib and catching a glimpse of his anguished state. His face is a robust shade of red as he wails loudly, bubbles of saliva forming at his nostrils and his eyes squeezed shut. You guide him out of the crib and into the safety of your arms, shushing him gently and rocking him back and forth the way Mrs. Lee taught you. And Joon calms instantly, hiccuping through tears as he locks his gaze on yours and fists at strands of your hair.
“That’s okay,” you coo at him, grazing your finger along his chin and cleaning some of the drool that dribbles from the corners of his lips. “I’m here. Look at you! You’re okay,” you continue, giggling at him when his quivering lips pull into a small smile. He softens in your arms, smiling and babbling with hushed sounds, clutching tightly on strands of your hair as you balance him in your arms.
“You want to come do some work?” You ask, nodding your head as if to coax an answer out of him. “That’s a good baby, huh? Let’s go do some work.”
And you travel back to the library with Joon in your arms, giving him gentle pats on his back as you hoist him tighter into your embrace and balance your laptop with one arm.
When you’re starting on your last task of the evening, you’re interrupted again today by Mrs. Lee’s eldest son, who pokes his head in the doorway and observes as you coo down at Joon’s sleeping figure while working on your computer with one hand.
“Do you want me to take him?” You hear from the doorway, and you crane your neck to look where he’s standing, his hands shoved in his pockets and his backpack slung lazily over one arm.
“I’m okay,” you respond, typing out a word with one hand. He furrows his eyebrows at your failed attempt, approaching you and reaching out his arms to take Joon from your embrace.
“You can’t work like this,” he says, as he peacefully transfers Joon to his own arms. “He won’t wake up if I put him back, I promise.”
“Thanks,” you reply, taking note of his features now that he’s at a closer proximity to you for the first time. He has large round eyes, and long eyelashes that make even you jealous. His nose bridge is sharp and straight, and when he chuckles softly at Joon, you notice his skewed front teeth, ones that make his smile seem sweeter- softer.
As he begins out the doorway, you try to think of what to say to him, not wanting to have another awkward run-in with him like your last one. But nothing comes to mind that won’t be just as awkward as the encounter itself, and you settle on painful silence once again.
As you unlock your laptop, continuing on to your last assignment, you hear the faint noise of Mrs. Lee’s elder son putting Joon back to sleep.
Except he sounds different than he has during your two previous encounters. He’s laughing, babbling, even cooing at Joon as he puts him back to sleep. And though you really shouldn’t intrude, you make your way to the doorway again, where you peer down the hall to listen in on the endearing noises he makes.
“Are you sleepy?” He asks, his voice two octaves higher than usual. “Let’s sleep now, okay? No, you can’t have my shirt. That’s mine, remember? Let’s have good dreams now. I love you!”
You hear Joon giggling from the end of the corridor and you smile to yourself, wholly moved by the tender little moment he shares with his baby brother. He might not be his full-time caregiver, but he certainly knows what he’s doing. As you stay pondering his behavior for a moment, you don’t even notice when he exits the room again, turning to watch you standing around the doorway. Your ear is still leaned into the corridor, clearly having listened in on the private moment.
“Sorry,” you say quickly, straightening your posture, a wave of embarrassment quickly washing over you. “I was making sure Joon got to bed okay.”
He just nods once, looking you over briefly before meeting your gaze again.
“Minho,” he then practically mutters, averting your gaze as he waits for you to speak.
It’s his name, you realize, barely even having registered what he said to you. He’s telling you his name.
“Y/n,” you respond quickly, giving him a small bow and smiling nervously.
And Minho says nothing, pivoting on his heel to exit the corridor and disappear all over again.
*
For two weeks, your job runs smoothly, no glaring problems or hangups. Joon remains fond of you, obedient at mealtimes and when he’s put to bed. And the system of completing your college coursework goes smoothly, being able to get through several assignments a day while Joon takes his afternoon nap. If anything, you might be more productive than you were before this job, despite balancing it between university.
It’s an overcast Tuesday afternoon, and you’ve spent most of your day working in Joon’s nursery on the rocking chair next to his crib. He’s been a little fussy today, but you find that he calms down a little at the repetitive clicking noises of your laptop keyboard. Once you’ve confirmed he’s asleep, little snores emitting from his lips, you gather your belongings and sneak away to the library again. Only this time, it’s not vacant.
Minho sits in your usual spot today, his legs propped up on the footrest in front of him and a book in his lap. He doesn’t even notice you in the doorway, strands of hair hanging loosely in front of his face as he scans the page of his book. He also looks significantly more casual than other days you’ve seen him around, wearing a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats, a pair of round wireframe glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.
He feels your gaze on him, shuffling about suddenly and closing his book.
“Sorry,” Minho says. “I was just… reading.”
He realizes how awkward he sounds, verbally conveying his actions to you like this, but he’s too caught off guard to form a more coherent string of words.
“It’s okay,” you say politely, setting your bag down on the floor and occupying the chair across from him.
“What book?” You ask, cocking your head at the small red novel he clutches in his lap.
“Hm? Oh, uh… it’s Love and Limerence. By Dorothy Tennov.”
You nod in response, studying the cherub painted on the cover, wielding a bow and arrow.
“Big romance fan?”
“No,” Minho says, chuckling at your words. “It’s a required read for my class.”
“How neat,” you reply. “What class requires romance novels these days?”
“My philosophy course,” Minho says, running the pads of his fingers over the raised text on the cover. “The psychology of emotion.”
“PHIL 105,” you say, knowing very well the course he speaks of.
“Yeah- you’ve taken it?”
“No, but I had a friend who did in freshman year. I’m in my last semester now- my remaining classes are virtual, though.”
“It’s my last semester, too,” Minho says with a little smile, fiddling with the lobe of his ear as he talks.
“Well best of luck to you in the final stretch,” you reply, shooting him a small smile back. “I hope it all goes smoothly.”
Minho gives a half nod, and then furrows his eyebrows together, like he’s just remembered something.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” he says suddenly, sitting up and gathering his belongings.
“Oh, I really don’t mind-”
“Catch you later,” He interrupts with a nervous tone, almost jogging out of the library and back down the corridor.
And just like the first day you met him, you maintain the same idea of him- he’s such an enigma. Appearing in and out of the household, not one to voice his thoughts or his opinions, no eagerness to know the stranger sitting in his house watching over his baby brother. But somehow, like the rest of the household, you can’t help but have a lingering curiosity for Minho, too.
*
“My husband and I might be late getting back today,” Mrs. Lee says one morning as you feed Joon his breakfast. His tongue dodges the plastic spoon, dribbling mashed food out from the corners of his lips and laughing when you go to dab his face clean with a napkin.
“That’s alright,” you reply, loading up the spoon with more food. “I can wait until you’ve arrived.”
“You will?” Mrs. Lee asks, a kind of sparkle in her eyes as she speaks. “That would mean the world to us. It’s just that my husband has an auction to attend today. And sometimes these events run longer than they’re meant to.”
“No problem at all,” you say, smiling at her as you turn your attention back to Joon. “Joon and I will just hang out a little longer today. Isn’t that right?”
He babbles something in response, a string of saliva trailing from his lips, and Mrs. Lee laughs at the sight.
“He’s really taken a liking to you!”
As she fixes Joon’s hair, Minho enters the kitchen, dressed for the day with his backpack already slung over his shoulder.
“Minho,” his mother says in a scolding tone. “No gum for breakfast. Have a fruit.”
“Can’t,” he replies curtly. “My philosophy exam is today.”
“What does that have to do with depriving yourself of food?”
“It’s bad luck to eat before an exam,” Minho retorts, coming around the granite island to kiss her on the cheek. “Besides,” Minho continues. “I’m ditching my second class, so I’ll be home a little earlier.”
When he turns around, his gaze meets yours, and he instantly stiffens.
His gaze turns cold again, his hands shoving in his jacket pockets as he says nothing to you. He just bows, once, and then turns to exit like he’s suddenly in some rush.
“Bye,” he calls out, and you’re not even sure who he’s addressing it to at this point.
“I should get going, too,” Mrs. Lee says to you. “I’ll call you when we leave the event tonight. And please, feel free to make yourself comfortable after Joon gets put to bed. There’s cash on the table if you want to order something for dinner, and extra blankets are in the upstairs closet if you get sleepy.”
“Thank you,” you say to Mrs. Lee as she gathers her car keys and handbag. And the house is quiet again when you’re all alone, with the exception of Joon’s heavy breathing as he stares at you curiously.
“It’s like a mansion here,” you say to your best friend as you balance Joon in your arms and crane your neck on your shoulder to hold the phone against your ear. “Mrs. Lee is so nice. I thought she’d be stuck up or something, but she’s like a second mother.”
“You hit the jackpot,” your friend voices on the other end of the line. “Any idea how long they need you around?”
“Not sure,” you reply, wiping the granite counter with a rag as you finish up the dishes. “Probably until their son is done with the semester.”
“Son?” She says excitedly. “Is he cute?”
“Please,” you echo, rolling your eyes. “His looks mean nothing considering he doesn’t say a word.”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly that. He just doesn’t talk. We go to the same university and it’s like pulling teeth trying to figure out something as simple as what his major is. I think he despises having me around.”
“I mean, to be fair, I wouldn’t love someone in my space 24/7. It’s probably a territorial thing.”
“He’s not a cat,” you respond, laughing lightly. “He’s a grown man. I just get the feeling he doesn’t like me.”
“Well I highly doubt that,” she says, and you can hear her shuffling about on her end of the line.
“Hey, I have to go,” she chimes in. “But I’ll talk to you later. Good luck with baby Joon and the cat man.”
“Thanks,” you reply, chuckling to yourself.
As you hang up the phone, you turn around to gather the last of the dishes, stopping in your tracks when you’re met with Minho himself.
He’s standing in the kitchen, popping a bubble of gum with his teeth, his gaze locked coldly on yours as he observes the place.
That’s right- he did say he would be home a bit earlier after his exam today. Was he standing there for the entirety of your conversation? You can’t recall how long the phone call lasted, or even the specifics of what you said. But you do know it certainly wasn’t good.
“Hi,” you say nervously, scanning his expression for a hint of what he’s thinking. But he provides you none, kicking off his boots and making his way up the stairs again.
The guilt is still eating away at you two hours later- Minho hasn’t descended the staircase once since the incident, and you can hardly focus on your school work at the thought of what he’s thinking of you.
Here you are, complaining about him seeming “cold” or “off”- the whole time you’re the one talking about him behind his back and stirring up drama. If he hated you before, he definitely despises you now. And if he's as close with his mother as he seemed this morning, you could be out of a job by tomorrow.
In reluctant steps, you ascend the wooden staircase, clutching a small mug of coffee and a stack of buttered toast. You remember Minho saying he’d have breakfast after his exam, a task he wasn’t able to complete due to your impolite conversation earlier. And while you’re not even sure he’s going to give you the time of day anymore, it’s worth a shot to try.
At the top of the staircase, you realize you’re unsure of which room even belongs to Minho. There are rows of doors down the corridor, which you peer into, looking for any sign of him.
A closet, another closet, the laundry room… it feels like a futile task at this point- not to mention, the sinking feeling that you’re intruding, poking into every room in the house like this.
But at the end of the hallway, just across the staircase from Joon’s room, lies one more closed door you haven’t tried yet, and you’re sure this one has to be his.
With a deep breath, you balance the mug of coffee on the plate you’re carrying, bringing your free hand up to knock, just once.
No answer.
You pause for a moment, debating whether to just leave and drop the idea of an apology altogether. But you don’t, instead forcing yourself to knock once more this time, a little harder than the first.
And after muffled sounds of shuffling about, the door finally opens again, Minho standing with a confused expression on his face. He has a pair of earphones in, one side pulled out to hear you, his glasses sat on his face and a number of textbooks on the bed behind him.
“Is Joon okay?” He asks, looking down the hall in panic as you meet his gaze.
“What? Oh! Yes, he’s fine. He’s sleeping.”
“Oh. What are you…”
“I… made you some breakfast. I know you didn’t have any before your exam this morning. And no, gum isn’t a breakfast food.” You chuckle lightly as you hold the items out to him, and Minho looks down at them, blinking a few times before speaking.
“Oh. Uh, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s no problem. Should I leave them with you?”
“Oh, you can put them on the desk over there,” Minho replies, and it’s then that you notice his hands are full with papers. He steps aside to let you in, gesturing to the desk with a piece of paper, and you oblige, clearing the space of a few scattered items and setting down his breakfast.
When you turn around to look at the place, your lips part in awe at the sight of the grandiosity of it. Minho’s room has bigger windows than any of the others you’ve seen, concave around a crescent-shaped seating area that boasts tall ceilings and large glass windows. There are books lining the floors, the desk space and even the window sills, many of them left bookmarked or lying open where they sit.
His giant wooden bed frame is almost hidden behind a hanging curtain, and his desk is nearly inhabitable at the amount of university paraphernalia that lives on its surface.
“Wow,” you say, craning your neck to look around the room. “It’s really nice in here.”
“Thanks,” Minho says awkwardly, toying with a loose hem on his pants.
“You really like reading,” you comment, taking note of the books he has lying around. When you say this, Minho seems to stiffen a bit, shutting some of the books and lining them on their spines along his shelves.
“Yeah,” he mutters, dropping a few books and kicking them away from him.
You nod at him, pursing your lips, well aware that you’re in the midst of yet another awkward interaction with him, but wanting to fulfill the reason you came up here all the same.
“Listen,” you begin. “I wanted to apologize. I don’t know how much you heard of that, but I assume it was enough to be hurt by it. And you’re justified in being hurt. It was totally uncalled for of me to say those things- and sure, you might be a quiet person. But that doesn’t make it okay for me to go around airing it out like it’s my business. In fact I shouldn’t even be on my phone on the job. I’m here to watch your brother, and I get paid for that service, and it’s completely unprofessional-”
“It’s cool,” Minho says, an unchanging expression on his face.
“Oh, um… I mean, if you want to fire me I totally understand.”
Minho chuckles softly, and then shakes his head. “I’m not going to fire you. I am quiet. It’s cool. Really.”
“I mean, I totally get that-”
“Unless you want to be fired?” He inquires with a half-smile, and you chuckle softly in response.
“I really don’t. I love watching your brother.”
“Good,” he replies. “Then we’re all good.”
And although you want to say something else to him, you don’t, feeling as though you should be satisfied with the state of the conversation. You apologized, he forgave you, and you haven’t lost your job. And he’s still quiet, but that’s just who he is.
When Joon wakes from his afternoon nap, it’s nearly 3pm. He’s a crying mess when he’s up again, flailing his arms around to beg for a bottle, which you promptly prepare for him after a diaper change.
With Joon in your arms, you get some chores around the house finished, including vacuuming the rugs, dusting off the furniture and tidying Joon’s toys that are usually scattered about his nursery.
Doing chores wasn’t an agreement between you and Mrs. Lee- in fact, she usually urges you to focus on your schoolwork and take breaks when you’re not caring for Joon. But you want to, feeling compelled to take care of the space as much as you care for Joon. Although tensions are still somewhat present between you and Minho, the Lee household feels comfortable to you by this point, almost like a second home now.
After chores, the library calls out to you again, evening beginning to fall over the neighborhood and painting the sky with vibrant hues of an autumnal sunset.
The windows are still rolled open from earlier, and your velvet couch looks particularly inviting at this hour, beams of sunset setting it aglow and luring you to choose a book from the cherry wood shelves around you.
So you do, selecting a children’s book about animals, comfortably sprawling out on the chair with Joon in your arms. He eyes the book curiously, spreading his short, chubby fingers over the cover and tapping repeatedly, as if asking you to read to him.
And you do, setting the book on your knee to angle the pages toward him, as you begin to vocalize the choppy sentences to him.
“A is for apple, hanging from a tree,” you say, caressing his stubby fingers as he pouts in focus. “B is for buzzing bumblebee.”
Joon’s lips curl into a smile, making his best attempt to clap as you point out the colorful images to him.
“C is for crab, walking in the sand… D is for dolphin, swimming toward the land!”
Joon laughs hysterically now, clapping his little hands and rocking back and forth in your lap. You laugh, too, at his darling reaction, and give him a little kiss on the head as he fiddles with the cover of the book.
It’s moments like this that reaffirm the notion for you that this job was the right idea, after all. You’re inexplicably happy alongside him like this, seeing the world through his eyes and rediscovering things you would otherwise take for granted, like silly picture books or doing chores with him in your arms. You feel so protective of him, eager to make his mom proud and provide a safe, nurturing environment for him as his babysitter- not because you’re paid to do it, but because he now holds a special place in your heart.
The sound of someone clearing their throat startles you from the doorway, and you look up to find Minho standing there, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.
“Did you… want something to eat? I was going to order takeout, unless you wanted something else.”
“Sure,” you reply, propping Joon up a little closer to your chest. “Anything’s fine with me.”
“I’ll get Chinese, then,” Minho says nodding. He averts your gaze a little, but you can tell he’s just a little awkward when he’s face-to-face with you like this. And perhaps your best friend is right- perhaps it’s not unusual of him to feel territorial over his household. After all, you are here almost every hour of the day, making yourself comfortable in almost every room, tending to the chores here and eating food from their kitchen. You suppose you would be irritated at the thought of it, too.
As Minho leaves to place an order, you take Joon back to the nursery, where you gently put him to sleep for the evening and program his baby monitor to play calm ocean noises again. It’s like clockwork- he’s out like a light, and the minute he leaves your arms, you’re exhausted, too. The stress of watching over him while balancing your school work might finally be getting to you now- you’re undoubtedly tired, your limbs aching from sauntering about this big house all day with Joon in your arms. And although you’re on a good track, you can hardly remember which assignment pertains to each of your classes these days.
When Minho returns almost an hour later, he holds a thin plastic bag in hand, his other one clutching a fistful of cutlery and two plates. He gives you a small nod when he enters the library, and you put away your laptop to join him on the floor in front of the coffee table.
For a moment, he says nothing as he prepares a plate for you, sliding a cup of wonton soup toward you and dividing portions of chow mein and tofu with wooden chopsticks.
You watch as he breaks a spring roll in half, holding both sides up and comparing to make sure they’re even.
“You’re very precise,” you say with a soft laugh, and a breathy chuckle emits from his lips, too.
“I’m trying to make sure it’s even.”
“However you cut it is fine,” you respond, pleasantly surprised at how polite he is.
When he’s finished dividing your portions, he slides a plate to you, setting a plastic fork down on the napkin beside you and ushering to the food.
“Enjoy,” he says, shooting you a small smile.
And the two of you eat in silence, the room quiet, aside from the sounds of slurping soup present between you two. Although it’s quiet, it feels comfortable, having him keep you company like this. It’s a change of pace from your usual days babysitting in the Lee household.
“How is your school work?” Minho interrupts your thoughts, and you’re momentarily taken aback by him initiating the conversation first.
“It’s good,” you respond, poking at the vegetables on your plate with a chopstick. “It’s on my own time, so I mostly just have to make sure I’m staying on track. But I’m finding it easy to get through despite watching Joon in the daytime.”
Minho nods in response, keeping his gaze set on the bowl of soup in front of him.
“How did your exam go?” you ask, and Minho cocks his head a little. “I got full marks,” he responds after a moment of silence.
“That’s great! I guess you were right about skipping breakfast having something to do with your academic success, then.”
And Minho laughs for the first time- not a chuckle or a giggle, but a laugh, holding one hand up to his mouth as he does. His laugh is gentle and melodic, filling the room around him with its sound, and you can’t help but laugh, too.
“I suppose,” he responds. “I also go nowhere without those philosophy books, so I have them memorized like the back of my hand.”
“Philosophy major?” you voice back, and Minho nods.
“So Love and Limerence is like second nature to you at this point.”
Minho gets a little awkward at this, his smile fading a little as he pokes around his chow mein. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “You could say that.”
And fearing you’ve somehow offended him, you change the subject again.
“Well I’m a business major,” you chime in. “So we don’t get interesting reads at all. And I’m not lugging around a six-pound textbook about returns on investments in my backpack.”
He laughs again, and you feel satisfied at the motion. Making him laugh feels like an exciting feat, like you’ve succeeded at something after trying so hard to. And considering how hard you’ve been trying to break down his walls these days, maybe it is an exciting feat, getting to know the stranger you’ve been sharing a home with for one month now.
“Business is a great field,” Minho says, slurping down the remainder of his soup. “Your parents must be really proud of the direction you’re headed.”
You shrug in response. “They’re indifferent. I don’t have a great relationship with them. They mostly just want me out of their hair once I graduate.”
“You have any post-college plans?” Minho inquires.
“I finished an internship before this whole babysitting gig, actually. I want to travel a bit after graduation, and then I’ll really settle down for the whole 9-5 working life.”
“Where are you hoping to travel to?”
There’s a glint in Minho’s eyes as he presses you for answers, like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. It makes you feel all warm inside- not many people usually care what you’re up to these days, your family trying their hardest to send you away to work another job and your most of your friends having drifted apart when you began university. Even the friends you do have are more distant these days, considering their classes are still in person, and you don’t have a need to be back on campus anymore. It’s a bit of a lonely life you lead, so being here beside Minho feels different, but pleasant.
“I’m not sure,” you say with a smile. “I’m not really sure where I belong yet.”
“Hey, I don’t know where I belong, either,” Minho echoes. “So that makes two of us.”
When the two of you are finished with dinner, Minho takes your plates downstairs, despite you offering, and you’re briefly left alone in the library. It’s much later than usual now, nearing 9:00, when you’re usually home by 7. The house also has a different vibe to it this hour, many of the rooms feeling much dimmer despite the same lamps being on, and the corridors feeling much quieter and more haunting. You feel a wave of sleepiness wash over you, and though you don’t want to be asleep when Mrs. Lee arrives, you can’t help but shut your eyes for a few minutes. You can still make out the shape of the bookshelves behind your heavy eyelashes, trying your best not to close your eyes completely, but your mind has already wandered off to slumber, and inevitably, your body follows shortly after.
You’re somewhere between sleep and consciousness when you feel Minho enter the room once again, looming over you like he wants to ask you something. But he says nothing- instead, he unfolds a knit blanket above you, sprawling it out over your legs and pulling it up to your torso. And you hadn’t realized how cold you were before he did, because you’re almost instantly with a wave of warmth and comfort over your listless body.
It feels almost uncharacteristic or Minho to carry out an action this polite- but as he takes his seat across from you, watching as you doze off peacefully, you think he may finally be coming around to you.
*
“I’m ditching my second class again today,” Minho announces the next morning at breakfast. He doesn’t eat much, you notice, as he bites into a single apple and hoists his backpack further up his shoulders.
“I’ll be home a bit earlier,” he then continues, eyeing you a little, and you give him a little nod.
“Then help with lunch,” Mrs. Lee says, gathering her own briefcase for work. “Y/n shouldn’t do it all by herself when you’re here.”
“Oh, it’s no worry at all,” you quickly chime in, not wanting to be the reason Minho refutes his mother’s words. “It’s what I’m here to do, after all.”
“No worries,” Minho says back to you. “I’ll be home around noon and we can prepare something together.”
For some reason, your heart flutters a little at the implication of doing something alongside Minho- something so planned and seemingly intimate. You normally just take the days as they come, so having a commitment hanging over your head like this is a little nerve-racking. And in all your worrying, you don’t respond to Minho, realizing only as he’s exiting the house with his apple in hand.
“I might be late again today,” Mrs. Lee turns to you, snapping you out of your trance. “But Minho can stay for the remainder of the time. I’ll still pay you the full amount like I did yesterday-”
“I’m happy to stay again,” you reply to her. “Like I said, it’s what I’m here to do.”
She smiles in return, clasping her hands and gesturing to the food on the table.
“I can’t get Minho to eat for the life of me, but help yourself to whatever you’d like. And thank you again, for staying.”
You’re reading to Joon in the living room when Minho arrives home from school. He kicks off his shoes dramatically, tossing his bag on the floor and breathing out a heavy sigh while you thumb through the pages of a new picture book.
“Hi,” Minho says first, his expression remaining stoic and unchanging.
“Hey,” you reply, hoisting Joon a little further up in your arms. “How was school?”
“Terrible,” he responds, making his way around the granite island to collect another apple.
“Why’s that?”
“Professor Kim,” he says curtly, polishing the apple on his button down shirt before taking a generous bite. “A three hour lecture on a Friday really wasn’t a smart choice. ”
You chuckle a little to yourself, adjusting your position on the floor and trying to balance Joon in your embrace. Minho takes notice of your struggle, abandoning his apple on the counter to come take Joon from your arms.
“Thanks,” you say, dusting off your legs as you stand again. “I’m going to get started on something for Joon to eat if you want to wait around. Unless you’re sticking to this exclusively-apple diet.”
Minho chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “I’ll help. We don’t have much prepared right now and I really need to go grocery shopping.” He secures Joon in his high chair, cocking his head toward the fridge.
“Could you just grab his orange juice? It should be the blue bottle on the right.”
And you comply with his request, promptly locating the blue sippy cup and handing it to Minho.
“Thank you,” he says, setting it down on the white tray in front of Joon and twisting it open. “This should be enough to hold him off until we can whip something up with the few ingredients we have. I want to do something with those sweet potatoes, they’re reaching the end of their time.”
Joon is a little fussy as he reaches for his sippy cup, flailing his arms around and sliding the cup across the tray to the edge. The cap seems to loosen as he does, tilting dangerously to one side.
“I got it,” you say to Minho, as you approach Joon. You retrieve the cup from the edge of the tray, twisting off the cap again to secure it properly. And as you do, Joon lets out a particularly loud yelp, knocking his hand toward you and letting the bottle fall off the tray entirely.
As you realize what’s happening, you bring two hands up to push it away from you, but you’re too late- the entirety of the bottle’s contents are spilt onto your shirt, completely soaking you and dripping onto the floor with loud, wet noises.
Minho doesn’t see what happened, but he turns around at the sound of your loud gasp, his eyes widening at the sight of you. Even your hair’s gotten wet, stringy pieces falling into your face, damp with the tangy scent of orange juice and dripping down your shirt. His mind races with guilty thoughts, feeling as though he should have stayed watching Joon, being the one to have been caught in the crossfire of his tantrum instead. Joon’s always fussy before meals- he knows this very well. As his mind races with the urgency to grab a towel, a rag- something, his eyes graze to your t-shirt, and he practically freezes.
Your thin white t-shirt is soaked like the rest of you, painting a clear outline of your black bra as the cold contents drip down your chest and torso. The see-through fabric sticks to your body like a cellophane wrapping, outlining every inch of you, every curve and every raised goosebump as you shudder at the sensation. Minho’s eyes remain locked on your dampened breasts for an embarrassing amount of time, taking careful note of the way your hardened nipples practically protrude through the thin white fabric, almost appearing increasingly noticeable with every passing second. The delicate curves of your stomach are accentuated with your skin-tight shirt, even your navel now visible.
A shake of your hands finally snaps him out of his trance, and you wrap your arms around yourself in a futile effort to cover yourself.
“I’m sorry,” you utter to him, at a loss for words at the notion of being so exposed to him. And Minho is quick to shake his head, now scrambling for a towel.
“Don’t apologize,” he says, pulling a towel off the oven handle and sliding it to you. “Here, use this and I’ll go get a larger towel from upstairs and a change of clothes.”
You want to deny the offer, feeling shameful for having already intruded this much on the Lee household and still needing more from them. But as you look down at your t-shirt, you know you don’t have a choice, the fabric now feeling cold and uncomfortable as it sticks to your flesh.
“Thanks,” you say to him, giving a small nod and not moving your hands from your chest.
And Minho retreats upstairs quickly, trying his best to avert his gaze as you remain in the kitchen.
As Joon babbles incoherently next to you, you can’t help but feel stupid, a sense of shame and embarrassment replacing the excitement you had to be preparing lunch alongside Minho for the afternoon. You’re in disbelief he’s practically seen you half naked like this, and you feel inadequate at not being able to stop Joon from committing the incident in the first place. As you run your hands up and down the raised goosebumps on your arms, you do your best to hold back tears, hoping Minho won’t think less of you for being caught in such a humiliating accident.
Minho is gone for a little while, and you blot at the wet patches on your shirt as you wait, Joon now laughing at your messy state. You can’t help but laugh a little, too, admittedly amused at what a disaster the afternoon has been- and you haven’t even begun the cooking part of it yet.
When he returns, he tosses you a large white bath towel and a gray t-shirt, still keeping his gaze on the floor instead of on yours.
“Here,” he says simply, his veiny arm scratching the back of his head. “I can also get a sweater if you’re cold.”
As you observe the t-shirt, you realize it’s one of his, not one of Mrs. Lee’s. For some reason, you’d assumed Minho would opt for a woman’s clothes as your change, but the t-shirt has clearly been pulled from his closet, and you blush a little at the idea of wearing his clothes.
“This is fine,” you reply, wrapping the bath towel around your body and excusing yourself to the bathroom.
You peel the sticky clothes off your body, crumpling them into a pile and changing into Minho’s t-shirt. It’s a bit large on you, but it’s much more comfortable, hanging loosely off your body and covering every bit of you that was previously exposed. His shirt smells like him, too, a pleasant scent of laundry detergent and his musky cologne.
When you exit the bathroom, you gesture to the change of clothes, your wet crumpled clothes balled in your hand. “I kinda look like you now,” you say, and Minho chuckles.
“You can keep it,” he responds, giving you another once-over and nodding shyly. “It looks better on you, anyway.”
He holds his hand out to you for the wet clothes, which he kindly takes from you to put in the wash. As he does, you go to the fridge to retrieve more orange juice for Joon- except there is none. You desperately search for milk, orange juice- any form of a snack that will keep him busy until his mealtime. But the kitchen is void of anything he can consume, and you begin to panic a little, knowing Joon hasn’t eaten in a good while now.
“That was the last of his orange juice,” you say to Minho when he returns. “And there’s not much else for him to snack on.”
Minho searches the kitchen too, digging through cabinets and moving around jars in the fridge to check for expiration dates. But he quickly realizes you’re right- the fridge is even more sparse than he’d assumed it to be.
“I guess we’ll have to make a trip to the store, then. How do you feel about strapping him into a car seat?”
“I’ve never done it,” you reply nervously.
“I can show you,” Minho says, grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter and spinning them around his index finger. “We can do it together.”
*
The nearest grocery store is just 20 minutes out from the Lee household. Minho drives a fancy black SUV, and he guides you through how to strap Joon into his car seat, which you carry out with no issues. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the center console as you chat with him about your university courses. For the first time, you notice how Minho seems much more comfortable around you now, cracking jokes occasionally and smiling at your stories about your afternoons alone with Joon. When Joon chimes in from the back seat with his excited babbling, you and Minho babble equally in response, sharing laughter at the ridiculous exchanges among the three of you.
You opt to carry Joon inside the grocery store while Minho walks alongside you, checking off a list he routinely uses to stock up on all of Joon’s favorite foods. And the atmosphere around you is homely, instilling the same sense of comfort in you as your afternoons alone with Joon. One that reminds you why you’re doing this job in the first place- you feel respected here, like your efforts don’t go unnoticed, and like you belong. It fills the lonely void inside of you with the sounds of Joon’s laughter, Minho’s tales of his classes and the trivial tasks of grocery store runs and learning to maneuver a baby car seat.
“I think that’s it,” Minho says as he checks the list one last time. “Milk, juice, bread…” he reads the items one by one again, and then nods affirmatively when he’s ensured they’re in the basket.
“That’s it,” he repeats, shooting you a small smile. “Let’s go pay.”
An older cashier gestures you to her lane at the registers, beginning to scan your items as Minho places them down on the conveyor belt. And then she gives a little wave to Joon, who curiously stares back at her.
“What a beautiful baby,” she says, pausing from scanning with a jar of mashed carrots in her hand.
Joon smiles in response, a trickle of drool escaping his lips.
“And what a beautiful family,” she continues, looking back and forth between you and Minho. “It’s not easy being young parents, but I can tell the two of you are doing a fine job at it.”
“Oh,” you say, chuckling lightly. “We’re not-”
“Thank you,” Minho interrupts, placing an arm around your waist and pulling you a little closer to him.
“We don’t get told that very often.”
You almost freeze at the contact, butterflies erupting in your stomach as he keeps his hand on the small of your back. This woman thinks the two of you are a couple- and worse, Minho is playing along with it. You can’t figure out why he’d entertain such a blatant lie, but you don’t interrupt him either, curious to see where he’s taking this little bit.
“People can be so unfair,” the cashier replies, shaking her head. “As long as the child is cared for, your status shouldn’t matter.”
“Exactly,” Minho replies, throwing his hand in the air like she’s making a point that pertains to him. “You know, when we got married, everyone told us it would never work. And now look at us- our child just turned 1 and we’re already making plans for a second honeymoon.”
“That’s amazing!” The woman says, clasping her hand over her heart like she’s touched by the bogus story.
“It is, isn’t it honey?” Minho says, turning to you.
Thoughts swirl your mind about this performance he’s putting on, but you’re undoubtedly entertained by the whole thing, stifling laughter as you nod in response.
“It is amazing,” you say finally. “We eloped and had a shotgun wedding- booked it to Italy right after and now we’re thinking of taking the little one to Paris for a real ceremony.”
The older woman removes her glasses now, wiping her eyes and shaking her head in disbelief. You can’t help but feel bad for her, seeing how easily she’s falling for your blatant lies, but Minho shows no remorse, grinning ear to ear and keeping his hand on the small of your back.
“Well I’ll tell you what,” the woman says, putting her glasses back on and shifting her eyes around the store.
“Since you guys just made my day, I’m going to provide you with our senior discount. It’s not everyday I see a young couple so beautiful raising such a darling little child.”
“Oh, you really don’t-” you start to say, and Minho interrupts you before you can finish.
“That would mean the world to us,” he says in an exaggerated voice, giving the cashier a little bow. “It would help us out a ton.”
You want to protest, to slap Minho in his pretty little face and ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing lying for a discount like this, but you’re afraid the cashier will see right through your whole stunt and reprimand both of you. So you just nod and let Minho take the lead again.
“Thank you,” you echo back to her,” holding Joon’s stubby little fingers as the woman types a lengthy code into the computer.
And Minho smiles at you, shooting you a little wink as he gathers boxes of cereal and jars of food in his arms.
“What was that?” You practically yell as you exit the store, balancing Joon in one arm and a bag of groceries in another. “You totally lied to her.”
“I didn’t lie,” Minho says. “I told her a different reality.”
“That is literally what a lie is,” you echo back to him, securing Joon in his car seat and lining grocery bags on the floor. Minho slides into the driver's seat again, putting his keys in the ignition but not yet starting the car as he waits for you to get in, too.
“I mean, that was like a 10% discount,” you continue, huffing frustratedly as you wait for him to speak. “How is that worth telling someone a whole list of lies?”
“You know, there’s this really cool theory called the anthropic principle,” Minho begins, looking straight ahead through the windshield. “Suggests the existence of a multitude of universes.”
“What?”
“So,” he continues. “Philosophically speaking, maybe in one of those we're married, and we have a child, and our honeymoon was in Italy.”
You stay quiet for a moment, pondering his words, completely unsure of if he’s flirting with you or teasing you right now.
“And maybe,” he chimes in again. “In one of them, we robbed the store and killed the cashier. And in another, we don’t even know each other.”
“What are you getting at?” You say, narrowing your eyes in confusion.
“It’s not lying,” Minho says with a smile as he finally starts up the car. “We just told her about a different reality.”
“So it’s lying,” you say with a smile, unable to hold back the giggle that escapes your lips.
“A little,” he finally says. “But it was fun, right?”
And you start to say no, but you can’t get the words out, aware you’ll be lying twice today if you do.
Minho takes your silence as confirmation, a grin plastered on his face as he rests one arm behind your headrest to pull out of the parking lot. And you can’t help but smile, too, the spontaneous thrill of lying to the cashier admittedly being some of the most fun you’ve had all week. And the conclusion stands- Minho’s a little odd. But he’s great company.
*
Mrs. Lee is late again tonight, the second hand on the clock ticking in slow intervals as it nears 10pm. You yawn for the umpteenth time tonight, exhausted from having done so much today, wanting nothing more than to sleep in the comfort of your own bed at home and mentally recharge for another day of this tomorrow. But you’ve promised to wait for her, always eager to wait it out until the last second, because Mrs. Lee always expresses her sincerest gratitude when you wait for her.
“Sorry, she’s really late today,” Minho says as he lowers the volume on the television. You completed a few more chores around the house after dinner while Minho powered through his schoolwork, putting Joon to bed before settling on the sofa and watching old cartoon reruns. Now you’ve been in and out of sleep for the better part of an hour, Minho remaining close by watching infomercials again, peering at your tired figure and feeling guilty that you’ve been here so long.
“It’s okay,” you reply quietly, letting out another yawn. You cross your arms over yourself, still dressed comfortably in Minho’s t-shirt, and do your best to keep your gaze on the television.
Tonight Minho is stuck on an infomercial for artificial plants, the dull narration lulling you to sleep even further as he checks the time on his watch and glances nervously at the front door.
Minho cranes his neck at your figure again, not missing the way gray bags hang heavy below your eyes, your lashes half-lidded as you feign sleep and force your gaze onto the infomercial.
“Don’t you have an early exam tomorrow?” You say to Minho, another yawn escaping your lips as you speak. “Don’t wait up on my account. You should get some sleep.”
Minho shuts off the television, standing up from where he’s sitting and dusting off his pants.
“I’ll take you home,” he announces, fishing around on the table for his car keys.
“It’s okay,” you reply, not wanting to inconvenience him anymore than you already have today. “I can walk to the bus stop.”
“You’re not walking,” Minho retorts, scoffing as you sit up and rub your tired eyes with the back of your hand. “It’s pitch black outside.”
“It’s fine,” you say, gathering your book bag and rushing to put your shoes on. It’s a race between the two of you now, Minho scrambling to locate his car keys while you get ready to leave for the evening.
“It’s really not a problem- where are my keys?” Minho mutters to himself, patting the pockets on his jacket and rearranging stacks of papers on the coffee table.
“I’m fine, really.”
“No, I’ll drive you,” Minho says, still tossing aside the mess he’s made to locate his keys.
“I’ll walk,” you reiterate again, and Minho finally exhales frustratedly.
“Then I’ll walk with you,” he finally announces, ditching the car keys altogether and stopping to look at you. He looks tired, too, evident bags under his eyes and his hair tousled from running his hands through it frustratedly.
“Minho, I really don’t want to burden you-”
“It’s not a burden.”
As he speaks, you hear Joon’s baby monitor alerting you that he’s awake for the evening, wailing loudly when he realizes that he’s alone. It’s perfect timing, too, Minho already having planned to wake him up so he can walk you back.
“Wait here,” Minho says to you as he begins toward the stairs. “I’ll get his harness.”
The dim street lights illuminate the dark paved roads, a crisp chill in the air as you walk alongside Minho with your hands in your pockets.
Joon sits comfortably in his harness against Minho’s chest, curiously taking in the atmosphere around him as you walk in silence to your bus stop. It’s not a long walk, only 20 minutes from Minho’s, but you feel admittedly much safer with Minho by your side, his and Joon’s presence feeling homely even at this hour. For nearly the entirety of the walk, the two of you say nothing, too tired to engage in conversation, but still comfortable in the presence of each other, and not needing to say anything. Joon babbles saliva every now and then, Minho bringing a finger up to wipe his chin, and the only other sounds are that of crickets and the gentle sway of the trees.
“This is me,” you say to Minho when you reach the familiar blue bench of your stop.
You sit on one side of the bench, slinging your book bag over beside you and crossing your legs. And to your surprise, Minho occupies the other side, one hand resting gently on the back of Joon’s head while the other pats his back gently.
“You don’t have to wait,” you tell Minho quickly, and he just shakes his head silently in response.
The silence between you remains, Joon toying with the collar of Minho’s shirt as you wait for the bus. There’s so much you want to ask Minho, so much you still want to find out from him. You’re well aware that you haven’t quite figured him out yet, but you’re undoubtedly sure that he is a nice guy, after all. From lending you his t-shirt, waiting up for you on late nights, even walking you to your bus stop and waiting for the bus with you. You think briefly back to his little joke at the grocery store, smiling to yourself when you remember he’d chosen to pretend you were a married couple for no other reason than to make you laugh after having had such a rough day. And his innate fascination with looking at everything through a philosophical lens, the passion for his favorite subject so robustly present wherever he goes.
“What’s that theory again?” You ask Minho as your thoughts verbalize amidst the silence.
“Hm?”
“The one about the universe.”
“The anthropic principle?” He questions, and you hum in response.
“Yeah, that one. Do you think there are like, a million versions of us right now, just…sitting here?”
“Sure,” Minho replies. “But the conditions would have to be just right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the theory states that conditions have to be just right for us to coexist in the universe we’re in right now. It’s sort of like a coincidence that this one evolved so that we could thrive in it. So there might be other versions of us, just not as definitive. We might be rocks, or bugs. Or maybe there’s a more advanced version, where we’re still on our honeymoon in Italy.”
“Or the one where we killed that cashier,” you chime in.
“Exactly,” Minho replies, a small smile tugging at his lips.
You ponder his words for a moment.
“Do they all follow the same timeline?” You ask him.
“What do you mean?”
“Do they all last forever? What if we got divorced? Would we part ways in every universe?”
Minho stays quiet for a moment, thinking back to the philosophical theories tucked in the back of his mind.
“I don’t know,” he finally replies. “I’d like to think some versions have a happy ending, but maybe some of them don’t.”
As silence falls over you again, your bus finally turns the corner, making its way down the street toward your stop.
“That’s me,” you say, getting up and gathering your belongings again.
Minho stands up, too, saying nothing as the bus finally halts in front of you, the brakes screeching to a stop with the loud exhaust of the doors as they open.
“Thanks,” you say to Minho before getting on. “For walking me.”
“It’s no problem,” he replies, shooting you a tired smile.
Minho watches as you board the bus, taking your seat toward the back. He scans the aisles momentarily, making sure you’re sat somewhere safe, away from anyone he might deem sketchy at this hour. And when he feels confident you’ll make it home okay, he brings Joon’s hand up in front of him, giving you a little wave as he watches you smile back through the tinted windows, sending him off with a wave back.
*
From then on, things shift between the two of you. Minho is a constant, always offering to walk you home on late nights to engage in discussions about your university work or his favorite theories. When he’s home early from his classes, the two of you enjoy cooking for Joon together, making trips to the grocery store where the cashiers are now fully convinced you’re a married couple. On late nights, the two of you often engage in lighthearted philosophical debates while you wait for Mrs. Lee to get home for the evening. When he’s walking you home for the night, doing homework alongside you or just passing by, Minho indulges you in all his favorite philosophical questions, and you entertain them, using the opportunity to get a better glimpse into his mind and how he thinks.
It’s exactly this that tears down Minho’s walls, you find- he, in all his philosophically-educated glory, sharing his perspective while you poke holes in his arguments and reach a conclusion together. Sometimes you’ll reach a stalemate, the argument fizzling out with no clear answer. And sometimes he can change your mind almost instantly, the arguments leaving his lips like second nature, always quick to persuade you in the opposite direction and provide clear reasoning. He’s very skilled at his work, and you quickly realize why he’s so passionate about philosophy in the first place.
It’s not something Minho’s used to yet- having a companion like this, one who actually cares about anything he has to say. Someone to come home to, somebody to bask in the simplicities of life with and affirm that he’s not completely incapable of making real human connections. And admittedly, maybe he loves playing house with you, coming home to your home-cooked meals and caring for the baby together.
Maybe this version of the universe deems you a babysitter, and he, just an outcast. But sometimes Minho swears he can see different versions where you’re so much more than that to each other.
In late November, you take your first week off, leaving on a small family trip to a city just a few hours out to go see extended family.
You tell Minho of your little excursion the week prior, and he pretends to be disheartened, but you know deep down he must be relieved to have some space to himself again. Of course you’re not able to watch Joon, and Mrs. Lee has a friend watch him in your absence, but you’re surprised at how much you miss the Lee household when you’re not there. The trip to the city is filled with repetitive questions from family about your major, your internship, your potential salary in an entry-level position and general university questions. And yet all you catch yourself thinking about is Joon, and Mrs. Lee and especially Minho.
You wonder what he’s doing in the comfort of his grand room all by himself, surrounded by books and tall windows. Minho once told you that he can go a whole day without talking when he’s not having philosophical debates with you over coffee. You wonder if he’s talked today, or if he attended his classes or how his exam on Tuesday went. Thoughts of him plague your mind every waking second- whether Minho would like a certain food, if Minho would agree with this statement, even what the people around you would think if you dragged him along and played house with him like you do back home. In this version of the universe, maybe he’s reading a book or watching a movie, but in another, he could be right here, telling his string of lies to your extended family.
On the last day of your family vacation, you find yourself in an old bookstore, and all you can think about is Minho. He’d love it here, you think, grazing your fingertips along the old cracked spines and yellowing pages. And as you scan through the philosophy section, several of the books already piquing your interest, you spot it.
The small familiar crimson book, just barely larger than your hand, delicate to the touch and painted with the same Cupid depiction as the one you know so well. A first edition copy of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence. You can’t help but smile to yourself, scanning the book’s contents briefly before closing it again and bringing it up to the counter. It’s not like you’re trying to worsen this little developing crush you have on Minho, but he seems to be everywhere you go- and candidly, you just want to have him figured out.
*
When you return to the Lee household from your vacation, the atmosphere is calm, sunbeams shining through the large glass windows and illuminating the house with a romantic glow. Joon eats his breakfast well, downing his orange juice and causing you little trouble throughout the day. And Minho arrives just after 3, his backpack slung over his shoulder and a book in hand.
Your heart beats erratically to see him again, trying your best to avert his gaze as he enters through the front door and kicks off his shoes. When he makes his way through the kitchen, you attempt to look busy, wiping down the counters with a kitchen rag and balancing Joon in your arms.
“Hi,” Minho says, a little shyly as you keep your eyesight on the granite counter below you.
“Hey,” you respond, pretending like you hadn’t noticed him enter the room, when in reality, you’ve been well aware of his arrival since he parked his car out front.
“How was your trip?” Minho asks, setting down his backpack and loosening the collar of his sweater.
He’s dressed for the chilly weather outside, a simple black knit sweater paired with blue jeans.
“It was good,” you reply, folding the rag with one hand and setting it aside. “I kinda missed it here.”
Minho smiles at you nervously, toying with the hem of his sweater as he hears you speak.
“It was pretty quiet without you here. I think Joon missed you.”
“Did he?” You question excitedly, poking at Joon with your finger and cooing at him. “Is that right? You missed me?” And Joon giggles excitedly, smiling between the two of you.
When the room falls quiet again, Minho clears his throat like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, instead keeping his gaze fixed on yours. The room is teeming with awkward tension between the two of you, two hearts clouded in desire to act on this conflicting emotion of fleeting lust and a mutual understanding of each other, but neither one of you say anything, letting it die with your silence and circle your minds aimlessly again.
“I got you something,” you say suddenly, and Minho’s heart quickens a little.
“Me?” He questions, pointing to himself as if you need clarity of who he speaks of.
“Yes, you. It’s in my bag upstairs.”
And you begin your ascent to the staircase, motioning for Minho to follow you as you bring Joon with you.
“Close your eyes,” you tell Minho when you‘ve entered the library again.
“Should I be scared?” He asks, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.
“Close them!” You exclaim, and he finally puts his hands out in front of him, shutting his eyes, a big grin plastered on his face. You place the book in Minho’s palms gently, making sure to position it so that the cover is facing him properly.
“Now open.”
When Minho opens his eyes again, he doesn’t even need to read the words before knowing what it is. He’s immediately familiar with the first edition of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence he holds in his hands, uniquely characterized by the contrasting art style to his, and the much older, yellowing pages.
“My book,” Minho says, biting his lip as he holds back a bigger smile, one that will most definitely point to the incriminating fact that he’s smitten.
“Your book,” you echo, leaning on the wall across from him. “It’s a first edition. The bookkeeper said they’re pretty rare to come by.”
“You didn’t have to-”
“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, fixing Joon’s hair and averting Minho’s gaze. You’re afraid if you make eye contact with him, this whole nonchalant front will crumble down in front of you, because you’re embarrassingly smitten with him, too.
“Thank you,” Minho says, thumbing the raised gold-foiled cover outline of Cupid. “I’ll go put it with the rest of them.”
And he disappears down the corridor, his book tucked in the endeared clutch of his hands.
While Minho adds his book to the rest of his collection, you put Joon down for his nap, gently placing him on the soft blanket in his crib and adjusting the baby monitor. He blinks up at you a few times, his lips pulling into a shaky smile as his lashes finally flutter shut and a wave of sleepiness washes over him. You exit the room quietly, closing the door just halfway like you always do, and then make your way down the corridor to Minho’s room. The door is left ajar, but you hear him shuffling about, and you enter after giving a gentle knock.
Minho seems startled at this, jumping up from where he’s standing, in front of his bookshelf with Love and Limerence held open in the palms of his hands. He shuts it quickly, shoving it on the top with another stack of books, and then almost shields his bookshelf as he turns to face you.
“I didn't hear you come in,” he says, nervously shifting his eyes to more stacks of books on his window sill and nightstand.
“I put Joon down for his nap,” you reply, cocking an eyebrow as he stands there awkwardly. “Is… everything okay?”
“Yes,” he says quickly, blinking nervously when he sees you peer over his torso at the bookshelf.
“Where’d you put it?”
“Can’t remember,” Minho says, a breathy chuckle emitting from his lips as he tries his best to avoid talking about it. But you catch on- and you’re certainly not going to let him evade the subject.
“What are you hiding?” You finally ask, eyeing him with a small smile. Minho’s face drops a little, sighing once as he steps aside and grants you full visibility of his bookshelf. There’s nothing out of the ordinary- books of all colors and sizes lined neatly on the shelves, some of them left open or bookmarked. A good amount of them appear to be philosophy books, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you.
“It’s just your books,” you say flatly, and Minho scratches the back of his head before he speaks again.
“Love and Limerence isn’t a required read for university.” He says in a low voice.
“Oh,” you reply, unsure of why it should really matter to you.
“None of them are,” he continues. “It’s just my personal… collection. Of romance novels.”
And then you finally understand.
Minho- the stoic, otherwise quiet being, in all his philosophical studiousness and awkwardness, is a sucker for romance. Once the cogs begin turning in your head, they don’t stop, everything about him now making a little more sense to you. Why he stays locked up in his little tower all day reading book after book, why he’s so hopeful when he speaks of the human condition and of love, why he loves taking care of people so much. He’s just a big softie underneath it all.
“There’s nothing weird about that,” you chime in. “In fact, it’s really cool.”
“Yeah right,” he retorts.
“I’m dead serious. I’ve never met someone with so many copies of Thorns and Roses before.”
Minho shakes his head, moving to sit on his bed with his palms tucked under his legs. His gaze remains locked on the floor, an expression of shame still visible on his face. And when you see him exhale deeply, like he’s been nervously holding his breath all this time, you feel bad for him. If there’s anything you’ve learned about him since meeting him, it’s that he’s really a bit of a dork. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him look so vulnerable before.
“Which one’s your favorite?” You ask, skimming your finger along the neat row of spines.
He shrugs. “Pride and Prejudice, maybe. But these days it’s Love and Limerence.”
Minho’s voice is trembling, just above a whisper as he reads off his list of favorite novels to you. And you chuckle softly in reply, pulling the little red book out of its respective home on the shelf and tossing it to him.
“Read me your favorite passage.”
He furrows his brows a little, like he thinks you might be making fun of him. But when you take a seat next to him on the bed, wide-eyed and gesturing to the book in his hands, he realizes you’re genuinely asking him to.
“Go on,” you say, gesturing to the book once more.
Minho opens the book to the middle, flipping through yellowing pages with small font. Most of the pages are littered generously with blue sticky notes, Minho’s messy handwriting annotating all his favorite passages. When he finds the page he’s searching for, he eyes you cautiously, as if waiting for permission to begin reading. And with a deep breath, he begins, his voice shaking a little as he finds his footing.
“Now by these presents let me assure you that you are not only in my heart, but my veins, this morning. I turn from you half abashed--yet you haunt me, and some look, word or touch thrills through my whole frame--yes, at the very moment when I am labouring to think of something, if not somebody else.”
At the last words, his gaze meets yours again, eyelashes trembling as he waits for your reaction. He waits for you to laugh, or to dismiss the words, or leave altogether. But you just stare back at him, your heart beating erratically at the poetry he utters, completely in awe with him.
He feels otherworldly at this distance, this intricate fascination with love and human connection. The way his brown tresses fall loosely in front of his big eyes as he speaks, his plump lips pulling into a nervous smile to reveal the row of skewed teeth you find a home in every time. He’s like the passage reads- thrilling your whole frame, consuming you whole and filling your mind with thoughts of him, and his poetry and his kind demeanor. You find yourself a little closer to him, your eyes darting to his lips and then back to his curious eyes, fantasies of him running rampant in your mind.
And Minho keeps his gaze locked on yours, too, leaning in a little closer to you, the book closing on its own as his hand slips away from holding it open and onto the bed beside you. The implications are there, the atmosphere around you heavy with desire and uncertainty, and just as you wield the courage to bring your lips a little closer to his, you’re promptly interrupted.
“Minho-ah!” A voice calls from downstairs. You quickly clock it as Mrs. Lee’s, who must be home early from work.
“I’m home early!” She calls again, confirming your theory, her footsteps getting louder as she makes her way up the stairs.
You sit up promptly, smoothing down your shirt and standing to bow when Mrs. Lee pokes her head in the doorway. Minho stands up too, making the whole situation look unbearably obvious, and you pray she can’t tell what’s going on between the two of you.
“Y/n,” she says with a warm smile. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you I would be home a little earlier today. Joon has a doctor’s appointment.”
“No worries at all!” You voice back, bowing again as she smiles. “I was actually going to leave early today. I have a bit of a headache.”
“Oh, do you want a cup of tea?” She asks, heavy concern present in her voice.
“No thanks, I think I just need some sleep.”
You turn to Minho, who’s standing with his hands in his pockets, looking a little disappointed as you give him a small bow.
“Take care,” you say to him, pivoting to head back to the library and gather your things.
Minho hears his mom see you out of the front door, chatting briefly with you about your trip and sending you off with a little wave.
He shuts his bedroom door and locks it, sprawling out on the duvet of his bed and running his hands over the book still beside him.
He’s not sure what happened- whether you were about to kiss him, or whether it was just wishful thinking. But every way he interprets the encounter, Minho swears he can feel your yearning for him, too. Is he crazy to think you might feel the same? Maybe he, too, finds it laboring to think of something- if not, someone else, besides you.
*
Joon is a particularly picky eater in afternoons, making a big fuss of foods he usually devours in the mornings and evenings. He skillfully dodges every spoon, every bite and feigns his interest in even his favorite snacks and desserts. And while you’re usually patient with him, today you’re frustrated, having mentally scolded yourself several times since yesterday’s events.
A part of you wants to ditch all of this, reminding yourself that you’re here to work a job, not lust after the son of the person who hired you. But the other part of you can’t help but imagine how things would be different if you just let yourself fall gracefully into him- he’s so much more than a fleeting thought to you. You want to understand him, having challenged yourself to figuring him out from the moment you came across him. But maybe you want him to understand you, too. You want him to understand that you feel at home whenever he’s around, his philosophical discussions and this game of house you play making you feel like you belong here. You want him to understand that although you know he feels like an outcast, none of his odd quirks matter to you when he’s reading his favorite love stories across from you in the library, catching glimpses of you when he thinks you’re not looking. And that maybe this universe conditioned itself just right so that you took up this job and crossed paths- and that has to mean something bigger.
There’s nothing different about the afternoon following yesterday’s, except for you spending a considerable amount of time on your hair and makeup, the anticipation bubbling inside you at the idea of seeing Minho again. You have no definitive plan, no script of how it’s going to go when he arrives from school. But you also know there’s something in your throat that wants so desperately to get out, and you won’t let it. As Joon toys with the cereal in his bowl, he looks up at you with big, curious eyes, and you wonder what he’s thinking, if anything. He doesn't know anything beyond the simple tasks of eating and sleeping, living with the comfortable knowledge that he’s being cared for. And although it seems much easier, you can’t help but sympathize. What a gift it is to feel- what a gift it is to carry emotions so deeply they eat away at you like this.
You’re infatuated with Minho- that fact stands true. And whether or not it benefits you to do anything about it, you’re determined to do something with all of this feeling, lest it slips through your fingers like he almost did.
You don’t hear Minho come home when he does, busy in the garden tending to Mrs. Lee’s plants when the usual alert of his car pulling into the driveway passes you by. So when he wanders the corridors searching everywhere for you, you don’t take notice.
Minho’s desperate, hoping to ask you to stay just a little bit longer tonight, having also had the epiphany that he’s completely fallen for you, too. And what he hopes to do with it, he’s unsure- but he does know that every romance novel on his shelf would refute the idea of letting this feeling dissipate. Kiss her, tell her, do something. Anything.
He strides down the halls with purpose and vigor, a nervous smile pulling at his face at the thought of seeing you again. It’s all he’s thought about today, having had just two hours of sleep as he sorted out what to say to you. And while he’s not well-versed in the practice of confessing his love, he feels his whole life has been devoted to the very purpose of being here and finding you. The debates you share, midnight walks to the bus stop, the book- he’d be a fool not to reciprocate what you yearn for. And when he doesn’t find you, Minho feels the familiar pit of worry form in his stomach. He’s not accounted for a change of plans, or even what might happen if you reject his admission. He wants to believe so badly that the answer is yes, risking everything just to say something.
20 minutes after he’s been home, Minho receives a phone call, answering in a rush while he checks the upstairs rooms for you.
“Hello?”
“It’s Sujin from class,” the phone at the other end says plainly. “I’m here for our project.”
And Minho freezes, remembering very well that he has a project due very soon, and his partner is here tonight to work on it with him. He sighs heavily into the line at the change in plans, knowing he’ll have to bottle his emotions another day and act on them tomorrow when he can get you alone.
“Oh, right,” Minho responds, making his way to the stairs and jogging down them. “The door should be unlocked.”
He stuffs his phone in his back pocket, making his way to the door to meet Sujin, and as he passes the sliding door to the backyard, he finally sees you. Knelt on the ground in a white sundress, your hands tainted with soil as you tend to the tomato plants and hum to yourself. Minho smiles at the sight of you, the urge to tell you right now stronger than ever. But before he can call out to you, Sujin’s already made her way inside, peering curiously around the place and clutching her purse in hand.
“Wow,” she says, chuckling lightly. “You didn’t tell me you were rich.”
Minho scratches the back of his head awkwardly as she grazes a marble sculpture with her fingers. His eyes remain on you through the glass door, transfixed by the way you tuck your hair behind your ears and pat your dress as you stand up again. Sujin takes note of Minho’s evident distraction, briefly glancing out the window and back to him.
“Where are we working?” She asks, pursing her lips together.
“We can work upstairs,” Minho explains, as you finally make your way inside.
At first you’re confused at the sight, Minho looming over a girl much prettier than you, her long hair styled neatly over one shoulder and a matching formal two-piece hugging her curves beautifully. And then as you see her begin up the stairs in the direction of Minho’s room, you finally understand.
Of course there’s another woman.
Of course there was a catch to all of this, because why else would things condition themselves so perfectly that you’d win him over?
And suddenly everything feels pointless- confessing to him, feeling any ounce of emotion regarding all of this, even working this job. He has a girlfriend, and she’s much prettier than you are. And he's trailing behind her after giving you a shy nod, likely embarrassed at the fact that you’ll be here tending to his household while he fucks her in his upstairs bedroom.
You can’t help but think that perhaps something got lost in translation, because Minho evidently never liked you, and unless this version of the universe magically conditions to work in your favor just once, it’s going to remain that way.
*
When the tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, they don’t stop. You can’t feed Joon without hiccuping through a hot rush of tears that fall from your cheeks onto his tray below him. Joon seems to sense something is wrong, pausing the task of dodging his food to observe the way your face contorts as you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. And when you do stop to look at him, all you can see is Minho, his eyes and lips resembling exactly that of his elder brother’s.
The chores feel like a futile task now, and you let them sit there for the remainder of the evening you’re working for. In fact, the only thing you do complete is the task of getting Joon to bed when the sun begins to set, marching carefully upstairs to not interrupt Minho’s time with his girlfriend. And the word makes you sick, to think that he’s been stringing you along all while having a girlfriend- a fact he so conveniently left out.
Joon goes down without a fuss, and when he’s finally asleep, you escape the confines of the second story to lock yourself in the downstairs living room and complete your school work. How much of that is spent crying instead, you can’t quite remember.
It’s just after 9 when Sujin leaves for the evening, but you’re not awake to take notice when she does. You wake to the familiar sound of infomercials playing quietly on the television in front of you, Minho sitting on the floor in front of the sofa you occupy. His head hangs as he holds a book in his lap, probably some cheesy romance he projects onto him and his girlfriend, and his thin wireframe glasses rest on the bridge of his nose.
The dull narration on the television advertises jewelry tonight, and you let out a sigh as you feel your swollen eyes adjust to the bright screen in front of you. At this, Minho turns around, giving you a sheepish smile as you try to shut your eyes again. But it’s too late- he’s already seen you awake for the evening.
“Hi,” Minho says for the first time today, bookmarking his page and lowering the volume on the television. “She’s late again today, but I saved you some takeout.”
“I’m not hungry,” you reply quickly, sitting up and reaching for your bag. “In fact, I need to go home.”
“Oh, sure,” Minho replies, a little hurt at your rushed tone. “I can walk you-”
“No need,” you say to him, pulling on your sneakers and doing everything in your power to avert his gaze. He furrows his brows a little, knowing you never reject his offers to walk you home.
“Is everything-”
“Fine. I just need to get home,” you reiterate, finally sitting down and smoothing down your wrinkled dress.
Every part of him is annoying you right now, your mind teeming with the reminder that you’ve been wasting your time trying to know him better while he’s been entertaining a whole girlfriend these past few months.
“Y/n, wait,” Minho calls, still intent on telling you tonight, while the feelings remain stronger than ever. But you’ve already crossed the room to the front door, where you avert his gaze so he won’t see you begin to cry again.
“Bye,” you call to him, not even looking back before you’re turning the knob and seeing yourself out. “Tell Mrs. Lee it was an emergency.”
And he wants to ask if it was, but he can’t, staring at your rushed figure jogging down the street as you distance yourself from him before he can string you along any further.
*
Thus begins the game of avoidance.
It starts through keeping your conversations with Minho as short as possible, not engaging him when he tells you about theories he’s studied this week or what his days on campus were like. When he asks about your day, you give him one-word responses, muttering a simple “fine” before turning your attention to Joon again.
When Minho asks to go to the grocery store, you pretend you have a headache- for three days straight. So he makes the trips solo, balancing bags on one arm and telling you about how the cashiers have begun to ask where his pretend wife’s been. You give him no reaction, nodding as you feed Joon his dinner and glance at the clock for the umpteeth time, desperate to get away from him.
And the mystery woman remains, marching into the Lee household in afternoons like she owns the place, already having memorized the path to Minho’s room as she makes her way up the stairs and doesn’t acknowledge you. She’s beautiful everyday that she’s here, short skirts and long ponytails you can’t seem to look away from. And she’s even more hypnotic when she’s in the presence of Minho, the two of them as a couple certainly a sight for sore eyes. If they were a married couple, you’d reckon they'd be much more distinguished than you and Minho would.
“Do you want a coffee?” Minho peers into the library one night to ask you. You keep your gaze locked on the computer in front of you, trying your best to keep your guard up as he waits for a response.
“No, thank you,” you say coldly, continuing to work on your essay.
When he realizes you’re not going to say anything else, Minho enters the room reluctantly, his hands shoved in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe and gives you a once-over. You say nothing, still, holding back your emotions so as not to cause a scene. And Minho can tell something’s wrong in the way that you shift your eyes to him briefly and shake your head as if scolding yourself for doing so.
“Did I do something?” Minho finally asks, his voice a little shaky.
“No,” you say quickly, skimming the same sentence on your laptop screen over and over again.
“Are you… sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
He fiddles with a loose thread in the pocket of his pants, keeping his gaze on the floor and thinking about your differing behavior toward him the past week.
“We just haven’t talked much. And you never really leave here anymore. I wanted to make sure I didn’t overstep any boundaries-”
“Overstep?” You interrupt, scanning your eyes over the screen of your computer. “There’s nothing to overstep. I get paid to watch your brother, not hang out with you.”
You feel guilty the minute the words leave your mouth, but you feel even worse knowing he’s just been stringing you along with a girlfriend this whole time. The atmosphere feels akin to when you first met him, awkward and cold, and with tensions high like this, you don’t feel at home in the Lee household anymore.
“Sorry,” Minho says, nodding. “You’re right. I guess I’m overstepping by asking.”
You only look up at him when he leaves, his shoulders sagging as he leaves you alone once again- only this time, you have a feeling he’s going to stop making an attempt to rekindle things anymore.
And you’re right- Minho stops trying entirely. There are no more offers to walk you home, no philosophical debates over coffee or grocery store trips where you act as a married couple. You’re still covered in knit blankets when you fall asleep accidentally on the couch, but Minho doesn’t stick around watching his infomercials to wait up for you anymore. And he still saves you his takeout when he orders, but he leaves it neatly packaged for you in the fridge instead of bringing it up to you like he used to.
You’ve gone from a mutual infatuation for each other to complete strangers once again. The house feels lonely and cold like it once did, your only real human interaction occurring in the few minutes you have with Mrs. Lee at the start and end of the day.
Minho doesn’t talk to you at all, locking himself away in his room like he did when you first started caring for Joon. And when you see him in passing at late hours of the night, he looks indifferent, sagging his shoulders as he averts your gaze with a book in hand and disappears down the corridors again. At some point, you begin to see his girlfriend less- in fact, his stoic composure makes you wonder if something’s happened between them. But as time goes on, you start to realize this is less about his girlfriend- and more about you.
What a gift it is to feel- but also what a curse. To let something consume you so entirely you can barely breathe without it. It’s laboring to think of anything else, of anyone else besides Minho and what he means to you. And as you replay your last interaction in your head for the nth time this evening, you think back to the day you started here. You knew the fundamentals of caring for a baby, having trained just enough to land a job doing it. All you wanted was to be liked by Mrs. Lee, and by baby Joon- and by extension, Minho. This household quickly became someplace you felt like you actually belonged in. But your purpose here has completely diverted from its original path, having prioritized Minho’s complexities and his feelings toward you above what you were hired here to do. You’ve experienced a roller coaster of emotions trying to understand him, and just when you thought you’d cracked him, you realized his heart belongs to someone else. So with the comfortable knowledge in mind that perhaps the universe isn’t, in fact, conditioned for you to mean anything more to him than just a babysitter, you understand it’s time to stop forcing any other version of it.
*
There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary two weeks into your avoidance of Minho.
You still haven’t talked, he still keeps his distance and you get paid to perform the job you’re here to do. But one afternoon before Minho’s even home from school, Joon refuses to eat. It starts with a tantrum he throws at breakfast time, which you consider typical as he knocks his cereal onto the floor and waves his hands around restlessly. You can only spoon feed him a couple spoons of yogurt before he’s put down for his afternoon nap. And when you wake him for his post-nap meal, he’s just as fussy. He seems to be bothered by something, crying loudly as you offer him different snacks and try your best to calm him down. But nothing seems to work, and when he begins refusing his bottles late into the afternoon, you start to panic.
Mrs. Lee isn’t home for a few hours, you’re unsure of when Minho gets home and you don’t have any way of getting to a hospital right now. The guilt and the fear eat away at you as Joon cries loudly, his face turning a bright shade of red as snot dribbles from his nose onto his shirt. He must be hungry, and clearly uncomfortable by something, only you’re entirely unsure what. His pacifier doesn’t calm him, nor does his favorite stuffed animal or his favorite television program. When his crying reaches the 10-minute mark, you feel hopeless, well prepared to drag him onto the bus to the nearest hospital yourself, fully convinced you’re going to lose your job. And as you begin to cry, too, the front door opens, Minho walking in with his backpack clutched casually in one hand and his car keys in the other. His girlfriend is with him this time, her head hanging as she uses her phone, completely oblivious to the atmosphere around her.
“Minho,” you call helplessly from the kitchen, and his head snaps instantly to look at you. Your eyes are nearly bloodshot from crying, your sleeves drenched in tears from wiping your eyes and your voice shaky as you speak. It’s the first time you’ve said his name in weeks, you realize, feeling your heart race as you call for him.
“What happened?” Minho asks when he turns the corner, throwing off his backpack and approaching a very fussy Joon.
“He won’t eat,” you reply through hiccups, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater again. “I’ve tried everything. He won’t stop crying.”
Minho takes Joon in his arms, rocking him gently back and forth, to no avail; Joon starts crying even harder now, dribbling snot onto Minho’s sweatshirt and hitting his chest repeatedly.
“I’ll have to take him to the clinic,” Minho says in a rushed tone, fishing his car keys out of his pocket and making his way toward the door.
His girlfriend finally turns the corner into the kitchen, putting down her cellphone and huffing frustratedly.
“What’s going on?”
“Sorry,” Minho replies, shoving past her with Joon in his arms. “I have to go. We can work on our project another time.”
Your heart drops at the words- project. Project, as in a project for his university. With a classmate.
You want to cry more now, for being so stupidly angry with him over nothing, but you still have to help Minho take Joon to the clinic. Sujin doesn’t protest, quick to exit without so much as a goodbye as Minho scrambles to fetch Joon’s car seat.
“I’ll get him in the car seat,” you say, pulling your sneakers on as he balances Joon in his arms.
“You’re coming?”
“Of course I’m coming,” you scoff, already taking Joon from his arms and ushering him outside. “Go start the car.”
*
“Lee?” A nurse calls, holding a clipboard close to her chest as she scans the waiting room.
You and Minho both stand up, Minho balancing Joon in his arms as the nurse gestures you to the door.
“Please, follow me.”
Both of you walk side-by-side down the corridor as she double-checks papers on her clipboard, making a sharp right and leading you into a private room.
Minho sets Joon down on the examination table, holding his arms to steady him, and you stand beside him as you wait for the doctor.
“She’s just reviewing the results,” the nurse says, referring to the x-rays Joon took earlier. “She’ll be in shortly to discuss them.”
Minho nods silently as the nurse leaves the room, leaving the two of you alone once again. You say nothing, unsure of how to break the awkward silence as Minho wipes a string of drool from Joon’s mouth and avoids eye contact with you.
You feel awkward, embarrassed and so, so stupid, for having treated Minho like absolute scum because you assumed the worst of him. It breaks you to see him avert your gaze like this, treating you the same way he did when you first crossed paths. He has his guard completely up again, and you’re not sure he’s ever going to let it down around you. As you lose yourself in doubtful thoughts, the door opens, Joon’s doctor sauntering inside and wiping her hands with the strong scent of hand sanitizer.
“Hi there,” she says cheerfully, giving you both a warm smile. “Are we here for baby Joon today?”
“Yes,” you both say in unison, and she laughs a little.
“You two are very synced. They say it happens in the first year of marriage.”
“We’re not married,” Minho chimes in quickly, and you turn to look at him, feeling a pit in your stomach all over again.
“No?” She questions. “My apologies. Is mom here today?”
“I’m just his babysitter,” you say quietly. “This is his brother.”
“I see,” the doctor says, eyeing you both. “Well you may notice I’m fairly calm, and that’s because there’s no terrible news I have to share. Baby Joon is just suffering from a little mucus buildup. He’s probably feeling the impaction, and the discomfort has caused a loss of appetite.”
You feel a weight off your shoulders instantly, relieved that this isn’t a more serious matter. He’s going to be fine, you think to yourself. He’s going to be his normal self as soon as this is over.
“… Just be sure to use a syringe to drain the mucus a couple times per day, and make sure he gets plenty of sleep.”
As the doctor writes Joon a prescription for his saline syringe, you catch Minho’s gaze briefly, shooting him a relieved look. He gives you a small nod in response, as if to say he’s glad you came along. And he is, he just can’t say it out loud.
*
“I think he’s finally sleeping,” Minho says, patting Joon’s back gently as he stands up from his chair. The two of you have been sat in the library for nearly two hours since getting back home, in complete silence as you read your books and wait for Joon to fall asleep. You take breaks every now and then to drain Joon’s mucus, alternating roles between holding his face still and using the syringe on him. And when he’s finally comfortable again, he dozes back off to sleep, little snores escaping his lips.
Minho leaves the room to put Joon to bed, and while he’s gone, you take the opportunity to pack your stuff and prepare to leave for the night. You feel guilty, not having said much to Minho this evening, especially with the newfound knowledge that this mystery woman was just a partner for his project. But you’re not sure what to say, well aware that he’s probably already decided you hate him, and there’s not much else you can do to fix things.
“He’s down,” Minho says as he re-enters the library.
“That’s good,” you reply with a solemn smile, packing your laptop in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.
“I should get going.”
“Do you… need me to walk you?” Minho asks a little shyly, and although the offer is tempting, you shake your head no.
“I’ll be fine. It’s really not as unsafe as you’d think.”
Minho just nods, understanding that you still don’t want to be close to him. And he gives you a little bow, before he exits the room and makes his way up the stairs to his own.
As you begin to leave, an object left on the chair across from you catches your eye.
It’s Minho’s book- the first edition copy of Love and Limerence you gifted him. You take the small book in your hands, scanning its contents briefly and examining the pages. He’s already annotated several of them, despite having read the book numerous times now, and you can’t help but smile at his scribbled notes circling all his favorite quotes and underlining them twice. You know it’s valuable to him, despite coming from somebody he probably despises right now, but you decide to take it up to him anyway, not wanting him to lose it.
When you’re outside his door, you give a small knock as it’s left ajar, and Minho hums in response.
You enter quietly, holding the book out to him and shooting him a small smile.
“You left this downstairs,” you say, and Minho reaches for it quickly, embarrassed you might’ve seen some of his annotations.
“Thanks,” he replies, setting it back on his bookshelf of romance novels.
He takes a seat on the edge of his bed, patting the spot next to him, and you join him at a comfortable distance as he keeps his gaze on the hardwood floor.
For a moment, no one says anything. And then he sighs deeply, before finally speaking.
“I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t,” you’re quick to reply.
“I clearly did,” Minho retorts. “And I know I’m quiet, and I kind of shut myself off from the rest of the world. But I never meant for it to affect you.”
“It didn’t affect me,” you reiterate.
He scoffs lightly in response.
“Why won’t you just say it? You haven’t talked to me in weeks. You don’t even look at me. I clearly did something to push you away.”
You don’t reply immediately, pondering what to say. And ultimately, you let your emotions speak for themselves.
“I was jealous.”
“Of what?”
“Of the girl. The one who’s been here almost every night.”
“Sujin?”
“Look, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know who she is or what she is to you-”
“My project partner,” Minho interrupts. “One who hates my guts.”
“Project partner,” you continue. “It doesn’t matter who she is- I like you, Minho,” you finally emphasize, turning to meet his gaze. His lips are parted in shock, his eyebrows furrowed as he hears you speak.
“I’m fucking infatuated with you, and it drives me crazy. I can’t go on vacation without seeing you in the books at the stores, I can’t sleep at night without your stupid theories replaying in my head. And I jump to the worst possible conclusions when you’re even near another girl. I’m going crazy trying to be liked by you- trying to look at everything through the lens of your romance theories or your book quotes, or whatever. But it’s so scary to like someone this much.”
Minho says nothing for a minute, collecting his thoughts as you let go of the breath you’ve been holding. He’s not used to people liking him- let alone being this intrigued by him. And especially when it’s in the form of reciprocation, from the one person he’s infatuated with, too.
“Why is it scary?” Minho questions, facing you now, his eyes darting briefly over your lips and then back up to your worried gaze.
“Because I’m here for a job. I’m not supposed to be feeling all this. You’re not supposed to be part of this.”
“How do you know that?” Minho retorts, leaning in a little closer to you now.
“I just…”
“You’re allowed to feel, y/n. You’re allowed to want this.”
And before you can protest his words, his lips are on yours, kissing you passionately like he’s pacifying the arguments before they can come to fruition. Your heart beats erratically in your chest, your mind racing with a million thoughts about what you’re doing, and what this whole thing even implies, but you shut them out with the rest of your concerns, pressing your thighs together as he brings two hands to your face and cups your chin gently. His lips work against yours so beautifully, so effortlessly, like the two of you have done this several times before. And maybe you have, in all his alternate universe theories- on your honeymoon, on the run from the police- right here in the comfort of his grand bedroom, his hands snaking up to pull off your cardigan as you tug desperately at the fabric of his t-shirt. Minho says nothing between passionate kisses, afraid if he talks you might realize what’s happening and leave. But you won’t leave, especially not when you’ve been dreaming of this, too.
When your cardigan is off, Minho moves a little closer to you on the bed, letting one hand guide itself onto your waist and trace the gentle curve of your body there. He’s delicate with his movements, careful not to startle you with his touches, but he’s also admittedly thought about this for weeks. The thought of you confessing was never something that crossed his mind- he was so sure he’d driven you away after that night. Never in his wildest fantasies had Minho considered the possibility that you were this smitten with him, too. But he did have thoughts of your lips on his, thoughts of your hands intertwined with his and ungodly visions of you under him, right here in his bed. Visions of his mouth on your breasts after you’d accidentally exposed yourself to him in the kitchen and he was forced to give attention to the massive erection that grew in his pants. And after you’d gifted him his favorite book, attentive to the details he’d indulged you in which he never otherwise shared with people, visions of making love to you ran rampant in his mind, filling you up over and over again with remnants of him as a form of saying I’m infatuated with you, too.
Minho’s kisses become needier as your words replay in his head, darting his tongue out to dance against yours with the sounds of exchanging saliva present between your plump, eager lips. He pushes you back gently so that you’re now lying on his pillow, the angle so intimate, the view of his room from here like something you’re not supposed to see. The ceilings appear even larger when you’re flat against his bed, the curtains that drape over his bedpost seemingly miles high.
Minho’s kisses trail down to your neck now, eagerly peppering your flesh in wet kisses as your hands reach up to tangle in his hair, holding him closer to you and letting him graze his lips wherever he desires. You can’t help but feel guilty having him all over you like this when you remember how you’ve treated him these past couple months- criticizing his tendencies to be quiet, intruding on his space and pushing him away because of a girl you’d assumed to be his girlfriend. But you also know most of it has been because you want him to mean more to you- perhaps you’ve just been trying to change things so that in this version of the universe, he’s not just an enigma to you. You want all of this- his lips on yours, his body pressed into you and to give yourself completely to him.
“Just so we’re clear,” Minho says suddenly, pulling away from you to hold eye contact with you. “I’m crazy about you, too. I really like you.”
And you can’t help but smile back in response, pulling him in again to press his lips on yours. He smiles into the kiss, too, satisfied you’re both on the same page. And although your now eager movements imply something more is about to happen, you don’t have to verbalize anything, his fingers snaking up your shirt serving as answer enough.
“Is this okay?” Minho asks, grazing your flesh with his big hands as he toys with the hem of your shirt.
You nod in response, sitting up a little and completing the task of pulling it off over your head and discarding it beside you. You waste no time on your bra, either, reaching around to unclasp it and rid yourself of the fabric without him having to ask. His eyes widen again at the sight, having remembered every curve of your body since that incident in the kitchen. But now in front of him again, he feels his cock swell in his pants, desperate to act on the urge. In nimble movements, his hand cups the mound of your breast, kneading it gently and sighing at the sensation of your soft skin against his. His mouth finds yours again, indulging you in a slow, passionate kiss, and then he trails down until he meets his hand at the mound of your breast, pressing a chaste kiss to your flesh before finally latching his lips around your nipple.
He starts with gentle kisses while your nipple rests between his lips, a string of saliva dribbling down to coat your hardened bud. And then he takes it between his lips with more force, beginning a gentle sucking motion as he gives your other nipple attention with his free hand, circling the tip with his thumb in tender movements.
You sigh beneath him, the sensation sending a shiver up your core, your nipples hardening even more in his touch, now eager for him to give your soaking core some attention. But he takes his time stimulating you, moving to your other breast to take your nipple in his mouth and leave a trail of saliva. Your body shivers when the cool air grazes your wet nipples as he pulls away, and he meets your lips again to kiss you passionately.
While he kisses you, your hands now toy with the hem of his shirt too, signifying for him to take it off. And Minho reciprocates with a little nod, finally pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his bare chest to you. It’s a marvelous sight to see more of his honey-tanned skin, his toned muscles and his broad pectorals practically begging for you to touch them. And just above his stomach, a horizontal pale pink scar, one that he eyes momentarily and then gives you a shy shrug.
You run your fingers along the scar briefly, tracing it in its entirety and bringing your hand up to caress his face.
“I didn’t think I could be any more attracted to you,” you say to him sheepishly, tracing the scar again. “You look like the poetry you’re so obsessed with.”
Minho feels an involuntary smile pulling at his face as he leans in to kiss you again, this time intent on giving himself fully to you the way you deserve.
Your kisses both grow hungrier, needier, as your bodies tangle into each other, and Minho loops a finger into the hem of your panties, tugging them down so that he has access to your sopping cunt. As your hands tangle further into his soft brown hair, his finger traces down the length of your stomach, dipping into every curve and over every inch of flesh he only got a brief sight of. And when he finds your mound, you arch up into him, parting your legs slightly to give him access. Minho doesn’t waste another second, attaching the pads of his fingers to your clit and working you in circular motions as he kisses you. Little gasps escape your mouth as he does, breathing heavily into his kisses and grinding your core closer to him as he quickens his pace, smearing your arousal around your aching clit and circling two fingers around to massage you gently. His cock is now fully erect against his abdomen, prodding into your upper thigh as he trails his kisses down your neck again, but he’s patient, forgiving with his movements, eager to pleasure you first.
As his kisses graze your neck, you tug his boxers over his cock, pulling them down so you’re equal parts undressed. Minho winces a little at the sensation, a bead of precum already dripping down the head of his cock, and you feel yourself clench around nothing at just the sight of him hard for you.
When he takes note of your anticipation, he glances down at his own erection, locking his gaze with yours again as if to confirm again that this is okay. You nod in response, reaching your hands around to loop them behind his neck and pull him a little closer. And then your gaze falls to his cock again, waiting for him to make the next move.
The two of you say nothing as Minho’s hand finds the base of his cock, pumping himself gently before leaning in to kiss you. He lets himself hover closer over you, until his cock is kissing your entrance in the same gentle, wet movements as your lips. You lift your leg up slightly to grant him access, and then in gentle movements as your eyes remain shut, you feel him push his tip inside of you, stretching you out around his girth and causing you to gasp. He’s bigger than you anticipated, even the dripping arousal of your cunt having trouble taking him wholly. But he brings his fingers down to your clit again, massaging you slowly to ease the pain. And it works, your body relaxing around him as he pulls back a little and thrusts in again, this time pushing further until he’s completely bottomed out inside of you. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, his cock pulsating inside of you as he holds it there, feeling every inch of you clench around him and take him so well now. And then with a gentle kiss to your lips, he begins to move, his hips pulling back slowly to thrust back inside of you.
You feel so full of him, having him exactly as you’d always imagined him- circling your thoughts, hovering over you and finally inside of you, his cock brushing against your cervix so delicately with every thrust. Your labored breaths become one as you pant into each other’s mouths with overwhelming pleasure. Minho steadies himself with one hand on the mattress beside you, quickening his pace a little as he feels his cock twitch inside of you in response to a particularly pornographic moan of yours.
“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes as he continues to slip in and out of your soaking cunt. “You’re so full of me, aren’t you?”
He brings his lips to your neck again, nibbling the flesh between his teeth and letting it bruise as you moan beneath him.
“I’ve thought about you everyday,” you respond, angling his lips to yours again as he fucks you. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”
“Yeah?” Minho says with a satisfied smile, working circles back onto your clit.
“Yes,” you breathe back, toying with his hair as your arms wrap around his neck. “I wanted you to fuck me like the characters in your romance novels.”
Minho feels his cock twitch again, wincing and slowing his pace so as not to finish just yet.
“I can’t help it,” you whimper underneath him. “I think about you all the time. I think about you fucking me all the time.”
Minho intertwines his hand with yours, pressing it down on your abdomen and letting yourself feel when his bulge fills you up at every thrust, the motion visible beneath your palms.
“Feel that, baby?” He asks between kisses to your drooly lips. “Feel how good I fuck you? Is this what you imagined?”
You gasp at the sensation once you feel it, the bulge of his cock protruding against your palm with every pump inside of you. You nod breathlessly, almost unable to reply to his words now.
“I imagined it, too,” he says, picking up his pace now. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to bend you over the couch and fuck you right there the moment I met you.”
He groans a little as you clench around him and moan in response.
“Minho,” you say breathlessly, not missing the way his cock twitches inside of you once again. “Will you finish inside of me?”
He pauses for a moment, scanning your expression for a sign of whether or not you’re being serious.
“Please,” you beg, as if reading his thoughts. “I’m on birth control. Just want to feel your seed inside of me.”
He shuts his eyes briefly as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in a little closer.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” Minho asks, locking his gaze on yours again. “I want to, but I want you to be sure about it.”
“I’m sure,” you say quickly, the last syllable hitching in the back of your throat as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “Please, just wanna feel you fill me up.”
He thrusts harder into you now, the room teeming with the squelching noises of your pussy taking him so effortlessly.
“You like it when we play house like this, huh?” He says, wrapping a hand gently around your throat. “You like imagining me as your husband, don’t you? Fucking you like we’re married?”
And it doesn’t take you more than a second to think before you’re nodding desperately at his words. You do love it, this sense of belonging when you’re in the Lee household. But you also get aroused at this second life you lead alongside him, caring for the baby like it’s one of yours and being fucked by Minho when no one else is around to hear your lewd moans.
“Yes,” you reply, your response muffled by his grasp on your throat. “You make such a good dad.”
“We’d make such good parents,” he emphasizes, kissing you breathlessly. “What do you say I fuck a baby into you and we find out for real?”
You feel yourself contract around his girth at the words, not having considered it seriously, but turned on at the idea of carrying a child just for him.
“Is that what you want?” Minho asks, nearing his orgasm as he thrusts even faster into you now, panting into your mouth above you.
“Yes,” you reply with a whimper. “Want you to fill me up so bad.”
“Yeah?” He cuts you off, pressing your abdomen harder with his hand. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Want you to feel it.”
Your senses hone in on the feeling of your palm over his bulge, pulsating rhythmically as he nears his orgasm.
“I’m cumming, fuck, I’m gonna finish,” Minho says, shutting his eyes in pleasure as he moves at his fastest pace now, his grip around your throat holding you steady as you lose yourself underneath him. He’s never finished inside someone before, but he has no intention of pulling out now, the conversation of impregnating you sending him over the edge as he reaches the cusp of his release.
You contract around his breathlessly now, eager to take his load, never having taken someone’s either, but desperate for Minho to be your first.
And with a few more harsh thrusts, Minho’s cock twitches once inside of you, finally letting out a generous load of his cum inside of you, the gush of his release filling you up so fully, the warm sensation of his milky white release thrusting deep inside of your pussy as he fucks the rest into you.
He feels his head spin, his eyes shutting instinctively at the sensation as he lets go fully inside of you, no urgency to pull out or stave off his release like he usually has to. And it takes a while before he’s begun to soften again, the knowledge of giving you his cum almost rousing him again and lengthening the period of his release inside of you. Minho already knows he’s going to be addicted to finishing inside of you from here on out- and he doesn’t want it any other way.
The warm feeling is all it takes for you to finish in mere seconds, contracting around him as he fucks you through his orgasm, your release mixing with his and dribbling down the side of your thighs as he begins to slow down. Minho doesn’t pull out immediately, instead caressing your face to gauge your reaction as he softens inside of you.
“Was it okay?” Minho queries, tucking sweaty strands of hair behind your ears and loosening his grasp on your throat.
“It was more than okay,” you say breathlessly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he smiles down at you. “I feel so full of you.”
Minho kisses you sweetly, rubbing his thumb along your hand soothingly as he pulls out of you, a string of his cum connecting to you still and dribbling onto the sheets as he rolls over to lay on his side.
For a moment, the two of you say nothing, your chests rising and falling as you catch your breath and ponder the day’s events. It’s not what you expected was going to happen when you saw yourself up to his room again, but it is what you’d hoped would happen eventually. And the atmosphere feels much lighter around you now, completely void of the lingering sexual and emotional tension that’s plagued you for so long.
“Minho?” you say quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Philosophically speaking, how many versions of us do you think are lying next to each other like this, right now?”
Minho thinks over your words for a moment, and then he chuckles lightly.
“Well if the universe was conditioned right, I’d hope for an infinite amount. But considering how long it took us to get here in this version, I’d say just one.”
And he sits up, leaning in for another kiss as two fingers tuck his arousal further into you, holding his release inside of your still-sensitive body.
*
“Have some bacon, honey,” Mrs. Lee says to you as she scrambles to get her things together for the day. “I made a lot, so help yourself.”
“Thanks,” you reply, strapping Joon into his high chair and smoothing down your skirt.
Ever since that evening, you and Minho have been inseparable. The two of you wait until Mrs. Lee is gone for the morning, desperately grabbing at each other and giggling between kisses until Minho has to leave for his classes. And when he returns, it’s much of the same, the two of you helping put Joon down for his afternoon nap before escaping up to his bedroom and making love until Joon wakes again.
Minho is completely and utterly obsessed with you, the same way you are with him, but you both know this game of house you play can’t go on forever. Mostly because you feel the guilt eating away at you day by day, every waking minute you’re tending to your duties as a babysitter or conversing with Mrs. Lee. It’s hard to be in the same room as Minho when she’s around, the urge to just confess even more present when she attempts to facilitate conversation between the two of you and you’re forced to act like he’s still a mystery.
But you have him more figured out than you ever have before, memorizing the freckles on his body like the back of your hand, reciting his favorite quotes like prayers and replaying the melodic giggles that escape his lips. You don’t want to be apart from him, but the point still stands- it’s scary to like someone this much. He consumes you more than he ever has before, filling every waking second of your life with remnants of him. You love when he reads romantic philosophical theories to you, or when he cooks you and Joon dinner after a long day. But you feel guilty when you’re alone with Joon again, hoping he can’t somehow tell that you’re only thinking of his brother when you’re preparing his bottles or feeding him. You hope Mrs. Lee doesn’t notice when your hair is a little too tousled to have just been from a nap, or the time you had to cross your legs to keep Minho’s release inside of you when the two of you had finished just in time for her to make it home. It’s selfish, and it’s unfair. And with no sign of this fling stopping anytime soon, you don’t see any other option to be fit.
“I’m leaving,” Mrs. Lee finally says, grabbing her car keys off the kitchen table and pulling her heels on. “Make sure to get Joon his medicine!”
The two of you watch as she shuts the front door behind her, and then you wait until her car starts, holding your breath as she pulls out of the driveway and begins down the street in what feels like an agonizing amount of time.
The minute she’s gone, Minho turns to you again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you lean back against the counter.
“Morning,” he says with a shy smile. He wastes no time leaning in for a romantic kiss, which you reciprocate, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling into him.
When he pulls away, the two of you say nothing, holding each other in a comfortable embrace as he rubs little circles into the small of your back.
“I guess it’s just mom and dad home right now,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your neck. “I’ll ditch class right now if you want me to fill you up again.”
And his offer is tempting as he presses his erection into you, working more kisses down the nape of your neck and trailing his hands up your skirt.
“No,” you finally say, pushing him away and collecting your thoughts. “You need to get to class. I have a lot of stuff to do. I’m working, in case you forgot.”
“Okay, okay,” Minho says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I digress.”
He pulls back to caress your face with a visible smirk as your eyes graze his thighs, so beautifully sculpted under the fabric of his jeans. You’re not sure you’ve ever been so sinfully tempted by somebody before, like Eve to the apple, like a moth to a flame- he’s intoxicating, but you know you shouldn’t be indulging this while you’re here to fulfill your role as a babysitter.
“You should go,” you say to him, swallowing nervously as his hands trace the outline of your lips.
“Yeah,” Minho replies, a hint of disappointment present in his voice.
And without another word, he gathers his car keys off the table, sending you off with a little wave as he disappears for the day.
You may have Minho mostly figured out now- his fascination with romance and philosophy, his soft interior under the stoic exterior he presents everyone else with, his astounding levels of emotional intelligence and unwavering kindness for the people he loves. But now that things have become a little more complicated between the two of you, you fear all of this will come to an end as fortuitously as it all began.
The reality is, this isn’t one of Minho’s romance novels- you’re both real people, with emotions and convictions and reservations. And though you want this fleeting thing to last forever, you’re well aware that things don’t work that way, especially when you’re just a babysitter at the end of it all. Sure, Minho sees you as much more than that- but you were hired to be here in the Lee household, paid to fulfill your role here, and once this comes to an end, your relationship with Minho likely will, too.
… and thus, the decision to quit your job isn’t one you take lightly. It succeeds hours of thinking, weighing your options and planning out exactly what you’re going to tell Mrs. Lee when she asks why you’re leaving so suddenly. You want to do another internship, you decide on telling her, hoping she doesn’t poke enough holes to get the truth out of you- “I think far too much about your eldest son and it’s eating me alive.”
*
All day long, you try your best to shut Minho out of your thoughts, focusing on your online courses and caring for Joon like you used to. But it feels futile, this task of pretending things are the way they used to be. They’re not- you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back and hooking up with her eldest son. When all’s said and done, you’ll be right back in your own home, with your parents desperate to send you elsewhere once again, and your own life to tend to. This double life you romanticize isn’t real, nor is it attainable anymore.
Your phone call with Mrs. Lee to announce your decision doesn’t set anything in stone yet, her words urging you to speak with her later this week when she has some free time. But you know once you do speak with her, you’ll only have a few evenings left with Minho until this is all over. And you don’t have the heart to tell him just yet, but if things go anything the way they did when you first brought it up to him, you know he’s going to be heartbroken.
When Minho arrives home that evening, he can already sense something is wrong. You’re sat in the garden, where you typically don’t go, your legs crossed neatly over one of the sunlounger chairs as you let your thoughts consume you. Mrs. Lee’s koi fish fountain stands nobly in front of you, a robust stream of water trickling from its lips and into the concrete bowl below. You’re mesmerized by it as you always are, the steady sound of water coupled with the birds chirping in the sunny greenery around you as peaceful as ever.
“Hey,” Minho says, sliding open the screen door and stepping outside to meet you.
“Hi,” you reply, holding a hand up over you to shield your eyes from the sun. You’d forgotten how divine he looked today, his white button up now folded up at the sleeves and exposing his veiny forearms to you.
“How was your day?” Minho asks, pressing a small kiss to your temple as he occupies the spot beside you and stares at the fountain.
“Okay,” you respond, though you’re lying through your teeth. “Joon went down about an hour ago.”
Minho nods, and then he furrows his brows together as he speaks again.
“Why are you out here?”
You shrug in response, keeping short with your words as he pushes you for answers. And you want to tell him it’s because you made the most painful decision to call Mrs. Lee and forfeit all of this, but you know it’ll only hurt more, so you divert from the truth.
“It was stuffy inside,” you voice back, shooting him a small smile.
Minho seems to relax beside you, his shoulders sagging a little as he takes notice of your calm demeanor. He doesn’t have reason to believe anything’s wrong, judging by the way you converse so casually.
“You want me to cook you something?” Minho asks, placing his palm up next to you, and you let your hand intertwine with his.
“Will you read to me?” You ask, eager to indulge in your favorite activity alongside him.
“I can read to you,” Minho echoes back, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. “Which book?”
You’re both in the cozy atmosphere of the library later that evening, Minho sat on his favorite velvet armchair as you occupy a spot in his lap with his arms wrapped around you. The book is positioned in front of him so you can both see, his fingers holding open the thin pages as the poetry leaves his lips, pausing in between lines to press kisses to the crook of your neck when he’s reminded of you in his favorite characters.
And you hold back tears in the moment, wanting so badly to tell Minho that you’ll be letting go of all of this, running back to the monotony of your old life, one where Minho doesn’t exist and you don’t have to balance the complicated feelings of liking someone to this degree. But you bite back your words, careful not to ruin the intimate moment you share while he loves you in an ignorant state of bliss.
“The pleasures of love are always in proportion to the fear,” Minho begins a new chapter, grazing your neck with his lips.
He trails a bit lower to graze your shoulder now, pressing a small trail of kisses as he pauses his reading. You giggle softly in response, feeling his fingers find the strap of your tank top to pull it down your shoulder so he can pepper kisses there, too.
“Minho,” you say softly, writhing in his embrace as he tickles every inch of your skin with his kisses, now shutting the book and setting it on the arm of the chair.
“Can’t help it,” Minho responds, shutting his eyes as he snakes his hands up the back of your tank top. “You look so beautiful right now.”
As you adjust in his lap, you can feel he’s now rock-hard in his jeans below you, his thighs flexing underneath you as he wraps two hands around your waist and runs them up and down your sides. You take the hint, turning around in his lap to face him, and let your arms wrap around his neck to steady yourself.
“What are you thinking about?” Minho asks, bringing his lips to yours as he feels his hardened cock graze against the fabric of his jeans, eager to pleasure you.
You want to express your fears, your doubts, to tell him the truth about what you spoke about on the phone with Mrs. Lee earlier today. But you can’t, not when he looks so tantalizing in front of you like this, his bulge perfectly outlined in his tight jeans and his veiny arms flexing below the fabric of his collared button-up. You’ve been roused for him since he left in the morning, his offer swirling your mind coupled with his appearance, like something out of a wet dream.
“You,” you voice back, whimpering pathetically into another kiss and rocking your hips gently over him so that he’s practically whimpering for you, too.
Neither of you have to say much, knowing already where the evening is headed, as you unzip his pants and palm his erection through the fabric of his boxers. Minho watches as you slide off his lap, dropping to your knees in front of him and tugging the fabric of his jeans. He complies with your urges, pulling them down to his knees and freeing his erection from his boxers, exhaling deeply as the cool breeze of the room grazes his leaking tip.
Without a second to waste, you take him in your mouth, letting your saliva coat his shaft as you kiss his tip tenderly and then guide him down your throat, the base of his cock just barely meeting your lips as you struggle to take him fully. Minho groans at the contact, bucking his hips off the chair to guide himself further into you, feeling his cock twitch when you gag a little at the contact. You stay like that for a good while, bobbing your head in rhythmic motions up and down his hardened length, your saliva allowing you to graze his shaft with ease.
Minho’s thighs contract desperately below him, trying his best to stave off the orgasm he’s been longing for since the moment he saw you this morning. His hands find your hair, pulling your locks into a makeshift ponytail and gasping as you take him a bit deeper now, pulling back again to pepper the tip of his wettened cock in drooly kisses.
“Fuck,” Minho breathes out, clutching the arm of the chair so desperately. “Baby, stop, I don’t want to finish yet,”
And you release him with a gentle pop, knowing exactly what it is he wants so badly. You never deny it, sitting back up again to position yourself over his cock you intertwine his hands with yours. He uses one hand to tug your panties to the side, and then in one swift motion, you guide his cock inside of you, sliding down the slick of his length and bottoming out with ease. You take him so well now, always able to adjust to his girth instantly as your cunt is always dripping in anticipation when he’s near.
Minho’s hand moves to push your tank top up, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking harshly as you begin to bounce on him with gentle movements. The room fills with sounds of panting, sucking and desperate moans as his cock fills you fully with every thrust, brushing against your cervix as he moves to your other nipple and kneads your breast desperately.
“What was that quote again?” You ask in labored breaths as he comes back up to kiss your lips.
“The pleasures of love,” he begins, breathlessly working his lips against yours as you clench around his length. “Are always in proportion to the fear.”
Minho feels his cock twitch inside of you, always nearing his finish much faster when you make him recite all his favorite quotes and book excerpts to you.
Except this one speaks much louder to you, directly aligning with your present-day emotions, circling your mind relentlessly as he fills you. Maybe this is what his book speaks of- the pleasures of love, being filled so fully and lovingly by Minho, two pieces of one whole like you’re both made for this, to make love into the late hours of the night while he recites poetry to you.
And all of this in proportion to the fear- this constant fear that he’s just a fleeting entity, that you’re both naive to play house like this and pretend it’s anything more. The fear present while you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back, letting him fuck you like he’s married to you and indulge you in all of his deepest secrets, as though you’re the only one allowed to know him this intimately.
The love and fear and indeed in proportion to one another- you love him as much as you’re afraid of loving him.
“I love you,” you say suddenly, bringing him in for another kiss before he can respond. But the way his kisses work against yours, hungry and passionate, there’s not a hint of reluctance in his response when he pulls away to speak again.
“I love you,” Minho breathes back, working his kisses against yours as his cock pulsates inside of you, desperate for release. “And I hope every version of the universe is conditioned for us to be right here.”
You smile into him, slowing your movements as you feel him contract inside of you, and then his thighs flex as he finally finishes inside of you, shooting hot white ropes of his cum into your still-clenching cunt, his release already beginning to dribble back down his length as he feels you slow down over him.
You bring a hand between the two of you, gathering his cum on the pads of your fingers to circle your clit in gentle movements, stimulating yourself to your release, too, as you contract desperately around him and breathe labored kisses back into his mouth. Your juices mix with his as you catch your breath, keeping him inside of you as your chest rises and falls with gentle movements. But the two of you say nothing, pressing your lips together to indulge in more passionate kisses for the few minutes you have left before Mrs. Lee makes it home for the evening.
*
The garden is particularly beautiful the next afternoon, teeming with the sounds of birds chirping and trees swaying in the gentle autumn breeze. Mrs. Lee let you know she’d be home a little earlier to have a chat about your decision to leave, and when Joon is put down for his afternoon nap, you receive the call that she’s in the garden waiting for you. You enter hesitantly, worried Minho might catch you and question what you’re doing out here. But he’s not home from school yet, you remind yourself, glancing around the tall grass and neat rows of potted plants for Mrs. Lee.
“Y/n!” A voice calls from one of the patio chairs. “Come, sit!”
Mrs. Lee sits with her back facing you, a large white sun hat atop her neatly styled hair and complementing her matching white jumpsuit. Her gaze remains locked on the koi fountain you’re always transfixed by, too.
“Hi Mrs. Lee,” you say, giving her a small bow as you take the seat next to her. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
She nods with a smile. “So good to see you when we have a little more time. I’m sorry I’m always such a mess in the mornings.”
You shake your head quickly, brushing off her words. “Not at all! It’s always nice to greet the family before I start my day.”
She just smiles in response, turning to nod at you, and then she turns back to the fountain.
“I was a little surprised when you called the other day. I hope things are going okay.”
“They are,” you interrupt quickly. “They absolutely are. Joon is so pleasant, and the job is great. I really love it here.”
“I hope everything at home is okay,” she moves on to say, and you quickly reassure her.
“Yes, everything is fine! Everyone is doing great.”
“I understand,” Mrs. Lee says, eyeing the ground before turning to face you now. “You’ve done so much for us, I’d be lying if I said I’m not going to miss having you around here in the mornings.”
You shoot her a sympathetic look, feeling a pit form in your stomach, too. You feel the same, probably tenfold, at the idea of leaving behind the household you’ve called home for so many days.
“I’m going to miss it here, too.”
“And I know Joon is going to be heartbroken,” Mrs. Lee says with a chuckle.
You chuckle too, giving her an understanding nod.
She pauses briefly, furrowing her brows together, before continuing her speech.
“You’re such a bright young woman, and I know you’re destined to do amazing things. If there’s a way I can help in this transition, please don’t hesitate to let me know, okay?”
You nod at her words, and watch as she smooths down her top before standing up. She seems to wait for a moment, as if hoping for you to say something, and when you don’t, she begins to make her way back inside.
“Well, I’ll let you go for the evening. Thank you again, for everything. And you have my phone number if-”
“Mrs. Lee?” You call out suddenly, catching her before she can get much further. She turns around at the worry present in your voice, her face shifting into that of concern.
Without having to voice anything else, Mrs. Lee sits down again, waiting for you to continue. But you can’t, your heart beating wildly in your chest at the thought of even bringing up the topic of Minho. I’m in love with your son, you want to say to her. I’m so in love with Minho and I hope you understand I don’t have a choice but to leave this all behind me.
“You know,” Mrs. Lee interrupts your thoughts, breaking the silence that fills the air. “This koi fountain was my first gift from Mr. Lee.”
You nod at her, remembering when she introduced it to you on your first day here.
“We weren’t married yet. It was his first restoration project, and my dad hated him. So he had a lot of trouble getting it over to me.”
You chuckle lightly, amused at her story which seems to calm you down a little.
“Luckily his parents adored me,” she continues. “And they offered to house it in their backyard until we married. For the 15 years we dated, my koi fish lived in their garden. And when we did marry, they rented a big truck to help haul it over. It was such a project! But it’s my favorite part of the garden.”
You shoot her a saccharine smile, well endeared at the way she speaks of Mr. Lee. You can tell she’s in love with him, even this many years later.
“Sometimes I wondered why they would do something so nice for me. But as I grew closer to them, I learned not to question what was meant for me. They loved me, as did Mr. Lee. And I wasn’t going to run from any of that, no matter what I felt I deserved.”
Your head snaps in her direction at her last words, realizing how they apply to you. But she doesn’t know about Minho- at least not to your knowledge, or Minho’s. She gives you a sheepish smile as you furrow your brows, and then she takes your hand in hers, giving it a little squeeze.
“I hope you won't run from what you deserve, either.”
You nod a little bit at her words, finally understanding the weight of them, and then you look back at her with a confused expression.
“Mrs. Lee, are you talking about…”
“Minho?” She finally says, with a warm smile. She takes your other hand in hers, too, tilting her face to yours so that she’s making proper eye contact as she speaks.
“I had wondered why he was so happy these days. Minho’s always been a bit of an outcast. But I haven’t seen this spark in him since he started his obsession with all those romance novels and philosophy studies of his.”
You chuckle lightly, a weight off your shoulders as she finally speaks of what circles your mind so heavily.
“But how did you…”
“I knew it when I saw it,” she says. “I knew it, because he had the same look in his eyes as when I met his father.”
You feel your heart swell in your chest, your shoulders relaxing as she continues to speak.
“He speaks of you like poetry,” she tells you. “And for that alone, I’m thankful for you. Now what you choose to do is your decision- but I hope you know you will always have a home here with us. Not just as a babysitter, but as family.”
When Mrs. Lee finishes her speech, she gives your hands a little squeeze, smiling at you and back at the koi fish fountain. It feels much more sentimental to you even now, the beautiful waterfall that cascades serving as a reminder of its permanent restoration rooted in the infatuation Mr. Lee had for Mrs. Lee. And watching it stand so beautifully like it did all those years ago, you’re reminded that love can be a lasting thing, no matter the circumstances. The universe can condition itself to make things last, affirming the philosophical notions Minho’s always told you. And that perhaps you do deserve this, a sense of belonging here in the Lee household, right here alongside Mrs. Lee and Minho, and even baby Joon.
As you watch the fountain together, the sound of the sliding door makes itself known behind you, and you turn around to find Minho entering the garden, baby Joon sitting comfortably in his arms as he makes his way over.
“Hi,” Minho says, coming around to give Mrs. Lee a kiss on her cheek. “What’s going on here?”
He looks visibly worried, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Mrs. Lee, as if to silently ask you what she’s told you.
But Mrs. Lee just smiles at him, as she gets up from where she’s sitting and smooths down her jumpsuit.
“We were just having a girl chat. I’ll leave you two alone.”
And she disappears behind the screen door again, shooting you a little wink as she does, her anecdote circling your mind, still.
“What happened?” Minho asks, settling down next to you and balancing baby Joon on his knee. Joon fists at the fabric of his shirt, babbling incoherently as you smile down at him.
“Nothing,” you say, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. You refrain from saying anything about leaving, not wanting to interrupt the tender moment you share with Minho and Joon in the sunlight of the garden.
“You have a really cool mom,” you settle on saying, smiling at Minho as he chuckles softly in response.
*
The afternoon sun beams through the glass windows of the library as you lie comfortably in Minho’s lap, his book positioned in front of you as he presses a small kiss to the back of your hand before turning the page.
Outside, the birds chirp songs of early spring, the steady stream of Mrs. Lee’s koi fountain audible as you peer down at the garden.
Mr. and Mrs. Lee sit in the tall grass, fiddling with a box of tools as Mr. Lee repairs a new project for Mrs. Lee. This one’s a much larger fountain, one he’d told you would take several months, perhaps even years. But Mrs. Lee sits beside him, relishing in stories of his restoration process and laughing with him as he works. You can’t help but smile at the sight, her stories about him playing in your mind whenever you catch a glimpse of them together.
“Do you think they could be us in another universe?” You ask Minho, turning to face him as he peers out the window, too.
“I hope so,” he says with a smile.
You settle closer to him in his lap, pressing a small kiss to his hand as he continues reading.
“And think not that you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.”
At his words, you hear baby Joon cry out, having woken from his afternoon nap.
“I’ll get him,” Minho says, shutting the book and setting it aside to go tend to the baby.
And as you peer back out the window, the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Lee’s laughter filling your ears, baby Joon’s voice calling to you, Minho’s philosophy book perched on the chair beside you and the sun beams shining their light through the windows, you know that this is belonging, this is love.
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washeduphazbin · 2 months
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Hi, I would like to ask for a smut from Adam x fem Reader, his dear wife is going to pay him a visit at his work and in the end they almost get paid for lute
New Eve (Adam x Fem! Wife! Reader)
-SMUT AHEAD MINORS DNI-
Other warnings: Adam Being Adam
I hope I wrote this ask and understood it correctly! Adam is my guilty pleasure. I love men who are dumb as rocks and who are going to be absolutely leashed by even stronger women.
REQUESTS OPEN
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
There's a saying that all good things come in threes, Lilith, Eve, and you. Adam's final wife, who physically couldn't be swayed by Lucifer because Adam had met you in Heaven. When you passed through the pearly gates, you were greeted by none other than the first human himself. You were in awe for about two seconds until you quickly gathered the first man was a complete and utter dickhead. He seemed to falter when you walked past him to greet an angel named Lute, Adam's second in command. She tensed a little as you introduced yourself, ignoring Adam's protests that dubbed you a Queen Mega Bitch.
All this to say, it took about three months before Lute caught Adam sticking his tongue down your throat with you latched onto him like a koala. You made a distressed sound at being caught while listening to Adam laugh above you. You distinctly heard him call your mouth as good as a vagina while pressing a kiss to your hairline. "Adam!" You hissed, pulling on the horns of his mask as he let out a defiant sound, "Inappropriate."
"Ugh yeah, that's kind of my thing, sugar tits."
"You need to not make it your thing, or this thing doesn't happen." You drew your line in the metaphorical sand before marching out of the room, faintly hearing Lute argue about Adam's behavior behind you.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Two years later, you were Adam's new 'Eve' in heaven with two golden rings to prove the love that formed between the two of you...somehow. Did the both of you fight constantly? Yes. Did you want to wring his neck every time he opened the gaping hole he called a mouth? Also Yes. But did you love him...unfortunately. Even though he had a laundry list of bad habits, a vulgar mouth, and gross hobbies, he had his moments. He was protective, fiercely so, and despite his fuck boy personality, he only had his sights set on you. Lute often asked you what you saw in Adam, and you'd reluctantly sigh and give a tired grin, "He makes me laugh. Plus, with proper motivation, he's putty in my hand." Lute made a sound of understanding, nodding her head,
"Ah, yes. Use your feminine wiles to control those weaker than you, even if they may be physically stronger. We must use what we are given as women. Well, you must. I'm very strong without using that to my advantage."
"Yes, exactly," You snickered as Lute stopped outside Adam's office. "Which is exactly why Sera put me in charge of convincing Adam to meet with The Morningstar's daughter." You groaned, rubbing the bridge of your nose, "I'll see you back here later, then?"
"Yes, ma'am." Lute bowed, "I wish you luck...you'll need it. He's in one of his moods." before taking off into the sky and down the hall. You reached up with a stretch of your arms, fluffing up your wings to look extra pretty before knocking on Adam's door,
"Adam." You hummed, knocking on the grand marble door once before opening it. You leaned against the entranceway, wings brushing against the floor, as his head shot up.
"Sugartits!"
"Not my name!" You dodged Adam's hug with a flurry of your wings; he grinned, shoving the door closed with his hip. "Adam," you said in warning as he used his angelic magic to fly towards you and trap you within his arms.
"and what would you prefer I call you? My Bitch? Wifey?" He mused, peppering sloppy kisses against your cheek and down your neck. "We could go with Queen or Goddess, preferably." You shot back, dragging Adam down to sit in his chair; you hummed gently, removing his mask from his face. He leaned back, kicking his legs up on the desk as you slid down into his chest, straddling his hips. You hummed, running your fingers through his brown hair, and he melted into your touch, "My name works, too."
"I guess we can settle on Queen. Does that make me your King?" Adam preened as you scratched under his chin,
"Without a doubt...but we must talk about the Young Morningstar."
"Who?" He made a faux confused face which you raised an eyebrow back at in response, "Ugh, Lucifer's cunt daughter. What about her?"
"She's been begging for a meeting. I suggest you meet with her." Your lips began to trail down his neck, nipping at his skin as his body flushed.
"But that's so much work, sugar." He groaned, running his clawed hands through your hair, "Can't I just say fuck off back to hell we're gonna exterminate all of you regardless."
"Sera wants you to at least meet with her one time; she's giving you a lot of trust to handle this on your own."
"And if I do what you ask, what'll you give me?" He mused, eyes sparkling. You huffed, hitting him with the back of your wing, and he laughed, "Come on, you gotta sweeten the deal for me, mama."
"You're such a bastard." You huffed, moving to pull your hair out of your face. He moved his legs to the ground, and you could slide between his knees. "Robe off unless you want dirty," you commanded as Adam fumbled out of it quickly.
"I love you~" He leaned back with a sly grin, hand reaching up to move your head closer to his lip. Your fingers spread across his thighs, and you huffed softly, looking up at him.
"I love you more. If I do this for you, you promise to meet with young Lady Morningstar?"
"You can't just fuck me because you love me?"
"Bite me." You sneered, but there wasn't any malice in your voice as he stood up, picking you up off the ground and pressing your back against his desk.
"Oh, it would be my pleasure. I can't say your robes will survive, though I might need to get you some new ones." Adam popped the buttons on your robe, allowing your body to be laid bare for his eyes. He watched your breathing hitch as his long claw trailed down your neck to your chest. "Fuck I love these puppies, you know that?" Adam grinned, grabbing fistfuls of your breasts, squeezing and kneading to his heart's content. Your husband was like an oversized golden retriever. When he sees something he likes, he obsesses over it like a man deranged. His favorite playthings of yours were your tits and ass. "Any meetings?"
"None. I'm yours for the rest of the day. You can mark me how you'd like; I'm yours, my husband. Well, until you meet with the Princess."
"Fuckkkkk yeah, baby, come 'ere." Adam dove between your breasts, and he felt you suck in air through your teeth. He began to bite and suck on the supple flesh of your chest; you keened, arching into his mouth, hands tangling in his brown hair. You could tell from the way his teeth would graze against your nipples and your flesh he was doing everything in his power to leave marks on the skin.
"Adam...ngh." You panted, feeling his hand move down from your breast to slide down your stomach and between your legs. "Shit," You squeaked, feeling him tease your clit with his thumb and forefinger with a dopey grin on his face.
"There's my favorite girl," He flicked your nub skillfully; for being a massive asshole, this prick sure knew where to find your clit. One finger slid between your folds, and you tossed your head against the cold marble desk. "Damn, only one finger has you acting up? I must not be treating you good enough," He purred as another finger entered you, stretching you out to be big enough for, 'the first ever man god created.' Adam watched with delight as your wings spread out and trembled, glowing with a soft golden glow. "That's it, you're being such a good girl for me. Are you ready?"
"Yes." You panted, "Adam, please."
"God, you beg so nicely, you little slut," His hand reached up to grip your throat, causing you to let out a desperate whine, hips bucking into his fingers. "Beg Harder," He demanded, moving your hand to palm him through his trousers, stiff and aching. "Look at how hard you make me. How desperate. I need you to worship your god."
"Yes, sir." You purred, "You're my God, Adam. I need you, I'd worship for your love, your touch, your dick." You dragged your hand up your chest, playing with the swell of your own breast, "Don't you want to make me happy, baby?"
"More than anything." Adam's eyes lit up in elation, "Stay with me. Don't go to Lucifer. You're mine." He snarled, hands around your throat, "Say it."
"I'm with you. Only you. Forever Adam." His entire body seemed to relax when you said that, pressing gentle kisses to your cheek and lips. "I love you, you annoying Dickweed."
"Love you more, Sugartits." He grinned cheekily before lowering himself to you with a hiss-like laugh. "Tight as ever, and that's why I love you,"
"If you keep talking nonsense while you're literally inside me, I'll cut off your dick,"
"Sounds kinky."
"Adam."
"Fine, Fine, you're so vanilla." He mused, albeit his tone was much softer, fonder than his earlier teasing. His hands grabbed under your knees and pressed you close with a snap of his hips. You both let out a moan, yours higher pitched and needier, bucking your hips, searching for more friction than he was currently providing. You always savored the way he was able to fill you up, he wasn't the longest but god was he thick filling you in all the right ways. Every time his hips snapped into you, you could feel just how deep he kissed your cervix. "Yeah, you like that?" He panted, "Like how deep I'm getting? From the way you're dripping, you're practically soaking through my table. Your vag is like a vice, babe, so tight for this big cock."
"Hm. Your words always know how to turn me o-ng-ff." You moaned out this end at a particularly sharp thrust of his hips. "Fuck you," You panted as he grinned down at you,
"Good news, wifey, that's exactly what we're doing-"
"Sir!" You let out a scream as Lute slammed the door of his office open, you climbed against Adam's body like an embarrassed Nun. He groaned, still inside you but having the decency to cover you with his wings.
"What do you need, Lute? I'm a little busy getting it on with my sexy ass wife." Adam complained, motioning to the top of your head, to which you made an embarrassed sound of mortification. "Can this be rescheduled or-"
"The Princess of Hell is here, Sir. She just showed up-"
"Are you for real telling me that the bitch Princess of Hell is seriously cucking me right now?!"
"...Yes."
"(Y/n) If I killed her for interrupting us, would you be pissed?"
"Beyond Adam."
"Fuck."
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callofdutysimpsstuff · 5 months
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ghost would love having a housewife-
being able to love you is enough for him, and yet he still gets to come home to home cooked meals? and a cute decorated house? that man is folding.
he’d open the door and spot you in the kitchen, your hair falling perfectly around your face, aroma of the dish making the whole house smell good. he doesn’t say a word just rushes over to you and pulls you into a deep kiss.
it still takes you by surprise even though his reaction is a regular occurrence. you’ve just never met anyone as passionate as him.
ghost who is obsessed with calling you his wife, most of all in bed.
“yeah, love? that feel good? is my pretty little wife gonna cum?”
“what does my wife need, hm? need me to make you numb like last time? yeah, that’s what i thought.”
you try to respond, but you’re squeezed around him so tight, anything that leaves your mouth us incomprehensible.
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pasharuu · 10 months
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both of us already know who it is
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fish stealing incident
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cryptidghostgirl · 2 months
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hiii can i request a silly little scene i have in my head? ok so!
alastor x wife! reader- theyve been together since they were alive, legit partners in crime they both encouraged eachother to kill and when they reunited in hell after around 8 years they were independent once again UNTIL They got in trouble with Lilith and she took reader to be like her slave until Alastor finished helping Charie with her dream (until he helped prove that demons can be redeemed) so they didnt see each other for another 7 years (his absence)
And all throughout the first season hes like “I miss my wife, Husk. I miss her a lot” (while drunk-) like that one sonic dub meme and starts shaping his shadow creature into reader and talking to it and everyone is like “m yep he’s officially lost it.”
BUT then Sir Pentious is redeemed and Lilith sees and shes like “damn :/“ and send reader to the new hotel via portal and reader just. falls on the ground in front of the big entrance and everyone hears it and they rush out and Alastor is quiet, wide eyed and reader goes smth like “i know- i shouldnt have accepted it in your name but-“ blah blah she rambles on about it and Alastor just goes “Youre as beautiful as the day I los you.” LIKE THAT HEARYBREAKING SCENE FROM HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON 2 ;-; and everyone reacts in their own way
I REALLY NEED THIS BUT I LACK THE ABILITIES TO DO IT HEEELP (love u)
A/N oh bestie,, i got you. I was actually planning on something similar where Alastor was getting drunk at a bar and talking about the love of his life (I'm still gonna write that one too but I really like this prompt!!) You guys really come up with the best requests, please keep sending them in.
Fuel and the Fire (Alastor x Wife!Partner-in-Crime!Reader)
Pairing: Alastor x Reader
Warnings: ANGST also bad words (idk why i wrote the warnings like this). Also Angel Dust is in this one and I love him but he is a warning on his own.
Word Count: 2,392
Master Lists:
Master Lists 
Hazbin Hotel Master List
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Alastor and Y/n, partners in crime, the fuel and the fire. On a first glance, it would be assumed she was his fuel, the coal and dry leaves he fed himself by. Once anyone got to know them -- and god, what trouble a person was in if they got to know them -- they quickly realized it was the other way around.
Hand in hand from day one, from childhood. Running from the cops, washing the blood off one another's faces. In the living world and life after death, nothing could tear them apart. He was the soil she planted herself in, he was her rock and Y/n? Well she was Alastor's everything. He'd do anything at all for her, all she had to do was ask.
For a decade, they terrified the living world. They were the reason to double check the lock on the door before bed, they were the ominous shadow at the corner. When cold death wrapped them in his reckless grasp, they turned their terror on Hell.
The pair made a name for themselves quickly, filling up the airwaves and making waves in the underworld. For generations, they reigned supreme. For generations, they knew no fear. Then one day, they simply disappeared.
When Alastor reappeared on the streets seven years later without his shadow, the town was alight with gossip. No one knew where he had been, where she still was, or why he had returned but Alastor quickly rebuilt his operation, setting up shop at Lucifer's daughter's Hazbin Hotel along with several of the souls he owned.
The hotel's other residents and workers were distrustful of the man, to say the least. He was shifty, wore a constant smile, and rumors circled around him like birds of prey. That was until about three months into his stay, at least.
Angel hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He'd been coming down to the bar for a drink and a rant of his own when he'd heard the familiar, crackling voice of the Hotel's host.
"I just... I miss her so much, Husk."
He sounded sad, utterly dejected. Angel crouched down on the staircase, hiding his slim body behind one of the ornate posts supporting the railing.
"You keep saying that but do nothing to go find her. She disappeared the same time as you, you know." came Husk's gruff reply.
"I know she did."
"You keep saying that, acting like you know something. Admit it: you don't know shit, Alastor."
Alastor's radio waves faltered, squeaking slightly. Angel tensed in terror, wondering if he'd been found out. This was clearly a private conversation, and the Radio Demon was testy at the best of times. Right now he seemed positively furious.
"Don't test me, Husk." Alastor said after a moment, breaking the tense silence, "She... we both got roped into something. I am doing my part, she is doing hers."
Angel straightened himself up, deciding it was high time he entered the room. He still wanted that drink, after all. He let his feet fall heavily on the stairs, alerting the others to his presence. Husk turned toward the sound, meeting Angel's eyes as he entered the bar. Alastor, on the other hand, kept his back to the spider demon.
Taking a seat beside Alastor, Husk immediately poured Angel a drink and slid it across the counter towards him.
"So, tough night, Smiles?" Angel asked, turning to Alastor who downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp.
"I don't know what you're talking about, my good fellow." Alastor hummed in response.
There was a threat in his voice, but Angel could tell the demon's heart wasn't in it. Everything was just, odd.
"Yeah... sure..." Angel scoffed, taking a sip of his own drink.
"Radio man was crying to me about his wife five seconds ago." Husk grumbled and Angel's eyes went wide.
"You have a wife?" he asked, turning back to Alastor, "I mean, I get it. I'm in to the whole 'tall dark and creepy' thing too but, you care about someone? I don’t know if I can see it.”
Alastor's eyes narrowed as he turned on Husk. The cat demon rolled his eyes in a brazen display of disrespect. He knew his master well, knew this was the only thing he had any leverage with the man on. With a deep breath, Alastor placed his hands firmly on the bar top and pulled himself to his feet. Not saying another word, he disappeared into his shadows.
That had been the first odd occurrence. Of course Angel had told Charlie and Charlie had told everyone, had even approached Alastor about it. The Radio Demon brushed it all off with skill and for a while, things were quiet.
About a month later, the second strange thing began happening. Alastor had always had a certain sway over shadows, everyone knew that. However, he very rarely used them, brought them out if it wasn't to hide him or take him where he needed to be. Then, suddenly, one began to follow him.
"Uh, Alastor?" Charlie had timidly approached him the first time she saw this happening.
"Yes, Charlie my dear?" Alastor asked, turning to face her as he tossed his microphone in the air, catching it neatly in the center of the stand.
"Well, we were just wondering if everything was... okay?" she asked, her hands behind her back and a pointed gaze on the shadow.
"If everything..." Alastor trailed off, following the path of Charlie's gaze and realizing what was going on, "No, no my dear. Everything is quite all right, quite alright indeed."
"Well, okay... If you say so." Charlie had relented after a few moments, unsure of what else to do.
Eventually, the members of the Hazbin Hotel grew used to the shadows, they too slipped out of their minds. Overcome with impending doom of the extermination just a month away, Alastor's strange behavior was no longer a priority.
That had been until the third odd occurrence came into being. It was Sir Pentious who had noticed it first, drawing it to the group's attention as Alastor walked through the lobby and past the group doing trust exercises there on his way to some meeting or another with the other overlords.
"Sir Pentious?" Charlie had called, trying to bring him back to earth as he watched the place Alastor had occupied, "Sir Pentious?"
"Pentious!" Vaggie yelled and his head snapped to her, "You're not coming up with some new plan to attack Alastor, are you?"
"No!" he quickly exclaimed, waving his hands frantically in the air, "Not at all just..."
"What?" Vaggie asked through gritted teeth, advancing a step forward, her spear in hand.
"It's just... doesn't that shadow Alastor has had following him well.... doesn't it kind of look like a woman?"
Husk broke out into wild laughter while Angel widened his eyes.
"Oh, he's definitely lost it now." Husk exclaimed as he calmed himself, clutching his stomach, "If I knew Y/n was the secret to breaking him down, I woulda done something about it years ago."
"No you wouldn't have, ya big talker." Angel teased, elbowing the cat demon lightly.
"Y/n?" Sir Pentious asked.
"Alastor's wife. That was her name." Husk replied.
"Did you know her?" Charlie asked.
Alastor had left the hotel, the threat that had held their questions at bay for months was gone and the topic was right. Husk nodded.
"So, what's she like?" Angel asked suggestively, "Is she more of a dom? Does deer boy like to get dicked down by his lady?"
"Gross." Charlie shook her head, her hands to her temples, "I do not want to know that."
"She's a good kid." Husk said after a moment, "She's nice..."
He trailed off.
"But?" Vaggie prompted, sensing there was more that he wanted to say.
Husk sighed.
"If you think Alastor is trouble, she's a fucking house fire set for the insurance money."
"So probably not interested in being a guest." Charlie dejectedly stated.
Husk shrugged.
"You never know. It has been seven years since anyone has seen her. Alastor allegedly knows where she's at but, he hasn't gone after her. Just keeps whining to me about it so, I don't know. Maybe she's changed. I doubt it though. Sweet as a pea, sharp as a knife."
Charlie had never felt such relief as when she learned Alastor had not died in the chaos of the battle. The hotel was destroyed, heaven was pissed, Sir Pentious had died but, at least he was alright. They rebuilt the hotel, Alastor's same shadow of a woman trailing after him wherever he went. After about a week, thanks to all the angelic and demonic powers involved in the construction, the new Hotel was finished.
It was just as they put the finishing touches on the place, hung the portrait of Sir Pentious they'd commissioned above the fire place, that a portal opened in the lobby. Everyone tensed, banding together behind Charlie and Alastor. Angels were coming, they were sure of it.
A crash echoed from the other side, a sharp yell and then something tumbled through the portal. With a flash, the portal disappeared behind the shape of a person huddled on the floor. She coughed violently.
Alastor's eyes went wide. Everyone else was too distracted to notice, but if they'd have been paying attention, they would have seen his shadow disappear.
The girl was filthy, her clothes torn and her hair tangled. She let out another, sharp cough before slowly lifting her head. Alastor took a trembling step forward.
"Y/n?" he asked, his voice soft in disbeleif.
A smile, wide and sharp, split the woman's bruised face in two.
"Hey hun, I'm home."
In a flash, he was at her side, helping her to her feet, checking her for wounds.
"Jesus, Y/n." he sighed, "You're a mess."
"I know."
"Y/n-"
"I know. I shouldn't have done it, you don't need to lecture me. I didn't have a choice. It was you or me, Al. I couldn't... I can't... I had to. You've gotta understand."
"Sweetheart-"
Y/n cut him off again, her speech a single, constant, stressed-out stream.
"It was stupid, I know. I know. I really do but, she gave me the option and I couldn't say no cause then if I said no you'd really be the one in trouble a-"
Alastor raised a hand gently to her cheek and Y/n's words caught in her throat. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes at last.
"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you."
His voice was soft, so quiet the others could barely hear him. Y/n's cheeks flushed a bright pink. Her hands found the lapels of his jacket, holding them lightly.
"I.." she stuttered, her mind racing.
With a sigh and a slight shake of her head, she gave up in the search for words and buried herself in his chest. Alastor wrapped his arms around Y/n, pressing her tightly into his frame.
"God, I missed you." she said, her voice muffled by the fabric.
Alastor pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.
"I love you." she continued, "I'm so sorry."
Alastor pulled her off of him, leaning down the slightest bit so they were eye to eye. Y/n, wiped a stray tear away, letting out a slight, sad laugh. Alastor's eyes traversed her face, caressing every crevasse.
"I'm so glad your alright but, I don't understand." he said at last, "How are you back? The deal..."
Y/n nodded and Alastor's eyes went wider still. Leaning on Alastor's shoulder for support, she turned her eyes onto the rest of the group.
"You must be Charlie." she hummed softly, meeting the young demon's gaze.
Taking a deep breath, Charlie stepped forward and nodded.
"Yes, I am. I run the Hazbin Hotel, which is where you are, to help rehabilitate sinners."
"I know." Y/n nodded, her voice quavering slightly, "I've heard so much about you. You... my dear, it worked."
"I- what?" every other question died in Charlie's throat, shock shot through her body like a bullet.
"It worked." Y/n confirmed, "You did it. I had a deal, a deal which Alastor went to your side to get me out of. If you succeeded in redeeming a soul with his aid, I would be free. And here I am."
"Here you are." Alastor repeated, spinning Y/n to face him once again.
She wobbled unsteadily on her feet. Catching sight of this along with the numerous wounds all over her body, Alastor scooped Y/n up into his arms like he did when they had first been married, when they had crossed the first threshold together. Y/n looped her arms around his neck, exhaustion seeping in with the relief as she let her head fall on his chest.
"Vaggie..." Charlie began as she turned to her girlfriend, "you don't think..."
"Pentious?" Vaggie asked and Charlie nodded.
"It's gotta be." Angel confirmed.
"You did good, kid." Husk smiled, patting Charlie on the back.
Y/n raised her head at the sound of a familiar voice, her eyes opening.
"Husker?" she asked with a smile.
The cat demon stepped forward, bowing slightly.
"Husker! I-"
"Enough of that, my love." Alastor cut her off, tapping her nose gently, "You need a shower and some rest. You can meet everyone in the morning."
Y/n crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes as she looked up at her husband.
"Promise?"
"Yes, I promise." he sighed.
"Does that mean you're staying?" Charlie asked tentatively and the couple turned to her.
"Whatever the little lady desires." Alastor stated, looking back down at his wife in a lovestruck daze.
"Yes, Charlie. We're staying." Y/n laughed, "Things need to start changing around here and I don't see anyone else doing a god damn thing to make that happen except for you."
"I.." Charlie was speechless, the kindness this fear inspiring woman was directing towards her, having never met her before. What Husk had said made sense, she smiled, "Thank you. I don't know what you did, but that you both so much."
"Anything for my favorite girl." Alastor kissed Y/n softly.
"Oh, get a room." Angel scoffed, rolling his eyes.
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will41n · 26 days
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gay people i enjoyed shading clothes sm
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buckleysbitch · 27 days
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thank you @alternativess for the inspo 🎀𓂃 ࣪˖
reqs are open!!
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summary: bimbo!reader x abby. abby starts play fighting with you and discovers you enjoy being restrained.
warnings: nsfw under the cut, use of consensual physical restraint in a sexual situation, my first abby fic!!
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
“a-abs! stop-stop-stop!” the incessant tickling from your girlfriends sturdy, strong arms was taunting you. trying your best to fight back, you slap her arm sheepishly.
“oh, that’s how you wanna do this, huh?” she smirks playfully, throwing her braid off her shoulder and lunging into you, beginning to play wrestle.
you couldn’t lie, the wet spot in your frilly pink panties was growing increasingly hard to ignore, especially if her muscles kept flexing so tauntingly close to your doe-ish eyes….
regardless! you do your best to fight back just to please her, because you two both know you don’t stand a chance, and she thinks it’s adorable. when you playfully go to bite her bicep, her fighting instincts kick in….
and her beefy, swollen arm has you in an unyielding headlock.
fuck.
the pornographic whimper that erupted from you caused abby to loosen her grip, taking your jaw in her calloused fingers and guiding you up towards her sweat glistened face.
“got something you wanna tell me?”
you begin to shake your head no, but abby interrupts-
“if i take off those panties am i gonna find my girl wet?”
my girl.
well, if you weren’t wet already, she was definitely going to find you soaked now.
with one quick movement, she has you laid down on your back, your underwear in one hand, and another sliding into your folds. your mind goes completely blank, well, more than it already was, only craving abby’s vicious touch.
“oh…sweet girl….tell me. was it that headlock? don’t. lie.”
the desperate moans that are bubbling from your plump pink lips would be fucking embarrassing if you weren’t already so drunk on her touch, your hips hopelessly rutting into her resistant fingers.
“words, angel.”
“y-ye-y….yes!! yes abs!!”
the menacing chuckle she exhaled was enough to make you buckle, but you knew better. had to keep your eyes on abby.
“does my girl get off on being hurt? bein’ restrained?”
“m-mm-mhm!”
“remember our safe word?” she goes soft for a moment, and you nod in agreement. as soon as she gets confirmation, this girl just starts manhandling the fuck out of you. fingerprint shaped marks decorate your hips and ribs as she positions you in the headlock once again, her bicep throbbing against your ear.
“gonna make you cum, yeah baby? no tricks this time, swear. jus’cum fr’me angel….” she cooes, as her previously mocking fingers finally…finally….fill you up completely.
“abs!! a-abs!!!”
“does my girl love my muscles? hgnh- loves how my arms are bigger than her stupid slutty brain?”
“y-yes….ys’ abs! always!”
the pace she’s drilling into you at is relentless, slick drooling down her knuckles and your pillowy thighs. your cushiony walls are throbbing around her thick fingers, only persuading her to go harder, to tighten the death grip on your neck, little veins popping out.
“g-gna’-“ you moan nearly pathetically, abby immediately understanding before you even opened your mouth, because of course she does. this girl knows your body better than anyone, the patterned pulses of your pretty pussy swallowing up her fingers signaling your orgasm.
“go ahead, sweetheart. cum fr’ me.”
your vision nearly goes black as the grip around your neck tightens, and her fingers curl up into you. everything is fuzzy for a few moments, but abby’s comforting touch soothes your senses, effortlessly picking you up and tenderly placing you in her lap.
“come on, baby. gonna draw a bath for you, yeah?”
god, you love abby anderson.
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multifandombitxh · 2 years
Text
Two Years Late (Ch. 3)
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Chapter Genre: Angst/Smut vibes I guess idk how to classify it lol
Chapter Warnings: Slight bullying, sexual tension, strong language, PTSD flashbacks, mentions of blood/injury
A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has shown interest in this series, I'm really proud of it and where it's going even though it doesn't get nearly as much attention as my one-shots do ♥️ if you'd like to be added to the tag list let me know! PS idk how D&D works, sue me lol
Tag list: @soapbar99 @avengersmarauders @senkobingus @httpjiikook @jessyballet @nanocoool @lightupmyjass
Chapters 1 & 2: X X
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Chapter 3: The Dungeon Master's Queen
Before you could say goodbye and get the hell away from Eddie, Lucas, Mike, and Dustin appeared seemingly out of nowhere, crowding around the both of you. Mike and Lucas were giving Eddie fist bumps and loudly raving about his latest campaign, while Dustin was busy staring at you with confusion written all over his face.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Dustin asked, catching the attention of the others.
"I, ah," You began, fumbling for an explanation that wouldn't make things more awkward than they already were. "I came toooo... pick you guys up!"
"But we have Hellfire tonight," Mike said, his tone perplexed. "You know we have it on Mondays and Fridays."
Shit.
"Oh, is today Friday?" You half laughed, trying to carry out your lie. "I totally forgot, I guess I thought it was Wednesday or something. I'll be back later to get you guys then!"
"You should just hang out with us!" Lucas said, "Aren't you always complaining about gas money? Why waste the gas to go home and come right back? Just come hang out!"
You and Eddie both looked to each other, then back at the kids.
"I don't think that's a good idea-" Eddie started, but was soon interrupted by a chorus of complaints that filled the air from the three kids surrounding you, making you wince at their pitchy voices.
"Y/N, you never hang out with us anymore!" Dustin complained.
"I hang out with you guys, I drive you home all the time!" You defended.
"Driving us home isn't hanging out with us," Dustin went on, "You only ever hang out with Steve and Robin, it's so not fair!"
"Maybe if you spent less time making out with Steve, you'd actually remember what day of the week it is," Mike added. Your jaw dropped at his statement, a scoff escaping your throat noisily.
"I do not make out with Steve," You said, giving Mike a very stern look. "If you seriously think there's something between me and your sister's ex-boyfriend, you are delusional, Wheeler."
"Wait, Steve Harrington?" Eddie asked as if he'd just pieced the puzzle together, "You hang out with Steve 'the hair' Harrington now?"
"Hang out? They're inseparable," Lucas replied to Eddie. "She's always at that stupid video store with him."
"And Robin, too, don't forget Robin," Dustin chimed in.
"Robin Buckley?" Eddie asked, a laugh laced in his words.
"Oh my god, yes, I hang out with Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley!" You shouted at Eddie, throwing your arms in the air and letting them fall back at your sides. "Jesus, if I stay, will you guys shut up about Steve?"
The three kids made the same motion of zipping their lips and you let out another deep sigh. With a lot of reluctance, you agreed to stay, following the four back into the high school and dragging your feet the whole way. Eddie led the way, Mike, Lucas, and Dustin following him closely and rambling on about monsters or something; you couldn't tell what. It all sounded like jumbled, made-up words.
When you arrived at the theater room, you found yourself an old, cushioned chair, placing it at the furthest end of the table from Eddie between Mike and an older kid you didn't recognize. The mystery teen gave you a dirty look, making you snort and laugh under your breath. You had to remind yourself that these were high school kids, and you were an adult. The only other person in the room on even remotely the same level as you was, unfortunately, Eddie.
And even that was a stretch.
"Are we letting women join Hellfire now?" The teen said, folding his arms over his chest and staring you down. It took everything in you not to burst into laughter.
"Yeah, what the hell, Eddie?" Another boy asked, "You know the female brain can't understand the complexities of this game. She'll probably ask too many questions and ruin the immersion."
For a moment, you thought to defend yourself, but decided it was pointless. It was hilarious how wrong they were, but you didn't feel the need to prove yourself to a room of sweaty high schoolers.
"Hey, you guys shut the hell up," Dustin said defensively from the other side of the table, pointing an accusing finger at the two boys. "She's cooler than everyone in this room combined."
"Hardly," Mike muttered. You kicked his leg under the table and laughed at the annoyed look he shot your way.
"It's true!" Dustin went on, standing from his seat.
"And what makes her qualified?" One of the boys asked condescendingly. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Qualified? To watch a board game? Annoyed at the amount of teenage entitlement in the room, you raised your hand slightly above your head.
"I don't even wanna be here," You said, but your words fell on deaf ears. No one was paying attention to you. No one, except Eddie, who was leaning back in his chair and staring you down like a hawk. One of his legs was crossed over the other and his mouth was pursed in a thin line, his chin turned upwards slightly to reveal his jawline. You did your best to ignore him, but couldn't help squeezing your legs together when he saw you staring back and smirked at you.
"She fought the Demogorgon," Dustin declared with a clap of his hands, refusing to back down. "It was so badass. She has this crazy sc-"
"She did fight the Demogorgon," Lucas interrupted quickly, looking over at Eddie. "In a campaign, I mean. It was awesome. It was like, years ago."
"Yeah, years ago," Mike repeated. He and Lucas looked uncomfortable, likely due to the fact that what Dustin said wasn't untrue. The most unrealistic part of it was calling it a fight rather than a bloody massacre. You were sure the other two boys wanted to get off of the subject before Dustin said too much. He had a tendency to get carried away, and the last thing you needed was for him to ask you to show off your gnarly scar.
It was a little hard to explain away without completely confessing the story. "Oh, this old thing? Yeah, damn near ripped my whole torso in half in one swipe. Talk about a tear-able workplace accident!"
Yeah. Not happening.
Eddie was leaning forward in his seat now with a taunting smile on his face. Your heart thumped hard in your chest, but you couldn't tell if it was from excitement or anxiety. "I didn't know you played D&D, Y/N."
All you could do was roll your eyes.
"Wait," One of the older boys said, "Y/N? Like, Queen Y/N, from your last campaign?"
"Gentlemen, I always hoped this day would come," Eddie addressed them, dramatically standing from his throne to approach you at a deviously slow pace. You shifted uncomfortably as he rounded the back of your seat, placing his hands firmly on the chair. "Queen Y/N, in the flesh."
The room erupted in discussion and surprise, which made you feel more inclined to sink into your seat as low as you could. You wished you could just slip between the dusty green cushions, never to be seen again. Eddie was still behind you, lurking like a shadow, now crouched to your level.
"Would you like to address your loyal subjects, my Queen?" He whispered in your ear, his tone teasing and his breath hot against your neck. "They all fought for your honor, you know. It was pretty courageous, actually. Gareth slayed a whole Wyvern for you."
"Fuck off, Munson," You hissed through your teeth. The others were busy in conversation, laughing and reminiscing about the campaign you were unknowingly a part of in the past. It seemed that it did the trick, though, because no one was complaining about your presence anymore.
"As you wish," He replied, pulling away and returning to his throne. The game began and you sat quietly, watching as they played. You stayed quiet, watching with little interest. Sleep deprivation was really starting to set in, and your chair was starting to feel especially comfy. You decided to rest your eyes while the group played, but couldn't find sleep as they conversed and shouted over each other.
At one point, the whole table was looking to you expectantly. The silence that fell over the room encouraged you to look around, only to be met with several prying eyes.
"What?" You asked, sounding more annoyed than you intended.
"The Queen has to make a choice," Eddie said, leaning over the table with his hands splayed over the old wood. "Do you slay the intruders, or show mercy?"
"I don't even know what's going on right now."
"A group of pillagers broke into your kingdom," Dustin explained, "Are you going to make us fight, or kidnap them?"
You furrowed your brow. "I thought I was a queen in a different story."
"Campaign," One of the teens corrected.
"We decided to revisit your kingdom," Lucas said, "We thought it would be fun, since you're here, y'know."
"Um, I dunno," You shrugged, sitting upright. "Are they evil?"
"They're trying to burn down the orphanage you built when you became Queen," Mike said dryly.
"Oh, then yeah, fuck 'em up, boys," You said with a wave of your hand.
"You have to say it like you're in character," Dustin whispered across the way.
You sighed heavily, sat up straight, then attempted your best regal voice. "Kill them all, brave soldiers. Bring me their heads, take no prisoners, whatever."
"Good enough," Eddie said with a nod and a large grin.
After about an hour and a half, things started to slow down and the group decided to call it a night. You watched as the older kids quickly made their exit, leaving Eddie behind with you and the boys. He was still sat on his throne, eyeing you like a hawk. You tried your best to ignore him, standing from your seat and stretching your arms over your head.
Mike, Dustin, and Lucas gathered their belongings and stuffed them inside their backpacks before slinging them over their shoulders and walking as a group to the doors. They were lost in conversation, but Dustin was quick to realize you weren't following them. When he did, he stopped in his tracks and turned around.
"Y/N, come on!" He called out, "I promised Suzie I'd call her when I got home!"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it, just a sec," You said, your voice strained as you stretched.
"Go on ahead, guys," Eddie said, standing from his seat and making his way over to you. "I'm gonna talk to our Queen for a minute."
The boys looked between each other before shrugging and exiting through the noisy double doors. Silence fell over the room the second the doors shut, leaving you alone with Eddie once again. You leaned back against the table, resting your palms on the edge to support yourself. He came to stand in front of you, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Your thoughts wandered as you avoided meeting his gaze, wondering what he could possibly have to say to you that he hadn't already.
"Those kids really respect you," Eddie said, making you scoff.
"Yeah, right," You laughed, "I couldn't get those shitheads to respect me if my life depended on it."
"I just meant- I dunno," He went on, "It just seems like you're really close with them, that's all."
"I guess, yeah," You shrugged, "I grew up with them, I basically helped raise them. Saved their asses more times than I can count."
Eddie pursed his lips and stood beside you, crossing one leg over the other. "You mean, in D&D?"
"Yes," You said quickly, "Yeah, in the, um, in the game, yep."
"What was your class?"
"Ah- my what?"
"Your class," Eddie repeated, "What was your class and level in the game? You know, the one where you fought the Demogorgon."
"Oh," You said, desperately trying to remember what that even meant. "I was... Um... A wizard? No, a mage. Definitely a mage."
"Y/N, when are you gonna stop lying to me?" He asked impatiently, turning to look at you. "You hated D&D. You used to tell me how fucking boring you thought it was, and refused to ever play it with me. I know you've never touched the game. Why the hell would they say that you played with them if you haven't?"
"Look, Eddie, I don't know why they do the things they do," You sighed, giving up the lie. "Maybe you should ask them. It was probably just something they made up so the other kids wouldn't be mad that I was breathing the same air as them."
"Jesus, you are impossible," He groaned, running his hands down his face in exasperation. "Why can't you just be honest?"
"You'd hate me more if I was honest," You said, flashing him an empty smile.
Eddie looked over at you, his mouth turning downward in a frown. When he spoke, his voice was small, and sounded hurt. "I've never hated you, Y/N."
"Yeah, right," You said with a loud laugh, "You hate my guts, Eddie, you've made that pretty clear. Now who's the liar?"
"I'm being serious," Eddie said, his voice stern.
"So am I," You replied with a shrug.
As if his well of patience had run dry, he came to stand in front of you in one swift movement, his eyes boring into yours. You tried to move backwards away from him, but you were already backed up against the table as it was. Try as you did, it was impossible to get away as he leaned forward, both of his open palms landing on the table behind you and trapping you between his arms. He was dangerously close and smelled like ash, his hair wildly hanging in his face and giving him a mysterious look. Those gorgeous eyes were locked on yours, but would stray away every few seconds to gaze at your tensed forehead or your frowning lips. Unrecognizable heat burned in the pit of your stomach.
Eddie had that effect on you, and it drove you absolutely up the wall. He infuriated you to no end, but at the same time, he made you feel warmth, anticipation, and this undeniable arousal that made you both excited and sick to your stomach at the same time. For the second time that day he had you in a tricky spot where he had closed in on you, and you couldn't tell if you wanted to punch him in the face, or kiss him like it was your job.
It would be easier if you knew which reaction he was trying to draw out of you in the first place.
"What are you trying to do, Eddie?" You asked, "If you're trying to scare me, it's not gonna work. We went over this already."
"Who said I was trying to scare you?" He asked in response, "Maybe I'm just trying to make a point."
"And what, exactly, is that point?"
Eddie closed in even further, his lips centimeters from your ear. His breath was hot against your skin, making you shiver once before you forced yourself to still. The last thing you wanted was to show him exactly what he was doing to you. Your nails dug into the wooden table as one of his hands came to rest on the small of your back, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. It felt like a lost cause trying to steady your breathing at that point, especially when you could hear just how breathless he was as well.
"My point is," He said softly, "You're a shitty liar, and you always have been."
"Fuck you, Munson," You breathed out, taking in a sharp breath as he pulled you closer against his body. Your back was basically arching up into him, your chests touching ever so slightly.
"You know, if you hate me so god damn much," He went on, "Why aren't you fighting me right now? You sure don't seem to be upset about this for someone who supposedly hates my guts. That's what this is all about, right? Don't you hate me? Or is it something else, but you just don't want to admit it to yourself?"
"What the hell are you even talking about?" You asked angrily.
Eddie moved away from your ear to look you in the eye, his pupils blown and his mouth turned up in one corner. The way he was looking at you was absolutely sinful and made a knot form in your gut. "I just think it would do you some good to be honest for once."
God, you wanted to kiss him. His lips were right there, just begging for you to lean in and close the small space that separated you. You couldn't seem to look away from him, your lips parting gently the longer you held each other's gaze. You wanted to say something, or do something, but it felt like you were frozen in place. Your heart was pounding against your chest so heavily it felt like it would bruise you from the inside out. The silent tension in the air made you dizzy, and the longer he stared down at you like he was going to throw you onto the table any second, the less and less you could breathe properly.
By now he was basically on top of you, the only thing keeping you upright was his arm that was snaked around your middle. Your feet nearly went out from under you as he closed in, and you stumbled, but Eddie was quick to scoop you up and place you on the table. He made himself comfortable between your legs, his hands coming to rest on the table beside your hips. He was mere inches from you now, the tip of his nose nearly touching yours. For a moment, it felt like your lungs weren't working anymore.
Did you want to kiss him? You really, really did. At the same time, you also wanted to rearrange his teeth. But Jesus, the way he was looking at you was so devilish and full of lust that it was hard to keep it together. One of his jeweled fingers trailed up the side of your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You shivered against his touch and clenched your jaw, lowering your gaze and doing your best not to lose your mind.
"Look at me, Y/N," Eddie demanded, his voice low.
When you looked up again, Eddie was gone, replaced by the snarling, bloody, faceless monster that haunted you day in and day out. Its mouth opened with a disgusting, wet noise, rows of teeth glistening in the colorful lights of the theater room. You gasped and tried to move backwards, but it was holding you in place, claws ripping through your clothes and drawing blood. You began to fight back, pushing and shoving on its chest and felt the urge to cry out, but the shock of the situation rendered you silent. The Demogorgon screeched above you, making you push harder until you finally broke free.
You bolted for the door, but before you could make your escape, a hand grasped your wrist and forced you to turn around. You fought against the grip, but when you turned, Eddie was standing where the Demogorgon had previously been, looking very frightened and shocked. His eyes were wide, his hair wild, and his mouth agape.
"What the hell was that?" He asked, sounding breathless.
"I don't-" You started, gasping for air. You began looking around the room frantically, eyes darting to every corner to see where it went. You wondered why Eddie wasn't freaking the fuck out. "Where did- Where did it go?"
"Where did what go, Y/N?" Eddie asked, sounding exasperated.
"You didn't see it?" You asked in disbelief.
"See what?"
When you looked down at your torso, you found that you weren't bleeding at all, and your clothing was perfectly fine.
It wasn't real.
None of it was real.
With a sigh of relief, your shoulders dropped and you felt an overwhelming sense of exhaustion wash over you. You were beyond tired, now to the point of seeing things. You couldn't get away from it, even in the real world. Tears stung in your sore eyes and you rubbed them away. Eddie was still grasping your wrist, his grip loosening as you calmed down.
"Y/N, you're scaring me," Eddie said after a moment. "What did you see?"
Swallowing hard, you blinked several times and avoided Eddie's gaze. "It's nothing, I just... Forget it."
"No, do not do this again," He warned, pointing a finger at you. "You're telling me what the fuck is going on, right now."
"I can't, Eddie," You replied, looking up at him with tired eyes. "I don't know how many times I have to say it. I can't tell you."
"Bullshit," He spat, taking a few steps closer. "It's not that you can't, it's because you won't. I'm done with these stupid games, Y/N, tell me why you were so scared you about knocked me on my ass."
"I... get claustrophobic," You lied with a shrug, "You were in my space, sue me."
Eddie stared at you for a moment, shaking his head. He looked both sad and disappointed at the same time, making your heart twist in your chest. "You're a shitty liar, Y/N."
After pulling away from Eddie's grip, you pushed past the doors, taking long, quick strides toward the exit and desperately trying to force thoughts of Eddie and the Demogorgon out of your mind.
Why the hell would you see it here, now? How were you supposed to get better if it never went away? On top of that, what was Eddie doing in there? He was all over you, acting like you hadn't just been fighting hours prior. How could he just pretend everything was fine? Angrily shaking all questions from your mind, you pushed your way out of the school doors and marched into the parking lot where you found Mike, Lucas, and Dustin waiting at your car.
"What the hell took so long?" Dustin asked, impatiently pulling on the handle of the door. "It's freezing out here!"
"Sorry," You said, searching your bag for your keys. "I didn't think I'd be that long."
"Did you fight with Eddie again?" Mike asked.
"Wait, again?" Lucas asked Mike, picking up his backpack off the ground and slinging it over his shoulder.
"They had a fight last time she came to pick us up," Mike explained as you continued to desperately search for your keys. "If you hadn't ditched us for Jason and his loser friends you would've known that."
"What kind of fight?" Lucas continued questioning Mike.
"I think Eddie just doesn't like Y/N," Mike said.
"That's not true, he literally named a character after her," Dustin retorted. You were still frantically looking for your keys.
"Oh, yeah, I guess that's true," Mike replied.
"Maybe they used to date or something," Lucas said with a shrug. " A 'Lover's Quarrel', or whatever it is my mom says."
"My mom says that too," Mike laughed, "Can you imagine Eddie and Y/N being like our parents?"
"Don't be gross, guys," Dustin gagged, "If Eddie and Y/N got married, they'd be nothing like either of your parents."
"Hey, guys," You said impatiently, "I'm right here, okay? Quit talking about me like I'm not standing five feet away, or I'm leaving you shitheads here."
"Kinda seems like you'll have to," Dustin said, gesturing to your bag. "Where are your keys?"
"I don't know, okay?" You said, exasperated. "They were here earlier, I swear. Maybe I just, I dunno, dropped them in the woods earlier. I'll be right back, okay? Just go wait inside or something."
As you turned to begin the walk down to the clearing, you bumped into something solid, forcing you to take a step backward. Eddie stood before you like a towering tree, looking down at you with dark eyes.
"Having some trouble?" He asked, his tone scratchy. The kids were deadly silent behind you, as if witnessing Mom and Dad fighting again.
This day couldn't possibly get worse. Not only were you beyond exhausted and seeing things, but you couldn't seem to get away from Eddie. Your feelings about him felt muddied and blurred after everything you just experienced back in the theater room. It was hard to determine which you felt more; longing, or absolute hatred. Either way, you had reached your breaking point and just wanted to go home.
"I can't-" You stuttered, covering your mouth with your hand and fighting back tears. "I can't find my keys."
Eddie looked back at the three boys who gave him friendly waves, and he sighed, turning back to you.
"Alright, come on," He said, gesturing for you and the boys to follow him.
"What?" You asked.
"You can't drive without your keys, and I am not hot wiring your car," He explained as he began walking off into the parking lot. The kids followed after him, giving you apologetic smiles. You trailed behind them, desperately praying the day would end soon.
Dustin stayed behind with you, matching your pace as the others followed Eddie like lost puppies. You couldn't help smiling when they began rough housing, Eddie picking up Mike and throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Loud protesting and laughter echoed in the parking lot, Mike shouting at Eddie to put him down and pounding his fists on his back.
"Eddie's a good guy," Dustin said, "I don't understand why you guys don't get along."
You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest, staring down at your feet. "We used to be friends, but when we got into high school, he decided he didn't want to be anymore."
"I don't get it," He went on, "He talks about you like you never stopped being friends."
"Well, we did," You said, "And it was his choice."
"Okay," Dustin said, "But is it still his choice? Or is it yours now? Because I think he wants to be your friend, but you're pushing him away."
You scoffed and smiled over at him, messing with the hat atop his head. "You take too many pages out of Harrington's book, Dustin."
When you finally made it to Eddie's van, the boys piled into the back, leaving you with the passenger seat. As badly as you didn't want to be near Eddie, the idea of sitting in a car and getting at least a little shut eye seemed pretty appealing. Once inside, you buckled your seatbelt and turned to face the window, resting your forehead against the cold glass and closing your eyes.
Eddie started up his van and turned up the heat, his music blasting through the speakers at an annoying volume. After a quick glance over at you, he turned the volume down, much to the dismay of the boys in the back of the van. Eddie gestured to them with a finger over his lips, then pointed at your tired form. After that, there was only the sound of the road and soft music, which was enough to let you drift into sleep with ease.
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bwabys-scenarios · 3 months
Text
NSFW
Keeping you plugged up with his cock was one of his favorite activities. Wanting to keep his cock warm was just the excuse he used, the real reason was his increasing need to breed.
“Shh, princess… you’ve gotta stay seated a little longer… you’ve gotta keep me warm, okay?”
You whined and writhed, your pussy clenching around him only fueling his urge to get you nice and pregnant. “Please… my tummy, it’s too full…”
The two of you had been going at it for hours, and now he was keeping his cock nestled inside you, filling up your womb to the brim.
“Just be a good girl, okay? My little angel…”
You had a feeling you’d be stuffed full of his cum by the end of the night.
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||GOJO ||GETO ||NANAMI ||SUKUNA ||CHOSO ||TOJI || DILUC ||ZHONGLI ||KURAPIKA ||LEORIO ||CHROLLO ||ILLUMI ||RENGOKU ||SANEMI ||YOUR FAV
7K notes · View notes
monzabee · 14 days
Text
pon de replay - cl16 (+18)
masterlist ||
Summary: The one where Charles decide to prove to everyone that it is him that you belong to, and only him.
Pairing: charles leclerc x reader 
Word Count: 4.8k
Warnings: smuttt, nothing but pure filth, one might even say it is pwp, unprotected sex (cover your willy don’t be silly), oral (f receiving), kinda exhibitionism?, public sex, jealous charles, possessive charles, carlos being a little shit because he’s bored, poor lando, not even sure if i fulfilled the request or not, minors dni!! 
Request: “HELLOOOO! i have an idea and you don’t have to write it but it’s been rattling around in my brain and im never gonna write it (i constantly have way too many ideas to write them fr) myself so i figured i’d send it to you cause you’ve kinda restored my F1 phase with your work. basically, reader being very goofy, funny, and maybe a little bit too loud at times. just like a very silly and bubbly personality and she hangs out with some of the f1 boys (maybe because she’s famous in her own right like a dancer or something) so naturally EVERYONE ships her with lando. like hardcore, almost as bad as one direction fans ships (iykyk), and it sorta makes sense cause when they’re together it’s pure and utter chaos and they both express themselves with physical touch B U T ! she’s actually with charles. to her it makes total sense to be with charles instead of lando cause while lando is definitely attractive he’s too much like her and it’d be like dating herself whereas charles brings out a new calm side to her and she can bring out a goofier side to him. opposites attract type shit😭. maybe a little angst cause charles hates seeing all the edits and also feels a little insecure cause lando and reader DO make sense together in his mind so why’d you pick him instead? then like soft fluff/smut reassurance that charles is literally the man of her dreams, a literal fucking prince, and the best person she’s ever been with. ANYWAYS, im rambling! again, you don’t have to write this if you don’t connect with it or don’t have time i just needed an outlet SOMEWHERE for all the F1 brain rot.”
Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i first of all want to start by saying that i’m very sorry that this isn’t exactly like the request, like at all, but it took me a criminal amount of time to actually get this finished so we’re not going to focus on that. okay? okay, great!! in all and all it was actually quite fun to work on this at the beginning, it was just kinda hard for some reason to work on the actual smut part, but i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee
Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 
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Charles wouldn’t call himself a possessive person, not a chance. He might be ambitious, and competitive, but possessive? That, he is not. He’s never been the type of get jealous of his partner’s friends, whether male or female, because he likes to think that he is mature enough to understand that people have friends. It’s that simple. And he is most definitely not the type of person to comment on what you wear when you’re going out, he is just not that guy. He’s fairly certain that his mother would materialise out of thin air and give him a good beating if he were to do that. So when you asked him about the dress you have on earlier before you left his apartment, the one that clings to your body so tightly that he can practically make out the outline of your tits from across the room? He just smiled and told you to have fun tonight – because he’s there to make sure you’re not put off by anyone staring at you in it.
So yeah. He’s not usually the type to let the jealousy take over his ability to think things out rationally, but when his girlfriend is dancing her heart away in the middle of the dance floor while every red-blooded men watch her with the same look in their eyes? Yeah, it’s not easy to keep his emotions in check at the moment given the circumstances. And it’s not that he even intends to pout like a petulant child at the bar, making sure to keep an eye on you, it’s just that he is an expressive person and his face reflects what he’s feeling that well. Totally because of that. It’s scary how utterly focused he is on you, watching your every move to make sure no one is bothering you, though you don’t seem to be in need of his help as he watches you dance with one of the girls you met when you first arrived to the club – and with Lando, though he tries not to focus on that part too much.
It's fine, though, he tries to make himself believe, it’s fine as long as you’re having fun. Though that doesn’t necessarily stop him from throwing daggers into Lando’s direction as covertly as he can. The way he has a friendly arm around you is driving him crazy, and he is not above stomping over there to pull you under his arm, drag you to the nearest bathroom and– Well, maybe he shouldn’t get too far ahead of himself just yet.
“They look good together, no?” He hears someone ask him from the side. He realises it is his teammate when he turns to give the person a glare.
“Who?” He asks, deciding to play dumb, but he can’t help himself as he makes a face while focusing his gaze back on you.
“You know who I’m talking about, cabrón!” Carlos exclaims, laughing as he pats him on the back and points to the two of you with a tilt of his head, “I’m glad he’s finally doing something about it rather than sulking around like a geriatric toddler.”
If he would have turned around any faster, Charles is sure his neck would actually, possibly, break. “What?” he spits out as he turns around, “Do you mean her and Lando?”
Carlos gives his teammate a confused look, “Yes,” he drawls out, “you didn’t know he had a crush on her? I thought the entire paddock knew!” Charles feels a surge of disbelief and a tinge of anger bubbling within him.
He wouldn't call it possessiveness, more like a primal instinct to protect what's his. But this revelation catches him off guard, shattering his carefully constructed facade of nonchalance. With doing his best to keep calm under the situation, he asks, “Are you sure you’re not making things up? I feel like you’re misreading the situation here.”
That receives another confused look from his teammate, and though Charles is quite the perceptive person, he misses Carlos starting to put the pieces together – thanks to his overreaction. “I guess so,” Carlos mumbles, loud enough for Charles to hear him in the loud club, “he’s always talking about her, though. The way she smiles, her hair, her dresses; did you know he even went to see one of her performances in Vegas?” Carlos feels bad, really, but there is also something so fulfilling in confirming his theories as he watches his teammate’s eyes bulge out at the mention of one of your dance shows in Vegas. Because Charles knows what those entail.
“I-in Vegas?” He stutters out, eyes moving to focus on your dancing figure again. And at that moment, he absolutely hates Lando. He hates him for having his arms around you, he hates him for dancing with you to the beat in a rhythm he never seems to be able to keep up with, he hates him for the way everybody seems to think the two of you seem to make a handsome couple, and he absolutely hates him for the way he makes you smile.
Charles Leclerc is not a possessive guy – until it comes to you, that is.
“Charles?” He hears Carlos call out his name, but he’s out of his seat long before he can hear the end of his sentence. He doesn’t mean to stomp across the dance floor to get to you. He really doesn’t. He also doesn’t mean to grab you by your arm and put a pause on your fun. And the smile you give him and the way you wrap your arms around his neck while you call him ‘Charlie’? Makes his heart stutter in a way that makes him forget why he ever came over in this first place. Because this should be normal – you, having male friends and spending time with them should not make him insecure. He should be fine with you and Lando spending time together because you both love the hustle and bustle of a club. But at that moment, he doesn’t care about what should be normal, no. He cares about the fact that someone other than him has managed to make you smile, and that he needs to remind you that he’s the only one who should be on the receiving end of all your smiles.
So when he drags you away from the dancefloor (and Lando, for that matter), he doesn’t listen to your objections. He doesn’t care about the way Carlos is watching from his place from the bar, putting all the pieces together as he shares a look with Lando. And he most definitely doesn’t care about the fact that he’s about to fuck you in the club’s bathroom. Well, maybe he does care about that last part. “Charlie,” you whine, your voice clearly scratched from shouting along the lyrics of the songs playing throughout the night, and he doesn’t miss the way you slur his name ever so slightly – which tells him that you had at least two drinks. Cosmopolitans, if he had to guess. “Pleaaase,” you drag out the word, pulling on his shirt to get his attention, “they are playing my song!”
His first mistake is to look at you, because the way your lips form a pout and the way you’re giving him puppy dog eyes is usually strong enough for him to give in. Though this is no usual situation. So instead of moving the two of you back to the dancefloor, he grabs you by your cheeks and presses his lips against you. In the middle of the club, where everybody can see him doing it. The way his lips move against yours is aggressive, and you’re definitely out of breath when he does move away. Cosmopolitans, he realises after tasting you. You've had cosmopolitans. Then, he just gives you a look, threads his fingers through yours and raises an eyebrow. Then he asks, “Are you going to be a good girl and come with me now, or should I do this the hard way and just carry you on my shoulder?”
If this was any other situation, you would totally say something bratty back. Hell, you might have actually said something rude if it meant him being rough with you, maybe spanking you a few times just enough times for you to learn your lesson. But you understand that this is no ordinary situation from his voice and the expression on his face. Charles is like that, you suppose. He’s an open book – meaning that it is very easy to understand what kind of a mood he’s in just by looking at his face, or listening to the undertone of his voice. And right now? Right now you know he’s pissed. You don’t necessarily know what you did, nor do you care. Mainly because all you want to do is make him feel better simply because of the reason that he is one of those people who’s just meant to smile at all times, not frown.
And so you nod gingerly, squeaking out a thimble, “Yes.” You finally meet his eyes as you wrap yourself around his arm, pushing yourself closer to him in the crowded club. “I’ll be good.”
This thumb does that thing where he caresses your knuckle, and he starts moving you through the crowd again. This time, however, you try to stick to him by matching the speed of his steps rather than trying to stay back. You told him you’d be good, you intend to keep your promise. He’s quiet all the way to the bathroom, and he’s quiet when he motions you to get inside, and he’s quiet when he closes to door and promptly locks it behind your back. You think for a moment you’re just there for a chat, maybe about that something you might’ve done, but Charles takes you by surprise as he grabs your waist and pushes you against the door, causing your eyes to widen with realisation of what you’re about to do in that bathroom.
“Charles, what’s wrong?” You try to ask, but he shuts you up with another kiss. And if you thought the previous kiss was aggressive, this one absolutely consumes you. He doesn’t even give you a fighting chance as his tongue quickly dominates yours, and he is relentless as he nips at your lower lip. You can’t help the mortifying moan that leaves your lips, and you push him away to inhale deeply. “What has gotten into you?” You ask, eyes wide due to the adrenaline coursing through your veins, “What happened?”
“You, happened.” He growls. And by that, you mean that he actually growls. His voice is a few octaves deeper than his usual voice, and you can see that he’s snappy. There is this dark look in his eyes that would otherwise scare you if you didn’t know him, but you do. Because he’s your Charles.
And you know this because the quickly leans into your touch when you bring one of your hands up to cup his cheek, giving him a confused look. “Did I do something?” You ask, voice soft amidst the humid bathroom. “Oh my god, is it my dress? Is it too short?” Your eyebrows draw closer as you start properly spiralling. “I knew I should’ve worn the shorts, why didn’t you say something?”
Your mini monologue about your party attire must have struck a chord because Charles suddenly exhales heavily, his forehead resting against yours as he closes his eyes. “No, non, it's not about the fucking dress,” he lashes out, his voice strained, and lace with something else that you can’t quite catch. “I don’t care what you wear, though I do appreciate the easy access.”
“Easy access?” You repeat, testing out the words as you come to a realisation. “What?” You exclaim, quickly taking your hand away from his face to lightly slap at his chest. “No! We are definitely not doing that here, are you out of your mind? You pulled me away because you can’t keep it in your pants until we’re home?”
“And why not?” He asks, and this time, you can see the unbridled rage behind his look. “Would you rather go back to Lando out there? You looked quite happy in his arms after all.”
And the realisation dawns on you right then and there. That this isn’t about your choice of dress for the evening, no. It is about Lando. Though you don’t get that part, since he’s both of your friend, so why is Charles being like this? And you would ask him, of course. But the look he gives you indicates that he doesn’t want to be tested in that exact moment.
So instead, you attempt to calm him down, by dragging your hand gently down his chest and wrapping your arms around his middle. He is like that, your Charles, sometimes he just wants to be held to see reason. “Charlie,” you call out, voice soft as you give him a pleading look, “why don’t you tell me what this is about, hm?”
You think he’s going to finally give in for a moment, but then he just gives you a blank stare. “I don’t want to talk,” he grunts, pulling you flush against him by the hands he has on your waist. His lips are on your neck faster than you can say anything, working his way towards your collarbones. The faint whimpers that come out of your lips bring a small smile to his lips knowing that he’s the one causing them, not Lando or any other guy.
“Charles,” you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as his lips trail along your skin. Despite the confusion and frustration swirling within you, you can't deny the way his touch ignites a fire deep within you, consuming your thoughts and leaving you breathless with desire. But as much as you crave his touch, you know that there are unresolved issues between you, issues that need to be addressed before you can fully give yourself to him in this moment. “Charlie,” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper as you gently push against his chest, urging him to stop. “Stop, we need to talk about this.”
“Talk about what?” He asks, all breathy and with a wild look in his eyes. You can see that he’s trying to hold himself back, but at the same time his hands keep moving on your body in a way that makes you want to let him lose control and perhaps even join him. He successfully ignores your attempts at pushing him away, sliding his hands down on your body to grab the hem of your dress, clenching the material in his hand while dragging it upwards on your thighs until he reaches the soft skin of your stomach. “I have a thing in mind which might help me feel better.” Unable to take your eyes off of him, you take a stuttered breath as you watch him slowly get down on his knees, his lips pressing kisses starting form your sternum continuing down your body over your dress until you feel his lips on the exposed skin of your stomach. His kisses stop once he’s met with the top lining of your underwear, looking at you with a mischevious glint in his eyes as he nips at the nimble lace adorning the top. You call out his name in a weak whimper – though it is not clear to you, nor him, whether you’re asking him to stop or go on. Charles decides to go with the latter. “You know what to say if you want me to stop.”
You don’t really need his reminder, you realise, but it is a welcome one. Your cheeks blush even further when you feel his gaze on you as he lowers his face towards your core, leaving a sweet kiss onto your clit through the fabric of your thong. Suddenly, you want nothing more than to just rip to whole thing apart so there is nothing separating you from him, but you know the game, and you especially know that the ending is sweeter than what you could ever imagine at that moment. And so you wait – you wait until he eventually makes his move and gives your slit a generous lick through the fabric. Watching you is equal parts thrilling and painful, mainly because he wants to drag out his teasing as long as possible just to see you falling apart for him. It’s second nature to you, the way your hand threads through his hair to move him the way you want to, but it is of course not an option because it’s Charles who is in charge.
He makes this known by the way he pulls away, ignoring the way your hands scramble to guide him back to where you want him to be. He nips at the skin of your thigh in a warning manner, pulling a whine from your lips as he fixes you with a look, “You’re not in control tonight, mon bijou, I’ll stop if you try to take over. You got that?” It’s sobering to see him take control in such a way, you sweet little Charles. Usually, he has no problem just laying back and letting you take all the control, or even just making you believe you do. But now? With the way he’s looking at you with such hunger? You know you’d be soaking through your underwear if you weren’t so wet for him already. All you can do is offer him a meek nod, with your lips hanging open in shock, but he is not satisfied with your answer. No, he needs to hear you say the words. So, being the initiative person that he his, he tips at your skin again, this time earning himself a whimper along a grumble about how he’s being unreasonable. He isn’t, but that’s a topic to discuss another time, he decides. “I said, you got that?”
“Yes! Fine, yes!” You whine, grabbing your dress even tighter with your fist that isn’t buried in his hair, “Please just make me come.”
“See?” He asks, flashing you a sweet smile as he lowers his face back onto where you need him the most, “It wasn’t that hard now, is it?” The grumble about how he’s about to be the hard one, makes him chuckle to himself, the rumbling from it making you moan his name as he finally gives you what you want. His tongue works fast as he laps on the wetness through your underwear, soaking the material even more without a care in the world. If you weren’t wet before, you’re sure you’re definitely wet as he drags his tongue through your slit and back onto your clit to suck it through the fabric, causing you to let out a string of moans, each getting considerably louder as he works on your cunt.
The breath is knocked out of your lungs as the moments pass, as you become closer and closer to your impending release. You don’t even notice the fact that you’ve started to move your hips to match the rythym of his tongue, seeking something more to make you tip over the edge. You’re also very aware of the fact that Charles is letting you what you want to do, and though you’re scared out of you midn that he’ll stop like he threatened to do before, the little nod he gives you when you give him a pleading look assures you that he also wants you to come undone on his face.
Or so you’ve thought.
Because he knows your body so well that jus as you’re about to come he pulls back, leaving you high and dry, and even has the nerve to chuckle when he hears his name coming out of your mouth in a high pitched whine. You’re so lost in the moment that you almost miss the way he gently grabs your hands and removes them from his hair, pinning them above you and pushing you against the wall. “Why?” You whine, lips pushed out in a pout as your voice gets gradually whinier, “I was so close, Charles.”
“Oh, baby,” he cooes, “I know you were, I could feel it too.” He starts peppering your feverish skin with kisses, as if to say sorry for leaving you on the brink of an orgasm, and you find yourself arching your neck to expose more of your skin to his skillfull lips. You should stop him, some part of you screams to you in your head, because with the way he’s disguising the fact that he’s marking you with hickeys, but you don’t care at that moment. Your every breath and moan seem to motivate him to work faster, and harder, and when he eventually pulls back to leave a bruising kiss on your lips. A smirk finds its way onto his lips as he gives you an eyeing down, taking in how breathless you look. “Don’t worry, mon bijou, I’ll fuck you now, okay?”
You don’t even realise the nod you give him, too lost in his eyes to put words together to form a proper sentence. He’s gentle with you as he lets go of your hands and positions you the way he wants. With one of your legs wrapped around his hip he has better access to your soaked underwear, his fingers working quickly to pulling it aside. You don’t know when he managed to get himself free from his pants and underwear, but that doesn’t stop you from letting out a loud moan when you feel the tip of his cock circling your clit. “Please, please, please,” your voice cracks as you frantically beg him to do something more. You’d love nothing more than to scold him for the way he shushes you condescendingly, but any complaint you had evaporates when you feel him nudge your entrance. “Please,” you breathe out again, giving him pleading looks as you try to pull him closer somehow, “You promised me you’d fuck me.”
That manages to pull out a beathy chuckle for him, and as if he’s trying to console you, you feel his fingers gently caressing the skin of your hip. “Why don’t you do it yourself, hm?” A grin widens on his lips when you give him a look of confusion, and he leads one of your hands between your bodies for you to wrap it around his cock. “You want me inside you, right?” He rewards your tentative nod with a series of kisses down the column of your throat, “Come on then,” he mumbles into your skin, “put it in, pretty girl.” Exhaling a shaky breath, you keep your eyes on him as you guide him through your entrance. A gasp is torn from your lips when you feel his tip entering you, the initial stretch being more overwhelming because of the fact that you’re standing up. But Charles is quick to soothe you with his kisses down your neck, letting you control the rhythym and how further he can move inside you at first. With your hand making its way down to his hip, pressing him close to you, he quickly gets the message that you’re ready for him. “You’re ready?” He double-checks, raising his head to fix his eyes to yours.
“I swear to god if you don’t fuck me right now–” Your words are interrupted when you feel him move his hips back, just enough to have his tip inside you, and then he snaps his hips forward to thrust back in, making your breath hitch at the back of your throat. It doesn’t take very long for you to become a moaning mess, in fact, you’re more than ready to fall apart for him then and there, but you know he won’t let you until he gets his point across.   
“Look at you, mon bijou,” Charles darkly chuckles, hips matching the rhythym of the song playing outside at the dance floor, “what would people think if they saw you being such a mess for me in a club’s bathroom?” And the whine you let out in response to his question nothing if pathethic, but you can’t find it in you to care because of how good he’s making you feel. “Yes?” He prompts you, mocking the whiny ‘Yes’, that leaves your mouth before you start begging him to let you come. But he doesn’t, because he knows you can hold it until he’s ready for you too, and he tells you just that.
“So good, Charlie, so good,” you can’t help the broken moans you let out as he fucks you to the brink of an orgasm. But that is not enough for him, no. He needs everyone to know the two of you are together now, needs to get out all of his pent up frustrations out.
So when the opportunity presents itself with Lando knocking on the door asking if you are okay? A knowing smirk find its way onto his lips, and you try to silently plead with him with your eyes. “You want to cum?” He whispers in your ear, his thrusts becoming faster. “Say my name if you want to come, baby.”
“Please–” You gasp, hands grabbing the shirt he’s wearing. It’s no avail even if you try to keep your voice down. Because when Charles finds a way to slither his hand down between your legs and starts rubbing your clit in firm circles? You know there is no way you can stay quiet through your orgasm. “Why?” You manage to get out, “God, Charles please.”
“Tell me who’s making you feel so good, pretty girl.” He encourages you, his rhythym now almost brutal as he tries his best to make you come for him. “Come on, tell me who you belong to.” He chuckles darkly when he sees you shaking your head. “It’s not Lando, it’s me. You hear that?” Uh-huh, is the only answer he receives in return, but he is of course not satisfied with it. So, he gently pinches the inside of your thigh. “Tell me who’s going to make you come, or I’ll stop.”
“N-no!” You exclaim, too overwhelmed to see that his threat is an empty one, because he would never actually do something like that to you. “Please, please don’t stop.”
“Come on,” he cooes, the sweet words he whispers into your skin making you more and more malleable to his request. “Say my name baby, let me hear you.”
“Charles,” your loud moan cuts the heavy air in the bathroom. Cheeks flushed, breath unorganised and with that wild look in your eyes? There’s nothing Charles wouldn’t do for you. With every move of his hips, you moan his name louder, eventually tipping over the edge as he feels you squeezing his cock so tight that he almost loses himself then and there.
That’s not to say he doesn’t, of course. Because just as you’re about done with your orgasm, you feel him come inside you, chanting your name alongside mine, mine mine. It takes a long time for the both of you to get back to your senses, but he’s extremely gentle with you as he helps you down and fixes your underwear. You find yourself snuggling up to him when he eventually takes you into his arms after fixing his own clothing, nuzzling your nose to his neck. “You know, I think I like the jealous side of you.” You mumble, leaving a few kisses across his jaw.
“Yeah?” He asks, a breathy chuckle leaving him as he cradles your face with both of his hands, his thumbs caressing the apples of your cheeks.
“Yeah.” You nod, giving him a small smile, “But I need you to take me home, please, I can feel your cum dripping down my leg.”
“Oh baby,” he coos, tutting as he slides his hands down your body to grab you by the waist, “we’re not going home, it would be rude to leave our friends by themselves. Don’t you think so?” The flabbergasted look that you give him makes another chuckle come from his lips as he slowly turns you towards the door. His lips find the junction between your neck and shoulder again as he announces, “We’re going to go back out there, and we’re going to dance. We wouldn’t want you to miss your song now, would we?”
And when he opens the bathroom door and you hear the first words to a Rihanna song you love? You know it’s going to be a long night ahead of you.
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daily-basil · 23 days
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Basil in denial giving a presentation to his friends as to why he isn't actually gay(he is), with all of them looking at Basil unimpressed.
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Guys I swear, he's just european !!
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freedomfireflies · 1 month
Text
Insufferable You*
Summary: The third part to Infinite You*
The one where Harry is still in an open relationship with your best friend, so maybe it's time to remind him what he's missing.
Word Count: 7.3k
Content Warning: 18+, smut, edging, spanking, brief exhibitionism, sir kink, masturbation, brief choking
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“Kitten…what are you doing?”
Your whimpers are airy. Light. A string of breathless pleas woven between the soft sounds of your fingers fucking into your cunt. And you can’t answer his question. Can’t find the strength to pull yourself away from the pleasure between your thighs.
“Kitten,” he asks again and it’s firm. “Talk to me.”
He’s panting through his request and the sound—the image in your head of the way he must look, fucking his fist to the melody of your voice almost hurts you.
“I’m…I’m playing with my clit,” you answer. He groans. “Just like you do.”
“Just like me, hm?” He curses on his end of the phone and your legs shake. “How?”
“M’pinching it,” you tell him. “And pulling it. The way you like.”
His noises are louder. Needier. He must like the image in his head, too. “God, I’d give anything to see it, baby. Give fucking anything to watch you touch yourself for me.”
Anything. Anything. You shiver. “Yeah? You’d watch me?”
“Mhm.” He’s getting closer and you don’t want this to end. “Sit there on my knees and take every drop in my mouth when you’re done.”
Your hips buck up and your fingers sink deeper. He ruins you even when he’s not here. “I know,” you whisper. Your eyes squeeze shut. “And I’d let you.”
He makes a sound that might be a laugh but could be a strained moan. You aren’t sure. But you don’t really care because it’s beautiful, no matter what it is. “Kitten,” he exhales and your insides twist. “I need you to cum for me, okay? I need to hear you. God, I need to fucking hear you, baby, let me. Come on—”
There’s something in the way he speaks. Like he’s just woken up. Rough and low and thick. He sounds like sex and you miss hearing it in person. But you were desperate—you had to call him. You had to hear him talk you through this moment and you’re so glad you did.
When you cum, it’s everything. Perhaps not as satisfying as when it’s with him, but still euphoric. And your whimpers of pleasure are what send him over the edge.
The phone fills with the sounds of your ecstasy and you wish you could record the way he moans your name. You wish you could bottle this feeling and get drunk on the way he adores you. 
Instead, you indulge in the few moments you have with him. Because you know they won’t last much longer.
“That was good,” you tell him breathlessly and he chuckles. “How are you so good at that? Even over the phone?”
“Could ask you the same thing. Now I’ve got a sticky hand and nobody to clean it up.”
You pout. “Stop, don’t tell me that. It’s not fair.”
He laughs again. “Sorry, Kitten. Couldn’t help it. You all right? You feel better?”
“I do. Thank you for letting me call you.”
“Always.”
Your heart skips. “So…what are you up to today?”
There’s a pause. A long pause and you know what he’s going to say even before he says it. “Rebecca and I are running some errands.”
“Oh.” Oh. Your throat goes dry. “Right…sorry, I’m…you probably need to go, don’t you?”
Another pause. “In a bit,” he says. “After I make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” you say far too quickly. And far too obviously forced. “Yeah, no, I’m…duh. Obviously I’m okay now. After…yeah. Okay, sorry. You can…I’ll talk to you later—"
“Kitten.”
You stop. “What? I’m…I’m letting you go—”
“Don’t. I want to talk to you a little longer.”
“But you’re busy—”
“It can wait.”
Swallowing, you whisper, “Harry, I’m…I’m just saying—”
“So am I.” He’s firm again. “Don’t do that. Don’t send me away because of her. We can talk. I promise.”
Your eyes squeeze shut. You force the tears back. Why does orgasming make you so emotional? “I know, I just…she’s there, isn’t she?”
Another beat. “Not in the room.”
“But she’s there. In the apartment. Near you.”
“Yes.”
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “See, that’s…that’s why I’m letting you go. So you can be with her. Okay? I’ll talk to you later—”
“Kitten.”
“Harry.” You huff if only to make yourself sound stronger than you feel. “I’m okay. You can go.”
“You’re not okay. You’re sad.”
“I’m…no, I’m not sad, I’m just…I’m tired. I came really hard.”
“I know you.”
“Well…you don’t know me that well. Cause I’m fine.”
“Baby—”
“Just go,” you insist. “I promise I’m okay as long as you are. I shouldn’t have called so early anyway, that was…I’m sorry. That was my mistake—”
“You can call when she’s here, you know that—”
“But I don’t want to.”
Another long pause that feels like an eternity. “Okay,” he finally murmurs and you pull the phone away to take in a shaky breath. “But I want your honesty. Okay?”
“Sure.”
“Are you really okay?”
Truthfully, you don’t know. “Yeah, I’m fine. Swear. Thanks for helping me. I’ll talk to you later?”
“You will,” he agrees. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Rebecca’s dinner.”
Fuck. You forgot. “Oh…right—”
“You’ll be there. Right?”
It doesn’t really feel like you have a choice. “I…I don’t know yet, I might be busy—”
“You’re not.”
“You don’t know that. I could have plans.”
“You do. With us.”
Us. Your nose scrunches. “I mean other plans—”
“You don’t.”
“I might—”
“You don’t. If you did, I’d know.”
“Well, that’s presumptuous.”
“Maybe, but it’s true. Because you talk to me. When I ask you a question, you answer honestly. You’re a good girl. I know you.”
Your chest feels tight again. “Well, I don’t tell you everything.”
“You should.”
“You don’t tell me.”
“Because you don’t ask.”
He’s right. You never ask him anything personal because honestly, you’re afraid of what he’ll say.
“Fine,” you agree. “I’ll be there. Are we done?”
He waits a moment before saying, “We’re not done. We’ll discuss this later. But for right now, yes.”
And even if he sounds a bit strict, you can’t help smiling. “Yes, Sir.”
“Mm. That’s my girl. Take it easy today, all right?”
“I will.”
“Good. See you tomorrow, Kitten.”
“Goodbye, Sir.”
He chuckles and you hang up and even despite everything else…you can’t help but grin.
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“Oh, my god. He does. Every time. He’s got such a weird thing with feet.”
You laugh. “It wasn’t so bad at first. But then he got a little too comfortable—”
“No, he does that. He really does.” Rebecca smirks as she throws the freshly chopped carrots into her pot. “And it started out cute, but now…”
You both glance into the living room where Harry is relaxing on the sofa. He’s smiling as he watches the two of you work on the food and even if he can’t hear you, he must know you’re talking about him.
“It’s still cute,” you argue in his defense. “Gross…but cute.”
She laughs. “Yeah, I guess he can be cute when he wants to be.”
You grin together and this feels good. You’ve missed your friend. You’ve missed having someone to laugh with, gossip with. And maybe it was strange at first, to come into their apartment and talk to your best friend about sleeping with her boyfriend.
But after a minute or two, you settled right back into the familiar rhythm of your friendship. And it almost felt…normal. 
“Has he done the thing where his left leg starts to shake when he gets overstimulated?” she asks and you nearly snort. 
“Oh, my god. Yes. The other day. I thought he was having a heart attack.”
“It’s the funniest thing. It just started, too. Couple years ago. He swears it doesn’t but like…I can see it.”
“It’s quite the tell,” you agree and you can’t help the way your eyes drift back to where he’s lounging on the sofa.
He notices and smirks at you.
“What?” you call.
He shrugs. “Nothing. You girls are cute, that’s all.”
“Bite me,” Rebecca says and he chuckles. “We’re not cute. We’re hot.”
“Absolutely,” he agrees. He leans forward. “Let me guess. You’re telling her about the leg thing?”
“Yup. And I was right,” she says smugly. “She sees it, too.”
His eyes roll but he smiles at you. “It’s not that bad—”
“No, it is,” she argues. “You look like a dog. A very cute dog, but still.”
He laughs a little louder and you’re almost jealous of their dynamic. A dynamic you’ve been witness to for almost five years. And it’s never made you jealous before.
But now…
She puts the soup on simmer and grabs your hand to lead you to the living room. “I told you we were gonna gossip about you,” she reminds him. “All good things, don’t worry.”
“I’m sure.” He smiles at you both as you take a seat on the sofa. She flops down right beside him while you cautiously sit on the other end. Exactly where you’d been that first day you agreed to this arrangement. “This is nice,” he says.
She hums. “Yeah, it feels like old times.” She glances toward you. “And it’s not weird…is it? I mean, you feel okay?”
Feeling a little hot under the spotlight, you swallow and force a quick shake of your head. “No, this is…it’s good. This is fun.”
However, she knows you better than anyone and her brows pull together as she studies you. “Do you have any questions? Or anything we can clear up?”
“Uh…I don’t know.” Truthfully, you don’t want to ask. “Is it…is it weird for you guys?”
They both shake their heads, almost as if in sync, and you resist the urge to scrunch your nose.
“Do you…have any regrets?”
“No,” she says and Harry agrees. “None. Do you?”
“No,” you echo. “No, I just…I don’t know. This still kind of feels like cheating.”
They exchange a glance and your heart skips. You’re even jealous of the way they look at each other.
“Rebecca and I have always agreed that whatever the other decides to do is their business,” Harry says. “As long as we communicate, there's freedom there. No judgment, no expectations, no regret.”
“And no jealousy,” she adds, offering you a soft smile. “Or shame. Or anything like that.”
You nod and pick at a loose string on your jeans. “And are you two…I mean do you still…”
“No,” she assures you and you’re thankful she figured out what you meant. “No, we haven’t in a few weeks.”
“Oh…because of me?”
She shakes her head while Harry says, “Not entirely. Most of it is for safety reasons. Keeping things clean and respectful. But it’s also one of our rules.”
“Rules?”
“We have a few rules we like to follow,” she explains. “It just makes it easier. Sometimes it can be tricky and this helps keep us on the same page.”
“And no sex is one of them?”
“Kind of. We don’t sleep together if one of us is seeing someone else. Well, no penetration, anyway.”
You hate the way your stomach sinks. “Oh. And…do you date other people…a lot?”
He looks over at her and she thinks. “Not…really?” she says. “I don’t think, anyway.”
“Jack was the last guy you were with, right?” Harry asks and she snaps her fingers.
“Jack. Right. Yeah. He was cute. And then yours was…Angie? I think?”
He nods. “Last year.”
“She was nice.”
“She was…sure. Yeah. She was nice.”
Rebecca laughs and he grins proudly, happy to have made her laugh. Your nose scrunches.
“She wasn’t that bad,” Rebecca argues. “She was just put in a weird position.”
“Literally and figuratively.”
She smacks his arm playfully and he pinches her thigh. You want to look away. 
“Either way,” she finally says, “we don’t very often. And I don’t think of it as cheating. Especially not with you. Because I know he’s a good partner and I know that you deserve someone as kind as he is.” 
He gives her a grateful grin before returning his attention to you. “We can stop if you want. Because I agree with Bex. I wouldn’t want to lose you as my friend and if you feel pressured or unsure—”
“I don’t,” you nearly rush to argue. “No, I don’t, I…I’m just really struggling with the dynamics of it. I guess.”
“Trust me, I get it,” she says gently. “It was a bit of a learning curve for us, too. Harry can get incredibly jealous.”
You’re tempted to tell her that you already know but you watch his reaction instead.
His eyes roll but then his stare returns to you and he winks, as though he’s recalling the same memory you are. 
It makes your skin feel warm.
“Oop, hold on. I gotta check the soup,” Rebecca suddenly exclaims before jumping off the sofa to rush back to the kitchen.
And now left alone together, your attention is drawn back to the tall, handsome man you can already feel staring at you.
“Any more questions?” he asks softly. He leans forward and places his elbows on his knees and somehow, even that makes you feel safer. 
“Just one,” you murmur and he nods. “Does this mean you and I are…dating? Or are we just fucking until I can find somebody else?”
There’s a slight edge in your voice that you hadn’t meant to be there, but he picks up on it instantly.
“Are you looking for somebody else?” he asks.
“Not really. But this whole thing started because you both felt bad for me,” you remind him. “And it’s been a lot of fun. Honestly. But you are kind of on loan. I just…I’m not sure what this makes our situation. If we’re just fucking…or more.”
He takes a moment to think about his answer, eyes flicking between yours almost as though studying you. “Would you like there to be more?”
You bite back huff. He’s very good at redirecting. “I don’t know. Would you?”
“I think more can get complicated.”
Your feel your expression fall. “Right.”
“And I don’t want to lose you from my life for good,” he continues. “You know that. Neither of us want to lose you—”
“Right, yeah. It’s fine. Forget I asked.”
He’s frowning now. “Kitten, don’t do that—”
“No, really,” you argue. “It’s fine. You’re right. Let’s just keep it like this until I can find somebody else.”
The frown turns into a glare. “Kitten—”
“Okay, soup is almost done,” Rebecca announces as she returns. This time she sits next to you and throws an arm around your shoulder. “What did I miss?”
The tension is palpable. You speak first. “I was just telling Harry that I might not need his services much longer.”
Rebecca’s eyebrows raise while Harry’s scowl deepens.
“Oh?” she asks.
You nod. “Well, seeing as we don’t want to do anything to ruin the friendship…I thought I’d give Ethan a call.”
It’s mean and perhaps a bit cruel, but you can’t help yourself. You aren’t trying to hurt him. Because he is right. And don’t want to lose him for good, either, and all this evening has truly done is prove how close he and Rebecca actually are.
You’ll never be able to compete with five years of love and affection. And maybe you don’t want to.
Maybe it’s time to move on.
“Ethan?” Harry repeats while Rebecca perks up.
“Yes,” she squeals excitedly. “Oh, I was hoping you would. He’s so nice, I think you guys would be perfect together.”
“Yeah,” you agree with a pointed look at Harry. “I think so, too.”
He knows what you’re doing. You can tell. And he’s oddly calm as he leans against the cushions and tosses his arms over the back of the couch. “And who the fuck is this Ethan?”
“Guy from my work,” you answer, equally as calm. “Nice. He’s been asking me out for a while.”
“A while.”
“Yeah, a while.”
His brows furrow. “So why do you want to go out with him now?”
“I don’t know.” You shrug. “He was never really my type before but we’ve gotten closer recently. I think it’s only fair I give him a real chance.”
“Really?” He’s curious. Maybe skeptical. “Now?”
You nod. “That way the three of us can preserve our friendship. Since that is the most important thing.”
“Well, I think it’s a great idea,” Rebecca tells you and hugs you to her side. “You’ll have to let us know how it goes.”
You grin and it’s all teeth. “I will.”
Dinner is nice. Tense but nice. You and Harry spend a majority of the meal exchanging icy glances and keeping to yourselves, leaving Rebecca to do most of the conversing.
And she doesn’t seem to notice. That or she merely pretends not to. She catches you up on some drama at work. Teases Harry about his sleep talking. Says she’s planning to visit her parents in a few weeks and then gives you the recipe for the soup.
And you and Harry nod politely, despite the unspoken rage from your ends of the table.
When dinner is finished, Harry offers to clean up and do the dishes. She kisses him on the cheek gratefully and says she’s gonna go take a quick shower since she’s got an early day tomorrow. She tells you that you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like and then she hugs you tightly and whispers, “I’m so glad we’re still friends.”
You hug her back and agree.
The moment she’s gone, Harry sets down his sponge and turns to you. “Come here.”
You hesitate by the front door, itching to escape. But he’s firm as he watches you from the sink, eyebrow raised and jaw clenched, leaving you no choice but to listen.
“Kitten,” he repeats. Lower. Sterner. “Come. Here.”
You take a tentative step toward him. “What?”
“We need to talk.”
“Do we?”
“Kitten.”
You huff and throw your purse back down. “I really don’t think we need to—”
“I don’t care what you think. I’m telling you that we’re gonna have a chat and you’re gonna come in here like a good fucking girl and talk to me.”
This is how he gets you. This is how he pulls your strings and turns you around until you obediently join him in the kitchen. Like a good fucking girl.
Satisfied, he leans back against the counter. “Now. What’s this Ethan shit you pulled?”
“It’s not shit, it’s real,” you huff. “He really did ask me out and I really am going to say yes.”
“But you haven’t yet.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I told you. He wasn’t my type—”
“No, I want the real answer.”
You frown. “That is the real answer—”
“No,” he repeats. “It’s not. And you know it.”
You cross your arms and look down at your shoes. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. He wasn’t my type but now he is.”
The argument lulls and the small kitchen falls silent. You hear him sigh and it almost hurts to hear how heavy his disappointment hangs.
But a moment later, he’s slipping his fingers beneath your chin and raising your eyes to his. They’re soft. Serene. Filled with everything he can’t seem to find the words to say and you hate how quickly your body begins to crave him.
“You aren’t being honest with me, baby,” he murmurs. Your lashes flutter. “You aren’t communicating with me. And I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” you say and he sighs like he knows this is a lie. “Really, I just…I know myself. If I don’t put a bit of distance between us…I don’t think I’ll ever be able to breathe on my own.”
This makes him sad and it hurts you to know you’ve made him sad. “Kitten,” he whispers. He steps closer until his chest is brushing against yours. “If I’m doing something wrong—”
“You’re not. That’s the problem.” You swallow and he brushes his thumb along your jaw. “You’re doing everything right and I’m worried I’m gonna want you in ways that I shouldn’t.”
“Do you not want to want me?”
“Not…like that,” you admit. “Not when you’re still hers.”
He frowns. “I told you, you don’t have to worry about anyone else—”
“But I do. Because at the end of the day, you’re still her Harry. You’re on loan to me until one of you decides you shouldn’t be anymore—”
“Kitten—”
“And I can’t be with you in any way but physically. You said so yourself. More would get complicated and even if you wanted to be with me…I don’t think I could share you.”
 He considers this. A long moment passes. “So you’re punishing me,” he says. “You’re going out with this Ethan guy to prove that you don’t need me.”
“What? No.” You lean back but he doesn’t let go of your chin. “I mean…okay, maybe I wanted to piss you off a little but I really do think I need to be with someone else in order to truly move on. I’m not punishing you. I’m…obeying you. If anything.”
He scoffs. “If you really wanted to obey me, you would have talked to me about what you were feeling.”
“I tried. You said more would get complicated.”
“It could. There’s always that risk. But I never said it wouldn’t be worth it.”
“So…what? You’d date me?”
“Of course.”
The answer is quick and it surprises you but it doesn’t seem to surprise him.
You blink. “You…really? You would date me? Like…officially?”
“I would.”
“And…what about Rebecca?”
“What about her?”
“You’d…you’d still be with her? Right? Even if we were together?”
He seems to know what you’re implying and sighs quietly. “Yes. I would.”
“And even if you weren’t…I’m assuming you would still want to be in an open relationship with me?”
Another pause. “Probably,” he admits, and even if you knew it was coming, you can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes. “That’s just the agreement I’ve always felt most comfortable with—”
“And that’s fine. I get it,” you assure him. You sniffle and he seems to wilt. “Really. I just…like I said, I don’t do well with sharing and if…if all we’re doing is fucking, I might as well just find somebody else, right? So that way the three of us can stay friends. And it doesn’t have to get weird.”
“I understand,” he says and you know he does. “I do, Kitten. And I would never keep you in a relationship you’re not comfortable in.” A beat. “But I can’t say that I like the idea of you going out with this guy.”
You smile. Gently. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
He looks down at you and takes your cheek in his hand. “You’re my girl,” he says. “No matter what. If you’re with me or not with me. You’re my fucking girl. And he doesn’t deserve even a second of your time.”
You fight a large grin and cling to his shirt. “You can’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“Because.” You play with his buttons. “You don’t get to be jealous when you’re still with her.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna like seeing you with someone else.”
You pout. “That’s not fair, Harry.”
“I know.” He brings his lips to yours. They hover—close—but never make contact. “I can’t help it. Can’t ever seem to help it when it comes to you.”
You want to push up and take his kiss, but he teases you just a little longer. “Harry—”
“Do you know that, Kitten?” His hands drop to your waist and he squeezes. Even though Rebecca is only two rooms away. Even though you can hear her humming in the bath. Even though he can never be yours. “Do you know how much I think about you?”
You swallow. Thick.
“How I think about the way you asked me to take care of you…” He ghosts his mouth down your neck. “The way you begged me to be rough….to spank you. Choke you. Degrade you.”
His voice is a sin and your eyes fall shut.
“Do you want me to degrade you, baby?” His fingers slip beneath your shirt. “Do you want me to pull you on my lap and spank you until you’re crying?”
The image in your head is somehow even better than his taunting. Your knees about buckle. “Harry…”
“You can find somebody else if you want to,” he whispers. “But do you really think they’ll be able to care of you the way I do? The way you want? The way you deserve?” 
His kisses find your chest while his knee slots between your thighs.
“I know how naughty you really are, baby girl,” he says and it’s over. “He will never know.” 
You grab his hair and he grabs your hips and you’re on the counter before you can even whisper his name. He pushes the hem of your dress up and guides your legs apart. He makes a home there, finger curling around the crotch of your panties in order to get a taste and it’s magic. Always.
And he does this to you only a few hundred feet away from where his girlfriend is innocently taking a shower. He does this, knowing she could walk out and see. He does this and you let him do this because there is no world in which you stop him.
“Harry,” you say—whimper—and he hums. His tongue licks up your cunt and your head drops back. “Har—wait—”
He doesn’t. He holds your thighs beside his cheeks and he sucks on your clit until you begin to squirm. “You promised to stay for dessert,” he says. “This is my dessert.”
The sounds are loud and beautiful and his curls feel good in your hands. You feel good in his.
Things fall to the ground. Bowls, pots, containers. He grins. He likes this, the danger. And he knows you like it, too. Because if you really wanted him to stop, he would. 
But you don’t. And you yank him closer to your pussy as though this will be the last time he ever gets a taste.
And deep down, you wonder if it is.
Either way, you enjoy his tongue and his lips and the tip of his nose that nudges your clit so expertly. You wonder how it’s possible to be so addicted to a man you’re not even with. A man that only recently started fucking you and a man that you’ve only ever considered a friend.
Part of you wants to get caught. Part of you wants things to implode. To believe that he’s doing this because he wants her to find out. Because what would happen if she saw? What would happen if he realized he wanted to end things? Would he be yours? Would he decide that your time and your heart and your pussy were infinitely more important than his sexual prowess?
You scrunch your nose. These are all the wrong questions. Harry doesn’t work like that. He never has and you can’t expect something from him that he won’t ever give you.
You return your focus to him. To the way his large hands are curling around your thighs and hoisting them up on the counter. You love his hands. You think they might be your favorite hands in the world.
They’re so gentle but strong. Practiced. You know they’d look good anywhere on your body. Your thighs, your chest, your throat…
You whimper at the thought and he glances up. He’s proud again. Drenched in your arousal and the evidence of your lust for him.
He moves his mouth to the inside of your leg and nips. He leaves marks and memories along the soft skin and you can’t wait to stare at them whenever he’s not around. The way he makes you his in the only way he can.
And you’re so close. You aren’t even sure how he got you here so quickly but he always seems to. And you don’t mind. Instead, you fist his hair and you buck against his tongue and he’s going to make you cum all over his girlfriend’s kitchen counter.
And then he stops.
He stops, he lets you go, and he pulls away.
Your heart drops to your toes as the orgasm fizzles down to nothing. “What…what are you—"
“Get down,” he says curtly. He slaps your outer thigh. “We’re leaving.”
He doesn’t tell you where you’re going. And you don’t ask. Instead, you watch as he wipes his mouth and disappears from the kitchen to wait by the front door.
After straightening your dress and readjusting your underwear, you scurry to his side with a fretful glance toward the bathroom. “Shouldn’t you tell her you’re going?”
He smiles. “She’ll figure it out.”
With that, you leave their apartment so he can take you back to your place and he keeps his hand on your thigh the whole drive. You wonder if he merely wants to keep some sort of claim on you or if it’s habit. 
Either way, his thumb rubs circles into your skin, right over the dark spots made by his lips and you smile. You want to lace your fingers with his. Want to hold his hand and pretend like the two of you are on your way home from a date. To pretend like this is normal—an everyday occurrence.
But you lose your nerve and soon, he’s pulling into the parking lot.  
“I want you upstairs,” he says and gives you a pointed look. “On the bed. Naked. And waiting for me by the time I come up.”
You nod quickly. “Okay. Are…am I in trouble—”
“That depends on if you obey.” He unlocks the door. “So let’s hope you do.”
Swallowing a giddy grin, you scurry from the vehicle and into your building. You don’t bother with tidying up or adjusting your appearance. You run straight into your bedroom, rip off your clothes, and spread out into a starfish position on the bed.
You hear him follow not much later. Slow, deliberate steps. Meant to taunt you, tease you. Make your stomach flip. And it works.
When you see his tall, muscular figure in the doorway, your pulse skips.
Smiling, you call, “Hi, Sir—”
“No speaking,” he says shortly. “Unless I say otherwise. Is that understood?”
“Yes—no—sorry, I’m…” You stop. Nod. 
He frowns but you know it’s only to hide a smirk. “Don’t test me, Kitten. You’ve already done that enough this evening, have you not?”
Another nod.
“And you knew better, didn’t you?” He walks into the room and begins to unzip his jeans. “Knew better than to dangle fucking Ethan in my face.”
You nod again but your eyes are trained on his hands. On the fingers that pull the hem of his shirt up and over his head.
“And you fucking knew…that if I got a taste of such a sweet pussy…I’d never stop,” he murmurs. He crawls onto the bed, wearing nothing more than his briefs. “That I’d forgive you. And let you off the hook.”
You don’t nod this time. You can’t. You’re too far gone in the lust in his eyes. The gentle green that’s now dangerous and luring you in.
“Well,” he whispers and then he smiles. “You thought wrong.”
He grabs your thighs and flips you over. Before you know it, you’re on your stomach, head spinning, while a large palm comes down in a sharp smack to your ass.
You jolt. Shriek. 
“Easy,” he says and he’s kinder now. “You’re gonna take your punishment like a good little whore, aren’t you?”
Now you understand. You see. And you settle onto the bed as he smooths the stinging print with the soft of his hand. 
You nod.
“Good.” He spanks you again. “I think we should do one for every time you lied to me. For every time I asked for the truth…and you refused to give it to me.”
Your lashes flutter. You suppose that’s only fair, although in your defense, the truth would have only hurt him.
“Let’s see…we’ll start with five,” he says and you exhale a sigh of relief. “Because I know you don’t mean to be a bad girl, do you?”
You whimper.
“You want to be good. Want to behave for me.” He spanks you. Number three. “You want a lot of things from me, don’t you? And maybe I’m bad, too. For not being able to give them to you.”
The air in the room shifts and you attempt to glance back.
However, he lays another firm smack to your ass before you can and then squeezes your hip. “Come on, you’re almost done,” he coos. A beat passes. “Do you remember me mentioning the traffic light system?”
You nod.
“Red for stop, yellow for pause, green for good, keep going?”
Nod.
“Good. Then I want you to use your words and tell me what color you are right now. Honestly.”
“Green,” you whisper, then clear your throat and speak louder. “I’m green. Honestly.”
He hums. “And you’re gonna take your last strike, yes?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And you’re gonna thank me for being so generous to such a selfish fucking whore?”
Your cheeks flush. Oh, he’s very good. “Yes, Sir.”
You still can’t see him but you can imagine his grin.
The last spank of his hand lands against your tender skin and somehow…it feels good. There’s something delicious about his pain. About the way he inflicts it. The way your body responds to it.
You groan—moan—and finally manage, “Thank you, Sir.”
He purrs something devious as he strokes the spot and begins to kiss his way up your spine. “Good fucking girl,” he breathes. The exhale of his praise dances across your back and you shiver. “Took your punishment so well. Wasn’t so bad, was it? Bet you even fucking liked, dirty thing. Didn’t you?”
You nod again and feel his knee begin to nudge its way back between your thighs. 
“Let’s check, shall we?” His fingers move now for the mess you already know is there. And when he feels it, he curses. “Fucking shit, Kitten, you’re soaked.”
You are. You are soaked and you’re making a mess of your duvet and his knee and he still hasn’t let you cum yet and you think you might die if he waits any longer. 
“Harry,” you nearly cry. “Please…please…”
He brings his kisses to the back of your neck. To the place below your ear that makes your stomach flip. He kisses. Sucks. Nips and violates the skin with his teeth.
“Okay,” he agrees. “Okay, but only because I know you need it.”
You nod again and begin to turn over. He goes to stop you—he wants to try from behind—but you insist.
“I want to see your face,” you say. “Please, I just…I need that tonight.”
The softness in his eyes and the fall of his expression almost hurts you. You don’t want to cause him pain or confusion. Ever.
But he’s not confused. He understands. And he agrees because maybe he needs it, too.
You pull him out of his briefs and he hikes your leg around his hip. Until the heel of your foot is digging into his ass and pulling him forward.
When he first pushes in, you both take a moment of silence to appreciate the beauty of your bodies connecting.
Harry was once your best friend and now he’s something else entirely. A completely different entity and you never imagined you’d see his cock disappearing into your cunt but now you don’t want to imagine his cock anywhere else.
When he’s about halfway in, he pulls back out and begins a steady pace. He’s large and he knows you need a moment or two to find the pleasure before he picks up a faster rhythm. So, he puts the focus on you. On your clit, on your thighs, on the way his lips feel against yours.
He kisses you—soft, sweet. Gentle. And then he kisses your neck. Your chest. Plays with your tits and whispers about how good they feel in his hand.
Then, he buries himself to the hilt as his hips find yours.
You arch and he catches you. There are more kisses, more soft murmurings. And there’s an intimacy here that doesn’t feel like sex. It feels like making love, a term you once scoffed at but now indulge in. Because maybe he does love you, in the only way he knows how. Maybe he does choose your body over hers. Maybe this was the best thing that ever could have happened to you. 
You grab his hand and bring it to your throat. Pointed enough that he knows what you want and after a quick glance for consent…he squeezes.
Your lashes flutter and you press on his knuckles. Harder. He obeys.
And you were right. His hand does look good on your body. A necklace to wear proudly and he whispers your name before tightening his grip and allowing the sides of your sanity to go fuzzy before loosening his fingers. 
You breathe. Deep. The air tastes like him and you love it.
He smiles. “You okay?”
“More than okay. That was…shit, I really like that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Probably cause you’re doing it.”
He uses this hold to kiss you and it’s a mess of tongues and spit and loud sucking. It makes you giggle.
“You’re making this very hard for me,” he suddenly whispers.
“Well, I prefer you hard.”
He smirks, but this is not what he means. “I want this to work.”
“I know. I do, too.”
He surges forward—a sharp thrust. “It can’t work if Ethan’s in the picture.”
Oh. “Why? Because you need room for Rebecca?”
He sighs and you hate how sad it sounds. “I know I’m not being fair—”
“You’re not.”
“I can’t help it—”
“Well, neither can I.”
He stops for a moment and looks at you. “You have every right to go out with him. I know that. But I think I’ll lose my fucking mind if you do.” He continues to roll his body against yours and you want to purr. “So I want to make a deal.”
“Okay…”
“If you go out with Ethan, you go out with me,” he says. “If you date him, you date me. And I’ll play nice. I’ll share. But only until you realize he’s a waste of time.
You run your fingers along his shoulders. Along his back. Along the curve of his ass. You think about his proposition. It sounds good, it does. A way to keep him while also keeping your options open. 
Because maybe this way, it won’t hurt so much when he still goes home to her.
“Can I think about it?” you ask. 
He kisses you. “Of course. Always.”
You resume the languid but fervent pace he previously set. He squeezes your neck whenever he wants to hear you whimper and you scratch your nails down his spine whenever you want him to groan.
And it’s perfect. Truly. Because while you’re on this date with Ethan, he’ll be able to see the marks Harry left on your throat.
And when Harry goes back to Rebecca, she’ll see the scratches down his back made by your hands.
You can’t help but feel satisfied with the idea and it brings you that much closer as Harry presses your hips to the bed and begins to fuck into you harder.
He readjusts his stance above you, knees deep into the mattress and hands clutching the sheets beside your waist. And every thrust is purposeful. Hard. Beautiful. The sounds are symphonic and when you look down to see, you nearly mewl. The way his cock is absolutely fucking covered in you, slipping in and out of your cunt with ease and determination. 
He’s beautiful when he’s focused. When he’s about to cum. You just want to kiss him and hold him and love him and be his.
And you fucking hate it.
“Need you to cum, baby,” he whispers and you nod in agreement. “Can you do that?”
“Yes….yes, Sir,” you stammer, already feeling the overwhelming power creep up your thighs. “I’m…I—”
“I know. I know, come on—”
You do. Just like that. Unravel like a spool of thread and dissolve into nothing but pleasure beneath him.
But you don’t feel him follow. In fact, he continues fucking you through your high until he suddenly pulls out and comes all over your swollen pussy.
It’s the most mesmerizing thing you think you’ve ever seen. The sticky substance paints your cunt in masterful strokes. Glistening from your body, your clit, your thighs like stars.
And you want to be disappointed that he didn’t finish inside but soon you understand why.
He takes your hand. Moves it closer and presses your fingers into the mess. 
“Touch it,” he whispers. “Fuck it back in.”
Your eyes widen. He smiles but the look in his eye is mischievous and deranged.
“Go on, Kitten,” he says. “I wanna watch.”
Your arms are shaking. In fact, every part of you is still shaking from your orgasm but you obey. You slowly—very slowly—begin to circle your touch around your clit. Feeling the way it nearly throbs as you stimulate it. As you force it into more pleasure.
Harry’s attention is glued to the show before him as he swallows thickly and you swear you can almost see his heart beating against his chest like a cartoon.
You move down. Collect as many drops of him as you can and slowly begin to ease two fingers into your fluttering hole.
When you reach the knuckle, you gasp and he exhales. 
It’s perfect.
He scoots back until he can lay on his stomach and place his cheek against your thigh. Close. Close enough that you can feel his breath fan across your hand.
And he watches. Happy. A lazy smile on those beautiful, pink lips. Lashes fluttering every time you whimper or whine.
“I…I can’t,” you whisper. The sensations are too strong. You’ve already cum once, you can’t possibly cum again so soon.
He hums. “Yes, you can. Let me see, baby. Let me watch.”
And you almost want to be embarrassed but something else seems to take over your mind entirely and you can’t help but go faster.
You pinch and curl and flex. You push his offering as far into you as you can reach and then you push in a little more. And it’s easier this time, even if it almost hurts. But you cum. You do, right in front of his very eyes until he’s quickly grabbing hold of you as though he’s desperate to be closer.
You’re more than a puddle this time. You’re practically limp but you’re also so incredibly happy. And he smiles brightly as he pulls your fingers away and puts them in his mouth.
You don’t even have the energy to make a noise this time. You merely watch him—content—until he starts kissing down your palm, along your arm, and to your chest.
Then, he pulls you into his embrace and you both indulge in a moment of peace. 
You’re both quiet for a while. Even after your heartbeat has steadied. Even after the sweat on your skin has dried and the room no longer feels so warm. 
You run your fingers down his torso. Along the dips and curves of his muscles that seem more defined every time you see him. 
“You’re insufferable,” you finally say and he laughs. The sound bounces between the walls of your room—joyous and unencumbered—and it makes you giddy. He doesn’t laugh like this for her. “What? You are.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Another beat. Longer.
Then, you whisper, “Okay.”
He looks down. “Okay?”
“I’ll agree to your deal.”
“Really?” He’s grinning again. Big.
“Mhm. As long as I get to keep you in some way…maybe it’ll be worth it.”
He seems to sadden at the use of the word maybe, but he brushes it off before you can comment on it. Instead, he pulls you closer and kisses you hard. Forever. 
And maybe…this won’t be so bad.
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Previous Part:
~ Insatiable You* (Pt. 2)
~ Full Infinite You Masterlist
~ Main Masterlist
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